...Take One Down, Pass it Around, 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall...

Saturday night I went to McKinley’s pub for their Halloween party. I dressed as Marge Simpson, and made my costume myself. I have pictures on my digital camera, but do not have a way to get them off the camera so I can show you all. We packed our card reader when we packed up the house to get it ready to sell, so I need to figure out how to get the pictures off. I think the Walgreens on the corner has some system that will help me out with that, or I’ll send the card with Todd to work tomorrow, and maybe he’ll have something there that can help me out. I can’t wait to show you the costume that won me second prize at the bar. (Though the jokers who won first didn’t really have costumes. He was wearing a wife beater, suspenders and a hat, she was wearing a low cut top, a short skirt. I asked them what they were supposed to be and they said that they were dressed like 1930’s people. I don’t think I’ve seen pictures of anyone dressed as Britney in the 1930’s. Yeah, I was robbed. Robbed!!)

While I was at the bar I made a new friend and we hung out all night watching the game and talking about life, relationships, marriage, kids, etc. He’s in our circle of friends but I’ve never spent an entire evening talking to him before, and it was so much fun.

We were talking about past drinking experiences, and I told him about the time when I was 15 and I got busted for drinking. I didn’t drink during high school, only this one time. I was an athlete and I was on the whole my-body-is-my-temple thing. My brothers and sisters drank in high school, and I remember seeing them come home after parties and sneaking to their rooms so my parents wouldn’t notice. I never got drunk in high school, and think I was a pretty good kid--other than the random acts of petty vandalism I committed.

This one time I drank in high school was with my boyfriend, Karl. Karl had a few friends named Charlie and Brian, and the 4 of us used to hang out often. One night Charlie had scored a bottle of vodka and we all decided we’d go into the woods to drink it. I grew up in a small town in Connecticut located between Hartford, CT and Springfield, MA. It was common for teens to go out into the woods or into the tobacco fields to party.

On that Saturday night Charlie told his parents we were going to Brian’s. I told my parents we were going to Charlie’s. Brian told his dad we were going to Charlie’s, and Karl told his parents we were going bowling. Instead Charlie drove us to a secluded spot in the woods he knew, and the boys lit a campfire. We mixed the vodka with some juice, and I think I had maybe a cup and a half, and then Karl and I just hung out by the fire. Charlie barely had any because he was driving, and Brian had the most and was trashed. We left the spot in the woods and drove around town before I had to be home for my 10 o’clock curfew. The boys dropped me off, and Brian was out of his gourd by then.

Fast forward to Sunday night, the phone rang and it was Brian’s dad asking for my mom. I called out to Mom, and waited for her to pick up the phone. Before I got the chance to hang up, I heard Brian’s dad ask my mom if I hung up. She said that she thought I did, so at that point it would have been too obvious if I hung up. I stayed on the line and listened to Brian's dad tell Mom all about our wild Saturday night. Apparently when he got home from being away for the weekend Brian was still sick from Saturday night. He was about to take Brian to the emergency room because he was afraid that Brian had food poisoning. It was at that point that Brian confessed about the night before. Brian’s dad felt it was his duty to call my parents, Karl’s parents and Charlie’s parents to fill them in.

I can’t remember how I was ever punished for that. My parents weren’t big on grounding as a punishment because I think that they were too busy to keep track of what 5 children were grounded for at any given moment. The part of the punishment I do remember was having to talk about why I went into the woods with 3 boys and a bottle of vodka. I think that they were more concerned about me being in a secluded spot with 3 boys and alcohol and them getting me drunk and having their way with me. But they were my friends, and they were all skinny cross-country runners. I could have taken them.

But how do you answer that question as a 15 year old? “Why did you go into the woods and drink with 3 boys?” I think I answered the question by asking my parents why they drank, and they told me that wasn’t the point. They were old enough, and I wasn’t. They persisted with the why question, and I didn’t really have an answer. “For fun” wasn’t a good enough answer either, because they pointed out that there are a zillion things that we could have done for fun.

