Saturday Silence

Providence Place. That is where I started my Saturday.

Rhiana told me earlier in the week that she had a “big Saturday planned.” I can’t remember what day it was when she told me, maybe Thursday?

We originally thought that I would be working on Saturday. She planned to meet with her mother and look for numerous wedding related items.

Bridal shoes, bridal jewelry, bridesmaid’s jewelry, bridesmaid’s shoes.

Basically it was the normal reason to go shopping. Shoes and jewelry.

So when we found out on Friday that I would only have to work Sunday, Rhiana felt bad that I would be home by myself all day.

You see, I’ve been working a lot lately. Starting with Monday February 13th I worked eight days straight and eleven of twelve days. And starting today I will work seven days in a row and sixteen of the next eighteen days. You can see now that we aren’t getting a lot of non working days to spend together.

It has been tough, but when Rhiana realized I wouldn’t be working on Saturday I could tell the air was departing the balloon that represented Saturday’s shopping journey.

She said, “Well I do have to meet with my personal trainer.” A valid excuse, but a limited one. She did not want to cancel the trip with her mother. I could also tell that she didn’t want us to spend an entire day apart.

When Saturday morning arrived, Rhiana jumped out of bed at around 6 a.m. I had been up watching the morning news and we were going to slowly get our day underway. As usual 6 o’clock is when we let the dogs out and feed them. We rarely plan to get going this early on Saturdays and in the back of my mind, I was thinking I might settle back down for an hour or two more of shut eye.

A short time later, Rhiana’s leather clad cell phone rang out a classical tune and she was soon talking to her mother. She explained that she would need to go to her trainer first and would then catch up with her mom and hour or so after that.

“I have an appointment with Robin at 7:40. I will have to come home, shower, get dressed, and drive down city.” And the shopping trip never skipped a beat.

Like clockwork Rhiana asked what time it was and I told her she had ten minutes to make a twenty minute drive to meet her personal trainer.

“Explicative.”

Two hours later Rhiana had been through the shower and I walked into the bathroom and said, “I can come with you.” I think I took her by surprise. I don’t think she expected that to come from me, but she did welcome the idea.

“We can take your car, you can walk around the mall while mom and I shop the sale. If you get bored you can drive home and mom will bring me home.”

The deal was sealed. I jumped in the shower, we let the dogs out briefly, warmed up the car, and jettisoned ourselves to Providence Place.

Patti, Rhiana’s mom, seemed surprised to see me. Her mother introduced me to Inga the personal shopper whom proceeded to call Rhiana, “Rhonda.” Patti quickly corrected her and before my head stopped spinning I was being asked for feedback on an expensive pink suit…

“Um, I’m going to walk around the mall while you all shop.” With four women now giving me the look of permission, I exited stage right without ever giving my opinion one way or another. Sneaky, huh?

My first stop was the food court. It was barely 11:30 and most of the stores were just starting to see their first shoppers. I was ready for some breakfast so I stood in line at the Dunkin Donuts kiosk and rustled up a piping hot “extra large with cream and bagel with cream cheese.” Three Sweet N Low’s and 30 minutes later it was time to drink the coffee.

I sat down at the very corner of the food court. I always try to sit in the corner for several reasons. I am a people watcher. I am also paranoid so the thinking is this… In the corner of any room and in most cases you can see 100% of the activity going on in the room.

Sitting in the corner, I made some general observations while waiting for my coffee to cool.

First it appears that Saturday morning is the very best time for people with small children to visit the food court at the mall. I counted 37 strollers. Some doubles, some triples, mostly singles. Some had kids in them some didn’t. Some parents were carrying the kid that said strollers had been allotted to. Moms and Dads, just moms, just dads. It was quite the anomaly, maybe a special show at the IMAX for kids or something who knows. It’s amazing the technology in the strollers too. One literally had shock absorbers on it, although the contraption wouldn’t fit through the line at Subway.

Second observation, people are super unfriendly. Forget the days of smiling in passing. I saw a guy nearly knock an elderly couple over just to get around them. Had it been my grandmother I probably would have “nearly knocked him over.” And what gets me is that the guy didn’t even have the decency to say, “Excuse me.” Over and over again I witnessed the rude behavior that people have towards each other. In making these observations I witnessed one account in which someone actually stood out of the way appropriately and each person smiled in passing. And the matching name tags told me right away why they were so kind to each other. I’ve always been of the thought that it takes a bigger person to be kind to a stranger than it does to be kind to someone you know. For crying out loud people, you don’t have to be friends with someone to merely say “Pardon me.” And you can surely feel better about yourself by selflessly standing aside for 10 seconds while you hold the door for someone. The smile and thanks you’ll get 9 times out of 10 is worth it, I promise.

Finally, (and this may make me sound old) kids have no respect for their parents. I know what you are thinking, “Since when did kids ever have any respect for their parents?” This is what I observed. A teenager was strutting around the food court with a hooded sweatshirt on that read “G-Unit” and pants so baggy that Jared must have donated them. Ironically, the kid was headed towards the Subway next to my corner seat. As he approached, he stretched out his hand and snagged what appeared to be a folded twenty dollar bill from a middle aged man whom was in toe with a pre-teen daughter. Without breaking stride the kid moved into line. What gets me is this (or the lack of this) “Thank you.” The kid didn’t make eye contact with his father, didn’t say "please", and certainly didn’t say "thank you." No respect absolutely none. But Dad is just as much at fault, because if you don’t expect anything, you won’t get anything. My father only let me screw up like that one time. From that time forward I knew how to say “please and thank you.” Not only was it expected of me, but I know now anything less is unacceptable. I almost walked over to the kid and smacked him on the head. However, that move would’ve been more in line with my first observation.

Moving along from the food court I next found myself in Filenes. Normally I don’t shop at stores of this nature. As a matter of fact I usually find myself at the clearance rack at Target. I told Rhiana recently, “Clinton and Stacy would be very disappointed with me.” And she agreed. The reason I intentionally go to this store once a year is for the clearance sale they normally have in the late winter months. Last year I grabbed some serious Columbia fleece wear for about one tenth of the normal price. This year I was hoping to do the same. I browsed and browsed. The sales they have are usually 75% off of brand names like Kenneth Cole, Claiborne, Tommy Hilfiger, and Ralph Lauren. I would not usually shop these brands at retail prices. I would not usually shop these brands at retail sale prices, but at 75% off I couldn’t resist. And it was a success. About 90% of the way through the clearance section I decided to try on a few pairs of pants. Once in the dressing room and with one half pair of pants on my cell phone rings out Rhiana’s special ring.

