Let me tell you about my dog

Ten years ago we got a dog. Our neighbor, Julie, knew we were ready to adopt if we found the right one, and she sent us this picture of a cute little poodle-mix at the pound.

Who would not fall in love with this picture of the dog? I'm still mostly impressed that someone at the pound was able to capture such an image, since (as you will soon see) he was hard to photograph well. He mostly came out as a peculiar black blur, sometimes with demon eyes.

He was adorable, he didn't make my husband sneeze, and even though the poor thing was skittish and had fleas when we met him, we wanted to bring him home. The pound had dubbed him "Vinnie," but we decided to call him "Chipper," partially in homage to a dog my mom and uncles had growing up.

Chipper turned out to be the weirdest dog I've ever met. He remained peculiar to the end, which was on March 8th. Our household is adjusting to being a house without a dog. (Thankfully, we still have Mona's noisy bird, Keiko, to remind us loudly we still are a house with a pet.)

So, I want to take a little time to tell you about my dog. Mostly because there is much I don't want to forget, and if scrolling back through the decades of my blog has taught me anything, it's that it's easy to forget so very much. And I don't want to forget my dog.

Looking good after a grooming

Chipper was nervous. It was easy to interpret his behavior as bad much of the time, but once you realized it was all based in fear, he was easier to sympathize with. So many times I wished we could simply make him understand that no one wanted to hurt him. Everyone just wanted to love him and pet him and give him treats, but he found the world a scary place. The sound of a garbage truck would frighten him. All strangers were bad. And don't even get me started about fireworks. (One fourth of July, Chipper was in such a panic about fireworks that he somehow squeezed himself under a nightstand that I swear only had about two inches of clearance underneath.)

Chipper did not like men. Chipper did not like most people, period, but we suspect whatever his life was before he ended up at the pound, it probably involved an abusive man and the dog never got over it. Ian was the one exception. The dog always respected Ian. That was the man who rescued him from the pound. Ian was the only person in our house never to be bitten by the dog. Ian was the one who brought him home. Ian was the one Chipper was lying next to when he took his last breath, which I hope means in that last moment he felt safe.

Chipper did like Julie. Our next door neighbor Julie is hands down one of the nicest people in the world, and she was the only person we could really trust him with if we had to leave town. (Chipper did spend some time at a local kennel in their "Stay and Play" program as a "Solo Guest" since he didn't like other dogs, and the one trainer there who said she really liked our dog also happened to be named "Julie." So maybe he just liked people named "Julie.")

Chipper was always happy to run up to Julie's door, and she was the only person he didn't try to defend us from if she came to our house. Julie was his friend, always accepting him as he was and somehow he knew and appreciated that.

As it became apparent that time with Chipper was growing short in the last week of his life, I took him over to Julie's for one last visit. She told him he was a good dog. And for her he always was.

But if Chipper was anyone's dog, he was Aden's. Aden's first word was "doggie," and when we finally got a dog of our own she was nine, and definitely ready for one. (Not that the promises by children to walk the dog and do any of the work of owning a dog actually come to fruition once the novelty wears off the first week, but still. Nine is a good age to get a dog.) Aden loved the way Chipper's face fit against her own like a puzzle piece. He loved curling up with her on the couch. (Any couch. When we'd go to the cottage, Aden and Chipper would set up on the couch there as naturally as they did on the one at home.) Aden loved Chipper, and Chipper loved Aden. (But Chipper did not love whoever was looking at Aden to take a picture.)

Chipper did not like feet if they were moving. Moving feet were very concerning to the dog. No dancing. No jumping. Definitely no shuffling--that was the worst for some reason.

Chipper didn't like his food particularly, but it was high quality food that kept him very healthy. He would hold out for better things all day long, then we'd hear him eating out of his bowl late at night when he'd finish it all.

Chipper did like to play fetch with certain toys. He had a favorite bit of rope he wanted us to throw often. There was a long squeaky pig that he adored to the point of utter destruction, and we were never able to find another. He also tore all the stuffing out of a Pichu, a monkey ball, and a Chuck E Cheese doll that he also tore the head off of. (We called that one his "ugly mouse" and he was fine with chasing either the head or body alone.) Fetch was funny because he often brought the toy only about halfway back. You were expected to somehow throw the toy, but not reach the toy. Fetch usually ended when Chipper would take the toy under the couch so no one could have it. Sometimes it would end more unceremoniously, where he would simply stop chasing the toy and wait for someone to offer him water.

