Matt of All Trades blog, like the title suggests, is by a Vermont author and offers offbeat musings on pop culture, media, journalism, humor, weirdness, stupid people, smart people, my life as a journalist, landscaper, photographer, married gay man, dog lover and weather geek and more. It's run by me, Matt Sutkoski, a native Vermonter living in St. Albans, Vt.
I haven't been wearing my wedding ring much lately.
That's not any sign of marital woes whatsoever. Just the opposite, in fact. Oddly, it's a sign of the strength of our marriage and my love for Jeff.
Eight years ago today, Jeff and I got married. I'm biased, but I still regard that as the best wedding ceremony I've ever seen. But I should explain the ring, since I brought it up.
Jeff and I don't get out much these days. You know, Covid. For the past so many months, Jeff and I don't go out to shows, movies, restaurants, plays or to visit friends.
It's just as depressing for us as it is for everybody else, but we are hanging in there just fine. We make do. It works.
I now work mostly from home, he's retired. When I do work outside the home, it's in somebody's garden, far from any other people, which makes social distancing easy.
Before Covid, I was out and about quite a bit. I wore that wedding ring as a badge of honor, gloating to everyone how lucky and blessed I am to be married to Jeff.
Jeff knows how much I love him, or at least he'd better! I have nothing to "prove" to him. Since most of my life outside the house is gardening, I don't want to lose that ring in the dirt. So I take it off. And there's just no incentive to put it back on, since I can't wave it under anybody's nose. Yes, I'm that shallow.
I don't need to wave the ring under Jeff's nose, either. He knows how much I love him. I've said this a million times before: What first attracted me to Jeff was his absolute decency, kindness and humor. These characteristics just keep growing on me, confirming to me every day that marrying Jeff was by far the best decision I ever made.
I imagine the isolation that Covid has created for everybody can create tension in some marriages. Being cooped up in the house with the same person day in and day out might not work for some people.
It works for me! I'm happy to report we're great. We are also smart enough to explore both our mutual interests and our own. Jeff has gotten somewhat addicted to researching family ancestry. I was initially only marginally interested, but now he's got me totally hooked.
I go out and do my gardening. Now Jeff seems to have gotten that gardening bug. He's been experimenting with hollyhocks, gardinias, calla lillies and other plants. The gardens around the house are so much better as a result.
This is just one example of how this works so well. We have our own interests, along with common ones. Separate interests meld into one, and the result is much greater than the sum of its parts. It's a sign of what Jeff has done to my entire life: Add one ingredient, namely Jeff, and it just transformed my whole life.
Life goes on, we hope, anyway. Even the small disasters seem much more manageable with Jeff around. Recently, the fridge sprung a leak and wrecked the floor. The hot water heater needed replacing. So did the kitchen stove. Jackson the Wonder Dog got sprayed by a skunk. The extreme summer weather was harsh on the gardens.
I tend to whine when a problem hits, but Jeff always gently reminds me that we just need to deal with it. It cuts the whining short, and we move on and solve the problem.
There's a song I like called "Easy's Getting Harder Every Day." Because of Jeff, if I wrote my version of that song, I'd have to call it "Hard is Getting Easier Every Day."
Jeff might have spoiled a cry in your beer country song, but he keeps improving everything else around him. Including me.
Darlene Love and Jason Derulo perform this year's "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home." on "The View"
Every year, because Christmas is the season of tradition, I do my annual Darlene Love Christmas greeting.
Here's the recap: My favorite holiday song is Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) made famous by Darlene Love way back in 1963.
She sang it every year from 1986 and 2014 on the David Letterman show. When that went off the air she moved to "The View."
It's now nice every year when Darlene Love comes on that show and puts a temporary end to the hosts' constant bickering.
This Christmas is a bit different for me than recent ones. Usually, I have to stay in Vermont while my husband travels to South Dakota to be with family. Normally, I can't go, as since I work for a retailer, I have to stay to the bitter end at Christmas. No holiday trips to South Dakota for me!
Except this year. A generous boss at work gave me some time off, so I've joined husband Jeff in South Dakota this year. So it's beautiful chaos for me as numerous in-laws, nieces, nephews wander in and out. And I'm with my husband, so I don't have to whine about baby, please come home.
Of course, this means I'm not with family in Vermont, so you can't have everything.
On "The View" this year Darlene Love was joined by Jason Derulo for this year's rendition. Here you go and Merry Christmas!
I blow off steam by gardening and writing silly things like this blog The willow tree on my property decided to blow off steam on November 1 by falling over and crushing my husband's Jeep. We all have our ways, dont we?
I've had a long hiatus from this here blog thingy because I just got too busy. I know that sounds like an excuse, and it is, but there you go. Hard to believe the last post here was on July 4.
It's been an active few months, both with work and lots of stuff to do outside of work. It involves lots of garden work, lots of extra time spent at my other job as we went through a systems upgrade, fun things like Jeff's retirement, parties to honor that and a hot air balloon trip.
There were a few minor disasters along the way, like a storm a few weeks back that toppled my beloved willow tree onto Jeff's Jeep, crushing that vehicle beyond repair. The same storm cut off electrical and cable service, and heat to our house, briefly, so there's that.
Now that winter has set in early, it's time to jump in the saddle again. I don't know where this will lead, and frankly, I do this blog just as a release, because I like to write, even if I'm sometimes not good at it. And to vent. And to expose both really good and really bad ideas to whoever reads this.
