I’ve spent the evening curled up in the bedroom with two small dogs keeping me company, and a thunderstorm beyond the window. We slept late today, then I got up and puttered on my computer, cleaned the kitchen, and made a grocery list, and returned to bed because it was soft and comfortable, and sometimes you just have to have a completely lazy day.

Besides, the dogs are happier when we’re both in one location. It’s all about the dogs.

Last night, over a post-midnight snack of peanut butter on multi-grain toast and chilled apple cider, Fuzzy and watched an hour of Meerkat Manor on Animal Planet. I like the meerkats, because they’re small, fluffy, mischievous, and remind me of chihuahuas. Fuzzy likes the meerkats because he’s a closet ferret fan (we talked about getting ferrets when we lived in SoDak, but never did, which is good because we couldn’t have brought them to California with us).

Ferrets are legal in Texas, and I confess, I love them, too, but chihuahuas share terrier traits when it comes to small squeaky animals, and MissCleo’s part Staffie, and is pretty good at going to ground, so we can’t have them.

Anyway, we were watching the meerkats, and after Fuzzy saved me from accidentally enabling closed captioning, I found out that while I only watch the show when there’s NOTHING else on, he apparently knew it well enough to miss Flower, the previous matriarch of the Whiskers clan.

Me, I just wanted to know if meerkats were related to ferrets or not. (They’re not. Nor are they cats. They’re a variety of mongoose.)

Later, I had to explain to Fuzzy who Riki-Tiki-Tavi was.

Anyway, we slept away the day, napping, and talking and playing with the dogs, and then we got up, bought dog food, wild bird seed, and went for Chinese food (it wasn’t very good) and then grocery shopping, where I bought new measuring spoons to replace the ones that Fuzzy ran through the garbage disposal, but I noticed that the new sets no longer come with 1/8 teaspoon, and that’s one of the ones that were mangled.

Not that you should really have to measure 1/8 of a teaspoon. It’s just a pinch. Go with your instincts.

And then we came home.

And he packed for his trip tomorrow.

And I blogged, and watched the musical version of Legally Blonde (again) and am now watching the original movie, and soon, very soon, we will turn out the lights and sleep.

Which is fine.
Because it’s been an easy Sunday.
And sleep really is the best way to end one of those.

I’ve been watching the second-season DVD’s of Forever Knight this week, and really enjoying the commentary from James Parriot, Geraint Wyn Davies and Nigel Bennett, especially the latter.

Bennett, in commentary, seems to be enjoying the show as much as his character, Lucien LaCroix ever enjoyed biting into a pretty girl’s neck, and his insights go beyond things like direction and casting to talking about things like how the crew used to like keeping the camera angles off-level (he called it “wonkizing” – making everything wonky) and how they seemed to enjoy lighting just little bits of his face during the radio booth scenes where he would be uttering a Nightcrawler monologue.

He also mentioned that when the show was canceled, they auctioned off the set pieces, and he now owns three of the torch lamps from the alternate version of Natalie’s apartment used in the Alice in Wonderland tribute episode, “Curiouser and Curiouser.”

Is it wrong that I enjoy the commentary more than the actual episodes, sometimes?

In my studio, I have turned the closet doors into my “inspiration wall” where I hang things that make me smile, motivate me, remind me that even though writing is an insular job, there is still a world beyond my doors that I must take the time to actively participate in.

It changes as the seasons change, currently sporting a collection of blank cards I bought when they were first sold at Barnes and Noble, post cards from friends, engagement announcements from friends and family that I found prettier or more interesting than conventional formats, a calendar, a couple of bumper stickers, and a gift bag full of…stuff…on each door knob (one has a collection of post-it note pads gleaned from years in the mortgage industry – never turn away free post-its).

I glance at the inspiration doors, and never think to comment on the symbolism of them being, you know, doors.

But I guess there’s some deeper meaning there, after all, beyond a glossy white surface waiting to be filled.

MissCleo’s bark alerts me to movement, not within our house, or even on our property, but on the sidewalk across the street. The sounds of another dog yipping, a man hushing it, a babyish giggle, waft through my open door, and I move from the kitchen to peer out the dining room window.

We live in a walking neighborhood. Tree-lined safe streets, where kids play basketball or street hockey in their driveways, and enthusiasm for holiday decorating are two of the things that struck me as positive when we were looking for our house. At any given daylight or twilight moment, someone is out walking.

Early mornings, the parade of dogs on leashes comes down the street, each one happy for their fifteen or twenty minutes of time outside the ubiquitous six-foot-tall wooden privacy fences that shield our back yards. Midmorning, the older women. Not OLD old, just older-than-me (less so every year) in their bermuda shorts and white sneakers, waling in pairs, and often sporting tennis visors or straw hats adorned with flowers.

Afternoons, and sometimes weekend mornings like today, bring the young parents. Mothers pushing strollers are common during the week, while today MissCleo has me noticing the guy across the street, dragged by his dog, carrying his child in one of those hands-free baby slings, enjoying the day despite the overcast sky.

No doubt his wife is enjoying a few minutes of time free of both child and football.

