Far, but Close - Our Nepali Family

Today it is raining. That's not rare for this part of the world, but it is less common during this time of year; summer is when The Land of Many Waters actually dries out a little. Nevertheless, I am happy for today's rain. I transplanted some lettuce starts* a couple of days ago, and the rain is helping them adjust to their new homes. When you plant or transplant, damp soil for a few days afterward is a must. It helps the roots get established and makes a big difference in the success of that plant for the rest of its life. Starts need a good start, you might say.

*Starts are what you call plants before you feed them to the slugs - I mean, put them in the garden.

On this drippy day, I reread a letter I received recently, from a friend who lives in the faraway beautiful land of Nepal.

Nepal, can we just?

 I mean, look at the...

And what about all the... 

Nepal is one of my favorite places to daydream about visiting. I want to know as much about it as possible. If you feel the same way, get happy, because I am about to drop some relevant current information, and make an exciting announcement.

See, it's raining there now too. Only that is to be expected during this time of year. Now is when Nepal is experiencing their monsoon season, which means they are getting eighty percent of their annual rainfall over the period of a few months. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Plant something, Nepal!

Turns out they already thought of that, thousands of years ago. To the Nepali people living in agricultural areas, this time of year also means it's time to get out there and transplant some rice seedlings.

Not only do rice starts need their soil to be kept wet after being moved, but full-on standing water is its favorite place to be. These rice beds, which are all tiny flood plains unto themselves, are called paddies.

But, in case you're about to feel sorry for Nepalis, spending their summer break planting rice in a monsoon, don't. Because they are having a blast. This is when people have fun together, working together, singing, splashing each other with the muddy water, and enjoying rice pudding. It's a weeks-long holiday, called  Ropai Jatra.

Let me back up a little. Here's Nepal on the map.

 I don't know about you, but I have always been interested in yonder lands. Sometimes I have had the opportunity to travel to them, but most of the time, I have to learn about them by reading, looking at photos, and talking to people who visited them, or live in them, if possible. The only way I have come to know anything about Nepal has been through my correspondence with a man named Dhruba, and his wife, Manita.

Let me back up a little more, to ten years ago, in the windswept little coastal town of Lincoln city. Geza was working for Oregon Coast Community College, manning their math lab for long shifts in the evening. One night, a lady came to him, asking for help with her math homework. That was his job, so he got right to it. Eventually, they were conversing about how the woman had just returned from a visit to Nepal. She was working with young man there, helping him establish a school, where orphans would receive an education. The man, named Dhruba, was an orphan, all grown up, and wanting to do something to benefit kids like him. He believed in giving a good start to the tough but tender little sprouts in his village. Reading, writing, sweaters, soup, someone to take them out for rice pudding: all help a little one get a good beginning in life. The woman helped him and the school they created was given her last name: Yardley Nepal Himalayas School.

When Geza expressed his long-held interest in Nepal, she said, "You should get in touch with Dhruba!"  They exchanged email information, and life went on.

That's where it all started. We began a little family-to-young-man email pen pal correspondence with Dhruba Dhamala. At first, he told us about his area, cultural events, and his thoughts on life, and I shared in kind. Years went by. We lost touch for periods of time, but would always reconnect and catch up. He met and married a woman named Manita, and they had a daughter and recently a son. Manita runs her own micro-lending organization. a unique service to women in her area, who cannot apply for loans from men in their own name.

We grew much closer, sending photos, and mail. The Dhamala family has come to be part of our family. We encourage each other, and each of us does more in our own lives because of this friendship we share. We know about each other, we have similar goals in this life, and the more we learn about each other, the richer we become.

This is why I am honored to announce that we are beginning a new partnership with Dhruba's Yardley Nepal Himalayas School. Sister schools! A sister school partnership is when two schools, usually  far from each other geographically, agree to become almost like family to each other. They stay in touch, share cultural information, and resources. We're going to form such a relationship, ignoring for the moment that we aren't quite a real school. They are gracious enough to overlook that little technicality, and we thank them for their patience as we grow and find our way.

