Toughest Puppy Ever... or He Might Get Us Both Killed.

Ok, so this is the story of how my beloved puppy (weighing in at a grand total of 7 pounds while standing all of 6" off the ground) managed to totally piss off the dog down the way that is nearly three times his size and at least that in weight. [aside: no one was hurt in the course of these events, because if they did, the author would not be here to relate it and the author's mother--given the current level of fear of dogs anyway--would be forced to become a hermitic house-troll, which is a shame because she's really fun to be around.]

Now, my little (barely) 8 month old puppy is, of course, very tough and overly fond of bravely "protecting" me. At least in our own yard. surrounded by fences. and with me watching. (Sometimes tough puppies also have run back really quickly and prove their toughness from "someone's" lap, but that is just so no one sneaks up on you; it's, ahem, for your protection only.) This is the puppy I'm describing. By the way, Dachshunds have this quirky need to have the last word as well.

Anyhow, this puppy decided to pick a tough talk fight with the big dogs a few doors down--nothing new, just go outside and have a mean mouth contest and go about business. Except that this day, my Little Man says something too far... and then can't stop himself--must have last word, so this is a little how it went:

Little Man: wuf.

crazy psycho dog across the way: BARKBARKBARKBARKYAPholyfreakingcow,gonnabustyourlightsoutBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK... bark bark. bark.

LM: woof.

Psycho dog: redoubled barking in volume and rate.

LM: [looks back through the fence mildly interested until the pause] wuf.

PD: now has a hernia and is at risk for heart attack... just kidding. sort of.

But he did get more and more pissed off with each repetition (not that it's not annoying as hell, by the way, when it's you Dachshunds do this to, so I completely understand, but still). He starts pawing the ground and kicking up dirt with his back feet, and hitting "that range" in the bark, and I moved from absentminded, "no, Baby, we don't bark at people in their own yards" to saying, "um, Coop... Let the wookie win."

"woof."

and dog down the way started doing his best to leap, climb, scale--anything to get through the fence at us, and finally made it to the neighbor's yard before my little hero decided discretion was indeed (finally) the better part of valor, and maybe we should go inside. I was totally with him, and we did. with one last:

"woof."

Little stubborn shit, I swear... and the poor dog and my Little Man still exchange words when they're out together; neither one can stand to let the other win, I guess. It's a good thing lessons in life come up like this so we can learn from them... I no longer go with him.

Dhyāna Series: Photo 9

I haven't been feeling very peaceful lately, so this actually the anti-dhyāna, or "what not to look for" post. or in other words: chaos.

From the concert recently that I had the opportunity to photograph, and I guess my tripod tipped during the capture. You can just distinguish the faces through the "fire," but I actually thought this was the coolest photo I took. It so perfectly captured my frustration, not associated with the concert or anyone in it, just life.



Last night at session, I said to Sensei, referring to recent experience, "that must've been your personal version of hell." He responded, "It certainly had some purgatorial qualities."

I think mine would have to be the doctor's office with all the crooked picture frames. (I do mean all, and this is including frame, mat, and picture alike... gah.)

Dhyāna Series: Photo 8

Haven't done one of these in a while... sorry.



This is my companion, my sweet baby, my conscience, and my life. He tells me to stop worrying; he tells me when I need to stop working and when to go back; he lets me know that life is wonderful just to have a squeaky toy and a yard to play in;

I am remarkably grateful for him.

He is also the world-champion sleeper...

Peter Horan, 1926-2010: He Will Be Missed

Treasuring my second night, locked in an after-hours pub session, in Ireland more than ever today with the loss of a good man, fiddle, and flute player:

http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=132877&messages=2











Thanks for the memories.

"New Tune"

I have been playing Irish traditional music for almost 8 years now. I love it. For years, I was the annoying kid with the napkin "list" of tunes to learn and would hound anybody for a name or time to learn it. (Have I mentioned how grateful I am to the poor people that have to teach me??) I carried 'the List' around with me until my (then) dog chewed up the first half, and I admitted that I couldn't remember the names of most of them anyway... For me then, a "new tune" was a wonderful little jewel that I found/learned and looked at, turned in my hand, learned it by heart, and kept it in a bag in my memory. I still can't help feeling that way, actually, about tunes that people play, or I hear on recordings.

