Hedy Zimra was my mentee at Bennington. She was a talented and adventurous artist, vibrant and remarkable, a generous friend to so many of us, and this week the Bennington community is mourning her. I will never step foot in the student center or on the Commons' patio without thinking of Hedy, and the conversations I had with her, unique and strange conversations that I will never have again. She was, in the words of a good friend, entirely singular. She had a soft voice, smart words, and an eccentric sparkle. No one wrote the things Hedy wrote; no one said the things Hedy said. Pictured Above: The shoes Hedy sent me from China, a pair both of my girls wore, a pair my daughter Z wore the day Hedy died, before I knew. Also me in Hedy's green dress, which she sent for me to wear for my reading in Boston. She was there, and it was the last time I saw her. I was listening to her talk as this picture was taken. There is so much I loved about her, and so much I didn't know. For further reading, in words better than my own: All love to Hedy, all love to her family, and much sadness, MMB
Last week, the Dogtor and I drove to Pennsylvania to celebrate the life of his grandmother. Sally passed away at the age of 93, on the cusp of 94. She was a modest Quaker and wouldn't like me going on about her life; this I know. So I'll say just a little. Like many of her generation, she participated in World War II efforts by serving in the Red Cross. She was shot in the shoulder while tending a soldier in Nepal, and later rode a motorcycle on the Burma Road. A line from her high school yearbook: "Her hobbies are hunting birds, and fishing fish, and liking dogs." See? Liking dogs. Heritable. She produced a line of veterinarians, this woman. I like looking at the Dogtor, his sister, and my girls, and knowing they each have a bit of Sally in them. The world needs more women like her, women that seek to do good, are handy with tools, have a sense of fun, and know a thing or two about the natural world. I'll strive to be one of them, and put two more into the universe. xo M
I have a motto for myself: Always sprint up the driveway, in case your girls are watching. Last May, the Dogtor and Dogtor Sr (OPA) ran the Tough Mudder on Mount Snow - 11 miles of military obstacles, a fundraiser for the Wounded Warrior Project. I was 37 weeks pregnant, and I promised myself that a year later I would run that race. And I did. Last Saturday we inched on our bellies through small, muddy tunnels, jumped into sub-40 degree water, hiked ridiculous inclines, army crawled under barbed wire, carried logs, all with mud to our knees. The video above is of our finish, running through dangling live wires while leaping over hay bales. My body still hurts. My forearms are scratched. My knee is upset with me. But we had an incredible time, mostly because we had an incredible team. I was not tall enough for the monkey bars. I was unable to move after dropping 15 feet into freezing water, and it took me 3 tries to sprint up the half pipe into the Dogtor's waiting arms. But Bebe F was on the sidelines cheering for me, and she was watching. xo M
Hi there - This post is for anyone who attended my reading and talk at SVC today. Two things: 1) You can order my book through Connie Brooks, the amazing proprietrix of Battenkill Books. I will sign it before it gets shipped to you. Thanks for supporting an excellent independent! http://www.battenkillbooks.com/ 2)Do your homework! I can't wait to hear how your dinner stories were delivered. Thanks for listening, reading. xo MMB
There's a book to promote, a novel to write, and two classes to teach - but there are also two spring babies to celebrate. We threw a backyard shindig complete with 4 miniature ponies for Frasier and Zephyr's joint birthday party.
The minis were awesome. Lucy, Fred, Ed, and Tiny Tim were kind and docile, and jumped out of their trailer ready to eat grass. They let toddlers pull them around on leashes, and all was calm except for a moment when Lucy sauntered off into the backyard. The boys joined her, and when they realized they were all loose, they began sprinting in circles, kicking up little clouds of dust. It was funny, and then we got nervous, and then they were corralled and we could laugh.
So yes. Miniature horses can stampede.
I hope we get to add one to the farm soon. Don't you love the picture above where you can't even tell which end is which on the mini? Glorious manes.
x
M
I'm still recovering after a night in the city, specifically last Friday's One Story Literary Debutante Ball.
I'm not a good city person. For example, after the party I announced I was off to get on the "metro" and my agent quickly threw me in a cab. (She takes excellent care of me in all ways.) Next time I will know I'm supposed to say subway.
I'm back to romping in the backyard with babies.
It's snowing here?
xo
M
Beware the strength and ambition of small, rugged blonde babies in legwarmers.
