Mars Black Simon - a true story

Black marbles. I've heard it called "jet black" before, but the deep and solid black of his eyes reminds me of the color that my Dad's acrylic paints always called Mars Black. That's it - his eyes are Mars black marbles.

His nose, so characteristic of a pug that it can't be mistaken, lays softly against the railing, one tooth peeking out from under his muzzle. Drool, that ever-present essence of dogness, saturates the concrete below his chin. In so many ways, he resembles every domestic canine ever to grace a household.

As I pull the truck up the dry concrete driveway after work, late by over an hour because of a meeting snafu, I'm reminded of the phone call not 2 minutes earlier from my son. "Where are you?" he whines, with that "I'm hungry" tone coming through loud and clear. "I'm just turning off of the Highway - give me 2 minutes!". So as I disembark the truck, I know that my son and daughter will be bounding out the door, all transmission and no reception, assailing me with accusations of not loving them and statements of dire starvation.

Strange, though, no one's bounding...

So, I turn the corner and start up the stairs, when I see them both through the clear storm door that I'd cleaned not 3 days earlier. But the don't look hungry - they look worried. Pointing downward at the concrete stoop in front of the door.

And there he is - the Mars Black dog. We don't own a dog, much less this dog. And there's one more problem. He's graced his last household - those Mars black eyes open, vacant, and gone.

So many thoughts and emotions! Who is he? Who does he belong to? The kids discovered him - are they ok? They seem to have thought he was asleep. Was he hit and someone left him? Did he get ill and climb up the stairs in hope of finding help? He hasn't been dead long - that seems obvious. The vets are closed - do I bury him? I don't KNOW anyone with a pug... do I? The kids and my wife are starving and I have to make dinner! But ... I can't leave this poor soul.

What do I do?!

I call the vets in town - of course in vain as they've been closed for over an hour. Emotionally, I'm exhausted from the day: this just happens to be the day that my wife was diagnosed with Diabetes (somewhat expectedly, but nonetheless a real change in diet and life begins today for her and us all), I'm late, and now I'm at a point where there has to be action taken, but I don't know what. AHHHH!

With some sage advice from my wise Mother, I climb in the car and drive to the street behind mine where I've seen pugs before. No luck though - a talk with one new neighbor and another that's long in the tooth as well as the gab inform me that those pugs moved away last year ("good RIDDANCE!" I hear). So, I start back and drive my neighborhood. Stopping neighbors along the way, two sets tell me of one couple with a pug, "But he doesn't go out of the house" they both say. So, I arrive to announce my search, the bearer of the worst news.

In short, yes, their blind dog Simon does appear to be out of the house - they haven't noticed. As I bring the owner to the house, I try as gently as possible to break the news, and it's taken well - especially after confirming that it's his 6 year old pet. He's been acting wierdly the past few days, and he went blind suddenly within the past 6 months. We surmise that he may have simply passed away, not knowing where he way.

He probably found my steps, and was hoping it was his house. How could he know. His eyes had failed him. Those gentle Mars Black eyes. RIP Simon.

Can we just get this out of the way, once and for all?

Yes. Same spelling. Ha ha - never heard THAT one before....

Unclogging the drain

That was it. Simply writing the previous post has unclogged a series of topics for me to consider in the future...

• Heritage. Family. Nature v Nuture as I've noticed in my life.
• Heritage. When dredging up your past brings you face-to-face with a horse-drawn covered wagon (non-fiction)
• Struggles over what's really important to get across to my kids, and the Blog that no one else (until now) knows about 'cause I haven't made it public.
• Writing as an interest. Why, oh WHY, is it that I have loathed the thought of writing most of my life, yet I'm now finding it a compelling pasttime?
• Real management. I never wanted to be a manager, but it's a part of my work-life now, work that I can luckily say that I enjoy, and I think not wanting to be one is a plus. There's a cliche I'm trying to stay away from here, but neverthless...
• Changing ones mind. Why in the heck is it so taboo, in politics or in normal life, to have a considered change of heart on important topics? Why is personal revelation so hard to believe? Consider: without personal revelation and back-tracking, there's be no New Testament of the Bible beyond the Gospels. So, if we can accept that Paul the Jewish tax-collector can justly also be the Apostle Paul, writer of most of the New Testament, why can't we at least consider changing our minds on important issues as we move through life? (This idea promises fireworks)

Blogger's block

What do you do when you don't know what to blog?

