writing

Sir Jasper of the Too-Large Heart

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 5 Comments

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When Jasper joined our family in 2006, only his head was too big. Still in his puppyhood (the pound predicted his age at around 1 year), he’d been found in a field in Salinas, California, then spent two weeks at the shelter waiting for his people to arrive. The moment I saw the giant block head perched on a skinny little pound puppy body, I knew we’d found our dog.

For his first few months with us, many of the people we encountered on our daily walks referred to him as “the big head dog,” but after plenty of regular meals, treats, and exercise, his body grew to match his head. By that point, he’d taught us (and anyone who entered our home) a great deal about the profound power of snuggling.

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When he was about two, Jasper was diagnosed with a heart murmur. The vet said it would likely develop into something more severe later in life but discouraged us from limiting his activities. We readily took her advice. Over the next ten years, Jasper had tons of adventures. He climbed scores of mountains ~

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Traversed many waters ~

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And wandered under rainbows ~

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He traveled across the country and up and down both coasts. As a road trip dog, he was an absolute angel from day 1.

1(After many years, he finally taught Libby how to win at road trips: go to sleep immediately & snooze through the whole thing.)

A lover of all living things, he made friends wherever he went ~IMG_2582Over the course of a decade, Jasper swam in both the Atlantic and Pacific, drank from countless lakes, rivers, and streams, rode the ferry to the San Juan Islands, went canoeing and camping, and hiked in California, Oregon, Washington, Arizona, New Mexico, and the Carolinas. He even toured a vineyard in Napa and stayed in a yurt. When it came to family adventures, he couldn’t stand to be left out.2About a year ago, Jasper started to cough. The cough was prolonged and troublesome enough to warrant a visit to the vet, and we soon found out that the left atrium of his heart is enlarged, which pushes against his trachea and triggers a cough. This is a chronic issue that can be controlled somewhat, but not cured. At times, it gets really bad. He chokes, gags, and wheezes, unable to get a breath. It’s terrible.

My husband blames us. He says we love Jasper so much, we’ve enlarged his heart. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I mean, I may sometimes wrap Jasper in a handmade afghan because he’s looking a bit chilly… but doesn’t everyone do that sort of thing??20160125_124944While I don’t really believe we had anything to do with his heart issues, it is difficult to witness a dog’s aging process. It happens far too fast. Both of our dogs now gaze at us through eyes clouded by cataracts. They’re hard of hearing. Their bodies are dotted with fatty cysts. Their walks have been reduced from a brisk 3+ miles a day to a slow (maybe) mile. Libby has arthritis. Jasper’s heart is too big. As someone who loves them dearly, it hurts a great deal to see them grow old.

But it’s also worth it. Despite the pesky, encroaching mortality issue, dogs make life better. Jasper was the first dog I got to share my home with since I left for college at age 18, and he has been one of the best things about my adult life. IMG_3675I tell my husband that our home is a geriatric facility in which our pets now stand in a queue, waiting to cross the rainbow bridge. But I only joke that way to soothe myself, because I know how painful their passings will be. That’s why I chose to write a post about Jasper now, while I can still look at him across the room, snoring gently on the couch. If I waited until after he passed, I don’t think I’d be able to write this. It would be too hard.

My strategy for the remainder of Jasper’s life is to keep loving him as much as I can, even if it makes both of our hearts swell up until they burst. Because first of all, he deserves it, and secondly, what a way to go. 💖

 

Angry Fairy for President

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 6 Comments

I have a new alter ago. Her name is Angry Fairy. She grew out of a conversation I had with my husband, during which I revealed that I prefer to do nice things for strangers if they’re not around to notice. This is mostly due to my introversion, although it’s also fun to think of people happily discovering unexpected kindnesses. When my husband learned about this, he said I’m like a fairy, flitting about to leave a path of mysterious, magical deeds behind me. At first, I didn’t like the idea, since I’m a pretty giant person with a shaved head and don’t identify with fairies much at all. But then I thought, What if I were an ANGRY fairy? Like, someone who does hidden good deeds but is generally kind of pissed off? That image seemed to fit, and thus my new identity was born.