Rhiana says, “We are done here.” My mind races with the ugly thought that I took longer to shop than Rhiana.

“Oh, Okay, well I am in the fitting room at Filenes.”

“Mom and I are going to Johnston to continue to shop.” A sense of relief fills me. “We didn’t find everything we needed, but I got some make-up and some wedding jewelry.”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you at home then?”

“Yes.”

In all I spent about $200 for clothes on myself, but in total the retail on it was about $600. We went back later on and bought a new comforter that was on sale. Saved about $200 on that too…

And at the end of the day I thought to myself, “I didn’t really see Rhiana that much today.”

At least we were together for most of the day, in the same building anyway.

Perfecting Practice

I’ve got this thing coming up. I’ve been asked to write the May installment of “Blog World” for the San Diego Reader.

It’s not normally very nerve racking to write my blog. But when I start to think more about what I’m going to write for the Reader it makes me a little edgy. I’ve never had anything I’ve written published before outside of this blog.

Let me back up a little to give some background.

A few weeks ago I started this blog. On one of my earlier entries I received a comment from someone who claimed they wanted to pay me to write in a San Diego based publication.

My first thought was, “This is spam.” I researched the information left on the comment a little further. Turns out that the comment appeared legitimate and I thought “How nice that someone would like to publish my thoughts.”

I emailed back and forth with the editor in charge of “Blog World”, Judith Moore. She gave me a few details as to how long each piece should be, how I should introduce myself to the readership, how they would like me to write about the upcoming wedding, and of course when the deadlines were.

I went on to do some more research by reading several of the entries on the archive page for “Blog World”. They are all very interesting stories and some even led me to the personal blog of each of the writers. In particular the guy who moved from New York to Slovenia has a catchy writing style. (And I thought I made a big move). What I noticed mostly is that a majority of the bloggers had made a major migration at one point or another during their life. For example, EliSabeth La CoQuette in Paris, France was raised in Florida and Morenike Akinlawon in Rhode Island was born in Nashville and has since moved to Rhode Island via Africa. This trend is just something I personally picked up on and it certainly does not appear to be a prerequisite in blogging for the Reader.

They want me to introduce myself and give some brief information about my family and work and how I got to be who I am. That has been requested in 400 words or less. After that I’m “free to write about whatever I want” but am asked to “try to stay close to the getting married topic.” And that is fine with me. I know that it is a privilege to be selected for this. It is also a chance for me to highlight, at least in part, the process of becoming a married man. I think it also gives me a chance to reflect on what is going on before the wedding. For anyone who has not been through the process, there is a difference between getting married and having a wedding. I’ve enjoyed the process of having a wedding and I’m looking forward to being married. It is a personal bonus to chronicle both during the month preceding the wedding.

The Reader is a weekly publication that is distributed every Thursday and has a reported four week readership of approximately 797,000. It appears to be a West Coast version of The Phoenix which has two major publications out of Boston and Providence. The Phoenix is a free publication and caters to those with a slightly more liberal lifestyle. It gives a push to performing arts and supports the “renaissance” that Providence has been undergoing over the last decade or so. However, the Phoenix also appeals to a younger reader as its demographic centers around mainly students attending Brown, Johnson and Wales, RISD, and Providence College.

I’ve been asked by several people if I feel pressure. I guess my answer is yes and no. Yes, that is ambiguous, but it is also accurate. For the “yes” part of it I just don’t want to write or say anything that would embarrass myself or make readers embarrassed for me. The “no” comes from my personal beat that I have been marching to for as long as I can remember. That part of me doesn’t really care what others think of me, but not intentionally. It’s not that I’m not concerned about what others think because I am. It’s that I’ve always been of the opinion that not everyone has to march to the beat of my drum and that thinking they will is in itself unreasonable

I know what I need to write about and I’m good under a deadline. So I guess I know when I need to write by and what it needs to be related to. Now it is about my words that need to come together to form a mental picture in the reader’s head. All I have to do is figure out how to break down the pictures in my head, put them into words, and make sure those words build the same pictures in someone else’s head.

So now that I’ve explained all this, I’d like to follow up with my first draft. An example that I’d like to fine tune before my first deadline appears on a calendar.

Coming soon to a blog near you, Jeremy in Rhode Island.

Sweet Home Indiana

I recently received word that my mother has accepted a job in the Southwest.

Talking to her over the phone I asked "How exciting?!" followed by a swift and obviously tardy "Congratulations!"

Moving along she filled me in on all the details. I was unusually silent through the entire conversation.

I am very happy for her. She is a wonderful person, who has always put her family first. She has been pursuing an opportunity to move to the Grand Canyon State for quite some time. She recently retired from her job with full intentions of departing for Arizona to head for a sunshine filled, semi-employed stage of life.

The next part may sound selfish, but it is what happend and I want to be completely honest about it.

Towards the end of the phone conversation I felt a slight change internally. Externally, I couldn't be happier for my mother. However, a cold finality was setting inside of me that brought tears to a grown man's eyes.

This journey for my mother siginifies the end of an era. An era that started in the early 1970's in my hometown and has lasted for three and one half decades.

My parents first moved to Columbus Indiana from Northeastern Ohio arond 1974. With them they brought my older sister and their dog to build a house from the ground up while also managing to raise a family. A few years later I was born the first native Hoosier of the family. A couple years after that my younger sister followed in my young footsteps. Our mother's parents were also there too and they provided a great deal of the memories that serve to remind me of a blessed childhood.

Outside a quick stint in the Peach State our family was half Buckeye and half Hoosier, but has maintained a connection to my hometown in some form for the past 35 years. When my mother and father divorced my father spent some time in Columbus, but soon after moved around Indiana and is now settled on the Indianapolis southside. After school my older sister, Wendy, went to college and ventured up the East Coast and recently made a move similar to my mother's and is now in the Southwest. My younger sister, Lesley, also left for college after school and also went to grad school. She still lives in Indiana, but no longer in Columbus. In late 2002 I accepted a job in Providence and moved during the dawning winter hours of a snow flurried January day to the Ocean State. Of the three children in the family, I had remained in Columbus the longest after school which made the move personally very difficult for me.

Unlike my sisters, I did not leave for college. I went to work full time right away and remained close to my friends and my mother and grandparents. For eight years after school, Columbus remained my home. Small town life was comforting. I lived it according to the text book that could be entitled Small Town Life. I was a regular at the 4th Street Bar, literally where everyone knew my name. My friends (mostly working factory jobs) always knew where to find me and I knew how to find them. I worked mostly as the token "banker" of the group of friends. We played in basketball leagues together, partied together, went to weddings together, etc etc. Mom and I would dinner at Grandma and Grandpa's on Sunday evenings, occasionally joined by Lesley when she could make it home from college.