However, more and more often my "new tunes" are little diddles that I've come up with. It is such fun. I hate to say that what I'm doing is "writing" them, (though I say it for brevity's sake), but after the first few I figured were pretty safe to say that I at least am the first to play them. (One of these reasons being that I apparently can't create a 4 beat measure/4 bar phrase to save my life, though it's both the meter and the model I'm using.) They're like little melodic puzzles, and geekily enough, theory exercises, that I hear my instrument playing. The more I do it, the more fascinating and addictive it gets. I don't think I'd rate them with any of the other tune writers I know, but it's become my "weekend off" activity.

Hang with the dogs, swap witticisms with the roommate, and find a new tune. In honor of the season and level of humor, this week's was an exercise in tonality and modulation with melodically-implied chord structure.

fun.

"Better Safe Than Sorry:" A Gastronomical Cliché

you know, I've never really understood the term "comfort food." The concept of a "foodie" was explained to me a few years ago, and I'm still working on the relation to that one. I've known for years that I come from a family of (and am a classic example of) some of the most picky eaters I think I've ever met. In my case, I have worked hard to not be so, because there are too many things out in this world to experience (and wayyyy too many feelings to be hurt, especially in the area of food) to be bogged down in "I don't like it." In some areas, I can proudly say, though not to my credit at all--and a massive shout out here to Mr. Thomas Seaquist...--that I have in fact come to love a wide(r) range of food than I ever would have imagined I could have.

That being said, I am still a terribly picky eater. The way I see it, there are two kinds of picky eaters: the hyper-sensitives and the overly imaginatives. Translation: those with a seemingly heightened awareness and perception of what they are eating, so that only the best combinations of things are "good," and those that have a really good, some might say "overactive," imagination, so that they talk themselves into imagining various foods in certain ways that cannot then be consumed--(raisins &etc., however beneficially flavorful, will always look like bugs to me.) If there was any doubt as to which category I fall in, that last should resolve it. Imagination has always been my weakness in many areas of my life, but that is a post to itself. I have also noticed that often "textural" eaters, those that have a problem eating substances based on texture alone, are predisposed to be in the imagination category as well, and I find that very interesting. Texture is also one of those things that more than nearly any other food issue is the hardest to overcome. ahem, I might know a little about that, too...

Despite the direction this post is taking, I actually eat a lot. It's not varied much, and it's not very exciting, but I do eat quite a bit. even though I am a bit prone to forgetting it once I've made it, but that's the effect of being an utter space cadet as well. What has brought my attention to it most recently are the discussions I've listened to or participated in on wastefulness and "cootie" fear. I know (and am related to) some people who will do anything rather than throw out food, and I wholeheartedly agree, intellectually. Until it comes to the point where something of questionable age comes into question, or, as I'm dealing with now: reintroducing food after being a bit sick. I become extremely hesitant at all points, and it has confused me to no end for years. I, as the worst liar known to man, am actually reducing myself to lip-service on something??? Ugh... makes me sick all over again. However, (since I've had quite a bit of time to think on it lately), I think I now understand.

First of all, I'm not alone in this; many of the picky eaters I've watched lately, I find to be in the same boat. I no longer believe it to be lip-service. I simply think for some of us, it is that we can't risk losing something that we actually like, because there's not that much to begin with, and therefore losing anything means a substantial dip in the available variety. It wasn't until I considered eating again (this morning...) and actually went so far as to get breakfast, but then proceeded to carry it around with me all morning with the thought, "I like this--what if it makes me sick all over again? Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness..." that it occurred to me what so many of us might be doing on a regular basis. "Better safe than sorry" ensures that we can still stand to eat, rather than face the horror of liking new things.

I also think about this a lot as I am doing research on a new diet plan that cuts out one of those areas for me: gluten. As I know more and begin to implement it, I'd like to create a discussion thread that covers it. I'm sure there are a lot of people going through similar things that something like that might help. Sure would me, and I can't find it... so, rule #2:

if it's not there, create it.

Dhyāna Series: Photo 7

I am a TA for first time this semester, and I am beyond grateful every time I walk into the classroom or sit down to grade ninety-one assignments. I love hearing their hopes and dreams, their likes and dislikes, and lending a hand to address their concerns if I am able. (I do also on occasion feel like having oxygen handy wouldn't be a bad idea either, but ...)

I love it. and these kids. and I wouldn't do anything else for the world.

(also, loved finding out today that some old pop culture references, random though they might be, are still present in today's youth. Well, beyond old movie junkies like me, that is. "'We are all out of cornflakes - FU.' Took me 3 hours to figure out "FU" meant "Felix Unger.")