Monthly Archives: July 2015

Rescued

Bros

I’ve said many times that I’m not sure who rescued whom when we came home with Remy, then nine months later with Pax. Our lives were great before them, but they’re wonderful now. Somehow, pets fill a void that some folks don’t even know existed. I thought we were doing OK after Rousseau passed away. His death hit us both so hard, there were a few days afterwards that we both thought we could never love another dog. Boy, am I glad we were wrong. We had to “rescue” some more.

It breaks my heart to see dogs and cats languishing in shelters. Irresponsible breeding is at Duggar family levels.

Remington

In the Aussie community, there are shameful, unscrupulous people who like the way mostly-white Australian Shepherds look (and sell), so they deliberately breed merles to merles — something so dangerous and cruel, I can’t believe it’s not a punishable crime. These often blind and deaf puppies (if they survive at all) routinely end up in shelters, or fostered by good people willing to take on a severely impaired dog and give him the best life possible — while otherwise healthy but abandoned animals wait for death at the pound. So sad.

So let me do this PSA today, although I know I’m preaching to the choir. Skip the breeders and adopt. There are even plenty of purebred dogs available (not sure about cats, but I’d wager it’s the same with them). Then there are angels like the cat breeders in the Netherlands who gave two of their beautiful purebred ragdolls to RtB fiend Suzanne, after she lost her longtime companion, Chevy. Kind people are everywhere; not just at the shelters and foster homes. The ones who are in it for the animals as opposed to the profits are the ones to seek out.

What’s truly sad are owners who simply didn’t know what they were getting into, or decided that while their puppy was cute and the breed was popular, the workload wasn’t what they expected or wanted when the dog got older. So…off to the shelter they go. Unbelievable how disposable animals are to some people. And these are the pets who wait; wait to die.

Pax

I know there are extenuating circumstances in life (indeed, one of those exceptions brought us Rousseau), but speaking generally, there exists no situation in which I would ever give up my dogs. Not for anything. If a potential new apartment didn’t allow pets, I’d keep looking. If my dogs had a behavior problem, I’d do whatever was necessary to mitigate it. If we moved far away and I couldn’t take them in my vehicle, I’d arrange to get them there via professional pet transport. You don’t leave town and deposit a family member at the dog pound, or worse — the side of the road, which, sadly, happens all too often.

I think sometimes that people leave it too late to do anything but give up. For example, I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard someone say, “We had to give him up because he kept having accidents in the house,” or “she wouldn’t stop chewing on stuff,” as if the accidents and the chewing were the dog’s fault. Again, there are exceptions (aggression towards babies, traumatic incident that results in vicious behavior, etc.), but in general, people are the reason dogs fail at being good citizens, and society has made it all too easy for folks to just deposit pets at the shelter like so much recycling.

At this writing, we’ve had Remy for 18 months, and the training is ongoing for a dog with such enormous fear issues, I seriously considered looking into behavioral therapy with a lady in Akron. But he’s slowly improving. I’d say he’s had one major breakthrough behaviorally in the last year and a half. We’re taking that as a huge victory. Since Aussies generally live 13-16 years, we have some time.

So, what got me on this tangent this morning? It was actually a beautiful thing. I read a poem yesterday noon, while eating my lunch. After bawling through my watermelon, I saved the text and decided to write about the subject today.

Of course, you can substitute “cat” for “dog” in this. Read and weep…then go hug a pet.

 

The Reason 

I would’ve died that day if not for you.
I would’ve given up on life if not for your kind eyes.
I would’ve used my teeth in fear if not for your gentle hands.
I would have left this life believing that all humans don’t care
Believing there is no such thing as fur that isn’t matted
skin that isn’t flea bitten
good food and enough of it
beds to sleep on
someone to love me
to show me I deserve love just because I exist.
Your kind eyes, your loving smile, your gentle hands
Your big heart saved me…

You saved me from the terror of the pound,
Soothing away the memories of my old life.
You have taught me what it means to be loved.
I have seen you do the same for other dogs like me.
I have heard you ask yourself in times of despair
Why you do it
When there is no more money, no more room, no more homes
You open your heart a little bigger, stretch the money a little tighter
Make just a little more room, to save one more like me.
I tell you with the gratitude and love that shines in my eyes
In the best way I know how
Reminding you of why you go on trying.

I am the reason
The dogs before me are the reason
As are the ones who come after.
Our lives would’ve been wasted, our love never given;
We would die if not for you.

–Julie Ashleigh

In defense of television

Yesterday, I went on a mini-tirade on Facebook about “reality” TV programming. A friend suggested I get rid of cable and just go with Netflix (sorry, no sports, news, premium channels, On Demand, etc. — seriously, what would I do if I couldn’t watch the Indians and Browns lose?).

