"Seperator"

Just exactly as I remember
Every word
Every gesture
I'm a heart in cold ground

Like I'm falling out of bed
From a long and weary dream
Finally I'm free of all the weight I've been carrying

~Radiohead, "Seperator" (King of Limbs)

Soon . . .

Soon, Bernie's Blog will be no more. It will still exist, but it will be offline. Resting. This of course started as a blog about my beloved pooch, as she lived her last days with me. It was unbelievably therapeutic to me . . . to write it, to share it, to hear everyone's kind thoughts in response. One of the main reasons I wrote it was to have a written memory of my time with Bernie. As time goes by, memories fade. I do not want those memories to fade. She was my best friend for almost 15 years, those years probably being the craziest 15 of my life, when it's all said and done. When I was lost, she was there.

I have been lost a lot over the past ten months. I have written about some of it, but only those closest to me know how utterly influenced I have been by what has happened--and not happened--over the past year, really. Not many people read this blog, as I am able to view stats about number of readers, etc. That of course is okay with me. I write it to express myself, that is my only motive. What you have read here the past several months is just the tip of the iceberg for the most profoundly difficult experience I've encountered. At times I have been angry, but most often just sad. I have been counseled professionally, and I have read thousands and thousands of pages regarding why people do what they do.

I have learned a lot about myself and human beings in general. The human mind is so very complex but at the same time, simple and predictable. You could even say that in hindsight, I should have seen it all coming.

Aside from continuing to be absolutely dumbfounded, I have healed. My life and head are normal, or at least as normal as I get. What I have a hard time dealing with and accepting is that there is a human being on this planet, a total of one, who has made me feel like I am poison. That hurts, bad, and I will never understand that.

Been a While

It's been a while since I've blogged. So what should I blog about? How about dogs.

I've been thinking about getting a dog a lot more lately. I'm not going to get one now, I don't think. I still have my master plan to move out of my house and get a deluxe apartment in the sky. However, I'm not sure that will happen next spring, the original thought.

Several reasons: One, I'm lazy. It takes a lot of energy to move, and I'm not sure I have that in me just yet. Two, the housing market continues to suck, though in my *expert* opinion, it will continue to suck for quite some time. More so than those first two reasons is Arnie. Arnie is my 85-ish-year-old neighbor, he lives behind me across the alley. Now, if you met Arnie, you'd never take him for 85-ish, especially if you saw him out there taking down a big oak tree, like he did last summer, or re-sealing his driveway, which he does every summer. Arnie is married, too. His wife is much younger and takes very good care of him.

So what the hell does Arnie have to do with me not moving?

Well, I'd feel kind of bad. We're buddies, and I help him with stuff sometimes. I didn't help him with the oak tree though. It was here one day, gone the next, and he did it with a friend, I believe. Arnie has a snow blower, but it's a little thing, so when big snows come, I help him blow it out with my mac daddy blower. Generally, that's all I help him with, but none of us are getting any younger, so I'm sure as time goes on, I'll help him more. Plus he's my buddy, and I'd feel bad leaving him.

Another reason is my neighbor directly next door, whose husband died suddenly in January. That was one of the six or so deaths I dealt with this winter. I help her some, like I'll just cut her grass while I'm cutting mine or something--I mean, not simultaneously, that would be impossible, but you know what I mean. I stopped by the other day just to quickly talk some "business", and she invited me in, and we talked for over an hour. I was STARVING, I'd just gotten off my bike from work. Hey though, it is hard to just up and leave when you're talking to a someone who was suddenly made a widow. At least it better be hard for you to get up under those circumstances.

I am loyal to my people, that is why I might delay my move.

I had a dream last night that I was dogsitting that awesome Akita (I almost called it an "Ikea") dog, Cal, from my neighborhood. That dog loves me, it's ridiculous. Anyway, in my dream Cal escaped my yard, so I was all freaked out. She came back though, and we were very happy. It's good when things that left come back, yo.

So I probably won't get a dog anytime soon, because I will probably move into an apartment sooner than later.

That's all I got.

Comedy Gold

***You are required to watch this one-minute vid before you read this post. But don't watch it more than once, because you'll probably vomit.***

I met Dick Van Patten. It was the first year that I worked at Caesars Tahoe, in the race and sports book. At that time, I was a ticket "writer" . . . you wanted to bet the ponies or a game, you saw me or one of my fab colleagues. (For the record, my three years in the race and sports book at Caesars were three of the more interesting and hilarious years of my life.)

Anyway, Dick Van Patten was there one day, and I took special note because I used to love "Eight Is Enough". As you probably know, if you gamble in a Nevada casino, you get free booze. You know how it works. You just sit there at your slot machine or table, play, order your drink from a cocktail server, and you have booze. It's a beautiful thing. It works a little different in race and sports books though. You see, all casinos have "fleas", individuals who hang around like fleas, day after day, and bet little or nothing, ever. They just leach drinks from the house. Sounds like fun. The easiest place for these cats to loiter is the race and sports books, where you can stare at the video screens and naive cocktail servers bring you drink after drink, oblivious to whether you are wagering or not. So in the book at Caesars, and most places to this day, you get drink tickets when you place your bets or by asking a supervisor. The latter was the policy at Caesars.

