But when facing more than 200 feet of pickets, rails, and posts with nothing but a 4-inch-wide brush and a fuzzy roller, it’s easy to feel defeated before you get started. I’d even googled for fence-painting info and every blog and article I ran across basically stated that there’s no easy way to get the job done. So we settled in for the chore, Dave doing most of the painting on Sunday and me picking it up on Monday. Here then is my contribution to the chore of fence painting a la the seven stages of grief.

SHOCK – It came within the first half hour after I’d moved no more than four pickets and one post. And that was only the front side of the pickets. I started to do the math but, given my math skills, I abandoned that little task, because I was still too busy mumbling, WTF, WTF, WTF and my terrible math skills had us finishing the fence in 2016. Shoot me now.

DENIAL -  Seriously. This isn’t going to take long at all. I left to meet a few friends at the Taste of Cleveland and figured by the time I got back, Dave would be nearly finished. Sure he would! He would paint with two hands! We’d have a white fence by sundown! We would only need two gallons of paint versus the five I was certain we would need earlier in the day. Woot woot!

ANGER – Back to mumbling WTF. While Dave made great progress on Sunday, there was still a whole- hella-lot more wood than white. And Dave could barely stand up straight from all of the rolling, which requires bending over. Damn fence. Damn dogs that need the damn fence. We should’ve considered the electric fence. No one paints electric and who cares if the dogs got zapped 25 times a day? They should bark less anyway, the damn fools. And if one more person makes a joke about Tom Sawyer, I’m gonna swipe a paintbrush across my face and start singing every song from the musical because, sadly, I know them. Screw you, Aunt Polly! No wonder Tom thought you were a beeeyatch!

And would it be so wrong to tie paintbrushes or sponges to Alice and Macy’s paws and have them get to work. They are working dogs for pete’s sake. It’s about time they started earning their keep. They should be paying rent for the fence. And why can’t those super-genius iPhone people figure out some sort of super-genius application that will paint this fence for me? Argh!

BARGAINING – Monday, 9 am-ish. Okay fence, it’s just you and me and some partly cloudy skies on Labor Day. Really, we can be friends. I’m sorry about all that talk of going electric and singing ”Smart Like That” because it aint everyday a boy (and girl) gets to whitewash a fence, Huckleberry, because (sing along now) “it don’t feel like work to me.”  Heck no, this isn’t really work. This is Fun with a capital F and F stands for fence. I mean, it’s not every day you get to paint a fence so here’s the thing, God. If you can make this fence painting go a little faster, I promise and swear on a stack of bibles that I will not buy any shoes or clothes for approximately one month, maybe two. Oh hell, maybe even forever. And I will give up shopping altogether.  And also potato chips. In fact, I will cut all salty food out of my diet.

DEPRESSION – Monday, Noon-ish. I suck. I suck at this fence-painting thing. I’m barely past another post, my hands are quite possibly permanently clenched around this brush, my hands are covered in paint as are the dogs who tromped through the paint tray that I left sitting in the yard and no Macy is decorating the sun room with white paw tracks but that’s not the worst of it. Oh no, the worst of it is that by my terrible math calculation, it is indeed possible that this fence will not be complete until 2016. Somewhere up in heaven, my dad is looking down and laughing that I-told-you-so laugh he had, thinking this is the biggest joke ever. Put his attention-deficited daughter on fence painting detail. Ha, she can hardly pay attention for one picket let alone the 18 kajillion that appear to be multiplying before her very eyes. Why oh why didn’t I inherit his patience for home improvement projects?

I will finish my masters in creative writing before I finish this fence. We may never finish this fence. Ever. And look at those globs and streaks. Aunt Polly would be appalled. She’d box my ears, for sure, just like she did to Tom Sawyer when she found out he ditched class. I am doing a diservice to Mark Twain right here in the backyard with this sloppy fence painting. 

I can just hear Tim Gunn from Project Runway if he were to see my fence-painting skills.  ”Oh dear, oh my. Hmmmm….I’m not sure about that picket right there. It looks very…well…unfinished and untailored. Make it work, Amy.”

