LESSONS FROM THE LITTLES

Lately, I’ve been wondering why I love children so much. Is it their innocence, their pure wisdom, their spontaneity, their ability to experience something over and over again like it was the very first time?

That last one might be the cincher. (I looked up the word cincher, just to make sure it is indeed a word. It isn’t. Unless you are talking about women’s girdles and waist nippers. That might be another reason why I like children - no need to know about such icky stuff!)  Let me restate….children’s ability to experience familiar things new each day might be a top reason for my fascination with them. Maybe why I like dogs so much too- pull out the same old leash and they think they’re going to Australia!

Our grandson Jude, comes out to the empty pasture with us when we take the dogs out for exercise. He has a plastic bat and ball there. The bat was broken ages ago from a zealous game with Pap and Uncle J. We don’t replace the bat because we get such a kick out of watching Jude pick up the bat, focus intently on the busted part and exclaim, “Oh no!”  His expression is always surprised and genuinely distressed. And then he reassures himself with the pronouncement “Pap did it!”  A pause to honor both broken bat and Pap, he then either drops the bat or plays with it as is. Like all mishaps are survivable if a loved one is remembered.  Wow, that could be a spiritual practice.

Wouldn’t it be lovely though, waking up every morning actually feeling like it’s a brand new miracle, this reuniting with Mommy and Daddy and Life, (and leash if you’re a dog). Waking up to genuine freshness and not just the ingrained, knowledge and positive coaching tip ‘this is the first day of the rest of your life.”  To eat a pancake for breakfast. And. Marvel. With. Every. Single. Bite.  Some seasons this does become an intentional spiritual practice for me- stop and literally smell the pancakes rather than wolf them down so I can eat my fair share or move on to more important events.

My favorite show as a youngster was Art Linkletter’s “Kids Say the Darndest Things.”  In the same spirit, I give you some funny stories from my own grandkids.

GIANTS and TIGERS and DRAGONS, oh my!  

Jude, Papaw, Nana and the dogs were playing in the hay pasture. Burren and Turnip were not playing, they work hard hunting mice and rabbits in the tall grasses. Papaw mowed paths in the tall grass for Jude to run and so we could occasionally see the dogs when they come out of the grass. So, the pasture is a 3-fold arrangement: We can grow hay, the grandkid can play and the dogs can hunt.

Jude's favorite pasture game is hiding in the grass while a giant, a tiger, a dinosaur and a dragon stalk him. Nana plays the giant most often, creeping up on the giggling or screeching half-frightened boy, while chanting: 

"Feeeee Fiiiiii  Fooooo FUM, I smell the hair of a little boy chum!!"

Finding the boy involves exaggerated tickling or picking up the squirming body and slinging it around, depending on Nana energy levels.

Then it's Jude's turn. He is always a dragon or a dinosaur, the scariest monsters in his toddler repertoire. I overheard this as he stalked Papaw:

"FE FI FO FUM I  mell  the PAIR  of a  PawPaw  PUM!"

The phrase has become his go to words. If he doesn’t know what to say and when he forgets ‘ready-set-go’ he just says fe fi fo fum. I love this!  When life is difficult, when I’m at a loss for words, when I’m gearing up for something I could just chant: fe fi fo fum, lookout world, here I come.

                     

ADRENALINE RUSH

When Jude tires of monster hiding games, he calls the dogs. Their crashing out of the tall grass is as much an adrenaline rush as a monster finding him.

"TUR   ERRRRP!"  (Turnip)

"BURRRR DEN!"  (Burren)

Jude stands calling, fist clutching treats held high above his head. He waits, calls, whole body trembling in scary anticipation. Suddenly, Turnip explodes out of the grass, skids into a sit in front of Jude's tiny body. It's almost a strike, Turnip is bowling ball to Jude’s pin-anticipating-knockdown. The treat is given amid squeals and laughter. Then Burren's head is seen above the grasses as she hops her way toward Jude for more squealing and treat giving.

                                                                   

LAUGHING COWS

All my grandchildren ask for laughing cheese. They eat plain, unsweetened, crunchy sour dough rye crackers with Laughing Cow cheese spread. They always see the tiny picture of the laughing cow and allow themselves to be delighted! They eat my rye crackers like some people eat potato chips, just because long ago I said they wouldn’t like them. Often when they are cranky, they ask for laughing cheese. My spiritual director once told me life always offers something to help us get through the difficulties. Thank God for laughing cows.

