Wednesday, October 18, 2017
It is both mildly astonishing as well as seriously gratifying to witness the change that's come over Mr. Smokes since Mz.Tasha has joined the pack almost three weeks ago. It is the difference between his former lethargic, indolent disinterest to his present state of interested activity and engagement. And it happened virtually overnight!
It's good to have a gal around the house.
Smoky's whole attitude and demeanor has changed. He's more active, more interested, more familiar, more seeking of attention, even affection. He has now begun to disengage from his lair in the library, where he took up residence when he moved in about 10 mos. ago. He sometimes follows me from the library to the office.He prowls the house both day and night (as much as his weary, worn hind-legs will let him; believe me, I sympathize), and even spends time outside in the sun. At periods during the day, he'll come over to the edge of my office-space and plop down for a nap or a thoughtful bone-chew. And this occurs both because and inspite of the fact that Mz. Tasha is napping or noodling on a mat three feet away.
At night, he's learned if he comes to my bedroom door and shakes the collar-bell he wears, I'll get up and let him out. But he's a pragmatist in such matters: if 1) the door's open, or 2) I'll get up, he'll resist for a moment the call of nature. But if the door's not open, and/or If I don't let him out, hell, it's not HIS fault. He's not the one with the thumbs.
He's also more interested in receiving attention from me: he's got a prominent, sagital crest, which he's learning he enjoys having rubbed, along with those perennial favorites, the chest and the base of the tail. He enjoys spinal palpations, too, right along the bony ol' ribs--ribs which have regained some, but not a lot, of flesh. With serious arthritis, it's important that he not get heavy.
It's all changes I could not have foreseen, although it is very heartening and satisfying and was always to be wished for. Tasha is is just what the Dr. ordered: a bright, lively, funny, active, friendly, loving dog-sprite, energetic, affectionate and attentive. They haven't exactly played, yet. But I sense it's coming.
She's teaching him to "dog"; she's a natural instructor and he's a pupil whose interest is growing daily. He emerges from his den and wants to join the proceedings.
I am beginning to think I may even see Smoky wag his tail.
I spend my time tending to their needs: It really is plenty to live for...
Monday, October 16, 2017
Re: Abuse of power.
This was going around on F-Book:
If all the people who have been sexually harassed or assaulted (and can participate without risking additional physical or emotional harm to themselves) wrote "Me too" as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.Please copy/paste.I was trying to figure out how to discuss it.
As a White male born in 1946 to semi-affluent parents, in Chicago, I was a natural-born asswhole. I've been a part of the problem, though not actively for many years. I was imbued with both racial and gendered perquisites from birth, tho' such privilege was so ubiquitous as to be all-but-invisible from the inside, as water to a fish.
As such, I cannot imagine that I did NOT, somewhere, almost inevitably, inflict injury or injustice on someone, either on my own behalf or at the behest of others. But I was never in any position to "extort" physical "favors." I cannot recall any instances when I inflicted any suffering that was not also related to changing conditions in romantic/intimate interests or relations...It may be that that's because I never had any power to abuse, though I hope not.
There was one time: the only time I was ever in a position to have possibly committed conscious abuses of such meager power as I had was during my tenure in the Academy. I was aware of colleagues who apparently were not immune to or scrupulous about the exploitative possibilities of their power and abused it. In my whole career, I had only one occasion when such temptation could have eventuated. I'm proud to say, I acquitted myself therewith, with both honor and humor.
So, to the question: how can men say #MeToo?
Own your past, admit it, and let your admission be apology, too:
(...But I got better...)
Sunday, October 8, 2017
My ENTIRE childhood was spent in the shadow of the threat of nuclear annihilation and global destruction. It's of interest, even amusing, now to regard and recall the efforts that were made to "normalize" the trauma.
"Hey, kids! Yer gonna get vaporized.!!! YAY !!! Here's a cute, little, animated jingle about it! YAY!!!!!"
It's a modern wonder and a tribute to anti-psychotic drugs that more people born after 1946 but before 1970 haven't gone all "Mandalay Bay!"
The part I remember best was in 3rd grade, when the sirens shrieked, scrambling under our desks and huddling there with text-books tented over our heads, and me checking out Connie Burke's panties, which the floor-crouch so thoughtfully revealed as she huddled under her desk in her plaid, uniform-skirt in the row in front of me.
Friday, September 29, 2017
Somewhere in that group is my petite, little grandmother, all 5'1", 110 lbs of her. She was a courier, which was what the tour guides were called.
The faces are far too vague ansd distant to recognize her.
Harvey organized the Indian Detours in 1925. Up against the slump of business caused by the increasing popularity of automobile, and airplane travel, the Harvey Company began developing the idea of “Indian Detours” at their Southwest hotel locations, from the Grand Canyon to Santa Fe. The specialized tours by car were to divert passengers from the train for 1 to 3 days and drive them through the “wilderness panoramas” of Northern New Mexico to Indian ruin sites, and living pueblos.
Cars were bought, and drivers and couriers were educated by field trips and up to four months of in-depth study on the area.
In May, 1926, the Indian Detours officially began. My grannie, Farona Wendling (nee Geiser) was among them. In '28, she met the dude whom she'd marry. The rest is (family) history.
What I cannot figure out is what the artillery piece is doing on the roof of the Palace of the Governors, on the Plaza, in Santa Fe?
Thursday, September 28, 2017
I have a new foster dog.
She's a former Rez dog named Tasha, and she's a tri-pod. She's about four-six years old, about 40 lbs, probably had never been in a house before today. She's been in a shelter since being rescued and restored to health.
She was rescued in Gallup, where she'd been she'd been shot, which caused the eventual amputation of her right-front leg. Angela and Dawn said she still has bullet fragments in her remaining, "healthy" leg. She has a charming manner. She's a smiler...and they tell me she's a snuggler.
She and Mr. Smokes are doing dog-bonding things. They seem to have agreed to co-exist, even after only about a 45-minute introductory period, with the folks from NMDOG present at the introduction. I've already noticed a distinct improvement in his demeanor. He's stepping lighter, and he is more interested. Indeed, her's actually up and roaming around the house. either she in his wake or he in hers.
She's settled in onto the day-bed, in the corner of the gallery-room where there's window on two sides; where Budreaux usta repose and regard the passing parade, and where his ashes reside.
So the Kono-pak is growing again.