Yeah Yeah Yeah(s)

***This is the official "In Memory of Bernie Tree" I planted in my yard on May 17, 2009. It is a Red Maple that will grow to 35-40 feet tall, with a 25-foot spread. It will provide shade from the western sun for many happy doggies over the next 75+ years, which earns it Bernie's paw-stamp of approval. St. Paul, Minnesota***

"I have this dog named Marley, and it is a kind of love I've never known. . . . If I could only find a boyfriend for whom I could buy a can of food and clean up after on the street, I'd be set. Maybe I should put that ad on Match.com." --Edie Falco (aka Carmela Soprano)

Writer's Block

I like this photo so much, I post it again. December, 1994; Lake Tahoe

I think I have a mild case of it, likely at least in part to the fact I'm editing a 90,000 word manuscript. That blocks a lot of things.

So, a few short tales today . . .

Was reading a book in my backyard lounge chair this evening, Do All Travel Writer's Go to Hell?, when a mate of mine walked by whom I hadn't seen since about January 4. She has a dog, Blue (or Bleu. I'm not French, so I'll go with the former), about two years old, used to play fight with Bernie. She'd get all worried that Bernie didn't like it, and I always told her Bernie can take care of herself. Blue would jump all about and on Bernie, then eventually Bernie would somewhat fiercely correct the little booger. Is that how you spell booger? Regardless, good times those were. Oh, she asked me to continue the story of Bernie. So I did, but I'd drank some Newcastle before then, so I think I sounded a little giddy. She was bummed the story only went on another three days past January 4.

Speaking of Do All Travel Writers . . . I won't editorialize about this, you can draw your own conclusions, but this is my favorite thought I read within it tonight: "I don't know what to do about women. I really don't. You want them; they don't want you. They want you; you don't want them. People want to dominate or be dominated, that's it. Fuck all this love, caring, and satisfaction crap. I should never get involved with girls anyway; they don't fit in with my lifestyle."

I spoke with Vikings (for now) starting quarterback Tavaris Jackson yesterday, and reminded him of the last time we spoke--two years ago when my stud basketball playing eighth grader Marvin Singleton beat T Jack one-one-one, for real and fair and square. I brought up that day, T Jack remembered and said to tell Marvin hi. Tavaris is a laid-back dude, nice cat. As for Marvin, everyone should root for him. Great kid, great talent, great future.

I ate Chipotle on my front porch this evening, and a car drove by and dude dropped a rather sizable chunk of litter out of the window. That pissed me off so I went outside to see if I recognized the car as it drove down the street, and lo and behold, it had stopped up the way, the driver getting out to go up to a house, the littering passenger still in the car. So I picked up the litter and walked up the street to the car, and said to the guy, "I think you dropped this by my house." He said, "I didn't drop anything." And I said, "Yes you did." He said, "I didn't do anything." I said, "Dude, you dropped this out of the window right in front of me." He said, "I don't know what you're talking about." And I said, "Yeah well why don't you grow up a little." He said, "Okay." Then I kicked a big dent in his car door.

Every bit of that is true, except for the last sentence. Litterers are losers.

I broke a glass in my kitchen tonight, on the floor. I couldn't help but thinking, "I guess I don't have to worry about Bernie stepping in it." It's kind of funny, if you break glass on the floor in a house with a dog (or any pet, or a kid), you immediately go into freak out mode. "Bernie, stay! No Bernie, don't move. Bernie!" I just swept it up calmly this evening.

I dreamed about her last night. I still do often.

Make Love Not War

Mary McHugh visited the grave of her fiance, Sgt. James F. Regan, who was killed in Iraq in February. He is buried in the new Section 60 at Arlington National Cemetery for those killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. (photo and caption from The New York Times; May 28, 2007; photo by John More, Getty Images)

I was fortunate enough to have picked up a NYT that day, and this photo instantly became one of the saddest things I've ever seen. It is tragically beautiful to me, and the print of it has been at eye level on my fridge ever since. The photo won first place for feature photos in the 2007 Atlanta Photojournalism Seminar Contest. You can read the photographer's story behind the photo here (it's fantastic). Sgt. Regan's family has since established the Lead the Way Fund for fallen U.S. Army Rangers.

Please take a moment this Memorial Day weekend to reflect on its meaning and purpose. Once again, I include in my blog Radiohead's "Like Spinning Plates," from their 2001 album, Amnesiac (and there's an awesome version on their 2001 I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings album). It's a song about war, the current one at that. Lyrics below followed by the video. Again, tragically beautiful.