Anyway, Dick Van Patten was there one day, and this apparently wasn't his first time at Caesars Tahoe, though it was his first visit since I'd worked there. He made some bets (I honestly can't remember if he made them with me or not), then walked over to a supervisor, Dennis. Dennis is hilarious, super smart, though word on the street is he got canned at MGM ten-ish years ago for moving a betting line upon a bettor's request, which you can't do. But he's still hilarious. So Dick made his bets, starts walking back to his seat, and Dennis says, "Hi Dick. Do you want some drink tokes?" Dick said, "Sure," and Dennis replied, as he pulled a stack of drink tokes from his suit jacket, "Is eight enough?" 

Comedy gold. 

Later gators.

85

***I keep track of my non-car commutes on the plastic covering my pantry window. Classy, eh?***

This just in: Within the next week or two, this blog will be unsearchable through search engines--that means google and stuff, kids. So in theory at least, you won't be able to google or bing or anything "Bernie's Blog" and find mention of it. I need to maintain some sort of privacy from the evil-doers in the universe, eh. So, if you usually search to get here, you need to memorize http://www.bernietheblackdog.blogspot.com/, bookmark it, or you can "Like" the Bernie's Blog page on Facebook (there's a button on this page to do that) then access it through there whenever your precious heart desires.

Speaking of precious hearts, last year, calendar year 2010, I set a goal of transporting myself to work in a manner other than a car 100 times. I made it, barely . . . but I made it. So as 2011 approached, I said, "Chad, how can you top that? Had you not been broken into a million little pieces in December 2010, you would've creamed 100, not to mention you didn't set this goal until February 2010--you got a late start. How can you do more, reasonably?"

This is what I came up with: For 2011, I would transport myself by means other than car (walk, bike, transit) 150 times--to anywhere and everywhere, not just work. Basically, my criteria is, if you walk, bike, transit anywhere you would normally drive to, it counts. Like, walking up to my corner coffee shop does not count, because I always walk there. For the record as well, a trip is a round-trip--each way does not count as a tick off the 150. Each round-trip does.

Today I hit 85, which is pretty good considering I was still broken into a million little pieces in January and February, thus manged to only have ONE non-car trip over those two months. It was cold and snowy, too, but that's a pussy of an excuse. As I chronicled here around that time, I did not have my mojo. And no mojo means doubling your commute time while standing in the freezing cold is not likely to happen. And happen it did not.

So kids, let's review this important update of a post:

• Soon you will no longer be able to use a search engine to find this blog.
• I have hit 85 out of 150 in my goal to not be an environmental terrorist.
• I am whole.

Peace.

Wallace

***Wallace welcomed me home from Brazil in the summer of 2009.***

I met Wallace a couple years ago. He and his mom, my friend Julie, came over a couple months after Bernie died so I could get some doggie love and to watch Marley & Me. I'd never met a Shar-Pei before. Wallace came into my house and like any good dog, he immediately took to investigating every corner of the house. After a minute or two, Julie asked if there was anything laying around I didn't want him to get into, or something to that effect, and I said no.

Oh, wait.

Wallace had gone upstairs, so I ran up there quickly. And yep, Wallace was chewing. He found it.

You see, when Bernie went to Puppy Heaven, I made a point to save a few things of hers, one of those things being a doggie bone (like a Milk Bone type) from her last box of treats. I also left her food bowls in their right place, and in fact they remain so today. Anyway, I had put the sentimental Bernie bone in Bernie's bowl, which was upstairs in my room. Wallace, of course, had found it. And eaten it.

That was okay with me. Dogs are so trusting, honest, and loyal that it is hard to ever really get mad at them, and I certainly wasn't mad with Wallace. That incident pretty much served as the icebreaker for me and Wallace, friends we were indeed.

This winter, I watched Wallace and his Shar-Pei "sister", Sophie, for a long weekend, and that came at a time when I sorely needed some doggie love and unbridled enthusiasm that only canines can provide. Shar-Peis are rather muscular, and I would never take that build as belonging to an super-agile creature. That weekend, though, I realized how swift and graceful they are. They galloped and played over and through the mounds of snow in my yard, then of course ate, then slept for like nine hours, then started it all over again. It's a dog's life.

I also of course noticed differences between the two dogs. Wallace is very calm, methodical, and warm, where Sophie is a bit of an OCD spaz, and a bit aloof. They are both great dogs, but Wallace is the one you look toward for a little lovin' and Sophie's the one you look for when you are in the mood to play some, let's chase the doggie!

This summer, I watched the two for a week, so I really got to know them well. As I've mentioned, I live on a corner, and in the warmer months my side sidewalk serves as a bit of a doggie freeway, where people walk there dogs past, one after another after another. Sophie and Wallace would have a smashing time out there, eyeing the squirrels, dogs, and people. It was always easy to get Wallace to come back inside. Sophie, however, has a mind of her own. Sophie operates on Sophie time.

The first two nights of their summer visit, Sophie slept on the floor, Wallace on the bed with me. If you've ever picked up a bag of concrete mix--just a big, dense bag of solid weight--you have picked up Wallace, though I never actually picked him up. If you've ever slept with a bag of concrete mix on your legs, then you know what it is like to sleep with Wallace. From moment one, he is tucked against your legs, and he is there when you wake up. Your legs do not move throughout the night. Sophie, after the first couple nights, joined us on the bed for sleep, but she'd pick a faraway corner, Bernie style.