After that night, drinking in high school didn’t interest me too much. I guess I didn’t really see the point, and I wanted to be healthier because I loved to play sports. I didn’t have another drink until I was 20 and in college. Charlie, Brian and Karl would still drink on occasion, and I passed and stuck with something non-alcoholic.

So, now I open up the floor to my commenters. Tell me about the first time you went out drinking.

Dogged In

What is it to be dogged in? It’s the situation that two dogs create when you are lying under a blanket and each dog lies on top of the blanket on either side of you. The result is that you are stuck under the blanket until you can get one of the dogs to move.

Being dogged in has its advantages. It instantly removes any responsibility around the house. Is that the phone ringing? Your spouse has to get up from his seat and answer it when you are dogged in. Thirsty? Want a snack? When you are dogged in, your spouse is also obligated to serve you so as to not disturb the dozing hounds that have incapacitated you.

The nature of the dogged in condition also has its disadvantages. Sleeping dogs need the body heat of a human under a down comforter so that they can sleep peacefully—never mind that their normal body temperature is 102 degrees, almost 4 full degrees warmer than a human’s body temperature, and they are covered in fur. They still need the warmth of a human against their back or their belly. As a result, in the middle of the night you will not only discover that you are dogged in, but you are also dogged under.

Todd’s in Idaho this week, so I have been sleeping in a dogged in state ever since he left. Normally Griffen will sleep at the top of the stairs or the foot of the bed when we are home without Todd in case either a. Todd comes home and decides to play with him or b. a burglar comes in and decides to play with him. You see, Labradors do not discriminate. Any hand throwing the tennis ball will do, even if that hand is making off with the stereo between throws.

For some reason Griffen has been cuddling with me on the bed and not keeping the riff raff away while we are home alone. Though I am not quite sure what would happen if a burglar did enter my house in the middle of the night. I can only hope that a burglar who breaks into my house is allergic to dog saliva, and has the patience for a Lab with a tennis ball.

Ring Riiiing….. It’s God Calling

This morning I went to a funeral of a friend’s father. We were all in the church, and the priest just finished giving a eulogy about how the deceased was a veteran and a fire fighter. People were crying and then a cell phone began to ring just as the priest was about to do a blessing over the casket.

Ring ring.

The priest paused for a second, and continued with his blessing.

Ring ring.

The priest paused again, shorter this time. The phone rang five more times until a woman a few pews in front of me finally dove into her purse and shut the thing off. It took 5 rings for this woman to think to reach into her purse and turn the phone off. Five very loud rings that echoed through the church. Five very loud rings that caused the priest to pause in his blessing. Five rings. I clenched my jaw and silently wished that she was a heart surgeon waiting to hear about a donor for her patient. Though I have a sneaking suspicion she was not a surgeon but really just a careless cell phone user.

I do not have a cell phone, and am constantly amazed at the growing lack of consideration that is sprouting up among cell phone users. Sometimes you’ll hear one ring in the movie theater, and an urgent voice whispering into it “I’m at the movies right now, I’ll have to call you back.” Very often you’ll see people on their cell phones at the tables in a restaurant, and ignoring the people they are sitting with at the table while they talk on the phone.

At what point to we get to unplug ourselves and just enjoy where we were without having to need to know what’s going on somewhere else?

:::

This morning at the funeral I sat with one of my best friends (Krista) and her new fiancé, also a good friend of mine. I watched my friend (Allison), whose father just died; walk back up the aisle at the end of the service with tears streaming down her face. She mouthed a thank you to the 3 of us sitting in the pew toward the back.

Last night Deb, another college friend, came to the wake. When Krista, Allison, Deb and I all started college we were all 18, and we were all in the same place. We were all in the same stage—graduated high school and starting college. Four years later we were all in the same stage, just graduating college and starting our careers. It’s at that point, age 22, where life stages arrive at different rates.