I haven't spoken much about it, but in my mind is a seed of hope that our crazy little operation here, known as Backyard University, might actually some day move to a larger piece of land, so that it could become an educational resource, accessible to anyone who wants to visit. For that journey, I decided I wanted partners. I asked Dhruba to be in a sister school partnership with us, and he accepted. From here, wherever we go, they are going with us. We'll be in touch via phone, and email. We'll share information about our respective areas, which will become the foundation of lessons learned here. When we post anything related to this facet of our lives, it will be under the heading: Yardley Nepal Himalayas School. And, as always, Facebook is a good place to see the little things that happen, day-to-day.

This alliance energizes me! Rest assured, I still have no idea what I'm doing here, but I have a feeling it's going to be grand for all involved.

I mean, how could you not feel good about an endeavor, when this crew has your back?

The Muddy Kitchen: Eternal Flame

You know how some moms feel about tulips and daffodils? All in love with the gardeny goodness of a fleeting dramatic set of blooms? Well, that's how I get in June when my Egyptian Walking Onions do their thing.

This top-setting onion is hardy and, in some cases, can take over a space. Our big bed started with just one little plant, purchased at a farmer's market, five years ago. I've never pitchforked the bed to harvest the whole plant. Just snipped the green parts off when I needed them, and waited patiently for summer, when the tops of the green spears explode in  purple clusters, replete with flowery, snaky antennae, bending in all sorts of directions. I guess this is why they have the name, Egyptian Walking Onions, because all of those kooky spirals reminded someone out there of The Bangles.

In the past, I have always planted the bulbs that form at the top of each plant, in the little spaces left in the bed. I was building up my beds so that I would have more every year. This was a special year because the beds are full and most of the bulbs are available to harvest. Finally! I get to see what weird tastes like!

After beheading, pulling apart bulbs, and skinning them, I put them into sterilized canning jars, with a hefty sprinkle of cumin seeds, a few slices of jalapeno pepper, a minced mustard leaf, and a few tablespoons of minced parsley. Then, I poured in a boiling hot brine solution to cover.

Here's the recipe, brought to a boil, stirred to dissolve, over medium heat:

1 1/2 c. white vinegar

1/4 c. pickling salt

1/3 c. sugar

This sealed jar is sitting, several inches underwater, in a boiling pot right now. I'll take it out in about thirty minutes, let it cool, and wait a couple of weeks before opening it. I'm not one to predict the future, but I bet I'll be humming Eternal Flame when that big moment arrives.

Tails and Tiding: Peace Snout

There is no easy way to say this, our pig died. Tofu, the fairest lady of the land, suddenly fell ill and passed away last week, leaving all of us humans feeling somewhat shocked and bereft. It was a hard week, but I refuse to dwell on that one slice of her life, when the rest of what we got to enjoy was so magical.

It all started when Henry wanted a pig. I searched on craigslist and petfinder for a potbelly in need of a home. We came across a young male for sale, by the name of Bacon. We were looking for a she-pig, so we moved on, adopting from an animal shelter in Washington. Still, Henry was inspired by Bacon's name. He decided the vegetarian's equivalent pig moniker should be, Tofu.

She charmed all who met her. She feared no dog. She ate with gusto and napped like she was getting paid to do it. When I'd open the back door of the house, she usually made her way to the gate of her yard, grunting softly. Even if I was busy, I made a point of bringing her something to eat, and giving the top of her head a little scratch. She was my friend. Strange, but true. She also loved to spend time with Geza when he worked in the yard. She spoke in low grunts, circling him and eventually flopping over in the dust for a nice sun-drenched bellyrub. Thomas, George, and Mae also visited her frequently, bringing a snack, and a brush, for quality time. She was always gentle and comical.

