Poetry Prayer #19

It's been a week of enormous ups and downs both politically and spiritually. I worked a full day today and had almost forgotten about posting the poetry prayer. I went idly searching for a poem with the word "Pride" in it because the NYC Gay Pride parade was today and because the SCOTUS decisions on DOMA and Prop 8 were uplifting and I wanted to go that direction. I found this poem by Emerson that speaks to both the great joy of those things and the great sorrows of the anti-choice legislation in OH and possibly in TX. It is also, I know, relevant to a million other things.

And beautiful.

A Nation's Strength
 by Ralph Waldo Emerson

What makes a nation’s pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?

It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.

And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at his feet.

Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor’s sake
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation’s pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

What makes a nation's pillars high And its foundations strong? What makes it mighty to defy The foes that round it throng? It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand Go down in battle shock; Its shafts are laid on sinking sand, Not on abiding rock. Is it the sword? Ask the red dust Of empires passed away; The blood has turned their stones to rust, Their glory to decay. And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown Has seemed to nations sweet; But God has struck its luster down In ashes at his feet. Not gold but only men can make A people great and strong; Men who for truth and honor's sake Stand fast and suffer long. Brave men who work while others sleep, Who dare while others fly... They build a nation's pillars deep And lift them to the sky. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20275#sthash.yQUla4Xk.dpuf

What makes a nation's pillars high And its foundations strong? What makes it mighty to defy The foes that round it throng? It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand Go down in battle shock; Its shafts are laid on sinking sand, Not on abiding rock. Is it the sword? Ask the red dust Of empires passed away; The blood has turned their stones to rust, Their glory to decay. And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown Has seemed to nations sweet; But God has struck its luster down In ashes at his feet. Not gold but only men can make A people great and strong; Men who for truth and honor's sake Stand fast and suffer long. Brave men who work while others sleep, Who dare while others fly... They build a nation's pillars deep And lift them to the sky. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20275#sthash.yQUla4Xk.dpuf

A Nation's Strength

  by Ralph Waldo Emerson

What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?

It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.

And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at his feet.

Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20275#sthash.yQUla4Xk.dpuf

A Nation's Strength

  by Ralph Waldo Emerson

What makes a nation's pillars high
And its foundations strong?
What makes it mighty to defy
The foes that round it throng?

It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
Go down in battle shock;
Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
Not on abiding rock.

Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
Of empires passed away;
The blood has turned their stones to rust,
Their glory to decay.

And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
Has seemed to nations sweet;
But God has struck its luster down
In ashes at his feet.

Not gold but only men can make
A people great and strong;
Men who for truth and honor's sake
Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly...
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20275#sthash.yQUla4Xk.dpuf

The Line, I Crossed Her

There was a movie trailer out a while ago that featured a scene where the indomitable Maura Tierney faced off against a grungy toddler and asked, "Is that chocolate on your face or poop? Is that poop?" Then, of course, she swiped a thumb across his cheek, licked it, and declared, "Chocolate! Get out of here." Just goes to show you, some days you get lucky.

If I remember correctly the movie didn't do terribly well but the trailer ran on continuous loop for a while and that joke was featured every time. We laughed because it spoke to us of our own actions but it went too far. Oh, yes, we'd licked a tissue and daubed at the face of a mildly dusty cherub once or twice but taste test potential poop? Well, I never!

Well...

I used to spend a lot of time around kids. Now I put in my time but on a more selective basis. I do, though, still have occasion to mop up the odd spill or rub off enough grime to get down to the true child underneath. It is now and always has been a very rare thing for me to resort to the lick-your-thumb-and-wipe method. I can't remember the last time I did that without apologizing to the person before I made contact. Hell, I even apologize to dogs when I wipe off their eye goo or swipe dirt-flecked spittle from their jowls. Just because it's necessary doesn't make it dignified or even welcome.

The other night I may have crossed over into Maura Tierney territory.

I was chatting with Sara at her dining table while RMo made their dinner. Ed and Bu were messing around and begging and eventually scored a chance to lick the deliciously greasy cutting board after the meat was plated. A minute later Sara looked more closely at Bu and asked, "Robert? Did you spill something on the dog?" We all peered at the dog in question more closely. He seemed flushed, perhaps wet, uninjured, though. I reached out and wiped my hand across his big, flat head. OK, so he was definitely wet but the liquid had no color. I smelled my hand. I couldn't smell anything. Right there is where everything could have ended and we could have lived full and happy lives despite the mystery.

But...