In late 2001, my Grandfather, James, passed in the days immediately after tragic world events had taken place. I cannot explain in any number of words the amount of goodness that he put into my life. I was his "one and only Grandson." Not only was he a great husband, and father, and grandfather, but during World War 2 he served in the United States Navy. He served in several capacities most notably the Pacific Theater and New Guinea. The stories he told were always relayed to me in such a modest and sincere manner that I could tell that how he told it, is how it was.

After he passed I decided that I wanted to join the millitary. In a brash move, I resigned my position with the bank while in the middle of the recruitment process. I had filled out all of the paperwork. I went through a day of prodding and poking at the recruit evaluation center in Indianapolis. To conclude the day and directly before signing on the dotted line, my name was called at the wrong end of the building. The doctor on duty wished to review my medical information bureau with me.

"You were treated for attention deficit with Ritalin?" he asked.

"Yes, I was. It was more than ten years ago, I did not think..."

He interrupted, "You did not think what? Why didn't you disclose this information?"

At this point I wasn't even getting the evil eye from the man. He called in my recruiter representative and advised him of the situation. My local recruiter had been on medical leave, so I was now dealing with a higher ranking officer in his place. Needless to say he was not happy. He tried to convince me that I would still be able to join, but in somewhat less capacity than I had orginally qualified. I immediately felt outcast for merely forgetting to disclose an obsolete medical condition that hadn't been treated in a decade. On the spot I told them this wasn't for me. They hustled me home and only followed up with a single phone call months later. They were trying to save my recruitment before my next birthday disqualified me for standard enlistment by age. It did not take and so I was left without a job, without any guarantees for what was next, and with the knowledge that had my grandfather been alive, he would have been proud of me for trying.

After this ordeal, I was left to bounce between odd jobs in Columbus. My departure from the bank was unsettling at best after my recruitment fell through. The country's economy was in a shambles and that was only magnified in a town of 42,000 people. I had a handful of references to work with, white collar experience in a blue collar town, and just about all the time in the world to stew. Eventually the job I have now brought me to Providence.

In the days prior to my departure my emotional state was a series of peaks and valleys. I was leaving so much behind, yet so much more lay ahead on the horizons.

A few of my very good friends came to me and asked about my move. Alex, Josh, (friends since elementary school) and Dave (a friend to all of us since high school) approached me about how the move was going down.

I told them "Me, a truck, and a car tow."

Josh told me "No way we'd let that happen. I'm callin road trip."

And they're only intention for the conversation was to aid my move. I believe to this day, it was the best and only way to say goodbye to my very closest friends. (I have to tell you I nearly cried. And before it was over I did.)

In the hours prior to my departure, I was alone with my mother and my grandmother. I had said goodbye to my father the night before. I don't remember the last time I saw Lesley before the move, but we did at some point meet to say goodbye. Wendy was pearched high up on the East Coast in Boston waiting 45 minutes from my destination, ready to meet me with support if needed. My friends had yet to arrive to get the journey underway.

Mom, Grandma, and I had been anticipating this moment for nearly a month. We knew it was coming and we knew it wouldn't be easy. Grandma had suggested tea to help settle everyone's emotions. Making mostly small talk, the tears started to pour. Grandma held composure the best of the three.

All the normal "I'll miss you's" and "we love you's" were in order.

And then in the midst of one of many silences my mother said, "You can always come home."

Reassured by this, I agreed.

Shortly after 6 a.m. there was a soft knock at the door. My friends had arrived. We shoved off around 6:30 and drove for 16 straight hours. In the back of my mind I had contemplated turning the caravan around at least a dozen times deciding to take my mother up on her final advice.

But it would never happen... And with mom's words "I'm moving to Arizona" I know I never will be "home again in Indiana". Columbus is now and will always just be the place where I grew up. And aside from the brief spat of tears that snuck up on me while talking with mom about her news, I'm ok with that.

Radio City

I have an old I-River MP3 player. I dusted it off this week. I bought it primarily to use at the local gym. The purpose was to drown out the grunts and groans that the muscle heads belted out during reps of lifting obscene amounts of weight. That was three years ago.

Two years ago the MP3 and I had journeyed from a combined weight of 216 down to 166. Yes, that is light for a guy who tells the lady at the Motor Vehicle Registry counter that he is six feet tall. Anyway, I’m back up into the 200’s and frankly a little disappointed with myself. By no means do I want to be as low as 166 again, but I’d rather not be working on all time highs either.

This morning I pulled the MP3 out of the drawer, threw it in the gym bag with a change of clothes, and headed to the gym. To my surprise I found the music still loaded to be relevant for workout inspiration.

To make a long story short, I just want to share with you the music that was nearly soothing to my ears.

Nirvana
You Know You're Right

Smashing Pumpkins
Zero
Ava Adore

Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg
Dre2k

Joan Jett
Bad Reputation

Eminem
Square Dance
Hailies Song
When the Music Stops

Fuel
Won't Back Down

Incubus
Stellar

The Beastie Boys
So What'cha Want

Metallica
Battery
Master of Puppets
Sanitarium
Damage INC

Godsmack
I Stand Alone

Soundgarden
Spoon Man

Korn
Falling Away From Me
Here to Stay

Guns N Roses
Civil War
You Could Be Mine
Don't Cry

Drowning Pool
Tear Away

...More Metallica
Blackened
One
And Justice For All
Eye of the Beholder
The Shortest Straw
The Small Hours
Dyers Eve
Tuesday's Gone
Stone Cold Crazy
St. Anger

Adema
Giving In
The Way You Like It

Greenday
Welcome to Paradise
Nice Guys Finish Last

Man oh man did Axel Rose have a lot to say. Have a look for yourself. The man was ahead of his time.

"You can't trust freedom

When it's not in your hands

When everybody's fightin'

For their promised land

And I don't need your civil war

It feeds the rich while it buries the poor..."

Nor’easter’s Crop.

Yes, we are ok. This morning I dug out half of our driveway from underneath 20 inches of snow. The other half had been uncovered during the night by the snow plow fairy. And thank God for that.

Getting nearly two feet of snow in 24 hours is not always bad. In the middle of the week that kind of powder will normally get you a one day pass to the couch. If it comes on Friday or Saturday, your boss smiles and knows that everyone finished work this week and will pick up promptly Monday morning. But when it comes in the pre dawn hours of Sunday morning and quits at a quarter past four Sunday evening a decision has to be made. “Do I dig out now or later?” Time was precious and daylight dripping away.

