It’s harder to keep in touch with people these days. Things are opening up, but it’s going to be a while before we hop in a car and visit people the way we used to.

I met the pastor of my church while walking. She told me the youth group had been meeting via Zoom, and the kids were overcome with shyness, seeing their faces on the screen. I wanted to say, “Don’t they realize they can be seen when they show up in person?” But I sympathized with the teenagers. When my husband Peter and I tried Zoom for the first time, it was a little awkward.

“Shouldn’t the camera be higher?” I asked. “You can see right up our noses!” We found a cardboard box and adjusted the laptop angle.

“Why is it so smudgy?”

“I had sticky tape over the camera,” Peter told me.

Peter cleaned the tape residue off the lens, and I realized I looked a lot better smudgy.

But we’ve been trying to make a point of calling people more often. (Peter calls it “drunk dialing,” although we’re not.) Sometimes it takes some effort. Sometimes I’ve wondered if these unexpected phone calls are more a bother than a pleasant surprise to the folks we call.

Yesterday, I got a surprise call myself from Geri.

I haven’t seen Geri since I moved 1,400 miles away years ago. She’s quite a bit older than me and not someone I knew well, so when I saw her name pop up on my phone yesterday, I was very surprised. I didn’t know I even had her phone number, to be honest.

“Geri!” I said, “this is Carrie!” There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Geri, did you butt-dial me?”

“Carrie? This is Carrie Classon?”

“Geri, you butt-dialed me, didn’t you?!”

“No! I was trying to call someone else. Someone to clean my house.”

Geri has a huge old wooden house sitting on a hill. It even has a turret on one corner. There are nooks and crannies and stairs everywhere. I would not want to clean Geri’s house.

“Geri! I am not going to clean your house!”

“Oh, no! But it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you doing?”

I knew Geri was getting up in years and her husband, Clarence, was older yet. So I asked, somewhat timidly, “How’s your family?”

“Oh, we’re fine. But we’re old! I am 88 and Clarence is 95!”

“Only 95? He’s a pup!”

“He parks in the spot reserved for WWII veterans they still have at the grocery store, and I think he’s the only one who uses it!”

Geri and I chatted for quite a while. We both had news and a lot of shared memories.

“You and Peter have to come and visit sometime!” Geri said. I promised we would next time we were anywhere near.

“Clarence is going to be mad when he finds out you called me up to clean your house and ended up inviting us over,” I told her.

“No, no, we would love to see you! It was great talking with you!”

“It was good to hear from you, Geri.”

And it was. Talking to Geri made my day. I suddenly felt less worried about those “Hi! We were just thinking about you!” calls Peter and I have been making.

Yes, it’s a little awkward making conversation with someone you haven’t talked to in a long time, but sometimes a little awkward is OK, I decided. Sometimes a little awkward is a lot of fun.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

I want to make it clear that we are not adopting a dog.

I won’t deny it is tempting. We decided not to get another dog because we travel. Dogs and airplane travel do not go well together. Now, however, with no travel in sight, I admit I am consumed with envy when I see happy dog owners on the trail. I have started carrying dog treats just so I can talk to the dogs of complete strangers. The owners are tolerant. The dogs love it.

My brother-in-law had our entire extended family in a lather for a full 48-hour news cycle when he circulated photos of puppies on Facebook. Everyone was convinced he was going to adopt a puppy. He didn’t, as it turned out.

“He should never have put those photos on the internet!” my sister said. “Everyone thought we were getting another dog!”

This is the same brother-in-law who, at age 60, enrolled in the seminary. Everyone was wondering how he was going to preach sermons, write two papers every week, and study Hebrew and Greek while paper-training a puppy.

But now, it seems everyone has more time, and puppies (I have been told) are in short supply. Yes, along with toilet paper, yeast, flour, hand sanitizer and vegetable seeds, there is a national puppy shortage.

I couldn’t believe there was actually a dog shortage, so I checked the website of our local shelter. They had no dogs -- but this didn’t prove a thing. We have a well-funded shelter, and I’ve heard rumors that dogs from places with less well-financed animal shelters are smuggled into town. (OK, I’ve heard more than rumors, but I am not squealing on anyone.) A dog shortage here is not news.