What does it mean if you don't know what to blog?

It's been almost a week since my last entry here, and I'm not really sure why. When I started out on this blogging journey, I told myself that I would sit down each night, think through the day, and dump out the most "ponderous" and "interesting" point of the day. I've not failed there - and frequently there's something of note.

But for the past 5 nights, nothing. Hmm.

I suppose, if I'm to be honest with myself, then this itself is the topic that's come to mind - what does it mean that nothing stands out for blogging?

• Am I working too much (I told myself I would not write about work issues directly, though the human aspect of work is fair game, as I've already written on twice)?
• Am I finding some other outlet for my thoughts?
• Am I suppressing something?
• Am I too damn busy? (There's something there, but I'm not convinced that's all of it)
• Is global warming shutting down synapses? (We're teetering on the bleeding edge of viability with this topic...)

My grandfather, a respected English professor in his lifetime (seen in caricature at left), used to tell me in regard to writing: "Get in, say it, and get out. Let style handle itself. But by all means, just WRITE!" In a pre-Nike-enlightened world, this was tantamount to "Just do it." For a type-A mathematical mind, this was sage and understandable advice, and the most permanent scholarly (though not most important) impact he had upon my life. It successfully got me through a major in Philosophy and the hazards of having to write for the professional work audience.

But what do you do when writing is the whole point, and there's no topic jumping out at you?

My answer, then, is this blog entry. I'm writing about my lack of knowing what to write about. And in the process, I've found a small topic (my grandfather). I searched the Web to find some kind of "visual" representation for his scholarly life, looking primarily for covers of one of his 4 books (Amazon doesn't have pics, but does have his books listed). But instead, I found mention of the gift of his library and the above bookplate, which I'd never seen before. I think it's pretty cool - I reached out into the ether and discovered a hidden area of my personal past.

Pretty wild. Probably not terribly fascinating blog-stuff, but who knows?

Hans Island gets it's own Blog!

Check out the links to the right ... there's SO MUCH important news on the arctic front that it demands it's very own blog.

Pacman?

What kind of a name is "Pacman" Jones?

And, if I were a professional football player, why would I and my agent act like doofuses if I were called "Pacman"?

I suppose I get it, to an extent, but ... sigh.

Got Guts? I'm a little short...

Well, ok, that was perhaps a little "over the top" for introducing a fund raiser for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation, but hey, at least it's factual.

I've never been very good at fund-raising - I just hate to ask anyone for their money - but this one hit close to "home." I have Crohn's, and a co-worker of mine does also. She mentioned a week ago that there was a 5k fun WALK through Edwin Warner Park in Sept, and would I like to join her team. "SURE", I think, "5k can't kill me." And that's true. Even my darling-est daughter agrees, as she's decided to join me. My wife and son, as I predicted, have decided to participate as avid cheerleaders from the air conditioned comfort of home :-)

It'll be fun, and it'll be the first involvement I've had with the CCFA. I've known of them for a long time, but haven't been officially a member in over 12 years.

So, if it floats your boat, feel free to contribute to the cause. I'll also mention how much I love my sister - the first contributor :-)

Cecil Tomkey Gnome - legal advisor

I was recently made aware of the existence of a great new service industry and one of its greatest service vendors - EULA analyst and advisor, Cecil Tomkey Gnome.

Why read text that's so small your eyeballs shrivel? Legal rants aren't fit for human recognition (or comprehension for that matter). Enter the gnome!