Sunday evening I glanced out at the snow and let the mere site of the drifts inspire me to come up with a “no snow” alternative to shoveling.

“Just have someone else do it.”

I realize now that when the doorbell rang earlier in the afternoon and two visibly exhausted kids were offering to shovel off the drive for a minor fee I should have said “Yes.” Later on I was thinking “Come back, please for the love of God come back!”

I had told them I’d “get to it later.”

Next thing I knew I was peering out our front picture window trying to spot the duo in a neighbors drive harvesting Nor’easter’s crop. In all honesty it would have been worth 25 bucks the first time around, but now I’m willing to go as high as 50 to get the job done. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably lashing Abe Lincoln’s through a cash counter at a furious pace by that point.

Next I was thinking that maybe I would hire a contractor to push through the short drive with an oversized pickup and a 6 foot blade. It would take all of 30 seconds to finish the job. Based on the amount of snowfall we’ve had this year (practically none) I could’ve had two contractors working against each other and gotten it done for less than the “doorbell duo.” I’ve always been leery of this option for a couple of reasons. First, it would open the door for me to never have to shovel snow again. That’s sounds nice, but it allows me to be lazier than I care to actually be. My other concern is the well being of our cars. If I hire a contractor to hit my driveway each time it snows and receive a bill later, other things might get hit too. I don’t particularly care for someone to hit one of our cars while I’m not around. The situation would be just too ambiguous. So I passed on this option as well.

“The best case scenario.”

Maybe work would be canceled. Knowing that the likelihood was minimal, I picked up my cell phone and dialed Pat’s number. Pat is one of the four people in my group at the operations center. She is also my boss’ left hand. She is my favorite co-worker to tease. She has a short fuse and it’s easy to set her off, but she’s also like a second mother too. Ah yes, being the resident smart ass is a delicate balance. The exchange that was about to take place was my way of testing the water. It was frigidly short.

“Pat…its Jeremy.”

“Yeah.”

“Are we working tomorrow?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well there’s about 20 inches on the ground here.”

“Yeah and? I’ve already shoveled my driveway three times. And after the third time the street plows came and plowed it closed again. I swear that guy in the truck had a smile on his face when he did it.”

“I’m sure he did Pat. You’re supposed to wait until it stops snowing to shovel out your drive. So you won’t have to do it three times.”

“I know that. Do you think I need you to tell me that?”

“Apparently you do Pat.”

“GOOD BYE JEREMY!”

Click.

At that point it was clear to me that I would be working Monday. I could’ve called my boss, but I’d rather not appear so lazy with my annual performance appraisal approaching.

“Favored Neighbor.”

After momentarily contemplating a desperation call to the boss man I closed my cell phone and decided to continue searching for options.

Sitting at the dining room table I could hear an engine running outside. It was just slightly pitched high enough and working just hard enough for me to know without seeing that it was not a car. Because I had drawn the curtains closed earlier in a feeble attempt to keep the cold out I couldn’t see what the engine was attached to. I got up and made my way back to the picture window and pulled the curtains aside. Our neighbor from the other side of the street was directing a two wheeled monster known around these parts as a “snow thrower”. It was an orange monstrosity with combine like teeth churning through the snow. The snow was seemingly sucked into the front and shot out through a smoke stack like tub on top of the mechanical mayhem. It was quite the impressive sight. He plowed through square footage similar to ours in a few short minutes. I’ve seen these things before. It’s not like Indiana has Key West winters. Usually a lot of snow in Indiana is considered six to eight inches justifying merely a snow shovel and elbow grease. I can only recall one time seeing a similar snowfall in the mid west compared to the one that had just been cast upon New England. It’s just a fact. Owning a snow thrower in Indiana is probably a waste of money. But in Rhode Island on Sunday it would have been a Godsend.

I was tempted to go out and try to bribe my neighbor into rolling that machine over the driveway a few times. We didn’t have any cookies or fudge to throw on a tray. Money wouldn’t have seemed very neighborly of me. After a few minutes of watching in awe it became obvious. The only reason he’d been out was to gain useful access to his truck. He and his wife departed shortly thereafter. And I would now need useful access to the drawing board.


“Night and Day.”

By the time I had broken my hyper focus from the bellowing snow thrower, daylight had slipped just a little further away. The finality of the situation was setting in. I could either make a ditch effort to go out and plow into the dark hours or I could wait for sunrise. The benefits of getting it done Sunday night only meant an hour or so extra sleep this morning. What to do? I’d been cleaning in the house most of the afternoon and really had a lot of momentum going for me. However, I’d already been out in the snow earlier in the day to play with the dogs and had my fair share of cold and wet. Finally, I decided to lay the situation to rest and let this morning deal with the snow.

Today was the day of reckoning. First thing was first. A short call to my boss’s cell phone gathered the normal response from the big man.

“Al, I’m digging out.”

“Get here when you can get here, be safe doing it.”

It is a great benefit to know that this is my boss’s built in answer to tardiness that is caused by snowfall. I’ve mentioned that I love my job before and this is truly one of the reasons. A lot of employers probably insist that its business as usual directly after snow falls like this. And although that is true for my employer, there is also an understood rule that before you can get to work, you must take care of yourself. For me, this is priceless.

After I hung up the phone I prepared for my tussle with the driveway. The snow boots were on stand by and the long johns were mandatory. I put on a home made beanie cap, zipped up my flannel pullover, and wrapped myself in a 600 fill down coat that was made for days like these.

To my surprise the snow was light and easily moved (could’ve used that info last night). An even bigger surprise was that the front half of the driveway was plowed during the night. It may have been our next-door neighbors as their drive had been fully plowed with similar equipment. It also could’ve been a late night visit from the rolling monstrosity from across the street. Whoever it was, I will take it. I’m sure I’ll find out directly or indirectly later on. I owe them a thank you and maybe that tray of fudge I didn’t have Sunday.

An hour later I was through the snow and rearranging cars in order of departure times in a canyon of pavement separated by two parallel columns of snow.

You know the forecasters say it’s going to be in the 50’s by Friday. All that thought process for a few days access to a snow filled driveway.

Ah yes, weather in New England. Happy Nor’easter everyone!

Treasured Trove.

Buca crapped in the house Monday. I was lucky. Rhiana beat me home to it. She gave me a detailed description and suggested why our house trained three year old Labrador Retriever and his shiny black coat would commit such an offense.

You see on Sunday, while we were out planning a wedding, the dogs raided our defenseless plastic trash container. We actually kind of laughed when we came home to the crime scene. The victimized trash can lay on the floor with the lid removed like a detached limb. The insides of the trash strewn about like the entrails of a lifeless victim. The only part missing the crime scene was a chalk line around said victim. During the heist Buca managed to get into what we suspected was a bad batch of pancake mix. I know that sounds impossible, but both Rhiana and I had been sick twice out of the same box.