This morning I looked at my life, Krista’s life, Allison’s and Deb’s lives and thought back to where we were all in the same stage, and how we are not in the same stage anymore. I got married 4 years ago, have a house, am trying to buy another house, and our talk of a baby doesn’t start with “if” anymore but “when.” (Though it’s still iffy as to when the when will be.) I lost my mom 6 years ago. Krista just got engaged a few weeks ago, they are starting to plan their wedding and the rest of their lives together, and both her parents are alive and healthy. Allison is single, has a great job, her own condo, and just lost her father. Deb bought a house with her boyfriend, and they have a dog—her parents are alive and well too.

Regardless of when ever you get to the married stage, I think that you are supposed to be much older when you lose your parents. You aren’t supposed to lose your parents before you get married. That is the linear chronological order of how life stages are supposed to happen. Both your parents are supposed to be raising their glass of champagne at your wedding. My mom wasn’t at mine, and now Allison’s dad won’t be at hers.

When Allison gets married she’ll miss her dad on her wedding day just like I missed my mom. It is a sad group Allison just joined, the one where you don’t get to have both of your parents there on your wedding day. It’s a group I wish nobody had to belong to.

"Daniel-san! Sell House!"

Todd and I have just put our house on the market. I have spent the last week painting every room in the house, and Todd has packed up all of our extra stuff and moved it into storage. It’s been a lot of work, and we’re finally to the point where we’re ready for the masses to come look at our house. The house is now so devoid of stuff that there is a slight echo in most of the rooms.

Last week I was almost done painting the house, and Todd was almost done packing up our stuff. We were exhausted so we stopped one night and watched The Karate Kid on TV. We were joking about how psyched Mr. Miyagi must have been to have all his chores done by some kid all in the name of teaching him karate.

Then Todd had a brilliant idea, “Hey, let’s put a sign out in front of the house that says ‘Free karate lessons inside.’ Then we can put on a phony Japanese accent and say things like ‘Pack box! Breathe in nose, breathe out mouth! Paint wall! Up! Down! Breathe in nose, breathe out mouth!’ We could totally get this house packed up in no time!”

:::

House hunting has been an adventure. We found a house that we like and we’re still ironing out the deal with the sellers. But going into houses and looking at them has been a lot of fun. It’s always fun to see the way other people decorate their homes, and to say “Oh good God what where they thinking?” when we see something particularly awful in a home. There was a log cabin that we looked at that was very nice. The seller removed the stove from the kitchen along with the woodstove from the living room. When we asked the agent where the stoves were he explained that the seller was afraid of the stoves getting stolen so he took them out of the house. In the kitchen there was a space where the stove clearly belongs, and the seller put a stool in that spot. Todd sat down on the stool, rested his elbow on the counter and said “So, is this where we sit and wait for the pizza to come?”

:::

On another mission in Operation Sell House, I have removed our patio doors to get the glass replaced. The seals on the edges of the glass were blown and the windows got cloudy. They were like that when we moved in and we never bothered to do anything about it. Now that we’re trying to sell, we decided to finally do something about it. This morning we took the doors out and I took them to a window factory right around the corner from our house. They called at noon and said that they were ready, and they are still sitting in the truck because I cannot lift them by myself. As a result I’ve had a gaping hole in my house all day long. Bees, flies and other flying vermin have since decided to make my house their new home. I am hoping that Todd will be home from work soon so bats won’t come in when it gets dark.

:::
This weekend summer officially ended. We put the hard top on the Jeep. Another summer has passed.

Jogging with Griffen

We’ve lived in our house for nearly 6 years now, and Griffen is 5, almost 6. Griffen has been jogging in our neighborhood for more days of his life than he has not, if that makes sense. He’s a very lean dog, as he weighs in at 65 pounds, and our vet often says things like “Now this is what a Labrador is supposed to look like” when she examines him on his yearly physical.

When he was a puppy he was limping on his back legs quite a bit, as he was doubling in size every week until he became a full grown dog. We brought him to an orthopedic vet who x-rayed him and pointed out that Griff will have hip dysplasia when he’s older. His pelvis bone displayed the tell-tale signs of not having a socket to house the top of the femur. This vet also said that he’s seen older Labs who didn’t look like they were dysplastic until he x-rayed them because the scar tissue and tendons were holding the leg into place. He said to exercise Griff often, keep his weight down, and chances are he’ll be one of those dogs who won’t suffer from dysplasia when he’s old.