She loved her boy, Henry, most of all. When her goat companion, Inez, passed away, Henry slept next to her, in a straw pile in her stall, for the first couple of nights. From her, he learned real responsibility. He learned to get up every morning, not because anyone is forcing you to, but because you love a pig who is waiting for you to feed her breakfast. He considered her feelings, and stepped up to the plate when it was time to train her, weigh her, and call the vet. She was his pig.

They say death is a part of life, and they're right.  I know it's a part of life, but it's one of my least favorite parts. I can't help it. This death was rather sudden and confusing, so it feels wrong, somehow. I know some take comfort in a belief that death only affects our earthly bodies, and that an unseen part of us lives forever after we pass away. I am not one of those people. I take comfort in the fact that Tofu was returned to the dirt, where she will feed the flora and fauna of the soil. She munched the grass as a pig, and now that her life is over, she'll become the grass, and the bugs, and the birds

I'll always wish we had more time together. That sadness may be inevitable, but suddenly saying good-bye to someone you cherish has its purpose. Let this remind us that it is important to lavish loved ones with affection, to forgive petty grievances with others, and to hug our chickens. Carpe Chickens.

Same Old Story

Lately, I've been thinking about Everything in the Universe. I find it interesting, and somewhat comforting, that Everything in the Universe has always been here, and will always be here. It has been said in different ways before: There's nothing new under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 1:9-14 NIV), or Matter and energy are neither created nor destroyed, only converted.. If you think one thing ends, and another thing begins, it's just your mind connecting some dots, but not others.

I'm not just talking about physics and the world of scientific observing. Although, how cool is it that the very molecules that comprise your very self right now, were jettisoned from exploding stars, and have been bouncing around the whole universe since it started? Answer: pretty cool.

What got me thinking about this was a few events and interests our family has enjoyed lately. Geza, Henry, Thomas and I recently finished The Hunger Games trilogy, for one. Each night, we'd gather around the laptop and read a new chapter in the adventure of Katniss and Co. as they weathered the abuses of the Capitol. It may not be for everyone, but we found it gave us a lot to talk about.

A trip to Portland to see Spirited Away, at the NW Film Center, was our second escapade in entertainment, and the whole family took part.

 Studio Ghibli productions will always have a special place in the BU DVD collection. As a family, we have enjoyed Ponyo,

  Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind, Howl's Moving Castle, 

Princess Mononoke, The Secret World of Arietty, The Cat Returns, Pom Poko and a few more.

You get it, we're major fans. Spirited Away is the tale of a young heroine who enters a magical, sometimes confusing, world and must figure out the best way home.

Read that description of Spirited Away one more time, please. A young heroine who enters a magical confusing, blah blah blah, you can read it. It's just right up there, about an inch up. Okay, the reason I wanted to emphasize the description of the plot of Spirited Away is because it is like the plot of many many stories that have all been around for a long long time. Hello? Alice in Wonderland? Which, really, is appealing to people for the same reason the original story of all stories, Homer's Odyssey, will always be required reading. People love a story about someone like themselves, bravely navigating an uncertain future. We get swept up in the saga because we see it in our own lives. This means, as long as there have been people, there have been stories, and they have all pretty much been the same.

Sometimes, we don't want to see the similarities too plainly; we're always on the lookout for something that seems unique. For some reason, the relative age of the influence seems to determine whether someone is inspired, or copying. Suzanne Collins, author of The Hunger Games trilogy, has been criticized and is even being sued, because her work bears some resemblance to the plot of another, earlier book, Battle Royale. The similarity of some of the stories' elements is undeniable. Here's the thing though, Collins claims she did not know about Battle Royale when she wrote her story, but that she did lift the idea for her books from another work, Greek myth, Theseus and the Minotaur.

Who knows what Collins knew and when she knew it? I'm more interested in the fact that those who cry plagarist! over her book resembling a recent work, can't say a word about her admission that she borrowed from something much older. To me, that shows that we are able to understand that all of the stories we tell are going to resemble each other in some way.