Honestly I didn't even take a second to think over the consequences. I know better! He's a dog, he'd been lurking by the turtle tank, he has full access to more than one toilet bowl, there are cats in the house (not to mention a small terrier visiting). He could have gotten his head sprinkled by any number of stomach-turning substances. Without hesitation, though, I licked my hand. Salty! Must be duck fat! Wonder how he got it on top of his head!

Whew. Some days you get lucky.

Stacking The House

In our modern day lives we don't often see a true filibuster. It's a political tool and it has elements of drama but when do we ever see a situation where we need to go that far to get justice? I mean, we're a civilized society, why would we need that hail mary sort of pass? If we were West Wing fans we remember a certain episode, The Stackhouse Filbuster, but we also know that Aaron Sorkin's stock in trade is making the ordinary extraordinary. Real life doesn't work like that. It doesn't have to.

Right now Texas State Senator Wendy Davis has more than three hours left on an approximately 13 hour filibuster to prevent a vote on an inhumane anti-choice bill. She has 2 strikes against her, one of them for being assisted in putting on a back brace since she cannot sit or lean on anything while she speaks. Women are sending her their stories to tell (you can, too, click that link, she needs you). She is refusing to yield the floor to questions despite strong opposition. She is probably wearing a soiled diaper.

She's a fucking hero.

She's not a hero because of the diaper or because she's stubborn or because she's angry or because she's Texan. She's a hero because it has actually come to this unbelievable place in the fight for reproductive choice and she was left holding the hot potato and, pot holders be damned, she's going to stand there letting that potato sear the skin from her palms for as long as she can possibly manage.

I know that there are people who read here who are anti-choice. I suspect they don't like that I characterize it as such. Know that I'm glad you read here because I believe your heart is in the right place but that I will not change my mind if you are even slightly on the side of legislating women's reproductive choice. Anti-choice is anti-choice. Be honest about what you're allowing to happen.

It is unfathomably shameful to me that we, as a nation, are at a place where the lives of human beings are valued at less than that of a clump of cells. We are spending valuable political time not in educating and safeguarding the health of the children of our country but in viciously grappling to reduce over half the population (read: women) to objects.  Disposable objects at that. We are no better than Ireland or El Salvador if we are eliminating a life saving tool from the arsenals of our society's doctors. If Wendy Davis's efforts fail there is every reason to believe that the Texas legislature will vote that women do not deserve to live.

No, I'm not exaggerating.


I will be angry about this. I am angry about it on some level. Right now, though, I'm inconsolably sad. An intelligent, capable, and courageous woman in Texas is fighting like a tiger mom to keep this atrocity from happening. I'm afraid. I'm afraid she won't make it. I'm afraid they will bend the rules and beat her down and in so doing they will succeed in legislating the humanity out of her and all the women of Texas. I am afraid that the rest of us will be next.

I hope against hope that they will not manage it but that remains to be seen. She will be a hero whatever the outcome because she is going balls to the wall for justice. She can only do her best.  Thus far her best is pretty damned good. Please let it be enough.

Photo Challenge: STEAMY

This one has some marvelous variety to it, friends. I love it when I give you a prompt that seems weird (most of these entries didn't show up until Monday) and you just blow it up once you get past that feeling. Love it!

I know that I say this pretty much every challenge but I admire so deeply Our Cindy's ability to envision an image and make it spring out of her camera. I will learn from her. I will. Also, this photo is the steamIEST!

Well, someone who works in greenhouse environments would, of course, know what STEAMY is all about. That's Our Sara!

I think I've seen some of these same gauges at Pratt during the New Year's Eve celebrations. I have never gone underground and into the steam tunnels, though, the way Our Lisa did on her recent PacNW excursion.

Speaking of people who I admire for executing their visions of perfection, there's Our Karen. She created these costumes herself and they are absolutely brilliant. I'm almost embarrassed to show her my slapdash, safety-pinned mermaid costume.

I'm a little surprised that Our Janet didn't choose to give us a STEAMY photo of her fiance. This is cute, too.

Our Ana went the "I'm STEAMED" route with the prompt. She's a dedicated anti-pipeline activist so if you have any questions I bet she can point you toward answers.

This was, hilariously, the first picture I thought of when I posted the prompt. There is a STEAMY love affair between this dog and his trainer. Of course, even a red hot lover like Rocco can be distracted by chicken.

How do I top this last prompt? I do not know. I'm going to go with another kind of hard one. We'll be posting this right before Independence Day and I'm going to be tricky about that. Prompt is BLAST. Make of it what you will!

