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Sep

27

2011

My Favorite Person Turns 40

Forty years ago today, my late mother-in-law gave birth to my favorite of her five boys. Thank God they didn’t stop at four.

Nineteen years ago, I met and fell in love with Dave.

Five years ago, I attended a week-long seminar for work, led by one of the most respected experts in my field. I sat next to said expert at dinner one night. At one point, as casually as “what looks good to you on the menu,” the respected expert turned to me and asked,

“So what made you fall in love with your husband?”

If you don’t have a stock answer to this question, I suggest coming up with one just in case. I think Dave was as close to love at first sight as it gets, but I didn’t have a list of reasons why I fell in love with him. I just did. The question still hung in the air and my brain was stubbornly blank except for one thing, a thing that forced me to stifle a giggle.

I can’t even remember what I ended up saying, but I’m sure it was nonsense and disappointing. Part of me wishes I had just blurted out “because he’s good in bed,” even though that would have been 900 kinds of inappropriate in this context.

There was never any doubt I loved Dave. I chose Dave the first time I met him. I keep my feelings closely guarded for a little while to protect myself in case he didn’t feel the same. Luckily for me, he did feel the same and had no problem telling me so. I’m so grateful he chose me too.

I was attracted to Dave from the moment I saw him. The first time I remember seeing him, he was standing close by at a party in his suite so that others, including me, could sit and be comfortable. At 6’4″, I had to look a long way up to see him and the view was impressive. He made me feel all fluttery with excitement.

I could say he’s handsome or adorable or hot and all of those things are true. But I think the most accurate way to describe him is beautiful. His eyes are flecked with gold and looking into them calms me. He is this giant of a man who couldn’t be more gentle. I bought him a tee-shirt a few years ago that says “I’m a giver.” And it’s true. He thinks of others before himself.

When I met him, he often wore a hat that simply said “Happy.” I started calling him Happy and the name fit. Dave was an easy-going, generally happy guy. He was the perfect foil for me, since if I were wound up any tighter I might break a spring.

He makes wherever I am feel like home. Early in our relationship he told me he shows love for people through food. But he didn’t have to tell me that since it was a Saturday morning and he had come over to my room with croissants and hot chocolate. We snuggled in my bed and watched cartoons. Just typing that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside even though it’s been almost 20 years since that day.

I like to tease Dave about how he doesn’t do grand gestures, but being Queen of the grand gesture (like borrowing this idea to get Dave 40 gifts for his 40th birthday) I realize how much easier it is to do the occasional grand gesture than what Dave does for me day in and day out. He is the King of everyday thoughtful gestures. He does all of the cooking and he is excellent at it. He carries heavy things, reaches things that are too high, and drops me off when it’s really cold or raining.

He believes in me and supports me in everything I do. He gets up ungodly early to go to my races and be there for me at the finish line. When I ran my first race a couple of years ago, it was chilly and drizzled the whole time. He drove me there, stayed the whole time, waited for me at the finish line, and had homemade hot chocolate in a thermos waiting for me when I was done.

Dave also knows everything, which comes in handy. He read his family’s encyclopedia set growing up because he felt like it. His Dad and four brothers get into debates at the dinner table when they get together and they are all very stubborn, except for Dave actually. But they often defer to Dave’s knowledge, which makes me proud. He’s sort of become my encyclopedia and it’s actually disconcerting when he says “I don’t know” in response to something I’ve asked him.

But he’s modest. He generally only talks if he feels he has something important to say. That he talked to me rather freely from the very beginning was an early sign that he liked me too. My mother-in-law once told me Dave didn’t say a word until he was four and when he spoke, his first words were a complete sentence. I always thought that was so adorable and so Dave.

Dave is the only person who has ever made me feel as comfortable to spend time with as I am by myself. And yes, he’s good in bed. Maybe I should have just said that.