Good ideas need to be celebrated, and bad ideas need to see the light of day so that maybe people won't repeat them. I know that humans have an unlimited capacity to be dumb, so I am a bit of a pollyanna when it comes to trying to shame people into stop being stupid. Besides, I'm perfectly capable of being totally idiotic, too. That's life, I guess.
Sometimes, while watching the news over the past few months while I was blowing off this blog, I sort of missed blowing off steam here in this blog thingy. But for most of my hiatus, the weather was warm and pleasant. I have lots of gardens to enjoy. So I would always cool off, both physically and mentally, among the flowers, plants, shrubs and other plants I'm lucky enough to have on my property.
Sometimes, when I am writing, I can do a quick throwaway piece that just shows off a social media meme, a funny video, or one of the zillions of quirky people this good Earth holds. Sometimes, when I have the time, especially on a cold winter day when all I want to do is hibernate inside, I do a deeper dive, which has its own pleasures.
I'm not a great writer. My brain is weird, though, which is actually a benefit. I do hope some people get a bit of pleasure, or at least some type of emotion when I write something and you see it, like here. If not, thanks for indulging me and allowing me to blow off steam.
I was very young in the mid and late 1960s, and I always admired what to my mind were the sophisticated adults in the room. Or more accurately, not in the room, but out there in the world, somewhere. In some alluring city that was not West Rutland, Vermont, where I was.
I'd see glimpses of televised variety show performances from shows like "Sweet Charity" and others during the rapidly changing 1960s. Even as a five or seven or eight year old, I could feel the fever of that era, even if I didn't fully understand it.
These were exotic people doing exotic things in exotic times. There was precious little of that in the small Vermont town where I grew up. As an adult, I love the little town of West Rutland. Back then, not so much.
All those feelings about the worldly matters I craved came back to me when I looked up Rich Man's Frugand found this 1960s, very awesome Fosse choreography to that song from Sweet Charity. The video is simultaneously dated and so modern cool and wonderful that I can't resist.
It might be the best Fosse number I've seen. I love the odd physical movements, the fake air of snootiness on the faces of those dancers, the humor in all that athleticism.
I've featured him a few times in this blog post because the man always makes more sense than just about anybody I've seen on television. A couple examples of where I featured Hansen are here and here.
Hansen is a gruff, no-nonsense type of guy that seems stereotypical of sportscasters. But he often goes off-script, commenting on things that might offend some not-so-thoughtful sports fans. His somewhat liberal views sometimes clash with those of conservative sports fans in Texas. Almost everybody loves Hansen anyway.
This week, he did a commentary on the newscast that had nothing to do with sports, but one that I think everyone can agree with, that is a must-see, especially if you own a dog. Or, more accurately, as Hansen puts it, if a dog owns you.
On the day of his commentary, his bassett hound Miss Hailey passed away. So he devoted his segment on WFAA to Miss Hailey, and why dogs make us more human. By the way, Hansen's comments also fully apply to anyone who has a cat, or any other favorite pet.
While discussing Miss Hailey's passing, Hansen tells us, "Anyone and anything you love will eventually end in tears, but it is the deal we make......You can avoid the pain and tears of losing a loved one. All you have to do is never love. I choose the pain and tears. But Dr. Seuss was right. Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."
Oddly, I think the world would be better off if we all chose the pain and tears. Here's the whole video. Worth the watch, for sure:
Jeff helping to pick out a Christmas tree a few years ago.
Today is my husband Jeff Modereger's birthday.
I'm not going to tell you which number birthday or in which year he was born, because that would be rude. But it's a significant number. And it's coming in a year that is bringing big changes to his life, our life.
Jeff will retire from the University of Vermont this coming May. He's been at UVM for a quarter century. His departure will be a big adjustment for him, for the university, and I would argue for the community at large.
As he retires, he doesn't want hoopla. He wants to ride off into the sunset, as he puts it. As if his retirement is some sort of end. It's actually a beginning.
Some people, when they get to retirement age, do fade away. Jeff won't. He doesn't have it in him to just fade. It's one of the things I love about him.
True, he'll be home more often when he retires, which is a definite plus. But he'll still continue his career as a scenic designer, which has always been his passion. He's so good at it that he'll always be demand. Probably even when he's 100 years old.
His mother worries that he pushes too hard, and it's true Jeff works too hard. (Note to Lois Modereger: I crack the whip when Jeff starts to push himself too much, and so he's fine!) The retirement this year is not a sign of him aging, but it is a sign that he's finally wising up enough to slow down, just a bit.
I'm not surprised, but always stunned by the number of his students and former students who come to Jeff and tell him what a great influence he was on them, how much he taught them. I know that will continue after he retires. Because he will meet more people, and teach more people, and just make things good. It's his habit, and he'll never be able to break it, thank goodness.
Jeff's magic is that he makes everyone he comes in contact with a better person. That certainly includes me. I'm far from perfect, but every day, Jeff, through example, shows me and everyone how it's done. As of this August, we will have been married seven years. Time flies. And I can't wait to experience the many more years I have with Jeff.
It's funny. Jeff has an eye for fashion, at least in a superficial sense. We'll tune into some show like "Project Runway," and he'll exclaim: "What is she wearing! Did she look in the mirror before she left home?!?"