Does anyone point out the fact that Battle Royale's premise flows from the time-honored diversion of the gladiator arena? No, because there's no patent on that concept, it's a basic human behavior. Watching people duke it out for sport not only will always be fun to people, but it will produce a visible line between those who are the gladiator and those who are the spectator, and how all of that is determined in a society. The Hunger Games, a little thing known as Reality Television, films like The Running Man and Series 7, nearly every sporting event to take place, ever; they all employ the same device and illustrate truths about who we are.. Does all of that similarity invalidate what they have to say, if anything? Hardly! It's up to you, the reader, or watcher, to sort out how these elements are arranged, in order to see what the artist is trying to impart.  What's the message? Can I use it?  What inspired this? Would I like it too? When it comes down to it, whether a work looks like an homage, or a rip-off, is in the eye of the beholder.

Back to the world of catbuses and soot sprites; if you watch a Studio Ghibli production, you will see plenty of the improbable, find it fecund with the fantastical, and overflowing with oodles of originality. It's interesting that Hayao Miyazaki, a major force at Studio Ghibli, brazenly cops to copycatting. What? Yes!

It's hard for me to fathom, but if one wished, they could sit in the NW Film Center, watching a cantankerous sorceress make life hard for Chichiro, and grumble "I liked her better the first time I saw her, when she was called THE QUEEN OF HEARTS."

*If you do feel the need to do that, please, grumble quietly. Inside voices, hands to yourself, and still feet.


 Maybe Miyazaki gets it too? Ponyo is his take on The Little Mermaid, Spirited Away: Alice in Wonderland, and The Secret World of Arietty, a remake of The Borrowers. Here are his own words on the matter:

 “In our work, the question is, how much you absorb from others. So for me, creativity, is really like a relay race. As children we are handed a baton. Rather than passing it onto the next generation as is, first we need to digest it and make it our own.”

Man, I just love that, but that's just me, and I didn't always feel this way. I used to resent when things resembled other things. Now, I seek out the origins of my favorite books, movies, and music, which were certainly inspired by other stories and songs, and that goes on for as long as we've been here. In discovering what influenced something you find special, you travel through space and time to the minds of all of the people who ever made anything.

I encourage you to take that journey, and to create..I mean, convert  something of your own as well.

365 TV-Free Activities: Final Episode

It seems like just yesterday, but yesterday marked one whole year since we took up the gauntlet. We began our challenge to work our way through the book, 365 TV-Free Activities, by Steve and Ruth Bennett. We had highs! We had lows. We were running a week or more behind for most of the year, but darn it, we finished a few days early.

For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about: Hi, nice to meet you. I have a blog where I attempt to make sense of our loony ways, and we've been doing an activity per day, from the same battered little book, all year. Read more about the introduction of this idea here.

There were times when it felt a little grueling to come up with supplies, energy, and the technical wherewithal to accomplish, document, and publish each activity, but we rose to the challenge and are better for it. The younger two kids were greatly enriched by all of the hands-on nature and art activities, as well as spending time with the older two, who were in turn enriched by spending time with their younger siblings. It was like a big ole' circle of enrichment.

But, something else happened to make this experience better than anyone could have predicted. Henry and Thomas showed themselves to be budding sketch writers/ directors/ performers. They relished every step of the process, coming up with ideas, gathering props, setting the stage, even storyboarding in some cases. And of course, their filming adventures would always produce a few outtakes, which made me and their dad laugh harder than any other time during the year. I hope it was fun for those following us on Facebook.

Speaking of which, if it weren't for our friends out there in the land of the internet, we'd just look like a bunch of dorks with a beat-up activity book, a camera, and too much time on our hands. So thank you, for reading, posting, encouraging us, and playing along.

I give you, our final submission. Look for the wacky alternative ending version on Facebook.

Laundry: Losing It!

The Laundry, it is winning.

Or, it was winning; let me back up.

We're a big family, and we get our clothes on the cheap, mostly through generous handers-downers, and thrift stores. This can lead to a Say Yes To Everything That Isn't Stained Or Holey policy, which, when you never stop having children, leads to a gigantic mountain of laundry.

