I just want to say thanks a million for all your nice comments about Scarlet . . .  I was so sad all weekend, crying and walking around really absent-mindedly, but after reading all the encouraging comments I got from that post I felt so much better.  Because I think that Scarlet's death made me feel isolated--sort of like I was the only sad person wandering around the almost obnoxiously sunny Atlanta that weekend, and oddly enough like the only person who'd ever lost a childhood pet.  Then I saw how silly I was when I read that so many of you went through the exact same thing--a lot of times even with shelties who lived to be the exact same age as Scarlet.  There were so many similarities and nice words.
So this week I've been trying to go about things as normal, because I just know that if I took a few days off I'd let my mind go dark and my face would go back to being red and swollen again.  So instead of listening to sad music I put on The Kinks, and I got in my car and took a vintage-hunting trip to my home of last year, Athens.  I do miss it.  I went to all my old favorite thrift stores and vintage shops, and even caught a glimpse of the old Georgia Theatre that caught fire last week.  But I think that I must have had the most fun stopping at a place on the way called Braselton.  It's exactly the sort of lazy, falling-apart little town that first drew me to the South . . .  The only places that seemed to be open were antique stores; even the main street in town was filled with abandoned buildings and homes, and I was tempted to take photos at every one of them, but in the end I settled for an old 1800s mill.