atlas here.

i am a pup with a biiiiiiiigggggggg mission.

my mission: to brighten your day.

because i am my person’s pup, i know just how to do it.

i am going to spread joy through postcards.

wouldn’t you love to find a postcard from me in your mailbox?

imagine your surprise.

imagine your delight.

i know i can make you smile!

this is going to be so much fun. won’t you join me?

you know you want to!

you can find all the details right here.

the postcards will start in april.

i come from the far north,
where the wolves howl,
trees stand straight & tall,
and winter snow blankets the earth in silence.

i come from the great lake,
where sturgeon swim in crystal-clear water,
waves tickle the shoreline,
and the horizon stretches to infinity.

i come from the wild,
where dancing streams turn into cascading waterfalls,
bears devour tiny berries,
and autumn blazes a trail across the land like wildfire.

i come from the night,
where the aurora dances,
the milky way beckons,
and the ink-black sky glitters with stars.

The wild (upper peninsula of michigan). my heart. my home.

{sending heart-felt appreciation to the soulful + poetic liz lamoreux for the prompt: i come from. try it!}

almost every day in oregon, my pup and i went for a walk in the park near our house. in the middle of the park was a large grassy field.

in the winter, the field was full of puddles, mud, and the occasional duck. in the summer, the field was full of children playing soccer, sunbathers, and dogs chasing balls.

one day – i’m not exactly sure when it began – i heard a small sound while i was walking on the path around the field.

i wish i knew how to describe it to you. the best i can do is to say that it was a combination of crackling ice + whispers + rustling.

i stood still for a moment and listened, trying to determine where the sound originated.

eventually, i realized the sound was coming from the grass.

i began to pay attention and to listen whenever i was in the park.

i heard the sound in the morning, when the dew was fresh on the grass. i also heard it in the afternoon, on grey days, just after a light rain.

i grew to love the sound. it was as if the grass was whispering secrets, secrets that, if i only listened closely enough, i would be able to hear.

one grey afternoon, while i stood listening, i heard a single word.

“run!”

i ignored it, thinking it was my imagination, but then i heard it again.

“run!”

i wondered if the grass was talking to me. if, in fact, it was, i was afraid to listen. i was afraid that my feet might hurt it.

“run!” i heard again. “that’s what we’re made for!”

i took off my shoes and socks and walked into the field.

the grass caressed the bottoms of my feet and tickled the sides of my toes. the earth was firm and supportive beneath me.

then i ran, following the lead of my dog, who hadn’t waited for an invitation. i watched as the grass bent low beneath my footsteps and bounced back up again.

when i stopped to catch my breath, i heard the sound again.

it was louder this time, and full of laughter.

i threw back my head and laughed too.

the grass stains remained on my feet for days. they reminded me of an invitation – extended and accepted.

{this particular story is true, unlike most of the stories in the story club, but the essence is the same.}

on saturday, atlas turned 11, so i thought it would be fun to wander through his life in pictures.

and so it begins.

2003: i have a new puppy! this is a year that includes surgery (for me), parvo (for him), and the love + fun + adventure + growing pains of our new life together.

2004: this is a year that includes training, daily adventures, trips to sheep dung estates & san diego, and a move from sacramento to folsom.

2005: this is a year that includes more training, more daily adventures, and the pleasure + pain of both a jackrabbit chase & a squirrel catch.

2006: this is a year that includes a move to oregon, a road trip to seattle, camping, hikes, time at the oregon coast, and the beginning of an annual corn maze tradition.

2007: this is a year that includes a road trip to seattle, a road trip to michigan, an adventure in colorado, and fun dog + person classes.

2008: this is a year that includes lots of time at the oregon coast, an autumn trip to detroit lake, the first kitty-friend for a kitty-obsessed puppy, and many more daily adventures.

2009: this is a year that includes the call of the wild dog camp, lots of hiking, more fun dog + person classes, and more daily adventures.

2010: this is a year that includes a new dog-friendly work environment (meaning: i leave my job to be my own employer) and a road trip to the central oregon coast.

2011: this is a year that includes a road trip to the olympic peninsula and many many many daily adventures.

2012: this is a year that includes hikes, adventures, and three months on the couch due to a fractured puppy toe.

2013: this is a year that includes a move to michigan, an adventure in north dakota, a hike up a mountain, encounters with deer + bear poop + foxes + partridge, an arctic-like winter, a household that always seems to have meat + gravy, and many many daily adventures.

happy birthday, atlas!

i love you more than all the stars in the sky & all the fish in the sea, and i am beyond grateful for every single one of our years together.

i love real mail.

maybe it’s old-fashioned – there are so many instantaneous ways to connect nowadays – but i don’t care.

there are so many things to love about real mail.

there is the tactile pleasure of pen on paper.

there is the singular script of the sender.

there is the non-immediacy of the arrival.

there is the surprise + delight of finding a hand-written envelope or postcard nestled amongst a stack of bills and junk mail and catalogs.

i would love to live in a world where our mailboxes are overflowing with beauty + love + connection.

