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Sunday, 08 November 2009
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quiet time.
Of all the things I've done in life, it's the really small things or inadvertent moments that I reflect on most with the greatest joy. I've never measured myself quantitatively...at least in comparison to the "norm".
This morning, even though I struggled to wake up and get a move on, I had one of those times when life just felt full. Lauren was still peacefully resting.
I spooned her gently and held close for a few minutes and gathered my "non-sleeping" clothes to take Homer out for is early morning relief. It may not seem like much, but most days-this is like Christmas morning for me. For one, Homer is ridiculously cute and fills my heart with his little sleepy eyes. But two, it's a time to connect with him and a peaceful and non-verbal way. We read each other pretty well.
After pee time is over, Homer and I go to work.
Today, we woke up in a basement in Toledo. It was a quick trip to visit family, but an opportunity I didn't want to waste in introducing Homer to a world that reaches far beyond his kennel and our walls. For a while, I lived in what some would call a rough part of of Toledo...it was near a high crime area with a very mixed population of people. And, certainly a place where you need to watch yourself and your belongings.
This is exactly where we went to work today.
We listened to Bruce Springsteen and slowly drove around to find a place where I could park the car. With whole hearted trust, Homer half-slid and half-fell out of my car and onto the pavement...already absorbing smells and sounds that probably blow his little mind.
The reasons for all this are simple. It is my responsibility as a pack leader to teach Homer acceptance and help him to relax in many environments. In a very direct way, I don't want a racist dog or an intolerant companion. Homer needs, and deserves, to see as many people and as many environments as is safe for him. He also needs not fear a human or be unsettled by loud noises and different smells, textures, and appearances. In addition, for me it is a wonderful moment to see someone (seemingly hardened) light up at the sight of a puppy...who genuinely wants nothing more than to say "hello", lick your face, and wiggle his ass. I see many people smile and pat Homer on the head with the warmest intentions and get absorbed into the warmth of a curious puppy.
Simple and beautiful.
This also works two fold. As an all white Boxer, Homer is constantly perceived as a Pit Bull. To most, a Pit Bull arouses fear and anxiety. It did in me as well until recently. When we started taking walks with Charlie, the 3 year old Pit, I started to really fined an affinity for these dogs. Charlie is a gentle and tolerant giant who could easily rip my arm off if he wanted to. But, an animal from which I haven't seen the least bit of aggression. Charlie is stout, proud, disciplined, affectionate, and nothing like the monster the resonates from the name "Pit Bull". I love Charlie.
All that said, I want our experience with Homer to give something back to myself, Lauren and Homer, as well as everyone we come in contact with. I want the intensity of a solid musculature and snarling bark not to intimidate people. Homer will have both, but my hope is that he will remain a puppy at heart and share with people his loving touch and wiggly butt.
Although he sleeps in a 3'X3' kennel, I want Homer's reach to be far beyond any one place we'll ever be.
Friday, 11 September 2009
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cold.blue.september.
My first apartment in Toledo sat directly across from the art museum. Although we were the 3&4 floors, I could hear the constant traffic of cars rumbling and screeching down Monroe Street. It was my own "city" living.
That Tuesday, I was up relatively early for me. I had sessions at the studio but no candid assignment. So, by choice, I had made a coffee with chocolate creamer and sat down to watch the Today Show at around 8:20.
Matt Lauer cut to a live feed of tower one soon after it was hit. I thought, "what a tragic accident!" It didn't look so bad, and I naively thought there could be survivors and hopefully not a full building of employees that early in the morning. Having never been to New York, I didn't realize those people are hard at work before most of the country is even awake.
I watched, live, when the second plane hit.
I screamed like a small child and leaped up tucking my legs beneath me onto the couch. In disbelief...I stared...and I remember telling myself to breath after what seemed to be minutes.
Ty, my roommate at the time, soon ran down the iron spiral staircase with his hands on his head in an exaggerated panic. By nature, we both aggressively fought to make comic relief of the situation. But at the time, even though we shared a small laugh at the "Sky is falling" shtick...I knew then and there, America would never be the same.
It's one thing to say you remember where you were...it's another to be haunted and experience the same cold chills and emptiness deep in your heart.
I can't imagine the loss that those families and that city felt. It must have been completely unbearable for most. One thing they don't show on television replays, are those who jumped from the buildings windows instead of being burned alive. To say that is horrific, is an understatement.
The fear and courage it took to have done that, is something none of us should ever have to be faced with.
I've never felt more alone and fearful as I did that morning. Lauren was in Dayton and my family was far away in Gambier. I felt cold and panicked and scared for our country. Instantly and excessively, I had a deep urge to drive to wherever I could be with a loved one.
Monroe Street was silent. Not quiet or lightly driven; it was distinctly silent and empty. There's a scene in the movie "Vanilla Sky" that makes me think of that moment and I get teary eyed. Everything that was known and comfortable become foreign and lacking normalcy from that day forward.
Last year, I didn't watch any television because it has seemed the media has made more of an "event" of 9/11. It sells, it bleeds, it fuses, it outrages, it exhausts us.
Although we need to remember, and we need to fight for freedom, today let's also make a positive experience of telling our loved ones how much we care and breathe new life to such an awful date.
Friday, 14 August 2009
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pause and listen.
"There’s an outcry in the streets
Where the outcasts walk the beats
And all the widows and black sheep lay their souls down low to sleep
And I can hardly find the means
For all the words I mean to speak
But still this fire inside of me
Seems too much for me alone to keep
But now the writing’s on the wall
Forgotten cry all kids
Will you send a prayer for me?
Will you help me to stand?
Because I know what it’s like"
-Mat Kearney
Monday, 03 August 2009
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through the woods.
I'm not going to lie, I'm a little nervous about riding in a few weeks. Mostly, because I don't feel anywhere near as "in-shape" as I did the last time I road that distance. It's a little unsettling, but I still have faith we'll pull through.
I mean, at this point...how could I not?
I've spend more time on my mountain bike prepping for this ride. I think, without the excess of time I once had, a mountain bike is a far superior conditioning tool. One- it requires more energy to physically pedal, and two- the shifting and balancing of body weight helps to strengthen core muscle that I probably wouldn''t even know I had until I'm sitting on mile 40 wishing I had an IV of Ibuprofen.
What I'm saying is, I intend to muscle through this one. Tonight's ride was mostly about getting to the point where I felt tired and sore, and then doing the real work of riding through it.
I have no idea how far I rode, but I kept telling myself it wasn't far enough....and just kept moving.
Don't forget, it's not too late to donate. If you're so inclined, try sharing the donation link with a friend. It'll certainly make the miles roll by easier.
r.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
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moved.
No lie, I literally get teary-eyed when a donation comes in for the ride.
Good people, thank you.
Lifetime