Here are my future plans for Angry Fairy: I will continue to do secret, helpful things, but from now on, I’ll leave a note behind that reads: “This good deed was brought to you by the Angry Fairy.” Over time, people will grow accustomed to my sweet little gestures. They’ll post photos of Angry Fairy’s notes on their various social media platforms, and other people will like and share them, and before you know it, society will have grown to love this grumpy-yet-benevolent vigilante.

Oh, but there’s a master plan behind it all, folks. Isn’t there always? Because after everyone has grown fond of the Angry Fairy and her helpful shenanigans, I’m going to run for President. It will be the weirdest campaign ever (although at this point, that’s hard to imagine). Instead of kissing babies, I’ll kiss baby goats.

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I will openly schmooze with the strangest of characters.

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To travel between campaign stops, I’ll paddle board. Yessiree. Even in a damn dress.

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And since, as we all now know, you don’t need to have any political or diplomatic experience whatsoever to hold the highest office in the land, I’m going to win. Yahoo! My first order of business will be to insist that everyone call me President Angry Fairy (or President AF for short, because I am going to be presidential AF).

Here is how President AF will run things: whenever an issue is brought before me, in bill-form or otherwise, the issue-bringer will be required to explain why that issue is so critical that it requires immediate attention. So say, for example, the issue regards the deregulation of lead ammunition usage on federal land. The person placing that bullshit idea before President AF will have to tell me why that particular point of focus is more important than…oh, let’s say: failing public schools, mass incarceration, the continued outsourcing of American jobs, opiate addiction, air and water pollution, child sex trafficking, crumbling infrastructure, the diabetes epidemic, etc. And if that person, after being summarily shut down, then happens to bring up another issue (this one perhaps suggesting that it’s just fine to shoot a hibernating bear in its den), he/she/they will be promptly shot into space.

Because President AF won’t play. I may have to do some finagling with the Constitution here, but as we’ve also learned as of late, these days, that’s totally on the table.

And I will do my best to keep up with the secret little deeds, though that may be more difficult with the Secret Service all up in my face. If I manage to dodge them, my first order of business will be to sneak into the Supreme Court Building to sprinkle rose petals in the Notorious RBG’s chambers. Then I’ll tiptoe into the Capitol Building and write “Feel the Bern” and “Nevertheless she persisted” in Sharpie on the backs of alternating chairs.

How’s that for a platform, folks? I’d say it’s golden. Plus, in my humble opinion, it would be far better to have an Angry Fairy in the White House than the volatile, bigoted, spoiled brat we’ve got now.

A Week in the Life of a Writer

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 1 Comment

Since resigning from full-time employment to focus on writing, I have accumulated little, part-time jobs like an evergreen bagworm accumulates plant debris. (Are you familiar with these creatures? My parents have one in their yard right now. It looks like a walking pinecone and is, in my scientific opinion, completely cuckoopants.)

p1191178Seriously – what the hell?

Last week’s schedule perfectly reflected my weird new “writer’s life.” It looked like this:

Monday: Teach first aid & CPR classes

Tuesday: Complete certification to instruct babysitting classes

Wednesday: Work at bakery

Thursday: WRITE! 😃  Oh, glorious day! Get way less accomplished than I’d hoped.

Friday: Head to stone mason’s worksite. Haul rocks & gravel. Drop boulder on toe. 😳

Saturday: Instruct babysitting class. Miss Women’s March and have sad feelings.

Sunday: Back to worksite. Transport 1500-pound boulder across hilly terrain using pry bars, planks, and PVC pipes.

20170122_114213We rocked it.

So…yeah, current life = somewhat scattered! Whenever I find myself wondering why it’s taking so long to finish the second book of Aret, I’ll just reread this post. 🙂

Norma v. Jerkface

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 1 Comment

dsc_0083-1“What the hell are YOU lookin’ at?”