Here is a video I made to honor the first 40 years of Dave. I’m in love with the picture of him at 1:05. If I’d known him then, I totally would have hit that. I had all of Dave’s family photos digitized and it was hard to cull them. So a longer video, for the truly Dave-obsessed (i.e., me) can be found here.

Happy Birthday, Dave! I love you.

Happy 40th Birthday, Dave – short version

Uploaded by Logy Express on 2011-09-26.

Sep

19

2011

Sweetness and Light

A narrow staircase led to the loft floating hidden above the rest of the room. Sparsely furnished with only a mattress and air, it still held the two of us comfortably.

Laced together, we drifted in and out of sleep with the clicking of the tape player reversing sides. Swirling guitars and ethereal vocals drifted up from below.

“You are the sweetness in my eyes…”

Right outside the open windows was a slice of brilliant blue sky, dotted with cottony clouds. Partially covered by a light sheet, a breeze scented with promise glided over our bare skin, adding its cool caress to our embrace.

I stirred and tightened my arms around his strong, yet yielding body. I could not quite fully envelop him as he could me. Burrowing deeper into him, his warmth radiated over me as I lightly slid my hands over his smooth skin. Resting my head on his chest, his rhythmic heartbeat calmed my own.

I breathed in his dewy scent. I felt the rise and fall of his breathing under me. As the gentle movement lulled me back to sleep, I saw spring green warmed by slanted beams of late afternoon sunlight.

“You are the juice I need for life
You are the sweetness in my eyes…”

*****************************************************

This week’s RemembeRED memoir prompt: “We’re going to let narrative take a backseat. Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail. Describe it to us in rich, evocative details. Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.”

Rich description is not one of my strengths, in writing or other communication so I decided to challenge myself by participating in this prompt. The title and the quoted song lyrics are from the following Lush song.

No Title

Lush – Sweetness & Light Gala – 1990 England See my life (I’ve been so tired) See my self (I’ve been uptight) See my life (I’ve been so tired) See my sight (I could disappear) See with you memories fading fast And with you it’s never going to last You

Sep

15

2011

Toxic

I stake out the far corner of the dressing room, but there is nowhere to hide since I’m sharing the room with two friends. Crouching over to shield myself from view, I feel naked before I even undress. I wish I hadn’t grabbed an outfit to try.

My friends chatter away and their preoccupation allows me to change. I assess the skirt and blouse in silence. Under no illusion about how I look with these 15 extra pounds, the mirror tells me the truth. The outfit does not perform any miracles. But it fits. It is comfortable. I would actually wear it. It’s passable.

As I start to change back into my own clothes, one friend asks for feedback on her outfit. When I turn my attention to them, I realize she is trying on the same blouse as me.

My other friend answers before I can. Looking at both of us, she tells my friend, “It looks good on you,” before turning back to me to say, “but Tracy, it makes you look pregnant.”

I involuntarily bristle and can feel my face contort into a grimace of pain. Stung, my instinct is to flee, but where would I go? My feet are stuck to the floor anyway. All I can do is stare at her. I’m speechless. What seems like a flicker of regret passes over her face, so I wait for an apology.

Instead, she lets out a little laugh and adds, “Maybe it’s the skirt, the blouse might look better with something else?”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the dressing room. They both look at me expectantly. It’s my turn to say something.

I turn back to the mirror and study my appearance again. Still the same. I look the same in this outfit as I do in most others. Half-formed tears tickling my eyes and throat, I gesture to myself and manage a weak, “this is what I look like.” I try and fail to keep the hurt out of my voice.

She stares back at me blankly and says nothing. The room is now stifling, the air stale and warm. I desperately want out. When our other friend says she needs a different size for something, I grab the item from her hand and am out the door before she finishes saying, “are you sure?”

When I step into the cool air of the store, I can breathe again. I shake my arms as if the hurt and anger were rain drops I could fling off of me. Tears blur my vision as I look for my friend’s item. A beam of sunlight shines through the store’s doors. A fantasy of walking out, of being done, overtakes me.