                                                                               

GROSS

During sleepovers, Ave and Rae always beg to watch me use my water pik. I am shy with my oral hygiene, so I try to weasel out of doing it in front of them. Once, overly tired, I made up some lame excuse, “I don’t have to do this every night.” (Apparently, Nana’s not above fibbing). That particular night, Avery had been grossed out by Railynn’s brushing and spitting out bits of rye cracker – can’t imagine how she’d handle watching pieces of a steak dinner swirl down the drain. But, the begging and pestering drowned my better judgment and I water picked my teeth for them. Avery’s little face wrinkled with horrified fascination. Then, with utmost care and concern she leaned in to whisper.

“Oh Nana, I really think you should do this more often.”

                                               

BEAT BOREDOM

Jude entertains himself (and us!) by singing in the car:

Trickel Trickel liddle dar,

How I whender wat you are.

Up above the Di Mond in da Guy,

Trickel Trickel liddle dar

How I whender wat you are.

                                                                                               

SOFT AS ANGELS

Avery steps in my shoes with her bare feet.

“Ahhh. Nana, you’re shoes are soft as angel clouds.” Then stepping out, my cushioned insert sticks to her foot. “What the heck is this?” A quick survey of my closet shows inserts in every shoe and slipper. I explain my sore feet.

“I wish I had incushions in all my shoes!”

She expressed the same amazed delight and desire upon spying the bath brush for my back hanging from the shower head. Buying birthday gifts for her this year might be easy and cheap. J   

                            

NOT MOVING

The girls are using wagons and strollers and arms full to cart all the doll stuff into our front room.

“What are you doing? Moving?” 

“No Nana,” says the 4yr old. “We’re going on a kay shun.”

“A kay shun?”

“Yes, a kay shun, where we go every year in the summer.”     

NAKED CHAIR

I made the mistake of changing the 6yr old into her bathing suit outside. I told her it was okay to change behind the privacy screen I made out of two deck chairs. Later, I caught the 4 yr old stripped naked on the deck. She saw my expression.

“It’s okay, Nana. I’m behind the naked chair.”

She was not behind the privacy screen chairs. She stood beside one of the deck chairs facing the busy road in full view of everyone driving by.                                                  

WORKING FRUSTRATION

We are all standing by the pasture watching Papaw bale hay. It’s is fascinating for the grandchildren. They love everything about Papaw- the way he disappears after meals, the big machines he keeps for toys, and now, the bales popping out from behind some noisy contraption. They wave and holler, dance and jiggle with excitement. When it’s over, Papaw jumps off the tractor, rushes to say hello to the kids, then hurries off to the next job. Avery comes to me, face dejected and shoulders slumped.

“Papaw works and works all day, then comes in a short time and goes out again to work all the time! I HATE it!”

Precisely expressed, dear one. Precisely expressed.

                                      

IMPRESSIVE INVENTION

The grandchildren watch as I unlock the play yard fence gate from the opposite side. I put my hand through the hole in the green rubber coated wire/split rail fence that Papaw cut for me. Sticking my hand through the hole, hooking my fingers through the metal loop I open the spring loaded latch. For some reason this concept fascinates the kids. Avery wonders why there is a lock only on one side of the fence, who cut out the hole and why the latch is so heavy. Later, as Jude and Railynn played in the fenced yard while eating watermelon and Avery ate with the adults on the patio, there were many requests to open the gate so the younger two could hand us their melon rinds.

“Look, kids, this is a hand-door,” an exasperated Avery exclaimed, pointing to the hole in the wire. “Use the hand door!!” From then on, rinds, napkins and toys that fit were handed between deck and play yard through the hand door. What fun!

I’m going to enjoy this stage immensely, the stage in which “nana and papaw are geniuses.”  All too soon the grandchildren will be rolling their eyes while teaching us how to use some newfangled smart technology or correct our dumb mistakes.

And, when they leave, instead of being exasperated with myself, I hope to just chant with a squeal and a laugh:  Fe Fi Fo Fum, all mishaps are survivable if a loved one is remembered!

Joyfully,

Sharon 

The Stirring is Enough

It’s one of those achingly beautiful days. 

