puppy patrol & interspecies peace negotiations

OK, so I knew it was going to be a lot of work and a lot of attention. . . . But I had NO IDEA of what this boy-pup would eat if I wasn't watching him all the time!

Leaves, sticks, stones, mulch, bugs - and his favorite - concrete. His favorite chew toy is our concrete bench, currently serving as a coffee table on the front porch. Oh. He also favors brick.

Is this normal?

He goes to the vet today for his 12-week shots; I'll ask the vet.

My days - for the last 2 days - have entailed walking around with him, saying "tsst!" and "leave it!" and offering him the accepted chew toy. He eventually 'gets it', but his memory is short. Half hour later? Same thing. "Tsst! Leave it!"

Inside, the cat hid for almost two days, coming out only when Luther was in his crate. Last night, she sprung her new strategy. She waited until Luther was outside for his 'business' walk and then set up an ambush at the door. I could just imagine her thoughts: "If we can just keep him OUTSIDE, this will be a whole lot easier. . . ."

How would Cesar handle that one, I wonder?

After initially avoiding the confrontation (cat stays in kitchen; dog goes onto porch), we considered leaving them to 'fight it out' - in effect - on their own, namely to settle it between themselves. On further thought, though, it seemed to me that that is not what the pack leader would do - not this pack leader, anyway! So back on went the leash, and we marched out the porch door and back in through the kitchen door, where I sent the cat scurrying.

"Is that what Cesar would say to do?" asked the king, "Kick the cat?"

"I didn't kick the cat!"

"No. I know you didn't. Not really. I meant shoo her off. . . . Is that what we're supposed to do?"

I had to confess I really wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, but I felt it was important that Luther see that I was 'in charge' (even if I was wrong) and that a little cat wasn't holding me at bay, as I hunkered down out on the porch, leaving the cat to rule the entry door. . . .

The cat does not appear to have held a grudge. Luther does not appear to think I'm his hired gun, though, either. He gives the cat a healthy respect, but she needs to give him a little room, as well.

Harmonious life appears to be on the upswing again, though. Last night, the cat slept in her own bed again in our room, with Luther on the other side of our bed, in his bed.

blue-boy

It's going to be the blueboy, and he arrives tomorrow.

We still don't know about a name. There are two names still currently in the running, I think it'll be a matter of seeing which one sticks. . .

fugue for broccoli

Oh. My.

Must be seen and heard to be believed!

The broccoli has a better sound - amazingly - than does the carrot. More links to be found at Garden Rant's Playing With Your Food, including (in the comments) a whole vegetable orchestra. . . .

life goes on

Life goes on - but it's a bit boring these days.

I have packing to do and old accumulated possessions to go through and discard, give away, consider posting on ebay or craig's list. No, we don't move for at least another 3 months, but this will creep up on me, and I'm only good for about an hour's worth of going through old stuff before it overwhelms me and depression beckons!

So I'll work in just hour increments, and that should keep me sane.

The garden is a wreck - altho some silly lady stopped the other day and complimented me on it. I was sitting on the porch, not working on the garden - which is why it's a wreck - but the "gardeners" hired by the rental agent had showed up the day before and smothered the whole thing in mulch, which smells like sewage. I can only assume this woman is a fan of mulch. She took a picture.

The "gardeners" carefully left most of the weeds in place - carefully mulched - but managed to bury or uproot the perennial geranium I had just as carefully carried back from Ireland with me 3 years ago when I moved back to the States to get married.

Well, it survived their depredations - twice yearly - for 3 years, I guess that's as much as I can expect. . . . sigh.

Who knows? Maybe they just ripped the leaves off, and the tuber is buried underneath a mound of brown shit-smelling mulch. Maybe I'll see the geranium leaves burrowing their way out from under the shit before we leave here!

One can only hope.

a defining story

I watched "Homeless to Harvard: the Liz Murray Story" tonight.

It was inspiring - yes. Mind-numbingly depressing in the beginning. . . Liz Murray, a real person, has/had drug-addict parents who effectively leave her to raise herself. She ends up on the streets - her mother dead of AIDs, her father (also with AIDs) in a homeless shelter - but finally goes to school, and wins a New York Times scholarship that takes her to Harvard.

