Binary

The creator gave us two eyes and, by God, I can't bring myself to see nothing but two moons. The eyes do not agree with science. 

How The Trolls Get Trolled By The Trolls Who Get Trolled On

It's been 14 years now. Things are different. No more Thomas the Tank Engine toys. No more smeared cake on the face.

I can't think of a birthday more fitting for Asa than April Fool's Day.

He's a comedian. Practical jokes. Anything for a laugh and to make somebody smile.

It's wonderful how he's turned out. They talk about teenagers. This is fun.

So ... he had this coming.

Troll and get trolled.

When I was in the grocery store tonight to pick out a balloon, I debated between a simple "Happy Birthday" and the trifecta of Disney princesses.

But I know Asa.

He'd do it to me if given the opportunity.

As I walked out, a guy asked me, "So, you've got a big birthday party to plan tonight?"

I nodded my head.

He said, "Your daughter?"

This is where I could have just nodded again .. but I didn't.

In one of those times where you think your own joke is so funny that everybody's going to get it ... I explained.

"No, my son."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it's April Fool's and he likes to joke around, so ..."

"Oh, OK. How old?"

"Um, 14."

"So, if you just knew him, hey, you'd know, this is funny."

"Cool."

"You asked."

"I know."

Yes, the joke ultimately was on me.

But it did get a laugh.

And that's all I'm looking for.

Like father, like son.

If Only I Had The Editing Skills

What I wish I could see in this picture:

A French guy smoking a pipe and wearing a ridiculous beret is splayed across the wet floor, looking puzzled.

Meanwhile, three other guys stand to the side.

The American is in hunting camo attire and holding a Budweiser in his hand.

The German is wearing lederhosen, drinking from a beer boot.

The Mexican has a sombrero on his head and a Dos Equis.

And all three are pointing at the French guy and the sign on the floor, smirking.

Wealth

This is a difficult lesson for me - because the pestilence is so insidious.

I don't consider myself a man of material wealth.

If I were, who knows how much more infected I would be.

But the worship of wealth is far more than the word can describe.

It's ego, judgment, instransigence.

The worship of good as well as bad - as if you know.

Anyway ... I interpreted this this way today, with a little help, it being a Sunday and all:


In regards to material wealth, class warfare isn't the point. And self-persecution is a distraction.

It's that if your wealth determines your worth - as it imperceptively can do - you won't find the peace you're looking for.




I don't know that this solves any problems for me. For all I know it creates more. But ...
 
Luke 6:20-31

"Jesus looked up at his disciples and said:

"Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
"Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
"Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
"Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.
"But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.
"Woe to you who are full now,
for you will be hungry.
"Woe to you who are laughing now,
for you will mourn and weep.
"Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

"But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you."

Will And Regret

For every measure of regret, I'd like to think she matched it - and more - with an implacable will.

The will, then, would be strong.

A family and its dog.

This wasn't an easy 14 years.

She was defiant. Yet so perpetually afraid.

She was like a wild animal. The purple tongue. Abandoned and picked from the pound by pity and not breed.

She snapped at the kids, but never hurt them.

We feared her occasional escape.

Frustrating. Middling. Jealous.

But cared for. And pitied.

I didn't always handle my frustration well. 

I had never owned a dog before. I had always thought of this unconditional joy, a symbiotic relationship.

Sure, she was happy to see us, but we just could never connect.

I'd think of going outside to pet her, but instead I'd go days without touching her.

***

I should have known how the end would come.

Difficult. Unyielding.

A spirit of survival determined to navigate a mortal body broken by time.

People thought we should have done it sooner - but we knew her.

She wanted to live, and her life had been one of making life more difficult than it needed to be.

We gave her medicine. And she carried on with what seemed to be happiness. And I believe it was, as much as she knew of such a thing.

When she could no longer walk on hardwood floors or tile, it meant she could no longer move inside.

I had to wrap her in a blanket and ferry her to the door, where outside she could find traction.

This was tenable when it was warm outside. Outside ... where she liked to be.

Our modern conveniences separate us from the cycle of life.

The cold comes. It is indiscriminate.

Even toward the end, I would get frustrated that she laid at the door, looking for just another piece of food for no reason other than there was nothing else she seemed to care about.

If you petted her, she would be sniffing for food. If you didn't do it at the right time, she might bite you.

She had been deathly afraid of thunder. One night, she laid in the rain. I grabbed her to get her inside, her teeth planted into my forearm.

A dog that can't walk in the cold. That you can't touch.

I pitied her. But deep compassion that I feel for other things was either suppressed, absent or drawn into a dark void.

All that kept her alive was her will to live ... and my regret.

***

The thought: What a burden could be lifted?

Perhaps.

But not my regret.

There wouldn't be enough time to balance against the accumulation.

I tried in recent days. Her response was the same, but the knowledge that it soon wouldn't matter anymore was enough to find some purpose in it.

I looked out the window into the backyard. She had to brace her legs to use the bathroom. And she was determined to walk out there to do it.

The cold was setting in. It just couldn't carry on.

***

The end was not peaceful, as they often portray.

I should have known the fierceness of her will to survive, even in the face of such a tragic resignation. And the fear that didn't cripple her, but rather kept a crippled body in motion.

No one was prepared.

It was, unfortunately, an end emblematic of her life.

The relief of a burden lifted?

I don't feel it.

All I feel is regret.

I look out the window, and I still expect - and want - her to slowly trek on by.

I know now that, even though I can offer no evidence, I love that dog.

I wouldn't have chosen her ... but she was ours.

***

I remember the time, a few years ago, when I walked in through a back door and for reasons I can't explain, she thought I was an intruder.

She barked fiercely down the hall.

I stood still and quiet, curious what would come of it.

What would she ultimately do?

The sound advanced steadily down the hall.

Then right to the edge of the door.

She peeked around the corner and stopped.

Underneath her was a pool of pee.

She had been afraid - but she had kept coming.

And, I imagine, not knowing what she would do - or what would become of her.

What ultimately became of her was what she feared that day: death at the hands of a stranger.

And, like that day, she willed herself to fight it.

***

Her will deserves more than the legacy I can summon.


I miss her. I want to see her. I want to draw some meaning.

But the toll-taker is at the bridge - and he is paid in self-forgiveness.

It's a currency I haven't earned.

And I don't know how I could.

R.I.P, Sky