Chipper with his first Christmas present, his favorite rope

It always made me laugh when Chipper would come bark at me if I was unlocking the front door, then he'd disappear briefly, and return with a toy to drop at my feet once I came inside. (He'd usually then take the toy when I'd reach for it to throw.)

He was odd at the front door. He once barked at my parents while they were letting themselves in our house, and once they made it inside, he fled upstairs and hid. He also had a phase where he'd bark at you while you were leaving. When I'd shut the door behind me from the outside, he'd come charge the door and bark. Then I'd come back in and he'd stop and act like things were great. Then be all tough again if I went out. I miss having him meet me at the door, though.

There were a few times we had to leave Chipper in a kennel when we traveled. The only good part about that was how happy he was when we'd eventually pick him back up.

Chipper could not abide coughing. That was the one way to get him to stop barking at you, or to make him leave the room. If you coughed, he looked appalled and was out of there. He could be all settled in happily in the dog bed in our bedroom, and if I coughed, he would sadly drag himself out of the bed and down the hall. If we were all sick and coughing, he'd change rooms frequently.

We were never sure if Chipper liked the sound of violin playing or not. Violin playing elicited lots of barking and howling, but it was hard to know if it was in protest or accompaniment. We think he was "singing," because the crazy barking at your feet if you were playing turned into wistful little baying sounds if you held him in your lap. Sometimes Chipper would bark at Quinn's keyboard playing, which could be a problem during pandemic Zoom lessons and recitals.

Chipper liked chicken. That's not unusual by any means, but if I was working with chicken in the kitchen he was impressively attentive and underfoot. During the last few weeks of his life he still wanted to be at my heels while I was cooking chicken, even though he'd stopped eating. We offered him chicken many times in an attempt to get him to eat again, but he didn't want any. He just wanted to be in the way while I prepared it.

Those last few weeks we couldn't get him to eat any of his favorite things, which included broccoli and pumpkin. He used to hang out under the kitchen table whenever we did pumpkin carving for Halloween in hopes of snagging a scrap. One year I carefully carved lots of pointy teeth Quinn had drawn onto his pumpkin, only to discover the next morning that Chipper had gotten onto the dining room table in the night and gnawed that mouth into a big, open, toothless grin.

Chipper didn't like the idea of going for walks, even though he liked walks. For the past several years we just left a leash on him at all times so he couldn't hide under the couch when we announced it was time to go out. At least with the leash on him we could drag him out and make him go. He worked really hard at avoiding walks, which was weird, since once outside, he enjoyed walks very much.

Chipper took a different route for his walk with each person in the house. He used to lead Aden down an alley that I never went down with him. With Quinn he only wanted to go around one small block. With me he liked to venture a few blocks away. The funniest route was the next block up near the community garden where there is a house with a fenced back yard containing "the monster." The monster is a 120 lb German shepherd with a deep and scary bark, and we only ever really see its nose and paws under the gap in the gate. Chipper spent weeks building up the nerve to go near the gate. At first he would skitter by the house with the monster, and then pee on something nearby when he'd reached safety. But little by little, Chipper figured out the monster couldn't get to him, and eventually he would run up to the gate and bark furiously at the giant paws poking out of that gap, before triumphantly peeing on something close to that fence. It was such a proud/cowardly thing to do that it always made us laugh.

Chipper didn't like other dogs. He had no doggie friends, and on the few occasions he was around other dogs, they tended to boss him around. The saddest instance was once when I went to pick him up at the groomer, I peered over the gate into the room he was in, and his access to me was blocked by a noisier, tinier dog. A little white fluffy thing in a bow decided it wanted my attention, and snapped at Chipper once before getting between him and me. Chipper looked so stricken! Like he was genuinely worried I was going to leave him there and take this other dog home instead.

Chipper was FAST. The fastest dog I've ever seen. He was not a trustworthy dog, so we couldn't take him off leash very often, but when we could. . .Wow. The best place was the horse trail by our cottage in Michigan. There's usually nobody else out there when we walk it, so we would let Chipper off the leash and watch him go full out along that trail. It didn't look like his feet ever touched the ground--he was like a fuzzy black bullet. But Chipper had no interest in running away from us. If he got out of sight, he'd check back to make sure we were still coming. He mostly just wanted to be home. Sometimes on that trail in Michigan he would decide to race all the way back to the cottage ahead of us.