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve teetered along the edge of an emotional Deep Blue Funk. Thankfully (I guess), I’m in my 40s, so I’ve had several years to become accustomed to the warning signs heralding said funk. It’s initiated by an uninvited visitor – an internal entity as destructive as she is unmotivated, whose counsel runs counter to all practical advice for a happy, healthy life. This entity does not want me to be happy or healthy. She wants me to fall headfirst into a vat of doom, ideally to drown there.

I will call her Jerkface.

Because of Jerkface’s crappy counsel, Normal Me (hereafter referred to as Norma) has to intervene several times a day, from the moment the alarm sounds and Jerkface says, “No point getting up. Sleep ’til noon,” and Norma cries, “Get out of this bed immediately!”

So I do, but Jerkface has just begun. For the rest of the day, she and Norma stage a continual debate inside my head, arguing about whether or not I should put whiskey in my coffee, shower, venture outside, exercise, answer the phone, believe in myself, etc. If I manage to drag myself out into the world and interact with humans, they have a field day.

JERKFACE: Did you see how that guy looked at you? What an asshole! Let’s hate him!

NORMA: I think he was about to sneeze. Or the sun was in his eyes. Either way, who cares?

dsc_0003Sometimes you get weird looks. Deal with it.

But when Jerkface stops giving advice and begins her apocalyptic philosophizing, Norma has to get more creative.

JERKFACE: Humanity’s rate of self-destruction will outpace its emotional and intellectual evolution. The world is doomed.

NORMA: You know what else? Kittens are cute.

JERKFACE: What?!

NORMA: And have you seen those people who use popsicle sticks to put silly faces on hedgehogs? Hilarious!

JERKFACE: Okay, maybe I need to repeat myself. Humanity’s rate of self-destruction…

NORMA: Did I ever tell you about the time I found the Skelly castle in New Orleans? When I was wearing my skeleton shirt?

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JERKFACE: No, but so what?

NORMA: That was a great day. I love southern cemeteries. And New Orleans. And fake castles. Maybe I’ll plan a trip to Disney World.

JERKFACE: You really are losing it.

But Jerkface is wrong. Norma’s not losing it. She’s just trying to stay out of the dregs of disastrous deliberation. It’s easy to board a treacherous train of thought, but it won’t travel anywhere helpful. Battles cannot be fought from within the murk of a Deep Blue Funk. If Norma doesn’t keep me positive and thankful, Jerkface wins.

Essentially, this is what I’ve learned after decades of dealing with Jerkface: don’t listen to her. Whatever she says, however convincing it seems, do the opposite. Go for long walks.  Smile at strangers. Laugh with friends. Listen to the Go-go’s. Read the Desiderata. Focus on gratitude. Take deep breaths. And remember all the beautiful moments in life.

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The Day I Earned a New Nickname

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

About six weeks back, my stone mason pal and I installed a creekside patio on a previously undisturbed area of land. My first task was to dig out a large pathway. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but this soil was unique, in that it was chock-a-block full of grapefruit-sized rocks, so whenever I drove my shovel in the dirt, it slammed straight into a rock (CHING!), sending up a shower of sparks. After several of these attempts, I got tired of the nails-on-a-chalkboard, chills-up-my-spine effect, abandoned the shovel, and proceeded to dig out the entire area with a pickaxe.

Every couple of hours, the homeowner came down from the house to chat with us, and as she watched my pile of extricated rocks grow into a small mountain, she apologized profusely for the condition of her land. I told her it was fine – it was my job, plus I was gaining muscle and getting a good cardio workout – and we all had a good laugh. By the end of the day, she’d given me a new nickname. I was no longer Kelly; I was Digger.

A week later, the patio was complete.

20160726_152824Nice, huh? Let me know if you need any rock work done. 😉

By that time, we’d become friendly with the homeowner, and I’d told her about Aret, my soon-to-be-published fantasy novel about dragons. She said she wasn’t a fan of fantasy, but her spouse was, so I gave her one of my business cards before leaving on our last day.

img_17931-1That was also the day an enormous dragonfly paid me a visit.

