Baths and flowers

Yesterday, my dogs rolled in poop and they needed baths right away. It took two to get the girl puppy clean, she had rolled so gleefully and so well, and only one for the boy puppy, who is not so good at rolling.

It happened a couple miles into a hike with friends, one of whom has dogs who do not like to roll in poop. I do not want her dogs but I wish mine would learn similar avoidance.

It was a beautiful day but so much of the rest of it was spent working, mainly in front of the computer. In the late afternoon, though, I went for a walk. As I strolled, in the bright bright sun, I started to notice the colors around me, the yellows and purples and pinks. Spring is coming.

And then tonight, after a friend dropped off dinner as a thank-you for helping her with something, after the pasta was warmed and eaten and the salad speared and devoured, I journeyed down the road a bit to my favorite bathtub. It’s outside, on a deck, under trees so tall their tops are a mystery.

The moon watched as I poured hot water in the claw foot tub, as I poured such a small amount of bourbon into a mason jar. I put on some music and then turned it off, listening to the ocean, listening to the wind, listening to the planet.

And I thought to myself – sunk into the water, the sounds of night around me – this is the good part of life. It isn’t always about rollicking good times. It isn’t always about moments where the whole world cheers our accomplishments.

Regardless of the shape of the day, maybe most of the time there is an invitation, a pulling-close. A whisper of beauty, a hint of something wonderful: a bath, the stars, music, silence, dinner, flowers, work. Puppies, gleefully dirty, beloved all the same.