Yet Jeff is completely out of fashion in a much more fundamental sense. It's not fashionable these days to have a sense of morality. To be honest. To do the right thing. Jeff does all of these things, fashion be damned. Thank Gawd. Another in a list of a billion reasons why I love him.
So Jeff: Here's to another birthday. I love you so very much, and look forward to being with you as the years tick by.
This post has been sappy, yes, but so what? I'll even make it worse with this song, which reminds me of you. Here's Carly Simon to help me out here:
My dad, Red Sutkoski, in his tavern, Red's Place, shortly
before he retired in 1991. Red's Place
was a popular gathering spot in West Rutland,
Vermont for the four decades my father owned the place.
Photo by my brother in law, David Jenne.
My dad, Red Sutkoski passed away Saturday afternoon, January 23, 2016 at the age of 95.
He had a damn good run, that's for sure.
He wasn't well known outside of Vermont, but in a time when we can all be overwhelmed by the greed, crassness, ill will and anger out there, the whole world could learn from his grace, giving nature and gentle wit.
Dad was born in 1920 to Polish immigrants in what was then the busy marble quarrying town of West Rutland, Vermont.
Dad, known to everyone from Day One as Red for his red hair, lived a sweep of West Rutland's history:
He saw onstruction of the duplexes built for Vermont Marble Company workers, the Great Flood of 1927, the Great Depression, the labor riots among West Rutland quarry workers in the 1930s.
Red saw Prohibition,during which he good naturedly took note of who got busted for making what dad called "Screech," which was the shockingly abysmal home made booze people discreetly made during that time.
Along with most of West Rutland's young men, Red marched off to World War II. He came back, opened his restaurant and bar, and from that perch saw the town at first thrive with the marble quarries, then go into a near death spiral when the quarries closed and the jobs evaporated.
He watched West Rutland struggle back from those days, and had a hand in its slow rebirth, by encouraging its redevelopment while honoring the community's history.
Red was the unofficial Town Historian, as he was the go to person to ask whenever you wanted to know what happened in town anytime after 1920, the year he was born. His mind was sharp to the end.
He was much more than West Rutland's memory vault, and everybody in town knew it. His warmth, humor, compassion and friendship brought out the best in the town,. The best in its people. His family. Me.
My dad, Red Sutkoski outdoors in his younger days. He loved
being outside, especially if it was working on a project
to benefit those around him.
That restaurant and tavern Red owned for 40 years in the heart of West Rutland had the official name of Marble Valley Restaurant, but everybody just knew it as Red's Place.
Or maybe embrace it. With Red's laughter ringing out over the sound of either a Polish polka or Patsy Cline warbling from the juke box, the smoky Red's Place was the most welcoming and lively place in town.
There's even a song by the excellent Vermont bandStarline Rhythm Boys called Red's Place that is about my dad and his bar. It captures the vibe of the bar, and my dad just perfectly. (Watch the video of the Boys performing that song at the bottom of this blog post.)
Red's Place wasn't fancy, and neither was the clientele. Dad liked it that way. Sure, he embraced and befriended everyone, including the rich and powerful. As long as they didn't abuse people with their power and money, or victimized them with it.
Dad's soft spot, though, was for the underdog, which was why Red's Place was such a good fit for him, and such a good fit for West Rutland.
Red's Place was a second home to quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, farmers, and other town residents who just wanted a friendly refuge for the evening.
Many of us Americans are perhaps inadvertently raised to celebrate the rich, the powerful, the flashy, the thrilling. And that's all OK, except when we do so at the expense of everyone else. Or worse, we ignore the underdogs as not important and not worth our time.
Dad knew everyone was important, and he showed it by being welcoming to everybody. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else.
Dad's example in his life and work showed me how to do the opposite of that. He taught me to seek out the people we're "supposed" to ignore and dismiss. The ones that have no power, who live quiet lives, who live humbly, through choice or circumstance.
For all that I'm a much richer, happier, well-rounded person. We should all live by dad's example. The world would be a much better place if we did.
Red Sutkoski as a young man reading the paper with a faithful
companion at his West Rutland, Vermont home. It was
a perfect combination for him. Red loved animals,
and he was always curious about what
was going on in the world around him.
That doesn't mean we should be somber sympathizers to those who aren't at the top of the heap. The only way dad's example worked, how his life worked, was through a sense of humor.
If there's not laughter, according to the Rules of Red, there's not much else to live for.
So Red loved telling stories of other's foibles, in a way that celebrates rather than ridicules our pratfall moments.
As mentioned, West Rutland had many Polish immigrants that came to work in the quarries during the later 19th century and early 20th century. Many people, including dad, regularly spoke Polish.
At Red's Place, you'd often hear people yell out "Nostrovia," the Eastern European equivalent to "Cheers!" when people share a toast.
At one point, a new guy started coming into Red's Place. He was worried about fitting in, and didn't speak much. He listened, trying to understand the vernacular.
This guy kept hearing everyone saying "Nostrovia!" and finally decided to make his move. He bought the man sitting next to him a beer, and chimed in with that golden cheer. The man clinked the bottle with his new buddies at the bar and shouted, "Nice driveway!"
The moment was so funny that dad immediately embraced the Nice Driveway guy as a good friend.
Dad loved telling the "Nice Driveway" story, such that I've taken it upon myself to spread the tale. Everyone knows that when they share a drink or a bottle with me, we'll clink our glasses and tell each other, "Nice driveway."
If that's not a good tribute to Red, I don't know what is.