Sigh. Triple sigh. If nothing else, at least one of the neighbor kids was selling chocolate. I bought three candy bars. I’m thinking I’ll drown my painting sorrows in chocolate.

TESTING – Monday, 2 pm-ish. So, if I put the mini roller in one cramped-beyond-belief-and-looking-like-a-crab-claw hand and put the big fat paintbrush in the other semi-cramped-but-slightly-less-used hand, I can roll and brush, roll and brush, roll and brush. It’s a new mantra. I’m like sooooooooooooooo Zen with my new painting routine. Or, or, or, I could roll a whole section and then go back with the brush for the second coat. Or I could create a new invention that would be like a combo roller-brusher thingee and make millions. I’d be like bigger than the Ronco In The Egg Scrambler. Ron Popeil’s inventions would have nothing on the Purcell Miracle Insta-Paint-o-Matic-RollerBrush. Or I could chuck this freaking roller across the yard, get a beer from the fridge, and tell everyone our fence is a very large and very modern art installation and the ”unfinished” nature of this fine piece of artwork represents the unfinished nature of ourselves. We are all like a fence being painted and in need of painting. Or I could put this whole scene in a short story even though Twain already did it. Mine would be way more postmodern. Or something.

ACCEPTANCE – Monday, 4 pm-ish, 3 gallons of paint later, and still not finished. It’s okay. I’m going to get through this. I’m going to paint the fence for the rest of my life and that’s alright. There are worse things that could happen because bad things do happen to good people, or vice versa. If you can’t beat it, paint it. Maybe this is my real calling in life. Maybe this is all a sign I should drop this crazy idea of writing the great American novel and get myself back to community theater because I’ve just hummed my way through the entire Tom Sawyer production and I still know most of the songs. I’m sure someone needs an Aunt Polly somewhere. And really, this whole thing is teaching me big, big lessons in patience, discipline and focus. I mean, I might be able to get through an entire conversation with Dave without getting distracted. This whole fence thing is a blessing in disguise. Yes, I am blessed to my whitewashed ears. And the fence looks grand. Really, it does. Seriously.

EXHAUSTION – I decided we need to add an eighth stage to fence-painting called exhaustion. ‘Cause this here party is pooped. Goodnight moon. Goodnight white-pawed dogs. Goodnight kind neighbors who brought us homemade salsa. Goodnight paintbrushes and paintcans. Goodnight picket fence. (Please for the love of god finish painting yourself.)

“What is with the Orange Blossom Special running through our bedroom,” she asked Macy. “Get up and turn that blasted alarm off. This is no hour for man’s best friend to be awake.”

Macy bounded over to the clock. “Get up, Alice! It’s the first day of school! Aren’t you excited? We don’t want to be late! I have so much work to do before we leave! Woooooof!”

Oh geez, Alice sighed. Her sister was in puppy mode, overly excited and unable to control her energy. Didn’t she know anything? All the cool dogs hated school because they already knew everything there was to know. But there was Macy, stacking up her tennis balls and toys, trying to get ready for her remedial training class where she would once again struggle with listening skills, her barkitude, and her ability to sit when told. It’d be another big fat “F” in obedience.

“Listen,” Alice said. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we cut class today? We can hide out at the movies or hang in the dog park and round up all the other dogs playing hookie. Or we could just keep on laying right here on this cushy bed and nap through the day.”

“No way!” Macy yiped. “I’m all ready to go. I have my Trapper Keeper filled with all of the obedience instructions. I have my tennis balls that are color-coordinated with my notebooks so I can keep track of my notes and look pretty all at the same time. I  have a list of all the dogs in the neighborhood that we need to make friends with. I have my Lassie lunchbox, though I really wanted a lunchbox with Charlie’s Angels on it but I couldn’t find one anywhere! And I worked so hard on making my nails extra perfect last night. We are going to school and that’s that.”

“Ha,” Alice said. “Who died and left you the alpha dog? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here and get smarter through osmosis. I’m sure there are plenty of smart vibes in this bed since Dad sleeps here and he’s a professor. I’ll just soak up all the intelligence while I catch a few more z’s.”

