Happy Anniversary Jeff!

A very great day eight years ago today. 

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.

I don't deserve this, but I'll take it.

Happy Anniversary, Chief!

Is An Alabama Garbage Man America's Next Big Thing In Pop Music?

Inexperienced singer Doug Kiker impressed the judges on the episode
"American Idol" that aired last week. Let's hope this
underdog does well! 

As anyone who looks at this here blog thingy knows, I'm a sucker for those talent "reality" shows in which stars are allegedly made.

I just like those surprises when people really just surprise everyone.

I got hopelessly hooked way back in 2009 at the iconic moment when Susan Boyle, an awkward appearing middle aged woman, blew everybody away with her version of "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Miserables

I don't watch "American Idol" as much as other shows of this genre, like "The Voice" and "America's Got Talent."  But one moment in the season premier of this year's "American Idol" got my attention, and that of a lot of other people. I guess I'm attracted to these "come from nowhere" stories.

Doug Kiker of Grand Bay, Alabama is a garbage man.  Apparently, he likes to sing on the back of the truck as he's working.

"I loved music all my life, but all I could ever do was just listen to the radio. I grew up, we had little to no means, you know," he told television station WEAR in Pensacola, Florida.

He auditioned last year for "American Idol" and by his telling, he failed miserably. “I couldn't even figure out what I was gonna do, I kept trying to remember the words to the song I was gonna sing, and when it came out, it came out horribly,” he explained.

But he wanted to teach his daughter, age 2, to not give up, so he tried again. "I'm trying to show her if you put your mind to it, there's nothing you can't do."

His efforts aired on "American Idol" Sunday evening. 

So there he was, echoes of Susan Boyle. In this case, Kiker appeared on TV, a little overweight, a few teeth missing, wearing a cheap baseball cap on backwards. Star struck at judges Lionel Ritchie, Katy Perry and Luke Bryan, mumbled something about the three judges being beautiful. 

Kiker confessed to having no performing experience, though Bryan was impressed with the calluses on Kiker's hands.

Ritchie was horrified, in a friendly way, that Kiker didn't even know to warm up his voice before performing for the judges. So American Idol host Ryan Seacrest, he of the perfect hair and perfect teeth, led him out to show him how to warm up. 

Fifteen minutes later, Kiker was in front of the judges again.  This time, he sang briefly. It was good.  Perry was unconvinced just yet.  "Show us your range," she said. 

"I don't know what that is," Kiker said. 

So, Bryan ran over to the piano to help.  Trouble is, Bryan tried to set Kiker up with the proper key to a song.  Kiker didn't know what that was, either. 

Which made the ever-helpful Bryan start singing a line in different ranges and getting Kiker to try to do the same.  Let's just say Kiker might not have had any training as a singer, but he's apparently a quick learner. 

Bryan said, "There's so much in there," and the other two judges seemed impressed.  Ritchie told Kiker he's a hell of a man, and I can't argue that.  Perry was in tears as they passed him on to Hollywood, the next stage of the competition 

"You just stay who you are and you're going to go so far," Perry told him.

Of course, it's too soon to know what will happen to Kiker.  He's in for a wild ride. Will be continue to learn and grow?  Will the pressure crush him or energize him?  I guess we'll have to find out.

These rags to riches stories are always more complicated than the reality shows make them out to be. But like almost all viewers, I wish him the best of luck.  

Meanwhile, The Voice in the United States has its season premier next week.  Like I said, I'm a sucker for this kind of thing. I'll be watching. 

Here's the video:

The Yearly Darlene Love Christmas Tune..

Darlene Love does it again, performing in 2018 my favorite holiday song
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"

My long standing tradition has been to feature the seemingly immortal Darlene Love doing her holiday hit "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)", which is my favorite song of the season.

The song is bittersweet, which is a vacation from the cloying claptrap we usually have to put up with this time of year. Yeah, I'm a Grinch, but deal with it.

The bittersweet song matches my mixed emotions this time of year. I know Christmas demands that I be deliriously happy, but no, I'm not going to do that. I really don't mean to be negative, and I don't want to take away from the joy that many people experience this time of year.  But still. Bah-Humbug!

Yes, I know I'm one of the lucky ones. There's been no tragedies in my life around the Christmas season, knock on wood. Life is good, no complaints. Happiness abounds.

Still, this is a season of contrasts. People get giddy with joy, but there's an undercurrent of sadness for many people, even sometimes among us "lucky ones." It's just that nobody dares admit it. It's against the "rules."

So we express through the  sentimentality of such treacly tunes as "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

That's not good enough, dammit. This holiday demands that everybody's life be perfect. I guess the holiday advertisers are the ones that expect this of us. It's a way to make money, and I get it. However, they hold too much sway over most of us, and I think that's awful.  It's time to break those chains.

Nobody's life is perfect. This seasonal expectation that insists everything must be ideal makes people who are feeling less than perfect feel worse. Which is a cruel joke. Shame on those Hallmark Christmas Specials types. If I were a worse person, I'd wish heartache for them on Christmas.

But I can't bring myself to do that.

Which is why I love "Christmas (Baby Pleas Come Home)" so much. She wants to be with her lover, her ex-lover, or whoever it is, and can't. The song brings us to church, which should make us feel exultant, but at the same time brings us down to a sad reality.

Which is life for pretty much all of us. In a world of fake news, let's deal with reality, folks.

As usual, my, husband and I must be apart this Christmas. Me in Vermont with family, Jeff in South Dakota with family. It's just circumstance that causes this. Work schedules, life in general. No biggie. I want him to be home with me, or I want to be with him in South Dakota.

We can't, but we work it out. Which is why for me, Christmas is bittersweet, and the song fits the mood. Hey, if relating to a song makes you feel better, why not, right?