God knows dad's sense of humor was gloriously goofy. One great example was a day a long time ago when he was walking along Marble Street in West Rutland.
A car with out of state plates pulled up along side him, its driver obviously lost and in need of directions. "How do you get to Tinmouth?," the woman in the passenger seat asked dad.
"My brother takes me,!" dad replied.
Of course, he said he was just kidding, and made sure the couple in the car got on the right road to Tinmouth.
Roads figure pretty prominently in my memory of dad.
When I was about six or seven years old, the state was building a four lane road in back of our house. The Brand New Route 4.
The way the road was built in back of our house, there was a two lane eastbound lane, situated at an elevation several feet above the parallel westbound lanes.
As they were building the road, dad and I would go up and explore the construction site. Often, he'd start singing, of all things, a bit of the Scottish song "The Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond."
The part he'd sing, was "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."
On the surface, his words could be taken as a simple commentary on the highway construction. But there was a deeper meaning. He was instructing me to take the high road in life, just as he did. I guess the best way we can remember Red and his life is to always take that high road. And I'm not talking about eastbound Route 4 here.
Red's M.O. was to take the high road quietly. He had a gorgeous habit of honoring history, and the people that came before him. In a remote corner of West Rutland, the Whipple Hollow Cemetery had become overgrown, broken down and all but forgotten by people in town.
So he took it upon himself to clear the broken trees and branches, rip out the weeds, replant grass and got some help fixing broken grave stones. This kind of stuff dad did is infectious.
As dad was at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery one day, Markowski Excavating was working on a nearby construction project. When they saw what dad was doing, they quickly went up to the cemetery with an excavator to clear rocks, stumps and debris away.
Dad never worried about controversial topics, especially when they involved love. When I came out as gay and introduced him to Jeff Modereger, the man I would marry, dad embraced Jeff like he would his own son.
Dad's biggest goal was that his three children, me, Lynn and Laurie, would be happy and well taken care of. Dad went out knowing that the husbands and partners of us three kids were making us all happy, and would take care of us beautifully once he was gone.
My dad and my father-in-law, Don Modereger, were both about 90 years old when Jeff and I married. Don had a lot in common with Red, especially in terms of their warmth, generosity, compassion and good humor.
Red and Don's only face to face meeting was at my wedding. (Don lived way out in South Dakota, and it was hard for both Red and Don to travel.)
Even so, Red and Don immediately became good friends. I can't help but think the two fathers are sharing a good laugh as I write this.
This month, dad's physical heart finally gave out, worn down by 95 years of work and family and joy and troubles and worry and friendship. But his metaphorical, spiritual and loving heart kept beating strong. It still is.
There's not going to be a wake or a funeral or anything like that, because Red said he didn't want such ceremonies. He never wanted people to make a fuss over him. Red told us that if anybody wanted to mark his passing, they should just do something kind for someone else.
To close out and keep celebrating Dad's life,the video of the Starline Rhythm Boys performing "Red's Place" is coming up.
When you watch it, grab a beer, and another one to share with a friend. Clink the two bottles together, tell each other "Nice driveway," laugh, and then say or do something good for anyone you see around you.
Red will see this, fetch another round for his friends in heaven, and the party will go on here and up there. Just as he wants it.
So dad, all I can say to you now is "Nice driveway."
My husband, Jeff Modereger, on the set of
"The Mountaintop" at Vermont Stage Company.
My parents' decrepit, scary, awful, 40 year old living room carpet became part of an awesome piece of art.
My husband, Jeff Modereger, is a set and scene designer for plays, and he's the scenic designer for the Vermont Stage Company's production of "The Mountaintop"
If you're anywhere near Burlington, Vermont between now and May 10, when "The Mountaintop" closes, you MUST go see it.
It's the best play I've seen Vermont Stage Company produce, and that's saying something. They've done some awesome work over the years.
More on this in a moment.
The wall to wall carpet in my parents' home had become a risk to them. It was frayed, and split. Tripping hazards for my mother, who is in her 80s, and my father, who turns 95 on Friday (!!)
We were visiting my parents, and Jeff looked down at the carpet and said, "This is perfect."
Um, what?
"The Mountaintop" takes place in the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. In the play, Martin Luther KingJr.has just checked in. It's the night before he is to be assassinated.
The play is exclusively about the imagined interaction between MLK Jr. and a chambermaid who comes in to deliver the coffee and newspaper he'd ordered. I won't describe what happens in "The Mountaintop" beyond this, because I don't want to be a spoiler.
African Americans in the late 1960s didn't get to stay in nice hotels, and the Lorraine Motel was pretty threadbare.
My parents' carpet was certainly threadbare, and was the just right color for late 1960s cheap furnishings, the kind in the Lorraine Motel. Jeff had struggled to find a carpet for the set, and my parents' mess of a carpet was exactly perfect for "The Mountaintop."
So we struck a deal. Jeff bought the carpet from my parents, and Jeff, me, and my two sisters and their partners chipped in additional funds to buy them a new, safe carpet. Everybody wins!
Except for people with allergies. Though my mother faithfully vacuumed the carpet over the years, the carpet has 40 years worth of cat and dog dander, plus whatever the cat literally dragged in.
People on the crew for "The Mountaintop" with allergies have not been happy. Because of this issue, and the fact that a feather pillow bursts open during one scene in the play, there's a sign on door to Vermont Stage Company alerting people with allergies.