Last week, I received an email from the homeowner, who let me know that she and her spouse read and loved Aret, and I’ve converted her into a fantasy reader. She said they can’t wait for book two and concluded the message with this sentiment:

“More writing!!!! Less digging!!!!”

And that, friends, is my new battle cry.

[P.S. – When I told the stone mason about this, she replied, “Well we are all awaiting book 2, but I’m sure digging is inspirational.”] 😄

Three Good Things

~ Kelly Wolf ~ Leave a comment

As part of my nephew’s bedtime routine, his parents guide him through a ritual called Three Good Things. After teeth are brushed, pajamas are donned, and stories are read, they each describe three good things that happened that day. Because my nephew is 4, his contribution usually sounds like: “Um…I played. I made a Lego helicopter, and…I don’t know.” But it doesn’t matter. It’s the thought that counts, and what he is learning (despite himself) is to set aside a little time each day to focus on gratitude.

Right now, I need that kind of focus. Since the fanfare of Aret’s release has died down, I’ve reverted back to what I call my “new-normal” life. In my old-normal life, I had one steady, predictable, full-time job to keep track of; these days, I’m pulled in a variety of disparate directions, which can leave me distracted, breathless, and panicky. To drag myself out of that weirdness and into the light, I believe it’s time to fold a gratitude ritual into the new-normal. So here are my Three Good Things for today:

Good thing #1 ~ A bear crashed the Aret release party

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Some fabulous friends threw me a party on Aret’s pre-release day, and about an hour into it, their dog started losing his shit. We followed the direction of his frenzied stare and crazed barking and saw this ginormous black bear tucked into the foliage just off the deck where the partygoers were gathered. I think he was waiting for an invite.

I’d never heard of a bear crashing a party before. Even though it happened a month ago, it’s still one of today’s three good things, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop laughing about it.

Good thing #2 ~ I have a fierce new body part

20160811_1424261Meet Sabrina

Not only is my new wolf really beautiful, but now that she’s fully healed, I can go swimming again. Ahhh. [Note to future self: don’t get tatted in the summer. A ban on swimming in August in the South? Pleh. Terrible planning.]

But I digress – I love my wolf, even though she kept me out of the water for 2 weeks. All is forgiven, Sabrina. I can’t stay mad at you.

Good thing #3 ~ I’m healthy enough to do the things that bring me joy

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I recently filled out an extensive health-related survey, and I’d never even heard of half the diagnoses mentioned in the questions, even though those very ailments severely compromise some people’s lives. I may complain about pinched nerves and insomnia, but in general I’m healthy as hell, and good health is nothing to sneeze at (so to speak).

Okay, that’s three, but here’s a bonus, because really, there’s so damn much to be grateful for…

Bonus good thing ~ Dogs

DSC_0007Yup. Dogs. They are the best.

And now, just like that, I feel better. Hooray for the regular, intentional giving of thanks – the perfect addition to my new-normal. ❤

The Forest Dragon

~ Kelly Wolf ~ Leave a comment

[Disclaimer: In general, I am not a woo-woo person. However, this is a woo-woo (yet true!) story. If that sort of thing makes you gag, you may want to leave now.]

The first time I saw the forest dragon was on 11/11 in 2012, when I took a visiting friend on my favorite hike in Moran State Park. It was a chilly day, and by the time we reached the summit of Mt. Pickett, it had started to snow.

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Snow falling onto a carpet of green moss is quite lovely, but as we descended the trail towards the Twin Lakes, the snow turned to sleet, then rain. My friend and I hurried along the path, our wool hats and sweaters growing heavy in the downpour. At one point, I noticed an upturned root system that resembled a giant dragon head. I wanted to stop and take its picture, but given the weather, I chose to continue down the trail, knowing I could come back another day when conditions were more favorable (and less likely to ruin my camera).

