Lucy Is On The 10-Day DL

Unfortunately, Lucy has landed on the 10 day disabled list retroactive to Saturday morning. The injury was sustained during one of her favorite activities, chasing this:

Yes, the Chuckit Paraflight 2000 has been Lucy’s go-to toy for her entire life. This particular version is the fourth one, the other three having long ago been destroyed from use. Nearly every day, weather permitting, the two of us go out in the backyard. When I pull out the frisbee she begins a series of hysterical jumping maneuvers as she awaits the first throw. I loft the thing on a practiced trajectory, high and arching from right to left. I’ve done it so many times, I’m like one of those pitching machines. Lucy takes off on a dead run and then at the perfect moment launches herself skyward, snatching the frisbee out of the air with the elegant lines of an Olympian long jumper. It is a thing of athletic beauty. Then she brings it to me, insisting on a little bit of tug-o-war before relinquishing it for another throw. She tells me she’s done when she catches the frisbee, turns to me for my applause, then drops it to the ground and prances around the yard in a victory lap.

But I am not a pitching machine. Sometimes my throws are off target and she either can’t catch it, or her valiant attempt places her body in a contorted position from which a successful catch is nearly impossible. Such was the case yesterday morning when my second throw of the day was too high. She overran it a bit so when she launched herself to catch it she found herself too far under it and to its right. Instead of just letting it go she attempted an acrobatic catch by contorting her body wildly mid-flight in one of the most athletic displays I have ever been privileged to witness. Somehow she was able to snag the thing, a truly miraculous catch. But when she landed back on terra firma her legs were wildly out of position. She landed awkwardly, while somehow being able to maintain her balance. But when she began running back towards me she abruptly stopped and held up her front right paw, like she wanted to shake. Then she tried running again, only to stop again, holding out her paw again. Poor girl. 

So, this morning she still has a bit of a limp but is better. As a precaution, there will be no more Chuckit Paraflight 2000 workouts for a week or so. She will NOT be happy with this verdict and will no doubt want to seek a second opinion. But my decision is final.

Time For a Fight

Here’s an update on my friend with breast cancer:

She’s had an up and down week. She received some good news from a biopsy. She received some bad news from the doctor who detailed the course of action required to battle the thing. He described what she should expect over the coming weeks and months. It won’t be pretty. There will be nausea, diarrhea, loss of hair, etc. etc. First of all, I like a doctor who doesn’t sugar coat things. I would rather know exactly what I’m dealing with at the beginning, than to wake up a couple of weeks in and discover that one leg is considerably shorter than the other and be like, “What the??  GAKKKKK!!!!” But that’s just me.

As she was explaining all of this to me, she said something really encouraging—and she probably didn’t even know she was doing it. She said, “I’m not discouraged by any of this...just mad.”

I loved hearing that. For one thing, she has every right to be mad. I would be furious. What has she ever done to deserve this? Not a damn thing. I have no idea why things like this happen. Absolutely none of it is fair. But hearing her say she was mad tells me she’s ready for a fight. I’m not sure that this cancer knows exactly what it’s up against. We’ve all heard that old expression, “Never mess with a woman from the Valley” and its pre-#metoo codicil, “Don’t piss off a broad from Buena Vista”

To help fortify her for the fight, I have promised to text her a steady supply of Dad Jokes. I figure that having to endure a stream of horrible jokes will toughen her up. Comparatively, chemo will seem like child’s play. So far she has responded with some form of the face palm emoji and/or replies that start with the words...Lord help me Jesus...

So, it looks like my friend has no intention of being a passive bystander in this battle. She will fight. Her faith is strong. So she will bring some very righteous indignation to the battle. Godspeed, girl!

Bummed

This morning, I fully expected to wake up to the sound of wind and rain slashing against the windows of my house while Lucy lay wedged between us, trembling in fear. Instead. . . Crickets.

As of 6:55, still not a drop of rain. However, the wind is starting to pick up. I’m disappointed. Am I the only one who kinda enjoys bad weather? Seriously, crazy thunderstorms, blizzards, hurricanes, they are all exciting to me, at least the build up and anticipation are exciting. Dealing with a whacked out Lucy, shoveling snow and cleaning up fallen tree limbs isn’t much fun, but the storms themselves are a blast. Admit it, you like them too.

I have a theory as to why this is...uncertainty and danger are therapeutic...in small doses. When a huge storm is in the forecast there’s this feeling that comes over you of dread, a sliver of fear that you might be at the mercy of the natural world. The reason that this brings something close to a thrill is because it reminds you that you are alive and that the safety that you assume is all a paper thin illusion. This explains why we talk so much about the weather, why the only reason most of us turn on the local news is for the weather forecast. It’s the one part of our daily lives which can’t be sterilized and sanitized. We are at its whim, and if it turns suddenly nasty and violent, there isn’t a single solitary thing we can do about it. Pretty cool when you think about it.

So, this morning, I’m bummed.

A Gift and a Curse

So, I’m writing another book. I published the first chapter on this blog a couple weeks ago for your opinion. You all said, “Finish it.” But I was going to write it no matter what you guys said. You see, once a story gets in my head, it takes up permanent residence, then begins crowding other things out. Before long it’s dominating practically every idle moment, to the point where I start forgetting how to do important stuff like sleeping. Maybe this is why so many writers go crazy. Their brains become hostages to their imagination.

I’m five chapters in and each is more difficult to write than the last. The time travel plot is deviously difficult to manage. You have to think three dimensionally, taking care to ponder the future consequences of every twist, every word of dialogue. How will this decision effect my character thirty years down the road? Can I alter his or her entire future by a single encounter, conversation, or even word? If so, I’ve got to be careful with each phrase, lest I unintentionally destroy the story. It’s tedious and nerve-wracking, and I can’t shut down the process as easily as I can shut down the computer.

