Second Verse

My last post was almost eight months ago.... (eeks, really?)

Four days after that, my wonderful nephew was born.  I could blame this sweet (not so) little soul for my lack ambition to post to this blog since his arrival.  I could blame him.  But the truth is that it has been an absolute joy to see this little boy pass through the myriad of stages between birth and his imminent eight-month birthday.  

Right around the same time my nephew was born (and my previous post was written), the Beagle started having health issues - recurring blood in his urine.  Sometimes the blood was/is readily observable, sometimes not.  We went to a handful of different vets who did probably dozens of different tests, trying to find a cause for this malady.  None was identified.

And now, eight months later, he probably still has blood in his urine most days, and no one knows why.  His case has been placed into the ever-so-satisfying (insert sarcasm here) diagnostic category of idiopathic renal hematuria.  Which basically means he has blood in his urine but we don't know why, and presumably it's not harmful.

In keeping with this diagnosis, he has not shown any sign of distress or deterioration.  He continues to allow Bean to tell him interesting stories:

And he is patiently getting to know the mobile (and fur-grabbing) CJ as well:

And I have learned not to let it bother me that his urine is sometimes orange or brownish red.

Truth: it still sometimes bothers me; but it never bothers him; so that makes it bother me less...

I could blame my lack of posts on the time I spent worrying about the Beagle's health and bending down to watch him pee (much to the disturbance of my neighbors).  I could blame idiopathy.

Also in the past eight months, I did this:

Now this, this I could definitely blame.  And I think it is where I will load the bulk of said blame.  On the fact that I couldn't bear to sit in front of my computer for any longer than I had to.  That the only words coming out of my fingers were scientific in style.  That 170+ pages don't edit themselves.

I have recently had three friends separately ask me about my blog and why I stopped posting.  I hadn't really thought about it except that it was supposed to be something that was enjoyable, not something that felt like work.  And I guess I needed a break.  But starting back up again doesn't feel like work, so I'm back at it again.

********

Now that the blame has been allocated --> the real post...  

I was sitting around a table with three other folks recently.  We could all hear a bird calling outside a window on this pleasant June day in Kansas.  The bird was calling ceaselessly.  A paraphrased version of the conversation that followed goes something like this:

Bird Listener #1: Do you guys hear that?  That could drive a person crazy.  In fact, it may be driving me crazy right now...  Yes, it is driving me crazy.  The bird has to go.  

Bird Listener # 2: It doesn't both me.  

Me: Me either.  I could listen to it all day.

Bird Listener #2: That would be fine with me too.

Bird Listener #3: I couldn't listen to it all day.  I'd have to shoo the bird away.  

Bird Listener #1: So we two can't handle a continuous, repetitive bird noise, and you two don't mind it?

Bird Listener #2: That's sounds about right.

Me: Yup.  

The table was divided right down the middle.  I cannot precisely identify the personality trait that separated two of us from the other two.  But I do know that I may have an uncommon propensity for listening to things repetitively.  

For instance, I have been listening to this song for the past 80 minutes on repeat:

And I'm not in the least tired of it.  I've had this habit for many years.  I used to drive college roommates crazy (so very sorry girls) by listening to the same song over and over again for the better part of a day.  I can't do this with just any song, but when the mood strikes and the song is right, I hit that repeat 1 button and let the song soak in.  

It is not, in fact, going to rain today.  The forecast is set at 103 with exactly 0% chance of rain.  But Norah Jones' voice is as silky the first time as it is the 28th time.  

So, feel free to weigh in on which side of the table you belong and what freakish thing may be going on in the brains of the repetitive tolerators that keeps them from going crazy when faced with unvaried noise.   

Interrupting starfish

Have you heard the interrupting starfish joke?  If not, ask me sometime, and I'll tell it to you (or find a 9-year old and ask him or her).  

On my last several runs, I have been the interrupting biped to three or four deer standing peacefully along the trail.  Each time, they seem singularly unconcerned with my approach.

The trail is covered in many places with fallen leaves so that as I run along, I don't even recognize the deer blending in with the fall browns until I am already fairly close.

At that point, I become aware of the subtle white edge of their drooping tails.  They are so unconcerned with my approach that they stand, watching me come nearer while their tails hang down in calm.  Eventually, they turn their dark eyes on me, flip up their white-flag tails, and silently step down off the trail, in no particular hurry.  They disappear into the brush before I get to the spot where they stepped down.

They make no pretense of not being aware of my inferior running ability (even among other bipeds, my running ability is inferior) and do not perceive me as a threat.  Perhaps they can see that I do not run with a rifle.

And that the Beagle would rather roll in the leaves than chase them.  Actually, that's a lie - he would definitely rather chase them.  The deer must understand that a leashed beagle is a safe beagle (when the biped he is running with does not carry a rifle).  

Last night as I ran, I watched my tall shadow fall to my left onto the thin line of brush and trees that separates the trail from the farm fields.

For the record, this is not to my left but to my right.  But it is the only photo I have of the line of brush and trees.

A while ago the fields looked like this.

Then this.  

And then this.

And now, the fields are empty.  Empty of their crop, at least. Now they are full to the brim with cool, dusty air.  The cool, dusty air that flows in and out of my lungs as I can't help but think of how it does so differently in birds' lungs and how my metabolism is turning certain things into certain other things and how my muscle filaments are ratcheting against one another with each step and how no normal person should be thinking of these things as she runs.

And then I hear "Into the Mystic" in my ears, and my brain shuts up and listens to the music.  And the air hanging over the empty fields is just cool, heavy air.  And the birds are just birds.  And my muscles and metabolism are just affording me movement.     

A track to go with the day

If you have had to go through all of this day without hearing a quote from a Ryan Reynolds character, let me be the one to remedy that for you...

"Now it's a great feeling when you find the right track to go with the day. And today, I have found the absolute... perfect song. The other... perfect song." [Cue: "Everyday People" by Sly and the Family Stone (whose records are filed under "S" for Sly and Stone at my parents' house... another story for another day)]

(In case you don't know what I'm talking about because you've never seen the movie, you should see the movie. But until then, this should get you caught up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWGlkmw2lyM&feature=related).

I relish the days when there is a perfect track to go with the day. And I really see no reason why this shouldn't be possible every day. It's just that some days, the perfect track packs more of a punch than others.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the lobby of a hotel in downtown Halifax, NS, waiting for my mother to get herself (and her 90-lb duffle bag (which to be fair may have only weighed 75 lbs. at that point)) from the Halifax airport to the hotel (We weren't picking up the rental car until a couple of days later when we had planned to leave Halifax and explore the rest of the province. For the time being, we didn't need a vehicle to explore Halifax itself.)

Anyway, I sat and sat and sat. People came and people went. I just sat. Luckily, the hotel folks had hired a fellow to play his guitar and sing for the customers as they were busy coming and going. Only in my case, they were paying him to play his guitar and sing while I sat and waited.

Eventually, the troubadour played this song, and I smiled to myself because I knew this was it. This was my perfect track to go with the day today. He didn't sing it quite like Willie does, but he did it justice in his own way.

Now why this song was the perfect track for my day as I sat some 2,200 highway miles from New Orleans, is a complete and utter mystery to me. I wasn't in (the U.S. of) America, it wasn't morning, I wasn't on or all that near a train... But it never matters why. It just matters that the song hits you between the eyes (ears?) and makes your day better for having heard it.

For the record, today's song is:

Isn't it bouncy and beautiful?