- laying on the love seat, staring out the window
- on "her" corner of the couch
- in the kennel
We knew when we lost Chloe last fall, that there would be another dog in our lives. As my husband tells everyone, "We're dog people".
And we are.
And our home has been really empty.
But in a couple of weeks, it will be full of puppy love.
Put your fingers on the keys.
Let the words come. Let them choose themselves.
You know they are there.
Waiting for you to release them.
August has always been the beginning of a new year for me. Much more than January. When August 1st came around, it seemed like things were shiny and new again. New school clothes, new shoes, new school supplies, and a new calendar. Even now, having been retired for four years, it's the start of a new year.
And today will also be the start of something new in our house.
Today we pick out our new puppy.
We know her name is Sophie. We just don't know which one it will be.
When we chose Jake and Chloe, they each crawled into my lap and cuddled. I guess, really, they chose us. So today when we go looking at puppies, we'll wait and see which little girl chooses us.
I did that.
I haven't written anything in a couple of weeks and I certainly haven't blogged (January 11 was my last post!). But, it's hard to visit Coffee With Chloe when Chloe isn't around.
And COVID absolutely paused me.
Here it is.
My TBR pile.
All the books Mom has given me in the last few months. She says they're great. I'll really enjoy them.
They sit beside my bookshelf.
Waiting for me to dive in and devour them now that I have more time to read.
But, I don't.
Every. Single. One. is a World War II novel. Most are set in Germany. Some in camps. Some about strong women who fight. Some about survival.
But I just can't do it.
With all the crap going on in the
world United States, I just can't read these. Right now I need books that are happy, fluffy, uplifting. A good mystery will do, so will a story of family. But WWII novels, dystopian novels. Nope.
So for now, these are going to stay piled beside my bookshelf.
This quarantine has been more difficult than what we started at the beginning of March. Maybe because we were able to spend so much time at the lake with friends and family around. Maybe because the last one was an adventure in survival and this one seems more like real life.
I don't know. But whatever the reason, it's tougher. I don't focus on anything. I spend too much time on mindless Facebook games. I start projects and abandon them (and leave the mess). Start a book and abandon it. Start a blog post and abandon it.
And other people? I have horrible conversations with others, all in my head, of course. But still. I rail at them for not living up to some perfectionist standard I've created in my head.
I feel like an imposter at times.
Horrible wife, mom, grandma, and friend. Why didn't I create wonderful holiday get-togethers on Zoom? Why didn't I think to ship each Christmas gift in separate boxes instead of one big one? Why didn't I send more cards and letters? Why didn't I blog more? Why didn't I...
Well, you name it. But why didn't I...
Stupid perfectionist ideals.
And one day, a little voice in my head said, "Why don't you give yourself a little GRACE?"
So I did.
I can't be perfect during this trying time--well, anytime, actually. But especially now. I don't have to learn a new language, repaint the entire house, organize all my pictures, and keep an immaculate house. Who the heck is that perfect?
And then yesterday, I found this quote by Morgan Harper Nichols:
A year ago you did not know today.
You did not know how you'd make it here.
But, you made it here.
You made it here.
And so I start the year being kind to myself and others and living by grace, not perfection.