You might say, "Launder your mountain, woman!", but why would you? Did you ever stop to think of how strange that sounds? Anyway, I did that. That's when it became a giant mountain of clean laundry on my bed. Here's where we get to the awkward business of folding and putting on hangers and placing into dressers and closets. I have no defense. I have done it, many many many many times, and I will do it, many many many many times, but on this scale, that solution is simply not an option. If the lives of everyone I dearly love depended on me effectively and regularly storing our clean laundry in little configured stacks, there would have been a massive Laszlo family tragedy sometime back in '05, when I became a mother of three, while simultaneously having enough clothing to dress a small army.

Then this little nut came along, with her thing for dresses, triggering everyone's desire to give me new pink flowery laundry.

Game: Over

Here was the scene each night: Geza and I finish watching a movie or TV, and head upstairs to go to sleep, but not before hoisting armful after armful of clean laundry from our bed to the eight, or so, empty laundry baskets, waiting in front of our dresser. When we need clothes throughout the day, we pick up a basket, toss it on the bed and paw through it, repeating if necessary, until we find what we're looking for. By the end of the day, most of the mountain is transferred back to the bed again, ready for another pre-sleep heavy lifting session.

I laugh, to keep from crying.

 I make a duck face, to keep from laughing.

My problem wasn't that I could never get a handle on it. Just that I could never keep the handle. I WAS ALWAYS LOSING THE HANDLE!

Well, not anymore. I got X-treme. I spread a large flat sheet on my living room floor and collected every single bit of laundry, clothing, linens, whathaveyou, and piled it there. The only fabric in the house was either being worn by one of us, used as bedding, hanging from a curtain rod, in the process of being laundered, or part of my magical growing fabric pile, which is a blog post for another day.

I decided, we're going on vacation from this ludicrous way of living, and living in another, completely different, much more ludicrous way, temporarily. For two months we're only wearing a small percentage of our clothing. I "packed" a week or so's worth of clothes for us to use exclusively, put away the rest of what we all really like in giant storage boxes, and gave away the rest. Or tossed it, or reused it, or a little of both.

For sixty days, we'll live off of what I "packed," and after that, we'll go through the stored stuff and see what deserves to stay, and what is getting evicted.

We're about two weeks in and let me tell you, it's heaven. I scoop up much lighter piles of laundry now, and am so much quicker to switch out the loads in the washer and dryer, and fold and hang up and put away.

There's just one glitch, as far as I can tell: we can't find any of our clothes.  Most of them seem to have disappeared. I was looking for pajamas for Mae the other day, dumped a basket of towels and socks on the bed, looked around, looked on the floor, in the closets, in the washer and dryer, and then, started to feel really stupid for hiding all of our clothes from us. I think I need to take another pass at things.

Nevertheless, I feel free.  Sure, I'm sitting here in tights and a trenchcoat, wondering where all my clothes went, and who knows how far into this sixty days it will be before we find a shirt for Henry. This situation might take some tweaking, some getting used to, but I'll take it over living in the shadow of Laundry Mountain. Perhaps, at the end of this little experiment, I'll be in such a state of bliss at having abundant jeans and t-shirts again, I'll lovingly and diligently fold them into little shapes and store them in boxes full of sliding boxes, forever. Anything is possible in this crazy world of ours.

Our Year in Bits and Pieces

The BU is almost a year old! Twelve months of recipes, antics, activities, and churning, newspaper-lined, twisting, twelve-speed, relentless, loud, paint-splattered learning. Learning is more than a school activity, it's an approach to life that never gives up. It's your little way of saying that no matter what comes your way, you will gain something from it. Life becomes a job never finished. If you're like me, you find that rewarding.