Still, I love how my parents managed to contribute in a strange but effective way to the Vermont arts scene.
Even if you do have allergies, go see"The Mountaintop" at Vermont Stage in downtown Burlington.
Theplaywright is Katori Hall,who certainly has a way with language. From a literary standpoint, it is one of the most well written plays I've seen, full of provocative, beautifully constructed dialogue that never gets flowery, but does get intense.
Cristina Alicea, the artistic director at Vermont Stage Company, directs the play, and paces it just perfectly so that the plot moves briskly, but not so fast that you can't catch the powerful dialogue and the expressiveness of Jolie Garrett, who plays Martin Luther King Jr and Myxolydia Tyler,who plays Camae, the chambermaid who comes into MLK's room.
Interesting fact: Garrett was born on the day MLK Jr. was laid to rest.
Tyler is especially awesome. Many of her best moments are not when she's speaking, but when she's reacting to what Martin Luther King Jr is saying. This is especially true as "The Mountaintop" builds toward its riveting climax.
Yeah, I'm gushing about "The Mountaintop." Deal with it. Better yet, go see it for yourself. As I noted above, this production is the Vermont Stage Company at its finest.
Many moons ago, I waited tables to make ends meet.
Thadra Sheridan has LOTS to say about waiting tables, and she does it hilariously.
That's true for a lot of us.
Waiting tables is a lot like watching Issues on Parade.
Most people were nice enough, but some people were just demanding and weird.
You learned if you scratched the surface their whines and complaints had little to do with the food and the service and a lot to do with their own inability to handle life.
These people made you really want to rant and explode they were so infuriating. However we luckily have this video from Thadra Sheridan that says it like it's meant to be said.
For those who follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you know we adopted another dog, named Tonks the other day.
Tonks explores her new home with Jeff, Jackson and me
after she arrived Sunday, while Jackson keeps
a protective eye on her in the distance.
Tonks joins Jackson the Cocker Spaniel, who has lived with Jeff and me for three years at our St. Albans, Vermont home.
Jackson's a very social little guy, and we thought he'd want a companion for those moments when Jeff and I were too busy to play tug of war with Jackson. The tug of war game with his toys is a 24/7 obsession with him.
About a month ago, we learned of a Vermont couple, Emily and John, who have been the human companions for Tonks for seven years, since she was a puppy.
The couple now has two very young kids. Good kids, but young ones who want to play with the dog but are too young to understand that even gentle, friendly souls like Tonks don't always like to be constantly poked and prodded and groped.
Emily and John reluctantly concluded it would be better for Tonks to live somewhere else.
Jeff and Jackson and me were in the running to adopt Tonks. Jeff was out of town in early May, but Jackson and I agreed to meet one day with Emily and Tonks at a dog park nearby.
I have to say Jackson is a good little salesman. At the meeting, Jackson behaved in his usual way, greeting Tonks with friendliness, while at the same time doing his best not to be overbearing. Tonks and Jackson went to other dogs to say hi, played with each other, went their seperate ways and then played with each other again as Emily and I talked.
Jackson and Tonks acted like old friends, even though they'd just met. A very good sign indeed.
You could tell right away Tonks was well cared for. Beyond a healthy appearance, she seemed at ease with both people and other dogs. You could see both curiosity and confidence in Tonks' big eyes. A very good sign.
A couple weeks later we heard from Emily. Would we like to adopt Tonks?
Tonks had already melted my heart. Jackson seemed to want this to happen too. Jeff was all for it.
It was to be.
Tonks arrived at our house last Sunday. I was at work, so I wasn't there, but Jeff and Jackson greeted her. Jeff and John chatted for awhile about Tonks and the care she'll need and the handoff came.
Jeff was smart enough to let Tonks watch John drive away, so there might be some connnection that he left, and didn't just disappear into thin air. We hoped at some level Tonks understood what was going on, that although things were changing in a confusing way, she'd continue to be loved and protected as she always had been.
It turns out Tonks is a brave, adaptable girl. Don't let those blond curls and her shy, quiet demeanor fool you. She's a tough cookie.
True, Tonks had a lot to get used to. The first day she was here with us, she barked quite a bit. The sounds outside were different than her old home. It was disorienting and scary.
Trucks rumbled by on the road. Birds flitted from tree to tree just outside the door. A motorcycle roared to life at the house across the street. Kids played two houses up the road. The barking was inevitable.
Tonks, though, was immediately affectionate with us. I quickly discovered she likes simultaneous chest and back rubs. She went back and forth between Jeff and me, finding reassurance in our eyes. We kept telling her she's a good girl, and giving her neck rubs. She seemed like she was starting to feel at home.
As I watched TV Sunday evening, I was gratified to find Tonks curled up at my feet, falling comforably to sleep.
I was happy to see Tonks is naturally curious, but not so brave as to wander off completely on her own, which is a good combination. She scoped out the yard on her first day here, stopping from time to time to take refuge from the hot sun under the shade of our willow tree, just as Jackson often does.
Tonks thinks her new brother Jackson is crazy. Tonks is right. Jackson growls and yelps and laughs as we play our usual tug of war game with John Boehner, which is the name of one of his favorite toys. Tonks looks on, bemused.
But the two dogs are already sharing nicely. They sleep in each others' beds, play with each others toys, try to sample each others' food.
Tonks barks less and less as she gets used to the sounds swirling around outside the house. The other day, we had to bring Tonks and Jackson to doggie day care while Jeff and I worked.
