I’vebeen busy lately, finishing the last book in my Dragon Singer Series,getting it formatted, ordering books, moving all the furniture around in myhouse to accommodate new floors, cleaning everything as I moved it, cleaning itagain as I put it back to remove the layer of flooring dust.

Ithasn’t been exactly stressful, but it has definitely upset my usual routine.Dear Reader, if you’re familiar with the particular quirks of mental illness,you know that those of us with anxiety are at our best when we can follow ageneral routine that includes making calming, self-care spaces for ourselves.

Foreight of the ten days my flooring guy, Jorge, was working, my routine was shot,and I was quite proud of how I managed my anxiety during those days. Until thelast day. On the last day, I had simply reached my limit. I needed to have thequiet sanctuary of my home returned to me, and finally, by day’s end, it was.

Letme tell you what kept me sane in the interim: Maya. Even though Jorge wasshowing up at 8:30 every morning, and even though that meant having furniture(+books, knick-knacks, etc.) moved and the room ready and the pets sequesteredby that time, I still walked Maya every morning. We’d head out around 5:30,6:00a.m. and do a mile in the hushed darkness.

Sometimes, as the sun was comingup, we’d see bunnies munching on the new spring grass. Or quail, power-walkingfor cover in the gully. Or an awesome sunrise. Or the mated pair of Canadageese winging silently overhead. One morning, just as we strolled under a verytall pine tree, a great-horned owl called “Hey!” (which sounded like “WHO?” inhis language) from the top of the tree. The hoot was so loud in the stillness, Mayaand I both startled. Then I laughed. And Maya strained on the leash. (“I don’tknow what that was, but we need to get to safety, Mom!”) Even on the day it waslightly sprinkling, we went out, both donning raincoats, unbothered by the dampwhen we knew we would be warm and dry upon our return.

Onthose walks, I sucked in the clean, fresh, cold air (since residual dustcontinued to swirl around my home for days), and I used the time to remindmyself that (1) the day would be long but not unending, (2) I maintainedcontrol of the process; if my anxiety rose to a dangerous level, I could alwaysask Jorge to leave for the day, and (3) I am extremely fortunate to be able toafford this upgrade that I’ve been looking forward to for so long. (And “solong!” old carpeting.)

Gratitude.Gratitude in everything. The clarity of the stars in the pre-dawn sky, thesharp call of the resident Cooper’s hawk as it awakens, the ability to still doa brisk walk—look, Ma, no sciatica!, the progress of the little dog trottingdutifully alongside me (even though she’d rather be hiking or back in her nicewarm bed).

Speakingof Maya’s bed: The first day Jorge worked, I kept Maya in my bedroom and stayedwith her (and Jenny the Cat) most of the day. As the days progressed, I feltcomfortable leaving the room to move things and clean, but checked on both ofthem frequently, often just lying on the floor next to Maya’s bed, stroking herhead, rubbing her back, and kissing her soft puppy ears. (Okay, yeah, she’snine, not a puppy. Her ears are still that soft, though.) This, as much as thelong early walk, helped to keep me calm and “regulated,” as the current mentalhealth jargon goes.

Sothank goodness for dogs. Everyone should have one. Or two. Or three. Staytuned….