What I Hate About Being An Adult Today: An Ongoing And Neverending Series

Random observations of grown-up life in the last week -- 

• there is water damage in the ceiling of my home office again 
• that means the second floor toilet is almost certainly leaking again
• I got pink eye from my kid 
• the house and car insurance payments are due and they've jacked the rates again
• I need to shop for fucking insurance again 
• speaking of insurance, my company changed health insurance providers
• have I mentioned that I really hate researching insurance providers and policies? 
• it will be time to do taxes soon 
• my retirement savings are in the toilet
• that kind of brings it full circle 

Rest In Peace, Mom

Note: I gave this eulogy at my mom's memorial service earlier today. 

I am your child
Wherever you go
you take me too.
Whatever I know
I learn from you.
Whatever I do
you taught me to do.
I am your child. 

And I am your chance.
Whatever will come
will come from me.
Tomorrow is won
by winning me.
Whatever I am
you taught me to be.
I am your hope.
I am your chance.
I am your child.

Mom heard the petition of this children's poem, and she heeded its call. She parented as if everything was at stake. And everything was: she was a single woman with four children. She had a son with cancer. She faced the loss of her own mother. She had no money, no job, no direction. But she overcame all of this adversity: she graduated from nursing school… and built a full and happy life for herself and for all of her children. She poured everything she had into providing for us and our futures. But what did we know about that.

In 2008, after I got divorced, I lived with my mom for a time, while I got back on my feet. She was the ideal roommate: quiet (-- hard to believe, I know --), clean… she kept to herself when I didn't want company, but she was right there when I needed someone to talk to. I learned a lot about mom as a person that year.
 
So one evening, I came home and asked her about her day. She flashed me her knowing smile and replied: "today while I was seeing an amputee, and tending to his infected stump, the dog was sniffing my crotch. I look over at other side of the bed and I see a mouse crawling up the bedspread, and the cat isn't doing anything about it. So I say to the woman, 'there's a mouse, how come the cat isn't doing anything about it?' and the woman picks up the cat and throws it at the mouse. In the meantime the amputee has shit the bed."

Such is the life of a nurse. In that last year before she retired -- the year I lived with her -- mom, a twenty-seven year veteran who was turning 65, worked Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day, all without incentive pay. She was actually scheduled to work the entire Christmas weekend, but had to call in sick -- which she never did -- because she couldn't get out of bed.

And it occurred to me that this was her *every day* while I was growing up. When you are a child, you cannot conceive how hard your mother works. All of that noise, all of that chaos, all of that hard, hard work - she shielded us from it. We lived inside of her protective armor. All of our pedestrian worries about homework, sleep-overs, clean uniforms… these seemed like the biggest problems in the world to us. Meanwhile, outside of the bubble in which we lived, mom fought real demons: financial hardship, cancer, unsafe neighborhoods, unfair labor practices. And she did it always with a wry and confident smile on her face.

The poem reads, "tomorrow is won by winning me." You did it, mom. I am your child -- and I am very proud to say so.

Goals

At the end of last year, I set a goal to make it to my CrossFit Box fifty times in 2014 - essentially, once a week. It sounds like a very modest goal, and it is, but it seemed ambitious at the time. You see, since running in the Tough Mudder in May 2012, I hadn't trained very much: my wife and I had a new baby, I had developed plantar fasciitis from poor/over-training for the 'Mudder, and general life-clutter and stress had ushered in a period of unshakable inertia. My gym attendance had fallen to nothing.

By the Fall of 2013, I had put on weight and slowed down considerably. Around Thanksgiving, I had a moment of grim, mortal self-perception: As I was carrying my toddler up the stairs, I realized that I was short of breath. Wow, I thought. I am really, really out of shape. And more, I thought: "this little boy is my most active kid - he needs and is going to need a lot more from me physically than I can give him in this state. I've got to do something about that. I'm not getting younger."

So this goal was different from the outset, because it wasn't for me. I needed to make a change in order to provide something for someone else. The practical goal was modest, but the underlying reason was profound. And I think that this was a crucial difference that aided me in my journey. We hear a lot about how we should "do it for ourselves." That mindset is ultimately limiting. When we account for others in our endeavors, we can unlock so much more of our potential and purpose.

It's little more than halfway through the year, and already, I've essentially reached my goal:

Achieving this goal has had unexpected benefits: since April, I've been using an online tracking tool to record my workouts and body metrics. And I've seen some pretty remarkable results in that short period:

In short, the simple, clear, and unambiguous goal to make it to the gym for my son's sake has snowballed: I've lost weight and changed my body composition; I'm going to the gym more often, striving to improve my workout scores, eating better, and generally improving my quality of life in almost every way. That's huge.