My car isn’t here. My purse is still in the dressing room. I am not wearing my own clothes.

I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the flow of tears. I find my friend’s item and start walking back to the dressing room. I take a deep breath. I have a long day ahead of me. I stay, but I’m no longer really there.

*********************************************************

I’m linking this to Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop, in response to the prompt: “Write about a time you wanted to disappear.”

A (very) few of you might find this post familiar. I had originally written about this for a prompt to write about a fight, but the original post never felt right because a.) there was no fight and writing about what I could but didn’t say in anger didn’t make me feel any better and b.) the person I’m most angry with is myself. When I saw the Mama Kat prompt, I finally understood what was wrong with the original. To pretend I have a sense of humor about this:

Sep

5

2011

Along For The Ride

Do I miss my childhood? I miss four things about being a kid: my Gram, the close relationship I had with my older brother, summers being something special, and the excitement of Christmas. And maybe MTV playing music videos.

I’m not secretive about not being a kid person. Not a very popular opinion, I know, but at least I’m consistent. I didn’t like kids even when I was a kid. I didn’t like being a kid.

Kids have no control over most of what happens to them.

Other people made my choices. My room was painted pink. I hated pink. I wanted my hair long. My Mom insisted on keeping it short. I cried every time she had it cut.

My older brother would babysit me during the summers. Mike wanted to play tennis with his buddy one day. He wouldn’t let babysitting cramp his style. Guess who had to go with them?

I couldn’t think of anything less fun than walking two miles in the blazing sun to watch sub-amateur tennis. Mike suggested I ride my bike. Did I mention the route was uphill? Huffing and puffing within a few blocks, my little legs couldn’t keep the pedals turning. So I had to walk two miles uphill in the blazing sun while pushing my bike.

Once at the courts, guess whose job it was to retrieve every unforced error (and there were many)? We still talk about that little outing.

On the other hand, I couldn’t think of anything more fun than baking (and eating) cookies. I asked to bake all the time and Mom rarely agreed.

“Why not,” I would whine.

“Because I don’t want to make cookies,” she would say.

“But I’ll do it,” I would insist.

“No, you’re too little. I’d have to help you and I don’t feel like making cookies right now.” Mom clearly identified with Hillary Clinton on making cookies.

Even as a preteen, I still wasn’t allowed. Although, I did almost set our house on fire twice during high school, so maybe she was right to keep me away from the oven.

Kids are annoying.

Kids have no self-control. Maybe because they have no say in anything else, they figure they might as well make everyone else miserable too.

I remember refusing to go to bed one night for my Gram. I danced around, sang at the top of my lungs, jumped on the couch, and generally acted like an escaped mental patient. Gram’s look said, “I’m too old for this shit.” Although she probably thought it in Polish.

I felt exhilarated and terrified. You see, I knew I was tired. I could barely stand up. But I had wired crazy kid brain. My misbehavior felt like something I watched happen rather than something I chose to do. I felt sorry for my Gram and I actually annoyed myself. I was powerless.

I can look back on my childhood fondly now. But I don’t really miss it.

This little uplifting piece was inspired by the memoir writing prompt at Write on Edge. The prompt asked us to use the image of the crayon for inspiration and to begin the post with the words… “I miss my childhood…” I feel the need to point out I wouldn’t have colored in pink even if that crayon were the only one left in the box.

Aug

30

2011

Don’t Be The Tiger

This week’s memoir assignment at Write on Edge was to write about a memory of yourself with someone else, as other people help shape who we are through their words to us, their actions, or their lack of action.

I wrote this to stand on its own, but it’s also a continuation of a previous memoir piece (the first RemembeRED prompt I ever responded to), which can be found here. I decided to write more of this story even though U2’s “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses” tells it better.

——————————————————————–

My boyfriend, if you could call him that, sat on my bed. When we weren’t “doing shit,” as my friend from across the hall so colorfully called making out, it was painfully obvious this relationship of convenience was neither a relationship nor convenient.

