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Today started with a trip to the vet's office. My dog Dana (a.k.a Dana Monster, Danie Wanie, Wanie Balls, Woofie, Wufthansa and Goddammit Stay Out of the Garbage) recently turned 12 and has definitely started acting like a proper canine octogenarian. Despite expensive eyedrops, glaucoma has pretty much claimed his vision in one eye and the doctor is recommending its removal. He also sometimes gnaws at the fleshy pads on his elbows which can leave a gross open wound that I try covering with bandages until he gnaws through that too. This is all in addition to the patches of dry skin that often shed and flake on the carpets as well as the small fatty patches under his the fur on his belly (they're benign -- we checked). Such a laundry list of symptoms makes it sounds like Dana could fall apart any second but, really, it's a bunch of small things that the vets say is normal for an old pet. Overall he's a great dog that I've had since college and wouldn't trade for anything.
This morning's appointment was to address a cough he's had for a couple weeks and it's actually the second time he's been in to see a vet about it. Last weekend's visit was at a new office that's much closer to home than the place I'd been going for years. I liked the location, but didn't appreciate the guilt trip they laid on me for questioning the need for a $200 X-ray before addressing the possibility that it was the canine flu that was going around Chicago.
Of course they're medical professionals with an interest in the animals' well-being, but the pressure that some vets place on owners to approve every expensive diagnostic analysis is a huge turnoff when it comes repeat business. The new doctor, who's even closer to home, didn't see an urgent need for an X-ray or ultrasound and said the cough might just be due to the lingering dust from our kitchen construction. To be safe, we made an appointment with a specialist and were sent home with a cough suppressant that seems to be doing a good job. Needless to say, I'm glad I went for a second opinion.
I've had Dana as long as parents of seventh graders have had their kids and, God willing, hope to see him graduate from high school. As most dog owners will attest, there's nothing better than coming home from a bad day at work to the happy realization that somebody is glad to see you ... even if it is just with the one good eye.
More birthdays. Again with the birthdays! Saturday we celebrated my Grandma's 90th and today was a surprise party for my Great Aunt's 70th. So including my 33rd and Jack's 1st, that's 164 years of life celebrated since Tuesday. If they were lived successively rather than concurrently, our combined birthday would be in the same year Samuel Morse sent the first telegraph message "What hath God wrought" from Washington, D.C. to Baltimore.
Friday night while out with friends, I mentioned how the rest of my weekend was booked with trips to the suburbs for these events and, I confess, I complained about all the driving that meant. One friend quickly replied "Still, it must be nice to have all that family here in town." Besides feeling appropriately guilty for whining, I realized she was correct.
Living most of your life in the same area where your immediate and (quite large) extended family resides can make you pretty complacent. It's easy to forget that in a city like Chicago, a good percentage of people hail from elsewhere and don't have the benefit of relatives just a short drive away.
The birthday girls recognized that blessing just fine. Well past the point of jokingly dreading birthdays, both my Grandma and Aunt mentioned several times how much they appreciated family members who took time from the weekend to celebrate their years.
Morse's first telegraph message back in 1844 was a Biblical quote from the Book of Numbers. To those with the most candles on their cake this weekend, numbers weren't much of a concern.
Last night at my sister and brother-in-law's place, the family celebrated with pizza and cake in honor of birthdays. My sister's friend and I were both recognized for getting older this week, but the real guest of honor was my nephew and Godson, Jackson, who celebrated his very first ever birthday. Sitting comfortably in his customized birthday present, Jack looked like a miniaturized Alistair Cooke introducing an episode of Mashed Peas Theater.
While any kid's first birthday is a noteworthy occasion, Jack's carried a special importance as we all remembered his dramatic entrance one year ago. As most folks reading this know, Jack arrived eight weeks sooner than expected while my sister and brother-in-law were visiting family in Albany, New York. He was a fragile little guy of just 1 pound 12 ounces, but received excellent care both in Albany and at home in Chicago. Since then he's been doing great and outgrowing his clothes faster than loving relatives can raid Old Navy.
Jack carefully observed the candle-blowing-out ritual and I think even made notes for future birthdays. He also enjoyed watching his audience sing "Happy Birthday" no fewer than five times. The only disappointing moment came when refused to participate in the time-honored custom of smashing one's first birthday cake into oblivion. Tradition dictates that no baby's first birthday party is complete until the cake is appropriately smeared in hair, ground in clothing and jammed in facial openings so well that Mom is picking out crusty bits of ear frosting days later.