He also ran what we called "Chipper Circles" in the house when he was excited or empty. (He always had the most energy when just coming in from a walk.) Sometimes we could "wind up the dog" by kind of pushing him back and forth between our hands quickly, and he would race around like crazy after that.

He was patient about the kids doing all manner of odd things with him, including dressing him in little sweaters, a pumpkin costume, or carrying him around in a pouch.

 

In his declining years it was funny because he would run around fast, and still seem like a puppy, but then suddenly turn into an old dog, where he'd just stop and make hacking sounds. Then he'd go back into puppy mode.

Chipper was the most rag-doll sort of dog I've ever seen.

He had a way of simply lying in whatever position he flopped into (legs dangling in odd directions, spine draped some funny way), and when you scooped him up he was all kind of soft and limp most of the time, more like the bendy way cats tend to be. (My kids are always shocked when they try to scoop up other dogs at how stiff legged and unyielding they often are.) But the wacky part of Chipper lying around in super relaxed positions, is that he could do it while being utterly tense and ready to spring. So he might look liked he melted onto Aden's lap, but his eyes would follow you in a way that let you know he was ready to attack.

This is why it was important to remember all the "Chipper Rules." The dog had a million strange rules that we simply took for granted in our house. We didn't realize how absurd all of it was until there were guests, and then had to articulate the rules aloud, which just made us look insane.

For instance, Chipper felt it was his job to guard Aden. From me, from anyone. So if Chipper was on the couch with Aden, you weren't supposed to look at her or talk to her. You could cross the room just fine, or come in the room, but there were certain places you couldn't pause there, because then the dog would come after you. (Or mostly just growl or bark.) If you wanted to talk to Aden, she either had to cover his eyes, or push him to the floor. You could sit next to Aden on the couch, but only if he didn't see you get there. You could tease the dog by saying forbidden things like, "I might touch Aden," and he would freak out.

He would sometimes bark at Aden if she were coming into my room, but his allegiance would shift over to her halfway down the hall toward her room.

He didn't like to be disrupted if he were in a cozy spot. So we all knew not to approach him when he was curled up in his dog bed, etc. The problem was he really liked to sleep in laundry baskets, so sometimes in the morning I would hear a commotion from the girls' room when he was sleeping on clothes they wanted to get to. 

There was a week at one point when Ian took all the kids to the cottage and I was home alone with the dog. That week the dog loved me and didn't want to leave my side and was actually very sweet company. But it was obvious he missed the kids and desperately wanted to find them. He once led me out the back door, and to the garage, and into the car, where he refused to get out. So I drove him around for a while, and then upon returning he raced into the house as if he expected everyone to be back. He was so droopy and disappointed when that didn't work. And once during that week I REALLY needed him to come out from under my bed so I could walk him, and the only trick I could think of was to pretend I was talking to Aden in her room. Chipper came rushing in, all hopeful, and I scooped him up to take outside. (That trick only worked once.) The dog also spent time that week barking downstairs at two in the morning and running away from me when I would come investigate. That was fun.

Chipper was hilarious to watch when he chased flies.

Chipper never seemed to have any reaction to when we got a bird a couple of years ago, although on a couple of occasions he sort of went after me when I approached the cage, as if he were protecting the bird, which was odd.

Chipper had this horrible habit of attacking people on the couch in the family room where we watch movies. He always wanted up on the couch with everyone during movie night. He would look up at me literally with puppy-dog eyes and wag his fluffy tail hopefully until I would scoop him up. Then at some point we'd have to shove him off for growling or trying to bite someone (usually me). The stupid part was he would sometimes do that instantly! He would appeal to me to come up, I'd scoop him, and as soon as he was on the couch he'd turn on me, then immediately beg to me all sweetly again the second I tossed him to the ground. You think we'd learn, but no. When he was good on the couch he was so sweet and warm that it often seemed worth the gamble.

Just a yawn. He's not actually trying to bite my daughter.

Back when my dad was alive and would stay with us, the dog would get very upset about the cane or the walker. My dad moved in too shuffly a manner for the dog, so Chipper would get upset, and my poor dad only ever wanted to pet the cute dog. Then one day my dad had a bit of a fall in our downstairs bathroom. It was alarming, and we wanted Dad to just stay still until we were sure he hadn't suffered any kind of injury. While on the floor and in need, Chipper suddenly wanted to be nice to my dad. For that little bit of time where my dad was on the floor and possibly hurt, Chipper was the sweetest dog, and my dad was so delighted to finally be able to pet him. (As soon as my dad was upright, Chipper went back to growling at the cane.)

