For the love of a dog

Note: While cleaning out some old files, I found several things I’d written over the years. This is one of them. – Jim

25SEP1995

Tomorrow my dog, Hook, will be 21. Actually, he’ll be three, but in ‘dog years’ that equals 21. Where did they ever come up with this ‘dog year’ stuff? Is it supposed to make us feel better when they die? As if, even though they only live to be nine, they think they had 63 good years?

Well, I don’t buy it. It didn’t make me feel any better as a boy when Rufus, my basset hound died, and it doesn’t make me feel any better now. The point is, people years are the ones that matter. It matters how much time we get to spend with them, how much joy is added to both lives, man and dog, by being together. So Rufus lived to be nine and we pretend that he was 63. Either way, now he’s gone and there’ll never be another one like him, no matter how many dogs I have, or how hard I try to make it so.

On the other hand, if one of my years equals seven for Hook, that means that one minute for me is the same as seven for him. No wonder he’s so hyperactive! He paces around the living room looking at me with those big brown eyes saying, “C’mon! Get Up! Let’s Go! There are rabbits to chase, streams to jump in, cats to harass! And there you sit… Don’t you see? Time’s a-wastin’! Let’s go!” But I don’t go. Not enough, anyway. Because there are other responsibilities and other distractions. I have to do the dishes; I have to go to work; I have to vacuum the living room, and wash the car, and pick up the trash can he knocked over and the trash he has strewn haphazardly across the floor.

“Later, Hook. Not right now, Hook. Lay down, Hook.” And then I start to worry that I’ll be like this with my kids. “Cat’s in the Cradle” begins playing somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind. “Aw, Hook, it’s been a really long day,” I explain. “You know I’m gonna be home soon, son,” Harry Chapin sings in my mind. “But he’s a DOG!” I protest, mainly to myself. But Harry is as relentless as Hook. I give in and head to the kitchen for his leash. Hook knows where I’m going and what I’m getting. He begins to tear back and forth through the house, stopping abruptly on the carpet in the living room and sliding crazily across the hardwood floor in the dining room. I stop for a moment to consider that, like a child in his stocking feet, he probably likes to slide on the floor. After all, he’s been doing the same thing for nearly three years.

Outside, the night air is cool. The moonlit sky is perfectly clear and I can see shimmering contrails of airplanes criss-crossing above. He pulls me along the sidewalk, stopping every few feet to verify that he still maintains ownership over this bush and that. “This tree is mine,” he seems to think. “Hey, somebody’s been at this hydrant!” I can see in his eyes he’s perplexed. He stops, briefly looks at me as if to ask me to turn my head, and quickly re-establishes his rightful ownership.

I follow obediently as we walk on. Slowly, my mind clears and I can feel the pressures of the day slipping away as easily as Hook on the dining room floor. We arrive at a park and I sit down on a bench. Hook sits at my feet and leans against me. I lay my head back, close my eyes, and breath deeply. I smell grass that’s been recently cut and the exhaust of a car that’s burning a little too much oil. I hear cicadas in the trees and grasshoppers on the ground and traffic streets away. Hook sits and waits with his mouth open, panting. He looks around us and sees people walking on the sidewalk. A car drives by. Somewhere nearby cats are fighting (or mating; either way they’re noisy) and Hook cocks his head at the unusual howl. But he doesn’t move. It’s the only time he’s been still since I arrived home, and I think that he is still now because he knows that I need him to be. He knows that I’m regrouping, cleansing my mind and my heart and my soul from another day of free enterprise. He looks up and me and… waits.

When Hook is gone, I’ll wish that I had spent more time with him. I’ll wish that I had taken him to the park more and the lake more and everywhere more. Because when he’s gone, like Rufus, there’ll never be another one like him, no matter how many dogs I have, or how hard I try to make it so.

Dear 16-year-old me…

I got a message from my mother this morning with a link to this video. Just five minutes and three seconds, it was a short investment to make me think about this issue from a completely different perspective.

Malignant Melanoma is far more deadly– and far more common– than I thought. This short video was created by a company called evidently for the David Cornfield Melanoma Fund and contains people, all of whom who have either suffered from skin cancer or lost someone to it, sending a message to their former selves. They don’t intend to reach them, of course. They hope to reach you. And me. And everyone that any of us care about.

Spend five minutes watching, maybe read up a little to know more about melanoma, and then, for God’s sake, get to know your own skin.

Thanks, Mom.

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Initial thoughts on the iPad 2

SAN FRANCISCO - MARCH 02: An attendee holds t...