We have a really old horse named Whispy. Most people think her name is Whisky, but she's sweeter than that. Whispy is pushing 40. Seriously. She's remarkable. A little arthritic, but still boss of the pasture.
She came to the Dogtor's family when he was young. She was a bit of a rescue, not well taken care of, and already too arthritic to ride.
I wasn't raised as a Horse Person, but I'm quite in love with Whispy. She's so friendly that she hovers, which used to get my adrenaline going a little, but now I love her. I love her smell, her impatience with the goats, her kindness with my kids. I can feel a little horse fever brewing....
Here's a video of a much-needed grooming session with Old Whisp, who is wooly and getting rid of her winter coat. She's making her that-feels-good face, flipping her upper lip. Her eyes are full of wisdom - just look. And she also wants the hens to shut up, I think.
Z just wants to get out of the stroller and eat stuff. F, as usual, is full of opinions, and starts the video off with a pronouncement that "We have a LOT of things to do."
It isn't easy to tell when it's time to put a dog down. First of all, your love is in the way.
But the week before I left for my southern book tour, we realized that our first dog, Captain Nemo, was failing. He was incontinent, his back end was atrophied. I didn't realize how bad things had gotten until after he was gone. We looked back at the old photographs - his strong body, long stride - and knew it was time to say goodbye.
I wanted to write about this a few weeks ago, but I couldn't. I needed to hold onto it a few days myself. Nemo was gentle, soulful, fun-loving, a dog that loved people. He had been present nearly every day of my adult life.
This is how it happened: we put the kids to bed. The Dogtor brought home two bacon cheeseburgers, and he and Nemo ate them together. Nemo was bewildered by his good luck - I only wish he could have eaten the burger more slowly. But I will never stop wishing for more time with him.
We adopted Nemo the day we returned from our honeymoon. He was probably five. He had a goofy dog smile and loose hips. He acted as if he had never seen water before. He used to do 360s down our hallway when the leash came out.
And we talked about all of those things that night.
We sat down on the kitchen floor, the three of us, the way it had been ten years ago when there were no other dogs, no kids, and we talked. We cried. We delayed, looked for other things to do, to say. And then the Dogtor gave Nemo a sedative, and we held him as he lost consciousness, fell into a deep sleep. I watched the lids of his eyes sag, heard his breath deepen. I hugged him, kept his head in my lap. We administered the euthanasia solution, and waited for his heart to stop.
It was a privilege, a hard one, to do this ourselves. My husband is good at his job, even when his heart is broken.
We carried Nemo out to the backyard, to a corner where other good dogs rest, and buried him underneath a full moon.
I still call for him outside, look for his food bowl in the mornings, and miss the sound of his restless legs kicking the wood bin as he dreamed his way through the night. He was a good dog, a very good dog.
Hello All - While Megan readjusts herself to the VT Homeland (playing with the girls and churning through schoolwork), I thought I'd take the opportunity to a) introduce myself, b) defend my parenting skills while the mom is away, and c) comment on how wonderful it is to watch my life partner go through all this BOLP excitement.
a) Megan refers to me as the Dogtor - call me what you will but don't believe everything she writes about me.
b) Indeed, I was on girl duty for four nights in a row and while their Mom missed them horribly, my hope is that she felt comfortable leaving them in my care. Sure, I may have let our 10 month old bury her head in the side of the beagle while giggling at the cat - but it's not like she found and ate chicken poop in the driveway...or did she? Sure, our 3 year old may have run around the house wearing nothing but a tutu - but it's not like I'd let her blindly go down a 3 story slide...or did I?
c) While the job and children (and dogs/cats/chickens/goats/horse) keep me close to home, I have been lucky enough to see Megan read from BOLP four times thus far. The feeling of watching your spouse up in front of a crowd share her stories is difficult to describe, especially for someone not in the literary world (although fluid therapy texts and laparotomy instructions may prove more exciting than you might think). I marvel at her ease in talking in front of friends and fans - her pre-reading insights, her dedications, her southern accent coming out for moments of southern dialogue, the natural and original way of answering post reading questions. She rocks. She is stunning. She is brilliant.
Is your spouse allowed to gush on your own website? Just in case I'm not, here's Megan trying to climbing a tree:
So please, next time she's reading and I can't be there, send me a picture.
Thanks y'all,
The Dogtor
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