Thanks, a little late

Tonight, I’m thankful that…
• None of the “something’s wrong” lights are on in my car.
• Tonight, all the semis and other huge vehicles drove in the right lane, that is to say, the right lane, and the correct lane.
• I have discovered foods I love that are healthy.
• Predictive text didn’t turn any of my messages into anything requiring an apology and an explanation.
• The neighbor’s dog didn’t kill Scout when she dug under the fence, entered the neighbor’s house through the doggie door, and began to eat the dog’s food.
• I locked my keys in my car only a mile from my house, my awesome neighbor was home with a key to my house, I have a spare set of easy to find keys, no one on North Tarrant honked or yelled at us, and the weather was very pleasant.
• I’m not the president of anything.
• My professor was very understanding and gracious when I missed our meeting and even agreed to go over my outline on her own time. I swear I didn’t get that email.
• This is my last week of night classes, and next week is dead week.
• I got to talk to several of my favorite people on the phone today.
• I have heat, hot water, warm covers on a comfy bed, plenty of food, and doors that lock tight.
• I might just get to bed at a reasonable, human hour tonight.
All is well.

I live at the top of a hill. This becomes evident whenever it gets really windy. My yard fills with detritus blown from other people's garage/garbage/lives, and I am too embarrassed to tell you some of the things I've found in my yard. This also means whenever it rains the water doesn't really sit in my yard, I have a great view of downtown, and a nice breeze when I remember to open the windows.

Last week I decided to take my roller blades out for a nostalgic spin, which was fun, because I used to rock at roller blading. (I feel like I can say this with humility because I am aware roller blading is largely regarded as a pretty lame sport). I got halfway down this giant hill and realized my brake was completely worn down. Completely. This was around the time I reached that I'm-about-to-be-out-of-control speed with which anyone who has ever learned to ski will be familiar. I realized I needed a place to fall. My choices were the street, mailboxes, private property, or the bottom of the hill and a car. So, I veered off into someone's lawn and face planted. I mean, yard sale. I had a big scratch on my nose right between my eyes for a week. Not sure how that happened. I also scratched up my forehead and my nose - awesome. I'm pretty sure no one saw me or I would have heard them laughing. As I lay there recovering, I realized I'd forgotten how to fall. I used to do this all the time - skate/bike into someone's yard and do a safe rolling fall. Laying in someone's lawn I contemplated the great life lesson that is Learning How to Fall Correctly. Because if you don't know how to fall, you get hurt every time and then you never try anything. It seems many professions are focused around this one lesson, and its partner, Getting Back Up and Trying Again Before You Develop a Phobia. Counselors, ministers, teachers, coaches, trainers - all teach us different ways of falling correctly and trying again. It took a pretty serious grass stain on my eyebrow to remember how to shrink my height and roll. Perhaps this is the secret behind truly successful people - not letting your fall control and defeat you, and getting back up again. Then you don't fear falling, you fear missing out on something.

Lessons from Scout (part I, I'm sure...)

I realize people resent it when they tell a story about their child and I respond with a story about my dog. But that is the only other life I'm really in charge of so on the relatability (just invented a word) scale, cut me some slack. Plus, she's pretty great, even if her breath is kicking like Chuck Norris.

1. Don't bark with your mouthful. You might choke.
2. Don't hold grudges when you don't get what you want. Everyone is happier if you aren't sulking.
3. It's hard to scratch your own back. Let someone help you.
4. Try everything at least once.
5. The only thing you should eat that you can't smell is water.
6. Anticipate rewards. They will come.
7. Figure out what the people you live with love. Doing these things makes them happy and that means treats for you.
8. Act very defensive of your yard and bark at noises in the middle of the night. It makes people feel safe. Barking at the tv is just annoying- but it's fun!
9. Stare unblinkingly at walls or into a dark empty room and growl from time to time. Humans will wonder if their house is haunted- keeps them on their toes.
10. If someone leaves a door or gate open, go for it! Your human needs more exercise.
11. Comfort over dignity. Every time, all the time.

Dryer Sheets

When I run at night, which is always, one of my favorite things is running past a house and getting a whiff of their drier sheets. Dryer sheets? Whatever. I teaches English. Anywho, whenever I smell some one's laundry drying it always makes me feel a little bit like part of their family, and I start imagining what that family must be like. It seems to me like a family whose clothes always smell like lavender/vanilla is a family well-cared for; a family with a full fridge who often eats together and probably has at least one well-loved and aging pet. Being me, I then begin to wonder about what secret pains lie beneath the well-watered driveways and toasty T-shirts of my neighborhood. But that's anther post.
I started thinking last night that the reason these dryer sheets make me feel family-ish is probably because the houses I'm most familiar with have a very distinct, usually positive, smell. For example, my parents' house smells like dried flowers and vitamins and Colorado air. (Don't mock - it's deep and it's real. I don't know how else to describe it.) My house smells like candle and coffee and dog. Which I think is positive but most other people probably wouldn't. The Hatchett's house smells like their dryer sheets, whatever fabric softener they use, and the Jennings house always just smells like "clean", and they have three dogs. I think that's saying something. I realized that when I walk into a house for the first time I will usually try to identify the primary smells and comment on how good it smells. I also realized this extends to my favorite establishments - Starbucks smells like coffee, of course, with a hint of intellectual elitism and of course the library smells like books, which I love. I hate going in Bath and Body because there are too many smells to distinguish, like the girls' dorm. I tried to get my own dryer sheet smell going, but it turns out I'm allergic to scented fabric softener/dryer sheet, so I can't have that particular family smell. I got some free detergent out of it though. I think the sense of smell may be my favorite. I can't imagine what life would be like if you couldn't smell anything, but maybe you would have no idea what you're missing, which makes me wonder if there's some sense out there we don't have that we don't even know we're missing. I can't think of a survival skill associated with smell - is it just for our pleasure? I'm thankful for good smells the same way I'm thankful for a good song - smells can automatically transport me somewhere far away. Or at least distract me from the pain of running for awhile.