A Sometimes Useful Idiot

Despite my best efforts to be the best staff that I can, I am well aware that my feline overlords regard me with a whimsical mixture of razor-thin patience, haughty indifference, occasional affection, and withering exasperation (I’m pretty sure that they tolerate me as much as they do only for want of opposable thumbs and access to money….had they both of those things I am quite sure that my services would no longer be required…)

I don’t take this personally.

I endeavor to meet their needs to the best of my abilities (said abilities are sorely lacking in their eyes, of course, but hey I’m only human…) hoping to exchange that for the chance to be able to work sometimes without having to stroke a back, try to decipher a meow, or throw a ball.

It’s a fair exchange.

And so I serve them and express my gratitude for being allowed to dwell in their presence. And they accept my presence and my ministrations while regarding me as what they know I am: a sometimes useful idiot.

Again, it’s a fair exchange.

Another Monday Morning

My feline overlords were waiting impatiently outside my bedroom door. 5:31 was, it seems, past the time when they would have preferred to break the fast. Already put out because I no longer leave my bedroom door open at night (I used to but their nocturnal habit of walking on me at 2 O’clock in the morning put an end to that) they are barely tolerant of my tardiness but I ignore it until I have finished my morning absolutions in the bathroom.

Fed and happy (for the moment anyway) the overlords (actually two lords and one lady) drift off to places in the house (in the now open bedrooms mostly) and give me space to savor my first mug of tea, to glance through the paper, to delete a majority of the newly-arrived e-mail (spam filters are not nearly as effective as I would like.)

I did my household chores yesterday so I finish the latest research project (gotta make that coin) and clear the decks to work on my novel.

A shower and a second mug of steaming tea and I’ll be good to go. The morning clouds are clinging to the sky petulantly but the guy on the radio assures me that they will lose the struggle by mid-morning. It’s going to be a good day. It’s another Monday morning.

(Today’s soundtrack: “Michael Keith’s Summer Mix ‘09” and Bob Marley & The Wailers’ B is for Bob)

15 Years, 16 Days

15 years, 16 days…in the grand tapestry of most lives that’s a significant part of the journey towards the light and whatever lies beyond. It’s a long time…a decade and a half of life, love, experience, dreams, music, magic, heartbreak, passion, peace…and a seeming blink of an eye when it’s gone.

15 years, 16 days…a slice of my lifetime, a slice of your lifetime, and, for some, the sum total of a lifetime.

Autumn was a sweetheart…a funny, fuzzy red bear of a dog (mostly Chow but with the gregarious personality of a gentle German Shepherd) who never met anyone she didn’t like (with the possible exception of Mr. Gambino, the hyperactive tuxedoed cat who, much to his chagrin, could never get as close to Autumn as Bart, the laidback surfer dude cat of the house, did with casual ease)…she liked to take long walks (and did so until her failing joints made it impossible) and to have her head rubbed….she liked to smile and have her belly rubbed…she liked to kiss babies and anyone else who stayed still long enough for her to happily lick them…she liked to bark like she was the ferocious guard dog in the world and then greet anyone who came into the house with curious brown eyes and a big wagging tail.

One day in December she spent a perfect day in the company of friends and family, happily giving and getting attention between naps and meals and time spent wandering her backyard…and the next day all that she was suddenly left…her eyes were open but the light of recognition was gone.

Maybe it was a stroke…maybe it was old age finally catching up with her (her hearing had been fading for a couple of years and her hind legs had been growing weaker over the same period)…I don’t know. And I don’t care. The veterinarian offered slim options, none of which would lead to her coming back…none of which would lead to her living the peaceful, pain-free, proud life she once knew. In the end the decision was mine and…reluctantly…I made.

The doctor told me it was the right decision only after I made it but, unsurprisingly, that didn’t make it feel any better (even as it was about to happen, I was stroking her head and fighting the urge to stop it.)

Autumn lived for 15 years, 16 days…she lived for a grand and cherished lifetime…and, thankfully, she lives still in the hearts of those of us who loved her and there her bright spirit will linger for all the rest of our days.

a life (in 500 words or less)

My son likes baseball better than football and he dances like a girl…but then so does his mother so I guess it all balances out.

My oldest daughter thinks I’m strange but lovable…while my youngest daughter thinks I’m just strange…I guess that balances out as well.

My wife thinks her ass is too big…I think her big ass is sexy but I’ve learned better than to make that observation out loud.