It was her "story" that got her the scholarship in 2000. In 2003, before she graduated, the movie of her story was done. The memoirs of her story were published in 2005 - don't know if she'd graduated yet (do know that she left Harvard and returned to NY to "help care for her father" and enrolled at Columbia. Thereafter, it appears she went on the speakers' circuit and speaks - you guessed it - on her story.

Young girl overcomes tremendous odds and spends the rest of her life talking about it.

Somehow, there's something missing in that formulation of a story. I wanted to know what she did at Harvard; what she studied; what she aspired to. I wanted to see her old life transformed - left behind. I wanted to see her step out of the old, into something - not just to get out, stop, and then endlessly rehearse the last step.

"I got out; you can too." is a great message, but "got out" to do what?! Is just the 'getting out' enough to get you going? Not for me it isn't.

It's as if her story ended before her life did. That's one of the saddest things I can imagine. But maybe she will move beyond this part, and do something with her life, whether or not we ever know about it. I hope so.

all those chickens. . . .

I fear that all my little chickens may be coming home to roost.

I wrote about the little ethical dilemma of what to do about the overlap of the last month or two of our rental agreement and the puppy's arrival which I (like the ethical coward I hate to admit I appear to be) sought to avoid by (1) consoling myself that I'd be on full-time puppy duty, so "how much damage could he cause?", (2) pointing out that, legally, the landlord will be getting her full recourse against us in any event, insofar as we're leaving anyway, and we'll pay for any damage [but see number 1, above], and (3) by assuming that no one of contractual relevance will ever be the wiser about the interloping puppy, so long as the neighbors don't feel compelled to track down the aging homeowner and upset her in her retirement living quarters.

But no.

With all the rain, it seems the skylight in the studio is going. Last night's torrential rains left a torrential mess. I'm thinking major roof repair, which means that the rental agent is going to be underfoot.

sigh.

So much for trying to keep the puppy under wraps. First off, he has to be going out every couple of hours, while he learns potty manners. Second, he's going to be growing by leaps and bounds, so it won't be easy to keep him out of sight. Third, I imagine he's going to bark at strange noises and hammering on the roof. . . .

OK. Plan B.

Which is?

Well. . . . I imagine I'm going to have to come clean on this one. Saved by the roof, eh? And all those chickens roosting up there. . . .

Meanwhile, the name search continues.

race or gender?

Race or gender - take your pick.

Both are at issue, and they're not going away. Two so-called 'disadvantaged' people categories are duking it out to take on the 'established' power-person category, but are in danger of fighting against themselves, rather than ever making a real run for the presidency of the United States.

Only half the people voting in the Indiana and North Carolina primaries thought that Jeremiah Wright was still an issue? Well, guess what? The voting was pretty close to that, certainly in Indiana - a bit less so in NC.

We're going fight race vs. gender now, then we get to focus on just one of them - either race or gender - again in the fall.

The most destructive battle will be if we face the race battle. Black man versus white man. White woman against black man just hasn't brought out all the nuances that the black man vs. white man battle would bring out.

Does that opinion make me sexist?

Possibly. According to some definitions, anyway. I think there is a difference between men and women, a difference that is not to be bridged. This difference does not make one gender "better" than another; it is "different" than the other.

They don't call it the "opposite" sex for nothing!

On the other hand, there is a 'sameness' about two men, regardless of skin colour. This 'sameness' will focus the difference like a laser beam, with similar potential for destruction. Let's admit it: we don't focus on the different 'platforms' of Presidential candidates anymore - although we pretend to - we're all about appearances; soundbites; slogans.

In both Indiana and North Carolina, exit polls showed Clinton receiving 6 out of 10 white votes; Obama received 9 out 10 black votes. I didn't see any numbers based on gender.

I think the fault-line runs along race. . . .

sigh. It's gonna get ugly.

eenie, meenie. . . .

One of these two guys is coming to live with us in 14 days.

Large training crate? check.

Pooper-scooper equipment? enroute.

Food? on the list (and cheaper email source scoped-out).

Name? Name. . . . Gotta have a name! The book says you should have the name when you get him. This is important!

