After that slightly dark post, I decided to shake it off with something more positive.

If you haven't seen the movie Signs with Mel Gibson, I recommend it. Despite the strange back story of alien invasion, and yes, I think it is the back story, there is a wonderful message in there. Despite the challenges that come to us in life, there may be a reason behind it all. That's the story line as I see it.

On my honeymoon, I decided to do something I had said I would never, never do (lesson: never say never). Sitting in the hotel bar, overlooking the beautiful lagoon of Bora Bora, I said "if I were to ever get a tattoo, it would be somewhere like this. Somewhere where it would have special meaning for me." Next thing you know, I'm on a table in a little shack on the side of the road. This guy is drawing on my leg with the same dedication as Picasso. My leg was contorted during the actual needling, and I thought I'd pass out from the lack of circulation for an hour. I persevered and marveled at the single-mindedness of this artist as he continued his work. Someone was mowing their lawn across the road, and a rock flew out of the mower. I heard the rock get ejected, and when the projectile hit the little shack, it sounded like a gunshot. The guy didn't even flinch (thank goodness). The design is a Great Blue Heron styled as a traditional Tahitian tattoo. I consider the heron to be sort of my personal totem (or in Tahitian - te mana as I recall).

As much as I liked my new traveling art piece, it belatedly occurred to me that it may not have been the wisest thing to do when less than nine months later my wife drove off in our only fully functional vehicle. Where had my brain been? And no, I wasn't hammered when I decided to do this.

The answer came when Annie was about three years old. We were visiting my folks who live on a lake. It was summer, and we were swimming. Annie was having a blast jumping off the dock and swimming like a dolphin. Ok, like a dolphin with floaties on its arms. Grandpa was fishing from the boat, and looking forward to encouraging Annie to catch her first fish. My nephew, who likes to spend most of his time under the water surface, brushed against Annie's leg.

She freaked as the realization sunk in that the fishing adventure that was waiting for her was directly linked to the same body of water she was currently splashing in. There were fish in this water. The lake is fairly large (by California standards). The fish are most likely proportionately large... and have teeth... She knew. She had been to the aquarium, and had seen them. The water was murky. Who knew what prehistoric beasts were hiding in the depths.... waiting for an unsuspecting little girl to brush against them.

For the next three days, I couldn't get her in the water.

Our time was growing short for that visit, and I wanted her to have fond memories of swimming at Grandma and Grandpa's. We decided to try another venue. We went to a very shallow beach area, and Grandpa told her there weren't any fish there. She didn't buy it, even though I managed to keep her from seeing the floating fish that had lost a game of chicken with a boat.

During our time there, I pointed out the Great Blue Herons all over the lake. Somewhere along the way, I told her that they were fishing. On this last day on the water she sat on the boat, watching the water and the herons. In a moment of inspiration, I told her that the fish were afraid of me, because on my leg was a heron. Fish wouldn't come around (as evidenced by my lack of success at actually fishing). This logic seemed to appeal to her, and she spent the next couple of hours spashing and playing in the water. Success.

Finally, the purpose and connection to one of my less-than-brilliant decisions came together. There might just be a purpose for all things.

Feelin' good about life, again.

Don't read this if you don't want exposure to my dark side...

This morning I woke to the sound of one of my favorite songs. Unfortunately, it has been tainted by its use at my second wedding. You see, I have a curse (multiple ones, I'm sure). The two of interest here are: 1) a memory that stores most of everything I see or experience, and 2) being a sentimental fool. So, I thought I'd offer some advice to those who are entertaining the idea of a serious relationship...

Music: If you really like a song, keep it to yourself. At meaningful events, listen to music that makes your eyes roll. This way, if things go South, you can say, "I always hated that song." Otherwise, when you hear songs you really like, you will just get irritated.

Souvenirs: Choose souvenirs carefully. If you somewhere romantic or exciting with your significant other, keep memorabilia simple. Shirts wear out, and are ideal. I suspect plants/flowers would be a good one, too. You can unconsciously let them die. If you choose something truly meaningful, it may trigger memories you'd rather not remember. Lord help you if you do something stupid like buy interesting wind chimes whose sound forces the recollection of a romantic weekend in Monterey. (Anyone want some wind chimes?)

Dining: The moment a restaurant becomes "our place" for dining, go out with just your friends to the same restaurant. I might even suggest getting a little tipsy and rowdy to temper the connection. Otherwise, you may find later that you no longer feel like going to some of your favorite haunts.

Weddings: Just a suggestion: if you find yourself taking the big leap of faith and getting married, do not have the ceremony some place you will see often. My first wedding was at my ex-in-laws'. Perfect. God knows I will never go there again. Choosing a place that is on a path for your normal routines is a definite no-no.

Physical Changes: Don't do anything permanent to yourelf that can be linked to a significant other. See Exhibit A under read more. Thank goodness there are no names on this.