On November 15th, I returned to Moran in search of the dragon. Soon after I left the summit of Mt. Pickett, I saw a root system that was vaguely dragony. I stopped and stared at it for a long time. Although it wasn’t anywhere near as cool as I’d remembered, I chalked up the discrepancy between my idea of the dragon and its reality to my deplorable visual memory. With a profound feeling of disappointment, I took a picture of the sort-of dragon, then continued down the trail.

About twenty minutes later, I came upon a section of forest that was so ethereal, it brought me to a dead stop. As I scanned the path before me, I noticed my shadow encircled in a rainbow of light.

546995_300074756770162_760503568_nI couldn’t quite capture the rainbow aura, but you get the idea.

I began to fan my arms through the air, which made the light glimmer all around my shadow’s circumference. That looked incredibly cool, so I continued doing it for…I don’t know…ten minutes? (This is what happens when someone like me lives alone for too long.) When I’d finally had enough, I glanced to my right, and there, shrouded in mist, was the forest dragon.

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No shit. It was right next to me. If I hadn’t been halted on the trail by rainbow-encircled Shadow Me, I would’ve marched past it, especially since I wasn’t even looking for it anymore, as I’d convinced myself that I’d already found the dragon from the other day.

I was beside myself. I did a happy little dance on the trail (again – too much time alone), then climbed up to the dragon, gave it a hug, clamored around on spongy soil to view it from the other side, and saw this:

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I took one shot and knew I didn’t need another. When I sent the photo to my husband later that day, he wrote back: “That should be the cover of Aret.”

Now, almost four years later, it is.

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I think about that dragon a lot. I wonder what it looks like now. I hope it’s still there, looming on the side of the trail, perfectly intact, waiting for me to come back and visit.

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Nadie Sale Vivo

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

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I got this lovely skull carved into my arm about a decade ago. Nadie sale vivo means No one leaves alive, and people’s thoughts on that phrase vary considerably, from the Tico in Costa Rica who interpreted it as: “Me tocas, y no sales vivo” (essentially: Touch me and die), to the guy who saw it at a party and launched into a murderous rampage speech à la Amanda Plummer in Pulp Fiction, which was not only loud and annoying, but also completely inaccurate.

Nadie sale vivo isn’t meant as a threat. It doesn’t mean I’m planning to kill everyone; it means we’re all going to die. I think of it as a cross between Carpe diem & Memento mori, and I’m grateful that skull’s on my arm, observing me through cavernous eyes with the continual reminder: Live life now.

People tell me they think about Nadie sale vivo when contemplating risky decisions that require the transcendence of fear. While I love those stories, I also wish folks would consider the brief, fragile state of our mortality when deciding how to interact with one another, especially in the realm of cyberspace, where pseudo-anonymity and physical distance create a weird, false sort of “courage,” leading to a shit ton of pointless ugliness.

If you read the average internet comment stream, it appears that everyone’s itching to have a rageful meltdown. Even something as innocuous as a video of a baby elephant playing in a puddle will be followed by some inexplicably-furious, all-caps declaration like: “ELEPHANTS ARE MURDERED EVERY DAY IT’S HORRIBLE THAT YOU’VE EXPLOITED ELEPHANTS LIKE THIS I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT MONSTERS PEOPLE ARE TO MURDER ELEPHANTS!!” Following that, of course, will be a string of five hundred comments from other people insulting the original commenter and/or one another, all along the spectrum from “You’re an idiot” (or more likely “Your an idiot”) to “Eat a bullet” (it is unbelievable how many death threats fly around between strangers on the internet). All because of a baby elephant playing in a puddle, which really deserves only one comment: “Aww cute <3”

Here’s a bit of unsolicited advice from your old pal Kelly (I’m big on offering my 2 cents without being asked). Let’s use our tiny shreds of life – the brief sparks in the universe that we’ve been granted – to be good people and do good things. To start, what if we all decided to have extremely positive reactions to things, instead of extremely spiteful reactions? Returning to the above example, the all-caps declaration could read like this: “OH MY GOD I LOVE BABY ELEPHANTS MORE THAN ANYTHING THEY ARE SO ADORABLE I COULD JUST EXPLODE THIS IS PROOF THAT THE WORLD IS UNBELIEVABLY FREAKING AMAZING BECAUSE HOLY SHIT BABY ELEPHANTS!!!!”