I can’t settle to work indoors, though the house could use some attention. I can’t keep weeding the garden either; my back and turning pink skin need a break. I’d lie on a blanket outside and stare at the clouds but if I lay in the dog yard, the dogs will jump on me and if I lay outside the yard they’ll yip to join me. I’d rather not interrupt their quiet as they are gloriously stretched out in the yard soaking up the rays.

So here I sit, laptop open, taking my break, pondering thoughts the movie from last night opened in me. I went to see The Fault in Our Stars with my daughters. In my youth, I've asked pointless questions such as what is the reason for it all, what is the grand scheme of everything in life, why the heck am I here? Occasionally my mind still churns with those unanswerables, or circles around other ones, like why did I survive cancer when others did not?

Since gaining some age and perspective, I’m better at letting go of the questions and just experiencing ‘the feels’ as John Green, author of the book Fault in Our Stars, likes to say. Sometimes, I am stirred in my depths, by stories, by life happenings and will never understand what has been rearranged, healed, or remembered. That's okay, the stirring is enough.

Back to the movie....I smiled when Augustus mentioned wanting to make a difference in the world. I have felt that too. I cried when Hazel, his girlfriend, expressed sorrow that he didn't see his love for her as making a difference and that changing her life wasn't heroic enough. I cried because I've felt pressure to make a difference too.

The concept of being or doing enough is difficult for most of us. For instance I can easily fall into a restless longing to see more ….and what I long for always seems over THERE somewhere ….in the Grand Canyon, or the Alps, or a new garden or walking path. Yet, my own garden constantly throws surprises and gorgeous color my way.  

This morning I waited impatiently when stopped at a traffic light, staring at my fingers drumming on the steering wheel and feeling ridiculously irritated at all the cars on the road. Then I glanced out the window and saw vibrant pink petunias rising from the cracks in the sidewalk in front of an old stone restaurant. My eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. I knew those triumphant blooms were going to be weeded or sprayed with herbicide. I knew their efforts would be short lived, since they were growing wild below newly planted container gardens.

My tears were not in condemnation of container gardens or weeding.....

....the tears were my soul’s acknowledgement that yes, the story of Hazel and Augustus touched me. Life is so often cut short by uncontrollable happenings, predators, illness, violence, accidents. Yet, petunias will always grow toward the sun, unconcerned about struggle or the length of their lives; they simply do what is theirs to do: bloom a lot or a little, quietly or brilliantly. And that is enough.

Life is short. Love wins. No matter how long we live or love, no matter what we do or accomplish, know or don't know, we are always enough. 

Joyfully,

Sharon

When You Can Endure the Dark

WHEN YOU CAN ENDURE

When the words stop

And you can endure the silence

That reveals your heart's pain

Of emptiness or that great wrenching-sweet longing,

That is the time to try and listen to what the Beloved's eyes

Most want to say.

We have not come here to take prisoners, 

But to surrender ever more deeply 

To freedom and love.

~ Hafiz

Beautiful image taken from Dr David G Benner's FB page

“I can’t even see my hands in front of my face!” My younger sister exclaimed as we lay side by side on a dusty old mattress. I reached over in the pitch blackness, found her shoulder with my fingers and followed her arm up to touch her hands wiggling in the air. 

“I can’t see them either.”  I replied nervously, the darkness set off tiny acrobats in my stomach. We listened to our staccato breathing, throwing our hands out and drawing them close to our faces stopping only when our skin sensed their nearness. Then we took turns feeling each other’s hands to discover how close we got to our face. Giggles escaped into the blackness. Then outright laughter; hilarity is easier on the psyche than fear. We huddled close and repeated our dare to spend a whole night in the dark attic without a light.

If I was around ten, that night, my sister would have been eight. I don’t remember if we spent the whole night in the dark, if we slept at all, but I’m pretty sure her eight was braver than my ten. 

Kids are often afraid of the dark. Even as adults, most of us depend heavily on our sense of sight. Unless we are blind or become blind and get used to permanent dark, we feel safer with enough light to see. This blog post is different that what I usually write. My soul has been experiencing a season of darkness, obscurity, unseeing, some sadness that usually doesn't exist in the spring. More typical for the season of autumn and preparing for winter, feeling this way when the rest of the country is growing and blooming and sunny, has me pondering what such darkness is about.  

Yesterday, my grandson, Jude, lay quietly on the floor while I changed his diaper.  I hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights; suddenly he proclaimed, “Dere’s a dragon in here!”  