Macy nipped at Alice’s neck and let out a yelp. “Come on, Alice! School is the new black. It’s like more fashionable than Michael Kors and Lady Gaga. At least that’s what all the cool dogs say. And even mom is going back. I mean, she hasn’t been to school in about a hundred years and look how excited she is. Except I’m kinda disappointed that her notebooks and pens aren’t color-coordinated. I don’t know what she was thinking when she bought those.”

“Listen super-excited-annoying-pants, I am already schooled enough. I am a full time student in the school of L-I-F-E. I’ve got more street smarts than you’ll ever have and classes bore me. I mean, what is there left to teach the Greatest of All Time? I know all the commands. My vocabulary is impeccable. I pretty much rule. Except I still can’t figure out how to the get the bone jar off that shelf for a late-night chow-down.”

Macy looked out the window, watching all of the kids walk to school. She wiggled her bottom and tried not to bark at them. This year she was definitely going to work on her barkitude since last year she failed so miserably in that area. “You shouldn’t brag, Alice. Nobody likes a know it all. Besides, mom says you can learn something new every day and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to learn new words and new commands and I’m going to listen and be the bestest girl I can be.”

“Oh god, it’s the first-day list of promises,” Alice got up and stretched her legs. Every year it was harder and harder to wake up early and leave the comfort of the bed but she knew she had to set a good example for her sister who needed her to be a good role model. No one understood the pressure she was under, trying to keep her little sis on the straight and narrow. One wrong step and Macy would be hanging with the wrong crowd, causing mayhem at the dog park, and heaven forbid, not keeping her nails groomed. Life was a bitch sometimes, which Alice never really understood because what was so bad about life being a female dog. Humans, they didn’t choose their words carefully enough sometimes.

“You need to take a bath before we leave,” Macy said. “You sort of stink.”

“Don’t push your luck sis. You’re lucky I’m even getting up. And let it be known that I’m not really going to school, I’m just following you there to make sure nothing happens to you. And if they’re offering it, I might sign up for a course in quantum physics or something like that. Something that’ll school me in getting that bone jar off the shelf so I can get the bone quantity I deserve.”

“YAY!” Macy barked. “I knew I could convince you to come to school. Now, I’m thinking maybe a pink bow in your hair would be just the thing. You know, in case you see your boyfriend Bernie or something. Alice and Bernie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage…”

Alice rolled her eyes and trotted away from Macy. She was already thinking about ways to pack on the Freshman Fifteen. Surely there was a class in Human Manipulation or Grand Bone Theft or How To Get Your Vegetarian Parents To Bring More Meat In The House or Smile Your Way To More Steak. Or maybe this year, they would let her teach a class. Professor Alice Palace Purcell. Hells yeah. Now where was her pipe and that corduroy blazer with the suede patches on the elbows?

The girls arrived late Friday afternoon and were greeted by my girls with the necessary level of excited barking. I mean, the other girls were carrying in pillows so certainly this was a sign of a slumber party which could only mean more dog treats. After hugs and treats were doled out, we took a tour of the new house and Mary started outlining a plan for all of our artwork that was piled in a corner just waiting for her magic touch. We hung out for a bit while Mary began hanging up picutures. Then it was off to Pufferbelly for dinner. Despite the scorch-your-skin temperatures, we walked to the restaurant and enjoyed the view of some dude floating down the lazy Cuyahoga River rapids in his blue Speedo. Fortunately, we didn’t lose our appetites and he didn’t lose his speedo in the rapids. Black squirrel sightings: one.

After a good dinner complete with banana-caramel-pecan bread pudding (nom nom nom!), mom brought a few steak scraps back for Alice and Macy. Talk about insta-BFFs. They forgot who normally brings home their bacon and surrounded mom for the duration of the visit on the off-chance that she would magically produce steak scraps from her pockets. Friday night was spent in true slumber party fashion – watching tv, talking, and snacking. We watched the most hideous show imaginable because that’s what slumber parties are all about — bad tv, gossip, and lazing around. The show is called “Say Yes To The Dress” whereupon horribly spoiled women search for the perfect wedding dress, typically upwards of $5,000 or more. Valuable brain cells were lost while viewing this comi-tragedy. The only redeeming value of the show is that it gave me the perfect saying for the rest of the weekend. “Say yes to… ”

Saturday was spent shopping and doing what our family calls “tooling around,” meaning just doing stuff. We spent some time at the Haymakers Farmer’s Market whereupon our inner bread lovers went into overdrive and we nearly bought out the entire Backeri booth. We bought pretzels! We bought rosemary bread! We bought something called a snookie! Say yes to the snookie! And to counterbalance all the carbs and sugary stuff, I bought a giant melon that passed the thump test for ripeness.  Say yes to the giant melon! Black squirrel sightings: zero; it was too hot for them.