After all, each of us has a finite number of heartbeats, inhales, and exhales, so let’s not waste them spewing vitriol at one another. The angrier we get, the stupider we get (this is a biological fact), and nothing productive comes from insults, name-calling, or death threats. Everyone just gets angrier and stupider. If you need further proof of this (aside from the irrefutable neurological evidence), take a look at the current state of our nation. We are an angry, stupid mess.

I vote that we kick our self-righteous, reactionary b.s. to the curb, rise above the fray, and try out some extreme, all-caps positivity. At the very least, we could make each other laugh, and laughter, unlike blind rage, is actually good for us.

IMG_1513I MEAN WHAT THE CRAP DO YOU SEE HOW RIDICULOUSLY GORGEOUS THIS BUTTERFLY IS JUST LOOK AT THOSE WINGS THEY’RE LIKE STAINED GLASS FOR CHRIST’S SAKE AND THAT LITTLE FACE! OMG! THE CUTENESS! IT BURNS! AND IT’S EATING FROM A GODDAMN PINK POOFBALL!!!!

See? Much better.

[P.S. – Along these same lines, let’s please stop calling each other hypocrites. It is entirely redundant to call another person a hypocrite. We’re all hypocrites. There’s no such thing as perfection when it comes to human beings. Mahatma Gandhi beat his wife. So there ya go.]

Everybody Needs Good Conversation

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

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On my birthday a few years back, I got one of those cards featuring perky messages from all of my coworkers. Most of them said some version of “Yay, it’s your birthday!” But then there was this little gem:

Happy birthday, Kelly. You are great to work with even though you are so weird.

I suppose that declaration would have stung if I lacked the power of observation, but I don’t. As I’ve studied other humans over the past four decades, I’ve come to accept the fact that yes, I am pretty damn weird. Perhaps the most obvious manifestation of this trait is my utter lack of discretion around talking to myself, which is something I do often – out loud – regarding a wide range of topics. I even talk to myself about talking to myself.

10606045_653838701393764_2685928916413398302_nHmm…I wonder what I’ll say to myself next…

In my early days, I confined that behavior to venues that were private (e.g., house) or semi-private (e.g., car). But when I lived alone on Orcas Island and forgot how to interact with people, I dragged it into the public sphere (e.g., grocery store), where I would engage in heated, solitary debate until I noticed fellow customers hurrying down the aisle to get away from me. (And really, who could blame them? It must’ve looked like I was arguing with soup.)

Funnily enough, of all the things I choose to be self-conscious about, talking to myself isn’t one of them. Whenever people catch me in the act, I just meet their amused and/or alarmed and/or baffled looks with an unrepentant stare. I want my eyes to tell them, Yeah, I’m talking to myself. I repeat: TO MYSELF. This has nothing to do with you. Move along. 

I’ve decided that ongoing self-chatter is a sign of a creative personality. I could’ve asked Google for evidence to support this hypothesis, but after a conversation with myself, I determined that further research was unnecessary. After all, what does Google know (besides everything, mixed in with a shit ton of nonsense)? I get much simpler answers when I consult my own brain.

(It now occurs to me that conducting research via self-inquiry may be another indication of weirdness. I also think I finally understand Drumpf supporters.)

Regardless of the cause, I remain weird, which is fine. This is my husband, so at least I’m in good company.

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Here’s what happens when our nephew comes to visit.

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This is how we read bedtime stories together.

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Our dog may be a bit off kilter, as well.

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And I have no problem with any of that. As Benjamin Franklin tweeted in 1781, “‘Tis better to be weird than bored.” (Discovered on his Founding Father Twitter timeline, right before: “Beware of information you encounter on the internet.”)