It’s a grey day outside my windows, but it’s not the grey of an impending storm so much as a day that seems somehow muted, shrouded. Or maybe that’s just how I’m choosing to see the world, today.

I came home from a day of beautification and book-browsing to an email informing me a cousin had died. I didn’t have a particularly close relationship with her; she is my mother’s generation, after all, and while I’m sad for her family, I also know she’d been fighting serious kidney disease, in and out of hospitals, for much of her life. Her death is an end to that, and end to her pain and her struggle. If death can be a balm, this one is.

She did not “pass” and she is not “gone,” and we did not “lose” her. I hate those words. She was not taking a test, she remains very much present in our hearts and minds, and she is not an object to be misplaced like a stray ring of keys. I hate that people are afraid of death. In the garden of life, as in any garden, there has to be death to complete the cycle. A flower must start from a seed, bloom, grow, wither, die, and return to the soil to offer nutrients to the next flower.

Mind you, I don’t think we should actively seek death, except in the case of terminal illness, because it seems to me that to do so is to give up.

I don’t believe in giving up.

But I do believe that sometimes you have to rest, and today, I see the grey sky as a resting state.
Soft clouds.
Balmy breeze.
A hint of coming change.
A whisper of winter far down the road.
Pencil strokes of thoughts, rather than bold declarations in fat black ink.

Grey.

The thing about all the writing about cars that I do for work is that it’s turned me from someone who knew the difference between an SUV and a sub-compact, and was capable (if not always willing) of changing a tire, or even changing oil, into someone who actually notices different makes and spouts trivia about them.

“Oh, that’s an Audi A4,” I said, when one appeared in a movie we were watching, “I just wrote an article about how Audi and BMW are using torque vectoring to enhance their stability control systems.”

Fuzzy finds this a bit annoying, and frankly I don’t blame him, so when we came across a vintage 1971 Mustang in the parking lot of Albertsons a few weeks ago, fully restored and sporting a FSBO tag with an asking price of only $7500, I didn’t mention the 2002 Mustang we’d passed on the way to the store, and I didn’t talk about how the new neo-classic muscle cars were way spiffy, but less desirable than the vintage models.

I just said, “Wow, too bad we don’t have the spare cash for this.”

He looked at me a little dubiously. “You’d never let me have this car,” he said.

“No…but I’d let US have it.”

Sometimes, I think I frighten him.

It’s twenty minutes to Friday in my time zone, and while I generally stay up til two, I’m just beat right now.

Appetizer
When was the last time you were surprised?
This morning. I logged into our bank’s website to check the status of a reimbursement check that had been held because it was over a certain amount, and found my paycheck had been wired four days early.

Soup
Fill in the blanks: My eyes are ________, but I wish they were __________.
Right now my eyes are kind of dry, but I wish they were not, and the eye drops are in the bathroom. Seriously, I like my eyes, they’re warm brown, and I’ve never wanted them to be any other color. Also, since I had LASIK five years ago, I can’t even complain about my vision. 20:20 baby!

Salad
If you were a Beanie Baby, what would you look like and what would your name be?
While I realize adults all over the world got into these things, I have zero interest in them. I also didn’t save my Barbie dolls, and my few remaining stuffed animals are on a high shelf in my studio. I may have pink hair, and pink sneakers, but I don’t do “cute.”

Main Course
Name two things you consistently do that you consider to be healthy habits.
Even if it’s just in my living room, I sing for at least half an hour every day. It’s silly, and cheesy, but it keeps me happy.
I walk the dogs at least four days a week. We should go every day, but sometimes life gets in the way. Or weather. Still, four out of seven, regularly, is good.

Dessert
What brand of toothpaste are you using these days? Do you like it? Why or why not?
At the moment, some green gel Colgate stuff with sparkly flecks in it. It’s fine. A good combination of minty freshness and tooth cleaning capabilities. In a pinch, I once used a tube of Crest bought at CCC in La Paz, BCS, Mexico, and the texture was just weird. I sort of miss the fennel flavor of Tom’s of Maine.

It finally feels truly like fall. Temperatures are cresting in the mid-eighties and cooling into the sixties at night, and there are different birds eating the seeds (and baiting MissCleo) in the back yard. As I write this, I have the air conditioning off, and the windows in the bedroom are open wide. Until the sun went down, I was watching the water in the pool reflect the sky, the trees, whatever.

Fuzzy has another trip coming up and I threatened to redecorate the living room. He’s panicked. Now, understand that when I say “redecorate,” I don’t mean that I plan to call strapping young men in cute uniforms and tool belts to install home theater lighting in my living room. I mean I might move one of the couches to a different wall, or move a lamp or two. Nothing major, just a small change.

Fuzzy is one of those people who does not embrace change well. He is also one of those people who cannot find objects that are located behind other objects. I pointed out to him that my couch-moving plan would place the back of the couch against a wall, so that nothing would be behind it. He asked me if I’d measured the space.

I do not need to measure the space to know if my couch will fit. I can look at it and tell.

At least he didn’t ask, “What wall?”

You are all invited to come hang out at CafeWriting.com where we’ve scribbled six prompts on a digital napkin.

Participate! Tell your friends!

(Direct link to October Project)