New Year's Resolution, Same As Last Year...

For all of my adult life, and some of my teen years as well, I've had a love/hate relationship with vodka and beer. More love than hate, really. Both daughters enjoy a drink as well. I'd say that I don't know where they get that from but, of course, I do. At age 32, Ruth seems to have learned to appreciate the benefits of moderation. Hannah and I do too, but that's more about frequency than quantity. When she or I start in, we're on a mission. So out of Hannah's concern that we may be out together on a perfectly pleasant walk somewhere and SPLAT! my liver could fall out onto the sidewalk, Hannah challenged me to a month of total sobriety. That was last January,2014. We both completed our 31 days successfully. I marveled at how well my workouts went in the gym each morning and how limber I felt during the day. Not being a rocket scientist, I couldn't figure out why at first. I told Hannah that I really didn't like myself when I was drinking nightly, but frankly, I don't like myself stone sober day after day either. I really need to be able to throw a string of firecrackers into the fire of life, at least once in a while. We agreed to do the same challenge this January. Tomorrow. (That sounds really soon...) The penalty for breaking the pact? A reset. We have to start the 30 days all over again if we have a drink. So we'll start in on the 31 day plan again at midnight. After the month is over? I'm heading down to South America to see Hannah in Medellin. We plan to celebrate our mutual sobriety... with lots of cold Colombian beer...  

Now & Then

As a younger parent, I just assumed that we would have our kids for 18 years or so. Then they would go off into the world and that would be that. No one ever told me what an unending source of pride and joy they would become as we sit back and watch them be the strong, independent, caring adults they are out in the world. But another thing I never really knew, is how much I would long for time with those little kids again. I want to shoot the young adults with a ray gun and turn them back into the rug rats they once were, just for a few hours. I miss those guys too.

All Is Well...

I really didn't pay much attention to the familiar sound of her nails hitting the concrete stairs as she came down the three steps into the great room. She brushed by my leg, tail wagging and head nodding eagerly up and down with her tennis ball held tight, waiting for me to notice, inviting me to play. She was doing her version of a dog dance, back and forth, happy to be with us, healthy and eager for some play time. Delighted to see her, and amazed, I asked Carla to pay attention, knowing that Kira had died of old age more than three months before. It couldn't be real, but it was. I thought perhaps I was dreaming and asked Carla what she thought. Carla agreed it was really happening and the familiar company of my best buddy trumped logic. I buried my nose deep in the fur of her neck breathing deeply of that wonderful, comforting scent of my big girl.

The next morning, the dream came flooding back as I slowly looped and examined each moment in my mind's eye. Kira had simply stopped by to let us know that she was fine, her arthritis was gone, and that she loved us every bit as much as we loved her. Death had not changed that at all.

Scat Stories

Here's an important tip for all boys, and for men who never stop thinking like boys, to keep in their bag of tricks. It's free, easy, and works every time. This is what happened the first time I did it...

Meandering slowly down a footpath in the Virginia woods on that breezy Spring day, sharp sunlight knifed unpredictably through the high leaf canopy overhead, allowing moments of intense sunshine to tease our skin with it's warmth. I was a young guy in my early twenties, there with my girlfriend and my mother. All of us were visiting my Grandparents that day, enjoying grandpa's woods. I had invited Mom to walk with us to get some air, taking advantage of the opportunity for the two ladies to get to know each other.

As we poked along a small stone trail, the girls fell behind, lost in the sun mottled colors offered by a patch of wild flowers that expressed their joy with an explosion of reds and purples. I took the opportunity to unwrap the Tootsie Roll that I had tucked into my jeans pocket earlier, and pop it into my mouth. A few quick chews made it ready for me to spit out onto a large rock in the center of our path.

Turning quickly back to the where the ladies were lost in spring flowers, we started once again to poke along, with no particular agenda other than to enjoy the moment. As we approached the rock where my freshly masticated Tootsie Roll sat prominently on display, I was ready for some fun.

Pointing out the spot, I said excitedly: “Oh look, animal droppings! They look fresh too!”
Kneeling down as the ladies hovered overhead, I pushed a finger into the goo. “They're still warm!” Mother said: “Oh Hugh...”

I continued: “I think they're from a fox, some small meat eater anyway. No bug exoskeletons like you see in toad or bat excrement. Definitely a small carnivore. Most likely a Fox.”

Mother and Stephanie stood above me, mute, seemingly impressed by my fecal analysis and repulsed by my finger full of wet animal shit hovering in the air between us.

Without pausing, I popped my finger into my mouth and licked it clean.

Grinning up at them, lips and teeth smeared with wet chunks of brown shit I said: “Yup, it's definitely a Fox. A red female with kits. You can tell from the acidity.”

Both were horrified, speechless, and I like to think, a little bit impressed. Certainly they had bonded in an unspoken agreement that I was deeply disturbed in ways that were new to both of them, Mother and girlfriend, instantly on the same page, knowing without words that this particular son and boyfriend needed serious help.

Rushing ahead on the pretense of rinsing off in a stream that I knew to be just up the trail, grinning like a fool, I could hardly contain my pure, giddy joy for the moment.

Diffrent Paths, Together...

Our houses backed up to each other, a dirt path running between the garages was worn smooth from our back and forth. At age seven and for the next ten years, we were in choir together down at St Paul's, four days a week. We rode my motorcycle through our last two years of High School. The winter numbness in my hands, cold, frozen claws really, didn't warm until third period. This picture was taken in 1978, Athens, Ohio. David had earned a degree in Architecture from OU, I was in grad school studying Interpersonal Communications. But mostly I studied my new wife and the THC content of Colombian ganja that I got from my brother. David went on to a life of adventure. I moved back to the Washington, DC area for work and a domestic, predictable life. He and I couldn't be more different. David is happiest when sailing alone in rough water that tries to erase all trace of him and his boat. I just want to put on some tunes and make a nice pot of soup. Whenever we get together, nothing is changed between us. Close friends, more like brothers, really. We just pick it right up as if the time in between was seconds instead of years. Right this minute though, I have no idea where David is, or what adventure he's enjoying, more frequently, now that he's retired. I still work, part time, and look forward to later today when I get to do my favorite things...going home, putting on some tunes, and making a great dinner to share with Carla, who I still study but have yet to figure out.


.