Most importantly, though, now I can haul my (bigger) toddler up and down the stairs, toss him around, flip him upside down, and chase him around, no problem. Back to the way a dad should be.

Start small, be consistent, hold yourself accountable, and do it for a real reason. It makes all the difference.

Goodbye, Little Friend

Hercules made me angry like only a family member could. He would start barking at five-thirty in the morning on days we wanted to sleep late. He'd sneak off to shit on the carpet just moments after coming inside from the yard. He'd steal chocolate bars from the table and scrambled eggs from the baby's plate and scraps out of the garbage and butter from the counter-top. He'd whine and whimper and complain about any little thing that wasn't just so.

He would constantly demand attention when we were busy with something or someone else - very literally nosing-in in order to have his head patted. On cold days, he'd try to hide when it was time for a walk. He had the most disgusting breath of any creature I've ever encountered. He had a knack for being underfoot at the most ill-conceived moments. He would spend hours flipping a blanket with his snout in order to arrange himself underneath it to his satisfaction. When we needed a break, we'd lock him in his kennel, but somehow he'd get it open and escape. One time, he actually got out of his kennel, climbed out of the locked garage through a window, opened the back door to the house, and went inside.

Christ, that dog drove me crazy.

Most aggravating of all, though, was that Hercules would run away. He ran away so often that it wasn't worrisome or alarming or even notable. It was only maddening (and occasionally embarrassing when neighbors had to bring him home). At my old house, he'd jump the four-foot high fence easy as kiss your hand (an amazing feat for such a tiny dog) and go on an all-day walkabout. He'd trot back hours later with a look on his face that said nothing so much as "whuuut?"

On Monday, he ran off and got hit by a car. He died instantly. He was thirteen.

Though I consider myself to be an animal lover, I am not much of a dog person. It is not for lack of trying: as an adult, I've actually owned four dogs. We got our first dog, a black lab, in 1993. He was spirited and entertaining, but he grew into a ninety-pound handful, and after the novelty wore off, it became a grind to care for him.

At the time, we ran a child care business, and when that lab started to bite other people's children, we were forced to get rid of him. I vowed I'd never have another dog. But I was eventually overruled, and in 2001, my family and I found ourselves with an Italian greyhound, a breed I had never encountered (or even heard of) before my then-wife and daughter came home with Frodo.

As fate would have it, not long afterward, a college kid moved in across the street with his own Italian greyhound. Most dogs are not well-suited to a college student's lifestyle, however, and soon Hercules was spending a lot of time with us. He was more delicate than Frodo, and also a good deal smarter. We ended up adopting him, and from then on we were a two-IG family. We eventually added a third dog, a Pomeranian. They were quite a trio.

Now as I've said, Hercules had always been a total jerk. But damn it if he wasn't the consummate charmer too: he loved children and he loved the daycare. He'd cuddle with whomever was willing to sit on the couch for more than thirty seconds (especially if you had a blanket). And boy, did he love cats. When one of our cats had kittens, he took pride in them and considered himself to be a co-parent. They were his kittens and he raised them. 

The years slipped by. In 2007 I divorced, and although I wanted exactly zero dogs, I ended up with the two greyhounds. Strange how that worked out. Anyway, Hercules and Frodo didn't love the life of a single dude nearly as much as family life, but the three of us adapted and soldiered on.

When I remarried in 2010, my wife brought her cat Levi into our home, and predictably, Hercules loved that cat too. Unfortunately, Levi didn't want much to do with Hercules; one might say that he was on to Hercules' charming bad-boy routine (Levi being cut from a similar cloth). Levi preferred Frodo's guileless company, which made Frodo quite nervous and Hercules even more determined to bond with him. 

Even though Hercules and Levi never really came to an understanding, the newly-remade household and the dynamic between the three of these animals revived Hercules' familial nature. At ten years old, he was as playful as a puppy. I think it was a heavy blow to Hercules when we had to put Levi down due to illness in January of 2012.

Hercules proved to have plenty more life in him, though. When our first (my third) child was born in 2012, Hercules formed an immediate bond with the baby. This was something new for Hercules: he had played nursemaid to kittens and to preschoolers, but he had never been around a newborn infant, and he took to our son Malcolm more effortlessly than I thought possible.