I willed him to kiss me so I wouldn’t have to think about it, but he started talking instead.

“I don’t understand why you hang out with me,” he began tentatively.

Huh, that’s not a question… I held my breath and waited.

He went on, “Say you’re hanging out with a tiger…,” he paused to see if I was following.

“Uh, yeah?,” I already knew where this was going, so I nodded, urging him to get to the point.

“You say you want the tiger to stay, but it’s sort of awkward with a lot of silences.”

I gave him more silence, so he continued, “Then a cheetah comes around. You come alive. You’re friendlier and happier. You talk and smile and laugh. So why do you bother with the tiger at all?”

There wasn’t going to be any doing shit tonight.

Apart from that, it was hard to decide what annoyed me most about this conversation: how dead on he was, how stupid I felt for not breaking up with him after his girlfriend had visited weeks earlier, his hypocrisy, or his unnecessary use of metaphor.

Ironically, if I hadn’t been the most inhibited version of myself with him, I would have called him out on the last two. Are you saying you think I like Mark and Ron better than you? Are you aware of the irony here?

Instead I continued his metaphor, “No cheetah has ever been interested in me.”

I’d overcome my overpowering inhibition when with him and gave voice to my most embarrassing truth. And it didn’t seem to hurt him, or make him angry, or even make him pity me, because he simply didn’t buy it.

“I find that hard to believe. Am I just someone to be with until a good cheetah comes along?”

You really don’t get it. I don’t believe anyone else will ever be interested in me. Your attention intoxicates me.

But I had to force myself to speak again, so all I could get out was, “I don’t know, but isn’t that pretty much what I am to you?”

Only a week before, he’d said he didn’t know the real me. He expressed surprise I hadn’t told him I loved him yet. Before the big cat discussion, I think he told himself I loved him but just couldn’t say it. Or that I was holding back emotionally and if I would just let go…but now he was visibly upset whenever I smiled at, laughed with, or talked to a cheetah.

While he was surprised I didn’t love him, I didn’t see how anyone could fall in love under these conditions.

I was looking for a sign this relationship was good for anything beyond taking my mind off the cheetah. But now he wasn’t even doing that anymore. He actively reminded me of the damn cheetah.

He always insisted I wasn’t a substitute for the long-distance girlfriend who had reportedly agreed to see other people. Something about his vehemence about this and the way he wouldn’t give up working on me suggested he was auditioning me to replace her. Or just trying to get in my pants. But his motivation wasn’t important. Either way, he was right, I wasn’t my best self with him.

I don’t know what he needed, but I needed a cheetah.

Aug

26

2011

Too Soon

One indulgence in a life spent caring for others. Tethered to an oxygen tank, she was often left behind. Until she left us behind.

—————————————————————————-

This week’s Red Writing Hood prompt was to write a story as a tweet–in 140 characters or less. This is a story I have wanted to tell, but didn’t feel like it was mine. Somehow keeping it to tweet length made it easier.

Aug

25

2011

Thirty-Eight

I’d like to welcome everyone who found Logy Express through Freshly Pressed on WordPress.com! I was overwhelmed, in a good way, by all of your thoughtful comments. I’d love to keep the conversation going. Make yourselves at home. Perhaps you’d like a cold, refreshing beverage? We restock the Belgian beer annually.

I was on vacation during the whole Freshly Pressed thing. Oops. I’m still going through the comments and loving every second of it.

The notification about being Freshly Pressed came from someone who signed her email “Story Wrangler.” Who knew? I’m totally adding that to my list of coveted job titles.

I turned 38 this week and in honor of the occasion, I thought it would be fun to provide “38 More Things About Me.” At first I thought this would be difficult, but I’m the world’s foremost expert on me.

1. Red pandas are my favorite animal. I celebrated my birthday on Monday by visiting them at the Erie Zoo and riding the red panda (on the carousel, people!). EDITED TO ADD: Thanks to my friend Erin for the heads up about the carousel red panda!