Jeff will be with me soon enough, and all will be well. I just wish I could spend time today with family, simultaneously in West Rutland, Vermont and Yankton, South Dakota. We'll do Facetime, which is nice, but not perfect.

Hallmark will be mad at me for not being perfect with this, but screw 'em. It's time for all of us to enjoy our strangely wonderful, gloriously imperfect lives.

Love always performed "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"  on the David Letterman show, until he retired. Then, "The View" picked it up.

I think this year "The View" diluted Love a bit by having her duet with Bryan Adams.(Gosh, I haven't thought of him in years.) But it's a blessing we still have Darlene Love to uphold the tradition in this blog. After all, aren't we supposed to be all traditional this time of year?

So what if my tradition is being imperfect at a time we're all "supposed" to be flawless?  I'm rebelling, and I hope you'll join me.

Here's to sloppy Christmas decorations, gifts falling short, less than impeccable holiday clothing choices, and anything else that violates all those supposed Christmas standards.

Let's enjoy "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" if only because it celebrates our imperfect but good lives:

Happy Anniversary, Chief!!

My husband Jeff, supervised by Jackson and Tonks, waters the garden
this summer. It's our sixth wedding anniversary today, and this post
explains why I'm so happy. 

I can't believe that as of today, it's been exactly six years since Jeff and I got married.

Time flies when you're having fun. At least I am. I'll let Jeff speak for himself.

It's so funny how much Jeff moves me, even when he's not around. One small example: Jeff didn't go to the company picnic with me this year, but an Elvis impersonator performed there.

"Elvis" inevitably performed "Can't Help Falling In Love," which was a song at our wedding. Frankly, "Elvis" didn't perform it nearly as well as the singer did at our wedding, but whatever. Though I was having fun at the picnic, I had to turn away for minute during the song, because I was getting misty, like I always do when I hear that song nowadays.

On some evenings, driving home from work, I think about getting home, because I know Jeff's there. And I get verklempt just thinking about seeing him again. As if the 10 hours I spent without him around was an eternity. Either I wear my emotions on my sleeve or I'm a dog that looks like a human. You decide.

Sometimes, Jeff watches a television show that I'm not interested in, so I retreat to the office to play on the computer for awhile. Then something funny happens on TV, and his unique laugh booms down the hallway and into the office. (His laugh is the loudest thing he does, besides sneezing.)

Every time he laughs, I smile. And strangely, or maybe not so strangely, it reminds me of how comfortable and safe I always feel around Jeff.

I write a blog post about our marriage every year on our anniversary. I guess it's tradition. Each year, I say that by far the best decision I ever made was marrying Jeff. I think that every day. And with every passing day, the decision to live the rest of my life with Jeff looks better and better.

I'm basically a happy guy, but I never dreamed I could be as happy as I am with Jeff. Just like everyone else, we sometimes have our painful moments, our lousy set of circumstances, bad luck, bad moods.

But the constant is Jeff's steadiness, love, kindness, incredible moral compass, humor and compassion. I still haven't figured out how I got so lucky as to have Jeff in my life. I just know I cherish each day of it.

Denis, my best man at our wedding, is one of the most thoughtful people I know. He once gave me a delightful children's book called "The Gift of Nothing."

In the book, Mooch the cat wants to give his best friend, Earl the dog a birthday gift. In the end, Mooch gave Earl an empty box. Sounds disappointing, doesn't it?  But wait....

Earl opened the box and discovered nothing inside.  Mooch said yes, there's "nothing but me and you."

I love that line. To me, nothing matters except the love and bond Jeff and I have. "The Gift of Nothing" story ends with the following lines, with images of Mooch and Earl sitting side by side, embracing each other.

"So Mooch and Earl just stayed still and enjoyed nothing and everything."

Even when there's nothing there, it feels like I have everything because he's in my life. And that's all that matters.

I love you, Chief and happy anniversary. Let's have many, many more years together.

Happy Anniversary, Chief: Why I Have A Perfect Husband

Chief: My husband Jeff and I are celebrating our
fourth wedding anniversary today.  

Today is my fourth wedding anniversary. Time flies.

I thought I'd use the occasion to write an open letter to my husband Jeff, who I call Chief. Here goes:

Dear Chief,   

Hard to believe we've been married four years already.  Time flies when I'm happy, I guess.

If I had to list all the reasons why I love you'd we'd be here all week. So I'm going to dispense with the list. You know I love you for a gazillion reasons, and we'll leave it at that.

In these past four years, we've settled into being a couple old married farts, but I'm sure you'd beg to differ with that description.

Actually, I pretty much do, too, since it certainly does nothing to capture the essense of our marriage.

The old fart remark is a reference to being comfortable. Happy in our routines. 

It's just that I'm so comfortable with you around. Even when neither of us is doing anything in particular. Just vegging in front of the TV. Having another dinner. Or when you're downstairs at your drafting table and I'm playing around on my laptop in my office.

All "boring" routine things that old farts do.

I feel safe. At home. In every sense of the word, whatever we're doing, whenever we're doing it.

Jeff ripping apart part of our deck this summer to retrieve the
wedding ring I dropped between the boards
Repairs were quick, by the way. 

Home is a refuge. And I don't mean just a house. 

Our home is a place where I still get a spasm of delight when I pull into the driveway and your Jeep is there. That means you're home. And I'm happy.

I even get a little pang of disappointment when I arrive home from work and I see you're not there. 

You're still at work, or grocery shopping, and you'll be home soon. But I still miss you and feel a little bit too alone when you're doing something routine like that.  

Oh, I can handle myself just fine when you're not home.  But I feel my heart lift when you're around. The other night I called it "the vapors" You just make my heart race with joy, is all.   

Another thing that makes me feel secure -  at home and comfortable -  is you have faith in me even when I don't have faith in myself.