It's not an exaggeration to say that Hercules pretty much single-handedly taught our boy how to be gentle. While Malcolm was squeezing and pinching and prodding, he'd patiently stand there as if to say, "try again."

All of this happened right before our eyes, and while it pleased us, I don't think we appreciated it as fully as we should have. We were busy being harried, sleep-deprived new parents just trying to hold ourselves together. But the magic happened, again and again, and I'm glad we captured some of it.

Unfortunately, Hercules was still prone to all of his rude-boy habits. And Monday afternoon, he ran off after being let out to do his business. Now, he hated cold and rain, and Monday was just such a dreary day, so we thought nothing of it: he'd come back soon. He always did. But when an hour turned into two, and he still hadn't returned, we went out looking for him. Before we went out, I was still muttering and cursing about him running off on yet another of his little excursions. Sadly, we later learned that by the time we began our search, he was running around in a panicked state. He apparently became too scared to approach anyone by that point - a fact that still surprises and grieves me. Ignorant of this information, however, I kept up the search until after 11 PM. The cold night and the racoons I spotted in the neighborhood darkened our spirits.

On Tuesday we received quite a few calls from our searching and canvassing efforts. A lot of people had seen him Monday afternoon in his frenzied condition. But our hopes were short-lived: on a tip from one of the many flyers we posted, we found his body that afternoon by a busy highway about half a mile from our house. I went to collect his remains. He was almost unrecognizable. Poor, poor dog. We suppose that he was hit Monday evening right after dark.

There were no skid marks, and by the blood-streaked road, it was clear that he was dragged at least 50 feet, and probably more. I doubt the driver saw him, but I am not sure how the driver failed to feel the impact. I washed and saved his name-tag, and I let Frodo sniff his body so he'd know that Hercules wasn't coming back. Then we brought his remains to Minneapolis Animal Control.

I am sorry. It was my job to protect you, little dog. And I failed.

Our relationships with our pets are complicated: we form attachments and project our own hopes, fears, and foibles on to these creatures. They probably try harder to understand us than we credit. Science has learned much about the chemistry and the hormones that transform a small domesticated animal into a beloved family member. But there is no measuring instrument that can quite capture the regret I feel.

I always thought Hercules would outlive everyone. Though he certainly had a long and rich life, he didn't deserve to die so suddenly and violently. And even though he drove me crazy, I am sad that he's gone, and my complacent, annoyed attitude toward his escape on Monday gnaws at me. I'll miss him most for his kindness toward my youngest son - I am heartbroken that their relationship has been cut short. Rest in peace, Hercules.

Teen Power!

Teens are smarter and tougher than adults often credit. But they face difficult questions and mixed messages, and going through adolescence is confusing and very hard on a person (and that's not to mention how tough it is for parents!).

A few years back, I wrote a post with some goals I would have liked to have achieved as a teen. It was a response to a friend's post on the same topic. In honor of the start of the 2013-14 school year, I thought I'd revise and consolidate these two posts into a single list. The best part about this advice is that it really doesn't have expiration date: it is good for all ages!

• Stick up for someone. A lot of adults will tell you that the some of the deepest shames in life stem from failing to stick up for a weaker kid. Cowardice is a behavior, not a trait, and it can become habitual unless you find some courage in yourself for someone else's sake when it's called for. You can do it! And the alternative sucks.
  


• Make art. Join the school theater, get into the choir, play a musical instrument, start a band, write a story, take a drawing or a painting class. And don't just make it - perform it, put it on display, integrate it into your social life. This involves some risk, which is part of the point. Honing a creative skill nurtures something inside of you that is very different than what is built from the raw competition of academia or athletics. But more immediately, it's fun as hell.
  


• Exercise. No need to be a jock. But don't phone it in: move around with some purpose. Screw the dieting crap, just eat right and keep the junk food to a minimum. Walk a mile or ride your bike every day is all the exercise you need.
  


• Learn a language. Sure, I studied Spanish in high school, Finnish in college, and dabbled in French as an adult. But I still haven't become fluent in any additional language to my satisfaction. I think my life is poorer because of it. When you can read in another tongue or converse comfortably with a native speaker, then you have opened up your world immeasurably. So really learn it - do extra credit, put in time at the language lab, go to a language camp, take that semester abroad, join a club - whatever it takes. This is on my list of things to do before I'm dead.
  


• Get a job. Even if you don't need the money, having a part-time job is great life experience. When you are an adult, no one will care about how cute you were or how well you pranked the substitute teacher or bounced a basketball. Being part of an organization that measures your worth in what you can do for it and that is wholly dedicated to making money is good preparation for the "real world." 
  