maybe you would love to live in that world too.

maybe you really want to reach out to someone by way of a card or a letter or a postcard, but you just don’t know what to say.

for you, a list of ideas.

say what is true.

i love you.
i miss you.
i’m thinking about you.
i’m so glad you’re in my life.
i don’t know what to say, but i want you to know i care.
how are you? really? i want to know.

celebrate and appreciate them, and be specific.

i love you because ..
i appreciate the way you ..
i admire the way you ..
when i think of you, i think of someone who ..

tell them why you’re thinking about them.

remember when ..
i wish we could ..
i saw/heard/read/felt .. and it made me think of you.
you shared ___ and i can’t stop thinking about it and i wish we could sit down over coffee and talk about it and everything.
i saw your pictures of ___ and it made me smile/miss you/wish you were here.

share something you think they’d like.

a quote.
a song lyric.
a poem.
an article.
a comic strip.

tell them a tiny story about your day/life so they can share in it.

there is a pair of mourning doves on my patio. they visit every day. i named them harry & sally.

a nearby cafe has a sisu latte. it contains cardamon + cinnamon bun. i didn’t know there was cinnamon bun syrup. maybe it is an actual cinnamon bun? clearly i need to ask. when i think of sisu (it’s finnish), i think of grit, so i am glad to know there is sweetness in it too.

my nephew lars says happy now. he says happyhappyhappy at random intervals and it is just so sweet.

i was looking for a quick read when i found dr. laura’s book, the proper care & feeding of husbands, on the bookshelf. i know it seems crazy, but i read it and it reminded me of mama gena. is that crazy? maybe you shouldn’t answer that. maybe you should forget i told you this.

when in doubt, remember: honest + simple + straight from the heart.

you really can’t go wrong with that.

and as (one of my favorite imaginary mentors) augusten burroughs would say, “better the wrong words at the right time than the right words at the wrong time.”

here’s to reaching out.

with love.

in all ways.

“Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest
and let the spirits fly in and out.”

~ Rumi

i renewed my web hosting and i have a heart full of love & appreciation.

for me, for having the courage to be vulnerable.
for you, for your support, appreciation & heart-felt presence.
for life, for the way it encourages me to soften & grow.

a spring thaw allowed my stir-crazy pup to run & smell & explore to his heart’s content. as i watched him, my smile was wide and my heart was full.

he so needed this.

my parting thought today is one of love.

all we really have is this moment.

life is fleeting.
love is forever.
even if it changes in form.

you cry a lot, she said.
i can’t take your tears seriously.

did i cry too much? i trusted her, so i wondered if she was right.

but whether or not they were related, the years during which i stifled my tears were followed by the years during which i struggled with what i later realized was chronic depression.

stifling my tears was not an option.

instead, i felt ashamed of them.

so many stories of being too much.

maybe you have your own stories?

i am tired of caring about being too much when, it seems, too much is a cage.

a cage designed to keep us small.
a cage that has somehow become normal and accepted.

we cage ourselves.
we cage each other.

consciously and unconsciously.

i love watching my niece and nephew; they are a beautiful example of too much.

not in the way we think of it: we’re too much and we should be less.

i mean in the way that everything spills out of them in an unrestrained exuberant expression of unapologetic & honest aliveness.

too much feels closer to enough.

i am reminded of something the mad hatter said to alice.

“You used to be much more… “muchier.” You’ve lost your muchness.”

i am writing this in celebration of too much.

here’s to too much.

here’s to liveliness & boldness & joyful abandon & joie de vivre.

here’s to grabbing life with both hands and living with gusto.

here’s to loving too much & laughing too loud & dreaming too big & shining too bright.

here’s to being too much of anything and everything.

the other day, i read an article in the paper about the effects of a long hard winter. it made me think about our elderly relatives who are often isolated and alone, especially in winter.

if you have some, near or far, consider a phone call or a card. i promise you, it will be a greater blessing than you can imagine.

if you are not a person who mails things, but you want them to get something lovely in the mail, i can help.

are they a mailer-of-things? what about a gift-wrapped set of blank cards?

do they like stories? what about a subscription to the story club? i am happy to send the stories via the mail.

do they like dogs? what about a series of postcards from atlas?

do they just need love? what about a love note, anonymous or otherwise, or a reminder that spring will come.

i can also create something special just for them.

why me?

i love real mail. i love the possibility it holds for surprise + delight + connection + love.

i am good at real mail. i am never happier than when i am popping a stack of letters + cards + postcards into the mailbox to wing their way toward people i love.

that’s why so many of my offerings involve the mail.

really want to pop something in the mail yourself, but you just don’t know what to say?

i am writing a list of ideas just for you. it will be finished soon. {edit to say: here is the list! enjoy.}

when i saw this photo, i giggled, because it perfectly & succinctly expresses atlas’s current opinion of cold + snow.

he is ready to run! without slipping and sliding. without sinking into the white.

soon, little puppy, soon. (she says hopefully.) and maybe with all your pent-up energy, you will finally catch your rabbit. (she says much less hopefully.)