I'm impatient.  I have ambitious plans for the gardens around our house and the plans are moving too slowly. Meanwhile, you create an enormous, beautiful outdoor deck so we can enjoy our home even more. You created it seemingly in an instant, while I plod along.

You constantly remind me my projects are a process, that you delight in seeing the slowly expanding flower beds, the incremental transformations in our yard. 

Jeff and his mom. He's as good a son as he is a husband! 

You always come to my rescue. Even little instances. 

Like when I dropped my wedding ring between the boards of the deck, and you ripped up some of the boards to retrieve it. My hero! And I'm not being facetious. You ARE my hero. 

I might not show it through my frustrations  but again and always, your words and support and love make me feel safe in my own chaotic head.

I keep bringing up the word "safe."  Love, when done right, is a safe place. It's a shield against all the hate and turbulence and weirdness of the world.  I think - I hope - we're doing love right. 

In the evening, when we're watching TV, you sit in your big armchair, and I'm usually on the couch with our crazy dogs Jackson and Tonks.

I don't think you notice that sometimes I go quiet and stare at you instead of the TV screen. Yeah, the antics on "America's Got Talent" are fun enough, but the real entertainment for me is you.

Not the fact that you're sitting there watching TV. No, the entertainment is the fact that you're there. Home, with me.  

So I watch you as you giggle at "The Big Bang Theory" or roll your eyes at the politicians Rachel Maddow is picking on.

And I feel so lucky, so over the moon in love with the guy in the armchair watching TV.

Because the guy in the armchair is the one who never makes me feel lonely, who always makes me feel safe, who has made me so happy to be alive.  The one I want to be with forever and ever. I don't want this to ever end.

Thanks, Chief, for always being there.

And Chief: Happy anniversary. We're celebrating our fourth. Let's go for 40!

Love, Matt

Of course I dedicate this song to Chief, too:

David Bowie Took Us On An Otherworldly Journey To Become Ourselves

The cover of David Bowie's "Heroes" album

Much has been made in the past couple of days of the late, great David Bowie's influence on all us "weirdos" out there.

Through all his personas over the decades, the vibe was that if you were an outsider, somebody that was unusual, seemingly from outer space, that was cool. Be yourself.

I guess that's why space and space travel often played such a role in Bowie's music.

Another maybe more important aspect I detected in Bowie's music was a sense of urgency,  along with that otherworldliness of the music.

Not only was Bowie telling us we didn't have to fit into neat little boxes set up by society, but it was urgent that we NOT fit into these boxes. We had to stop trying to fit into these artificial boxes. Now if not sooner.

That sense of urgency was mostly noticeable in the musical arrangements in Bowie's music.

A classic example is in my favorite David Bowie song, "Heroes," the title track to his 1977 album.

The video for that song is at the bottom of this post.

He's certainly checked off the otherworldliness part. In the video, he's in mist and shadows, an apparition from another world.

The music in the song to me inspires visions of being in some fast moving rocket ship, stars outside sweeping by as we go to God knows where in the universe.  He's taking us on a journey to another world. Maybe a trip that really takes us to ourselves.

Tbe music and lyrics in "Heroes'' pushes us on with an urgency and determination. Against all odds, we can be heroes, just for one day.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, no matter what the situation, if any of us could be heroes just for one day?

It's metaphorical heroism in this song. It invites us to come out of the shadows, from outer space, and present ourselves to the world as we are.

As the emphatic lyrics of "Heroes" says, "We can be us, just for one day."

The music in "Heroes" is also ethereal. It almost puts you into a trance, draws you in to the ability to be yourself. To embrace your oddball mind. Just for one day. And another. Until it's forever.

My gay, ADHD - addled brain is writing this blog post. So yes, I'm "weird" or an "outsider" or something like that.

Bowie helped create a world in which that is all OK. For me, and for more and more people around me.

If you come down to it, we are all weird outsiders from somebody's perspective.  Bowie helped give us the courage to recognize our outsider status. He turned our weirdness into something cool

As we remember Bowie, we should all make sure we are truly us, as we are,  just for one day.

Here's the "Heroes" video:

World Premier Play "The Quarry" Hit INCREDIBLY Close to Home

Last night, I went with my husband, Jeff Modereger, to the last dress rehearsal before opening night of the Vermont Stage Company's production of a play called "The Quarry"   

"The Quarry" a play making its world
premier in Burlington, Vermont this
week, hit close to home, and has me in a
pensive mood.  

Its world premier is tonight and has a run in Burlington, Vermont through May 11.

Jeff is the scenic designer for the play, so we chose last night to go, since he had to be there anyway in case any last minute issues came up.

(Information on obtaining tickets, times of the show are available by clicking the hyperlink in this sentence.)

I hope tickets for the play sell out, but I'm glad there weren't a lot of people there watching "The Quarry" last night.

I got surprisingly emotional, because the play hit incredibly close to home.

"The Quarry," written by Shelburne, Vermont native Greg Pierce, with a musical score by his brother, Randal Pierce, takes place in an old marble quarrying town somewhere in Vermont. (The playwright doesn't specify which town)

There's several old marble quarrying towns in Vermont, and I grew up in one, West Rutland.

The play involves some strange goings on at the quarry, which produces beautiful green marble. A local teenage girl has gone missing around the quarry. The working quarry is abruptly shut down because of a mysterious "culturally significant" find in there.

Human bones are found, too.

All the while, the widow Jean, who has lived in the town all her life and lived in a house she and her late husband Sammy built within sight of the quarry, offers a running commentary.

She really loved Sammy, but now that Sammy is dead, Jean's only friend is a great blue heron that sometimes circles the quarry. She's bitter, doesn't really like most people, and people don't like her, judging her as "ornery"

During a pivotal scene, Jean is on the phone with her daughter in Texas. We learn that Sammy was the go-to person in town for anybody living there who wanted to know anything about themselves. And Jean is as bitter as ever.