• Start a savings account. Did I really need to spend that money on the bullshit I bought? If I had saved just twenty bucks a week in my teen years, I would have had $5200 by the time I turned 18. That's enough for a real adventure abroad, a significant investment, or some other substantial purchase. To be able to plan and execute a long term goal, especially a financial one, is truly a life skill worth learning and having. I'm a lot better at this now, but it took me way too long to get here. Put some money away for something big. You won't regret it.
  


• See how the other half lives. The city in which I live doesn't have a shanty town or even an above-average unemployment rate. Even so, there are homeless shelters and food shelves and people on the street. Go lend a hand. Poverty is experiential and even a trivial brush with it is transformative.
  


• Don't worry about what you want to be. I'm 44 years old and I'm working my second career. I don't expect to stay in this career until I retire. Heck, when I was 15, the job I have now did not even exist. There are young people out there who have the singular drive and interest to pursue a particular career as teens, but in my experience most people are not like that. So don't worry about what you're going to be when you grow up! But...
  


• Develop interests and skills. Find something you're passionate about and go for it. It doesn't matter what it is, it is likely to have dozens or even hundreds of facets to explore. The ability to find and develop an interest is itself a valuable skill. Just caring about something other than who kissed so-and-so and where the party is this weekend makes you a better person. It may even turn into something you could get paid to do.
  


• Finish high school. There's no excuse for not finishing high school. In an information economy dropping out of high school pretty much dooms you to a life of poverty which means you're making your problems into society's problem. So be serious and finish high school.
  


• Don't have a boy or girlfriend. If you're under 18, casual, low-stress social mingling is more fun, more instructive, and ultimately more fulfilling for you than intense relationships that you may not be emotionally ready for. If you go to a buffet do you fill up your plate with apple cobbler? Hellz no beotch! You sample lots of different things.
  


• Break clique boundaries. Hang with the jocks. Hang with the clowns. Hang with the partiers. Hang with the nerds. Don't be hidebound by your "natural" peer group. Find interesting individuals, don't settle for a group in which you feel comfortable. Getting along with a variety of people isn't a life-skill, it's living.

(Hat tip to TK for granting permission to use his post. Thanks, amigo!)

Update: of all people, Kareem Abdul Jabar recently wrote a piece on the very same topic. His piece is titled "How to Become A Man," but most of his advice holds true for both boys and girls looking for an enlightened path into adulthood.

Catholics and Gay Marriage

My grandfather - a conservative Catholic - was a wise and funny man. He used to quip that he was against prayer in the public schools because he was convinced that they would teach children the wrong way to pray. This simple and folksy logic actually reveals some profound insights: it is an acknowledgement that ours is a pluralistic nation, and that in such a free and open society, there are many different religious traditions; it is an admission that on some matters of faith, Catholics are not willing to compromise; and it also expresses a measure of acceptance that all of this is just fine. I think it even illustrates his gentle yet piercing sense of humor, the comment coming as it did back at the height of the animus-filled debate over prayer in the public schools. 

Which brings me to the topic of marriage. Right now, gay marriage is a contentious issue for people of faith, much like the issue of school prayer used to be. In Minnesota, led by the bishops, the Catholic Church has come out in support of a constitutional amendment to permanently ban gay marriage. Frankly, I am not sure what is driving the Catholic campaign against gay marriage, nor do I understand why the church has chosen to take such a stand at this time. If I had to guess, I would say that it is a top-down effort by the Church to re-assert its moral authority in the United States at a time when it has been rocked by scandal and its influence is waning. It certainly does not seem like a widespread and spontaneous expression of anti-gay sentiment by its members.

In a way, I can understand why this debate is so important to Catholics. For Catholics, marriage is more than a long-standing and powerful institution; it is a sacrament: a sacred rite that binds its recipients to each other and to the church. Catholic marriage has many tenets: it is a lifelong, indissoluble commitment and the only proper place for sexual expression. Procreation is seen as a primary purpose. Marriage between Catholics and non-Catholics is circumspect and even frowned upon. And so on. In a formal and strict sense, the church does not recognize non-Catholic marriage because its expression outside of the church does not enshrine these tenets as its foundation.