Next up was the Kent State Museum. The current exhibit is all about hats and worth a quick tour of the museum if you haven’t been. Of course, I set off the museum alarm because I was pointing too closely at a particularly gorgeous hat which then led to the museum docent following us through the rest of the exhibit. Clearly I’m not to be trusted around artifacts that aren’t encased in glass.  Say yes to touching artifacts and setting off alarms! My fave hat was a black and white picture hat made of straw, circa 1990s, that had more folds than a shar-pai.

Mary’s fave – and mom’s too – was a wide-brimmed black and white picture hat with bows, circa 1980s. It had some My Fair Lady appeal — that sort of whimsical fun swoosh that reminds you of when Eliza is at the Ascott Opening Race. How dooooo you doooo?

We think they would’ve been perfect fits if they’d allowed us to try them on.

We left Kent for a few hours to hit Don Drumm Studio’s August sale, most definitely a major say-yes moment. I bought a couple pairs of earrings, a necklace, and a keyholder. Mom offered to buy the switchplate I was drooling over as a housewarming gift and Mary instructed me not to argue with her over who was buying because it would turn into the normal scene that happens in our family — “I’m buying.” “No, I’m buying.” “Put that card away. I said I was buying.” “I’m going to be mad if you buy.” Apparently, none of us have learned how to say yes to letting someone else pay because this was round one of several rounds of this circular conversation. You’d think we’d tire of it but we can’t help ourselves.

Back home for a lunch of pretzels, Shearer’s potato chips, and melon. Perfecto! Mom and Mary saved enough room for a dish of ice cream at the Old Fashioned Ice Cream Social sponsored by Standing Rock Cultural Arts and other downtown businesses. With sugar levels  soaring, it was time for more shopping at The Figleaf. I bought a super cute one-shoulder top at an incredibly low price and Mary bought a super cute purse (she buys purses like I buy shoes) for another incredibly low price. I’ve been running past the window for weeks now on one of my regular running routes but was always too sweaty to stop in. I’m pleased to report that I will be saying yes to The Fig Leaf and adding it to my regular shopping-browsing routine.  As we walked through Acorn Alley, I spied the Shearer’s red potato chip bag. Mom was a convert to the chip produced in Brewster, OH – lots of “foldies” in the mix, her favorite kind of chip and mine too! Black squirrel sightings: zero, unless you count some of the Kent paraphenalia in the gift shops on Main Street.

Then it was off to buy supplies so my designing diva sister could complete her quest to ensure that all of artwork would be hanging at the appropriate height, in the appropriate places. Here’s the thing about Mary: she’s awesomely talented and she’s one of the most giving people I know. I am more than lucky to have her as my sister. I mean, who else would tell me that my pictures are hanging too high and that the mirror we’ve had for over a decade has outdated colors from the 90s (purple and teal, you remember that combo I’m sure). So Mary buys a bunch of paint and proceeds to re-do the mirror. Here she is visiting us and she’s working. She did take a break for dinner though.

Mom decided on Mike’s Place because of their humor-infused menu.  The proportions here were huge and the menu was a hoot to read. From the Walleye that ate Cleveland to the Mad Hungarian to the Rules of Dining — We serve breakfast all day ’cause we don’t know when your lazy butts get out of bed — to the 60-oz meat-eating challenge, Mike’s menu gives you plenty to laugh about while you’re waiting.

We closed out the night with mirror-painting and a movie. The dogs saw the doggie bag filled with chicken parmigiana go into the fridge and spent the rest of the night wondering how to grow thumbs so they could make a late-night raid. But their cravings were denied until morning.