That went well, too.
Barb, who runs the place, said she enjoyed watching what happened. Jackson spent the day showing Tonks the ropes at day care, explaining as dogs only can how things work, how to interact with other dogs there, how to follow the rules.
Barb reports Tonks is a quick study, but we knew that already.
Tonks is already settling into our routine. Like Jackson, she's excited when Jeff and I get up in the morning. It takes us humans a little while to wake up. Jackson and Tonks are always raring to go.
If Jeff and I have to deal with alarm clocks, Jackson and Tonks are the perfect type.
Our household is a little bigger now that Tonks lives with us. But she adds even more joy to the place than we already had.
My condolences to the family of Bill Eves, of Kingston, Ontario who died recently at the age of 76.
Bill Eves, in the photo that ran with
his spectacular obituary. He died recently in
Kingston, Ontario at the age of 76.
I didn't know Mr. Eves, but I have to tell you, the hilarious obituarythe family ran makes me wish I DID know him. Anybody whose obituary mentions farts and Molson beer has my respect.
I believe in death with dignity, but obituaries don't have to be dignified, in my opinion.
The sometimes canned, reverential language in most obituaries is fine, but if the dearly departed had a great and unique personality, let that shine through.
Eves' obituary starts this way:
"Saturday, February the 8th, Molson's stock price fell sharply on the news of Bill Eves' passing. Senior executives at Molson called an emergency meeting to brace for the impact of the anticipated drop in sales."
OK, he liked Molson, apparently. The obit goes on to mention his successful, long career as a school principal, and his cooking, gardening and carpentry skills.
Then we get into this:
"Perhaps most important to Bill was educating people on the dangers of holding in your farts. Sadly, he was unable to attain his life-long goal of catching his beloved wife Judy "cutting the cheese" or "playing the bum trumpet"--which he likened to a mythical rarity like spotting Bigfoot or a unicorn."
Maybe mourners indulged Mr. Eves by eating a lot of baked beans before, not the services, mind you, but the "Praise Bill Party" in honor of him.
Also in the obituary: "He also mastered the art of swearing while being splattered by grease cooking his famous wings. In fact, he wove a tapestry of obscenities that still hangs over the Greater Kingston Area."
They even thought to run an unflattering picture of Eves with his obituary, which you can see in this post.
I can tell the world is a slightly less good place now that Eves has passed on. And I'm sure Greater Kingston will have fond memories of Eves for a long, long time.
Even if people in Kingston are still holding their noses at the thought.
Andrew Sullivan and his new bestie Bowie
get to know each other last weekend.
He makes no secret, though, that he has a serious soft spot for dogs, particularly beagles. His heartbreak was palpable after one of his beagles, named Dusty, died last summer.
Today, in his blog, however, he tells us how fate took over once again, as it usually does when dogs and people unite to become a team.
Sullivan said he was invited to upstate New York, where a three legged, 18-month old beagle named Bowie was looking for a home. Was Sullivan interested?
After a slightly rocky first meeting involving intestinal upset and an unfortunate pee time accident, Sullivan was smitten.
He writes:
"I have to say this weekend was a bit of a love affair. There is so much about her that reminds me of Dusty as a puppy--the pathological wolfing of the food, the constant interest in every smell, scent and sight, the sheer constant energy. But unlike Dusty, she's extremely affectionate. And even obedient.
By the end of the weekend, she perfected "sit" and "stay" and (almost) "down"--and there were no more accidents. We didn't use her crate after the first night. If I didn't see her, all I had to do was say "Bowie" and she would come scampering around the corner to shower me with love.
Just when you least expect it...just what you least expect. I think the grieving is done now."
It's interesting how Bowie came into Sullivan's life, apparently at the precise moment he was ready for this kind of thing to happen. Not sooner, not later, but at the right time.
I think dogs just know how to do that. The right dog comes into our lives just when we most need them. Even if we don't realize we need them.
Jackson The Cocker Spaniel (front) and
the late Bailey the Wonder Dog keep
watch over me and Jeff last fall.
The past three years have been chaotic, but fun for me. Jackson the Cocker Spaniel has been there through that, cheering me up in my dark moments, enthusiastically sharing in my excitement at the good times, and calming me down during my too-often excitable, frustrated moments.
It's as if he knows just what to do.
And I had Bailey the Wonder Dog in my life for a year before he died last May. His passing felt too soon, too painful, as we only knew each other for a year.
But Bailey The Wonder Dog taught me to embrace the ones we love, because we never know when they will go.
Because of what Bailey taught me, or at least reinforced for me, I wake up each morning and see my husband, alive and well and loving right next to me. Which means I get another day with him. Another day to cherish. May there be zillions more.
Some people say that dogs are wonderful teachers for humans.
OK, let's get the complaints out of the way first. There's a point to this, trust me.
It's early Monday morning. I'm stressed. My husband just left for an out of town trip for work. He'll be gone for a week and I miss him already.
A promotional shot for the wonderful, beautiful "Savour Every Moment" short film.
One of our two dogs, the older, wiser one, Bailey, is sick. He won't eat, and he's lethargic. We don't know what's wrong. He's probably going to the veterinarian this afternoon. I'm terribly worried about him.
I'm behind with work and the work keeps piling up. I can't even find time to keep up with the messes I'm making, or break away for just a half hour to go to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription I need.
Sigh.