I have seen a fair number of essays and other commentary by Catholics that purport to explain why everyone should oppose gay marriage. Really, though, all of these arguments simply express why people should oppose Catholic marriage for gays. Essentially, they reiterate Catholic beliefs about coupling, reproduction, and sexual morality. Forgotten or abandoned in these essays is that there are other ideas about marriage that simply do not conform to Catholic beliefs.

Religious people of many faiths, as well as non-religious people, define marriage differently, and some religious organizations openly embrace marriage between same-sex couples. I am certain that Catholics do not want to have the marriage standards of another faith imposed upon them. So they should not seek to impose their standard on others. This is the heart of the matter, and everything else simply clouds this essential truth. Whether or not the amendment passes, Catholics will continue to define and to celebrate marriage in their own way. Similarly, passing this amendment will not alter the expression (or lack thereof) of marriage by non-Catholics.

In short, the issue of gay marriage really does not challenge or undermine Catholic marriage as an institution in any way. Instead, this issue offers another, deeper challenge to Catholics: to find the humanity and the good in people with whom they disagree. I do not say this glibly; this is one of the most difficult challenges that we as human beings face. And it is a sacred as well as civic duty to do so.

Catholic Minnesotans should choose to protect the religious and personal liberty of non-Catholics so that those outside of the Church may find fulfillment and practice their beliefs in their own way. Or they should choose to protect the Catholic sacrament of marriage from being misused and diluted by forcing it upon a reluctant public. Either way, let's all take my grandfather's advice: leave Catholic teachings and practices to Catholics. Vote No.

***
Update: This essay is a plea to Catholics to reject the Church's anti-gay marriage position on the grounds that the State of Minnesota does not administer the Catholic sacrament of marriage, and never will. For those interested, here is the first essay I wrote on the subject of Minnesota's anti-gay marriage amendment, and it includes a more expansive plea for marriage equality.

Update II: I wrote two additional essays that respond to the "natural law" arguments against marriage equality. "Natural Law" is commonly invoked by Catholics to mask the religious nature of their opposition to same-sex marriage. You can find these essays here and here.

death

death is our lifelong companion
who greets us at our birth
treat him as your dearest friend
while you walk the earth

do not fear his icy touch
despair will help you not
trust that life will end one day
ere then do as you ought

In loving memory of Margaret Carr, 1949-2011.

Grampa Jim

My grandpa died today.

One of the many difficult things that comes with dealing with a death in the family is an awareness that there have been words left unsaid and deeds left undone. My relationship with him feels somehow unfinished, and now it must remain so. I suppose one cannot truly "finish" a relationship. But it hurts to feel the loss of someone so dear and so lively in heart and mind. There were many things I would have yet liked to have learned from him, and I long to hear more tales from his life in his own words.

I am grateful to have known him and I am very proud to be counted among his grandchildren.

Legacy

Doggie See, Doggie Doo

My dog Hercules has a peculiar habit of defecating on hills. Be it a tiny berm on the boulevard or a little snowbank or a large rise facing a house, he is strangely compelled to stand on an incline while taking a shit. Must be for leverage or something.

At any rate, my other dog Frodo has begun to ape this behavior. Just this morning he went well out of his way to position himself on a hill before pinching one out. The little brown nuggets rolled down the slope as they dropped, just like in the proverb. What can possibly mean?

In Like a Lamb...

Something's coming, something big, something I can't stand
Dark as the ocean, secret and cruel, something I can't command...

March is here, taxes will be due soon. At this moment Obama vs. Clinton is playing out on the grand stage of Texas. I have yet to find a home. Oil prices are soaring, the dollar is plummeting, the markets are twitchy. My brother still doesn't have a job.

It's only the future.

Real Wisdom For Teens

1. Post these rules before presenting your list.
2. List 6 actions or achievements you think every person should accomplish before turning 18.
3. There are no conditions on what can be included on the list.
4. At the end of your blog, choose 6 people to get tagged and list their names.
5. People who are tagged write their own blog entry with their 6 suggestions.
6. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged.

LLTK tagged me with yet another blogging meme. This one is different than others I have seen, however, and I want to try my hand at it. Unfortunately, TK's list on this topic is nearly flawless: a virtuoso distillation of how to grow up in the modern world. I wish I had seen his list when I was 13, and again when my children reached their teen years.

Here is my attempt at formulating a list on the topic.

1. Make art. Join the school theater, get into the choir, play a musical instrument, start a band, write a story, take a drawing or a painting class. And don't just make it - perform it, put it on display, integrate it into your social life. This involves some risk, which is part of the point. But also it nurtures something better inside of you than the raw competition of academia or athletics. And it's fun as hell.
   