My dog likes to wait until I’m comfortably settled in my recliner before he starts jumping around like he’s gonna whiz all over the carpet in the family room…I get up grumbling and open the back door and he stands in the middle of the patio smirking at me. Dogs do indeed have senses of humor.

My cat ignores me except when I’m putting food in her dish or I have the residue of Vicks VapoRub on my hand…my cat likes to lick Vicks VapoRub residue. I think she’s a strange creature and I’m sure that, on those odd occasions that she considers me at all, she thinks the same of me.

My house is 50 years old and it sits in a pastel suburb of a dull gray city…there are rosebushes in the back garden and a “no solicitors” sign on the front door to ward off Jehovah’s Witnesses, teenage magazine subscription sales persons, and Girl Scouts with cookie order forms (Jehovah’s Witnesses, teenage magazine subscription sales persons, and Girl Scouts all apparently believe that my sign doesn’t pertain to them as they ring my doorbell anyway…I’m not sure when I’m ever going to get caught up on the Watchtower pamphlets, Sports Illustrated issues, and boxes of Thin Mints I’ve somehow accumulated…)

My car is 10 years old and has apparently decided to put my mechanic’s children through medical school.

My doctor says that I’m reasonably healthy for a man my age but that I should run more and eat less red meat (we both know that neither of those things is gonna happen but I think he’s obligated to put them on the table at least once a year.)

My job consists of moving papers from one side of the desk to the other (and sometimes back again)…I’m not really intellectually challenged but it pays enough to keep collection agents from having to know my number so I’m okay with that. My boss is, of course, an idiot…any monkey (including and especially me) could do his job better than him…but I don’t begrudge him (seems like a lot more B.S. for not that much more money…I don’t really think that’s a good trade off.)

I go bowling on Tuesday nights and play golf every other Saturday morning. I go to church every Sunday (except during the football season.)

I like Letterman better than Leno…beer better than white wine…rib-eyes better than boneless/skinless chicken breasts…and gardeners better than owning a lawn mower.

My name is Bob and that is my life. Thank you for your kind attention.

...and on some days...

And on some days the words flow freely…tumbling unabashedly one upon the other until pages and chapters are given life at an almost breakneck pace.

After a few days of not being in touch with my muse because of yet another family emergency…the preceding generation of my family always seemed invulnerable and immortal to me but, of course, they are not…I returned to my desk…to my novel of family interaction…and the words seem so anxious to get out that they often threatened to outpace my fingers on the keyboard.

Watching the end…and yes, the end is definitely in sight…come into focus…coming to grips with the fact that being true to the story means that one of my favorite characters has to die despite the fact that I dread writing that scene…feeling the words flow from my fevered psyche through my fingers and onto the screen…I am filled with bursts of excitement, trepidation, and fulfillment. And ain’t it grand.

I’ve written for the better part of 9 hours…with the dog (Autumn) and two of the cats (Bart and Mr. Gambino) taking turns being quiet company on the floor near my desk…with Emmylou Harris, Cassandra Wilson, Julieta Venegas, Nellie McKay, Elvis Costello, and Allen Toussaint serving as the inspirational soundtrack for the day…with a scant few minutes taken out to make lunch out of some leftover tuna salad from the refrigerator…and I’m done.

For now anyway (one never knows what’s going to happen after supper :-)

(not) a whole lotta shakin' goin' on

So I'm sitting on my couch in my pajamas this morning...sipping tea, enjoying an interesting reports about Toulouse Lautrec, Mark Twain's house, and the celebrity/paparazzi wars on Sunday Morning, basically just easing into a cool, grey, quiet weekend morning...when the Earth moves. Just a bit. Just a distinct rolling motion. Just for a scant few seconds. (It radiated, according to news reports, out of the desert...5.5 on the Richter Scale there, considerably less potent by the time it reached us here on the coast.)

I've lived in Southern California for most of my life so earthquakes have to be of relatively substantial strength for me to really notice them (we get itty-bitty quakes all the time...the vast majority of them meriting neither notice nor comment from jaded Californians.)

The dog, sleeping on the floor next to the couch, didn't stir. The cats, claiming slumber space in various parts of the house, shrugged it off. I waited for a minute or two to see if there would be an aftershock (more out of curiosity than concern) and then shrugged myself and slipped back into my lazy morning...hey, Sunday Morning was doing a story about wiener dog races in Texas by then, now that was interesting! :-)