I became Facebook friends with one of my old journalism professors, Scott Brown.
I was glad to find him, because I could tell him how influential he has been in my life.
He gave me one of the best pieces of advice about writing AND about life that has helped me every day since:
"Be like a shark. Keep moving forward."
He was talking about news writing, of course. He meant that, once you have gone over something, you should move on. No need to rewind the tape and go back over the same territory.
But it has served me in life, too. Mark Twain put it another way, but I like what he said, too: "Don't let yesterday take up too much of today."
07 July 2010
05 July 2010
This Little Dog of Mine
She is almost 15 years old, my dog. But that doesn't mean she doesn't have ambitions. She's a hunter, not a fighter.
There is something in the lavender bush and it must be stopped.
She spent about an hour out there today with her head in the bush. I left for 3 hours to go to a meeting, and when I came back? She ran right outside and has been there ever since.
The bush is next to the house. When she gets excited, her tail wags, and I can hear her thumping against the house.
She's slowing down a little, I can tell. She is deaf and has a tremor in a back leg when she sleeps. She groans when she lays down and one of her back legs is a little stiff and weak.
But the lure of the bush draws her ever onward. She gets pollen in her nose and sneezes big, but still, she fights on.
There is something in the lavender bush and it must be stopped.
She spent about an hour out there today with her head in the bush. I left for 3 hours to go to a meeting, and when I came back? She ran right outside and has been there ever since.
The bush is next to the house. When she gets excited, her tail wags, and I can hear her thumping against the house.
She's slowing down a little, I can tell. She is deaf and has a tremor in a back leg when she sleeps. She groans when she lays down and one of her back legs is a little stiff and weak.
But the lure of the bush draws her ever onward. She gets pollen in her nose and sneezes big, but still, she fights on.
04 July 2010
Giving Tree, feh
I found out today that it was Shel Silverstein who had ruined my life.
Dig this, my cats and kittens: you are a small child. Adults keep coming up to you, bending over but looming large like Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloons and grinning oddly as they ask, over and over, the same demented question: "Are you a boy named Sue? How do you do?"
Your young brain can't process it. You KNOW you aren't a boy. You don't LOOK like a boy. Sue is not a boy's name. And yet, the question comes again and again. What the everloving hell is going on with these large, apparently incredibly stupid people?
In case you are not aged and decrepit, let me present Mr. Johnny Cash:
Since my family rarely played music in the house, I hadn't heard the song. I didn't know what the adults were asking me or how to respond. I'm pretty sure that "A Boy Named Sue" is what has given me the lifelong feeling that most adults have something seriously wrong with their heads.
(See also: unmarried, loves dogs and cats).
Today I found out that, while the song's popularity may be the fault of the talented Mr. Cash, the lyrics were by Shel Silverstein, he of "The Giving Tree," which, in my mind, is one of the most messed-up books ever written and certainly not suitable for children.
I mean....c'mon!
I GUESS "The Giving Tree" is supposed to be a tender exploration of motherhood and how parents sacrifice everything for their ungrateful bastard children. It always seemed pretty dang creepy to me, though. Can't the tree survive and grow a little taller and prouder and have the child come back for weekends and holidays?
But no. Instead, we have "The Giving Stump." That tells me a lot about how Shel Silverstein's mind worked, and so does "A Boy Named Sue." I wish he would have just gotten an office job and a blog, instead.
Dig this, my cats and kittens: you are a small child. Adults keep coming up to you, bending over but looming large like Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloons and grinning oddly as they ask, over and over, the same demented question: "Are you a boy named Sue? How do you do?"
Your young brain can't process it. You KNOW you aren't a boy. You don't LOOK like a boy. Sue is not a boy's name. And yet, the question comes again and again. What the everloving hell is going on with these large, apparently incredibly stupid people?
In case you are not aged and decrepit, let me present Mr. Johnny Cash:
Since my family rarely played music in the house, I hadn't heard the song. I didn't know what the adults were asking me or how to respond. I'm pretty sure that "A Boy Named Sue" is what has given me the lifelong feeling that most adults have something seriously wrong with their heads.
(See also: unmarried, loves dogs and cats).
Today I found out that, while the song's popularity may be the fault of the talented Mr. Cash, the lyrics were by Shel Silverstein, he of "The Giving Tree," which, in my mind, is one of the most messed-up books ever written and certainly not suitable for children.
I mean....c'mon!
I GUESS "The Giving Tree" is supposed to be a tender exploration of motherhood and how parents sacrifice everything for their ungrateful bastard children. It always seemed pretty dang creepy to me, though. Can't the tree survive and grow a little taller and prouder and have the child come back for weekends and holidays?
But no. Instead, we have "The Giving Stump." That tells me a lot about how Shel Silverstein's mind worked, and so does "A Boy Named Sue." I wish he would have just gotten an office job and a blog, instead.
It's NOT FUNNY
One night during a discussion in class at church, I mentioned that my sister had been sick for a long time.
At break, this nice, nice woman, Colleen, asked me "So how is your sister now?"
I took a deep breath.
"Oh, Colleen," I said. "She is dead."
Colleen looked moderately concerned. Ok, really concerned.
"It's ok," I said. Something inside me cracked. I started to smile, then laugh.
"She would think this conversation is completely hilarious. She'd LOVE it."
And she would have. I can hear her saying "Whaddya gonna do? Whaddya gonna do?"
At break, this nice, nice woman, Colleen, asked me "So how is your sister now?"
I took a deep breath.
"Oh, Colleen," I said. "She is dead."
Colleen looked moderately concerned. Ok, really concerned.
"It's ok," I said. Something inside me cracked. I started to smile, then laugh.
"She would think this conversation is completely hilarious. She'd LOVE it."
And she would have. I can hear her saying "Whaddya gonna do? Whaddya gonna do?"
01 July 2010
Goldieversary!
Eight years ago today, I picked this mutt up from the Agoura Animal Shelter. The whole story is here.
Paid $32 and walked her out to the car, where she jumped right in - but not before standing up and putting her paws on the shoulders of the shelter volunteer on duty and giving her a big goodbye smooch.
She's my pal and my companion, my lovely friend who takes me on walks every day. Just last night she chased a rat up my leg at the beach. (I'm not kidding. I'm still shuddering).
Happy Goldieversary, dog. At age 15, I'm not sure how many more we'll have. But one thing you've taught me - it's all about being right here, right now. No looking back and no worrying. Look for the fun, run on ahead. And take a nap when you get tired.
Paid $32 and walked her out to the car, where she jumped right in - but not before standing up and putting her paws on the shoulders of the shelter volunteer on duty and giving her a big goodbye smooch.
She's my pal and my companion, my lovely friend who takes me on walks every day. Just last night she chased a rat up my leg at the beach. (I'm not kidding. I'm still shuddering).
Happy Goldieversary, dog. At age 15, I'm not sure how many more we'll have. But one thing you've taught me - it's all about being right here, right now. No looking back and no worrying. Look for the fun, run on ahead. And take a nap when you get tired.
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