In moments like this, I look back on the last little chunk of time and admire how all of the little pieces fit together. Sometimes a few events just seem to flow into each other and, in a moment of reflection, the thing as a whole seems more significant.*

*Here's where some exercise their spiritual side, and find answers in religion or philosophy. We are not officially guided by any belief system, as a family. Each of the students of the BU is free to decide which truths ring truest to them as they grow up.

I'll start with the movie, Wasteland.  It's on Netflix's Instant Watch list. It's not rated. I'd recommend an adult watch it before deciding whether a kid they're in charge of should watch it. It is an uplifting documentary, but the people it follows are living hard lives, and their stories can get gritty.

In it, artist Vik Muniz brings change into the lives of Brazilian dump dwellers, called catadores. Inspired and aided by these people who make their living sorting recyclable materials, he uses his talent to earn money for them, while shining a light on the dignity with which they face each day. He photographs portraits of catadores; images made from the recyclable materials they gather.

 He then sells photographs of these portraits and returns the money to the catadores, along with their own copy of the portrait. This film left lingering notions, in my head, of moving things around, collecting many small simple things into one larger effort. A good idea and a bit of art can go a long way toward making the world a better place.

Not long after that, Japan was hit with an extremely destructive tsunami, and endured weeks of radiation contamination, and looming threat of nuclear disaster. The news was heart-breaking  and my thoughts were often with the people there. An organization called Students Rebuild announced an art project for the people of the world. Paper cranes: fold 'em, send 'em.  Take your sadness, your empathy, your healing, your compassion, your hope and your love and make it into creased little bits of paper and mail them in. Each crane brings them a couple of dollars in donation money, and will be used in an art installation.  Henry and I each made one and mailed them.

We meant to make many more, and did make a few more, but only two actually got mailed before the cut-off date. Just two little cranes, carrying all of our best wishes for the people affected by the disaster.

People everywhere, mostly children, made and sent cranes to Students Rebuild. They received millions of cranes. Then, you guessed it, Vik Muniz got involved!

Using his trademark style, he arranged the cranes into this image, photographed it, and copies of the poster earn more money to help finance the reconstruction efforts.

 His involvement with this project reignited my desire to find more little things to do, either as a gesture, a lesson, a solution to a problem, or all three.

Which brings me to Kiva. Kiva is an organized database of microlenders and their potential borrowers. Somebody with relatively little money ($25 plus a few bucks in fees) can pick a person, read their business plan, and help finance it. All the little bits of money come together to make a real boost in the dreams of someone out there. I decided we'd start cashing in our cans and saving the odd nickel and penny we see here and there, and bring it all together.

 I made this chart to keep track of each dollar we stored in a tin bucket on a high shelf.

It was tempting not to take a five dollar bill and throw it in the jar, just to speed things along. I really wanted to get to that $25 mark by Christmas, but I stayed patient and we gathered the money slowly. Up until a few weeks ago, we were holding steady at $20.  Then, one day, Henry tried on a coat I bought him at a thrift store, put his hand in the pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. Try that with your "new" "clothes"! We added the money to the jar, deposited it in the bank, and picked our borrower. Good luck Etienne!

And let's not forget our Puppy Adventures, which are mostly over now.

Right before Thanksgiving, with a huge storm blowing, a pregnant young dog found herself suddenly without a home. Our local shelter picked her up and issued a request on Facebook, looking for someone who would foster her through her pregnancy and the weaning of her puppies. It would be a commitment of attention and care for several months. I talked it over with the family and we contacted the shelter.

 She arrived the next day. We named her Holly, and she proceeded to charm our family and fill our Christmas with eight beautiful puppies.For a month, she was in charge of them. After that, she started to feed them less and seem less interested in them. We had hoped she might stay with us, but being in a house with puppies she was no longer feeding seemed to make her restless. We tried hard to make it work, but Holly needed to move on. She went back to the shelter, and has been adopted by a lady in a nearby town. We'll always love her and think of her.

The puppies stayed here,

and grew up so that they could move on to new homes of their own.