2. I’m an introverted Leo. So while people can sometimes drain my energy and I don’t like calling attention to myself, I want people to notice, be interested in, and like me anyway. This is as problematic as it sounds.

3. I’m a recovering perfectionist. The phrase “don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good” could have been written about me. I’m working on being more efficient and simply letting some things go, because I have a lovely front porch on which I’m dying to sit.

4. My only sibling is nine years older than me. Due to his early influence, my taste in music overlaps disturbingly with that of a middle-aged man (see: Rush).

5. I curse. A lot. (see: older brother).

6. I have no first cousins.

7. My Mother preferred to keep me in shorter hair styles growing up, which I detested. Ever since it has been up to me, I’ve kept my hair long.

8. I love having blue eyes. One of my teachers in high school once said, apropos of nothing, “dark-haired, blue-eyed women are the most attractive women in the world.”

9. Lest you think this swelled my dark-haired, blue-eyed head, another high school teacher once told me she could tell I was from the Baltic countries because of my “pale, oddly-shaped face.”

10. There are a bunch of things most people take for granted that I can’t do: snap my fingers, whistle, wink, tie shoelaces. OK, I can tie shoelaces, but I have to tie two loops together.

11. I need more sleep.

12. One of my favorite things is the feeling of waking up and realizing I can sleep longer.

13. I attended Catholic school from preschool through twelfth grade. Wearing a uniform for 13 years did not help my fashion sense.

14. Catholic school did an excellent job of teaching me to think for myself. I thought myself right out of being Catholic.

15. At eighth grade graduation, I received an award for “honor,” which I still think is one of the coolest things ever.

16. Tom Ridge doesn’t believe I am lazy. He conducted my alumni interview when I applied to Harvard and argued with me when I replied “I am lazy” to his question about my biggest weakness. He also said he thought I’d have no trouble getting into Harvard (I did not get into Harvard).

17. The first presidential election in which I could vote was 1992. It was the first and last time I ever got excited by our political process. Between parsing the meaning of the word “is,” and the horror of the 2000 “election,” I now have to fight the urge to yell “la-la-la, I’m not listening!” when politicians speak.

18. I am smart enough to be painfully aware of how much I don’t know/understand.

19. Discussing things I don’t know much about makes me uncomfortable.

20. Tennis is my favorite sport.

21. I spent one summer during high school in the Netherlands and a college semester in Belgium. But my knowledge of Dutch/Flemish is limited to counting and phrases from Yahtzee.

22. I love taking pictures. I am irritated when I have to use Photoshop.

23. My only recurring nightmare involves really needing to go to the bathroom and not being able to find an acceptable place to do so. I go to the bathroom a lot.

24. I’ve never wanted kids. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve held a baby.

25. Although…I never wanted to get married either, and then this happened.

26. I hate musicals. They all remind me of the scene in “Elf” when Buddy sings “I’m in a store and I’m singing!”

27. Music, on the other hand, makes my world infinitely better.

28. My favorite band is the Police. For some reason this was the world’s most uncool thing to my classmates. There are millions of Police fans, and somehow I have never met another one.

29. Howard Stern wakes me up every weekday morning.

30. I own over 100 exercise videos and DVDs, have worked out with some of my favorite instructors, and have even seen the filming of several videos, but since 2008 have gotten most of my exercise through running.

31. Glass half empty or full? I once reported being “cautiously not pessimistic” about one of my projects during a staff meeting.

32. A nickname I’ve heard for my Myers-Briggs type is “the Inspector.” I don’t think all of the Inspector characteristics fit me and I certainly don’t believe rules should never be broken, but I do often notice when they are broken and I also sort of enjoy pointing it out. Maybe I should be a meter maid?

33. I have a thing for frogs.

34. I don’t get flip-flops. They are neither attractive nor comfortable. They are good for the beach, pedicures, and slipping on for emergency dog walks. I could never commute in them.

