Brigid reminds us often of the love, responsibility and loss we acknowledge in our lives. Recently, her friend Vic @ Monkeywrangler had to put down her beloved dog Charlie.
I was never allowed pets as a child. For many years, I believed it was because my parents didn’t trust me with that responsibility. Later I found out my Dad had both a dog and a cat in his teen years. And they died. And it was he who couldn’t bear that pain, again.
Once I was out of college and had my own place, I more of less by default acquired a cat, a black longhair with yellow eyes. Partly feral. Beelzebub. The moniker seemed appropriate. She would sleep on my chest and upon my awakening bat at my eyes with her claws out! Guess it was time to get up. The landlord had told me no dogs. He saw the cat and amended his statement to include cats. Bastard! To the so-called Humane Society she went. I’d no other choice at the time.
It was years later when I met my future wife I learned she had a kind of chi-weenie. Lady Eowyn. She was very timid, and didn’t like me, and ran away. Then we got a Spitz (Nessie) and a knee-height brown shorthair mix (Ilsa). And a Calico shorthair cat (Gracie). And some kind of special Siamese with a tabby skeletal structure (Bear). They all left this World in various ways: disease, fights, old age.
And this process about killed me. Each time. I now know something of what my Dad must have felt. Our pets were not working animals; they were part of the family.
Now, living with my exgf, and her three Chihuahuas and black long-haired cat, I know this will happen again. I was here before when another cat passed away. And the old lady dog is 18 1/2 years old!! Blind, deaf, no teeth. But in no pain and a real sweetheart. And the two other dogs are 14.
I’m constantly reminding you to love the people in your lives. Love your animals, as well. Do it now.
Because you never know.
Being disabled, not a man of means and spending much of my day on the Internet sometimes gets me to whining. The state of the Nation, our rights being systematically eroded, yatta, yatta. And me with my own petty health issues – which I won’t detail here.
But here’s a kid who has his whole life ahead of him. And his dad will shave off his ubiquitous (since high school) mustache to raise $500. $500 for his son’s care.
$500! Are you kidding me?
I can’t afford to contribute, but you can do so here or at MSgtB’s site above. Let’s see if we can make it $5000!
h/t A Girl, MSgtB
The Ultimate Answer to Kings brings to us a discussion regarding what many of us thought was a non-issue: different genders (or the gender-confused) using the wrong public toilet.
Raise your hand if you never drowsily wandered into the wrong bathroom in a public building. Personally I consider the embarrassment to be punishment enough, but some politicians don’t agree.
SB 1432 would make it illegal to enter a bathroom if signage indicates it is exclusively for the opposite sex. Authorities could charge violators with a Class 1 misdemeanor, punishable by a $2,500 fine and up to six months in jail.
Of course I’m misstating the purpose of this bill, which has nothing to do with criminalizing a lack of situational awareness and everything to do with making, er, gender mismanagement a matter of public concern.
I personally don’t think it’s the government’s business. If a crime is involved (lewdness, rape, assault, child molestation) then certainly it becomes the government’s business. Otherwise, they’ve enough to contend with. And they’re already in our computers, cell phones, automobiles, bodies and bedrooms. I’m drawing the line at JBTs getting a warrant to check my underwear! (Although they already do it warrantless at the airport – sigh).
Many of my liberal friends cheered when the Phoenix City Council recently passed an ordinance guaranteeing non-interference with transgender and other folks who utilize the public restroom labeled with the gender they most identify. An anonymous commenter on Joel’s blog succinctly addresses the actual issue of Puritanical-Victorian America with the statement below:
There are lots of first and second world countries that have unisex public restrooms. They don’t seem to suffer for it.
Amen. Perhaps we Americans need to simply grow up.
+1 on Mr (or Ms.) AnonymousThis just in – rumor has it SB 1432 has been withdrawn or tabled, but I’ve not been able to confirms this – Guffaw
When I worked at my last job, we did many things on a computer terminal. I was there over 20 years, and saw many changes. Of course, as the technology evolved, so did our machines – usually about 4 years after everyone else did.
They kept harping about A PAPERLESS SOCIETY, but kept us using paper and printing on it. More electronically, but, eventually paper was involved.
Now, my roomie prefers the really soft, cushy roll of paper. You know the kind – advertised by cartoon bears in the woods. Sadly, roll it about two-times-over and one is down to the cardboard tube. Time to change the roll.
My experience is the female-of-the-species prefers as my roomie does. Better soft than abrasive.
This has evolved into two roll dispensers in the main bathroom, his and hers. And ‘roll follies’ when one roll is needed upstairs, but the reloads are downstairs. But, all-in-all, we work it out.
As we humans know, unless one is in a less-civilized part of the World, eventually, paper is involved.
January 26, 2013…
January 26 has always been a weird day.
Turned out to be diffuse large cell lymphoma. I spent the next six months enduring chemotherapy, weird pain, weakness and hair loss. And weekly doctor visits. It looked for a while that I wasn’t gonna be around to write this blog nonsense.
But, here I am . I’ve been more than fortunate.