Buca had taken the disguarded box and went to the one place he knows we couldn't see him had we been there. Under the table. We refer to this precious piece of canine real estate as "The Treasure Trove." This is the getaway for Buca anytime he picks up a sock or slipper and wants our attention. He knows it is difficult for us to get to him there. He also knows that because the table is in the middle of the dining room that he can easily escape our arm's reach in one of several directions. By the time we arrived, Buca had spread the powdered batter mix all over his hideout. And the evidence? Well let's just say that our normaly all black dog had a suspiciously white nose with a distinct outline of the area where he could lick part of the evidence off with his tongue.

Buca knew he had done something wrong. His ears were riding pushed back. His head was hanging so low that his whiskers were skimming on the floor. The poor little guy looked like he'd just received a life sentence at Chino's canine wing. He had been so bad that our other labrador, Kayla, had a guilty look on her snout too. Although, I'm pretty sure that she was an accomplice after the fact.

After all of that we couldn't help but laugh. I admit, I was a little upset. We had trash spread through the kitchen and into our dining room. Not the behavior that we are used to and not what we expect out of Buca. But you could tell that he did at least recognize that he had done something he is not supposed to do.

Monday was Buca's day of reckoning. Again he engaged in behavior that we have come to not expect from him. We could only guess that he had become sick from the booty he'd plundered the day before. It was reported to me that Buca had gone back into the dining room and decided to "give back" a treasure to the trove.

We are spoiled. For the most part both dogs were at least semi-house trained when they came to us. Kayla has never had an accident that I know of. Buca struggles sometimes, but does very well. He's had a few mishaps that were more his owners fault than his. Both dogs know how to ask to be let out. Something I have no idea how they learned. Regardless of their action it is my feeling that our dogs have every intention of pleasing us as their owners. And that is why it makes it easier to see the good of situations involving the occasional doggy transgression.

Owning dogs comes with a lot of responsibility. Rhiana recently gave me new perspective on owning the dogs. "It is a very distinct privelege to have a pet." She says she heard that on Oprah. Now Rhiana tells me, "And to think...we have two."

It is a privelege. And an honor. But it has days like Monday too when "privelge and honor" require you to wear a yellow rubber glove to clean up after them.

The Song In My Head.

EBay. Do you use it? I do. Rhiana does. We buy and sell. Mostly we buy like good little American consumers. It has also been a valuable resource for us to dump items that have value, but aren’t valuable to us. You are probably wondering why I would lead in with that. The answer is this, “Daydream Believer”, by The Monkees. That is the song that EBay has injected into my brain, and I can’t seem to shake it.

I’ve had this song in my head all day. I knew that I had picked it up from a T.V. commercial, but wasn’t sure what was being advertised until I did a standard Google search.

“Oh yeah.” I told myself. “Ebay.”

Note to EBay marketing department. You failed. If a person can recall the theme music to your commercial, but not your product, it is not a good thing. Although, I guess one could argue that you are getting a pretty resounding endorsement from me right now.

I wonder if there is appropriate lingo that describes what EBay has accomplished here. I remember the hook, but managed to get away from the line and sinker. Or did I? I’m sure that they do have some sort of industry acronym for consumers like me. What would that be?

Bag Pipe Dreams.

It’s Monday. I didn’t make any posts over the weekend for about 10 different excuses, none of which hold much merit. I had plenty of time. I even sat down to write a few times and got squished under the block.

This will be an abbreviated entry to get my weekend in order on the blog so that my mind doesn’t wander backwards as I add new entries this week.

My most random thought of the weekend.

How many U.S. presidents are in office during the average life span of an American? I really wanted to share this thought with you. I had it while I was washing the dishes. It has to be the most random thought that someone can have while washing the dishes, wouldn’t you agree? I think the answer probably falls into the 15-ish average. With a little research and some basic arithmetic I could probably answer the question for you and me both. But, is it really worth it to know this little tid bit of information? I think that this question came to my mind while wondering just how many terms of Bush presidency our country could endure in relation to our own mortality rate. Quite a harmless question, but I’m still worried that I may be blacklisted for posting such rhetoric.

My weekend activity.

Saturday morning I received a note on this very blog that the San Diego Reader would be interested in having me write the May installment of “Blog World.” I am very excited about the opportunity. Naturally, before I responded I checked out the Reader with a standard Google search. It all checked out with just a few clicks and I emailed them back during my next activity for Saturday…work.

I work in the auto lending industry. I love what I do. Some days it has ups, which deduces that it also has its downs. Usually Saturday is a very quick ordeal. I work in an operations center with is a massive brick building that during the week is the home of about 500 cubicle bound screendroids. Yes, I just invented a word. I indeed had to right click my mouse over the squiggly red line and select “Add to dictionary.” Screendroids are people who reside in honeycombed office cubicle farm and spend anywhere from 30 to 70 hours a week staring at a glowing box. Please call Webster because that is also a new definition. There are two full floors of cubes at the aforementioned operation center. On Saturday I am usually all by myself on the basement level floor. Upstairs there are anywhere from 50 to 100 people finishing their respective work week. To finish, I put in hours 41-48 on Saturday. And this sums it up. My boss called me this morning and asked me “How was Saturday?” My response, “On the slow side of steady.” I probably reviewed around 125 credit applications. That’s about par for a steady Saturday.

Home for the weekend.

Saturday night around 5:30 I arrived home from work. Rhiana was in the process of finishing a slow cook recipe that would be ready early Sunday. Asking about her day I learned that she was sore from her meeting with a personal trainer earlier Saturday. She had also been to the grocery store and I was informed that she saved $46 by using coupons and buying items currently on sale. How neat is it that our grocer tells us all about all the money we save after we just spent nearly $200 with them. I’ll share more of my thoughts on this concept in future entries I’m sure. I’ve always been of the opinion that “spend money to save money” is the worst concept that industry ever sold to the consumer. And we ate it up. Back to Rhiana. Her personal trainer informed her that she was going to have homework and that she needed to buy a new pair of sneakers. Rhiana and I actually had a mini conversation about how athletic shoes are referred to. This is one of the fun parts about our relationship. We get to compare notes about life in Rhode Island versus life in Indiana. There is a world of difference. For instance the word “route” is pronounced with a long “O” here in the Northeast much like the word “root.” In Indiana however the “OU” gets more emphasis. Hence the word sounds more like, well, more like how it is supposed to be pronounced, “route.” So we agreed here that sneakers are pretty much referred to as the same. No alternative names or pronunciations for tennis-shoes.
So we went out into a drizzle of a rain and found some over-priced Nikes, but shoes are not an area to compromise. We also came home with a new pair of sandals.