Sunday we wrapped up the trip at St. Patrick’s Church and the Wild Goats Cafe whereupon Mary and I reminisced over our old waitressing days. Little known fact: I love to serve food. I can’t cook it but I am a helluva waitress.

All told, we had a terrific time on our Kent kind of weekend, and I am proud to be a new Kentite, Kentonite, Kenter, Kentonian, or whatever I’m supposed to call myself.  Kent might be a smaller city than some but it’s big on community spirit. I’m saying yes to Kent. And now I’m going to say yes to the remaining pieces of pretzel in the kitchen.

So, being the apparent city girl that I am, I asked the older woman, presumably Mrs. Pizzuti (whom I later ended up calling Mrs. Patootie when I was retelling the story to a friend), if they had any bales of hay. She cocked her head and looked at me for a moment and then said, “you mean straw?”

Um…I guess so?

Lesson learned. Straw, my fellow cityfolk, is what we put over grass seed and what is now covering 1/8th of our yard where we’re trying to grow new grass. Straw is also used as bedding for farm animals and has no nutritional value unless you’re talking about the Straw of the Straw & Hay dinner at Pompilio’s in Newport, KY whereupon you get white linguini and spinach linguini covered in a creamy alfredo yumminess along with some green peas. Now I understand that the green noodles represent the “hay” which is what horses, cows, and all other farm animals eat for nutritional value.

So I got my two bales of straw and came home seeking some definitions. Hay of the horse-eating variety includes nutritional grasses and legumes such as alfalfa or clover. It’s cut, dried, and then used as food for the moo-cows and ba-ba-black sheep. Straw, which is now covering my yard and making a sorry attempt at keeping the birds out of the grass seed, is nothing but hollow stalks of grain. It can be used as feed but the cows and such don’t find it as appetizing.

Never again will I make this mistake and be corrected by Mrs. Pizutti-Patooti. Now, it’s time to go shoo the birds off the STRAW. I’m thinking about making a scarecrow with the leftovers.

Macy (burying face in sofa cushion): MOM! That is so unladylike! Please do not talk about scooping our poop!

Alice: Why not? I’m feeling like taking a big old dump right about now anyhow. It’s either that or back to napping.

Macy: MOM! Make her stop! Besides, Alice, you won’t even go potty in your new yard. Every time we go out there you just roll over and show your belly.

Alice: That’s how we dawgs from Kent roll. I need to get my walk on so I can spread the love around the ‘hood, so to speak. We’re in new territory and I intend to mark my five-mile radius as Alice Palace’s Happy Dumping Grounds if you know what I’m sayin’.

Mom: Ladies, please. Can we get this interview back on track? Alice, you need to get over your yard-pooping phobia and Macy, you need to stop barking at the new neighbors. Now, my first question is, what do you like most about Kent?

Alice (stretching and finding a corner to lie in): The laid-back vibe, dude. It’s all copasetic. All I need are some tasty treats, a cool breeze in the sunroom, and I’m fine.

Mom: Nice answer, Spicoli. Macy, what about you?

Macy: Well, I really like all the nice people in the neighborhood.

Alice (rubbing her nose): Know what this is, sis?

Macy: Your nose?

Alice: Yeah, and what color is it?

Macy: Brown?

Alice: Put ‘em together.

Macy: Brown nose?

Alice: Xactly.

Mom: Go ahead, Macy. What else do you like?

Macy: Well, let me think. I know! I like the new magic food we’re getting.

Alice: That’s not magic, that’s diet food. It’s trickery is what it is. You’re getting the wet stuff so it makes it seem like you’re getting more but you’re getting less. And that’s because you are what they call a Fat Ass. (Alice stands and starts wiggling her bottom) “Macy has a big butt and she cannot lie. You other Aussies can not deny. Macy got back!”

Macy (jumping on Alice and nipping her in the neck): No fair. It was the stress of the move! I overeat when I’m stressed!

Mom: Girls, simmer down.

Macy (hopping on the sofa and curling up by mom): She started it. She always does. Anyway, like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by Miss Rude-A-Lot, I like the new magic food very much and I also like all of our walks together in the morning and I like the people next door even though they have cats and I like the Backeri pretzels with cheese because cheese is better than almost anything except Mom and I also like our new sunroom where I sit on grandma’s old sofa and I really, really liked that one time mom and dad let us run down the football field without holding our leashes — it was like total freedom and the wind in my fur and my paws were dancing on the grass.