As a result Griffen jogs with me every day so we can both keep our weight down. I remember the first time I ever took him jogging with me. I clipped him into his leash when he was only a few months old, and he dragged behind me, not quite sure what was going on. He quickly tired out, as he didn’t have a sense on how to pace himself over a 3 mile jog. His legs were short and stubby, as he bounded down the street at my heels. I kept taking him with me, and eventually he understood not to put the leash in his mouth, not to encircle my legs, not to cross my path. In fact, he knows that when I bark out the command “Left!” he is to move over to my left side. He learned the hard way not to sniff something on the ground right in front of my feet, as I wasn’t paying attention and kicked him in the face one winter as we were walking in the snow.

This morning my alarm went off, and he came over to my side of the bed and rested his head on the mattress as he does almost every morning. He let out that Labrador sigh that often means that he needs something from his people. I rolled over, and his chocolate brown eyes sparkled just as they did when he was a puppy—what I’ve come to call his “Puppy eyes.” He hopped back from the bed, and did that dance he does when he’s excited to go somewhere. Griffen’s come to love our morning jogs just as much as I do. And not wanting to let him down is what gets me out of bed and into my running clothes every morning.

We’ve jogged the same route so many times I could blindfold him and he would know our route. He knows which houses have dogs, and as these dogs bark from behind a closed window he will gaze at them defiantly as he pees on their lawn. He knows where that pit bull will come running out from behind a house at the end of our route, and he will raise his hackles for an entire block before we get to that house—just so he can look bigger as he shyly skulks away from the dog.

This morning I was looking at the muscle tone on his back legs, and marveling at how sculpted his legs are from all the running. I really hope I’ve done enough to keep his muscles strong and toned so far so he won’t end up dragging his back end when he’s old. All I want is to keep jogging with Griffen every day for the rest of his life.

Guardrail

Nobody needs to tell me how amazing you were
I watched you fight and I watched you stand down
And I wonder which one took more guts

I wish I had your strength
I wish I had your brain
If only I had half of your energy

But I’m scared, I’m sick and I’m starving
I pulled over on the highway
To hold the guardrail in my hands
And I wonder what’s gonna happen next

We gather and we clutch the pieces of who you were
I wear your earrings, I walk around in your clothes
And I stare at your photo and wonder where that better place is
That everyone keeps talking about

And I’m scared, I’m sick and I’m starving
I pulled over on the highway
To hold the guardrail in my hands
And I need someone to tell me
What part of the equation I got wrong
And I wish someone would tell me
If I am doing this right now
Because I don’t know how to grieve
And right now I’m too tired to try

October 4th, 12:15 PM has carved its way into my brain
12:14 and 12:15 are radically different
No matter how hard I try
12:16 will never be like 12:14

It used to be I could tell you exactly how long it’s been
At any given moment right down to the minute
Obsessed I calculated over and over
Please don’t leave me alone with my thoughts too long

Because I’m scared, I’m sick and I’m starving
I pulled over on the highway
To hold the guardrail in my hands
And I need someone to tell me
What part of the equation I got wrong
And I wish someone would tell me
If I am doing this right now
Because I don’t know how to grieve
And right now I’m too tired to try

Nobody needs to tell me how amazing you were
I watched you fight and I watched you stand down
And I wonder which one took more guts

I started to write this the night you died, and kept working on it for over a year after. It's an angry song with dissonant, incomplete sounding chords. Every time I sing it, I feel ripped open and raw. But I still sing it.

It was 6 years ago today that I said my last words to you, “Thank you for everything. I love you.” I have missed you every single day since then. Some days I laugh at the way you didn’t understand that the word “junk” didn’t have a plural and you’d say “I have to put away these junks.” Some days I cry when I remember how your hair had fallen out to the point where you had to wear a wig. Most days I marvel at the life you led, and want to be like you—indestructible, unstoppable, brilliant, tough. I will tell your grandchildren all about you, I promise.