Please enter by 9am Tuesday July 2nd for posting on July 3rd. Tag your photos with PHOTO CHALLENGE and BLAST. Check out the wonderful work in our Flickr Pool for inspiration. Also, let me know if you have questions.

Coming At It From Another Angle

One of the subjects I've been kicking around but haven't been able to get out of my head and onto the blog has been people and how much they annoy me. Lately it's felt like all of the irksome behaviors have clustered around me and I'm being smothered by them. There were a couple of days when I considered doing one post each on the oblivious/mean woman with the unneutered bulldog, the evil/crazy anti-photography woman who is back again, and a roundup of every single person in Brooklyn who watches me pull my dog aside for training and crowds us anyway. My persecution complex fantasies were cranking up to threat level red*.

I couldn't get the words out, though. All of these interactions were tedious to live through and I couldn't even manufacture a desire to re-live them in the writing. I tried to sketch out a few of my woes in an email to jrh and petered out before I could be bothered. No one wants to read about stupid people doing nasty things. We get our fill of that first hand in everyday life.

Today I'm writing, though, because someone did something with intelligence and understanding when they really, really didn't have to. I am both impressed by and grateful to this unknown soldier in society's army. I want to name him Grey Worm and have him lead my hoards of purchased followers**.

Last year Ed decided that people should not be allowed to play tennis on the tennis courts in the park***. When they left the doors open he would charge the court and be very hard to remove. I worked on this half heartedly but mostly just kept him away from the trigger. This year I've been lucky that the courts were resurfaced, making them unusable for several weeks, as the weather was warming up. This past week, though, the courts have been playable and I've been working very hard to keep Ed at enough of a distance from them that he can be successful in ignoring the players. I've used all the appropriate counter-conditioning protocols to the best of my ability at 6:30 in the morning.

This morning I ran into a friend before we approached the courts and, since I hadn't seen her in a couple of days, I had some very important human social information to relay to her. We walked along the path and parallel to the tennis courts before I thought the route through. Suddenly Ed was barking at the fence. Tennis players were surprised but not afraid. I followed the rules and didn't chase him. I pointed my feet in the direction I wanted him to go and urged him to chase me instead. I offered him treats and kept calling. I wasn't close enough, I didn't have high enough value treats, and he was way over threshold for this stimulus. I have, honestly, only myself to blame. When he found the gate I watched with my breath caught because this is a dog who will cry in the hallway rather than push a bathroom door open if it's ajar and yet, with the promise of reprimanding the man with the tennis racquet, he stuck his head through the gap, wriggled his shoulders through one by one, and charged the dude.

All play on the courts stopped. The man used his racquet to shield his ankles. I pelted for the gate and called out that he wasn't a dangerous dog but he was persistent. I'm lucky I didn't brain myself trying to fling the heavy chain off the fence links to get inside. By the time I got to the problem I knew I had to do something better than chase my dog around this guy like a deeply under-rehearsed Keystone Kop. I said, "I'm going to try and chase him to the door." I couldn't explain further. I didn't expect help. I was hunched over waiting for the threats and anger to rain down.

**Insert choirs of angels singing here because with that one sentence and without hesitation this man performed an act that would get him sainted if I had anything to say about it.**

The guy ran for the door himself. The dog was chasing him specifically. He understood both that and what my strategy was and he acted instantly to help me execute the plan. I am actually choking up thinking about it because it was such an incredibly kind and productive thing to do. He didn't have to do anything to help me (though it was also helping him get on with his game) and he certainly didn't have to do it with good humor but he did and, thank goodness, we were both rewarded for it.

The guy squeezed out the gate and Ed followed right on his heels (not touching him, never touching him, it's the same policy the dog has for squirrels) until the guy was on the other side of the door then my pup pulled up short unable, I guess, to perform his Houdini act on the gate gap in the opposite direction. I scooped him up and just apologized and apologized and apologized in a continuous stream with all the breath I had.

Do you know what the tennis player replied to me?

"It's OK."

Sir, I honestly didn't think it was OK when I got up this morning but now I'm willing to entertain the possibility. Thank you. I needed that.

*I blame this season of Mad Men.
**Very sad that Game of Thrones is done for another year.
***More accurately I believe he's seeing people wielding weapons/racquets as a threat and reacting accordingly.
****For the dog nerds, I moved a safe distance away and leashed the dog. We did not leave the park but he was not unleashed again. I am not exactly sure what my strategy will be tomorrow, whether we'll go the other way or I'll increase the distance slightly and bring better treats. Thoughts welcome.