So about five weeks ago, I bid adios till next time to Wallace--I usually addressed him as Wally--and Sophie. I expected them back soon and looked forward to their next stay.

While I was on my vacation this month though, Julie text me and told me Wallace was sick, very sick. I do not handle bad news about dogs well, as they are the sweetest and most understanding creatures on the planet. They are everything that I wish all human beings were, but I digress. So Julie and I text back and forth, sadness puffing and wetting my eyes while she told me about Wallace's troubles and her struggles.

Over the next few weeks, I counseled Julie as best I could as to how to handle what is absolutely one of the hardest things ever to handle. They knew it would not be long, and they wanted to do what was best for Wallace. It is an incredibly difficult situation to be in, as you feel like you have been asked to play god with a life, and it is a life who you truly adore. The reality is though, you do what's best for your dog, even if it makes you feel like crap. In the long run, doing best by them is what will help you accept the everlasting goodbye.

Wallace passed away this past week, peacefully and with his mom and dad, Julie and Chris, by his side. After Wallace and Sophie left my house after their last stay, I washed my top blanket, which was covered with their fur. As I type this now though, some remains on the very blanket I am laying on. The hair that remains is a gentle reminder of another wonderful dog that brought much joy to those who shared life with him. Dogs are people pleasers, and Wallace was an A+ student in the art of pleasing.

Rest in peace, Wally. You are missed. I am certain you and my beloved Bernie (and Poochie and Frosty and Lassie) became fast friends in the greatest place ever for fine doggie souls such as your own, Puppy Heaven. May you all share many runs, walks, naps, and big bowls of food together. Just don't try to eat Bernie's bone up there, she might bite :).

Much love to you, Wallace, much love.

Life on the Road

***My sweet new ride and I bonded much over the past two weeks--more than 3,000 ass-on-seat miles, to be semi exact.***

Well, well, I'm finally back in St. Paul--finally only in the sense that I was gone for quite some time.

So let's see, I drove through Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas on the way down to my ultimate destination of Rockport, Texas. On the way back, I went up through Texas and Oklahoma, then through Kansas and into and out of Nebraska, then across and up Iowa back into my current home state of Minnesota. Some facts from my journey:

• It did not rain one drop while I drove.
• During my return trip, the temperature (according to my car) was 110+ for approximately ten hours.
• I slept on one couch and in four beds.
• I learned that if you take two courses of antibiotics, you should take probiotics along with them.
• I saw some homies in St. Lou.
• I watched my cousin Monica get married in Lamar, Missouri.
• I went through Toby Keith's hometown. (I know, I don't care either.)
• I went through Waco, Norman, and Lincoln--all Big 12 towns.
• I was in Nebraska for the first time in my life.
• I was in Norman, Oklahoma for the first time. If only Jamelle Holieway was still OU's quarterback.
• I wept openly when I drove into Kansas, home state of my beloved alma mater KU. Yes, "wept openly" is a bit of a stretch, but it was nice to see Jayhawks speckled across the landscape.
• I determined that Kansas is the cleanest state in the union, all things considered--scenery, road conditions, lack of trash and crap. Actually, the drive south to north through Kansas was gorgeous. Surprised the hell out of me!
• I spent a night not far from KU, in Salina, Kansas. You have not lived until you've slept in Salina, Kansas folks.
• I learned that I-35 south of Dallas is just gnarly. Avoid it, both directions, any time.
• I had a lovely visit with my parents, in Rockport, and swam all night and day.
• I saw the world's largest porch swing. Actually, I didn't really see it--I saw a sign for it, somewhere in Nebraska.
• I was in 90-degree+ weather all of the 12 days and loved every second of it.
• I sang a ton. A TON!
• My Aunt Beverly said, upon seeing a few gray hairs on my head, that I must have bleached my hair, 'cause I'm not old enough to have gray hair. She was very, very serious.
• I spent time with both of my lovely grandmothers.
• And last on this list, and somewhat somberly, I drove through Joplin, Missouri to check out the tornado damage. Unbelievable. Here are a couple low-quality pics I took.

To leave on a happier note, we have had wonderful rain this season here in St. Paul, and I came home to lots of pretty flowers in my yard. All of this stuff I planted over the years, lots of it from seed. So I leave you with a few pics of those, though the quality again sucks--it's so hot and muggy here, so my lens kept fogging up. Tomorrow, I am the fog as I melt on my bike ride to and fro' work.

That's all I got, peeps.

Ramble On

 

***This is Stanley, my current dog. She sits in my window frightening foes and waiting for a friend.***

So, I’m selling my house, next spring. I live in an awesome house in an awesome neighborhood, but I’ve lived here ten years. It’s time to do something different. I’m going to get a deluxe apartment in the sky, on the other side of the river, and I am going to walk and bike till my feet are calloused and my butt is raw.

I need a space for only myself, and for better and worse only need to live for myself. My current energies go toward work, my athletic endeavors, my friends and family, and some other things I will add to my “do” persona in the near future. Right now I have neither the time nor desire to care for a house on my own anymore.

. . . time I was on my way
Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay
but now it's time for me to go, the autumn moon lights my way
for now I smell the rain, and with it, pain
and it's headed my way
Aw, sometimes I grow so tired. . . .

. . . I've been this way ten years to the day.