My dad is the go-to person in West Rutland when people there want to know anything about themselves.

But the impact of this moment in "The Quarry," as it pertains to my father, was the least of it.

The bigger issue is, small towns in Vermont -- small quarry towns -- can be interesting, stifling, boring, funny, pretty, grim, insular, odd, friendly. Sometimes all simultaneously.

Quarries themselves involve the same adjectives. I know, I've been in them. And my husband's set design of the quarry captures all these feelings so well. I know I'm biased about his work but the same feelings I had when I went into quarries emerged when I saw Jeff's set.

The set, with its rendering of deep marble walls and marble block, made me feel a little nostalgic, a little claustrophobic, and just a tiny bit fearful.

I remember fear being a subtext of my life growing up in West Rutland, just as it turned out to be among residents of the town in "The Quarry" Yes, West Rutland was safe, physically. But that's it.

In any small town, there's fear. That insularity you get from some people is a symptom of fear of outsiders.  They're not from here. Don't trust them.

Jean's fear, and my own mother's lesser but still real loneliness in West Rutland in all those years living there, is based in part of fear of the unknown.

Jean's inability to fully accept love, and the same trait in some of my relatives, is based in fear.

I even wonder if Sammy's quest of knowledge about everything, including the town, and my own father's deep intellectual curiosity, was somehow based on fear.  Was it fear of not knowing what's going on?   Was my dad's decision to own a bar for decades, and his gregariousness, in just some tiny part a fear of being alone?

I guess anywhere you live, how you live, who you live with, there's fear. We even fear the good things.  Will they go away? Are they an illusion? Do we deserve them? What if we don't?

There is something of a fantasy scene in "The Quarry" that I won't get into because I don't want to reveal more of the plot.  But it's about reaching out beyond the fear.

Is the ability to reach beyond our fears just a fantasy? Is there hope for people who can't seem to go beyond their fears? I don't know.  Or is that unreal moment in "The Quarry" obtainable for the rest of us, in some shape or form?

That's what made me so emotional watching the excellent production of "The Quarry."  Like many people, I'm not often good at overcome fear, whatever that fear might be. The similarities to my life, and the comparisons to some of the people in my life that I saw unfold in "The Quarry" gave me that proverbial punch in the gut.

Unfortunately, that fear, that lack of leaping, stunts our life. Just like a small marble quarry town can limit our horizons if we let it.

Driving home from the play last night, I thought of a song that hadn't crossed my mind in years. It's Simon and Garfunkle's "My Little Town" from the mid 1970s.

It's a sad and angry tune about growing up in a small factory town.

A piece of the lyrics go:

And after it rains
There's a rainbow
But all of the colors are black
It's not that the colors aren't there.
It's just imagination they lack.

I guess letting go of fear is in part letting your imagination take over. Which the pivotal scene in "The Quarry" told us to do.

As the song "My Little Town" approaches its bitter close, Simon and Garfunkle repeat, over and over, with some urgency.

"Nothing but the dead and I
back in my little town"

The dead, I think, are not literally dead, but are the people who let fear of life win. I have to remember that, and not let it happen.

Easier said than done, but well worth the try.

Huge, Beautiful Barn On Farm Where I Used To Live Burns To The Ground

For more than a decade, ending in 2007, I rented an apartment in a Richmond, Vermont farmhouse.

The Gray Barn in Richmond, a beautiful
old structure that burned to the ground this morning.

On the Andrews Farm complex was a huge barn, known locally as the "Gray Barn," as that was its color.

I loved exploring the old structure, with its huge timbers supporting the metal roof, the well worn floor still holding up after decades, more than a century of use.

The barn seemed to sturdy, so always-there that I thought it would last forever.

Unfortunately, no. The Gray Barn burned to the ground this morning.  I'm told it went very quickly.

The elderly couple who were my landlords, Everett and Mary Jo Andrews, passed away a few years after I moved out of their farm. Now, in a way, I'm glad they are deceased, because it would have broken their hearts to see that barn go.

Even after their dairy operation ceased a few decades ago, the Andrews maintained the barn, understanding it was an important part of the local landscape. They, and daughter Jennifer, also leased parts of the barn to various enterprises, so it could continue to function and play a role in Vermont's agriculture industry.

Back in the 1990s, the farm, including the barn, was added to the National Register Of Historic Places.

This photo by Michael Hampton shows
that there's nothing left of the barn after
this morning's fire. 

Maple Wind Farm of Huntington, Vermont bought the barn just last year from the Andrews family,  mostly for their poultry processing operation.

So, yes, I'm very sad to see that barn go. Old, venerable  Vermont structures  are like beloved, trusted old aunts and uncles. When they pass, the hurt is acute.

I'm sure the town of Richmond is mourning this.

As am I.

Some Of The Better Christmas Gifts Out There

Most people know I'm pretty much a bah-humbug kind of guy during the Christmas season, especially over the past week, which is crunch time for getting your act together for the holiday.

I feel the same as Charlie Brown: If it ain't perfect,
it's bad, say the Christmas Nazis. I disagree.  

By Monday and Christmas Eve, it's basically too late to do anything about it.  What's done is done, and where I fell short for Christmas is where it's going to be. I can't change it.

I swear the Christmas season is expressly designed to torture people with ADHD. Not the holiday itself, mind you,  but the way the retailers, the marketers, the people trying to sell you stuff expect things to be so they can be happy and rich.

Because it's our duty to make the retailers and such people happy and rich for Christmas, after all. That's the spirit of the holiday.

But we've been conditioned by the advertisers and media to believe that everything has to be perfect, that we have to get the perfect gifts, bake the perfect cookies, have the perfect Christmas decorations arranged perfectly, and we have to behave perfectly.

And we have to be happy, happy HAPPY!!!! If not, you're a scumbag.