35. Inept reporting of research findings irritates the crap out of me.

36. Dave does all the cooking. I don’t like to cook. When I cook, my food tastes only of my effort. I’m horrible with knives and my eyes tear up even half a house away from a cut onion. If I had to fend for myself, I’d eat a lot of takeout, eggs, starchy carbs, and dessert.

37. I brush my dog‘s teeth every day.

38. My favorite element is Molybdenum.

Aug

16

2011

Deprived

We sat in silence in the back of the cab. The driver wanted to share one of his poems. Oh God, I didn’t think this ride could get any worse. The driver probably thought we were flying to a funeral. No, we were going on vacation.

Six months earlier I had broached the subject of a “big trip” to celebrate our tenth anniversary. We earn a good living, we don’t have kids tying us down, why don’t we ever go anywhere, do anything exciting? We settled on Belgium. Exotic enough to mark the occasion, but comfortable since I had lived there for a semester in college.

At first, excitement fueled marathon internet research. There was so much to do. After much mental hand-ringing, I booked an apartment and a flight and was too overwhelmed to do more.

A few weeks before our departure, I started to panic. I would never be ready in time. I asked Dave for ideas. I rejected his suggestions as not sufficiently informed by our books or my inflexible idea of what it meant to be ready.

I read the travel guides cover to cover. I spent hours searching the internet, printing custom maps, creating spreadsheets with sight-seeing and restaurant ideas (sorted by location). All while worrying about being ready.

I became fixated on the perfunctory section in the travel guide about security. Somehow “be aware of your surroundings” turned into an internet search that uncovered a murder over a MP3 player on the Brussels metro.

Dave used his iPod all the time. He was trusting and not very observant. I became convinced something bad could happen to him on this trip. Rationally I knew this was extremely unlikely, but my mind kept conjuring up terrifying scenarios, including death, anyway. No trip was worth any of these scenarios.

I started to dread my looming…vacation.

When we arrived in Brussels, I was horrified to find my French had deteriorated so badly I couldn’t communicate. I hadn’t prepared enough, I wasn’t ready. The first morning, I couldn’t finish my breakfast. Worse, I could feel my body about to reject what I’d already eaten. Even though I was exhausted, my insomnia the first night didn’t surprise me. Rick Steves had warned me about that.

Surely I would sleep the second night. I got comfortable and tried to clear my mind. After hours of lying still without sleep, I tucked deeper into the fetal position and stuck my hands under my chin. My fingers rested lightly on my neck and I felt my heart pound at double my resting heart rate. Images and thoughts raced through my mind, unintelligible but disturbing. I did not sleep for one minute.

The nausea didn’t let up. In a country we had selected in large part for the food, I ate only to avoid passing out. Walking around the city, I felt weighed down by my brand new pants dragging on the ground.

Midway through the week, we sat at the small kitchen table in the dreary apartment. I choked down tiny bites of takeout. I worried about getting sick on our trip to Bruges the next day. I felt guilty Dave wasn’t getting to eat any real food, that I was ruining this trip for him.

I wanted to tell him I’d been counting down the days until it was over and how worried I was that I couldn’t even enjoy a vacation. All I could say was “I just want to go home.” The words caught in my throat and I sobbed.

I made a deal with whoever might be listening. If I got through this vacation, I would figure out why I made everything so difficult and fix it.

—————————————————–

This post is in response to this week’s RemembeRED writing prompt.

“This week we’d like you to write about a moment in your life when you knew something had to change drastically. Really explore the moment.”

I decided the word limit should be 619 words. I managed to hit the mark exactly!

“How was your trip” was never such an unwelcome question. I do have some pleasant memories of the trip, like the way Dave held my hand. He was steady and comforting and wonderful.

Dave told me after the trip that all my rules (no iPod!) freaked him out so much he was afraid of the little old ladies who’d tried to strike up a conversation with us on the train to Bruges. I’m sure they planned to stab him for his iPod, then sell me into slavery.