~Robert Plant/Led Zepplin

So on my way I am. Bruises healed but soreness remains, that dreaminess of the autumn past reflects now as only a dream, Options present, though, are clear: Stay and just roll on, stay and get a dog—sort of go back to my former self—or move faraway, to somewhere I can dance and play outside year round. Or, just radically shift my existence locally. That’s the good thing about cities, especially when you have neighboring ones that are quite different. You can change pretty dramatically without loadin’ up the truck and headin’ outstate.

So to Minneapolis I will go next spring to live my life on the other side, leaving behind some friendly folks as well as some ghosts here in St. Paul. My beat goes round and round, and as I trust myself and others, I trust to wherever my path leads.

"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone--but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." 

--Walter Anderson

This, my friends, I know.

Wicked Garden

***Will you look me in the eye? Will you run from what you see? Will you see me in the light? Hope you do, I hope you stay!
--Tapes n Tapes, "Freak Out"

So, when you buy tickets to an event, you have a vision of what that event will be like, perhaps based on past experiences. For me, with Rock the Garden my vision is always a beautiful sunny Minnesota summer day, pretty women in pretty dresses, and some of the whitest bare-chested guys you've ever seen. And beer. And bikes.

This year, only the beer and a few bikes showed up. I ride my bike to RTG each year, which is about ten miles or so. As I mentioned yesterday, it was raining when I left. And it kept raining. So I rode in the rain. Aside from my shoes and socks, I was relatively dry when I got there. Thankfully, it was warm but not hot, so all in all it wasn't too bad. The rain continued for a while at the show, and unless you consider plastic rain pouches pretty, there wasn't a whole lot of pretty going on. I did, however, discover a new kind of pretty: Women with mud splats on their calves from riding their bikes in the rain make me swoon.

Just another hot, hot summer in my life. And it's just another hot, hot summer in my life. And it's just another hot, hot summer in my life. Chicks on, chicks on, chicks on bikes, yes! --City on the Make, "Chicks on Bikes".

Anyway, the rain more or less stopped an hour or two into the show, and the music was splendid. Minneapolis' own Tapes n Tapes is always a good show, Booker T Jones grooved the place like madmen, Neko Case's voice predictably gave me chills, and My Morning Jacket made certain that no one within a 20-mile radius even entertained the thought of going to bed.

There were a couple notable things at the show. One, Steve Seal didn't drop an f-bomb (or was it an s-bomb?) on stage--not even sure he was there. Two, for the first time ever I used the little urinal thingie in a Johnny on the Spot. Three, we met some cool people and hung out a little while after the show, and we shall hang out again, sans rain gear hopefully. This year though, there really was no epic moment such as Shara Worden splendidly killing it a couple years ago with her voice or Sharon Jones just being, well, Sharon Jones. Neko did entertain me with my favorite song of hers, though.

And I sang it all the way on my mostly no-hands bike ride home. Talk about epic. It was about 75 degrees, the rain had been gone for a while, and there was a bit of a surreal haze or fog lingering. I love biking at midnight anytime--my ride home from RTG is always one of my fav things of summer--but this year it was extra smashing. Beautiful, quiet, pleasantly creepy. Going over the fancy-schmancy ped bridge over Hiawatha, on the Greenway, was just fabulous. It has these soft blue lights shooting into the sky, and they reflected mightily off the haze, creating cone-like . . . yeah whatever, it was cool.

And now it's Father's Day, and boating beckons for Mr. Me. Happy Father's Day! I leave you all with the "Freak Out" vid from Tapes n Tapes. Full lyrics can be found here. Peace.

Rock My Garden

Well, it's my favorite event of the summer, Rock the Garden--and it's pouring rain! Yowsa. So here I sit, all bike-geared up, waiting, waiting for the rain to stop. Not looking good at the moment. I'm really, really looking forward to my half-looped midnight ride home, so hopefully it will stop so I can ride there soon. I'm not averse to biking in the rain, but man oh man would I be soaked by the time I got there, even though I get to stand outside in the rain, if it continues to rain, for seven hours following that. Regardless, ten miles is a ways to go in pouring rain, no doubt.

Either way, the hill at the Walker is going to be destroyed after this thing, not to mention the pretty floors inside it, where they let us go pee--not on the floor, but in the bathrooms inside.

Monday on my way home it started raining, right when I got to the city line. And yep, I was soaked by the time I got home. Good times all the way.

Anyway, Neko Case is part of the lineup today, so here's my fav song of hers. And yes, I did post this same song way back when on here. See ya.

Candor Man

***My two house guests are back, Wallace and Sophie! Here for a whole week. They are super, super good doggies.***

For a couple of years while I lived in Tahoe, I had a journal. I’d type in it virtually every day. No one saw it but me. Now, I have this blog. It of course started as a blog about Bernie, but for the most part it has morphed into a personal blog about my life. It isn’t quite a journal, for I do not and will not divulge every detail of anything. As well, for the most part, I leave others’ names out of it to protect the innocent or guilty, save for matter-of-fact references.

When I blog, it is because I have something I want to say and I am in the mood to write. Usually, the reason for this is that to type and write helps my overall thought process about a situation. It is one piece of the thought process, and one piece only. What I write is a picture of my thoughts at that very moment in time. 

There are at least two problems with this.