Fire Bad, Tree Pretty

If you're a Buffy fan you'll be able to identify the title of this post as a joke from an episode where Buffy is so scrambled by the episode's experiences that all she can really say is, "Fire bad, tree pretty." I'm about there right now. I have words. They are backed up. And, you know what? That's ok. I'm working on some pictures I took and I'm yearning to buy a couple of art supplies so I can paint while feeling guilty that I'm not singing more but letting myself be blocked from that by technical issues.

Isn't "Fire bad, tree pretty" better than that mess?

Here's something else pretty. More to come.

After Song

This could be a very short post.

The show was wonderful!

Boom. Done.

From my perspective it was the best of the run of this show. I had this corroborated by at least one person, too, so I feel comfortable telling you about it. Two things contributed to that success. The first is that I realized at some point while I was getting ready that this might be the last time I get to do this particular show for a long time so I might as well take advantage of that sort of freedom. Also, Pony Express came by to make sure I had my head screwed on straight, as there was some question earlier in the day, and before she left the green room to take her seat in the audience she told me, "Close your eyes, take a breath, and remember the first time you realized you belonged here." It wasn't easy to narrow it down to one time and to be sure it was the first but I got one that meant a lot to me. The giddiness and excitement I felt all those years ago was infectious in the best way.

Possibly the best moment of the night could easily have been the worst. For some reason the song in the show that I've known the longest, "If I Were A Bell" from Guys & Dolls, is the one I have the most trouble getting through. I mix up lines or forget where I am or just wind up trailing off all together in a dribble of syllables. I was having a glorious time doing the show, it was so much fun that I actually started to groove out a little as Daryl played the intro to the song. Head down, eyes closed, I listened to the music and knew exactly where I was supposed to come in. I breathed and looked up and yet...there were no words in my mouth.

It could have gone a lot of ways but in the same way that the words just weren't there laughter was. I burst out laughing and told everyone the truth. I was having so much fun I failed to come in on time. They laughed and I'm pretty sure it was with, not at, me. Then I asked Daryl to start again and we did and when my cue came up again the words were right where they were supposed to be. So were all the rest of the words for the song and the show. It was actually one of those moments in live performance that make it better than other kinds. No one is ever going to see that show go exactly that way ever again.

If the goal is to go out on a high note then I reached goal and kissed it square on the mouth.

P.S. I got my 20 folks because I know awesome people who aren't afraid of drowning in the streets (even when they should be). Thank you to everyone who attended!

To Avoid Disappointment

I will not be wearing this costume tonight. I didn't want you to get there and be disappointed. I mean, knee pads don't turn me on but some of you guys are pretty kinky.

Tomorrow's The Day

I woke this morning to cancellations.

You see, I'm working at a new venue tomorrow night performing the show that ran three glorious nights this winter in midtown. With new venues come new rules and, as it turns out, new penalties. I absolutely understand why they impose "cancellation fees" on shows with audiences below a certain number but to deal with that one needs to have a firm hold of their nervous system.

There's a lot going on in New York. There's a lot going on in the lives of most adults. Sometimes weather happens...in a city where people generally walk places. The art of the RSVP, while not lost, is certainly wandering the desert without a map and I say that not as an indictment of anyone else but as an admission of my own failings. Sometimes people reserve very early and don't come. Sometimes people don't reserve at all. Sometimes people reserve early or late and actually do come. The one thing you can count on is you just never know.

I need to have 20 sets of eyeballs on me when the first strains of Sentimental Journey are tickled from the ivories at The Duplex tomorrow at 7pm. The wonderful staff there keeps me updated with the reservation list and, up to this morning, it was climbing slowly and steadily. I'm not kidding that the very first thing I saw when I opened my email and social media today was a sure-thing audience member canceling and she wasn't the only one. Someone was reserving, too, and I've still got some maybes. I honestly think I will have the 20 sets of butt cheeks required to avoid embarrassment but we're getting the dregs of a hurricane tomorrow so....you never know.

My practical brain continues telling people about the show while remembering that I decided to do this as an experiment and with the full knowledge that it could go every which way but loose. If I don't meet the requirements I believe I still get to do the show for whatever the audience turns out to be and the fee is just money. The part of me that picks pennies up off the sidewalk is in full on panic mode. The part of me that needs and wants to sing her heart out tomorrow night is wondering exactly how she's going to muzzle the penny picker-upper for that one glorious hour of performance. I'll do it. Somehow. That bitch can't keep me down.

