How Honey became Chewy

Honeybun is a cute name for my new friend: She gives slurpy (almost syrupy) kisses and is not picky about where. Ears, eyelids, thighs, she loves to smooch.

Yet "Honeybun" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, so we considered other names.

Brioche. Toffee. Challah (Holla!).

But none quite worked.

You know what else Bun loves? Chewing. Leashes, buttons, fingers, toes, the arm of the sofa. She is gentle but insistent, delighted to bring a running shoe or shower sandal onto the bed (that's my bed, by the way).

And so Chewy it is.

Adopting Honey

I've been wanting to adopt a dog, but the timing hasn't been right — my knee surgery, the weather (unusually cold!), and my parents' kitchen remodel felt like a perfect storm of obstacles. So I mostly looked online, for medium-sized mutts.

I received a listing for a border collie mix, a blonde girl named Mercy. She cocked her head just so; worth an application, I decided.

A day later, Anna from Chicago Canine Rescue asked about my approach to dog training and when I could visit the shelter. Wednesday, it turned out. Why wait until the weekend?

I drove to Chicago to meet Mercy, who was first on my introduction list. "You could name her Marcy," Kelsey had said. (Adorable!) But after a few awkward minutes it was clear Mercy wasn't comfortable around me.

Yet Anna and Hannah encouraged me to meet whoever I wanted. They were super knowledgeable and open to answering my many questions. So I met eight dogs.

Esperanza, a sato, was on the short list. (By the way, I learned a lot about satos from my many talks with Meryl from The Sato Project. She's their adoption and foster coordinator, and she not only knows a lot about the dogs, but she'll figure out your personality as well.) In Puerto Rico, Esperanza had stayed by the side of an injured dog, and I liked her loyalty.

But after almost three hours at the shelter, I also felt like I couldn't bear to leave Cinder, a gentle 40-pound black lab mix who rested her chin on my knee whenever I stopped petting her. She must have been practicing her soulful gazing.

It was hard to choose only one dog. But the first dog I'd had a connection with that day was Honey. In her profile, it said she "greets strangers with confidence." Indeed, she did: kissing, licking, waiting for belly rubs. "Pouring it on," as Hannah said. Honey seemed to love people, dogs, and toys, and I couldn't resist her playful spirit.

I never realized that adopting a dog comes down to not adopting other dogs. But Honey, who looks like a miniature German shepherd, was incredibly sweet. She was the one, my little Honeybun.

Filing away the past

My straightforward task — cleaning out a file cabinet — should have been routine. A non-event.

I've tried to pare things down before, but this was a walk through my academic life.

I found class notes and blue books. And old readers (remember those spiral-bound packets we had to buy?).

I found papers I don't remember writing about poems I don't remember reading for classes I don't remember taking. (And I was an English minor!) The dot-matrix printing may have faded, but the grades and comments still resonate like a Phil Collins tune.

Recycling everything felt like throwing away my thoughts and experiences, even my old feelings: Panic, anxiety, exhilaration, pride (and that only brings us to 1992).

I have to admit, I saved a few of those papers. Whoever says grades don't matter clearly does not have a file cabinet of old work.

The new and the familiar (on vacation)

Because Joel and I haven't met up too often in southern California, we're still looking for our favorite place. Every dinner is a new experience.

This year, it was Sonny's in San Clemente.

I branched out from chicken marsala — into chicken with mushrooms and spinach and marsala cream sauce, can you believe it? (Thanks for the restaurant recommendation, guy at the Phoenix airport.) Joel didn't love the lasagna, but we were both fans of the mud pie.

It's a wonderful thing, having a leisurely dinner outside in January.

I just got back into town, so vacation already seems like a distant memory. But being back home suits me. My postal carrier, per her habit, wrote a "welcome back" note on my mail, and I love these everyday gestures.

It's good to be home. Even in January.

Post-college catching up in Newport Beach

Theresa, Kara, and I — sorority sisters from Cal — got together for lunch. Kara chose Fig & Olive, and also explained her childhood fig allergy (which, at first, her parents did not believe was actually a thing).

Fortunately the menu was not heavy on figs. Rather, it offered many olive oils ("Spain, Spain, Greece," according to our server — this is what he said, I don't remember any pronouns or prepositions). The restaurant was gorgeous — and also in Hangover 3, we were told.

The three of us getting together for long lunches is turning into a tradition. We met up for lunch last year, which was great since we hadn't seen each other since the 90s!

We didn't spend much time talking about college or the house at either of our gatherings, though; we're all grounded in the present. But speaking of the 90's, I'd like to have talked about that new Hindsight show. The bad ideas, the do-overs, the babydoll dresses. Ah, nostalgia.

And cheers to things that are so 20 years ago!

Sunday with Julie

Despite Julie's hectic work and out-of-town visitor schedule, she came to Newport Beach so we could have our yearly catch up during my vacation.

We went to Bandera, one of my all-time favorite restaurants. But the pitch black, almost romantic lighting (especially at 4:30 in the afternoon) made me feel a little cranky. Good thing I got a fried chicken sandwich; that cheered me up a lot. Julie loved the butternut squash enchilada, and the coffee was ameezing (any Kroll Show fans out there?).

We both have big plans for 2015. Or shall we say, big plans to put into motion some big plans. Julie's may involve blogging. I hate to be a January joiner, but she inspired me to restart my blog. Once I'd gotten out of the habit, it seemed hard to put my thoughts together and hit publish. So I'm starting small!

Goodbye, Papaya

Today was Papaya's last day.

Unlike with Ginger, who had to depart rather suddenly, I had a few days to make a decision about Papaya. On Monday, she had trouble standing up. The swelling in her back left leg might have also been bone cancer — but I didn't need to know for sure, because she would not be getting better.

Pops had been staying at my parents' house while I recovered from knee surgery. And it so it went: They continued to take loving care of her, giving her narcotics, feeding her ice cream, and not getting annoyed when she barged into the bathroom. (That never got old for her.) She helped herself to two bagels from my parents' dining room table. While they were home. She was still very much herself.

This is the last photo I took of her, when we arrived at the vet's office. You can see the cowlick on the right side of her neck (where she's leaning on my crutches). I never trimmed that because I thought it made her look unique — and if she ever got lost, it would be an easy way to identify her.

But she never got lost. All she ever wanted was to be near you. "You" could be me, my parents, my friends, the mailman, or anyone with food. Pops, you made everyone feel loved, and we will miss you.