Super Bowl Sunday.

I have to ask myself. Do I really care to see the Pittsburgh Steelers square off with the Seattle Seahawks? I am a Colts fan. Speculation through all media outlets was that the game was going to have very little pull with the audience this year. Those who would be watching would be more so for the highly anticipated commercial presentation rather than an over-hyped, over-commercialized, lopsided contest between two mid-market franchises. What can I say? I was bitter that the Colts weren’t there playing, but only half-heartedly so. I fell asleep after the first quarter of the game. I didn’t know who won until I got to work this morning and found myself embarrassingly unprepared to speak at the water cooler.

Bag Pipe-dreams.

Ah yes. The second installment of sitting down with Rhiana’s parents, Patti and Richard, for a wedding planning session was in good order today. First off, her parents prepared a very pleasant Sunday lunch. Patti served a nice home cooked chili. Her father had prepared a improvised light vegetable soup with some assorted meats thrown in the mix. Good stuff! We moved through a list that Rhiana prepared a week or so earlier as things we had yet to complete. Starting with the guest list we moved through in a very casual manner. We conversed mostly about the ceremony music and the reception dinner. In all it was a very productive meeting from my perspective. We left a lot open for interpretation and Rhiana surprised me by selecting a bag piper for ceremony music. Not that I don’t want one just that I would not have guessed this to be the decision we would go with. It had never crossed my mind. It has now.

The last thing I remember.

Rhiana woke me from a deep sleep before the Super Bowl ended, but long after the channel had been changed. I didn’t even bother to ask if the game had ended or who had won. I had taken my contacts out and couldn’t see anything. We went upstairs and made the bed with freshly washed sheets, as we do most Sunday nights. A few times during the night Kayla and Buca came into the bedroom. They wake us up promptly at 6 a.m. every morning. Last night however we got a few visits prior to our standard wake up call. I’m pretty sure the blurry red alarm clock numbers read something in the 3 a.m. category. I put up just enough fight to get them back into the other room and immediately resumed my unconsciousness.

As the blurry numbers changed from “5:50”’s to “6:oo”’s this morning the dogs arrived back at the foot of the bed dancing like little kids. Their canine claws clicking on the hardwood floors like the bleepity bleep bleep bleep of Morse code ticking away on the teletype.

And so a new week begins.

"Is that a schooner?"

Last night or maybe the night before, I was explaining several ideas I had for spots here on blogger.com. I was spouting out ideas left and right. Many of which will soon come to fruition.

Looking at me strangely, Rhiana asks, “So where do I rank in all this?”

I had noted at least four maybe even five ideas when she stopped me with that strange look.

“Oh, well I included you in the profile.”

“The dogs got a story and all I get is a spot in the profile?” Directly followed by, “What am I chopped liver?”

Right now is when I usually plug in that entertaining line from the now infamous Citicard commercial, “Thank you?” You know the one where the guy sticks his foot in his mouth and immediately redeems himself not by saying “I’m sorry”, but by endearingly saying “Thank you.” Hey if it worked for that guy.

Anyway, Rhiana and I both use “Thank you” quite often. It’s one of our many quirky inside jokes.

So today I’m writing about Rhiana. Rhiana is going to be my wife soon. We are in the midst of planning a wedding for June 17th. It has been a long engagement and I think we are both of the mindset that if we had to do it again we’d probably just elope. We are going ahead with a more traditional (although it is really less traditional) wedding so that we can celebrate our union together with our families. We are getting married on the water as opposed to a church, which we both agree is more tuned to our lifestyle. We also agree that we want our ceremony to be a more “friends around us” type of celebration rather than cookie cutter “Hi, thanks for coming, please leave your gifts right here” ordeal. We are soliciting a warm and inviting atmosphere. Our planning has gone very well in my opinion. We’ve had a few spots that were pretty stressful, but now we’re working together in stride. We’ve carved up a lot of the vendors; we’ve made a few decisions here and there including one to be robbed by our photographers. Not that I don’t appreciate a very good photographic eye, but the per-hour rate for a photographer in New England is “Out-freakin-rageous!” But as Rhiana is quick to point out when I gripe and groan, I put my signature on the contract too, so at some point I must have thought that overpaying for pictures was a really good idea. We are down to just a few months left and I really am looking forward to the wedding now. The details that we continue to pin down are constantly shaping the mental images I have in my head for June 17th.

Now that you’ve heard about our wedding let me tell you what she might tell you about herself if she were typing this blog. She has a beautiful smile and long naturally curly brown hair. She loves Dave Mathews and Phish. She loves dogs and has trouble watching Animal Planet because of it. Her favorite shows are Sex in the City, That 70’s Show, and Laguna Beach (although she might deny the last one).
She was born and raised in Rhode Island and went to Providence College where she was a member of the PC sailing team. Please be careful using the word “schooner” around her. She is an only child and works for her parents as a "Jack of All Trades". She is a talented artist and enjoys painting art for us to use around the house. She enjoys cooking from Rachel Ray and Giada De Laurentiis recipes.

Finally let me finish by explaining to you why schooners are so annoying to Rhiana. She is schooled in the craft of sailing boats. She tells me that she can sail the small ones, I believe those are referred to as lazors, which are a type of dinghy. Those are the one or two man deals that move briskly across the water. We live close to the bay, so I would estimate the number of boats that we see on a regular basis is anywhere from “way too many” all the way to “boats outnumber people ‘round here.” One day, at the beginning of our relationship, we were driving along and I blurted out “Is that a schooner?” I was referring to a large boat that was obviously driven by an outboard motor. I think I almost did it intentionally because I had an idea that, at very minimum, a schooner has a sail. The vessel in question showed no signs of having a mast or the option to have one. Needless to say, I got a brief explanation and was told “No, that is not a schooner.”

From that day forward it has been my running annoyance. Whenever we pass by a boat I ask,

“Is that a schooner?”

One of these days I’m going to get slapped. And deservedly so.

My Own Television Paradise

Television programming draws in the masses. It is the modern day shrine for 99.9% of Americans. TV consumes us in more ways than one might think. In addition to the obvious (advertising, politics, religion, and business) TV consumes the second most valuable resource that everyone has. It consumes our Time.