Special Treat Day

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 2 Comments

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When I went to live on Orcas Island in the fall of 2012, I knew it was time to make some changes. In a recent moment of self-reflection, I’d come to understand that I’d placed myself on a psychological hamster wheel several years before, and it was time to leap off. So the second the ferry docked on the island, I thought, Okay, I’m making two personal commitments. One: I will abandon worry. Two: I will practice self-care. Easy enough. Then I laughed in my head for a really long time.

As a professional, I had focused on self-care for years (to be clear: other people’s self-care. Not my own, silly). I was even invited by a variety of community agencies to conduct trainings on that topic, which I secretly found hilarious since I didn’t practice what I preached AT ALL. During the trainings, I’d hear the words coming out of my mouth and think, This woman makes sense. I should listen to her. But I didn’t.

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As it turned out, Orcas was a magical wonderland, so the first step – abandoning worry – was easier than expected. Worry is both uncomfortable and counterproductive, so my rational self kicked it to the curb with relative ease, despite a lifetime of honing the art of fretful self-torture. Whenever I caught myself envisioning a series of potential worst case scenarios (I am extremely skilled at that), I engaged helpful mantras like, “That’s not gonna happen,” or, “Stop it, Kelly. That’s a bad Kelly.”

I was similarly structured about the self-care commitment, in that I scheduled it in on a weekly basis. Every Thursday was designated as Special Treat Day, and I allotted myself $20 to do with as I wished. For the remainder of the week, I spent money only on groceries and gasoline. My stomping grounds were the woods, the waterfront, my house, the local animal shelter where I volunteered, and the library.

527506_284064841704487_1019327406_nLibby & Shadow Me on the Eastsound waterfront

But on Special Treat Day, I explored non-free ventures. The San Juan Islands are touristy and expensive, so the $20 didn’t go too far, but I still had opportunities to eat food I hadn’t prepared myself and sip fancy coffee drinks, and it felt downright luxurious. Sometimes I didn’t even spend the $20. I’d just grab a cookie at Teezer’s and travel to parts of the island that were outside of my normal routine.

390112_298845763559728_98026084_nLike the lovely Olga Pier, for example

When I found out that walk-on passengers could ferry from island to island for free, I began to plan Special Treat Days off Orcas. The best one took place on Lopez Island, a sweet little place where everyone waves from their cars (you can find this information in every article ever written about Lopez Island). It was 4 miles from the ferry landing to town, so I had plenty of opportunities to exchange waves with passing motorists as I walked along the beautiful, bucolic terrain.

223208_284065208371117_1843583133_nPracticing the Lopez Wave upon arrival

When I finally got to town, I discovered that both of the places I’d planned to go (a cafe and a vineyard) were only open on weekends, but I didn’t care because it was Special Treat Day, and being disappointed on a day with that name is unacceptable. Instead of having sad feelings, I changed course and decided to take a different route back to the ferry. While I tried (and failed) to find a trail to the beach, I came upon a herd of adorable, horned fuzzballs.

149614_284065528371085_2089998726_nWho needs a beach when you’ve got wooly cows?

I also found a cool park and a really nice mushroom.

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So it turned out to be a good day, anyhow, and since then I’ve dreamed of returning to Lopez Island, ideally for a few months, to wander around, wave at strangers, go to that vineyard, and write the third book of Aret.

546995_300074756770162_760503568_nShadow Me (bottom left) on a Special Treat Day in Moran State Park

If it’s at all possible, I highly recommend incorporating a regular self-treating experience into your life. If you can’t manage every week, try for once a month, or however often is feasible. Looking forward to something – even if it’s just a cookie – can have a marvelous effect on one’s mental health. (I now say that from experience, not just as a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do trainer.)

However, if you should happen to name your self-treating venture “Special Treat Day,” I do not recommend ever abbreviating it. I did that once in my journal, and…that didn’t happen again. The day really loses its magic when you see the words: I’m so excited for my STD.