One, thoughts change. As we gain more insight and perspective of a situation, in part simply the result of time passing, our thoughts and opinions shift. Rarely do I go back and read previous posts, but occasionally I do. And what I see months later is often not what I think “now." Of course, people who read this don’t know this, or at least don’t consider that, which is perfectly reasonable. You see words on a page that I wrote, so they must be what I think. The reality is, they are what I thought, though they may be what I still think. Or maybe not. And of course, I might have been flat-out wrong at the time I wrote it.

I got a review at work a couple weeks ago, which went very well thank you very much, but one of the things I said I need to work on is harnessing my initial thoughts on things until I’ve given myself time to think them through. I don’t have outbursts or anything like that, rather, what I say in the heat of the moment is often not on par with my thoughts once I have had time to consider. The same thing is true with my blog: What I write one day may not be my opinion or interpretation the next day, week, or month. That’s how it works, and to a point I hope everything you read here is consumed with a grain of salt. While Bernie’s Blog is not exactly an expose of my life, it nonetheless takes balls to put this stuff out there. You never know where your thoughts will go from that point on, and you never know who is reading what you thought when you wrote it. So I try to be gentle and tactful yet fair to myself. I am an emotional adrenaline junkie, so I need to say what I need to say when I need to say it, just barf on the page a little bit. Of course, anything I say here can be used against me in the court of life, this I know. Fair or unfair, it is what it is.

The second problem with writing stream of thought here is that readers obviously don’t have the full context, of both the situation and my thoughts. There’s always more to the story, folks. For every deeper or darker thought or experience I share, there are a million pieces on the subject that are swirling around my brain that you’ll never know, unless you liquor me up and ask the right questions. In essence, you see what I write, but you don’t necessarily know why I wrote what I wrote. And I’m not going to share everything I think, ever. A guy’s gotta have some secrets, yo.

I live rather transparently, at least much more so than I used to, though it does ebb and flow. There are, of course, limits to this, limits that often depend on my mood. I always appreciate comments left by readers about what I wrote, but at the same time I also appreciate no comments in the sense that I can write what I want when I want, and I don’t have to worry about being grilled, coddled, or beat up. I mean, we all have bad days, cranky dispositions at times, uninformed opinions, misreads on situations, and the like. It is nice to be able to share them and not be judged.

So keep the salt shaker handy, my friends.

Musings

***This is Cal, cutest puppy ever. She is my neighbor. Bernie would love Cal.***

I was going to post a pre-written entry, but it turns out, I have already posted it. Over a year ago. Wow. I thought it had only been a few months since I wrote it, let alone posted it. This is the one I was going to post, with a few additions.

So I'll write. I gave five dollars to a dude standing at the side of the freeway exit today. I don't know why, I never do that. This cat, though, looked sad. Super sad. So I pulled out five dollars, then he was super happy. I wonder if the fact the episodes of The Wire I've watched recently had anything to do with me giving dude money. See, I told you I'm trying to be more empathetic and understanding!

I'm sitting at my allergist's right now, just got my two injections for the week. Allergy shots are the bomb! When I was a kid, Dad used to give them to me, say once a week. Then my allergist died unexpectedly when I was about ten years old, and that was that for allergy shots--because there was only one allergist in St. Louis back then. Not really. I started getting them again a couple years ago, because I was getting frequent sinus infections. Since then, no more sinus infections. What sucks is that after you get your shots, you have to sit here for a half hour to make certain you don't freak out--your body that is. So here I sit.

I've also been to a bunch of Twins games, to continue from yesterday. I'll get to the house selling in another post. I met Twins pitcher Nick Blackburn, who proceeded to pitch a complete game the next night. There must be some correlation, don't you think? I rode my bike to the Twins game Sunday, met Dennis in the midst of the city and we pedalled together--different bikes--from there. Dennis and I on a tandem would be a hilarious sight. On that day, Francisco Liriano had a perfect game through six (I think, might have been five innings), and a no hitter through seven. That didn't work out, but the Twins won, which is good. For the record, I'm a die-hard Cards fan, always. I went to the Twins game Saturday, too, another winner for the Twinkies. I have to say, aside from Wrigley, Target Field is the best I've ever been too. Blows the new Yankees Stadium away, hands down.

Time to go. Game seven of the Stanley Cup tonight at 7 CDT on NBC. Check it. Chipotle first. Later gators.

Meat

 ***This is Zora, about three weeks ago. Zora is my friend Josh's dog, 13 years old I believe--Zora, not Josh. One time, back in the day, Zora punched me so hard in the crotch that fire came out of my ears. That is the power of Zora.***

I thought I was dying. Yep, really. Not from getting punched by Zora years ago, but here and now--really recently, for real. Now, you don't want to hear about my medical ailments anymore than I want to hear about yours, so I won't get into details, but I will say the affliction had nothing to do with my crotch or butt. Let's just say I thought maybe lifetimes were catching up with me, though. From about May 1 till June 6, I thought I might be dying. Truly.

Any blog post where you use "crotch" twice is a quality blog post, people.

I'm not dying, at least I'm 96% certain I'm not. I went to THE doc last Monday, June 6, and he looked right at it--YOU can't see it, so don't even try it if you see me. All good, he said. Take this OTC med for a month, good to go. So it hasn't all gone away, but it seems to be better, plus I still have three weeks to go. All crises pass . . . even if you do die, I suppose.