Despite the crowd of paparazzi waiting to catch a great photo of Jack wearing his dessert, he just didn't appreciate this rare instance when grownups would allow, nay, demand such irresponsible behavior with food. Luckily there are two more family gatherings this weekend that will present such an opportunity ... if Jack doesn't get with the program and start respecting cake for it's curative properties when applied topically, I'm sitting him down in the comfy chair for a serious talk.
For the second time this week, I feel God-like for having created a basic force of nature. Sunday evening I said "Let there be light!," and there was light. Tonight (following three trips to three different hardware stores before finding the right hose to connect the gas), I said "Let there be fire!" and, lo, fire did appear. As a benevolent God, I'll share my bounty of propers with the Swedish dieties at Ikea for their role in these feats.
Tasks like these represent the conclusion to a kitchen remodeling effort that Brooke and I launched more than a month ago. The condo we've been in since last fall came with a kitchen that was, to be kind, dated and horribly designed. It featured a hodgepodge of cabinetry, filthy linoleum tile and deteriorating walls. We knew all this when we got the place but have been eager to change it ever since.
To pay for this endeavor we sold Brooke's car, which took less than 24 hours on Craigslist and quickly promoted my car to our car. After playing with blocks at Ikea's kitchen department, we placed our order and were soon blessed with invaluable help from my dad and uncle with some demolition and electrical assistance. Once the walls were bare, an extremely reliable contractor (an oxymoron, I know) who came recommended from a neighbor did most of the hard work putting us back together again. Five stressful weeks of eating fast food and doing dishes in the bathroom sink later, we almost have a kitchen again. Actually with the stove hooked up tonight, we're fully functional ... all that's left is painting the walls, ceiling and trim. And, of course, putting the rest of the place back together.
For now, though, I'm relaxing in the A/C with a frosty beverage. The newly-resurrected Schlitz in a bottle, in fact ... so it's only a matter of time before I'm using the aforementioned powers to conjure some wind.
Birthday number 33 is in the can. The otherwise normal Tuesday was brightened by kind greetings that came in via text message, phone, email and Facebook comments. Even as an adult person with a job and responsibilities, I still carry a hint of that little kid excitement all day when it's my birthday and people are making a fuss.
Noticeably unfussy were the people at work. The department's admin assistant is usually good about getting a card and passing it around for signatures, but I've only been at this job six weeks ... so perhaps I just didn't make it on the calendar. Or perhaps like insurance and vacation time, birthday recognition is a fringe benefit accrued over time.
The day was capped over drinks with Brooke (the girlfriend) and some friends, Andrew and Melissa. Brooke made me a hat that said "Birthday Crab," a name I self-applied following a difficult morning. Afterwards, the four of us dined outside on this evening which can only be described as a perfect climate vacuum: no heat, no cool, no breeze. Like Goldilocks sampling ursine oatmeal, it was just right.
There was one distraction from the perfect evening when a well-to-do (and probably well-liquored) older man on the sidewalk got into a heated shouting match with a woman who was panhandling. He accused her of blocking his path and berated her for bothering people near the building where he owned a condo unit. I think most of our fellow diners were rooting for the old guy until he loudly announced "You don't belong here!" which, considering the fact he was white and she wasn't, put an uncomfortably fine point on the encounter. Especially for our friend at the table Andrew, a black guy from London.
Just as the drama was subsiding, the waitress asked "Is there anything else I can get you?" and Andrew replied "A word with that guy if you don't mind."
John Belushi, Chris Farley and Jesus Christ. Three people of whom definitely I consider myself a fan, although not necessarily in that order. So why specify them? Because they all shuffled off to join the choir invisible at age 33 ... the same age I'll be turning tomorrow.
Unfortunately I can't claim to have matched their level of achievement in those years, but I also have no reason to believe my time is as finite. At least I hope not.
Birthdays rank right up there with New Years Eves as a time to ponder the path one has forged and assess damage left in its wake, but also to plot the remainder of the journey and allow for potential course corrections.
So I suppose that's what I hope to do with this blog. Thanks in advance for keeping me company.