Chipper was like that in general when someone was in need. I can think of a few occasions where I fell on the ice during a walk, and Chipper would come sit with me, and look into my face with what looked like concern. He would watch over any of us if we were sick. (Unless that person coughed, then we were on our own.)

Chipper liked to lie on things we were using. If we were trying to flip a futon, he would come lie on it. He would lie on fabric we were trying to cut on the floor. When we were doing family yoga for a while, he would hang out on the mats.

Chipper attracted burs. I don't know how he did it, but he could literally take a dozen steps out of the cottage and suddenly be covered in burs. He would sometimes get them caught deep in his paws, and he'd stop and roll onto his back, paws in the air to get help.

 

And for as fussy and fighty as that dog could be, he was weirdly patient about letting us help him with anything painful. He'd let you do whatever was necessary to get rid of burs or ticks (he once had an engorged tick on his eyelid) and not flinch while you did it. He once got his lip caught on a fish hook and was good about sitting still while we got it out.

When it was too cold and the sidewalks were too salty, he would sometimes stop in the middle of a walk, roll over, and put his paws in the air until we picked him up to finish the walk.

Chipper was a terrible shop dog. He barked at violin playing, and he didn't like strangers, so that pretty much ruled out everything that happened in that space. He was cute there, though.

Chipper on my cello cradle

 

Chipper liked going after the raccoons and opossums and skunks in our back yard. Thankfully he never caught one or got sprayed. But he did sometimes run around my shop at the back of the house because animals would get under it, and he could hear them through the floorboards.

Chipper sometimes forgot how to do stairs. There would be months at a time where he would wait at the top or the bottom to be carried. The strangest, though, was when he could only do the long set of stairs, then get stuck on the landing and not do the last few. He'd bark until we'd rescue him. He was like that on the spiral staircase at the cottage, too, only there he would make it all the way to the very last step at the top, and then decide he couldn't do that one.

Chipper didn't have a lot of tricks, but he would sit before he got a treat, and sometimes he'd do "Up and dance!" There was a small stretch of time where he was afraid of treats. He never liked dog biscuits, only soft meaty treats.

Chipper had a silly under-bite, until he had to have a bunch of teeth pulled a couple of years ago, and he ended up with a funny single snaggle-tooth poking up in the front.

 

We only saw Chipper swim one time, and it was hilarious. (Apparently he could do it, he just didn't like it.)

Bubble bath dog

He used to do this thing we dubbed "More Paws" where he would put his two front paws together and bend them forward repeatedly like a wave. Chipper would do that when he wanted more petting. If you rubbed his belly, then stopped, he would do More Paws. Sometimes if he were tired, you might only get a little twitch of the More Paws, and that was really cute.

After a trip to the groomer, Chipper would spend a lot of time rubbing himself into the living room carpet and wiggling on his back, we assume to get the smell of vanilla off his fur.

People always tried to do that thing with Chipper where they hold out their hand to let the dog sniff it before attempting petting. We always had to warn people that was a quick way to get bitten with Chipper, but people seldom listened and did it anyway. If we had people over, we usually kept Chipper in a muzzle for everyone's safety.

Chipper begging at the table was always cute. I was the worst offender at always giving in and letting him have a bite. (But look how little and cute!)

 

After a bath, he used to try to run himself dry. He would take crazy laps around the house. He even tried that once after he went blind, but with unsuccessful results.

Wet pup in the kitchen sink.

Chipper used to allow me a morning snuggle. He would come over to my side of the bed and beg to be let up. (It had to be my side, because Ian would never let him up.) Once I scooped the dog next to me, I'd get about two minutes of snuggle time where the dog would be adorable and cuddly. Then he would walk over me to curl up at Ian's feet where he really wanted to be, and at that point the dog's focus switched to protecting Ian, so I had to be careful. (No goodbye kisses for Ian if I needed to leave and the dog was on the bed.)

Chipper loved the idea of getting in the car, but hated car rides. I think he mostly didn't want us to leave without him anywhere. If we were packing the car for a trip, he would often slip out the door, jump in the car, and hunker down where we couldn't reach him so we would have to bring him along. He had a crate to do long drives in, and he spent most of the time drooling. He was not into sticking his head out the window. He was more about skulking around along the floor, and trying to get in the way of the driver's feet.

Chipper didn't like people on bicycles.