She can't break me because I've been rehearsing this show for the last few weeks and every time I sing through it I get a smile on my face. Hanging out with Daryl and tweaking things here and there is one of the great joys of my recent days. I'm proud of what I've written and I love to tell a joke and I can't wait to see the reactions of people new to my work. I'm nothing but lucky to have this sort of opportunity.

I'd be lying, though, if I didn't say that I need your help. Even if you aren't in the area maybe you know someone who is. Maybe you know someone else who knows me. Maybe you don't even know but when you boost this signal one person will decide to come see the show and that's one more than I had before. So I humbly ask you to share this information (also found here on Facebook) with anyone and everyone you know (and don't know, tweet your heart out!). I promise to tell you how it went and even to post the video from this winter...just as soon as I've RSVP'd to a few invitations.

Photo Challenge: BOOST

As you may remember this photo challenge went up shortly after some terrible tornado damage in Oklahoma. During the 2 week submission period there has been more trouble in the same areas so I'm pleased to announce that we had 9 photographers submit photographs this time around which means $45 for Girl Scouts of Western Oklahoma and $45 for Forever Yours, an animal rescue organization doing hard labor in the aftermath of the storms. I'm going to round it up to $50 each and it's still not much but it's something and every little bit helps, we all know that. Thank you to everyone who participated and to everyone who has donated to the cause.

Please let the photographers know how much you appreciate them and scroll down for the next prompt. Anyone can join! (Now I have to disclaim that. Anyone who can navigate the maze of the Flickr update can join.)

Technically this one was for the previous prompt, ART, but it came in late and I didn't catch it in time to include it in that round up. I'm including it here both so we don't miss it and to be able to count it in our donation tally. I can't believe that Our Ana got this close to Buddy Guy! I've seen him live once but I was much farther away.

This is Neptune, a demonstration dog in a class for dog trainers that I audited last weekend. They were teaching her drop it but she's such a good girl that she wasn't excited enough about anything to hold on to it long enough to learn so they tried to rile her up. Look at her eyes. She is so confused but so happy to be playing a game.

Yet again Our Lisa makes it super hard for me to choose. She offered three spot on, fabulous shots for this prompt. I feel as though this is the "best" one but your mileage may vary. You should check out her photostream to decide for yourself.

Are we not all boosted by a goofy dog? Thanks to Trashalou for indulging us. Bonus points for displaying the dog on a quilt made of O for Oklahoma!

This photo makes me think two things. 1. Despite being somewhat afraid of heights I've always thought it would be nice to take a balloon ride. 2. Our Sueb0b looks very different after her commitment to a healthy eating regimen. She looks lovely in this shot, which is from 2007, but so different from the woman I am used to seeing over the past year. Gorgeous no matter which year you drop in on her!

I feel like we stole this pic from the pages of a teen magazine self-esteem column. No, no, it's just something Our Bethany took at a party in their Brooklyn home. It's fantastic and so was the party!

I love when Our Janet posts photographic evidence of what she feeds her dog because it reminds me that I am not alone! Holistic pet care really works, you guys, and our pets are living proof.

I have known Our Alisun most of my life and she has always had a killer sense of humor. I think this interpretation of BOOST proves it.

There is something absolutely surreal about this view out Our Cindy's office window (I think) even though I know that geese can fly. I have so many questions. Why there? Why is he alone? Do the rest of his Vee know he's gone? Did he at least leave a note?

Friday night is my show. Please, please, please, even if you can't come can you find some way to talk it up? I am 7 people short of the magic number and, while I'm pretty sure I will have at least 20 folks there, the reservation list does not reflect that...yet. As soon as that's done I go home, sleep fast, get up, walk the dog, pick up the rental car, and head North for my cousin, TG's, annual lobster bake. For those unfamiliar with this practice you pack lobster, corn, clams, hot dogs, and eggs in seaweed and steam them in seawater. Once you've have lobster (or corn or clams or, really, even hot dogs) done that way every other way pales in comparison.

The next prompt? STEAMY. Doesn't have to mean seafood. Run with it!

Please enter by 9am Tuesday June 18th for posting on June 19th. Tag your photos with PHOTO CHALLENGE and STEAMY. Check out the wonderful work in our Flickr Pool for inspiration. Also, let me know if you have questions.

Another One of Those Days

Yesterday my cousin and aunt said goodbye to their boxer, Baxter. I haven't gotten the full story but I do know that he was getting on in years so his departure might have been coming for a bit. That, of course, doesn't make it any easier to take.

