Luna, the frisbee-obsessed maniac she was, would chase those discs relentlessly across the sandy football-field-sized area of the Kent dog park. My entire body exerted itself in hurling the disc, and I found myself counting in sheer amazement. There were days when I swore I reached 100 throws, yet Luna, my sweet Australian Cattle Dog, would never let it show, except for her tongue thick and hanging to the left or right side of her mouth.
Evelyn’s similar, with her “Wanna play?” accompanied by a lively hop and a “Tada” smile. Whether it’s at 7 am, then again at 7:30, and at 8 am, the question comes and continues to come even when a blanket covers her tired body at bedtime. The tenacity and never-quit attitude are admirable life skills, but at times, I wish there was a volume dial.
As Shania Twain’s vinyl spins, I’m feeling sappy and nostalgic gazing around our cabin at the meaningful items that fill it. A Christmas cactus that’s grown immensely from a cutting from my late Grandma’s plant, a hand-carved mushroom gift from friends, a sweet $5 thrift store sign stating, “Love grows best in little houses with fewer walls to separate, where you eat and sleep so close together you can’t help but communicate. And if we had more room between us, think of all we’d miss. Love grows best in houses just like this,” and the pristine 1950s toaster and blender added.
Despite the initial excitement over the idea of renting out this place for extra income, I decided to block all future dates on Airbnb. While the property taxes, electricity, and some income were beneficial, the few but loud-to-me negative experiences overshadowed the majority of appreciative guests. I say loud-to-me because I don’t think Dave’s had the same reaction, to him they’re water over a duck’s back.
The allure of the beach drew me in, and I found myself lying in the middle of the shore, surrounded by a vast light blue sky. The chilly temperature, less than 50 degrees, required me to bundle up in a sweater, a thick black hooded coat, and woolly-like pajama pants. The higher-than-most tide of 11 feet left the sand lightly damp, prompting a shorter than I preferred stay.
As I wrap up these writings, the lingering feeling that there must be something more nags at me. Yet, as it turns out, there isn’t. So, with the intention of getting “Christmas Vacation” in before the big day, I bid you goodnight. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 