Happy Christmas

Yesterday we stopped in at our 'big house' to pick up some Christmas supplies and I snapped a few pictures. Here is the new landing at the kitchen door.

















And here is its secret. Shhhhh.
















And here is the arch door in its place. There is about another day's work ahead tuning this door and giving it a knob. But for now I'm happy to see something in the last big hole.









It's Christmas Eve here in Big Bay and a quiet day, except for the motor sounds of our boys pushing their trucks and talking through their teeth in big man voices, and for the sounds of Christmas cooking and cleaning going on downstairs. I'm sitting in bed hoping to shake a cold I've been half-denying all week. All a sick guy wants for Christmas is to be well again. I have a warm dry house, a caring family and a few days with no plans which couldn't be easily canceled or modified to allow for lying around. So I guess I have it made. If nothing else it's a good day to play around with the internet. The new background photo is from this Spring on top of the hill behind our little cabin.

Here's wishing you peace and joy in the darkest and sweetest time of year.

Rest in peace, Anniemoosh

Our dear dog has fallen victim to the snowy Big Bay road. She was twelve.

Last winter we witnessed that Annie was too deaf and blind to sense cars and so since then we've been keeping her on a leash unless we're out far from traffic. Now and then of course she'd get free and come back, and I regret to say we started letting her out on her own on occasion this past few months.








I picked her up from a sled dog farm in Skandia in August when she was about a year old and the people there had decided she wouldn't be much of a sled-puller. She had never been in a car or house and the first night wouldn't even stay in the house where we lived in Marquette. She and I slept in the backyard.

She never did get too civilized, in fact she was such a scrapper at parties that I used to joke to myself that she gives bitches a bad name. So we stopped taking her to parties and for the most part there was peace with the neighbor dogs.









An old dog dying seemed a small tragedy at first. But digging her grave yesterday was so sad. I sang the Bob Dylan song "He was a friend of mine" only saying "She" instead.

There's a shadow in our house where she used to be. When a piece of popcorn drops to the floor or when I get the urge to go outside before bed. It's just sad and that's that.



This picture is from a couple years ago when our neighbors' dog Alice was hit by a car.


Today we took our time saying goodbye before burying her body in a spot where we can plant an apple tree in the spring as a memorial. It's never easy to say goodbye to your loved ones, but we all felt better after talking about it together in a snowstorm.


She was a good dog. She never learned any tricks and didn't always come when called, but we lived harmoniously with her. When we were new in the woods and I often came home late and had to walk the last quarter mile in the dark, she would be there waiting for me in the driveway. She was a darn good dog.

Commitment

I've had a fair amount in trouble in life trying to distinguish a whim from a calling. I'm finding that to hear a calling you have to make yourself quiet. Free from the noise of your head (daily work, resentment, fear, anger, ...) and the noise of your environment (machines, TV, email, ...)

When you ignore a whim, it goes away leaving only what trace you attached to it. When you ignore a calling, though, you end up getting sick, spiritually, mentally and physically. This is the belly of the whale, where I've been many times.

A few weeks ago I had something of a whale-belly experience as a result of my anxiety and short-sightedness about this house. Sometimes this project is so big that I allow my worry machine to get control. I find myself reading how-to material whenever I have free time, often when I should be sleeping. My wake-up call this time came in the form of a strained back muscle, which for a few days made even yawning sharply painful.

After some consultation with Erica, a jump in Lake Superior, some prayers and the abundance of friends, family and music I enjoy here I am still feeling a ton of pressure. I have just learned again that I can ride it and not be consumed by it.

The landing at the back door is done as of yesterday, and the arch door is very nearly hung. The door is taking so much time. I sure hope it works!



Here's one of two flying squirrels we released in an old abandoned cabin at the end of November. This one is eating snow. A moment after this picture was taken he 'flew' over to a nearby tree and then climbed way up the tree and flew into the woods. His spouse went into the house.
They had been nesting under our bed inside the floor. It's much quieter at night now.