2. Learn a language. Sure, I studied Spanish in high school, Finnish in college, and dabbled in French as an adult. But I still haven't become fluent in any second language to my satisfaction. I think my life is poorer because of it. When you can read a book in another tongue at an adult reading level, or converse comfortably with a native speaker, then you have opened up your world immeasurably. So really learn it - do extra credit, put in your time at the language lab, go to a language camp, take that semester abroad, join a club, whatever it takes. This is on my list of things to do before I'm dead.
   
3. Start a savings account. Did I really need to spend all that money on the bullshit I paid for? If I had saved just $20 a week throughout my teen years, that would have been $5200 by the time I turned 18. That's enough for a real adventure abroad, a significant investment, or some other substantial purchase. To be able to plan and execute a long term goal, especially a financial one, is truly a life skill worth learning and having. I'm still working on this one too.
   
4. Don't worry about what you want to be. I'm almost 39 and I'm on my second career. I don't expect to stay in this career until I retire. Heck, when I was 15, the job I have now did not even exist. There are young people out there who have the singular drive and interest to pursue a particular career as teens, but in my experience most people are not like that. So do not worry about what you're going to be when you grow up! But...
   
5. Develop interests and skills. Find something you're passionate about and go for it. It doesn't matter what it is, it is likely to have several, dozens, or even hundreds of facets to explore. The ability to find and develop an interest is itself a valuable skill. Just caring about something other than who kissed so-and-so and where the party is this weekend makes you a better person. It may even turn into something you could get paid to do.
   
6. Break clique boundaries. This was one thing I was actually good at. Hang with the jocks. Hang with the clowns. Hang with the partiers. Hang with the nerds. Don't be hidebound by your peer group. Find interesting individuals, don't settle for a group in which you feel comfortable. Getting along with a variety of people isn't a life-skill, it's living.

If you are reading this blog, consider yourself tagged. Or not :-)

You Can't Make This Shit Up

So I got home from work today and said, "hey ma, how was your day besides wonderful and invigorating?" And she flashed me a bemused, exasperated look and replied, "today while I was seeing the amputee, and tending to his infected stump, the dog was sniffing my crotch. I look over at other side of the bed and see a mouse crawling up the bedspread, and the cat isn't doing anything about it. So I say to the woman, 'there's a mouse, how come the cat isn't doing anything about it?' and the woman picks up the cat and throws it at the mouse. In the meantime the amputee has shit the bed."

I love my job.

My Mom Does The Real Work

If you're reading this, then like me, you obviously have time to sit in a semi-vegetative state staring at the tubes of the internets. But while you and I idle away our day in front of the computer, my mom is out there busting her ass to care for ungrateful and often half-sane patients as a home care nurse, working for an even less sane bureaucracy.

In my vision, the home care field is supposed to be about maintenance - caring for people who are basically OK, but who need some minor, specialized assistance. In practice, however, home care has become a dumping ground for patients with financial hardships, mental problems, or chronic conditions. What is maddening is that though home care has become a necessity in modern medicine, the for-profit health care industry looks down on this field because it makes no money.

The dehumanizing influence of capital festers at all levels. Management is obsessed with tracking the whereabouts of its home care nurses, all degree-holding professionals. Meanwhile the office staff throw each other parties and nominate each other for employee of the month. Work nights? Yes. Now why would a patient who is "basically OK" need to be seen at night? Same goes for weekends. Low pay? Yes. Considering her skill and experience level, it's shamefully low. Loads of data entry on inferior software? Yep. The latest ridiculous cost-cutting measure: the company will not provide folders to store patients' paperwork! And the list goes on. It's comically horrifying.

The clincher: my mom, a twenty-plus-year home care veteran who turns 65 in June, had to work Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day in the last month, without any incentive pay. What the hell is that? She was actually scheduled to work the entire Christmas weekend, but had to call in sick because she was so sick she couldn't get out of bed.

My job is a cushy cakewalk compared to hers.

Beneath The Surface

Having been mired in my own thoughts and concerns for the last six months, politics, the economy, foreign relations, social problems... these have all been largely lost on me. But I'm coming out of it, and I'm looking around, and what I see is not encouraging. The American economy is heading for a recession, if it isn't in one already. And my family has been touched by it in a very real way: Friday my younger brother was laid off. Single dad, fifth year apprentice in his trade, hard-working man. Is this the best we can do collectively, to cast such a person aside? I hope not.

I wonder, how many homes does half a trillion dollars buy?