All that sucked the life out of me at a time when I didn't need any suction. The winter months were tough, but I got through them, and when April rolled around, just for fun I decided to get into the best shape of my life, though I'm in pretty good shape all in all anyway. I did gain 6.5 percent of my body weight over winter. Since, I've lost 60 percent of that. So I started to get into super shape in April, survived a ridiculously close-to-being-serious bike-car encounter--I was the bike--and I was on my way.

Till death stared me down, yo. I lost that weight because I exercised a lot and didn't eat enough. I thought, I got through all that noise this winter, start to get on a roll, then bam! The lingering grim reaper turned me into a turd. I dealt with it as well as possible and tried to be rational about it, but I was more than stunned that the temple that is my bod had decided to suddenly and completely freak out. That didn't sit too well with me, and while this is probably my fault, it spun my brain back over to the dark side a bit, and well, I didn't feel like eating. Nor doing much else, though I did do in a semi-dysfunctional state for the majority of those six weeks. I stayed busy and played happy. 'Cause that's what we do. Even when we're falling off a cliff.

I think I pissed a couple of people off during this period 'cause I was freaked. I think they should teach forgiveness as a class, just like English or Math. Really though, I've been trying really hard to be a better listener and more empathetic, and it is working--until I thought I was dying.

Anyway, over that time I watched a lot of playoff hockey. Biked a lot. Socialized. Golfed. Worked, though my focus at times was less than stellar. Took lots of walks. Mingled.

And I decided to sell my house.

Release

Note on 2/9/24: This post used to have an embedded Pearl Jam vid. Now, though, Pearl Jam doesn't allow embeds. You can go watch it on YouTube, and I recommend you do. "Release" in all its glory from a March 4, 1992 show in Holland. (Sidenote: I've seen PJ a couple times, including the legendary May 1992 "Day on the Hill" show at my alma mater in Lawrence, KS -- ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK! Stick "Pearl Jam Day on the Hill" in the YouTube search for the deets. I was sitting on the hill.)

*Original Post* 

 Lovely day here. Bike ride, beach volleyball, a little golf yet to come.

And in the midst of it all, one of my fav Pearl Jam songs.

That voice, my god sing to me all night long. Sing what it says to me in this song. Release me.

I see the world
Feel the chill
Which way to go
Windowsill
I see the words
On a rocking horse of time
I see the birds in the rain

Oh dear dad
Can you see me now
I am myself
Like you somehow
I'll ride the wave
Where it takes me
I'll hold the pain
Release me

Oh dear dad
Can you see me now
I am myself
Like you somehow
I'll wait up in the dark
For you to speak to me
I'll open up
Release me
Release me
Release me
Release me

Buckets & Brooklyn

I do not have and never have had a bucket list. It is okay if you do, and maybe someday I will have one, but I do not have one now. I feel as though I have filled (or emptied?) my bucket pretty well to date, and for the most part my bucket view of life is half full--I want lots and do lots.

Like this past weekend for example, I went to New York City. I have a cousin there, Kelli, so that's one of the big reasons I went. Another was to escape. Another was for adventure. I've only been there once, about a year ago, so this was trip two.

So let me tell you all the things I put in (or took out?) of my bucket. The day I got there, Thursday, cousin Kelli was working. Since I got to LaGuardia at noon, I had lots of time to kill before the work day was over. So there is bucket item number one: LaGuardia. As a kid, I'd lay in bed--tucked in--with my little transistor under my pillow, listening to Cardinals baseball--Jack Buck and Mike Shannon--and of course some of those contests were versus the Mets, at Shea Stadium. So what happens when you listen to a Mets game on the radio from Shea (and now Citi Field)? You hear planes from LaGuardia, which are sometimes loud enough to cause the announcers to stop talking. So in my child mind's bucket was, oh, how neato it would be to go to LaGuardia in New York City! Check.

So I got in a cab, said "Midtown, 59 W 44th". Cabbie took me there, and I hung out in Midtown, mostly Bryant Park with a million other people, all afternoon like a big boy--like I owned the place. Bucket item "Rule Manhattan": Check.

That night, I went to a Yankees game with Kelli and her friend Anna. Bucket item "Catch a Yankees game at Yankees Stadium": Check. Now, a caveat to this is that it was, of course, the new Yankees Stadium. I had hoped to check out both Shea and the old Yankee Stadium in their last year, but that was when I had an aging doggie--maybe you heard about that--so I let it slide. And let's back up. Even a bigger deal was me setting foot in the Bronx. That was a BIG deal, the bucket item of all bucket items. You see, starting when I was a younger-than-ten-years-old child, I've always wanted to live in the Bronx--specifically, South Bronx, which of course is where Yankee Stadium sits. Why did Chad want to live in South Bronx? I don't know, though I've been trying to trace it back in my mind. Maybe it has to do with the Yankees, maybe not. Anyway, "Go to the Bronx" bucket item: Check.

Friday we drank beer at McSorley's then ate arepas at a restaurant the size of my bathroom with Kelli, friends Sara and Pedro, and new friends Dana and Brian--and another dude was with us at McSorley's, but he split early 'cause he had a couple of ladies waiting for him somewhere. Anyway, I can't say either McSorley's or arepas was ever on a mental bucket list, but done and done. Good times.

