Siber-Den
18 May 2001
Ridin' Just As Fast As They Can Ride
Whew.
I just returned from tending to an account that entails driving 20 miles each way. I was tired of being alone with my thoughts. The 30 minute walks to work leave me with nothing but my thoughts to grapple with (and the occasional offer of a ride from passing male motorists). My solution? Rummage in my center console for a cd. Jackson Browne's the Pretender turned up.
My car has many faults, but one thing I love about it is the stereo system. It has about six speakers scattered throughout the car. Crank that baby up and the world melts away. For some reason, the Pretender is what I needed to hear this morning. Jackson seems to have a thing about highway songs. He has at least one on every cd. It lent itself to a glorious trip there and back. Yes, glorious. I cranked up the volume and sang along at the top of my lungs. I'm sure I amused fellow drivers. We aim to please.
It's been a long time since i listened to anything while driving. I've gotten used to just having the quiet. What ends up happening though is my thoughts tend to be the refrain instead of some cool highway song. It doesn't hurt for them to be drowned out every once in a while.
Little things like this do wonders for my state of mind. Music that touches my soul, interactions with people I value, intimacy with a certain someone, playing with the pups...they all do wonders for me. It's weird that it took a happenstance cd to help me remember what effect music has on me.
Nice to have had that in the console. It made my morning. And I pretty much cleaned out the account as well.
[Posted at 11:11 on 05/18/01]
11 May 2001
Happy Birthday, Kiwi
It's been a while. Much has been happening. I just haven't had the energy, presence of mind, and/or wherewithal (ok maybe not) to post about it. For some reason, today that changed.
Kiwi has learned a new trick. Kiwi is the dobe/aussie female pup that Kev and I adopted last may. I just realized that today is the first anniversary of the day she came to live with us, or maybe I should say it is her first birthday. After all, she received a new life when she came to live with us. But I digress.
Anyway, Kiwi has learned a new trick. She officially knows how to shake. That's right. After three days of having her sit, saying the word, manually going through the motions of having her raise her paw, and praising her, she finally has made the connection and does it on cue. I love it. I love to see her get so excited when we praise her for doing it right. She even gets excited when she anticipates doing it right. Her whole body quivers with joy. She's funny.
I say new trick because Kev has been hard at work lately teaching her new words and tricks. The last trick? Kev spent about three days teaching her to pick up her leash in her mouth and bring it to him when that fun and exciting time, walk time, is at hand. Not only does she do it when he asks her to, now she brings it over when she deems the time appropriate for a walk. Smart puppy.
What a change from a year ago. I know rescue dogs. For most of them, just the smallest positive change in their environment can result in improvement. I saw it in Stormy. He was almost feral when we adopted him. It took no time at all for him to calm down and develop his personality once he came to live with us. It's been my experience that only when a dog lives in close proximity to humans most of the time, ie, living indoors with them, eating with them, sleeping with them, playing with them, only then does a personality emerge. They almost seem to take on a persona. Every dog I've lived with started out being this wild, mindless little creature that eventually evolved into this thinking, feeling companion with his/her own quirks, preferences, strengths, and weaknesses. The transformation is an amazing thing to behold. Kiwi's has been that way. I had some reservations when I first saw her. She seemed so timid. Kev has been so instrumental in bringing out the best in her. He has a great way with her. He's part dad/part friend/part buddy/part playmate to her.
Quite a testament to her new environment. I guess one could say, she has spent most of her first year learning new tricks.
Oh, and please don't get me started on what a good guard dog she is :).
[Posted at 23:51 on 05/11/01]
03 May 2001
Laundrymat
I hate doing laundry. Kev's solution to the whole affair is for me to bundle it, but I hate having someone I don't know handle my clothes. Weird I know. Our new place has its own washer and dryer, but till then (4 more weeks!), I'll have to rely on the local laundrymat.
Our local laundrymat is at times annoying, entertaining, convenient, quiet, crowded, smelly, clean, and multicultural. There have been times it's been all these things at once. The only entertainment I have while loading and unloading and folding is watching others do the same.
Today there was a young woman with her three year old girl. The little girl approached the only other person in the laundrymat, another young woman, and shyly spoke to her. Her mom snapped at her to get away from there. People are here to do their wash, she growled, keep out of their way. Her voice echoed in the near empty laundrymat and made me cringe. She then commanded the child to sit in one of the chairs and not move. For the next 15 minutes, while I loaded six washers, she harangued and threatened this poor kid, whose only transgressions were boredom and curiosity.
At some point, a young man came in to escape the heat and also had to listen to this spiel. After a minute or two of listening, he'd had enough. What he did almost made me cheer. He got up and put some quarters in the jukebox and played some cheery hispanic music. Normally that would make me cringe as well, the thing is so damn loud. But suddenly this woman's voice could no longer affect the others there doing their wash. A smile came over my face. In the background, I could still hear her harping, but the accordion accompanying the singer soundly drowned her out.
I only hope she won't be there when I go back to load the dryers. For the first time in my life, I may be forced not only to listen to music I don't like, but I'll put it on myself.
[Posted at 16:05 on 05/03/01]
01 May 2001
J-J-J-Jimmy
It's been a week since Stormy died, and tonight for some reason, I've been rummaging through grief sites. I don't know why. I just want to read what others have felt or thought about the loss of a pup.
I found this one poem that hit me hard. Jimmy Stewart penned it. I seem to remember him reading it on a Johnny Carson show. Here it is:
"Beau"
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.We would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And it if was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.But every once in awhile, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.We are early-to-bedders at our house --
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs
And I'd give him one for awhile.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I'd reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.Jimmy Stewart
[Posted at 22:10 on 05/01/01]
Headlines (Aggregate)
This website utilizes Cascading Style Sheets. It will work with older browsers, but the experience will be much better with a standards-compliant browser. All website content Copyright (c) Callie. Powered by Movable Type.
