…some meditations:
I’m thinking: no dog, no bag hoarding instincts, no barf-containment. No iPod location mystery, no sorting through the glove compartment, no instantly-available barf bag. The reason this day didn’t end with a stinky car can be directly traced to the moment I walked past a pet shop in Uptown in April 1996, looked in the window, and saw my dog.
Wife took him for a walk later. He was slow. Very slow. “He’s not going to be with us much longer,” she said. Resigned. Then hopeful: “But I’ve been saying that for three years.”
“You saw him when the food showed up. Annoying as a puppy. Where did he take you tonight?”
“Well, I let him go where he wanted, and we went up the hill to the water tower, and then back down, and when we got home he didn’t want to go up the steps so he went down the street, and I thought he would go up the back steps, but he looked at me, like ‘I’m not done,’ and we walked east and around the neighborhood again. But it was dark and he can’t see anything.”
“But he can smell.”
Nearly deaf and nearly blind, and the world is still a story, every scent a character, every strong odor a twist in the plot. The dog walks outside and the world is his iPod, and it’s always set on shuffle. So it is for us all, really. If you have a dog you know how they come to the door and stand there waiting for you to let them out. Standing at the glass door. The wall that keeps the odors out. They can see, but they can’t smell. Daily life for us is just like that. If you’re lucky someone opens the door and all the glories rush over you.
It’s days like these that you realize how much you miss. For once, you saw all the connections. You suspect there are just as many threads between the now and the then every other day. Probably more. Would you go mad if you considered them? Would you exult to discover how everything braids itself together, fear for the action ten years gone that will explode down the road, anticipate the bloom that grows from a casual act last month? Sure. All of that. All these things. You can’t act if you remember everything. You shouldn’t act if you remember nothing.
What a writer. And he does it almost every single day.
Can we haz bigger font?
Howzat?
Geez I am getting old. The current font is larger than what K saw?
http://icanhascheezburger.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uBZRE5mXpc
As a budding internet celeb, you need to keep up with the trends, Rand.
I agree, Rand – the font in your answer and the font in K’s question are the same size.
But as long as we’re demanding free ice cream, a slightly larger font would be great. What’s this one – Arial 10? Maybe use a 12?
I thought he was talking about bigger font in blockquotes. They are now the same size as regular text (14pt). If you want a larger font, just enlarge the page in Firefox with ctrl-scrollwheel.
Lileks has had a couple good ones that way just recently.
Regarding the influence of things past on things now or in the future, that was pretty much the conceit CJ Cherryh used for her ‘wizards’ in Rusalka, though the acts were the wishes and desires of the wizards.
And yes, thanks for the blockquote size increase!
The eldest of my wife’s four cats is on his countdown now. His diabetes has flared up again and the vet said his liver enzymes are high. He’s about 17 now, best guess, and though he’s slimmed down a lot since, at one point he was so big if he wanted to go upstairs he had to make two trips.
The last two cats we lost lived to 21 and 18, respectively so he could still be around a while, but the clock is ticking and my wife doesn’t like the sound.
Jasper’s winding down? Next thing you know he’ll be telling us Gnat is driving.
a pie chart of my reaction to Lilek’s piece would include wedges labeled awe, envy, wowser, whoa, and geeze.
You reminded me of this…Sent to me years ago.
Everyone who knows the Cassity’s also knows Jack our spotted wonder. Our move to Paola was a great surprise for him. He had days of running and exploring. Through the addition of Buddy (lab mix) and Bubba (old civil war dog) Jack insisted on being the leader of the pack.
Our Sunday seemed very usual as the “boys” began to survey the fields for signs of movement. Two coyotes were moving across the back fence. The boys raced from the porch to open field to chase them away. Jack leaping with speed and determination passed Buddy. At 13 years old Jack was still the undisputed sprint king of the pack. The coyotes were leaping fences and running west into the thick stand of trees.
When the boys got back to the house they were tried but anxious. Jack was not with them. Jack is always the first back home. Buddy and I back tracked and found Jack in the west field. He had passed away in mid flight from a heart attack. Lying peacefully in the prairie grass, our Jack lived and died number one.
Don and I buried him in the west field with his Frisbee. We will miss him. He was beautiful, smart, fun and best of all…free.