***While you make pretty speeches

I'm being cut to shreds

You feed me to the lions

A delicate balance

And this just feels like spinning plates

I'm living in cloud cookoo land

And this just feels like spinning plates

Our bodies floating down the muddy river ***

Freestyle

***A young Bernie scoping out her backyard, with the infamous chicken coop I referred to in my February 27 post.***

Lake Tahoe, January 1995

Most of the time, I sit down to this blog and have no idea what I'm going to write about, pure freestyle. This is one of those times.

As I've mentioned many times, Bernie and I spent a great deal of time me mountain biking her running in the Tahoe mountains. The last couple years, after Poochie went away, we had a relatively standard route--it made me bust my butt riding up the mountain, offered me a picturesque resting spot, provided Bernie with more than enough running time and time to explore her inner dog, and the trail down the mountain tested my mountain biking skills adequately and depending on how frisky I got, it could be pretty intense. Finally, this route offered Bernie the chance to sit and swim and frolic in her favorite watering hole at the bottom of the mountain.

I'll interject that I crashed more than once on my mountain bike but not often, and the only time I had any visible injury was when I was going uphill, a steep incline, at about one mile per hour. My front tire hit a root, stopping me cold and spilling me over. My eyelid hit my handlebars, and it split open. This was about a month after I'd split my head open because of the wind--it blew my car door when I was climbing into the car and totally messed up my groove, and I ended up hitting my head just above my right eye on my car. Hard. It was dark for more than a moment following that, and resulted in a trip to the ER and stitches. Anyway, because I'd just been there and done that, I let the eyelid be, even though it split all the way through. It self-repaired just fine. That's my interjection.

So as with many things in life, when you deviate from your normal path, cool and good things often present themselves. In that spirit, Bernie and I went right instead of left one day upon reaching the mountain. There were trails everywhere back there, to the Forest Service's chagrin, which was somewhat odd because in my three years back there, I saw maybe a dozen other people total, even less bikers. So we went right, rode and ran, and came upon a raging creek. I'm sure Bernie looked back at me as she spotted this, not to ask permission to jump in but to declare, I'm going in. While not large enough for rafting or anything of the sort, this was a formidable and COLD rocky stream of water, to the point where there was no way I'd be able to recover her should there be trouble. But dogs will be dogs, and owners who like their dogs to live "wild" will be themselves, and off Bernie went without any resistance from me. She struggled some but loved it. She was a strong dog, her front legs and chest powerful till the day she died. She banged on the rocks a bit, and eventually I joined her. For those of you who have ever skied Heavenly in South Lake Tahoe, that's from where that water cometh--from the snow on Heavenly's mountains.

It's amazing how therapeutic it is to watch a dog just be a dog--be one with nature, those were always my favorite moments with Bernie. To the very end, there would be moments where I'd kind of trip out over the whole "there's a live animal that dwells in my house." It was a really cool sensation for me. While I love the city and its sounds, activities, and weirdos, I also enjoy the simple fact that I am but a simple organism on a planet full of myriad organisms, mortal but powerful in my own right.

We all go away, yet we all live on via those we've loved, made smile, enlightened, and even pissed off.

Marley & Me and Chad

***As promised in this blog long ago, two of Bernie's water dishes full of spring flowers, in her backyard. I love them like that. May 3, 2009***

Hey I'm sitting in Bernie's backyard now recuperating from a long bike ride to the lakes today, gotta love the Greenway. I have an 18.6oz bottle of Newscastle as my friend, and while not 40oz, it should have a brown paper bag for sure--though I probably look much more like an English bloke than an OG right about now.

Marley & Me was good, certainly no better and possibly a bit worse. Personally, I think they could have done a lot more with that movie--somehow they saw it necessary to turn it into a love story/kid story like every other freakin' movie Hollywood puts out. I thought the movie did a decent job subtly creating attention on the fact that a 12 to 15 year dog's lifespan covers many, many different periods of an owner's life--unless you simply stay at home all the time and, well, play with your dog. In this case, these periods were young adulthood, marriage, couple jobs, having kids--all while having the same dog, Marley. I think any person with any retrospective slant to him or her takes some time toward the end of a dog's life to realize just how long--and short--10, 12, 15 years really is. A lot of stuff happens within those amounts of time, a lot. You have kids under your roof for 18 years. I had Bernie under mine for 14 years.

That's a long time.

And yes, I spent some of my time over the past couple years putting into perspective just how long Bernie's lifespan be representin'. I processed it, fully--I was 25 when I adopted Bernie, and I was two and a half months shy of 40 when she died. I had more than a half dozen jobs within that period of time, began and finished grad school, lived in three different states, and on and on. It's a long time, and it was important to realize--before Bernie actually passed--that a symbol of a large chunk of my life, timewise, was going to be gone.