Then you have people like me. The ADHD crowd. Or even people who don't have it, but are just not into these demand for perfection.

My Christmas gifts fall short. My decorations are sloppy or nonexistent. I didn't even bake any cookies, so I must be a really terrible person.

I do like it when something happens in the real spirit of the holiday, if you allow me to use that cliche. I like to highlight these things, even when they don't expressly relate to the holiday. So I search for people giving the perfect gifts.

No, not the perfect gifts the mall wants you to buy, or Martha Stewart wants you to make by hand.  I'm talking about gifts that are important, that mean something. Most of the kinds of gifts I'm talking about don't cost any money. But they are the most precious you can give.

So here's some that have been in the news lately. Most of the ones listed below, in a series of videos and links,  appeared in the Huffington Post recently.

Reading about them makes me feel better about the holiday, and I hope they do the same for you.

Happiness and Acceptance:

Rion Holcombe, who has Down's Syndrome, was anxiously awaiting news of whether he'd get into Clemson University. Clemson has a special program for people with disabilities who want a post-secondary college experience.

Finally, Holcombe received a letter from Clemson.  Here's his excellent reaction to the news contained in the letter:



An Xbox and an Arm:
Christopher Kiezek, 6, of Long Island, New York, asked Santa for an Xbox, which isn't such an unusual think. He also asked for a left arm so he could play with the damn thing.

He was born without a left arm, and needs a prosthetic one. He outgrew an old one.

His parents' insurance company won't pay for one because it's not necessary for him to survive, according to the cold calculations of the insurer. (Gotta keep the profits strong and the stockholders happy!!)

A family friend overheard Christopher ask Santa for the fingers to play with the Xbox.  He started a fundraising effort on line, and enough money has been raised so that he'll get one soon.

Hearing the Music:

A dad had been deaf most of his life, but new technology allowed doctors to implant some special hearing aids so that he could hear. The biggest gift: Hearing his daughter do a solo for the first time at a Christmas chorale. The technology required the daughter to wear a special microphone so that her dad could hear. The moment is priceless:






Dog and Man's Friendship Survives Bad Moment:

This one isn't technically good news, but I love the loyalty.  A little before Christmas, John Miles was walking his dog Lucy in Boston's Dorchester area when some moron ran the two of them over and kept on going (The jerk hasn't been caught yet)

Miles was unconscious on the street, in a spot where few people would see him. Lucy, herself injured, searched for help until she saw people in a nearby dentist's office. She barked and barked until she got the people's attention, led them to Miles, where they called for help and rescued him.

Miles is recovering and so is Lucy. She has a torn ACL and the surgery to fix it will be expensive. However, Bostonians and others who heard about the situation have been donating cash to pay for the surgery.

Teacher Receives the Perfect Christmas Gift

Texas math teacher Jennifer Davis got the letter pictured below and she says it's the perfect gift. (click on the image to make it bigger and easier to read.)

We agree: Awesome gift. And I have a feeling the kid who wrote it is going to turn out just fine, even if math isn't that much fun:

"Much Loved" Old Teddy Bears Offer Poignant Photography, Comfortable Memories

Admit it.

Me, relaxing with my childhood teddy bear and
my favorite childrens'  book.  

You're probably an adult, and have been one for a long time.

But chances are, you still have the old teddy bear or other stuffed toy that, when you were little, could not be separated from, EVER.

And I bet you still would never part ways with Teddy. He's in your house somewhere, watching over you, protecting you, making you feel safe just like he did when you were three years old.

Along those lines, a photographer named Mark Nixon put together a book called "Much Loved" a collection of images showing very, very battered teddy bears and similar toys that had been hugged and hugged and hugged in times of childhood stress.

Their owners could never let go of these toys, even well into adulthood, and it's understandable why.

Here's what Nixon had to say about the project on the website BoingBoing:

"......I put the call out for people to bring in their much-loved teddies--the more loved, unwashed, and falling apart the better--to be photographed. I expeted it to be mostly children, but it soon became apparent that the idea appealed very much to adults, and that many of them were still very attached t their teddies. It was as though they had been keeping a long-held secret and could finally tell someone what their teddies really meant to them.

Their strength of feeling took me by surprise. While waiting they would tell some usually funny story about their teddy (How they had nearly lost it at some stage was a common theme) or would speak emotionally about what it meant to them. So the stories and memories became integral to the photographs, adding significance to them and bringing them to life."

Someone's childhood teddy bear
from the photography book "Much Loved"
 by Mark Nixon  

I can so relate to the people who had their teddy bears photographed by Nixon. I still have my childhood teddy bear, and I'm 51 years old.

Compared to the teddies in Nixon's photographs, mine's in pretty good shape. He still has his two golden eyes, and a brown button nose. His fur is matted with age, the bottoms of his white feet are dirty and his mouth is misshapen.

When I first had him, you could squeeze him and he'd say things like "I love you" but that feature broke a long, long time ago.

My teddy sits on a dresser drawer in the bedroom. He's joined by other child-like toys an items I collected as an adult. There's a stuffed Tasmanian devil, from Looney Tunes, that I bought more than two decades ago.

About four years ago, when I had to go into a surgery, my best friend Denis gave me a children's book called "The Gift Of Nothing" by Patrick McDonnell, which charmingly tells us the best thing we can give to our loved ones is time and friendship.

The book is most assuredly in that place of honor in my bedroom.  When I need a little encouragement after a setback that looms large but is really unimportant,  I read "The Gift of Nothing." It always helps immensely.

Lately, I've been obsessed with Minions from "Despicable Me," those cheerful, yellow pill shaped characters who happily soldier on despite all kinds of outlandish and humiliating mishaps

I'm not the least bit ashamed of having these childhood, or childlike items as important touchstones of my life.