Saturday was a biggie. I spent the afternoon in Jersey City, primarily to watch Kelli and Anna play a flag football game. What was bucket list worthy, though--in addition to simply being in Jersey City--was that we drove by St. Anthony's High School. Now, I've known of St. Anthony's since about when USA Today began publication and soon after included high school basketball rankings in its sports page. Dematha, Christ the King in Flushing, and St. Anthony's, to name a few, always appeared at the top of the rankings, year after year. Bob Hurley Sr. was and is St. Anthony's coach, his son Bobby's college career at Duke basically coincided with my college years at Kansas . . . the Hurleys and I are almost family. Ha. So anyway, I made a point to "Drive by St. Anthony's" . . . check that bucket list mofo off, yep. Interestingly, to me, was there were some locals hanging out next to me at the football game, which was at a school. A 30ish woman was in the group, a TRUE Jersey girl, and she looked like a Hurley. And she had a Duke sweatshirt on as well as a Duke t-shirt. I said nothing, though, 'cause I know better than to mess with a Jersey girl.

So Saturday night we went to Brooklyn to further hang with friends Sara and Pedro, and Brian and Dana came too, and to get to Brooklyn, Kelli and I drove around Queens a bit--maybe on purpose, maybe not. I saw Queens Boulevard, Entourage fans. Really, though, what Queens means to me is All in the Family, and what Brooklyn means to me is Welcome Back Kotter ("Welcome to Brooklyn, 4th Largest City in America"). What Chicago means to me is Good Times, but that's neither here nor there. While visiting NYC, I spent my nights in Carlstadt, New Jersey, home of the finest everything bagel in America. Of course, each time we rolled into Jersey the theme to The Sopranos spun in my head. To get back to my modern day Brooklyn experience, we spent some time in a crafty hipster beer joint. Yep, good times. Some say I should move to Brooklyn.

And Sunday we had brunch in a very pink and delicious spot in Manhattan, where I guess the theme from Taxi should run through my head, but it doesn't. Then back through Queens to LaGuardia, and this interesting article awaited me in Minneapolis. Fun fact about my trip home: From the time I got in Sara's car in Midtown Manhattan to the time I walked into my home in St. Paul, five hours flat. Amazing.

One last fun fact about my trip: Kelli and (especially) I killed hours of R&R time watching Modern Family. Oh how times have changed. For one, TV theme songs are much shorter, plus I bet you didn't know that modern steps serve as awesome shoe horns, eh?

So now, what's my newest addition to my nonexistent bucket list? To find me a true Jersey girl. Yep. "O baby you . . . you got what I need. . . .

Gotta go.

Back to Bernie

 
I still dream about my favorite girl often. They're good dreams, us enjoying each others company. One of our favorite things to do was just relax in the yard, both of us comforted and intrigued by the other's presence. Bernie was co-dependent yet independent, meaning she wanted me around as much as possible but generally preferred to do her own thing when I was around. So we'd hang out in the yard, as I am now, me reading or typing, her watching doggie television through the fence.

I live on a dog freeway, a corner lot that during the nicer months features a near-endless stream of doggies and their people enjoying the relatively balmy air. Nowadays I put out a bowl of water for all the dogs who come by, so they can get a refresher while out for their evening gallop. Everyone thanks me for the water, dogs and their moms and dads alike, but it is really a trick to get people to bring their pooches down my block so I can see them, pet them, and talk to them. It's my way of having a dog without having a dog.

I met a really, really cute puppy today--some sort of Akita, about eight weeks old, and just a little playful ball of fur. The pup has a unique name, I can't remember it, because my memory sucks. Anyway though, little pup and I frolicked for a few minutes. She lives a few houses down, so hopefully the pup and I can get some good hang time in.

I have a pet rabbit--not really a pet, but a wild rabbit who comes back year after year and essentially lives in my backyard. I didn't have any pet rabbits when Bernie was here. Have you ever seen a rabbit sprawled like a dog sleeping? It's quite hilarious. I think the rabbit knows there is a fence here. He or she also lets me walk right past her, just two or three feet away. That's how bunny rabbit and I roll. Right now he or she has a friend over, which is the case starting at dusk every night. I don't ask them what they do when I turn out the lights. That's their business.

Time for me to turn out the lights.

Two Loves of My Life . . .

[Minnesota Wild's] Andrew Brunette's beloved Golden Retriever, Simon, preps to take part in tonight's "Let's Play Hockey" with Bruno's brother, Jamie.

 

Hockey and dogs, my two loves. Is this not the greatest photo ever? From the Minnesota Wild's Facebook Fan Page.

Missing You x 2

***Bernie running for me on our daily mountain trail in South Lake Tahoe, CA. (Oct. 1996)***

Dad,

They say dogs don't have a sense of time, but Bernie the Black Dog knows that it was two years ago today that I went to Puppy Heaven. I miss you. I miss our walks, you took me for one every day, even when you were tired or fussy. I miss how you were always nice to me, even when you were having a bad day. I miss how you would take my bowl, the last bit of food I always left, upstairs every night when we went to bed, so I could finish my kibble and sleep with a warm and fuzzy tummy. I miss how every night at bedtime you'd go to the bone bowl, grab Bernie a bone, and then playfully toss them to me when we got upstairs. I miss how you had two water bowls for me, one upstairs and one downstairs. I always had clean, fresh water because of you. I miss how you brushed me and kept my hair long and luxurious. I miss how you pet me, how you'd kiss my snout, how you'd talk to me, how you always took me on rides even though my hair got everywhere. I miss all these things.