People sometimes gasp when I recount certain chapters in my life. My leg disability at age 12, loss of my daughter, and being a cancer survivor. While I’ve had my moments, it’s nothing compared to Brigid’s brother and his battle against lymphoma. Or CoolChange (c)(c) watching over his beloved wife, now in hospice. They need all your good thoughts, and prayers, if that’s what you do.
And if you donate blood, please continue to do so. Or start. And mark that organ donor spot on your driver’s license. It’s the least we can do.
Sad PS – Rick (CoolChange) announced in his blog today that his beloved wife passed @ 5:55 yesterday.
I recently had a conversation with a friend which sparked a bittersweet memory.
One of the things many of us miss as adults is the wonder, the surprise, the simple serendipity of joy. In childhood we experience it often, probably because most things and experiences are new to us, and we’ve yet to become jaded.
One of my favorite memories of my daughter Molly was when I gave her a gift. She was turning twelve, and I knew just as the Sun rose in the morning that soon she would be developing into a teenager, full of doubt and promise. One who no longer trusted her parents to be all-knowing and truthful. Because, of course, we weren’t and could never be.
But here we were, proud father giving his daughter a present. She opened it, her eyes widened, and there was that sudden exhalation of breath. Excitement, happiness, joy. Innocence and appreciation in one second, one breath. Followed by the big hug.
I don’t even remember what I had given her. But what she gave me was so much more. An everlasting memory of a happy young woman, unspoiled by the adolescent hormones of parental treachery. Not yet jump-started into that distrust generated simply by being parents and adults.
Zen masters tell us to be in the now. Live life as if each moment was your last. This is what Molly showed me that day.
I’ve had many difficult times of year. The holidays and my birthday comprise one such time. Not because of those specific events, but rather because of who’s not there.
But, I’ve already received my present this year. As I get every year – when I remember it.
Live in the now, with joy, and never be disappointed.
Thank you, Molly.
I’m not big on so-called ‘social experiments’. “Let’s introduce X (a drug, tobacco, chocolate, socialism, TB, etc.)” into a fledgling society and stand back and watch the results. Many times these things simply don’t end well.
Never Yet Melted recently blogged about an experiment wherein a corporation dropped boxes of solar-powered Motorola Zoom Tablet PCs into an isolated Ethiopian village. A village without electricity or even written words. No books, no street signs, no streets. The boxes weren’t even opened. And they sat back to watch what would happen.
As reported at the EmTech MIT conference last week…
“We left the boxes in the village. Closed. Taped shut. No instruction, no human being. I thought, the kids will play with the boxes! Within four minutes, one kid not only opened the box, but found the on/off switch. He’d never seen an on/off switch. He powered it up. Within five days, they were using 47 apps per child per day. Within two weeks, they were singing ABC songs [in English] in the village. And within five months, they had hacked Android. Some idiot in our organization or in the Media Lab had disabled the camera! And they figured out it had a camera, and they hacked Android.”
There is innate curiosity and intelligence in human beings. At least those not lulled into the crass commercialism of fashion, gadgets and style. These folks eke out an existence; they don’t have everything handed to them. JDZ of Never Yet Melted suggested we do this with American inner city public schools. I’m thinking the children therein are probably too jaded by school age.
Or a reasonably facsimile, thereof. Eventually.
Having recently moved a house-full of stuff into one room, I’m still unpacking. And trying to find places to put stuff. Where I can find it when needed.
Ay, there’s the rub. Finding stuff. You see, my new
efficiency studio flat bedroom does not have a central overhead light. I’ve three lamps, two of the standing variety, one of which needs rewiring. And the one lamp is only accessible in a far corner, behind numerous boxes and plastic totes. I have to remind myself to leave the bathroom light on and the door ajar to find my way to the bedside table lamp. Or use flashlights, after dark.
Last night I was getting ready to retire, and thought I’d shave first, as I feel better swimming in the AM having done so. But alas, no new razors (which I’d just purchased last week) could be found, due to the multitude of boxes, coupled with the lack of proper lighting!
So, I guess I’ll take my stubble for a quick swim this morning. Sigh.
(I know this is just a minor annoyance, and that the issue will eventually be resolved, but last night I was ticked. I hate not being able to find what I need when I need it. Guess I’d better get cracking on unpacking.)
NOW, where to put stuff…?
|from the film Blade Runner – 1982|
One of the things I try to do in my life is to admit error. After all, I’m human, and humans make mistakes. Of course, sometimes, I make a mistake by not admitting error. Ego, and all that.
And, sometimes, a mistake is made, without malice or evil intent. Just a mistake.
I don’t think of myself as someone malicious or evil.
I apologized this morning to someone about something that happened months ago, something about which I’d forgotten.
And, being neurotic, I worry my amends was insufficient. Obviously, there’s nothing I can do about that. What’s done is done, including the apology.
So, I must move on.
I uttered a curse word when I heard of my transgression. A traditional American past time, cursing.
I’m thinking the traditional Japanese method is better.
Normally, they utter the word shimata. This is translated as “an exclamation acknowledging a surprise event“, or “it happened”. Ian Fleming, in his next-to-the-last James Bond book, You Only Live Twice, said it translates as “I have made a mistake!”
I have made a mistake, and showed contrition for it.
Good God I’m neurotic!