Recently Rhiana and I have been debating and contemplating eliminating television from our lives. I guess I should elaborate on just what that means. Currently we subscribe to Cox Standard cable. We get about 65 Channels and use about 15 of them. In addition to standard cable we also use a very handy new age DVD service called Netflix. Cox also supplies us with super fast internet service. In all I would venture to guess that we spend well over $100.00 per month on various programming fees that bring us to look at a television screen.

I'd like to briefly talk about two of three services mentioned above before delving into the meat about cable programming.

First, I have to admit that Netflix is perfect for me. Not only am I a movie buff, but I love the valuable tools and set up that this online based service provides. Please note that this is not a commercial for Netflix. Their service is certainly a fit good for me and I encourage others to proceed with caution. To make it worth your while you have to be willing to commit to watching 5-6 movies a month to outweigh the cost of using a video store. That doesn't sound like much, but it is easy to forget and before you know it a month slips by and you've spent $19.99 to watch one movie. You must be diligent, something that sometimes I am guilty of NOT being. Additionally, for those who are still on the dying planet of VHS, Netflix can only offer you its condolences. One last note regarding video rental: I despise Blockbuster. On more than one occasion they tried to bill me outrageous fees for a video that was merely a few days past due.

Next, cable internet is my own personal drug habit. I could surf for hours and hours and hours much to the dismay of Rhiana. Sometimes I do that, but only when she is on the couch watching TV 20 feet away. I spend an inordinate amount of time at a few suspect websites. Of them http://www.firemikedavis.com/ is my vice. I really don't know why I spend time there. Yes, I do think that Indiana University basketball Coach Mike Davis should be fired. But, this site is infested with characters and personalities that blurt out racist remarks, political rhetoric, and basically offer little valuable feedback regarding Mike Davis. There are trolls galore and recently my very own username was high jacked due to minimal admin oversight. Yet, despite all those very good reasons to stay away, eventually I am drawn back in. The internet serves good purpose as well. We use it for reference and have planned a good part of our wedding with resources provided online. Rhiana and I both belong to several forums; my most recent discovery is the very helpful http://www.woodworking.com/ . As a novice woodworker it's been very helpful. And then of course there is always http://www.blogger.com/ .

On to the meat and potatoes. All in all Rhiana and I probably spend a combined 40 hours per week watching TV. That figure could vary based on our current Netflix selections. We've been talking about saving the money we spend on cable TV by downgrading to a 20 channel package which would save us about $30 per month. We've also discussed going to and all out "no cable" option which would save us about $80 per month as Cox does not offer internet without cable. Effectively that means that if we choose to shut down the cable line up we also lose the internet. This option would leave us with the $19.99 per month cost of Netflix, which we have mutually agreed we will keep under any circumstance.

Now back to my statement about consumption of our second most valuable resource. Assuming we do go to a lesser line up for cable or eliminate it all together our "opportunity cost", that is the time spent on choosing to do one activity over another, will also add more value to our life as we would inevitably be spending easily one half the time in front of the television.

So why then, knowing all of this, is the decision so hard to make? Are we addicted? Would we struggle to fill up the time that we would effectively gain back? We've discussed these issues. Mostly we answer that we would spend more time reading and cleaning among some other activities. Exercise, learning to cook better, working in the yard, walking the dogs...etc...etc...

Just what is it then that we are not willing to give up? For me there are several reservations. I'd love to give up shows like "Laguna Beach", "Sweet Sixteen", and just about anything on MTV. Some of these shows tend to be Rhiana's pick. But, I'm sure she's willing to go without my picks including football, baseball, basketball, Sport Center, and more football. We have found a few shows that bring us both together on the couch and can eat away at our time like our dogs eating table scraps.

Lost sucked us in from the start. We originally did not watch it on TV. About a month after the first season DVD came out we both got bit by the bug to see it. Bitten so bad, that we almost spent $50 late one night at the grocery store to see it as Best Buy had already closed hours earlier. We resisted and rented it on Netflix. We watched and watched and watched, until it was all gone. We devoured the first season DVD set and immediately following had a hunger to see more. The characters are welcoming and diverse, yet through the second season have now evolved into a darker more Darwin-esque group. The mystery of the castaway island continues to wind a strange and ever expanding path. New dangers at every turn seemingly outweighing the previous threats by only a fraction. All while leading you just far enough to forget the past problems and shoving you slightly enough to embrace the ones at hand. Genius writing and an excellent cast bringing us to channel 6 promptly every Wednesday at 9.

Dog the Bounty Hunter is quite possibly THE BEST reality show on TV today. We love Dog, his wife, his kids, and his bounty hunter family. This guy is possibly the hardest working 50 something on the face of the planet. Underneath the bleach blonde hair and flashy Oakley sunglasses is a guy who cares more about his job and family (and in some cases the people he brings in) than he does about the money. His wife is absolutely the best match in the world for Dog and you can tell they truly have something special. He keeps his business in the family, having two of his sons working for him tracking down criminals that have skipped out on high stakes bail. But the story doesn't end there. Dog once walked the wrong side of the law, rumored to have once beaten a murder rap. And of all the "I won't do it again's" and "I'll turn over a new leafs" that people in law enforcement hear, this guy is actually walking the walk. Dog and his crew amazingly track down dangerous drug dealers, hookers, and multiple offenders while only employing good judgment, a can of mace, and a lifetime of bounty hunter experience.

Moving to the other side of the law The Sopranos pinned us to the couch long before we were together. I must admit that Rhiana got me into the show. And I haven't looked back since. With ghoulish story lines about the modern day Mafioso, Tony Soprano, and his uncanny knack for cracking skulls and twisting arms The Sopranos rocks our world. The plot lines allow speculation after almost every episode and could lead in a number of directions, but usually never go the way we expect. Although we don't have HBO we do receive our fair dose of mobster mentality via Netflix. The final season debuts very soon and we've briefly considered adding HBO to our line up simply to have access to what may be the demise of the Bing Club comprised of Tony, Corrado, Pauly, and Sylvio. Because let's face it, if Christopher is strong enough to turn on Adrianna (as he did in the end of last season) he has finally proven that he has what it takes to follow in Tony's footsteps.

From shady crooks to dirty cops, we now have the spiraling parallel careers of Vic Mackey. One career as a drug enforcing special vice team leader and another as a tiptoeing criminal de'jour. Shawn Ryan has hit an absolute home run with FX Network's late night drama "The Shield." The first season sunk its dirty meat hooks into me in one scene that was repeated time and time again in the original promotional commercial. Vic uses a phone book to assault a suspected child molester and the strategy works as he extracts a confession that leads the men in blue to save a kidnapped 8 year old girl from the basement of an abandoned L.A. house. Some shows push the envelope, but this one picks it up off the table and shoves the damn thing down your throat. A TV mature rating and late time slot give the show latitude to include a more realistic dialogue, although sometimes it seems suspiciously calculated. After losing steam over the last two seasons, the current version of the strike team is now on the offensive and for the first time the audience is beginning to see that Vic has moved to murky depths to protect the secrets of his past.