Was he afraid of the dark or was his imagination coming into play?  I calmly asked him to tell me the dragon’s color. Not knowing his color names or not getting the reaction he wanted, he pulled his arms in tight around his torso and whispered, “I’m scared.”  

Stephanie Landis photography

“Well, we better get out of here then!” I whispered back, tickled him while pulling him to a stand then grabbed his hand. He repeated, bedder get out of here, and joyfully shrieked as we ran away from the dragon. I’m sure his sacredness was part game, yet I do notice how we don’t give kids much chance to develop their courage in darkness. Lights are just too accessible.  

Perhaps this is symbolic of our spiritual development too. We often don't take the time to practice being awake in the dark. How well do we handle not seeing, not being in control, not knowing the future, not being able to see or sense God, not seeing our interior growth or developing insight until the ‘aha moment’ is ready to be revealed?  Are we stuck in black and white answers to the questions: what is light and what is dark?  Is dark evil, is light good? How do we develop our spiritual muscles of handling despair, sadness, depression, loss of the sense of God’s presence, desolation when culture norms are all about happiness, positivism, control, God is Light and sunshine, buck up be courageous, don’t air your dirty laundry and
 keep your act together?

shutterstock.com  -full moon moving across night sky

As a child, I was very aware of my bent towards melancholy. And how little such a personality is tolerated or encouraged. I grew up believing my empathy and sadness was wrong, dark, maybe even letting the devil get a foothold in me.  Religious language was strong on assigning good and bad to light and dark. Even today, spiritual leaders spin their whole approach to life and faith on the axis of feel good positive thinking and sunshiny beliefs.  I’ve struggled at times to understand my ability to hold darkness, sadness, and the waxing and waning of both joy and sorrow.  Is my capacity to hold sadness for myself and others a gift or a lack of faith? I’m leaning towards seeing it as a gift.  

under our pine tree

Even in this strange season for me, opposite of spring energy, I'm learning to trust obscurity, and the dark. I'm sure I'd still fear being in pitch blackness, or deep physiological-psychological depression, or hiding in a dark storm cellar waiting for a tornado to pass, but I like ordinary dark. When my family can’t find me at night, they go outside and look for the moon; I’m usually found under a canopy of tree and night sky, gazing up...

The night feels refreshing, a break from the brightness of day. 

I’ve also come to trust the way the Spirit moves below our surface, the way the soul goes through darkness in preparation for shedding what is no longer necessary. In this odd season of my sadness in the midst of spring flowers, I recognize the end of a very busy winter of book writing, dachshund fostering, babysitting, birthdays and holidays, the need for rest and rejuvenation, the melancholy that always comes after I've given myself completely to a project and now it's completed - a natural rhythm for me. (my co-authored book, A Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening is coming out in September!) This season of completion and wondering what comes next, along with different times of sorrow or uncertainty and melancholy for other reasons has taught me to hold and respect what is happening in my soul as I wait for the next season, the next drawing of Spirit, the next direction.

my camera going all wonky- interesting result

While I have nothing against positive belief systems, my own spiritual gifts to not seem to include constant up-beatness, bright inner sunshine, bubbly joy and cosmic happiness. I’m not talking about pessimism or optimism.  I’m referring to our cultural repugnance for anyone telling raw, un-prettied up stories, having emotional displays that go on too long or are less than victorious, messy spirituality, messy living, or just not having it all together.  

 I’ve noticed that as my capacity for holding mystery, obscurity, sadness and sorrow expands, so does my willingness to celebrate and see life as good. No matter what is occurring, in my inner or outer landscape, I find safety and rest in the Beloved's gaze. I've noticed this expansion in others who are improving their walking in the dark. 

Pretending to not have dark times, painful times, inner or outer chaos damages our spirits. Keeping secrets kill our souls. I hope our culture is moving toward more safety in telling our pain, of sharing our messiness as we journey toward healing and greater loving. We all need to listen more, to encourage and hold each other in our unpolished life stories. And, we need to be gentle with our own becoming, so we can then extend gentleness to the process in others.