Alice:  Yeah, that was pretty fucking cool. I almost beat you.

Macy: I thought you said you weren’t going to cuss in Kent since we’re on a college campus with professors and stuff.

Alice: Wrongo bongo, sis. I said I was going to cuss more. Professors cuss all the time. Get with the syllabus, little one.

Mom: Alice, how about you give us some more info on Kent instead of bugging your sister.

Alice: (whispering under her breath) Buzzcrunch. (pause) Okay, so like the Ak-rowdy was pretty cool. The Alice Palace ran that town and pretty much everyone knew when the Alice Palace was walking down the street that she meant business. The Palace had Bernie under her control and she guarded the house and took over the dog park. She was pretty much the mayor.

Mom: Why are you talking about yourself in third person?

Alice: Geez mom, don’t you know anything? That’s how all the superstars talk. Sigh. Anyhow, the Rubber City was good times but the Palace is digging Kent. If only someone in this family would take her to this place called the Zephyr where apparently you can drink beer and get tacos at the pick-up window. The Palace’s life would be complete then. She might never ask for anything else.

Mom: I find that very hard to believe. And what’s your position on the black squirrels.

Alice: Duh. Hate ‘em. They’re squirrels. But I’m sure they’d taste good toasted with some marshmallows. Like a squirrel s’more. Mmmmmm….

Macy: They scare me. So I bark at them. A lot. I kind of can’t help myself. Also, I’m a little afraid of the mail slot. I think a mailman is out there but I can never see him and then all of the sudden there’s mail on the floor. Maybe he’s a ghost? I bark at that too.

Mom: What about the new fence? Are you glad we fenced in the yard for you?

Macy: YES! I love the fence. I have lots of patrolling to do every day! With all of this walking and patrolling, my nails are in perfect shape.

Alice: The fence is just a symbol of the man trying to keep us imprisoned in our role as working dogs. Believe me when I say the Buddies of the Highest Order (BHO) are working on this issue.

Mom: That reminds me. What do you think of the Elks Lodge that dad is making in the basement?

Alice: Tres cool. The new digs for the BHO are ultra-sweet. I mean, the garage was okay in Akron but the Elks Lodge has paneling. I’m thinking I’ll line one wall with stuffed black squirrel heads.

Macy: No! That scares me!

Alice: No worries, scaredy-pants. You’re not allowed in the Elks Lodge anyway. It’s only for the BHO.

Mom: Well, girls. Thanks for letting us know what you like about Kent so far. We’ll check in with you later. And Alice, you are allowed to poop in the yard, you know. It’s okay to do that. Just because we spent a month walking you several times a day doesn’t mean the yard is off limits now.

Alice:  Yeah, I’ll get to that right after bears stop shitting in the woods.

Oooh, it’s uncharted territory! A new fence means a new perimeter to patrol. When we last left our fearless Aussies in Akron, they were protecting a postage-stamp sized yard. When Alice saw this new yard, she nodded her head and said, “now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, people.”

BALL LOOSE IN THE WEST QUADRANT! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! RAMPART 151! Must. Get. Wild. Ball. Alice chases the wayward tennis ball while Macy retrieves and returns hers.

Whew, that was a close call, said Alice after she successfully nabbed the ball. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” said Alice to Macy as she trotted by. “I remain the greatest of all time.”

La-la-la catch the ball! I like yellow balls! I hope my butt doesn’t look too big in this picture! La-la-la la-la-la!

‘No, seriously, we’re protecting the entire yard from this comfy little spot here. I can see all the way down the street, I promise. We’re not resting or anything. We’re not tired at all. Macy, put your ginormous tongue back in your mouth, you look like a dork.”

“I can’t help it,” said Macy. “I’m hot after all of that ball chasing.”

“You know what they say, if you can’t run with the big dogs, don’t piss in the high grass.”

“That’s not the way it goes,” said Macy.

“Whatevs,” Alice yawned. “I’m gonna nap in this here ivy all day long.”