Baxter was one enormous ball of muscles constructed out of love. With a side of tongue, the better to lick you with. He was a persistently adoring goofball...unless you were a woodchuck. (Be thankful I spared you the photo of him showing off his trophies.)

It's time to follow our tradition to honor him. Today is a Treats for Everyone Day in Baxter's name. No matter what your pets may be doing at least they're here to do it so it's time to shower them with all that they love best. When I get home Ed and I are taking a walk with Leah & Rocket and I'll probably bring along something extra disgusting for the boys to snack on. And, though it's against all of the doctors' orders I'll probably give the cats some dog kibble. I know that sounds ridiculous but they love that stuff.

Godspeed sweet boy, you're deeply missed.

*All photos are unabashedly stolen from my aunt's facebook feed. The last one is my favorite photo of Baxter ever taken. He was a good supervisor.

Thrill of the Night

There are drawbacks to living in close proximity to a whole big bunch of folks. Usually they run to the crowded subways, loud car stereos, and interesting smells emanating from weird places. They can, however, be more dangerous than that.

About three this morning I woke up because I smelled one of those smells. It happens. In this neighborhood we've even had the occasional mystery smell that finally gets tracked down miles away in a different town. I didn't think it was anything until I heard the sirens. So, despite not wearing much, I got up and looked out the window and it turned out that the firefighters were coming into my building. At that point it seemed prudent to pinpoint the problem. My first thought was, "Shit! I better check to be sure it's not my apartment!" It wasn't. I then called the security booth where an extremely flustered young man responded to my query about which apartment they were investigating with, "I don't know, ma'am! I have a lot of paperwork to fill out!" I hung up in him. He didn't seem super good in a crisis. I still didn't find this a pants-worthy problem but when I went to check and see if the firefighters were, perhaps, leaving the building I saw two of them were and they were doing it at a run. That slammed a thumb on my panic button.

The good part about this whole thing is that it turns out I have a basic plan for evacuation and I can execute it under pressure. The animals were still unaware of the excitement which worked to my advantage. The fact that I'm lazy and still had two cat carriers sitting on the floor in the living room so I didn't have to alert anyone to my scheme was also a plus.  I snuck up on one cat and popped her in a carrier, only having to shove the top of her head a couple of times. I fished the other one out from under the bed and jammed him in the other carrier while quietly blessing myself for recently cutting his nails. Then I snapped the leash on the dog. He was extremely interested by that point, it's not every day we get ready for a walk at 3:30 in the goddamned morning. After that was accomplished I actually put pants on and a shirt and socks and shoes. I sat on my bed, sneakers unlaced and phone charging, watching the action which I could now see out my window.

Meanwhile the firefighters had broken out the window, used a saw, walked a hose across the entire courtyard and up four flights of stairs. It's hard to tell the difference between the flicker of flames and the flashing of the red emergency locators they wear. Pretty sure I was seeing only the latter. Eventually they jammed a charred mattress out the window. Then they pried off the entire window frame and chucked that on top. A little more breaking glass. A bunch of tromping boots. At least 4 other trucks full of firefighters watching from below and then...nothing.

The grapevine has been working overtime all day, of course. The tenant and her two cats were taken in by neighbors. Was she smoking in bed or was it electrical? Should we be mad at her or at the management? Who can we blame? I'm actually surprised that there hasn't been a bunch of flak about the fact that the glass and mattress are still out on the roof. While I'm certainly a sneering anti-smoker and if she endangered my life by doing something that stupid I will have a piece of my mind reserved to hand her and if the wiring is to blame I will absolutely light my torch and join the mob there's no proof and all is actually well that ends well.

Everything is fine here. We're just tired. And researching co-op insurance.

Poetry Prayer #18

One of the reasons I dislike being super busy is that it usually means I don't get to hang out as much with my dog. Not only do I really enjoy him, when he's restless our lives are no fun. I don't blame him. He gets bored and, for the most part, the ways to relieve that boredom involve being with people and dogs and I'm the one who facilitates that. The frustrating thing is that yesterday he was alone for the largest chunk of time because I was working toward a long-term goal (it'll probably take a couple of years) of becoming a dog trainer so that I can hang out with him more. Nothing's perfect.

Last night I was serenaded by the dulcet tones of repeated hideous altercations between Ed and the cats. Everyone is to blame. Even (especially?) me. In honor of that I bring you a poem by Jimmy Stewart. Yes, that Jimmy Stewart.

"Beau"

by Jimmy Stewart

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.

When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house--
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.

And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.

And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.

And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.

And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.

And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.