Feelin' skinny at the pool

Here is a picture of the happiest dog in the world. This is my Hoppsy. She's awesome. She is smart, funny and would make a respectable center fielder on any team. Even now, at the ripe old age of nearly 11, she can snag the tennis ball right out of the air. What a champ. Oh, and did I mention that she idolizes me and worships the ground I walk on. I've got to get one of those bumper stickers that reads, "I aspire to become the person my dog thinks I am."
The other day, while swimming alongside triathlon girl, I was feeling a bit frumpy. Today, I was a cross between Janet Evans and Heidi Klum, gorgeous and fast in the water. That's because on one side was an enormous woman who could not actually swim. Rather, she walked back and forth across the pool. I give her credit, though. At least she was there. On the other side of me was a snail's pace breast stroker who did not seem to want to get her hair wet. My freestyle stroke sent me past her like
an Olympic sprinter racing a granny with a walker. Wewhoo!
When I got home, Ron was making great progress on the tractor. Together, we not only got the lawn mowed and the edges trimmed but cleared another large patch of grass. Ron is pretty sore tonight. He hasn't exerted himself much at all for over a month. So he'll be hobbling around tomorrow.
Other than that, there's not much new. This weekend we're planning a big excursion; the two hour drive to Costco! Again... wewhoo! Aloha!

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Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

General goofiness

I was driving home from an abbreviated shift at work last night when I turned on the radio and heard Bob Dylan singing Everybody Must Get Stoned . I was reminded of a placard I once saw at a Dairy Queen in Colorado that read, Everybody Must Get Coned . So it occurred to me, there navigating through the misty darkness, that with a slight modification, this could be a great slogan for a number if different businesses. Here's my list. Telecommunications company: Everybody must get phoned . Cutlery shop and knife sharpening services: Everybody must get honed . Credit Union: Everybody must get loaned . Brothel: Everybody must get moaned. Winery: Everybody must get Rhoned . Fitness Center: Everybody must get toned . Local planning commission: Everybody must get zoned . Bio-research company: Everybody must get cloned. Doggy daycare: Everybody must get boned. Manufacturer of modern, unmanned spy planes: Everybody must get droned . Reader of corny mottoes and slogans listed on a chees

Re-writing Twain: Adendum

The best thing about rants, at least among the civilized, is that someone smart always makes a valid point to the contrary. My fellow University of Alaska Anchorage classmate, Wendy, directed me to this column, written recently for the New York Times by a writer I admire, Lorrie Moore . She's on both sides of editing Twain issue, and for good reason, posing the notion that maybe Mark Twain was never intended to be children's literature and that that is the problem. Give it a read, then tell me what you think, if you're so inclined. It was Flannery O'Connor who said, "The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information to last him the rest of his days." No matter how idyllic one's childhood, no matter how hard grown ups try to protect their young charges, trauma happens, sometimes the likes of which no child should endure. Stories that reflect this are often the fodder for great literature, stories not necessarily suitable for y

Mountains and Islands

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