The other night, I posted about a huge grammar gaffe a newscaster made, and someone said here’s an idea: “turn off the TV.” Now fiends, I realize that my world should not (and does not) revolve around Gee, what’s on TV tonight?” I have other interests, as I’m sure we all do. And I’m not defending the pile of garbage that much of television has become. Rather, I’m here to defend a part of TV that is worthwhile, and to dispel the notion that those of us who carve out time to watch it are somehow devoid of a quality existence, or are blessed with oodles of mindless, shiftless, lazy, unproductive hours every day to devote to it.

In other words: anti-TV snobs, get off your high horses. I understand that it is oh so de rigueur to hate television. I get it. But what gets me is those who opine large and long against all TV, when they haven’t seen a program of any kind in months or years — or ever.

It’s OK, though. Eeeeeverybody got an opinion. And this is not to say that I wholeheartedly approve of a glut of TV for children or anyone; I don’t. I’m not a complete stupe — kids need to play and read and talk and go places and have kid fun. Everything in moderation, right? Instead, I’m talking about adults making TV choices. If I had a dollar every time I got the impression from someone that the only good storytelling one can receive is from a book or a stage play…please.

Again, if that’s your opinion, gofrit. But I am here to tell you that there is indeed interesting, compelling content on TV today. I have my favorites, and you have yours. If you have no favorites, or you hate all TV, and because you don’t watch it you believe the medium shouldn’t exist — well, that’s fine too, but it makes you 100% unqualified to judge what’s on. In other words, don’t be a pretentious telenazi. Be nice. You can disagree with the hoi polloi without coming across as, well…you know. And I get that you can hate drinking diesel fuel without ever having actually drunk it, but let’s not go overboard here. It’s entertainment, people. Nothing existential. Move along.

I think I’m smarter for watching the many documentaries, news programs, historical series and interviews I’ve seen on TV over the years. I’ve been challenged by story lines on the shows I watch — many of which have characters just as rich and complex as the ones I read about in my books every night. The bad stuff on TV? You stay away from it, just like you’d avoid the works of authors and playwrights you don’t particularly like. Simple as that. God knows I hate reality shows, which is why I don’t watch them. Aside from sports and news programming, I like TV mostly for fictional drama. You know, escape — like in books, except the characters actually move and talk in front of your eyes instead of in your brain. And the miracle of DVR? Priceless. Or, I should say, worth the price. At least for now. :-)

Hey, it’s Finkday! Be happy!

Family Union

It wasn’t an event so much as it was a vibe — a great feeling. We reunited after many, many years (in fact, until last weekend, I don’t believe we have ever had a Martin family reunion), and spent the entire time laughing, joking, hugging, remembering, telling stories, eating (and eating), and generally just being silly. It was absolute medicine for us all, I’m sure of it.

The original Martin family, circa 1958

For those who may not know: My mother was a Martin, and the eldest of nine children born to a family that moved around quite a bit and worked several farms and factories in northern Illinois in the 1940s and 50s. Of the four girls, Judy, Carol and Janet are still with us (Mother died in 1996). Boys Glenn, Fred and Dan have passed on during the past decade.

When our aunts Tina and Debbie (wives of Fred and Dan) came to visit Mavis and me last summer, the four of us got to talking over lunch and decided that dang it, we need to have a Martin family reunion before we all get too old and decrepit to throw one. So T & D got busy. And when I say “got busy,” I mean they joined with their sisters-in-law and put together a gala deluxe. Everything was beautiful, and we are incredibly grateful for their hours and hours and weeks of work leading up to Saturday’s picnic fun.

The first generation of Martin grandchildren, in age order. L-R: Mavis, Susie, me, John, Andy, Fred Jr., Kristy, Debbie, Tammi and Ryan.

The first generation of Martin grandchildren, in age order, trying to behave for the camera. L-R: Mavis, Susie, me, John, Andy, Fred, Kristy, Debbie, Tammi and Ryan. Six of us couldn’t attend.

Of course, when nine sibs grow up and get married and have children, and then their children have children, a person has cousins by the dozen. Sadly, many are scattered all over the country (and the world — Janet’s son Jerry lives in Japan) and couldn’t make the trip, but those who could attend made the party that much more awesome. We actually managed to get a “cousin photo” taken with the children of the Original Nine. I love them!

Aunt Judy, who reminds us so much of Mother in many ways

Aunt Judy, who reminds us of Mother in many ways

An unexpected highlight for me was seeing Aunt Judy for the first time in many years. Mavis and I couldn’t stop looking at her; she looks so much like our mother. I told her it was almost as if Mother was with us again, which pleased Judy, as her sister Barbara was also her dearest friend. I’m glad we got the chance to pose for a picture with this beautiful, gentle and kind lady. Her husband, Uncle Marvin, tells the most hysterically funny stories I’ve ever heard. (I’m sure we all have an uncle like Marv, yes?)