I don't have a name. . . . I do however, have the internet, and so spent this morning (when I was supposed to be finishing a long-languishing legal writing torture device - ahh - I mean: project) looking up names. From the Gaelic - from a variety of sources - we have Ronan, Mungan ("beloved, amiable"), Luag ("light"), Latharn ("fox"), Laise ("flame"), Lurnan ("iron, one of knowledge"), Dughall ("dark stranger"), Dublin ("black pool"), Cathal ("battle mighty"), Naoghas ("unique choice"), Oisean ("deer"), Osgar ("lover of deer"), Solas ("joy, comfort, solace"), Toag ("poet, philosopher"), Suibhne (pronounced SOOEEnyuh "well-going"), Calum ("dove"), Greer ("watchful"), Tavish ("Beloved" - but Hebrew, apparently?), Brodie - or Brodan ("2nd son"), Acair ("anchor"), Landon ("from the long hill"), Manus ("great"), Luthais ("famous in battle"), Galaway ("of the strong Gauls"), Feargus ("rock" or "man" or "choice"), Ennis ("the only choice"), Eamonn ("rich protector"). . . .

We were also thinking Luther. . . .

I don't know!

I'm really excited about his arrival, though, I can tell you that. I just hope that the cat holds her ground and doesn't go into hiding.

Meanwhile, today is yet another primary, isn't it? Two primaries, in fact, and the people of North Carolina and Indiana get to cast their votes for either Barack or Hillary. Which will it be?

Ah these difficult choices. . . .

God and enemies. . . .

April 28, 2008, National Press Club - Jeremiah Wright on Louis Farrakhan:

Louis Farrakhan is not my enemy. He did not put me in chains. He did not put me in slavery. And he didn't make me this color.

Is Wright in chains?

Which enemy put him there?

What I found most interesting was the last line: the implicated 'enemy' who made him "this color".

Who's your enemy, Jeremiah? Think about it.

Nope. Not tired yet.

Barack Obama has been trying to get past the Jeremiah Wright embarrassment by waving the "The voters are tired of this issue" flag to the media - per the recent comment by his wife (and is it just me, or does she interrupt him an awful lot and make an awful lot of substantive pronouncements? Who's running for president here - or is this a two-in-one deal?!).

"We hear time and time again voters are tired of this," she said in an interview with NBC's "Today" show.

Really?

I'm not tired of it. I'm still trying to understand it. Let me recap.

20-some years ago, Barack Obama met Jeremiah Wright, who apparently was instrumental in his conversion to "Christianity". What "Christianity" means, under Jeremiah Wright, appears to one of the main issues. But let's set that aside for the moment.

Moving back to the time-line: for the past 20 years, Obama has been a parishioner at the church founded, directed, and run by Wright. Wright performed the marriage ceremony when Obama married, and baptized the children that were born to the Obamas. Presumably, the Obamas attended the church, listened to the sermons, and interacted with Wright - who apparently became a close friend, if not like a member of the family. Fast-forward 20 years, and we have the revelation of the worst examples of the specifics of what Wright's church stands for, to Obama's complete surprise. Then followed Obama's attempt to smooth it over with the 'crazy uncle' example, calls for bringing the nation together rather than tearing it apart, Wright's National Press Club appearance bringing the divide right back to the forefront, and - finally - Obama's denunciation of Wright.

Since then - besides the "the voters are tired of it" excuse - we've heard that Obama shouldn't be judged by what Wright says, that Obama doesn't have to have exactly the same beliefs and opinions as does his spiritual father, we've heard excuses for what Wright might have felt and for what he said, we've heard of the inappropriateness of judging another's "faith", we've heard that this is a device to "distract" us from the "real" issue, which is the change that voters supposedly want, and Obama's long-standing commitment to "promoting common understanding" and sharing common dreams (of more 'change', undoubtedly).

OK. . . . if Obama has a long-standing commitment to bringing different people together, why has he - for 20 years - been a member of an "unashamedly black church" [see the church's website, here] whose primary commitment is to its "mother continent", Africa? What about whites? Hispanics, Russians, American Indians, India-Indians? All the other people groups?

Nope. Blacks; 'Christians'; Africans.

