Here’s a riddle with a twist, a variation on the old “Why did the chicken cross the road?” standby. The joke goes like this:
Q: Why did the Havanese cross the road?
A: To escape a deathtrap in the form of an evil Rottweiler.
Ha ha ha!
Except no one’s laughing.
Yep, Chloe and I had a little run-in with a Rottweiler. It happened two days ago; and it’s the backstory to why Chloe now runs in the opposite direction when the time comes each morning for our walk. Not only does my little dog run the other way,* she actually hides behind the cream and white throw pillow on the oversized chair in the living room. Chloe thankfully wasn’t hurt, except for her pride. The moral of the story? I’m once again bribing my little dog with a baggie of carrots to celebrate a job well done, or a walk well done in her case. Except now I feel like a doggy mama failure because everyone knows not to bribe with food. Goodness. Oh, there’s another (more important) take-away to our walk gone terribly wrong: Always cross the road, or jump off the sidewalk at the very least, when you see a Rottweiler coming your way.
I learned something else from the episode with the evil Rottweiler: Sometimes the bravest thing to do with anxiety is to keep on walking. I’m sure Chloe would’ve rather returned to her perch on the oversize living room chair (I think it was called a chair-and-a-half in the late-90s, my glory years.) But it wouldn’t have helped her in the long run. On the other hand, maybe it is better to take a break from whatever’s causing anxiety. No one should be bombarded by a stressor, especially when the stressor comes in the form of a Rottweiler. You better believe I carried Chloe for a few minutes after our encounter with death; I don’t mind saying so. I don’t t even care how pathetic we looked. Did I mention it was raining? Of course it was raining: Seattle.
Moving on.
But not really. The first essay is from Christie Thomas; and it’s kinda-sorta (but not really) about anxiety, childhood anxiety. The way Christie talks about dropping her son off at kindergarten is basically a snapshot of what it was like to drop Steven off at the church nursery all those years ago. Except Steven had a bloody forehead from hitting his head in protest on the cement floor thinly covered with carpet. Back to Christie: The meat of her essay is about blessing children, something this mama of faith never thought about. Sure I pray for my kids, like constantly. But I never thought of blessing them. Here’s what Christie had to say.
It’s probably too late to mention it, but if your’e new around here, the “Weekend Roundup” is what happens when I showcase the work of fellow Hope*Writers. Basically, it’s a chance for you to get to know my writer friends.
Just about everything I’ve ever read by Dorina Lazo Gilmore has caused my head to bob up and down in agreement. This week, Dorina wrote about grief, and how it will sneak up on you if you don’t deal with it, and how even grief in the form of natural disasters and national tragedies remind us of the importance of lament. Amen sister. You can find Dorina’s essay, Making Space For Lament When National Tragedy Strikes, here.
I’m going to spice things up a bit. The next Hope*Writer I’m going to introduce is Libby John. Libby’s album, Reveal The Gold, debuts today. You can head over to iTunes to listen to a sample or download for your enjoyment. You can also find Libby’s work on Google Play but I don’t know how Google Play works.
It’s strange for me to feature an album cover instead of book cover, but it’s a welcome change. Consider the recommendation an early Christmas present.
Speaking of Christmas…well not exactly. Jody Collins wrote a book about simplifying Christmas, and living the season well. But that’s not where I’m headed. How’s that for an awkward transition? Anyway, my author-friend wrote a wonderful essay on her blog; I’d like to share it with you. Go ahead, read Jody’s blog post; and then come back and fill in the blanks. I’ll wait for you.
I do______________
I don’t ____________
I’ll start. I do enjoy working in my children’s classrooms, in fact I even love volunteering at our neighborhood school; I do walk regularly (especially when it’s not raining and I can wear my Birkenstocks); I really do love intimate gatherings with the dearest of friends; I do cook gluten-free and dairy-free meals for my family, mostly from scratch.
I don’t EVER volunteer to be a room parent. In fact, it’s my life-goal to NEVER be a room parent. Emily’s in fifth grade and I’ve never had to do it. I’d say I’m doing well for myself. The very thought of being a room parent sends me into panic mode quicker than you can say, well, room parent. And I’ve never signed up to be the classroom art docent. Another thing: I don’t run anymore. My feet hate me. And I hate athletic shoes of any kind. I DON’T do large parties; I definitely don’t make a big fuss about kid birthday parties, the smaller, the better in my book. My children disagree. Lastly, I don’t bake. I’m going to throw one more “don’t” out there because I’m having too much fun: Years ago, I banned gluten and dairy from our home, but I will forever and ever be sugar’s Number 1 Fan, especially when sugar comes in the form of Sour Patch Kids. Speaking of which, I blame Sour Patch Kids for landing me in Dr. Hussey’s office, a few weeks back, for a filling.
That’s all I have to share in this week’s roundup. I’m going to be late for book club if I don’t get this published soon. (Edited to add: I was late for book club.) We’re discussing A Gentleman in Moscow. At the moment, the name of the author escapes me; but I highly recommend it. Personally, I loved listening along to A Gentleman in Moscow on Audible since there were so many Russian names for me to butcher. What have you been reading lately?
N.
*As it turns out, the joke’s on me. Chloe still loves her walks. She’s afraid of her new red dog jacket.
Today marks the third Sunday of Advent. The Tiniest Tiny is on the verge of losing her first tooth; I’m feeling all the feels. Before long, a dairy-free version of Alice Currah’s “Spicy Sausage Kale Bean Soup” is reheated on the stovetop. Leftover Thai food is thrown into the microwave; and two-thirds of our children refuse to eat it. Eventually, our family gathers around the oak farm table in the dining room to light the Joy Candle. As the flame of the pink candle flickers and comes to life, we set our eyes on whatever is lovely and good, to the dawn of about to get better. This is the song of old, the story rising in me.