Alice’s glamour shot. Her comment: “Yeah, I was kind of hoping for a different backdrop, you know, maybe like a brick wall or a steel mill or an alley with graffiti but I guess I look pretty good au-naturale and all that. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride.”

Macy’s glamour shot. Her comment: “I think green leaves bring out the color of my eyes.”

“You look like a dork,” said Alice.

“Shut up or I’ll tell mom you’re making fun of me again,” said Macy.

“Dork.”

After a rough morning yoga session, the dog says “too much down-facing dog.” We call this the I Want To Be A Dog In My Next Life Pose, the perfect pose to ready you for a day of squirrel watching, mail carrier barking, and generally guarding up the neighborhood.

So, in Cincinnati, there’s the Servatii pretzel. My family knows it well and purchases the pretzels for many family events. In fact, we sort of all hover over the dish and pretend we’re not devouring the pretzel, when really we’re like a pack of hyenas making sure we’re getting our fair share. And  that 6-lb. pretzel on their website? Been there, ate that. You just can’t pass the food table without dipping a piece of the pretzel into the cheese sauce. Who cares about the big Christmas dinner when you’ve got a plate of pretzels?

Anyhow, I didn’t think the Servatii pretzel had any sort of competition. If it were in the Tour de France, it’d be wearing the yellow jersey of Pretzeldom. If you asked me, “Servatii pretzel or my favorite potato chip,” depending on the day, I might choose pretzel. I know, I know, a shocking revelation here at The Grist Mill.

So, last Saturday we head down to the farmer’s market in downtown Kent. It’s a lovely little affair near the train tracks and we’re loading up on all sorts of good-for-you items like sweet corn, blueberries, garlic, basil, lettuce when I spy a sign that says “The Backerei”. The “b” in the name is in the shape of a pretzel. This is something that demands investigation. My junk food radar goes into overdrive. I casually approach the table, trying not to go into hyena-predator-circle-the-kill mode. I mean, this is like putting a vampire in front of a glass of blood. There, on the table, in plastic baggies are all sorts of soft pretzels shaped in circles versus the regular pretzel shape but I can still sense their inner pretzel-y goodness. There’s also homemade bread but who needs bread when you can eat a pretzel instead?

I choose the gouda pretzel and the red pepper pretzel that is also topped with some sort of gooey baked cheese. It takes every fiber of my being not to open the bag right there and eat the whole thing. We get home, put our healthy goods away and dive into the gouda pretzel. It’s small and it’s gone within two minutes. There’s the distinct taste of salt along with the chewiness of a fresh soft pretzel along with the tart and smoke of gouda. It’s also to die for.

Is it Servatii level? Hmmmm….or should I say mmmmmm-good? It’s not Servatii’s, it’s just different. But different, in this case, means really super fantastically good. The big pretzel taste test will come in August when my mom and sister visit. I’ll take them to the Backerei (on South Water Street for those of you looking for them – no website at the moment) and we’ll see what they think. Until then, you’ll find me circling the table at the farmer’s market every Saturday morning. I’ll try not to drool on your sandals.

We have Week One in Kent, OH under our belts, and what a week it’s been. On the front end, we met some great neighbors, took in the Heritage Festival, and unpacked box after box – in my case, desperately searching for my cellphone charger because I couldn’t remember which box I’d put it in.

On the back end, we got wrapped up in the LeBron James debacle, found the cellphone charger, praised Will Carrier for inventing air conditioning so we could endure the heat wave in comfort, and wondered why Alice decided that a walk is only a true walk if she’s crossed at least four of five streets (the trend began in Akron but she’s kicked it up a notch, actually looking back at us with Disgust – and that’s a capital D – if we lead her in another direction).

I pretty much realized that I’ve never really had an idea of what my dream house would be like, but our new digs are certainly dreamy (and not just because of the air conditioning). This house suits us. Not too big, not too small, it’s just right. We have a sun porch for reading the paper in the mornings, we have a kick-ass stove that I’m hoping will make me a better cook, we have lots and lots of windows, and Dave has a great area in the basement that he’s dubbed the “Elks Lodge.” Now all we need is my Designing Diva sister Mary to visit so she can help us arrange the furniture and hang pictures where they’ll look best. All told, we’re mucho happy in The Tree City.