Alright, done with the complaints. Life isn't bad, of course, it's good. The problems outlined above are trivial. (Except for Bailey, of course)
All that said, I know I sometimes need to change my perspective. We all need that nudge some time. I found a reminder, in the form of a beautiful short film, on how to live that moved me to tears.
It's probably just my mood. But still.
Filmmaker Keith Hopkin has come up with a short film called "Savour Every Moment." All it is is pretty much just dogs and cats playing, being goofy, having sublime, quiet moments. Their lives seem so complete. I guess there's something to living in the moment.
Hopkin's Facebook page also has lots of wonderful dog and other animal photos, to Savour some more
The notes on the YouTube video, which you will see at the bottom of this post, tell the story best:
"Dogs and cats seem to possess some inner secret to enjoying life.
They're
able to savour every single moment of the day; all the fun moments, and the
goofy ones. The playful moments, the loving moments. If our pets could talk,
they might tell us: "When you're happy, don't forget to tell your face. Napping
is beauty sleep for the soul. Eat like nobody's watching."
Oh, how I wish I could learn to live like that more often! We all do. The animals in the video are giving us a primer on how to do that, and so do my Boys, Jackson the Cocker Spaniel and Bailey the Wonder Dog.
Jackson and Bailey often make me stop my work, my responsibilities, my obligations, to tussle with a toy, enjoy a nice chest or back rub, or just cuddle on the floor or couch.
They try really hard to tell me to live like this all the time, not just sometimes.
I know I can't live like them, of course. Humans have to be "productive" and "responsible" I wonder if that frustrates the Boys, or do they just patiently live their happy, in the moment lives, hoping I finally catch on?
At least the Boys, and the film in this post, give us a chance to take a deep breath and just live. And smile. And that's something.
Here's the wonderful video. It's your lesson for your Monday
This blog post might be totally inappropriate, given the awfulness in Boston yesterday.
But maybe we need a brief distraction from that, before we get back to praying for the victims and hoping for quick justice.
In the delightfully quirky blog "Nothing To Do With Arbroath," there's an endless, fun series of odd news postings, goofy moments and twists of humanity to keep you busy for hours.
This weekend they posted a few videos showing how creatively silly we humans can get.
The first one is just of a woman waiting for a bus who gets bored, and you see what happens. Love the "Dancing Queen:" soundtrack to the video, too.
Next we go to a horse pasture, where we learn that getting on a horse takes at least a tiny bit of skill.
Then we go to a local newscast, to learn all about the night a banana and a lobster broke into an art gallery and stole some valuable works
My husband Jeff and I had a fight about money the other night.
It wasn't even a fight, really, at least not a conventional one. We do things differently than most couples. The issue wasn't the type of money problem most couples face. Some spouses say the other spends too much money on frills. Others complain the other doesn't keep track of finances adequately.
The issue between Jeff and me was not like that at all.
A still from the play "4,000 Miles" at the
Vermont Stage Company in Burlington, Vt.
From my perspective, he was nicely staying within our household budget, but spending too large a share of the money he earned on keeping me happy and comfortable, and not enough on himself .
I was frustrated because I didn't feel like I was contributing as much of my income on keeping up the household as I should, I needed to cut back on unnecessary frills for myself, and contribute more to our mutual well being.
He met me that evening at Leunig's a fairly upscale restaurant in Burlington, Vt. before we went to see the play "4000 Miles," a production in which he designed the set.
Jeff's a well-regarded, busy theater set designer, and that was one of his jobs. Of course, he'd seen it upteenth times during rehearsal, but he wanted me to see it, and I also really wanted to go.
After dinner and a drink, we went to the play. It was set in an elderly woman's New York apartment. On the set, bookshelves and tables were cluttered with books, photographs and knick knacks.
The play, presented by the Vermont Stage Company was very well done and well worth seeing, but this is not the place for a review. But I was struck by a running theme running through the dialogue. It showed how we negotiate life with family and those closest to us with a complicated stew of emotions. Love and devotion, mostly, but also uncomfortable moments, misunderstandings, gaps in good communication, and little shards of frustration.
On the set Jeff designed, he'd used some of the stuff he had accumulated over the years, items that came to grace our shelves and rooms when he moved in with me three years ago. He'd also grabbed some of the stuff I had accumulated over the years. (We have a long standing agreement that pretty much anything in the house is fair game for any of his theater set designs.)
Jeff also used family photographs from his side of the family, and my side of the family on the "4,000 Miles" set.
As I watched the play and noted where our stuff was on the stage set, I found myself marveling about how his life and my life became our life. I know that's not remarkable in the grand scheme of things. Zillions of people get married every year and establish happy, combined households.
I'm devoted to Jeff and he to me, that's plain. But even with that devotion, it takes time to fully understand the implications of a life that was his and was mine, and is now ours.
That situation was the basis of our money "fight." Like every couple, we will spend the rest of our lives exploring and losing ourselves in our combined life.
There will be bumps along the way, and I hope Jeff remains patient with me. I'll probably never learn to negotiate our combined life perfectly, but I'll keep trying and loving the effort. Now that we've been together for nearly four years and married for seven months, I can't imagine living life any other way than I do now.
How lucky can a man get?
So yesterday, I'd just gotten out of work and was heading home at around 3:30 p.m. in my trusty Toyota Tacoma. Up ahead of me on Burlington, Vermont's Pearl Street, the traffic light turned red.