Obama tries to gloss over questions of "Liberation Theology" - supposedly the 'theology' of the 'black church' - as just so much mumbo-jumbo that really only theologians understand. But this brings me back to the question I set aside at the beginning: just what kind of "Christianity" did Obama embrace under Wright? With respect to the so-called black church's liberation theology, Obama said:

I am not a theologian. So I think to some theologians there might be some well worked out theory of what constitutes liberation theology versus non-liberation theology.

I went to church and listened to sermons. And in the sermons that I heard — and this is true, I do think, across the board in many black churches — there is an emphasis on the importance of social struggle, the importance of striving for equality and justice and fairness, a social gospel.

Now: if there is a "black" Christian church, is there also a "white" Christian church? And if there's a "black" social gospel, is there a "white" one? More to the point, is there a "social gospel" separate to the gospel of Jesus Christ in Christian churches of whatever description?

I'm just trying to get my mind around what would happen if President Bush's pastor of 20 years - let's say - suddenly started talking about the white church and its goals, aspirations, theology, and loyalties.

How is it that Obama can actually be heard to claim to be a mediator between people when he's attended a self-proclaimed black church - loyal to blacks and their "mother continent", Africa - for 20 years?

We don't tolerate white churches - politically, anyway.

And Jesus?

I don't think he sees colour. I don't think he has 'black' churches or 'white' churches. His body is the 'church triumphant', and insofar as either Wright or Obama talk about a 'black' church, I think they must be talking about a different kind of church - a human church - and not the church of Jesus Christ.

In the new testament, letters to individual "churches" are addressed geographically: the church that meets in Rome; in Ephesus; in Corinth; at the house of Aquila and Priscilla (I am not making this up: see Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 16, verse 19 and the book of Romans, chapter 16, verses 3-5.)

But the message was always the same - merely sent to different addresses. In fact, some of the letters carry the command that they are to be sent on to churches meeting in other locations. In addition, in his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul chastises the forming of factions:

One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul? . . . the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God [and] we preach Christ crucified. . .

In his letter to the church that met in Galatea, St. Paul marveled that they had turned so quickly away from the gospel of Jesus to follow somebody else's 'gospel', "which is really no gospel at all." [Paul's letter to the Galatians, chapter 1, verse 7].

Did you know that 'gospel' means good news?

What 'good news' have we heard from Jeremiah Wright?

From Barack Obama?

Has any of it involved Jesus Christ?

Has any of it involved really good news?!

So: no. I'm not tired of this issue yet. I don't think we've reached the main issue. This is not about Jeremiah Wright, it's about the new face of racism and bigotry.

In a way though, that's nothing new. Just the latest example of why the 'gospel' of Jesus was - and is - so vital.

From a political perspective, though, could we maybe now stop talking about Barack Messiah?! And I - personally - would be relieved if Barack would quit already with the 'black-preacher-speak' speech delivery. If Wright does nothing more than remind Barack that he is a politician - and not a preacher - that might not be such a bad thing.

calling all dog names

I need a dog name.

Two syllables.

So there's your answer to the ethical dilemma, we're getting the dog.

We still don't know if it'll be boy blue or green boy, it turns out that a "repeat" owner (who wants to show) gets first choice. I don't mind much, which surprised me. I realized I didn't want the "responsibility" of choosing between the two. I prefer the "given" in this instance. [step away from the parallel question of choice and genetic engineering. . . .]

Did I mention that we'd driven the 100+ miles to meet these dogs? No?

Turns out that boy blue shows a lot more personality. Greenboy looks like he is going to be the larger of the two - so he may have just been busy growing into himself to let personality show. I'll be happy with either one.

I'm busy reading about puppy training and trying to find a good name. Today I came across Argus - a mythological "watcher" - a giant with 100 eyes.

Any suggestions?

sign posts

One of the writers I read identified shampoo and tortillas as the agents that brought it home to her that her husband would really be gone - deployed - within a set period of time.

My husband isn't deploying. But he is going to lose one of his teeth, and I'm unaccountably depressed over it.

The fact that my brother is deploying - on Friday - might have something to do with it; I don't know. That, and the fact that I've realized that - after 50 - you have to make the conscious decision to stand upright, or you gradually don't stand upright anymore. You slowly slide into a slump.

I've been in a slump.

Funny how certain things just hit you up the side of the head and can send you sprawling. It is the king who has been suffering from tooth ache - not me. But I'm the one who's all depressed about it.