My Dogs Are Pimp!

Check it out! My boys are stylin' in their new sweaters and jackets from Voyagers K9 Apparel. This clothing is fantastic! It is warm, lightweight, and fits properly - something that has always bothered me about dressing them in the past. They seem so pleased with themselves on our walks in the bitterly cold December mornings.


And don't they look sharp in black? When told what color I had selected for them, one friend complained, "you wouldn't dress your baby in black, would you?" To which I replied, "they aren't babies, they're men."

It's All In A Day

Six a.m. The alarm bleats its unpleasant call. Another day. My dog Frodo is resting comfortably between my knees, where he's been most of the night. Hercules is under my arm pressed against my left side. They are Italian greyhounds, so they get cold easily and sleep under my blankets and sheets, even in the middle of summer. Neither show an interest in allowing me to move. I stare at the ceiling wondering how on earth I'm gonna make it out of bed this morning, or if there is any excuse I can conjure that might let me stay in my blessed cocoon, away from my worldly cares.

My daughter opens my bedroom door and my third dog Durin, a Pomeranian, scrambles into my bed on top of me and begins to lick my face. My arms are under the covers, protecting my vital areas, while he tramples all over me. I turn my head in a vain attempt to avoid his kisses and breath. Hercules begins to growl at the intrusion. He is being trampled too. While Hercules emerges from beneath the blankets, the jostling extends to Frodo as well.

Herkie and Durin are now engaged in a contest of wills. They are growling and whining and gnawing at each other. This amuses me and I tip my head to enjoy the show. Someone inevitably steps on my face. Ow, dammat! Playtime is over. "C'mon boys," I say as pull myself out of bed and trudge across the bedroom. Two follow eagerly, while one lingers in bed. I'm not sure how they determine who stays behind. But one of them always seems to. I spend a half a moment coaxing the third along, and we all go downstairs to the front door.

I open the door and the three are off like a shot! Greyhounds are fast, and because Durin has two greyhound brothers, he has become quite speedy himself. Usually they bend to the left to chase the squirrels on the lawn into the silver maple tree in the corner of the yard. Frodo is the fastest: he takes the outside track and still beats the other two. Sometimes they race to their favorite marking spot. I watch them for a moment, then go fetch my juice and coffee.

It's six twenty and the dogs are barking at something: a bicyclist, a pedestrian, a baby stroller, another dog. I loathe this behavior, but nothing I've tried seems to keep it in check. I'd better go check on them before Hercules decides to jump the four-foot high fence, which he can do easily. Left unsupervised, they charge the fence to defend their yard and bark until I intervene or the person is passed. I apologize to the passerby, and tell the boys that they are perpetuating the stereotype of yippy little dogs. But do they listen? No. I ask them if they are sorry for what they've done. No answer. Bastids.

By this time I've finished my juice and I am halfway through my coffee while having a look at the morning news, mainly for the weather. The boys sense that their time is approaching and begin to pine for their walk. Durin begins to bite my nose out of excitement. Hercules and Frodo bow and let out short, high-pitched, happy barks in anticipation. "Shhh!" I tell them. This does not help. "Are you ready? Do ya wanna go? Do ya?! OK!" I offer, more to their liking. They caper about and jump for joy.

I need to use the toilet and dress before we go, but they don't mind. They'll follow me anywhere. So the four of us spend a moment in the bathroom, then I replace my pajamas with jeans and a shirt. I come back downstairs and they are in a frenzy, so excited they can't stand it, twirling and jumping and vocalizing with pleasure. I pull on my shoes and fasten their leashes and we are off.

Though our walk follows a prescribed one-mile route around the neighborhood, it never is exactly the same. My favorite walks are when the four of us remain silent for the entire half-hour circuit, each lost in his own thoughts. I sometimes try to fathom their dog-thoughts, which I imagine are formed by their incredible sensory acuity. But then I think that, just as I am entitled to my own private musings, so are they. My mind wanders back to its own reflections.

These quiet walks are sadly somewhat rare, because all too often there is a bicyclist or another dog at whom to bark, or a neighbor who wants to say hello, or a curious passerby who wants to meet these three. I don't mind the attention, but I do prefer our solitude. When the dogs bark or become unruly, I shush them and force them all to heel. It isn't easy to walk three dogs at once. I can't complain too much, though: they are mostly high-spirited, enjoyable, and respectful fellow travelers.