We all have bad moments. We all have stress.  We keep our childhood teddy bears and add to our collection because we remember how we felt when Mom yelled at us, or classmate Susie said we were stinky, or we couldn't get the toy we wanted.

The toy panda bear photographer
Mark Nixon had when he was a kid.
He included it in his book "Much Loved"
which shows poignant images
of peoples' childhood teddy bears  

Teddy always made us feel better. We can hug something warm and fuzzy and everything was OK.

That's why a lot of us, as adults, have dogs, isn't it?  If I've had a busy, stressful day, I'll collapse onto the couch. Jackson the Cocker Spaniel will run up, leap up onto my lap and tell me to start giving him a back rub.

Yeah, it feels good to him, but it feels good to me, too. The backrub I give Jackson soothes me more than it soothes him.

It makes me feel like I did when I hugged my teddy bear as a toddler. I bet the you go through the same thing with your dog or cat, if you're lucky enough to have them in your house.

After a few minutes of back rubbing, Jackson leaps off my lap, deposits himself on the floor next to his favorite toy, looks at me, bright eyed and tail wagging and says "Woof!"

That means it's time to play, and chasing Jackson around the house with his toy buffalo or toy cow makes both of us feel great and erases any last vestiges of stress.

Just like when I was a three year old, and Teddy and I, climbing a small hill outside,  pretended we were conquering Everest.

So yes, all adults should have comforting playmates. They could be intelligent beings, like my dog Jackson, or an old teddy bear, or a children's book.

Some people might say clinging to such things is insane.

I say it's the most sane thing any adult could do.

Exactly One Year After Wedding, Even More Glad I Married Jeff

Today is the one year anniversary of my marriage to Jeff Modereger.

The man I was lucky enough to marry
one year ago today.  

On each of the past 365 days I've woken up in the morning, and the first thought that occurs to me is I am married to Jeff. Always, I smile at the thought, and suddenly have the courage to face the day, whatever it brings.

This wonderful marriage is a tonic, an elixir that changes everything in ways I can never explain.

Really, it's just another marriage. People get married all the time. With the death of the odious Defense of Marriage Act, more gay couples like us are getting hitched, too. Marriage is as common as sun rays on a glorious summer morning.

And as special as those rays. Yes, Jeff and I have just another marriage. But when you're in it, like I am, the glow of those sun rays make me feel like I'm walking on air, drinking in love, wanting to live with Jeff forever. And if I can help it, I will do just that.

Last year, in this blog, on the day I married Jeff, I wrote that it was important to make a public statement, to essentially shout from the rooftops that this marriage is a Big Deal. That we had a responsibility to keep the love growing. If only because the world needs more good things.

We've kept that promise. I didn't think I could love Jeff more than I did on that stage at the University of Vermont Royall Tyler Theatre on August 26, 2012 when we said our "I do's."

But, the love has grown deeper.

One of the things I love about this marriage is the little details that wouldn't mean anything to an outsider, but are everything to me.

I embrace the sound of Jeff snoring softly after I get up early in the morning and he sleeps in a bit. The warm smells of the dinner he's making that waft in from the kitchen. His arched eyebrow when I make another smart aleck remark. The way he gets excited like a little kid when he's got a great idea for a show he's designing, a design that the people putting on the play love.

We've settled into the routines of marriage.  We get up, we make ourselves breakfast, one of us takes Jackson the Cocker Spaniel outside. In the evening,  Jeff sits in his easy chair, Jackson draped on the head rest behind him. I rest on the couch, trying desperately, but failing to stop dropping crumbs on the floor as I finish eating dinner.

We shout out the answers to "Jeopardy!" on the TV. I wrestle with Jackson for a bit. Jeff will put the dinner leftovers away.

Then we'll watch "America's Got Talent." or something cheesy like "Project Runway" and do a running, eye rolling commentary. Forgettable stuff, and at the same time, profound.

I imagine most great marriages are something like this. Every day is routine and special at once.

It's been a great year, even thought it came with a lot of  challenges.  One of our beloved dogs, Bailey, died in May.  Together, we cried over Bailey's death and our joined emotions helped get us through.

I suddenly find myself between jobs as we celebrate the one year anniversary of our union.  I bounce my job search ideas off him, he gives me ideas, and the two brains combined ensure that soon, I will be working at rewarding job I love.

Jeff had to travel a lot in the spring and early summer.  It was a constant blur of planes, cars, unfamiliar beds, me feeling lonely at home. I don't know if distance makes the heart grow fonder, but our bond was just as strong as ever when we were hundreds of miles apart.  

I don't know what led us to find each other. I know the mechanics of it all, the initial whiff of interest in each other, the first date, the growing relationship, the deepening connection that led to our marriage. But why did our two lives intersect in the first place?  How did we get so lucky?

The question can't be answered, of course. And probably shouldn't. The mystery is part of the fun.

Maybe some readers are groaning at this flowery tribute to the relationship between Jeff and me. It's just a marriage. And I guess this post is just a love letter to Jeff. I could have kept it all private.

But to me, this marriage is too big to hide away in a little box, to be shared only between Jeff and me. We felt the wonderful support of all our family and friends as we got married on August 26, 2012. That set us off on exactly the right foot. We feel how happy everyone is for us. We feel how people think this marriage is so right.

A great marriage like this affects a lot of people, a lot of bystanders, I hope in a good way. In a world full of ugly wars, ugly politics, disasters, fights, murders, mean people, hate and Miley Cyrus, this marriage is a wondrous refuge.

A refuge for Jeff and me, certainly. And maybe enough to make those we love smile a bit, too. What's the harm in that?  Even if I do blab on and on about something that is "just a marriage."

DOMA Demise Is Personal For Me

Being married to an awesome guy, yesterday's Supreme Court decision striking down the so called Defense of Marriage Act made the day very sweet.