Chipper was oblivious to any games we were trying to play on the floor. He would happily walk all over a Settlers of Catan board to get to someone who might pet him. (Safer to play on a table.) And many times while were gathered in the living room to play cards or a board game, Chipper would take the opportunity to bring someone a toy, and then we'd have to strategically throw the rope in directions that wouldn't cause him to run straight through whatever we were doing.

Toward the end, the dog went blind. He would still follow whatever his code was for defending whoever, but he'd often be facing the wrong way while barking. It was sad watching Chipper bumble about the house, trying to do his normal rounds the way he used to, but he didn't seem fazed. He just knew in the middle of the night he still wanted to switch from sleeping in the dog bed in our room, to sleeping next to Aden's bed.

As he got weaker and sicker, he took to sleeping on Aden's bed. He wanted to be glued to Aden at all times, which made certain activities like drawing and using the computer harder.

Aden trying to use the computer with all the pets.

 

Chipper never liked me working in my shop at home. He used to come in and try to lure me away from whatever violin I was making. He did that pretty much up to the end, with his little legs (that the vet had shaved for his IV and looked like a bad and incomplete poodle cut) up on my knees, trying to get me to come to upstairs for the night.

I loved our dog's one white toe.

The last few weeks of Chipper's life were so hard. He'd gone blind a couple of months before, but we simply tried to roll with it since he otherwise seemed fine. Then came the difficult visit to the emergency vet around Valentine's Day where he spent two nights. Lots of organs seemed to be failing. There was not much they said could be done. Aden became the dog's nurse, more so than before when she primarily kept him from falling down the stairs.

Aden did everything for Chipper, her little blind dog who wanted to lie on her all the time.

Aden tried to get him to eat, and in the final week gave up. She made sure he got all his pills. His breath smelled like epoxy. He had seizures that were scary. His breathing became labored, and there were small yips of pain now and then, along with shaking. We held onto the idea that he would pass away at home. I worried taking him to the vet one last time would be a stressful way to go. As long as he wasn't suffering, we figured keeping him at home was best. But every day for weeks I was shocked in the morning that he was still alive. I don't think we should have let him linger as long as we did, but it was such a hard call.

In the last hours we were counting the minutes until the vet opened so we could put him to sleep and stop his suffering. In the end, he did become peaceful and still and took his last breath in the music room, stretched out on the rollout bed where Aden had stayed all night with him. Chipper died lying against Ian, at home, I hope knowing all of us were around. (And he was on a towel. Chipper loved a good towel.)

Ian's story of waiting for the Humane Society to open in order to have our dog cremated was heartbreaking. Everyone else in line was there to have their pet euthanized. (In the case of one woman with a cat, she couldn't afford the vet bill that would have made her cat well, so she wound up surrendering the animal for adoption so they would foot the bill.) Ian said he'd never stood in a line of sadder people, and how odd to be standing in it with a dead dog knowing in his case the worst was over.

Now Chipper's ashes sit in a pretty little box in the dining room. We plan to spread them on the horse trail he loved sometime this summer. 

I honestly don't think he would have had the chance at such a nice life if we hadn't brought him home. I don't think many people would have put up with him. We often said that we were the right family for Chipper, even if Chipper wasn't the right dog for our family. But maybe not.

We loved our weird little dog. He wasn't an easy dog. But he was our dog. And we miss him.

 Goodbye Chipper. Thanks for being our dog.

Peep-A-Rama

Behold! My latest creation for the Peeps Art competition, the PEEP-A-RAMA MACHINE!

A Mold-A-Rama machine for Peeps! For anyone who somehow reads my blog and is still not familiar with what a Mold-A-Rama machine is, here's one from somewhere in our travels, along with my re-imagined Peep version:

 

On this one year anniversary of Pandemic Life, things are beginning to creep toward some semblance of normal, and for us that includes the annual Peeps Art Show at the Racine Art Museum. Last year's event was canceled, which considering how much of our creative energy was squashed by anxiety and challenge, worked out for the best at our end.

But this year it's back! And we're in it! And I wasn't sure at first what to make, but then Milwaukee Magazine decided to do a piece on our Mold-A-Rama machine that we finally got working this past fall, and I realized a mini version would be interesting to have. Especially one that makes Peeps.

Before I get into details about how I put my entry together, I want to show off what my kids made this year.

Aden went with the "Peep's Gambit," and created a Peeps chess set out of clay. All the pieces fit inside the little box that is also the board. She went with clay instead of real Peeps because of the size restrictions. I think it's completely adorable.

