The Word from Detox

We are up here in the U.P. in an election detox program. We stayed away from CNN all day today, the third member of our family for most of the past year. The silence has had me wandering around like a lost patient, looking out the window, marveling at waves and rain like I’d never seen them before. This morning there were two big freighters seeming to caravan on Lake Superior in front of our house, emblematic of something the day after the anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald and Day However Many of the American Election Saga.

We had to wait for the winds to drop from gale force to just very windy to walk the dogs. The wind made it easier walking east but we had to put our heads down walking back, keep our eyes on our feet, which is always a good practice since it prevents a person from tripping or getting preoccupied with how far there is left to walk. The dogs were joyous on the beach, furiously so, galloping across the beach grass, but. of course, scaring me when they broke for the water for a drink, my imagination quickly having them swooped up and drowned, probably with my husband who I know would go in the water after them but would necessarily succumb to the cold and the waves because he is brave but he is no Superman.

As part of my rehabilitation, I made beef stew this afternoon, taking care to brown each piece of meat perfectly as if to place in a mosaic. This, for me, is what passes for art. I worried the stew to death once it started truly stewing. I stirred and tasted constantly, convinced it needed something but also wary of a lifelong habit of over-correcting. That was clearly a danger with that stew. I exercised restraint, which was new but a practice I hope to continue, and the stew was delicious. We ate while we watched CNN on my laptop. It was like having a beloved guest come to dinner.

Swirl has decided that the ancient couch that my first husband and I bought in a resale shop and had recovered should be his U.P. dog bed. The giant, forty pound Ralph Lauren sweater which I bought in a thrift store ages ago and only wear when the furnace here goes out has become his pillow. We no longer pretend that he is a rugged sled dog. He was, which is fine. We were all something once.

My day was made lovely by my flannel-lined jeans. They are slightly big on me which is a welcomed change from a lot of my clothes and my husband says I need a belt or some rope. But I think I threw out all my belts, not anticipating ever needing one. They were probably all patent leather anyway which wouldn’t work with these pants. So I guess it’s rope.