Leave the analysis to the small one! He's infinitely patient, and ensures that you are "adequately" covered concerning all legal interests. As can be seen in this picture, Cecil Tomkey has a secret to his success - hint: it ain't gardening! Seasoned through years of appropriate "mental adjustment", Cecil knows how to cut through the cra... er, refuse to make out the pertinent points. Usually, he'll just handle it for you, and you'll never even hear about the issue!

Fine teeth are also a top quality of CT's. Keen research reveals that he's recently been endowed with his third set of choppers, and that important when you need your documents run over with a fine toothed gno... (ok, ok, I couldn't resist, and in fact, I stole the line)

If life imitates art ... I'm a Jackson Pollock

How long has it been since my last entry? Much too long. Unfortunately, I know why this is: work. Well, and then there's Scouts. Well, and then there's the Sunday school thing I got myself into (we're doing Galatians and Thessalonians ... I think it'll be pretty cool). Well, and then there's ...

The durnmoose has even been diverted to pasture a few times now for work and other such. It's not as if there hasn't been plenty to discuss - I simply HAVE to blog about Catherine, but that'll have to come after I meet her tomorrow - but there's also not enough time. I think I've complained about that a lot too.

Anyway - so I'm feeling like there's just too much going on, and not enough time again. It doesn't all run together neatly - it's scattered all over, yet it forms the "whole" that is my life. Jackson Pollock - I think that fits.

Jumping off cliffs

Why in cheese's* name would anyone teach an adult sunday school class?

If the class is covering a Bible study - well, how impossible is that? It's not as if you, as the teacher, could make up the content of the study. No, it's pretty well documented content. Content that's been around about 2000 years. Not a lot of "creative license" room there.

And you know, funny thing is, students will come in with their own ideas about the content. Get out! When you teach in primary or secondary schools, generally students come in knowing little or nothing about the material. In adult sunday school, if the people show up they usually did the homework, or at least have an interest in the material. So, this isn't necessarily a maleable audience.

No, in fact, sometimes people show up not wanting to hear anything but their own ideas. Yeah - that's the kind of environment someone should volunteer for!

Then there's the question of "language" ... KJV, NKJV, NIV, RSV, NSRV, NASV, NEB, NJB, NLT, ABCPDQ... right! That's makes it so much EASIER to get a single message across when everyone reads from different rosetta stone. Sure, all the rosetta stones were cut from the same cliff, but why'd the cliff have to be so big?!

That's why I took that leap of faith and jumped off that cliff today ... b/c it makes perfect sense, to volunteer to teach an adult sunday school class. Piece of cheese-cake.

_____
* As is so often the case - quoth the durnmoose.

Where does the time go?

[Warning: The following is a vent and rant session paid for be the owner of this blog.]
["I'm Spenser, and I approve this rant."]

I swear - a few seconds ago it was "suddenly" 5:00 PM at work, and now it's 10:00. Where the heck does time go anyway?

All I wanted to do was sit down for a short while tonight and do nothing. Maybe read. Instead, let's see...

• Drive home
• Get gas
• Clear kitchen
• Make dinner
• Help clean up
• Fix up new phone for wife (instruction manual challenged)
• Take out laundry
• Bathroom
• Fix TP holder that is only barely held onto the wall
• Cull through mail
• Pay bills for week
• Call homeowners grass cutter to cut foreclosed house that mortgage co isn't handling
• Notify other HOA board members.

And then ... it's 10:00! Sigh... and with other meetings Wed and Thurs night after dinner, there's not too much chance that it'll get "simpler".

Ok ... I've bitched enough ... I feel slightly better now.

Cats and hairballs: it all makes sense now

(Yaaackkk!)

I hate this sound. If you have cats, you do too. My 17 y.o. male cat makes this sound on average once a day. It's inevitably followed by this:

Eww! (Rip... that's the paper towels)

Why do cats do this to themselves? I could go into that rant, but it's to banal. BUT ... today I've been introduced to the secret of the hairball and why cats simply must react the way they do. I would too if I read this explanation.

Beware ... the answer may not be what one would think.