Quinn's entry was a terrarium for a "Wild Peep in its Natural Habitat." It was pretty straight forward, but the one part we had to puzzle was the dirt. Quinn went with putting a few handfuls of dog food into a food processor, and it worked really well. I couldn't get a great photo, but trust me, it's really cute.

My project took the longest, so I'm glad I started it a few weeks early.

I decided in order to survive transport better, I should make my Peep-A-Rama machine out of something sturdier than just paper, so I cut up some masonite for the body of the machine. But I did not feel in the mood to dedicate a lot of real woodworking skills to this project, so it's held together with glue and duct tape. (I have to do so much stuff on my bench that needs to be correct and by the book, that it's incredibly fun for me to simply do whatever I feel like.) Then I spray painted it all light blue to match the Mold-A-Rama machines at our local zoo.

The rest of it is mostly paper. I can make anything out of paper. I got some nice sheets of poster board from the craft store and cut out all my letters for the display graphic, and a little window for the sample Peep. I simplified a lot of the design to accommodate the smaller scale and keep it clean, but I think I captured the essence of the Mold-A-Rama look. When the display graphic was finished, I covered it with a sheet of acetate.

The best part of the Peep display window is that there is a working light in it. My daughter donated a string of fairy lights she had lying around, and I bunched them together to fit in the top of the little Peep box. Then I ran the cord and the switch through a hole in the back of the machine. I like that when the batteries go, I can change them. (The worst part about the Peep display window is that I probably shouldn't have glued the Peep in so it's floating, but eh. I wanted it higher than it would be if it were sitting on the bottom of the box, and I like that you can see it clearly over the plastic dome this way. But all my kids sort of looked at it and laughed and said, "Why is it floating?" Artistic license, kids. Artistic license.)

 

Once the basic box was together and painted, and the wiring part all done, then it was just a lot of fun detail work.

This is probably a good place to mention that the whole machine was built around the plastic dome piece. I couldn't find anything exactly right, but I ordered some plastic candy dishes online that were close enough. I had to file down the lip along the base of the dish and polish it out as best I could.

The "mold" is just Model-Magic clay with paper around it. Most of the details are more layered poster board. The mechanical bits are wires my husband didn't need, and some odds and ends I had lying around my shop. I find it kind of hilarious that we have an actual Mold-A-Rama machine I could use for reference and make things accurate, but instead what I've pieced together is pure nonsense. Its whole job is to look cute, and it does, so it's fine.

The only bit of wasted effort was that I cut a real hole for the spot the figure would drop into, and it doesn't look any different from if I'd simply cut a rectangle out of paper. Maybe someone looking at it in real life will notice, but I doubt it.

I'm really pleased with how it came out! This is my first time entering this contest where I think I actually have a shot at winning a prize. Who knows? If you're interested in watching the awards ceremony on Wednesday, March 24th, or simply looking at the show online, you can do that at the RAM website. Regardless, I really enjoyed making something just for fun. And like a real Mold-A-Rama machine, I expect it will make people smile. Can't ask for more than that. (Plus the kids and I had a good time going out for a drive to deliver our entries, and the app we used to give us directions to the museum had a voice set to "boy band" which kept us laughing for much of the trip.)

Peep-A-Rama!

Testing the Waters

Last night I got to swim again for the first time in nearly a year.

With the exception of occasional walks on the treadmill while watching Star Trek, or travel home from work on foot, any real physical activity became one of my basic losses of the pandemic. Right around my birthday in mid-March 2020, my county pool shut down. There is talk it may never reopen. In the meantime, the impact on my body of no longer swimming a few times a week hasn't been good. I feel less capable in my skin, like I've suffered a power drain.

So I asked around to see if there were any pools in our area that had found a way to allow people to swim safely, and I found two. One is north of us, a bit far, a bit expensive, but has excellent protocols. The other is south, closer, cheap, but a bit more lax. The one to the south was incredibly convenient (no reservations, evening hours), so my oldest daughter and I decided to give it a try and see if we felt safe there or not.

At first, it didn't look promising. There were swim lessons going on, and too many people indoors without masks for our comfort. I left my mask on until the last minute and got into the pool. I figured once submerged, it couldn't get much safer. I have noticed over the years that the odds of my even picking up a common cold were greatly diminished when I swim regularly, most likely because soaking for long periods in chlorine kills anything I might have picked up. Aden stood at the far end of the pool where there were fewer people and waited for most of them to leave before she took off her mask and ventured into the water.