So, I checked with the animal shelter in Minneapolis, where my sister and brother-in-law live. Sure enough, there was only one puppy. It was a black and tan shepherd mix. She was holding her head at an adorable angle.

“Hi, my name is Bella!” the story beside the photo read. “I came to Animal Humane Society because I need help with my behavior.” Uh oh. I saw that Bella had been surrendered at the end of March.

“That was right at the start of the pandemic!” I thought. “Who surrenders a dog when they are stuck at home?”

“I’m ready to find a new home where I can continue to work on learning good manners,” the story continued. I wondered exactly how bad Bella’s bad manners were. I wondered if “learning good manners” was another way of saying, “not chewing up the furniture.” I went to the Humane Society for St. Paul. I clicked, “Adoptable dogs.”

To my astonishment, there was only one -- it was Bella.

“I like playing with toys and enjoy other busy interactions.” Busy interactions! This was obviously another euphemism for something -- like, “Little Johnny is being sent to juvenile detention for his busy interactions.”

I went further afield, to suburbs on the north and south sides of the Twin Cities. Bella again! The Twin Cities has a population of 3.4 million people and it appeared that Bella was -- at the moment -- the only dog in Minnesota available for adoption.

So, I thought I should just get the word out for anyone near or traveling to Minnesota that, in spite of the nationwide puppy shortage, there is one dog available. Her name is Bella. She’s famous for her busy interactions and needs a little work on her manners.

Frankly, I’m thinking Bella couldn’t have picked a better time to try to find a home.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

All of a sudden, there are painted rocks along my path.

This has been going on for a while, I guess, but I never saw them in my neighborhood. Now, however, someone has more time on their hands, or a desire to reach out, or has lost their mind in isolation -- whatever the reason -- and little painted stones are appearing everywhere.

When I saw the first one, I didn’t think much of it. I think it was a “Star Trek” logo (I won’t swear to that). It was black and gold and looked kind of space-age. Then I saw a rainbow. Then it registered. “Oh. Someone is leaving painted rocks!”

Then I saw a watermelon and several flowers and a few inspirational sayings. When I got home, I googled it. Yup. People were painting rocks. It’s a thing.

One website reminded rock painters, “This activity is about gifting and not expecting to find a rock or get recognition when yours is found.”

I like that. You paint a rock, you never know what it will do, how many people will see it, where it will end up. Once it’s out of your hands, it has a life of its own.

Right now, there is someone out there who painted a small, rectangular rock with flowers in two shades of blue and a bright green center. It’s a very nice rock. I should know. I put it in my pocket, took it home, and I’m looking at it (and writing about it) right now. I’m guessing the person who painted it did not expect there would be a newspaper column written about it, and that’s exactly why I like the idea so much.

Because I never know how what I do or say will affect another person. Social media has made it a lot easier to have a lot bigger effect on a lot more people in a lot less time. This is frequently not a good thing.

Yesterday, this was brought home to me when I made a less-than-complimentary comment about someone’s photo of biscuits and gravy.

I immediately regretted it. In no time flat, there was a spirited discussion about the merits of biscuits and gravy going on that I never intended. I did not want to be the Great Enemy of Biscuits and Gravy. I didn’t want to go to battle against all the Biscuits and Gravy Champions. I stood zero chance of ever persuading anyone that biscuits and gravy might not be the Very Best Thing in the Whole World and probably, as a result of my thoughtless comment, half a dozen folks were cooking up biscuits and gravy that night because they’d forgotten how much they liked them.

(Can we at least admit that biscuits and gravy are not the most photogenic food? OK, never mind.)

So now I’m thinking, instead of trying to set anyone straight on biscuits and gravy ever again, I’m going to try to leave the equivalent of a painted rock. I try to say “hello” when I meet someone. I always compliment everyone’s dog because I figure no one can be told too many times they have a beautiful dog. (And, for the record, all dogs are beautiful.)

I try to leave behind something positive and try not to worry where my painted rock ends up. I’m going to hope that someone will find it -- like I found this one -- and think, “Wow! I really like two shades of blue with a bright green center!”

And I’m keeping my opinion on biscuits and gravy to myself.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION