Poor Richard’s Almanac said, “He that lieth down with dogs shall rise up with fleas,” but that hasn’t kept some of us from sleeping with our dogs. Here’s a poem about the pleasure of that, by Joyce Sidman, who lives and sleeps in Minnesota. Her book, Dark Emperor and Other Poems of the Night, won a 2011 Newbery Honor Award. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Dog in Bed

Nose tucked under tail,

you are a warm, furred planet

centered in my bed.

All night I orbit, tangle-limbed,

in the slim space

allotted to me.

If I accidentally

bump you from sleep,

you shift, groan,

drape your chin on my hip.

O, that languid, movie-star drape!

I can never resist it.

Digging my fingers into your fur,

kneading,

      I wonder:

How do you dream?

What do you adore?

Why should your black silk ears

feel like happiness?

This is how it is with love.

Once invited,

it steps in gently,

circles twice,

and takes up as much space

as you will give it.

How can three days feel like a week? My son and I flew to Texas Friday for our niece/cousin’s wedding Saturday, and flew home Sunday. Whew. The wedding was at 5 p.m. with the reception and “after party” at my sister- and brother-in-law’s house lasting until much later. (I believe my son and nephew stayed up until 3…)

As usual, a trip/family milestone triggered some introspection. This go-round’s random observations: 

I feel lucky to get along so well with my husband’s family. I don’t have brothers and sisters so I love sharing his. All the fun without the drama!

I did more people watching. This time, I especially noticed the facial expressions of women my age and older. Some women (men, too) look like nothing pleases them, and they’re just waiting for an excuse to get mad. I don’t want to be—or to look—soured by life; I want to meet it with a smile, curiosity and optimism. How can I make my face reflect that?

It may be physically impossible not to dance to Play That Funky Music, especially after one has had a glass or two of champagne. 

An idea for after we drop our son off at college: make a bucket list on the way home in the car. My sister- and brother-in-law did this after dropping our niece (their youngest) at college. Might keep me from crying all the way home. (I said might.)

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

Photo by Mary Cyrus, Mary Cyrus Photography

In honor of our niece’s wedding, some quotes on love:

“Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction.”

—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, translated from French by Lewis Galantière

“Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

—Robert Heinlein

“Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.”

Do you remember playing the game “Red Light, Green Light” when you were a child? One person is the stop light and the rest of the kids line up on the other side of the yard. When the stop light says, “green light” and turns her back, the other players advance toward her. When she turns back around and says, “red light,” anyone caught still moving is out. The stop light repeats this until either someone touches her or all the other kids are out.

It would be nice to have such clear signals in grown-up life, wouldn’t it? Someone or something to tell us “green light”—go forward, or “red light”—stop. Other than literal traffic signals, life is seldom that explicit. Occasionally, our desires and responsibilities neatly align, and we see a clear road ahead. More often, we must develop not only our own internal signaling system of red light, green light, but also a functioning “yellow light”—“use caution”—when making decisions. I want to talk about the importance of that yellow light.

When a decision looms or an exciting opportunity presents itself, yellow lights can keep us from rushing ahead too fast without thinking. Perhaps we’ve decided to focus on a specific goal, or we’ve committed to simplifying life and reducing our activities. After consideration, we may choose to stop instead of go forward. On the other hand, a yellow light might also keep us from automatically saying no when that opportunity arises. Some of us, myself included, can be too cautious—braking when we should step on the gas. Pausing at a mental yellow light, instead of slamming on the brakes, can open our cautious minds just a crack to let in new possibilities. Yellow lights keep us from saying yes or no automatically.

Just as when we approach a yellow light while driving, we must make a decision to stop or go forward. We can’t pause there indefinitely. Our internal yellow lights should be just like that: pauses while we make our decisions, not excuses not to make those decisions.

So how do we develop a healthy internal signaling system? Basically, by asking questions and paying attention to the answers. What will be the consequences of going forward or not going forward? Is this the right thing to do? The right time to do it? What are our bodies telling us (“gut feelings” are called that for a reason) while we consider our options? The more we listen, the more we can trust ourselves.

I believe we’ll live happier lives if we live more intentional ones. Becoming more aware of our inner green, red and yellow lights is one way to do that.

How does your intuition speak to you? Do you follow your own inner signals?

Photo courtesy Kent Murray

In this lovely poem by Angela Shaw, who lives in Pennsylvania, we hear a voice of wise counsel: Let the young go, let them do as they will, and admire their grace and beauty as they pass from us into the future. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Children in a Field

They don’t wade in so much as they are taken.

Deep in the day, in the deep of the field,

every current in the grasses whispers hurry

hurry, every yellow spreads its perfume

like a rumor, impelling them further on.

It is the way of girls. It is the sway

of their dresses in the summer trance-

light, their bare calves already far-gone

in green. What songs will they follow?

Whatever the wood warbles, whatever storm

or harm the border promises, whatever

calm. Let them go. Let them go traceless

through the high grass and into the willow-

blur, traceless across the lean blue glint

of the river, to the long dark bodies

of the conifers, and over the welcoming

threshold of nightfall.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted from Poetry,; September, 2004, Vol. 184, No. 5, by permission of the author. Poem copyright © 2004 by Angela Shaw. Introduction copyright © 2013 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.