When you tell people you're hosting a litter of puppies, people always say, "What a great learning opportunity for the kids! It will be so good for them to be around a litter of puppies!" That's very true, like a lot of things people always say. The puppies also learned a lot, from Mae.

They learned songs. They learned that the little one is the one who makes you wish you never even heard of being picked up. They learned to wun, and wun and wun. In Puppy School, Headmistress Mae ruled with a chubby iron fist, and all puppies did frolic with a diligent pursuit of excellence.

Holly and her puppies brought us innumerable lessons of immeasurable worth. A pregnant dog is science in action. The older two boys collaborated on a paper, outlining the needs of a pregnant dog, complete with correct terminology. They felt Holly's belly, as puppies squirmed and kicked inside of her, giggling with anticipation. We can't wait for you to get here puppies! and the puppies say, "Oh kids, you have no idea how much we can't wait to play with you too." They lived up to that promise. Once they were able, they gave each kid a lesson.

When Holly did go into labor, we gave her space, but Henry watched over my shoulder as one of her puppies slid into the world and drew its first breath. It takes a lot for a modern hip teenage boy to stare agape and whisper "Wow", but that moment did it. When they were bigger and more playful, they taught Thomas a thing or two about being energetic and exuberant, two things he wrote the proverbial book on.

George.

George is a unique kid. He's very smart, and deeply sweet, but he doesn't talk much. As someone who spends a lot of time with kids, I can tell he's not like his older brothers were at this age (6).  I know I could train him to behave more like some people expect him to act, but his marvelous little personality makes me think. Maybe there's not that much around him that makes him feel the way we think we feel about everything. Maybe he knows his family loves him, and that's good. He doesn't need to think about whether he loves us back. He's looking for something more interesting to do.

Enter: the puppies. From the second they arrived, the puppies have been interesting to George. He was always near when we got them out to hold them, and despite the fact that they were wiggly and sometimes scratchy or bitey he kept coming back for more. He loves them. He said so.

As they grew, he was allowed to pick them up and carry them more. He did, and cuddled them for naps, wrote their names, read to them, proclaimed his love for them, talked to them and talked to us about them. He also counted them, and learned to tell which gender they were.

One day, when I was reading in a chair, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked back to see George, smiling at me. I scooped him up onto my lap, hugged him, and thought about how that had never happened before. I believe those puppies inspired him to feel affectionate. They motivated him to keep hugging and holding in spite of their weird wiggling spontaneity. Once he enjoyed sharing warmth with something he loved, he brought that discovery to me, because he loves me and he knows I love him. It was an unforseen benefit to bringing together some of life's little misfits and cast-aways, cleaning up after them, and hoping for the best.

Speaking of unforseen benefits, when I read that Facebook notice, asking for a home for Holly and her puppies, I never could have guessed it would make this friend from forever ago and far away come all the way out here to visit us and take one of the puppies home!

Do you see the icing in this photo? Because it was on the cake. Pure extra fun, hanging out, visiting the dump, and chowing down at the Chalet. It was a big deal for Leah to come to Oregon, she has a family at home in New Mexico. Still, she seemed to agree with me, that Holly was special, and that her first born girl, Judy, might be worth the trip.

We are puppy sisters, because one of the other daughters of Holly is staying here at the BU. We're calling her Zelda and she's a student for life, right here where she was born.

 She fits in well with our family of humans, dogs, cats and pig. We're keeping her away from the chickens for now.

It might be a little late for this confession, but I kind of have no idea what I'm doing here. I didn't decide to pull my kids out of school and start a blog and watch a movie and do some origami and cash in some cans and take in a pregnant dog and call all of it a school year. That would have been crazy. Yet, that's what ended up happening. I liked it and intend to keep it up.

Whatever you want to call it, there's something that compels each of us to see our lives the way we do and make the choices we make. And, though events that unfold don't seem to have our constant happiness in mind, each tiny moment is a whole new chance at life; like a little piece of paper, a discarded aluminum can, or a silly puppy. What you do with these little bits and pieces makes a big difference.