It could've induced a midlife crisis, or something similar.

That's one reason I went light on the sentiment. She was my last real link to my time in California, I knew that, but that thought was utterly passe by the time she died. I knew that while my time with Bernie went by way too fast, it was actually a really long time--it's a paradox I still can't quite balance within my mind.

For the most part, though, my thoughts had come full circle come January 7, 2009. I knew where I had been, where I was, and where I am going. I knew it wasn't so much about what I'd lost when she passed away as it was what I'd gained from her being here all those years, with me.

I happily and pridefully say, it was the best relationship I've ever had, Bernie & Me.

Monday, May 11; 630pm

***Wallace, chillin'. May 11, 2009***

At said date and time, former roomie and friend Julie came by to eat some yummy Little Szechuan and watch a flick. She brought her buddy Wallace. I'd never met Wallace, but I'd say ol' Wally and I got along in smashing fashion. He really enjoyed the fenced backyard, the little kibbles of food here and there from Bernie's reign, and the kitty cat he discovered while looking out the window. Wallace raced up and down the steps, all around the house and yard, even fetched, though I use the term loosely. He half-barked when I barked at him, and kindly posed when I took pictures. I'm sure Wallace is thinking of me right now, our encounter was so impactful.

As I've mentioned, the mailman used to pop a dog bone through the mail slot every day for Bernie. The bone that he left on the day she was put to sleep, I put that in her food bowl, which is upstairs, in my bedroom. The bone sits in the bowl, waiting for Bernie to come and get it.

Or Wallace.

Yup, Wallace found the bone, and the bone is "all gone!" At least he didn't eat any of my Chung King Chili Beef, huh?

So, Julie brought Marley & Me for us to watch. That movie hit the silver screen about the time Bernie was gently exiting. Since then, I've been "warned" about watching it by many, many people. Well, I watched it last night.

My next post will be a detailed introspective of Marley & Me and me. Come back.

Now It's the Devil I Love

Bernie has the day off today. Instead, I have couple of recommendations, some song lyrics and an accompanying video, plus another video. Have a good weekend:

Latest & Greatest Books I've Read

Glass Gastle, A Memoir by Jeanette Wells. At the very least, you'll uncover a big something that you enjoy reading/life-wise. More likely, it is everything you want in a book. Seriously.

Plainsong, Kent Haruf. This is the simplest of stories fantastically written.

No Country for Old Men, Cormac McCarthy. Great work onscreen, greater as literature.

Music

I could go on and on about music and musicians who get it done bigtime, but instead I'll just throw you a Bernie Bone:

Middle Cyclone, Neko Case. It all comes together for Neko on this beauty, suitable for country, pop, rock, alt, alt-country freaks alike. Buy it.

With that, here's a Neko video, "Hold On, Hold On," from Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. Lyrics first. Brilliant. Neko's take on these lyrics? "The song is actually about me. It's not metaphorical about other people. It's not little pieces of my life made into a story about someone else or someone fictitious." Many a boy and girl can relate to them, and said company may or may not include the writer of this blog.

HOLD ON, HOLD ON
Neko Case/The Sadies 2005

THE MOST TENDER PLACE IN MY HEART IS FOR STRANGERS
I KNOW IT'S UNKIND BUT MY OWN BLOOD IS MUCH TOO DANGEROUS
HANGIN' ROUND THE CEILING HALF THE TIME

COMPARED TO SOME I'VE BEEN AROUND
BUT I REALLY TRIED SO HARD
THAT ECHO CHORUS LIED TO ME WITH ITS "HOLD ON, HOLD ON, HOLD ON, HOLD ON"
IN THE END I WAS THE MEAN GIRL
OR SOMEBODY'S IN-BETWEEN GIRL
NOW IT'S THE DEVIL I LOVE
AND THAT'S AS FUNNY AS REAL LOVE

I LEAVE THE PARTY AT THREE A.M.
ALONE, THANK GOD
WITH A VALIUM FROM THE BRIDE
IT'S THE DEVIL I LOVE
AND THAT'S AS FUNNY AS REAL LOVE
AND THAT'S AS REAL AS TRUE LOVE

THAT ECHO CHORUS LIED TO ME WITH ITS "HOLD ON, HOLD ON, HOLD ON, HOLD ON"

Here's Neko's appearance on Letterman, 4/15/09, "This Tornado Loves You," from Middle Cyclone:

All About Me

***Me and my nephew, Eli. I'm on the left. April, 2009***

I've mentioned guilt a couple times. I'm not stupid, though, meaning I don't sit in my house feeling guilty about doing stuff now, like I'm betraying Bernie. In fact, I've gotten after it pretty good since she passed. There has been a little tug, though, that simple thought that I should get home . . . even though I obviously know that Bernie doesn't need me for anything. Nevertheless, there was a pull, probably because it was normal for me. Do whatever you do, check back in and Bernie and I enjoy each other for a while, resume life outside of Bernie. That has been my adult life, I've never not had a dog or two.

