Archives for posts with tag: Happiness

Seventeen years ago a generation of cicadas crawled from an underground slumber in the Iowa soil and screamed for months. They flew about like tiny drunk pilots, slamming into humans and agriculture alike. They ruined a summer’s worth of outdoor picnics. Then – goal accomplished, I assume –  they mated, laid their eggs deep into the ground, and died.

Their babies have arrived. I assure you they scream just as passionately as their forefathers.

The poodle met a few of these new cicadas this weekend. Like most living creatures, they baffled her. She batted them about. Sniffed and snorted. Eventually she took a bite out of one and the screaming stopped. Here, I have photographic proof of the poor bastard:

CicadaHe’s kind of beautiful. Now that he’s quiet.

The poodle feels no shame. She seemed rather pleased with herself and the conquering of an invading army – or at least one enemy soldier. Here she is immediately post-kill:

HappyPoodleMy sweet little happy killer.



My wife and I got married because we love each other. We got married because that seemed like the next step in life. We got married because we could. (Thank you Iowa and Minnesota) Like a good modern couple the cohabitating, dog adopting, and mortgage came before the marriage. The wedding felt like a mere formality. An excuse to have a party. We didn’t think it would change much.

But it did. It changed something huge and intangible.

We aren’t dating any more. She isn’t my girlfriend. We are married. She is my spouse. She is my wife. These are words society at large understands. We don’t have to explain that our partnership is deep and true and real, these words do it for us.

Also being married got us a post on A Bicycle Built for Two. That’s kinda fun.

I love this girl.


We hit twenty degrees by noon today and rejoiced. The poodle even found a stick within the waist high snowpack.


That’s one saving grace of subzero,  Polar Vortex weather; even below freezing weather feels promising. This glimpse of the future, this dose of hopefulness makes a little more winter seem bearable.

Just a little more though. Ok, mother nature?

We’ve been talking about building a fire pit since we bought our house six months ago. Work and time and a wedding and sunny patios with cold beer got in the way. Then the leaves started to turn. Squirrels started burying walnuts in our flower pots. Our sensitive poodle got extra snuggly. Fall arrived.

It’s time for a fire.

The internets told us building our own simply fire pit wouldn’t be too hard – just fifty bucks and an hour or so. Today I learned the internet is always right. Always. We documented our adventure to prove it:

Step 1: Rip up the soil.


Step 2: Level the bricks and let the wife relocate a little worm because she is a wealth of compassion:


Step 3: Allow a toy poodle to inspect.


Step 4: Bask in the glory that is the finished product. Bask.


This is going to be a lovely fall.

Back on the beautiful book train. I loved this book and the world McCann created.

Typically, I want a book to teach me how to read it. If it’s going to be jumpy, fine. If it’s going to be slow, fine. Let the Great World Spin will teach you how to read it but it’s not going to do it in the first fifty pages.

I went in knowing nothing more that it is set in New York in the 70s and I think that’s how you ought to go too. Go with it. Trust the book. Sink into the beauty. Turn the next page, you won’t regret it.

My only regret is that I won’t get to spend any more time in their rich, layered world.

Sometimes I like to wander around the internet and watch movie trailers (reason #462 why I’m a nerd). I stumbled across this today:

While eating a classic Midwestern dinner of pork chops and applesauce, the girlfriend and I watched it. The dog was busy murdering her toy raccoon in another room. Turns out we are pretty happy as a household. ANYWAY, the movie was great. In short, we as humans need variety and family to be happy. The slightly academic narrator says that this guy:

is probably happier than you. That seems to say something.

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