A line of cars ahead of me started to slow down. The woman driving the car in front of me started to slow down. I started to slow down. The young guy in back of me, "Mark" did not slow down. At all. Well, he did hit the brakes at the last second, but POW!
A partial view of my only somewhat damaged rear bumper on my truck. The guy that hit me had it much worse.
Crash, he goes into my rear bumper. My neck snaps back, my truck leaps forward and smashes into the back of the car in front of me.
It looked bad. The car in front of me had its back end pushed in. The car driven by Mark was totally crumpled in front, steam rising from the leaking radiator. I despaired at the damage to both the front and back end of my truck. I don't need this.
The three of us got out of our cars simultaneous. "Oh my God, are you alright, the woman ahead of me, Laura, said.
"Yes, how about you,?" I asked, alarm in my voice. She said she was fine.
I turned to Mark behind me, spread my arms as if to say "What the fuck?" but said, "Are you OK?" He mumbled something that sounded like a yes. That was the last sound I heard uttered from him for the rest of the incident.
Considering that my vehicle had been hit twice, basically, while the others had hit once, I was lucky. My back bumper is smushed in a little. The crack in my windshield is suddenly worse. There's a bit of give to my front grill. But the truck is in remarkably good shape.
While I'm not really enjoying this whole situation, the only thing that I'm really feeling negative toward is Mark.
I get it. He wasn't paying attention and should have. But we all make mistakes. This one ended in a three vehicle crash. Bummer. I'd have forgiven him had he at least mumbled an "Are you OK," or even a vague, "I'm sorry."
Instead, he stood around sulking the entire time, as if Laura and me had the gall to be on the road and in the way when Almighty Mark wanted to get home and We Were In the Way!!!
Poor frickin' baby. What were you doing Mark? Texting your girlfriend? Downloading music from your favorite new band? Or just trying to get where you were going at all costs? And why were you going so fast on such a congested city street?
I'll never know the answers to those questions, of course. But it doesn't matter.
At least I got the chance to call 911 and speak in police scanner parlance: "Hello, I'd like to report a three car MVA, no injuries but fluid leaking," I informed the dispatcher.
A pleasant and patient Burlington Police officer showed up. While he did paperwork, Laura and I commisserated on the situation, happy that nobody had gotten hurt, and this would resolve itself.
Mark apparently works for a local ferry service on the lake. I hope he doesn't drive the ferries. (The ferry service does seem to be run quite professionally and safely, so I doubt Mark is the Captain of any of their boats)
Some of Mark's coworkers arrived. He must have called them, asking for a ride home. His was the only vehicle that had to be towed from the scene. Karma, I guess.
My neck is vaguely sore today, but that's it. I'm feeling so ornery toward Mark that I really hope his neck is more sore than mine.
And yes, I know, in the grand scheme of things, this really isn't a big deal. Vehicles can be fixed. Nobody's hurt, really, and life goes on.
So, Mark. I'm busy. So maybe you should be the one contacting my insurance company and making all the arrangements. Or maybe you could just take a refresher course on how to drive.
It occured to me that our cocker spaniel Jackson and I have way too much in common.
This might be especially true from the perspective of my long suffering fiance Jeff. He's pretty much saddled with taking care of both of us. That's not entirely my fault. He's the one who accepted my invite to move in with me two summers ago. It was his idea to get Jackson last summer, though I enthusiastically supported the move.
Now, he's got two hyper, scattered beings to contend with. No wonder he went to Europe for two weeks to teach. Every parent needs a vacation. But seriously, Jeff seems very well suited to managing the wackos who live in the same house as he.
Jeff, left, is stuck with taking care of me
and the dog. He's doing fine, though.
It's Jeff that feeds both Jackson and me. I never have time to fix dinner, and Jackson needs some controls, otherwise, he'd eat everything. So Jeff handles all that.
Other similarities between Jackson and me are startling.
My routines are similar to Jackson's. When he gets up in the morning, it's up and at 'em! He immediately runs around and plays, and chases around the house.
True, I'm slightly slower, but not much. Within moments of getting up, I'm at the computer, pulling stuff out of the dishwater, or if I'm particularly ambitious, dashing out the door to do some early morning gardening.
When Jeff leaves, Jackson howls in misery and misses him immediately.
When Jeff leaves, I don't exactly howl in misery but I miss him immediately.
When Jeff comes home, Jackson wags his tail in joy, leaps up and embraces him.
When Jeff comes home , I wag my tail in joy, leap up and embrace him.
When Jackson gets home from doggy day care, his first instinct is to run into the house, see if anything is amiss, then want to go back outside and play by digging holes in the dirt.
When I get home from work, my first instinct is to run into the house, see if anything is amiss, then I go back outside and play outside by digging holes in the dirt. The only difference is, Jackson leaves the holes open, I fill them with new perennials or other plants I've bought.
Jackson, my mental and emotional twin
takes a break on the couch.
Jackson barks when he sees something which is not familar to him.
I bark when somebody does something unfamiliar, but only if I really don't like it.
Now that Jeff is gone for a couple weeks, Jackson looks forlornly at Jeff's Jeep parked in the driveway and hopes he gets out and comes to greet him
Now that Jeff is gone for a couple weeks, I look forlornly at Jeff's Jeep parked in the driveway and wish he would magically appear, get out of the Jeep and greet me.
I've been called a dog before, and maybe that label is just a little bit accurate.