Three of us with our Crazy Aunts. Back row, L-R: Judy, Tina, Susie, me; Front row, L-R: Debbie, Janet, Mavis, Carol.

Three of us with our Crazy Aunts. Back row, L-R: Judy, Tina, Susie, me. Front row, L-R: Debbie, Janet, Mavis, Carol. Oh, and Teenie, the  Dog.

Of course, if it weren’t for who we lovingly refer to as the “Crazy Aunts,” none of this would have taken place. They are among our favorite people in the world, and we’re so blessed to have been able to spend some time with them, as we all live so far away. They are silly, funny, smart and sweet, and along with our beautiful cousin and friend, Susie, we had a blast talking the day away.

I’ve often heard it said that nothing is more important than family, and that you should treasure every moment you spend with them. Heck, I’ve said it myself over the years. The adage proved true in spades this weekend. As we hugged the Crazy Aunts goodbye, we all said that this simply cannot be the last time we do something like this. Mavis and I are already discussing a repeat visit next summer.

You should plan one with your family, too. :-)

Alas, for now, it’s back to reality. I’m not ready to think about school yet, but I do have a piano to unbox, grandchildren to hug and the New Orleans Odyssey to plan, so I’d best get to it. Happy Monday!

The comedy is over.

The Wizard of Oz was a shyster behind a curtain. There was no one by the name of Jack Dawson on the Titanic. Milli Vanilli were complete fakes. And post-1968, the Beatles were not friends. Indeed, Yoko Ono’s presence may have exacerbated the situation, but resentment, disappointment, retaliation and betrayal — mostly in the name of money — were what really slammed down the lid on the most game-changing act in popular music history.

Reading You Never Give Me Your Money was work. Sometimes, books are like that. I didn’t enjoy a single page, but I can tell you that the scales have fallen off (as they eventually must, when dealing with humans with big expectations, egos and fortunes), and if the depressing Let it Be documentary didn’t clue people in about what was really happening, they weren’t really willing to see the truth.

wasn’t willing to see the truth. But there it is, in Peter Doggett’s painstakingly researched account of the ultimate demise of the Fabs. While some of it was rehash for me, there were some interesting revelations:

  • I had no idea how many times the Beatles almost got back together to record after 1970. Three? Four? I can’t recall now. But it very nearly happened, on several occasions. However, all attempts were thwarted by seemingly silly reasons: John didn’t feel up to traveling, Paul was spooked by unresolved legal battles between the four of them, George just plain didn’t show up. It was always their fault, as opposed to conflicts with the legal machine or performance schedules.
  • While I knew he was a shrewd businessman with heavy-duty connections, McCartney — ever immortalized as the cutest, most carefree moptop of the bunch — was darkly, irreversibly and treacherously selfish and calculating. Less surprising was the observation that he could never quite measure up to John’s expectations or win his love and approval, which translated into an open wound after Lennon’s death that could never be healed.
  • I was unaware of the longstanding lawsuit Apple Records filed against Apple Computers, in which they forced the fledgling tech company to promise it would never enter into the field of digital music. Yeah…
  • Wings (Paul’s post-Beatles band) was a disaster, with firings and walkouts and big-name stars calling McCartney a ruthless tyrant.

It’s no secret that the Beatles feuded with one another after their breakup. But this book reveals, in heartbreaking detail, the cracks in the individual armor of the Beatles as individual parts, which makes the demise of the whole much easier to understand, if not much more tragic.

Doggett is hardest on McCartney, although he pulls no punches on any of the four. Paul’s need for absolute control, John’s cruelty and neglectfulness, George’s infuriating, snobby stubbornness and Ringo’s descent into heroin and alcohol oblivion are spared no scrutiny. How they all made individual albums during this time is beyond me, although I can’t say that I’ve ever been truly impressed with any of their solo work. Would you put Band on the Run or Walls and Bridges on the same plane as Rubber Soul or Revolver? Hardly. That none of them produced nearly as compelling work individually as they did as a group is neither news nor debatable, in my mind.

When I started this book last month, I knew there’d be no fairy tale ending. After finishing, I think it’s a book I need to recover from; to process. There’s no shortage of sadness. To quote a favorite line from Immortal Beloved: “It is the sharpest blades that are most easily blunted, bent or broken.” Without making an inappropriate comparison with the great Beethoven, I think it can be said that these four fragile people were among the sharpest cultural blades of their time, and defined a new era in popular music. It’s especially tragic that they were eventually consumed by greed and corporate intrigue — the very things that appalled them most as they fought in the early days to establish their place in music history.