I have a new life now, and I've lived it more or less since January 7. However, it's only been in the past week or so that I've 100 percent embraced it. I mean, it's akin to someone giving you a lifelong salary but you don't have to work. You'd feel weird not going to work, even though there wasn't a need to. It must be like when your last kid goes to college. While you're always a mom and always a dad, one of your primary day to day obligations, poof, disappears. You feel out of sorts. I guess I'm full of sorts now.

I've learned that if home is where the heart is, it's only there because of those who are there, which makes sense. I like my house, live in a great neighborhood, but without my dog to chum around with throughout da 'hood, it feels not lonely nor alone but odd to be here, amongst families and empty nesters, primarily. What I've learned is I don't need to go home. When you have an anchor awaiting your return, you do your thangs out and about then immediately recognize the need to reunite with said anchor. Really, only in the past couple weeks have I vanquished that thought from my consciousness. I don't have to go home, and to a much greater degree than I ever would have anticipated, hangin' out at da crib has lost much appeal.

I'm just reporting here, neither bemoaning nor celebrating.

Fortunately, I have one zillion interests, now one zillion and one since I'm learning Portuguese. I'm going to Brazil this summer for a few weeks, and yep, I'll leave guilt-free. Maybe I won't come back, though if that's the case hopefully it's a voluntary decision as opposed to being held for ransom in the Amazon by a rogue but certainly interesting group of individuals. Back to my point, there are many things I put off over the past year or two until Bernie was gone.

She's gone now, so onward I go. Catch me if you can. Or join me.

Cats

***I like this photo so much, I'm posting it again.***

I just had a smashing time. It's dusk, and I took a peek out Bernie's back door after the Capitals v. Penguins (great game), and there was my neighbor's cat, stalking a . . . rabbit. Both were in Bernie's backyard, about 20 feet apart. I assumed the rabbit was eyeing the cat as it slowly crept forward, but I was ready to save the rabbit if need be. I like rabbits more than kitty cats, though cats are more interesting to watch while they wander. Anyway, after a full minute, rabbit bolted, kitty didn't pursue. Little did the cat know, though, that it was being stalked. By me. I was about 20 feet behind it, door still closed. I opened it quietly, kitty didn't move. I started to get excited. I walked out the door, quietly. Kitty was still fixated on the rabbit, which was outside the fence now. I slowly took cat-like steps toward kitty. Then I took a big jump in the air, like I was a long jumper. I landed a few feet behind kitty and said, "Kitty cat!!!" I barely got it out of my mouth before I started laughing, kitty leaping in the air with a "Raaeeerrrr" cat sound. It hit its feet and bolted to the fence between Bernie and his yard. He jumped the fence, sat down, looked at me, and meowed. I laughed.

Kitty cats love me.

Bernie enjoyed cats, rather, she enjoyed "playing" with them. She lived with two, Hazil as a pup and then sister Cara's cat, Bear, a bit later in life. She really did love to watch them, chase them. She never hurt one. I may be repeating myself here and if so I'm sure it's not the first time, but there is a cat that lives two blocks north of us. Over the past couple years, that cat's block became part of Bernie and my walking route. Everyday, that cat would come out and greet us--no fear of Bernie at all. It would meow, and they'd smell each other like dogs, Bernie's tail erect and wagging, her movements deliberate. Bernie more than once was whacked in the face by a cat paw--other cat's paws, not this ones. Cats didn't dare come in her yard here, though, or they were chased.

Interestingly, squirrels became part of the acceptable landscape to Bernie. I've mentioned you can absolutely tell how much she loved laying outside listening to birds, feeling the breeze, watching squirrels. She let them be, even let them drink from her water bowl. Rabbits, though, were another story. She chased them like mad. In fact, after Bernie was essentially retired from running, she wouldn't hesitate to take off after a rabbit in her yard. They are all over the place here, and she'd sniff them out on walks, or they'd scatter as we passed a yard. I was grateful for rabbits when Bernie got older. They'd prompt her to run, full speed, and no dog was as beautiful as Bernie as she ran full speed. No dog.