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

I saw this story today and couldn’t resist sharing:

[Apple’s] focus this week has been to troubleshoot all the iPad 2s that customers are returning to the stores. One iPad came back with a post it note on it that said “Wife said no.” It was escalated as something funny, and two of the VPs got wind of it. They sent the guy an iPad 2 with a note on it that said “Apple said yes.”

I’m sure the guy who received his new iPad will find the experience matches mine. I won’t bore you with details: I love it. It’s hard to explain, really, considering I already had the first generation iPad. But the new one is noticeably thinner, not so much by looking at it, but when you hold it in your hand. It just feels…better. It’s lighter, too. Again, not so much that you really feel it; it’s more like you notice that it doesn’t seem quite as heavy after you’ve been holding it awhile.

These are the biggest changes, at least for me. The speed does seem quite improved. The speakers are louder. The camera is nice to have, but I don’t use it that often. (It should be noted that you can look only one of two ways when you hold up something as big as an iPad to take a photo or a video: either like an idiot, or someone who is trying to say, “Look! I’ve got an iPad 2 and it has a CAMERA!” In either case, you kinda look like an idiot.)

And then there’s the cover, with which I have a love/hate relationship. I love it’s form factor. It’s very well designed and does, somehow, keep fingerprints off the screen. I love the way it folds to become a stand that is much sturdier than Apple’s previous case. And I love the self-aligning magnets that magically grab right where they’re supposed to. But I hate that it doesn’t do anything to protect the back of the iPad. I’m sure Apple will tell me not to worry about it, but I do.

Oh, and there’s this other thing… The way the hinges on the cover work, they tend to rub on the back side of the iPad. This has removed the finish from the hinges (which isn’t a big deal), and it’s removed the finish from the back of the iPad (which is a big deal.) True, it doesn’t do anything to affect the usability. Everything still works perfectly. But to see those two little smudges on the back like ugly blemishes of abuse… It’s very frustrating. Especially since I’ve been exceedingly careful not to abuse the thing. Still, it’s a very small thing in the overall scheme. This generation exceeds the original in every way.

What’s the one question Rainn Wilson doesn’t want you to ask?

We watched the SXSW world premiere of SUPER starring Rainn Wilson, Ellen Page, Liv Tyler and Kevin Bacon last night. The movie seems to be unlike much of anything that has come before it (that I’ve seen, anyway). It has this odd way of being strange, insightful, darkly funny, tragic, and heartbreaking all at the same time.

When writer/director James Gunn was asked about it afterward, he said the concept for the film grew out of this idea that we have all seen and talked about Batman, and Batman essentially is a guy that goes out and beats up bad guys. He wondered what that would look like if you tossed a bucket of cold reality on it, and the result is SUPER.

Wilson was great as Frank, the every-day protagonist short-order cook turned hero, but for my money, Ellen Page (of Juno fame) absolutely stole the show.

Following the screening, the three of them hopped up on stage to answer questions. And–wouldn’t you know it?– the first question asked was the one that Rainn is soooo sick of hearing. Here’s what that looked like from our seats:

SUPER from Jim Cota on Vimeo.

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To whom should I turn?

I have a friend who is sick… again. I have another friend who is jobless. Another whose marriage is failing. Another who is far, far from home. And another… And another… Each of them are facing the future with all the courage they can muster, though a shallow fear may be lying just below the surface. To whom should I turn with my concern for each?

In contrast, I have found increasing abundance. There are a myriad of tiny blessings in every moment. When I reach out and pick up my child, hold her in my arms and feel her breath on my ear when she says, “I love you, Daddy;” there are a million facets required to experience something so simple yet so profound. They  should be duly noted, correctly attributed, and faithfully called out, each in turn. And then: appreciation. To whom should my gratitude be directed for all that I have; all that I am?  To what do I owe my undeserved fortune?

To God, perhaps? I think so. And maybe this gratitude is a simple act of faith and humility, courage and conviction, and the absolute surrender of any semblance of control. I am responsible for my own actions and reactions, but certainly not for anything else… Though I may work hard to understand and appreciate, I created neither the mind nor the heart that makes it possible.

I am reminded a quote I’ve heard only a few times but remember well:

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom, and that of all about me, seemed insufficient for the day.”

– Abraham Lincoln

If Lincoln, accomplished and successful as he was, was driven to his knees to find solace, strength, and peace– especially in light of the crisis he was facing– that’s good enough for me, too.

[Ed. note: Speaking of Lincoln, I highly recommend this short piece by Jamie Stiehm discussing his “Farewell to Springfield.” It’s a wonderful, humanizing look at this eloquent man who could speak off the cuff as perfectly as if he’d been toiling over drafts for days… And here is yet another account of the entire day, especially noting the time spent in Indianapolis, well documented and artfully expressed by Ted Widmer of the New York Times.]