I don't get it.

I need some sleep.

pain in the tooth

The king is afflicted.

Life here has been a bit frazzled. For some reason, he resists taking pain medication until the last possible moment when he reaches the "I wish I were dead" stage.

Food has been impossible - rather, chewing food has been impossible - for him so I have been concocting a succession of as-nutritious-and-delicious-as-I-can-possibly-make-it soups, pureed by my trusty stick blender. Last night was a bacon, potato, garlic, roquette (aka arugula/rocket) and cheese concoction. Today, he had to resist assorted chilis - at a chili cook-off we had already committed to. That, and the overkill at an Italian two-year-old's birthday party. Yes, that was family.

Today is his birthday. We are meeting close friends we [nonetheless] have not seen in a long time.

"I can drink, but I can't eat." the king said, setting up the date. "I have surgery the next day." [can you say "root canal"? eek.]

"You're kidding!" was the retort, laughing.

"No. Not kidding."

"Drink, but not eat?!"

"Yep. Drinking is good. At the moment. That, and the narcotics."

Hoo boy. I can hardly wait for life to be back to normal. Meanwhile, we have a date up at the local pub for a couple of pints, by prescription.

Happy Birthday to the king!

thought: theory vs. practice. . .

Be not too hasty to trust or admire the teachers of morality; they discourse like angels but they live like men.

Samuel Johnson, lexicographer (1709-1784)

the lesson for today

Brought to you by Air France (motto: "If we haven't lost your luggage, we haven't done our job!"), by way of The Happiness Project and Homefront Six.

On our recent journey to an otherwise undisclosed overseas location, Air France did its job and lost my luggage. The French-speaking customer "service" rep (in an English-speaking country) managed to convey that the luggage was inexplicably unaccounted for, but that it would undoubtedly arrive later that afternoon.

Eet weel be saint to yuehr ohtelle tuehmohroh.

"Tomorrow? Why not toDAY?"

It appears that it is too expensive to send luggage on to my ohtelle whenever it appears Air France is done with losing my luggage. Instead, they "batch" the lost bags, and do one big delivery the next day.

Ownlehss yueh arrr beezinesss klass? Yueh arrr beezinesss klass, pehrhaps?

"Does that make a difference?"

Yes, that does make a difference. Then, apparently, they send your bag straight away. But I wasn't business class. Still, the customer service rep said he had good news for me: there was a bag they would give me at the ticket counter desk that would contain everything I needed until my bag arrived.

"Does it contain pajamas?" I asked. No. No pajamas. No face cream or make-up or a change of clothes. "But it does contain a T-shirt" I was assured. Great. Fifteen hours of travel and I have a T-shirt to tide me over till the next day.

I picked up the thing, which you see pictured above. Inside (going from memory here, as I promptly ditched the contents) was a tiny toothbrush with vile-tasting paste, a little plastic container that looked like a pill-box, but which proved to be deodorant (sticky and smelly, and difficult of application, as it kept falling apart), a small plastic bag with 2 cotton balls and 2 Q-tips, a Barbie-doll sized "travel" brush, some horrible smelling liquids claiming to be all-in-one soap/gel/shampoo and a matching "lotion", a single-blade non-safety razor, and the promised T-shirt.

I think that was it.

Like I said, I threw everything out. Except the little bag. That almost went, as well, but I was fascinated by the logo.

Caring More About You

Just think of it. This is something they have given to someone whose luggage they have lost. Someone who is inconvenienced; maybe even mad.

This is the message they want to give me? That they are "caring more about me"?

How about: "We're sorry you can't be using your own cosmetics and brush, but hey - here! - please use these instead while we do our best to find YOUR BAG so you can throw this out right away."

Or "Please take this as a memento of how horrible our service smells."

With "caring" like that, I'd like a little less caring.

ANYway, today, I read the posting above, from the Happiness Project - a bit of a self-rah-rah place by a woman who's got a publishing contract to write a book about happiness, and is already pre-marketing it. She's got some interesting thoughts on occasion, though. The post in question challenges us to examine our "heuristics". . . . by which I take it she means our unspoken assumptions and even prejudices.

One of my underlying operating criteria is "Actions speak louder than words".