But then after the swim lessons ended, and the parents and children cleared out, we had the entire pool to ourselves! A lone lifeguard sat off to the side in a mask and looked on while we didn't drown. After a little while, they shut off some of the overhead lights and turned on the lights in the water to make it glow, which was really beautiful.

I hadn't intended to swim a whole mile, because I didn't want to make my body too sore after such a long hiatus, but it felt so nice to move I went ahead and did it anyway. The first few laps felt good and familiar, but also like a strange adjustment. My back didn't seem to understand what was happening, then got used to it. By lap eight, my arms were feeling it, but they got used to it, too. By the thirty-sixth lap, I knew I would be sore today, but it was nice to know it would be the good kind of sore. Not the feeling-old-while-I-get-out-of-bed kind of sore. Sore like I earned something. Sore like I can feel my body working the way it's supposed to.

Aden simply enjoyed floating about and being out of the house for a change. She agreed a pool to ourselves (or even at some point with a couple of other people in the other lanes) was not a big risk. We are going to do our best to stick to a regular schedule and swim a few times a week.

One of the things I appreciated while doing my laps again was the ability to think and sort out ideas. I can do that in a way in the pool that I can't quite do anywhere else. And as I was literally testing the waters again, returning to something that used to be normal and now feels noteworthy, I started to imagine what it will be like building toward an old life that seems new again.

I have orchestra back. It's different, and now carries an undertone of anxiety not related to simply sorting out rhythms and fingerings by a certain deadline, but it's part of my routine again. It requires I keep track of the days once more. I have to plan ahead to have gas in the car, and to eat before I leave to be someplace on time. "On time" has not been a concern for many months.

I'm working on a project for the Racine Art Museum's "Peeps contest." It was canceled last year, and my kids and I couldn't find any Peeps in the store anyway. (One of many unexpected shortages due to Covid.) I received a notice in the mail inviting our family to please participate this year. The Peeps contest is back! As are actual Peeps. I'm looking forward to sharing more about that as our projects come together this week.

"Looking forward to" is a nice phrase I haven't gotten to use in a while. There have only been vague plans and unfinished chores and no structure to anything. I didn't normally think of myself as someone needing structure, but I know better now.

I don't need rules so much as rhythm. I've missed anticipation, interaction, conclusion, accountability, and a predictable level of repetition that allows you to plan. I've missed planning things.

I told Aden I really believe she'll be able to start college in the fall. Finally. She's not convinced. She's had this rug pulled out from under her twice now.

I believe this past year has been hardest on her of anyone in our home. Virtual schooling as worked out very well for Mona, and doesn't seem to bother Quinn. This year would have been an adjustment for Ian anyway having retired from the Army, so he was already going to have to sort out what role to play at home now. I have good days and bad. But Aden was supposed to be able to finish her senior year of high school and spend the summer with her friends and move on to a college adventure. I was going to send her care packages and enjoy hearing stories of life on her own when she'd visit at holidays. Instead she's been without direction or a social scene that requires she get up from the couch. Compound that with the guilt of being anything short of grateful for a home where she's safe and a family that is healthy, and it makes for a fairly dismal gap year.

But I really do think with a year of her college figuring out what works and what doesn't, people getting vaccinated, better and more rapid tests becoming available, and her own new habits for staying safe, Aden will get to go away to school. Which means thinking about things like packing, and classes, and... And all the things a 19-year old should be thinking about. I'm excited for her.

We're a long way from normal. And there are some things about the old normal that I don't think I want back. But swimming again on a regular schedule is a big step in the right direction for a change. I feel it in my muscles today. And I feel it in my heart.

Time for Music

I got to play an orchestra rehearsal last week. I get to do it again this week. The weight of what all of this means to me is something I'm still processing, because sometimes you truly don't know how important something is until it's gone.

For most of my life, my schedule has been organized around rehearsals, concert dates, and making time to practice. I've had to delay family Christmas plans to perform at a midnight mass at the basilica. Options for my kids' spring breaks were impacted by if I had a dress rehearsal that week. In college, orchestra was graded entirely by attendance, and if you missed one of the daily rehearsals, you went down one full letter grade. Since moving to Milwaukee, Tuesday nights have been completely blocked off in my mind as rehearsal nights, and before I can commit to anything else on a Tuesday, I have to check my orchestra schedule.

Then the pandemic hit, and in March of 2020 everything came to a halt. Concerts were canceled. Rehearsals stopped.