Here’s a quick wrap-up of our explorations in Kent thus far:

* We were treated to a spectacular home-cooked dinner by our new neighbors, Clare, Zach and Lily, after a long, long day of moving. Never have I been so happy to see a fresh green bean.

* We took in the Kent Heritage Festival, considered the “it” event of the summer in Kent. Lots o’ junky fair food – there were more funnel cake booths than you could shake a black squirrel’s tail at – and lots of people-watching. We also finally met the most awesome Kasha and Jona. Long story short, we met Kasha via email and phone calls when we were considering a house across the street from hers. That house fell through but we picked up new friends in the process, and these friends come bearing gifts of the best fudge you’ve ever tasted, thank you very much.

* We watched the fireworks with new neighbors from the corner of our street. All at once, Kent began to feel like Newport, KY and also Ohio University. Dave and I have lived many, many places and there’s either a strong sense of community or there’s not. Here, the sense of community is strong and that’s a good thing.

* We helped the Girls get comfy in their new digs. Alice took the lead, finding new spots near the fireplace, under a table in the living room, and near the corner of the bed. Macy pretty much finds a spot wherever I happen to be in the house. They’ve both adjusted remarkably well and Alice is getting a swagger in her step. And, for them, a squirrel is a squirrel. Regardless of whether it’s black or brown, it’s still something to be barked at.

* We ate dinner at Taco Tantos with our friend and Northeast Ohio native, Mark, who was visiting his parents in Stow. The thing about Taco Tantos? You can sit outside at The Zephyr, drink a beer, phone in your order to Taco Tantos, and then pick up your dinner at the window on the patio. This is a delightfully dangerous combo. I told Dave it reminds me so much of Ohio U that I might never leave the patio.

* We hear train whistles daily; this I like. Hello, dad!

* I took my first run around campus and, a couple of days later, walked home from school. It’s been 20+ years since I’ve walked to and from class. Wow, did it feel good.

* We ordered the most enormous pizza ever from Guys Pizza. The menu said 12 slices so we figured we’d have leftovers. Who knew the slices would be as big as skateboards.

Finally, I’m toying around with the idea of changing the name of this blog to The Gristmill. Back in 1805, Kent was called Franklin Mills. The town developed due to the potential for gristmills along the Cuyahoga River, and one of the old mills still stands in the downtown area today. And we all know the old cliche about ideas being “grist” (grains, seeds) for the “mill” (brains). Let me know what you think. 

The train whistles are blowing. Time to go for a morning run.

Our three years in Akron were grand. We didn’t know what to expect from the Rubber City but it offered up good times,  good friends, good neighbors, good opportunities to create community (like the Akron Writers Group), good grilled cheese at Lockview, and good squirrel and mail carrier-watching for the Girls.

I looked back at the very first Accidental Akronite post I wrote in August 2007. Some of my first discoveries in Akron remain my favorite spots, and I’ve added plenty of others to the fave list since then. Then, I wrote that moving to Akron was a happy accident — when Dave earned his PhD, we had no idea where we’d land. Akron didn’t disappoint and the city provided more than its fair share of happy accidents and happy memories. And it’s not like we’re saying goodbye to the city forever; we’ll be about 20 miles east and there’s nothing that can keep us from the grilled cheese and beer menu at Lockview Lounge.

We’ve moved ten times in our 19 years together, many of those moves to various places in Cincinnati, Chicago, and Newport, KY. When we moved to Akron we vowed not to move again…well…forever. Because, as y’all know, moving is a bitch. When we move to Kent on Friday and we’re standing between stacks of boxes, I’m sure we’ll vow to never move again…ahem…forever.

Thanks to those of you who have followed me over the past three years. It’s been a fun ride. The Accidental Akronite isn’t going away and there will be plenty of Girl Talk as Alice and Macy get settled in a new place. I just need to think of a new name (any suggestions are welcome – Accidental Kentonian doesn’t really cut it for me) and unpack our things and spend a couple of weeks stumbling upon the happy accidents of Kent.