Most of all, I just miss you.

I bit your hand the first day you had me, I barked ferociously the first day you went to work. You could have given up on Bernie, but you didn't. I always knew I was a good dog even when the people I was with before you had hated me and treated me badly. I used to look in your eyes, and you'd always look right back. My tail would wag, because I knew you loved me.

You loved me every day, even when I did things dogs aren't supposed to do. Do you remember when I ate the door at your apartment when we moved to Sacramento? You could have gotten mad, you could have given up on me. Instead, you worked so hard and kindly with me to make me feel at home, like I belonged with you. You treated me with so much love, and I loved giving you it back.

We lived a lot of places, Dad. I loved Tahoe, I was born there. I loved Elizabeth, she was so sweet when you weren't sure what to do with me. Poochie was my best friend, she helped me learn to be a good dog. I loved Sandy and her dogs, they treated me nice. I loved swimming in Lake Tahoe. I loved swimming in my mountain water hole. I loved chasing you through the mountains when you were on your bike. I always knew if I wandered you would be there for me when I turned the corner. You were always there for me, every day and every night.

Sacramento was cool, though you know I didn't like that apartment. We had so much fun, though, in the beaver pool and running through the park. I remember that cat, Oliver, at Denise's. Those were fun battles. Remember how Oliver and I would start fighting in the middle of the night? It was a dog's dream, though that cat had sharp claws.

Then we took a long drive. I whined a little in the car 'cause I wasn't sure where we were going. I was scared of being abandoned again, but I always knew in my heart you would be with me forever. I loved how you would stop along our journey so I could swim in the Pacific Ocean and all those pretty lakes. We ended up in Minnesota, and I loved every minute with you there.

You built a fence in the yard for me right away, because you knew I loved to be out in nature, watching the birds, watching the people walk by. You'd leave the backdoor open so I could walk in and out to check in with you then back to my yard. We'd get the mail together every day. We'd go to your mom and dad's. They have that beautiful lake I always swam in. Your mom has the kindest voice, and she would always give Bernie real bones and treats. I loved her. I could tell your dad was skeptical, but he warmed up to me and we became good friends. Cara and Marco would pet me, and I remember their baby, Eli. I'm glad I got to meet him. You always took me to the Mississippi River to laugh and play. You always made me an important part of your day.

And I remember every day. We lived in California, Nevada, and Minnesota. You took me to Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, North Dakota, Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Texas. I swam in the Pacific Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, the Mississippi River, Lake Tahoe, and many other water wonderlands. Every day with you was my favorite day.

I never really got old, did I Dad? I was in really good shape my whole life. I did get confused and lost though once at Mom and Dad's. I was gone from you for so long, but I knew if I kept looking I would find you, or you would find me. I was so tired when you found me, so tired. I was scared, and I knew you knew that as soon as you found me. You sweetly picked me up and put me in the car with you, and kindly held me in your arms in the backseat. I knew everything was okay again. It was always okay with you.

I wish I wouldn't have gotten sick, I would have stayed much longer. Never was I luckier to have the best Dad in the world than when I was sick. You made me awesome food I could get down my swollen throat easier--hamburger, rice, and my favorite dog food. You always treated me in the same wonderful way even though I was a bit different than I used to be. You took extra care and made me feel more important than ever.

I remember New Year's Eve, a week before I went to Puppy Heaven, when you stayed home with me. We sat on the kitchen floor together, you feeding me all sorts of goodness--milk, hot dogs, yummy canned dog food, cheese. You are the best. I never saw sadness in your eyes, just delight that we were together. I never had sadness in my eyes with you.

You had to make hard decisions, but they were always the best decisions. You took me to the hospital and they made me feel awful with their medicine. I know you felt bad. Know that I only loved you more for caring so much and trying to help me. You never gave up on me, Dad.

Two years ago today, I felt really bad. I was scared but never lonely. You stayed home and helped me, calmed me as I struggled. You cried and told me that you had to let me go, to a place with Poochie and all the other great dogs that have ever lived. It was cold that day, a fresh dusting of snow. You sweetly led me to the car, my paw prints in the snow drawing my journey. I didn't want to get out of the car at the vet, Dad. I was tired and never really liked that place anyway. You picked me up and set me down, I walked in with you. The blanket they put on the floor with me was the softest blanket ever. I was so comfortable with my blanket and your voice as you pet me in all of my favorite spots. I felt bad for having to go, but you kept telling me it's okay. I closed my eyes knowing we were saying goodbye but that we would always be together forever. You are my Dad.

I see you crying now as you read this. It's okay. I love you and am with you every day. I know all your friends, and Oliver the dog, and the pretty wooden dog in your window. I love my blog and read it every day, and I show all the pretty pics to my friends here when we take a break from play. I love how you still say goodnight to me and have my fur and me at your bedside. I hear you talk to me every day. I walk with you. I see you laugh. I've seen you cry over some stuff lately, don't be sad. Hear the sweet song I sing for you with my beautiful voice you love. You will feel better.

I love my new home, but it doesn't have you. Poochie is good, and she misses you too. Everything I am is because of you. Bernie the Black Dog is never sad, always glad. Glad that you are and always will be my wonderful wonderful Dad.

Love, Bernie