But, writing such a story has me thinking about the power of words, and their capacity to bless and curse, to lift us up and tear us apart. We all have the power to destroy someone’s confidence by one careless phrase. We have it within us to make someone’s day with a single affirming observation spoken in kindness. It is an awesome power we human beings share with no other creature—the gift and curse of language.

May we all devote ourselves to using this power with humility and great care, understanding what great blazes are started by a single match.

Pet-Friendly

Pam and I are in the midst of planning a Fall family trip to the Smokey Mountains. To that end, we are scouring the interwebs for cabins which are large enough, well-appointed enough, and most important of all...pet-friendly. Whatever place we find will have to be pet-friendly indeed, since it will have to accommodate these three beasts. . . 

The pet-friendly disclaimer of most of these cabins reads like this:

We only accept ‘well-behaved’, housebroken dogs into our pet-friendly cabins. A leash should always be used when your dog is outside. As a rule, dogs should NOT be left unattended in cabins. Always use a crate in the ‘rare’ event that a dog must be left alone.

Hmmm...when it comes to a group of three retrievers at various stages of developement and psychological wellness, the term well-behaved is fraught with peril. “Well-behaved” 
compared to what, exactly? Compared to a cornered mountain lion, I should think that our three dogs would compare quite nicely. Compared to a house full of feral cats, these pups could put on a clinic of exemplary behavior. However, if the standard is, say. . . A ten year old, blind, arthritic border collie, then I’m afraid we might be in trouble. Nevertheless, we will sign the lease anyway, attesting to the sterling reputation and character of these three stooges and hope for the best. Incidentally, this will be their first time together, the three of them, neither Jackson or Lucy, have met their new cousin Frisco. Cameras will be at the ready.

We are doing this trip for two reasons. First, we miss our kids. Secondly, 2019 is our year to host Christmas. There will be 17 people here for dinner and presents...along with the beasts. We don’t want that to be their first date. So, our Fall trip is like a test run.

Keep us in your prayers from Oct.10-14.

Bad News

There is perhaps nothing quite so disconcerting than to wake up with one of your eyes grotesquely swollen. Actually, I suppose waking up with both eyes grotesquely swollen would be worse. Now that I think about it, there are a lot of things that would be more disconcerting than waking up with a grotesquely swollen eye...waking up with a severed, bloody horse head in your bed comes to mind...but that’s not important right now. What’s important is the fact that my left eye looks like what the Elephant Man would look like after 10 rounds with Muhammad Ali. Looks like I’m going to have to postpone that GQ photo shoot until another day. I will spare all of you the hideous picture.

There are people dealing with far worse than a swollen eye this morning. One of them is a dear friend of mine who I learned yesterday is dealing with an aggressive breast cancer diagnosis. The news staggered me. News like this always does. I hear about a contemporary who is gravely ill or who has passed away and it always stuns me. How can it be possible that so-and-so is sick? She’s...my age. 

In this case it’s an amazing lady who I have known for the better part of 30 years. I first met her back in my old Life of Virginia days. She does what I do for a living, so over the years we have attended many meetings and gone on many conventions together. She’s a blast to hang around, nearly as ADHD as I am, and so easy to tease because of her Virginia Hillbilly accent. She’s one of those people who it is practically impossible not to love. When I heard the news, I called her, hoping to cheer her up. She didn’t need it. Her deep and abiding faith is sustaining her, her naturally optimistic personality protects her from fatalism. If this cancer can be licked, she will be the one to do it.

So, my friend will have top priority in my prayers for a while. Plus. . . I sent her links to some of my worst Dad Joke blogposts. Not sure if that was a good or bad idea.

Random Encounters or Divine Appointments?

There’s a guy at my church named Tommy Thompson who runs a personal coaching and consulting business, among other things, and also sends out weekly encouragement emails. They are well written and wise. I look forward to getting them every week. The one I opened this morning was on the subject of the divine appointment, the belief that there are times in life where God orchestrates time and space in order to set us on a course of his choosing to introduce us to a specific person for some divine purpose. This is one of those areas where the physics baffles me but the concept rings true. Its happened to me plenty of times. Some random wrong turn to my day throws me in with someone I would never have encountered without the wrong turn...etc...etc.

His email got me thinking about something that happened to my wife recently. Over the last year or so she has had a random chatting relationship with an older man who stocks the shelves at her grocery store. It started with Pam saying hello and asking him how his day was going some random day. Over time, she would see him again and they would chat a bit. Soon she learned that the guy had experienced some devastating things, the suicide of one of his children and his wife leaving him for another man. When Pam learned that his last day at the store was coming up and he was moving to the Outer Banks and a fresh start, she decided to bake him some cookies and write him a note of encouragement as a going away gift. Anyway, when she gave him the cookies, the man was overcome by the gesture, bewildered by her kindness. And after this week, they will never see each other again. 

This event along with Tommy’s email has me thinking about random encounters. What if Pam had never thought to speak to the guy that first day? Suppose she had been in a different place in the store the day it first happened? Suppose he had been sick that day and missed it? These are the type of thoughts that will drive you crazy if you dwell on them too long. But there is one thing of which I am convinced...you and I are surrounded by hurting people. We have no idea the crap people around us are dealing with. That guy who cut you off in traffic this morning (who may or may NOT have been me) may have just gotten a troubling diagnosis. That rude cashier may have just discovered that her husband has been cheating on her. You just never know. Maybe if we could live our lives with greater sensitivity, and sprinkle in more grace, we would be more aware of what others might be going through. Perhaps if our hearts were more tender, we would be more prepared to be a blessing to others, instead of plowing through life single-mindedly pursuing our own agendas.

Harder than it sounds, I know...but worth the effort.