Macbeth Motifs by meganlui | Publish with Glogster! ww.glogster.com

When, I had cancer, I was often surprised by the battle and sunshine imagery sent to me in cards, emails, spoken advice: ‘you’re a trouper and you can fight this’ - God won’t give you more than you can handle - this is a test to see if you will stay positive and fight. Sometimes, I felt such talk eased their fears more than ministered to mine.  Who of us hasn’t uttered trite platitudes in the face of something uncontrollable?  While I was so grateful for everyone supporting me, and appreciated any comment given, I realized I mostly sensed God sitting there in the dark with me, feeling sad to over my loss of health, sharing my melancholy. 

I often wonder if it is ever okay in our culture to collapse in a heap and just be sad?  Is it ever okay to give up, or choose not to overcome?  Is our faith only good when we’re winning? What is winning, anyway?  Who is to say dying or giving up isn’t winning?  How do we know that sadness and lamenting doesn't increase our capacity to bear other’s pain or thrive even when life is not all sunshine? 

Barbara Brown Taylor gives me hope in her newest book Learning to Walk in the Dark:  She describes “solar spirituality” – bright and full of light and happy- in comparison to lunar spirituality of those who often find God in the darkness.  She writes, “My spiritual gifts do not seem to include the gift of solar spirituality. Instead, I have been given the gift of lunar spirituality, in which the divine light available to me waxes and wanes with the season.”

another crazy camera shot of the full moon

I love Taylor’s lunar metaphor. It helps me accept my own gifts.  Such gifts make it possible for me to sit with a friend, listening to her ragged, raw sobs over the loss of her son, and carry some of her despair. It definitely helped when I held another friend’s hand in the car after a fun evening of dining and laughter, listening to the story of abuse pouring out of her. I remember how dark it was in that corner of the restaurant parking lot, how safe the dark cocoon of the car felt, safe enough to spill secret horrors. I had no words, couldn't say one thing about God and light and a fighting spirit.  I could only hold her hand and dwell in the presence of God who sat in the darkness with us.

Even as I am aware of deep emotions, deep seasons in me, I've had a lifetime of compartmentalizing them since my stoic culture judged emotion and melancholy as untrustworthy and spiritual immaturity. So, life  presents continual challenges for me to be present to all my own emotions, moods, and seasons as I listen deeply to my own and others' life experiences, and not shelve or put anxiety,sorrow or sadness in a compartment over here or over there in a blind attempt to make life easier. I notice my gift of lunar spirituality, and I notice it's false twin: the sinking into a funk that is more about avoidance than wholeness. I must always find ways of expression and release or my body will express my emotions for me, sometimes to the point of illness. I'm grateful to Barbara Brown Taylor for saying so exquisitely what I have struggled to articulate.  For writing such an encouraging book, helping us all learn to walk in the dark, to share our secrets in safe places so we can stretch towards wholeness.  For showing all of us how to listen to what the Beloved's eyes most want to say.....

Joyfully, 

Sharon

"When I listen to college students talk about faith, beliefs are what interest them most: Do you believe in the virgin birth? Do you believe that Jesus died for your sins? Do you believe that only Christians go to heaven? No one asks, “On what is your heart set?” No one asks, “What powers do you most rely on? What is the hope that gives meaning to your life? Those are the questions of faith, not belief. The answers to them are not written down in any book, and they have a way of shifting in the dark. " 

~ Barbara Brown Taylor  Learning to Walk in the Dark

I’ll Take Two Pauses, Please

At some point in my life I learned to type with two spaces after each period. Modern typesetting only requires one space after each punctuation mark. I've published a few pieces here and there but have never been told to stop entering two spaces after a period. Now that I've written half a book – the other half written by my brother- I earned the privilege to delete my extra spaces. It can be fixed with a magic Word.doc tool, but I still have to check each punctuation mark to be certain two spaces aren't proper here and there.

Tedious work that I don't want to do again, so I’m retraining myself in the mechanics of writing. It's rather beastly! I write more Face book statuses just to catch myself hitting the space bar too often. It’s humorous too, dredging up old memories of my sisters tattling on me when I took two rests between each job. I've always worked best with pauses. I find pausing useful for daydreaming, percolating ideas, resting.  I pause to notice what I've accomplished and to marvel over what I see around me.

I brake for ducks.  And more.