Finally, after all the laws have been broken, we seem to find that Law and Order draws a majority of our time budgeted for TV. An evolving cast, an endless array of syndication, and a variety of formats, Law and Order gives us a multiplicity of storylines to choose from. With characters ranging from cynical homicide detectives (Det. Lenny Briscoe, Det. Joe Fontana), to righteous assistant district attorneys (Jack McCoy, Ben Stone,) to an array of aspiring TV starlets (Jill Hennessey, Angie Harmon, Elisabeth Rohm) L&O has it all. The show has been ever expanding since its inception in 1990 and currently holds rank as the longest running TV show on the air. We joke that you can find an episode running on one of many channels that it runs and reruns on 24 hours a day. Kudos to the producers at NBC for bringing us a show that engrosses us with the life and crime of New York's finest and the judicial process.

So please pardon me for ranting about TV for so long. As you can tell (if you are still reading), leaving TV is not an easy decision. One we have yet to decide on.

Foxsports blog.

Hello everyone. I am moving some of my previous work over from Foxsports. I participated in the Foxsports "Next Great Sportswriter" Contest. I was eliminated before it even started however. My blog, "The Mis-Education of Sports Fans Everywhere", failed to be selected for the final round of 16. Basically it means I didn't even make the first cut. There are a lot of very good blogs over there at Foxsports. My favorite of the remaining two writers is Ty Hildenbrandt I am rooting for him to win the contest. I encourage everyone to head on over and see the final few weeks before a winner is selected. It is all sports related, so for those of you who choose to avoid sports as a topic, probably just pass.

Labradors ammended to "winter sporting breed."

Dec 10, 2005 7:07PM
So yesterday I griped and groaned about the cold harsh reality that is winter in New England. Little did I know that "foghorns" would be the least of my daily worries.
As I cozied up on my couch last night with a freshly stirred mug of hot chocolate I heard "KAYLA! BUCA! Get back here!" And a frantic shout down the stair case to my basement hideaway. "The dogs are loose, the gate is OPEN....THE DOGS ARE LOOSE."
"Ah, S*&!."
What's worse was I had just finished shoveling the driveway. I had been in the house just long enough to change clothes and get that mug of cocoa heated up. For those of you who haven't read the "About Me" section, the two named dogs(currently in sprint mode) are my 3 year old and 7 year old labs. They live for moments like these. The moment of escape!
So with two mangy mongrels on the loose I buttoned up my coat, grabbed the leashes, and on foot I followed the car , which was departing with my fiance' out of my freshly shoveled drive.
We checked the obvious spots first. The school, the football field, at the corners of each street with views in four directions. Normally I would not panic, but it was late, and dark, and about 15 degrees out. My biggest concern was water. I sent Rhiana towards the beach and had her keep an eye on the streets. I maintained my search at the school as this is a spot for activity. You know with all the neighborhood kids still sledding at (glance at watch) 10:30??? What the??? That seems late doesn't it?
Now, I know what all you out there in blog-land are thinking, "Look for tracks in the snow!" Yeah, OK, I'd love to have found them by their tracks and have Rhiana start referring to me as "John Locke", but I'm not yet that old and ugly. Anyway after about two seconds of looking for tracks I realized that it had snowed the day before. There were so many friggin' footprints and snow angels on the ground I'd been better off tracking the Pilllsbury Dough Boy.
I came back to my senses and the first thing I thought to do was ask someone. This is our most used strategy when the dogs have escaped and have managed to get out of eye's reach.
"You seen any dogs?" I asked the father of the "out suspiciously late" sledding kids.
"Yep, just went by about 3 minutes ago. Two black labs?."
I had just realized that I was embarrassingly out of shape and in turn out of breathe (and had propped myself up by putting my hands on my knees) I repied. "Yeah!"
"Yeah, they came by, havin the time of their lives, looked like. The went over by the woods."
"Thanks, I'll check over there." And I headed towards the woods.
So I was thinking as long as I can keep them from getting to the creek we were ok. I headed towards the water.
I was in luck because it was a clear night and the moon was about three quarters full. Just enough light for me to see....my way....into... and what seemed to be all the way through...What?
The woods were about 20 feet wide and lead into the next neighborhood. Damn it. And a set of headlights headed toward me. I reckoned that with the roads having been icy and quiet, I knew who would be behind the wheel. The car gets to the stop sign (once again I was standing hunched over with hands on knees.)
Rhiana rolled down the window (I could see the heat pouring out.) "No luck."
No luck. No dogs. No joy. "Head around for another sweep, I'm going to hoof it back to the school!" The car pulled away with tires crumbling over compacted snow and crushed ice.
I saw the school's huge brick walls grow larger and tangerine colored parking lot lights cast a shadow down onto the snow as I approached. Frustrated I yell. "KAYLA!!!" followed by some whistling.
I heard commotion from the hill wear the kids were still sledding into what felt like the wee hours of the morning. I heard a scream and for a moment was afraid the dogs had been terrozing some children, but then laughing quickly eased my tension. As the field at the bottom of the hill became visible, I saw two shadowlike creatures in the distance bolting along the treeline. I was focused and started to pick up my pace, my winter boots clomped up and down.
I belt out "KAYLA!!!"
And one shadow stops dead and pulled an about face. At full speed she met me mid-field.
"BUCA!!!"
He is now headed in this direction naturally to see what has happened to shadow number one.
For a moment I had a hand on Buca, but quickly he realized he was still free and dodged away. With one leash secure I chose to stop and wait. Kayla was clearly running on "E" and Buca soon would be too. My guess was right. Buca, on command, collapsed into a sitting stance ..."Buca! Sit!" A little black lab in the middle of the moonlit snowscaped football field.
The chase had ended. To the victor went the spoils. I had two wet dogs.
A short walk later we had brushed off snow, warmed up inside, and reheated a cold cup of cocoa.
Ah yes, two labrador retrievers. The new winter sporting breed.

Harrow!!!!

Hello all. Please pardon me while I stretch out in my new blog space.

I love blogging. At some point when I was young I felt encouraged to become a writer. My problem was that I did not have the patience or inclination to learn the proper grammar and skill sets to become a writer....was that a run on sentence?

Anyway, its good to have a new home and shortly I will start to pile the blog bricks up here to build my cyber American Dream.

Thanks for stopping by.