This was really hard to share. I’m telling myself everyone has things they want (need) to change. And that being open about it can only help.

Aug

14

2011

Chuck Dog Fluffy Pants

Seven years ago we adopted Chuck, my fluffy muffin. Since we don’t know when he was born, we celebrate his birthday on the anniversary of the day we brought him home.

I have always wanted a dog. But my Mom can’t stand to be around animals, which meant no dog for me. When Dave and I bought a townhouse after we got married, I thought I could finally get a dog. Wrong. Dave was against getting a dog. He worried our new house was too small and yard-less. Also there was that being responsible for another living creature thing.

My longing for a dog got so bad that I would sometimes cry if I saw a cute dog when we went out. I held firm. Dave simply needed to be convinced.

I had been looking at Petfinder for a couple of months already before Dave finally agreed to meet some dogs (“How convenient! I happen to already have a list of possible dogs!”) in 2004. All spring and summer, I searched, filled out applications, got friends to serve as references, and promised a kidney to various rescue groups and shelters. The requirements to adopt a dog here were unbelievably stringent. There were home visits.

I wanted cute and fluffy and for some reason cute and fluffy seemed to correlate with separation anxiety issues. We both work full-time. After months of rescue groups and shelters saying no way to our adopting the cute, the fluffy, the separation anxiety-ridden, and several meetings with dogs who could take or leave us, I finally found Chuck.

The pictures were poor quality, but in them the sun lit him from behind and he looked like a fluffy angel. Key phrases popped out from the description: “…barely tops 30 lbs (including the fluff)…beautiful brindle coat and thick mane…uniquely gorgeous….infectious smile…barely a year old…good humor…foster says “to know him is to love him”…excellent for a first-time dog owner…moderate energy…non-destructive…housebroken…no signs of any separation anxiety.”

I stayed up until 1AM filling out the application. When the woman who had rescued Chuck came over for the home visit, Chuck’s Foster Dad brought Chuck along too.

Chuck was charming. He seemed happy to meet us. He had clearly been learning to give paw, because he continually pawed at us while we pet him. It was super cute. He soaked in our attention like it was his job.

Dave is not a very demonstrative person. He was petting Chuck, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I was relieved when the rescuer suggested we take Chuck on a quick walk to discuss things in private.

When Dave didn’t say anything, I asked, “What do you think?”

Quintessential Dave, he replied, “About what?”

“About Chuck,” I said with exasperation.

“Oh, I love Chuck!”

So it was settled. We were adopting Chuck.

When we first got him, we spent a lot of time staring at him, doting on him, and being blown away by how cute he was. I thought it was the newness of it, that we’d get over it. But we’re both still overwhelmed by how adorable he is at least once a day. When we’re out walking him, people often stop to comment. In fact, Chuck seems surprised when people pass him by without doting on him.

Even my Mom is a closeted Chuck fan. When we visited her last Christmas, I know she thought I couldn’t hear her, but I totally overheard her tell a friend on the phone that Chuck “is a beautiful dog.”

Over the years I have taken a boatload of Chuck pictures. Here are some of the best photos of our first seven years with Chuck. Happy birthday, Chuckle Puppy! We love you!

Chuck Dog Fluffy Pants-The First 7 Years

Song: Ween “Oh My Dear” This video uses copyrighted material in a manner that does not require approval of the copyright holder. It is a fair use under copyright law. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research.

Aug

4

2011

Things I Learned From My iPod Shuffle Challenge

In the two weeks since I finished my iPod shuffle challenge, during which I listened to a complete shuffle of all the songs on my iPod without skipping any, I’ve been restless about music. New shuffles bore me, my music seems stale. It feels like I’ve “just” heard all of it. So I’ve been listening to albums in their entirety, mostly because it feels different and because I can. I found that Abbey Road is almost exactly the length of one way of my commute. Listening to that album was one of the first things I felt like doing. Hearing side two Abbey Road songs during the shuffle felt wrong, as I explained in week 1.