Intellectually, I knew that continuing to practice was the correct and healthy choice. I tried at first. I pulled out pieces I knew would be fun and interesting to play. There was lots of time suddenly available to hone my skills in a thoughtful way that normally doesn't happen. But....

Creativity takes energy. In the early days of Covid, all my energy was spent elsewhere. Worry, survival, adaptation, grief... All of it saps energy. And knowing what you should do, doesn't always mean you can.

My viola stayed in the case. I wanted to play. Or more aptly put, I wanted to want to play, but the lack of anyone to play with or for killed my motivation in a way that surprised me.

The important exception was in the middle of summer when I was invited on a couple of occasions to perform along with the Black String Triage Ensemble. They perform protest concerts in response to violence against people of color in our city. The group was organized by a former student of mine, and he asked if I wanted to join them to play black spirituals at various locations to draw attention to racial injustice. One of those locations was in front of the courthouse in Kenosha during the second night of the protest marches there.

Music has meaning, and music has power. Enough power that we had to be forced to stop making music in Kenosha with teargas, apparently. But if I only got to play one concert in 2020, I'm glad it was that one. It was a clear reminder of what matters and how music can help.

Playing music with others, for others, draws on the finest elements of what it is to be human. We create something bigger than ourselves, something more beautiful than we could do alone. Something built from small moments of practice piled one upon the other to eventually create something grand and moving when everything aligns properly. It's a strangely momentous thing to come to take for granted, but when most of your life is built around a schedule of rehearsals, and concert dates--to the point that you consider them ordinary--you can forget.

While orchestras across the country and the world shut down for the year, Festival City Symphony found a way to forge ahead. The spread and death toll of Covid in our state made me too nervous to participate in the first two concerts of the season, and I asked not to be included on the roster. That was painful to do, partially because I deeply missed playing, and partially from guilt that so many other musicians were desperate for the same opportunity I was passing up. But after watching the FCS holiday show online, I was encouraged by the number of safety protocols. I agreed to play the first concert in 2021. I fully intended to back out if when I showed up to the first rehearsal it didn't feel safe.

Everyone was masked, including wind and brass players who had to have special masks with an opening to use when they needed to play, and covers over the ends of their instruments. Everyone had their own stand and was set far apart. The stands were tagged with people's names, and no one was allowed to touch anyone else's stand or music. The ventilation in the room was good enough that the air was completely replaced in it three times an hour. All foot traffic in the building had to move counterclockwise to help people maintain distance. We had to present a signed form upon arrival stating we did not have Covid symptoms or had been knowingly exposed recently. They took our temperature before we could proceed into the building. The length of the rehearsal was kept short, and there was no break when people would normally mingle. The concert itself will have no intermission and will finish in under an hour. There will be a cap of 150 audience members, masked, and in assigned seats set apart from other parties, with no seating in the first couple of rows closest to the orchestra. My family will watch with the virtual option.

So as much as you can mitigate risk for an orchestra to play together, I think they've managed it. I'm still nervous, but do not feel unsafe. And I am incredibly grateful to have a reason to open my viola case again.

However, the physical task of playing after so much time caught me off guard. It's work. Actual physical work that you need to train muscles to do. I don't think most people realize that. Simply holding up your arms for hours takes strength. In fact, when I was in college, there were guys in my dorm who thought it was impressive that I could hold my own in an arm wrestling match if I used my left arm. I haven't used those particular muscles in a while, and when I started practicing again I was really sore.

It's also weirdly cumbersome to play with a mask on. I wouldn't have guessed that, but it's somehow harder to see the way you need to, glancing past your instrument to the music and up at the conductor regularly. I'm not sure exactly what about the mask is in the way, it just is, so that will take getting used to as well.

I've been working my way back up to playing for longer stretches, and with a mask on sometimes, so that I'll be prepared for the concert. Plus I had to follow all the advice I give everyone else who comes through my shop, and gave my own viola a checkup and actually rehaired my bow and changed my strings. It made a big difference.

It will be a good show! If you want to watch it, the information is here. We'll be playing Holst's Brook Green Suite, Schubert's Fifth Symphony, and Frank Almond will be the soloist for The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams.

It's strange playing in a mask. It's odd not to have a stand partner. But the camaraderie is still there, even at a distance. And making music is magic. At one point last week in my first real rehearsal in almost a year, I became choked up with how beautiful and amazing it all was for people to work together and bring the air to life with history and sound and meaning. I've missed it. More than I realized.