I think that's why I was so taken with this stupid little bag that proclaimed great care, but symbolized negligence and resulting injury, unrepented of. The actions drowned out the words. I was fascinated with it.

Second, Homefront Six talked - among other things - about it being our choice: better, or bitter, and that we could either bitch about a problem or (quoting Ghandi) be part of the solution.

I liked that. I tend to bitch about things. It is not something I admire in myself. But my lesson today was that I do have a choice. I was pleased to see that I had chosen to move on to better. Instead of choosing to harbor resentment against Air France, I've converted their ridiculous little bag into my travel snack bag: one compartment for the pistachio nuts, the other for the shells, once the nuts have been eaten. I took it to Florida last week.

One day - too - I imagine I'll be able to look back on the whole episode with amusement. For now, I'm learning to be pleased at having found a positive use for the ill-conceived 'proof-of-caring' bag.

the piano

This is a stunning movie.

Beautiful music.

When we finish the house, I hope to buy a piano if only to learn some of the melodies in this movie. Sheet music available here.

on the road

Florida, this time.

This, looking down the fairway of the 17th hole, I think it was. Dusk. Over time, three planes entered the same space and - but for time - would have collided. Instead, they left a lovely crossing star.

The king golfed. I read. Cesar's Way, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (Kate Dicamillo), and His Holiness (Carl Bernstein and Marco Politi).

I re-read a story I had written to the half-way point about a year ago. I still like it. Perhaps it's time to finish it.

old music

from yesterday

From yesterday, I did not get to the garden store for pots. So, neither blue nor green pots arrived - and hmmm, yellow, too, Lee Anne? That does sound pretty!

Neither was the complaint written, but I have the forms and the release of lien was done.

It's a start.

We're entertaining today - six for dinner - which I hope will not mean that I get absolutely nothing else done. Further to the 'work like an ant', I should like to add an unshakeability, a casual easiness to hospitality that I don't always manage to pull off. It is not the same thing as negligence, mind you, where carelessness is renamed a lack of fussing. I've noticed, however, that overdoing things can become oppressive. The ten different cheeses instead of one - or two - nice ones, and choice of 3 different desserts and unlimited aperitifs, is just too much.

My goal is to be ok if we run out of food. Not that any of us is in any danger of starving to death. . . . thank God.

Hospitality is such a strange thing. It's another one of those balance points that you can miss on opposite sides: the too little as well as the too much. I tend to miss on the too much side. . . . which causes me to hesitate inviting people over (because it's such a lot of work), which flips me back over to the too little side. Jack [C.S. Lewis] was right when he said we're like drunkards who fall off one side of a horse, only to climb back up and fall off the other.

Here it is 10:30, however, and I have yet to stir towards tackling any of my ant-tasks of the day. Time to move.

work like an ant - reprise

I've written about this before: work like an ant.

One thing at a time, one little bit at a time, over and over again, over time, and it's amazing what you can accomplish.

I keep forgetting that, and trying to do everything all at once. I want to write the 'perfect' article, the perfect song, book, poem. . . . I want to knit the sweater at one go, in one sitting. I want the house all organized, right now, and I won't even bother starting because I know I can't get it done before the king comes home at 3 or 4 and chances are things are gong to look a whole lot worse before they start looking better.

I even put off washing clothes, because I know there are 3 sweaters to handwash, let's say, and I might only have time - really - to get one done.

The amazing thing? All this 'putting it off' doesn't help me focus on getting just one thing done, it somehow enables me to find myself - 4 hours later - with nothing done. Just a whole lot of stress over what still needs to be done, and guilty annoyance that I have somehow been tricked into wasting a whole lot of time doing God-knows nothing of much import.

So. Today: one sweater is handwashed and drying on top of the dryer, into which one load of laundry has been deposited. Two handbags have been emptied and put back into the handbag rotation pile next to the sweaters. One magazine I haven't read for almost a month has been filed in the garbage can. And this posting will be filed, sans picture, with no further ado. I have several scarves to put away, and then I have to walk up to the law library, so that I can get a complaint drafted and a release of lien form. I've been carrying those to-do items till they've practically poisoned my outlook.

Then, for some fun! I've also been putting off gardening excursions. Here's the decision to be made for today: green enamel pots, or blue?

A prophet's work is never done.