Walking the boys is all about scents and marking and bodily function. They seek out every clue and investigate every curiosity. They micturate upon landmarks and squat to do their business. Hercules is the most careful about marking. By the time we are one-third into the walk, Frodo and Durin have no urine left, while Hercules has saved himself to hit every spot he intends.

It is strange and funny and altogether remarkable what they notice. Once they barked at some Halloween decorations placed in a pattern around the base of a sapling tree in a neighbor's yard. They were spooked by a landscaping boulder, a favorite spot to mark, which had been rolled out into the street. When ant swarms appear on the sidewalk in midsummer they seem to superstitiously avoid the miniature melee.

We make it back to the house and they are quite pleased with themselves. I put them into their kennel. I shower, shave, and dress for work. I make my lunch and find my way in to the office. It's eight fifteen now. No dogs here. It's people who want something from me now: someone is knocking on my cube, my telephone is ringing, and the email is pouring in. My stomach is growling, because I forgot to eat breakfast again. The makings of a long day. Oh well. At least the boys will be happy to see me when I get home from work.

But maybe I shoulda stayed in bed.

At Last!

I've been working on a painting of Nausicaä the Warrior Princess for almost a year. I finally finished it this evening. I am very pleased with the results! Have a look...

If you live in the Twin Cities area, and you're interested in improving your drawing and/or painting skills, I highly recommend The Art Academy. My daughter has been taking classes there for more than four years, and she and I have been attending classes together for over a year now. She and I have learned a lot, and it's a lot of fun!

The teachers fuse the time-honored methods of traditional art instruction with modern educational theory. The result is fantastic: every session I walk around the room and marvel at my fellow students. Get out there and paint a picture!

Footnote

A couple of months ago I told the tale of my daughter's trampoline. Sadly, the fourth trampoline was extremely short-lived - the damn thing BROKE! It only lasted a month or so. She was bouncing on it and the weld on two of the legs gave way. That could have been tragic! I hate to contemplate what could have happened. Our neighbor, whose back door is near the trampoline, saw the twisted metal and actually did fear the worst for a few hours. Then he saw Daphne walking around the house in a torpor.

I disassembled it a few weeks ago, and we ordered a fifth from the web - a standard spring model, rather than one with those nifty straps. We couldn't find another one like that. Oh well. Long story short, number five up, and my daughter is happy again. And it seems to be working ok so far. The materials and construction seem sturdy, but then again, I thought that about the last one.

Castle Mania

My daughter had a school project for history due today - build a model of a castle. Why is this such a big deal, you may ask? Well, here's a little background: I am a nerd. I am passionate about history, and I have fairly extensive experience in making crafts and building models. So when my son had this exact same project three years ago, I coached him into building a fantastic fortress. It was well-proportioned, intricately detailed, and meticulously painted and landscaped. By many accounts, it was easily the best one in the class. According to the teacher, however, it lacked certain minor features that we felt were unrealistic for a castle of that size and era. And there was no room for those features, given the project's recommended scale, which we used! He ended up with a mere B+ on the project. That really chapped my ass.

Fast forward to now. My daughter and I, both informed and enraged by this eariler outcome, were determined to outdo that castle. My daughter in particular, currently maintaining a better-than-4.0 GPA (due to the weighting of honors classes), wanted to ace the project. But she was hampered by design-anxiety, because the castle could be no greater than 14"x18," yet it had to possess a great deal of detail. The instructions suggested a scale of one inch for every six to ten feet, or about 1:108 scale. If you've made any study of models, that scale should be a red flag - it's for smaller things, like ships and rockets, not a large castle or fortress. Again, my son used it for his model, and look where that got him. So we abandoned that in favor of a more reasonable one inch to twenty-five feet, or about 1:285 scale.

Finally last Wednesday she had more or less finalized her design, and Thursday night we visited Home Depot to purchase our materials. We spent two hours there, browsing everything imaginable to find the right objects from which to build the castle. We spent more money than I'd care to mention. Damn kids, taking up my resources!

Anyway, I spent the entire weekend, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, coaxing her through the process of building the model. I helped her with some of the key details - the gatehouses, for example. I also cut the wood with the chop saw from her measurements (if it weren't so last-minute, I would have taken the time to teach her how to use the saw safely herself). Anyway, after many discussions, modifications, disagreements, failures, tears, and hugs, not to mention much hard work, the castle is complete. Click below for a larger image. And if she doesn't get an "A" on this project, I invite you to come kick her teacher's ass with me. It'll be my last act! My daughter made me promise that if she didn't get an "A," I'd commit seppuku.