Our accountant is going to be pissed, though. Our tax situation might get a lot less complicated, which means less work for him, and maybe less income.

The great Edith Windsor, plaintiff in
the Supreme Court ruling that overturned DOMA. 

Well, there's winners and losers everywhere, aren't there?

Speaking of winners and losers, it's been fun watching the reaction to news of the court decision.

Tweets are always fun:

Two of my favorite: "Free gay wedding idea: Dress all the servers like Paula Deen." (look up the whole Paula Deen controversy if you need an explanation)

Justice Antonio Scalia, a big guy, really hated the majority opinion. Humorist Mo Rocca Tweeted that it is apparent Scalia wont' be going to Bear Week this year.

Like most major civil rights cases that end up at the Supreme Court, a plaintiff is taken from relatively obscurity to become the face of the cause. Think Rosa Parks, for instance.

In the DOMA case, it was the smart, brave, personable Edith Windsor who was the centerpiece.  As journalist Glenn Greenwald Tweeted: "Edith Windsor joins the pantheon of great Supreme Court litigants who secured the rights of everyone."

The more strident opponents of gay marriage were hysterically funny in my mind. Talk about over the top fears and statements. Here's some:

Bryan Fischer: The DOMA ruling has now made the normalization of polygamy, pedophilia, incest and bestiality inevitable. Matter of time.

United States Conference of Catholic Bishops: "Today is a tragic day for marriage and our nation. The Supreme Court has dealt a profound injustice to the American people....

This one from something called Freedom Outpost is particularly unhinged: 

 "The America that our Founding Fathers fought and bled for is now gone my friends.  It is high time to do something about it.  When you get to Heaven and stand before Almighty God, and you are asked to account for all your deeds, or lack of them, and The Lord asks you, “why did you stand by and allow my children in the womb to be murdered in the most horrific ways, WHY did you allow perverts that I have deemed an abomination to over run the country I gave you, WHY did you sit in your home at your computer bellyaching about these things but did nothing…”, WHAT WILL YOU SAY?"

Um, I said "I do."

As I said on Facebook yesterday, I never thought I would feel MORE married to my husband than I already did, but the death of DOMA really did make me feel even more married.

It's hard to explain exactly what that means. Obviously, I've always felt my marriage is every bit as legitimate as it is for heterosexual couples. But with the court decision, I hold my head a little higher, and I'm prouder yet of my marriage. It might be my crowning achievement.

I buy the argument that marriage, overall, is good for society, at least if done right. I want my marriage to Jeff to be an example of how to do marriage right.

I sure have the incentive: How could I possibility treat Jeff in any way other than with love and respect?  He deserves the best.

Random Thoughts On Boston Bombing/Terrorist Capture

I know the whole Boston Marathon attack was serious, tragic business, and I don't want to minimize it.

But being a trivial guy, I do have to note some totally irrelevant post scripts and besides-the-point moments that struck me as fascinating or cool, now that the immediate crisis has passed.

The famous boat behind the house
in Watertown, Mass. where the terrorist
suspect hid.

Here are some:

Did the bombing suspects seriously believe they could cow Boston. I mean really, Boston? It's gotta be the toughest (in a good way) city in the United States.

I wonder what kind of tough justice the bombers would have gotten if they'd be released to walk around in Southie?

How tough? Some wag on Facebook posted a photo of  are  North Korean  leader Kim Jong-un, with a quote supposedly from him:   "Note to self: Do not invade Boston."

A few people might find all those crowds spontaneously singing, badly off key, the National Anthem after the capture a little cheesy. Not me. It's heartwarming and patriotic and was exactly the right release people needed.

 Maybe I'm being a bit too populist, but this is moving:




Yes, us Americans will start arguing amongst ourselves any minute now about what we should do next, or what we should have done better. That's normal, and a debate is a good thing. But it is nice to see us all come together when necessary.

Why is it that the average Joe and Jane Schmo involved in the Boston terrorist attack seems to have really risen to the occasion but some politicians observing from a distance act like morons.

We kept hearing reports of people acting bravely to rescue the wounded, the wounded giving critical tips to investigators, and police diligently hunting the two terrorists down.

And many politicians were eloquent, such as Massachusetts Gov. Deval Patrick. But others, not so much.

Case in point: An Arkansas state lawmaker, Nate Bell,  Tweets the following during the manhunt, right after the MIT police officer is killed: "I wonder how many Boston liberals spent the night cowering in their homes wishing they had an AR-15 with a high capacity magazine?"

He later apologized for what he said was the Tweet's poor timing

The two bombers are/were pathetic young men. And the final capture of the survivor, hiding in a boat parked in a Watertown, Massachusetts back yard, is particularly lame. Another piece of evidence the guy was a total loser.

In other bits and pieces from this episode, I think we call all give our deep gratitude to Neil Diamond   for taking a 4:30 a.m. red eye to Logan Airport so he could sing "Sweet Caroline" at Saturday's Red Sox game.

A needed bit of goofy joy and tradition from a Class Act. Thanks, Neil!

One last note: Are you as disturbed as I that a few people on Twitter thought the bombing suspect that survived is, in their words "kind of cute"?

No, he's the ugliest guy in America right now. And I'm not talking about physical looks.

When Two Lives Combine Into One: My Happy But Tricky Story..

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?

Incomprehensible Newtown Massacre: A Few Thoughts.

Like everybody else in America, I can't get my head around the Newtown, Connecticut school massacre, in which 27 people died, including 20 young children.

A mother comforts her daughter after
the Newton, Ct. school shooting. Photo by
Melanie Stengel, New Haven Register

The news channels have been on for 24 hours now, trying to explain the unexplainable. It's too much for me to get to the heart of the matter. It's too big. Too baffling. My thoughts have gone around the edges of this, touching upon just a few of the millions of issues, concerns, thoughts, prayers this all leads to.

