Every morning, generally between 7 and 8, I take the dogs outside, into our tiny, fenced backyard, for their early morning constitutional. They wander aimlessly while I call muted encouragement to them. Occasionally, one of them will look up at me and wag a cheery “hello,” before returning to their completely off-task sniffing. 

We have chipmunks, squirrels, and bunnies residing in our yard. The chipmunks are cocky. The squirrels are defiant. The bunnies are timid. My dachshunds, bred to the task of running down and killing animals, are fantastically effective at finding the chipmunk and bunny burrows. They are, thankfully, completely ineffective at tracking or capturing. On several occasions, they have surprised critters in their burrows. The dogs stand, noses next to small tunnels, tails wagging happily. 

Mina, the digger, will attempt to enlarge the tunnel, to what purpose I have not yet discovered. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t either. I usually stand on the brick patio during these early morning raids and watch chipmunks leaving by another exit. Not once, not once, have these fierce warrior dogs noticed that … er, Alvin has left the building. (I’m so sorry.)

As my dad would say, we lowered our ears this weekend. Saturday was warm and sunny, a perfect day for setting up the outdoor barber shop. I trimmed Ian’s hair, teasing him with “oops” and “don’t worry I can fix that.” I definitely took too long though. We had to leave his bangs very long so he could join his discord Pathfinder game. It’s supposed to be sunny here on Saturday so Imma sharpen those scissors for Trimming Round Two. 

I try to walk two or three miles every day, usually late in the afternoon. Since I’m a meanderer by nature, I walk wherever my feet take me. Do I start or end my walk going uphill? Will I visit a park or walk through a neighborhood? Heavy traffic or side streets? It was on one of these little journeys that I had an epiphany for a physically distant, socially connected birthday party for my son. Because we all have good, gaming headsets with microphones, we were able to talk and laugh and tease and play ridiculous party games for about 3 hours with 10 wonderful friends. It was joyful and celebratory and turned a somewhat glum birthday into a wonderful memory. We even made stupid, hilarious tshirts. 

How has your cooking been going? Since my last blog post, we’ve made black bean chili and buttermilk cornbread, chicken with stuffing, garlic chicken breasts, baked chicken wings, and barbecued ham. Someone in the house (my son) has suggested that we may be eating too much chicken but that’s just (stir)crazy talk. 

We’ve also made some treats. When I was a little girl, it was a huge treat to make nutmeg muffins. We only rarely made them and I loved them like flowers love the sun, like early birds love the worm, like Hepburn loved Tracy, like Mina loves digging …. ANYWAY, the muffin top was the queen. After the muffins came out of the oven, the tops were dipped in butter and a cinnamon/nutmeg/sugar mix, making the top slightly chewy, buttery, and a little bit sweet.  The cake was tender with just a scent of nutmeg — you know what I mean; when you bite into the cake, there’s just a whiff of a scent, gentle, enhancing without overwhelming. Heaven. 

They were so fragile that the muffin tops, on occasion, fell off during the dipping. But I’d just plop them right back. Ta da. I always thought that no one knew but it must have been obvious that some of the muffin tops weren’t attached. It is also possible that I ate the majority of those muffins and that no one ever found out because I ate all the muffins with loose tops. 

This week, I was looking for a little breakfast-y treat for my son, who isn’t much of an eater, especially not a breakfast eater. Nutmeg muffins, which I haven’t made in 30+ years, popped into my head. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find Mom’s recipe (though I haven’t given up) so I turned to the internet for help. The second recipe I tried was a beautiful success, so close to my memory of the original that I might even be able to fool Mom. The biggest changes are that I now make mini-muffins instead of the large-ish originals and that I freeze some for later. 

I also made a dairy- and egg-free chocolate cake. It was so easy to make that I was suspicious but it’s delicious and even better on day 2, if you can stop yourself from eating it all on day 1.

My youngest is completing eighth grade next month. Because the school terminates at eighth grade, they have a sort of graduation ceremony for the students. All that will be online this year, of course, but they’ll still have some of the usual rituals, including a slideshow with pictures of each student. He’s assigned me the job of digging through our archives for pictures of him and I’m in hell. It’s already an emotional roller coaster — we’re leaving a school we’ve been at continuously for 19 years. I feel another door closing and I can’t see what’s next. It brings Bell’s quote to mind:  “When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

April is poetry month. I wrote a bunch of really bad, sad poetry. I give you, for example, the following in an AB rhyme scheme:

A Sunday In March

I’m watching you dying
Your cheek I caress
The doctors are trying
No news, they confess.

They now need to cath you
Of course I say yes
A vial of blood too
My fear I suppress

This act was you choosing
To end your distress
Your win means we’re losing
Perhaps no redress

There’s no higher being
To comfort or bless 
Can’t bear what I’m seeing
No more happiness

Stay safe. Be well.