So what did I learn from the iPod shuffle challenge?

* I have more patience than I thought. I did it. I listened to 2,724 songs without skipping a single second of any song.

* Since I have now given every song a chance to wow me, it’s completely OK to delete songs I don’t like very much. I erred on the side of inclusion when I originally ripped my CDs, but I don’t have to store my entire CD collection on my iPod. Good lord, no.

* The key lesson is my desperate need for some new music. Both new to me, since I feel like I’ve totally lived my current collection of songs at the moment, as well as new as in not old. Most of the songs I highlighted during the challenge were released prior to the current decade. I’ve had trouble finding new bands I like for a long time now.

Suggestions are most welcome. Please, for the love of all that is holy, share any great new artists you love. I need a music freshening.

I was excited to get an invitation to try the free version of Spotify. It’s pretty cool, basically in exchange for putting up with the occasional ad, I can listen to almost any song I want whenever I want, without paying for it.

But there’s a catch…your own imagination. I don’t know about you, but being able to search for anything I might want to hear but don’t already own makes my mind go totally blank. I keep using Spotify to listen to the same two songs, because they are the only ones that come to mind. The first is Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” which is one of the very few new songs I’ve been exposed to and liked since starting the shuffle challenge. It’s fun to sing.

Then there’s Katie Costello’s “Stranger,” which I heard on “Switched at Birth,” and was pleased to find on Spotify. It’s one of those songs that you like, even though listening to it evokes feelings of melancholy that make you want to jump off a cliff. Wait, just me? Since I think about the issues I believe she’s covering in this song a lot anyway (how well can we ever really know another person?), I find it compelling. Go ahead and listen. It’s sort of a cathartic sad. Really.

* The last thing I learned during the shuffle challenge is that my iPod is missing stuff. Some songs I love never made it onto my iPod and I need to fix that. These songs include:

Steppenwolf “Born to Be Wild” This song, as well as “Magic Carpet Ride,” were part of the soundtrack to my post graduation trip to Niagara Falls with friends. I was not particularly wild, but I had the opportunity to be wild, so there you go.

Ace “How Long” There’s definitely a cheesy 70s lite rock vibe to this, but I love it anyway. I already expressed my love of Paul Carrack’s voice when Squeeze’s “Tempted” came up in the shuffle. I would listen to him sing the phone book (and I sort of feel like I have…Mike + the Mechanics).

Marshall Crenshaw “Someday, Someway” I don’t suppose anyone has ever before compared this to Buddy Holly? I love that I found a video of his performance on Letterman, so that’s what I embedded.

Elvis Costello “Veronica” For the longest time, this was the only Elvis Costello song I liked. More of his songs have since grown on me, but this one is still my favorite, especially now that I’ve known a Veronica (Dave’s Mom).

When I went to see Paul Simon in concert a couple of months ago, I was shocked to realize that although I have Simon & Garfunkel’s whole catalog, I didn’t have any of Paul Simon’s solo music. Not even my favorite song. Not sure how that happened. So I listened to “The Obvious Child” on You Tube 500 times before and after that show.

The Cranberries “Dreams” Maybe everyone can point to a song that perfectly explains what it feels like to fall in love, but my song is a particularly good one, no? This song was released the month I met Dave. Our favorite radio station played it incessantly while the lyrics were happening to me. Somehow this CD never made it onto my iPod.

Mazzy Star “Fade Into You” This song has been on my “to buy/download” list for 17 years. Oops. Need to get on that.

Wedding Present “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” I don’t think the Watusi album was very well received. It’s even out of print, even though earlier albums are not. I think it must have been a rare happy period for David Gedge, and perhaps that turned off his hard-core fans, who like him full of angst. But I thought the songs were goofy and charming. There is just something extra compelling about a bitter guy in love.