I brake to savor what I've done or catch my breath. Or journal my reflections. I slow down for a body scan now and then, to see what is tight and holding too much. And then there is pausing to name emotions and give them expression.  Sometimes, inertia does plague me and I stay paused too long.  A good reminder helps me then. Thank God for sisters  who speak truth. I confess my mother-in-law, at eighty plus, can still stay on her feet for longer periods of work than me. This brings me back to sentence periods. (I had to go back at correct five sentences- gah!) Any good practice requires diligence as well as pauses.

The fun part is sharing. so, as I write and work to enter the correct number of spaces I’ll share a few favorite "pauses" with you....

I Pause For Children

here's a story as I heard it told to me.  Two sisters, my grandies, are riding in the backseat of the car. The first is six; the second is newly turned four. They have the following conversation. 

Ave: God made the trees and the swings and the birds.

Rae: No God didn’t.

Ave: Yes, God did. God is bigger and stronger than everything.

Rae: No God isn’t! 

Ave: Nothing is stronger than God.

Rae: I’m stronger than God!!

Ave:  No, you're NOT. 

Rae: YES, I am, Avery. I AM stronger than God.

 ~~ 

Knowing how insipid, shy and fearful I was as a child, I just have to love a girl with such spunk!  Railynn is the toddler girl who turned on the overhead bedroom light in the middle of the night with no chair pushed against the wall for climbing.  When asked how on earth she reached the switch, she showed her dad how she took the lid off her diaper pail, shoved it up against the wall while standing on tippy toes, and flipped the switch on with the rim.  Being stronger than God is debatable, but she is quite clever!  

~~

Speaking of Rae, I might have traumatized her a little last week. She pulled a stool up to our kitchen counter and saw a bag of chicken feet thawing there.   

      “What is that, Nana?”

      “Chicken feet for the dogs.”

      “Dogs wike chicken feets?”

      “Yes, they do. Dogs like all parts of chickens.”

      “They are not feets, Nana. They wook wike hands.” And then she exclaimed, “You have a bag of hands on your stove!”         

~~

It’s amazing what children notice. When I read to Jude, my 2yr old grandson, he assigns almost every object in the book to the people he loves. Every tractor is driven by Papaw. Every telephone conversation includes MomMom and every horse and wagon belongs to Pop. I've wondered what reminds Jude of me when others read to him. Last week, my son said Jude stared at a handful of flowers at the bottom of a page, and then said, “Nana’s flowers.”   

Sophie (Sassy)  in her new home

I Pause for Dogs

Wren with her adoring adopter

 As you know, Sophie Sassafras has been adopted. And as of a few weeks, so has Wren.  As hard as it was to give Wren up, I must confess I’m really enjoying a quieter house. I wrote about my goodbye to Sassy; Wren’s goodbye is another story, for another time.   

 ~~

It's a writing day today, and the dogs are thrilled. Writing days mean treats are hidden all over the house. Their dinner is in a kibble dispensing puzzle. Nylabones are spread with peanut butter and tucked in corners. Empty yogurt containers wait to be licked out and biscuits hide in toys. I love the happy noises Turnip and Burren make while I write. The bangs, grunts and patter of feet make fixing writing mistakes tolerable. 

 ~~

Whoa!  Turnip just unscrewed a toy that I didn't know could be unscrewed!  He might be as clever as Railynn. 

                                                           I Pause for Spiritual Direction 

Last month, after sharing a poignant moment of finding my voice, finding my powerful side and combining it with being open and soft, my spiritual director said this to me... You found your strength and power.  And, you know your softness.  So, the trick is to hold them in balance always, to be strong and soft at the same time.”  That was powerful enough for me to jot down and ponder. Can I truly be softly strong?  Or strongly soft?  Can I be open and pliable, while being powerful? I asked her how I can remember what this felt like, the combining of the two energies so I can repeat this. She reassured me that I've carved out a new groove so I’ll know how to be this way again: strong, creative, flowing - not expecting perfection and not fearful.  

~~

Perhaps I’ll pass this on to Railynn: being strongly soft is enough – no need to aim for stronger than God status. Though, come to think of it, she’s already not fearful and not perfect, so she’s carving out her own good groove!  

Joyfully,

Sharon

Ps: Please ignore any extra spaces. I’m powerfully pliant and letting them be.  And enjoy the bonus photos of my sweet dogs.....

    

Turnip learning to balance silly things on his head

Eventually, he'll hold my Kindle for me while I read. 

Burren learning to wave. Oops, she's fast- I missed it! 

She gets overly excited and sometimes raises two paws. :)