We don't know what led Adam Lanza, what could lead any human to kill innocent young children.

Most people who are seriously mentally ill people,  holding vicious grudges or harbor white hot anger don't spray bullets into crowds, especiallly when the crowd consists mostly of kindergarteners.

I was listening to an NPR report last night on the profile of mass killers. The problem is, millions of people have the same mental traits as these monsters, yet these millions of people never hurt anyone.  So how do we weed out , in advance,   the people that would cause such heartache. You can't.

Of course we hurt for the families of the people who lost their children, their joy. Nothing we say and do can help, really. I know it's our responsibility to make some good come of this, but obviously no amount of good will fix this. The world, unfortunately is much worse for this.

 What would have become of the children had they been allowed to grow up, thrive, live?  Many of them would have contributed wonderful things to the world. We've all lost that.

I also worry about the police and other emergency responders who raced to that school.  Yeah, cops are tough, paramedics are seasoned, but not tough enough or seasoned enough to live with the horror of those poor children, gunned down. Let's hope they find the peace they need.

As an aside, I want to especially congratulate the cops and responders who led the children out of the school, and had them cover their eyes as they did so, so the children wouldn't have to see the carnage they were seeing. These responders surely spared these kids a lot of mental trauma.

One of the best things I saw rattling around social media yesterday was a link to the Mr. Rogers Company, which offered help and how to talk about something like this to kids. 

The best part of the link is this quote from Mr. Rogers:

Mr. Rogers passed away ten
years ago, but left
behind comforting words
for situations like this.

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers - so many caring people in the world."

As in every American disaster, there's been a huge outpouring of help for the people in Newtown. I know. Because I looked for the helpers on the news and saw lots of them.

But now I have to go negative. There are a minority of people who insist on not helping. To make things worse. To further their agenda. Yes, I know there's a renewed debate on gun control. There's that. Some of the gun control debate is healthy. Some not.

However, I really want to touch on people who are even more vile with their agenda. People like Bryan Fischer and Mike Huckabee are going around saying the reason this happened is prayer was taken out of the schools and God doesn't go where he's not wanted so he didn't protect the kids in that school when the shooting started.

What sad lives these people live if they think a God would be so spiteful that he's allow a bunch of innocent kids to be killed. What these people are really after is a theocracy, and they're on a religious war to bring us that weird, right wing form of Christian theocracy.  And they'll stoop to something like this to advance their agenda.

Next up: The gays did it. Some of the same people who say God was kicked out of schools will repeat the nonsense we hear in every disaster: That God is killing our children, our innocent people in shooting sprees, hurricanes, tornadoes and floods because many of us are accepting of our gay families, friends and neighbors.

We're loving thy neighbor. But I guess that part of the Bible isn't important to the likes of the religious wing nuts. And I'm sure they're offending the vast majority of Christians who are good, loving and giving.

Oh, and by the way, I'm not aware God has been kicked out of schools. Organized, coerced Christian prayer has, because there's a variety of religions in this nation, in our schools, and we have to respect that. Even if we don't like somebody else's religion.

People are free to pray silently, however they want, to whatever diety they want, in our schools. The following sentence is going to sound inappropriately flip,  but it's heartfelt: I bet there was a lot of praying in that school during the shooting spree.

Now,  there's a lot of praying going on across the nation and world.   I bet, I hope, a lot of those prayers will be  answered.

Vermont Stage Co.'s "Sylvia" And My Future With Dogs

Last night, I saw the excellent preview performance of the Vermont Stage Company's latest production, "Sylvia," and it got me thinking about my inevitable future with dogs.

"Sylvia" is about a guy named Greg (played by Stephen Bradbury) going through a mid-life crisis who finds a dog named Sylvia. He brings Sylvia home, much to the dismay of his wife Kate (played by Melissa Lourie)

The dog, Sylvia, is played hilariously by Kathryn Blume.  She articulates the thoughts of the dog as she becomes established in the household and changes the relationships with everybody involved.

Vermont Stage Company is presenting
the excellent play "Sylvia" through May 8

Go see this play. It's sweet and funny and touching. It's cleverly written, and, as usual for Vermont Stage, it's done just beautifully. It runs through May 8.

The whole play is deceptively simple, but it really gets you thinking about how something as seemingly simple as an ordinary dog changes people and their relatonships in complex, sometimes scary ways.

Jeff, who by the way, is the set designer for "Sylvia,"  and I are thinking about getting a dog, and the play made me think about how this future dog will change us. I don't think it will be anything as dramatic as in "Sylvia." I won't give the play's plot away, but there are scary moments within some longstanding relationships in the production.

I haven't had a dog in decades. Jeff is an expert at dog companionship.  When a dog moves into our home, I first and foremost want to do right by the dog. The dog needs to be loved, safe and happy. I want to ensure the dog trusts me, and knows that I have his or her best interests at heart.

At the same time, I don't want to let the dog take over my whole life, or change my relationships in any negative way.

I told Jeff he'll have to train the dog, and train me to be a great companion to the dog.

It goes without saying the dog will change my relationship. At the intermission of "Sylvia" I was growing fearful about what a dog might do to my life.  Will it be a grenade that blows up everything I've established in terms of my domestic bliss? But at the end of the performance, however, I was reassured. I just have to be open to change and love, at least if "Sylvia"'s playwright, A. R. Gurney is correct.

A dog is without guile. He or she won't really try to undermine my life, or my relationships, my sense of balance. He or she will just want to join my "pack" and be happy.

Just by being there, the dog will have effects on my life. It turns out it's up to me, not Fido to ensure the dog will change my life in a positive way.

I don't know what kind of dog we'll get or when we'll get him or her. The more I think about it, though, the more I find the challenge of having a dog companion incredibly appealing. I can't wait to meet him or  her.