Of course, the alternative is to adopt a psychological profile that doesn’t have any sentimental tendencies. I think virtually all the women I’ve dated since I was sixteen could teach a class on it!

That’s enough exposure to the darker side of my psyche. Contrary, to how this may come across, I’m not sad. Just venting a little irritation with myself.

Back to crackin' myself up with my own sense of humor.

I like to use the time given to me to the best advantage, and hope Annie learns to do the same. One thing that my ex's family likes to kid me about is the requirement for reading material when I use the restroom (why do my posts involve the toilet so much?). In a pinch I can read the ingredients on bottles and toothpaste. However, when time allows I grab a book on my trek to the bathroom. Imagine my pride at witnessing the following (of course, she wasn't quite two at the time):

Flushingly Literate

Annie and I just finished several rousing hands of Old Maid. Thank goodness it's not called Old Single Engineer...

The first game was a tie. By a twist of fate, the Old Maid card was stuck in the box, and we finished the game before we discovered it. That was ok with her, because it meant she didn't lose. Choosing to look at the glass as half full, we both won.

She won the second game, since when she has the Old Maid she leaves it sticking out by itself, and I went ahead and grabbed it.

The third game, though, I didn't do it, and, well, she lost. It was supposed to be our last game.

Annie: No, no, no. We have to play one more game.
Daddy: Honey, we tied the first one, and each won one. We have to get back to our chores.
Annie: No, we are playing under new rules. If one of us loses, we play one more.
Daddy: You mean that the last game we play must be won by you.
Annie: No. That wouldn't be fair. If one of us loses we have to play again.
Daddy: Well, since we put the Old Maid in the deck, one of us is going to lose, and we'd be playing all day.
Annie: No. Listen to me. (Pause - thinks about the logic and the ultimate goal of winning the last game.) We have to play one more.
Daddy: Ok, one more.

Yeah, well how do I say no to that face...

Of course, in an effort to end the gaming session on a good note, I grabbed that strange card that stuck out a wierd angle by itself. She giggled at how gullible I must be. We both finished happy…

Old Single Engineer

One of my best friends is a stellar engineer and scientist. Unfortunately he hates technology. His girlfiend has as much conflict with him on this subject as I. All I can say is that the internet is one of the greatest advancements of mankind in the last fifty years, and you need to move out of DOS. Sorry, Dude, but it's the truth...We can find so many pieces of information (patents, journal articles, how to get somewhere, the operating hours of the local post office). Technology is a wonderful thing, and that's why we get paid what we make...You rock... adapt.
Encouraging Assimilation

I have various friends that don't understand why I would possibly live where I do. I live in the middle of nowhere. But you know what? I grew up in the middle of nowhere, and wouldn't trade it for anything. I used to go out and trek over 30+ acres without my folks being concerned about me. My mom would look out the kitchen window and see me venturing out on whatever adventure I had concoted in my mind, and knew that I was ok.

I had a friend who was concerned about my disregard for Annie's safety as she checked on the chickens. What if the coyotes got her? Sorry, but good Lord. Have you met Annie? If a coyote encountered her and tried to impose its will, it would leave with a complete brainwashing about the ways of nature. That's the coyote you would accidentally find in nature with a stick in its mouth tilling the soil trying to create a whole new food program for coyotes across the state. (Hopefully, it would contradict the Santa Cruz county agricultural standard, and stay away from pot as its plant of choice).

At any rate, I struggle to financially hold on to this place for one reason. It's the closest I can come to raising Annie in a way that I can deal with, and make work. If your internet connection can handle it, I invite you to see the evidence that what I've done and try to do is right (about 14MB): Annie and her cousin scaling the hillside. Good stuff if you have the patience and/or connection.

Doing what I can....

Winter in California is nothing like winter in Missouri, but it still has a bite. It's a combination of cold and wet and dark that is every bit of the the damage that can be done in Missouri. Mark Twain said the coldest winter of his life was his summer in San Francisco. As a consequency, I find myself thinking back on the wonderful times on the rivers and lakes of the Ozarks. Annie has had little experience of this, but knows the wonders of summer. In an effort to share this feeling with the viewers of this blog, I remind you of the joys of summer with this MPG - the joy is in the word and act of cannonball....


Tired of the cold and wet...

I just read Lilo's post, and was shaking my head at the wisdom of the fourth point. My family has always had cats. The earliest I can remember is Samantha, when I was four. She was a black-and-white long hair, and perhaps that's why I have a fondness for that kind of cat (like Lilo). After moving into this house, I discovered a tendency in cats that I can't explain.

For reasons that I won't go in to here (let's just assume they are valid), we don't have a door on the master bathroom. If this is too much information, you better stop reading here... There have been three cats that have lived or live here since we've been here. They all seem inclined to take advantage of "the captive audience" of me on the toilet. When my last wife was still here, her cat Simba (Indian name: Climbed and scratched Expedition and was subsequently removed of claws) would corner me on the throne to tell me the stories of his life. Strangely, he would feel the need to get comfortable with this telling, and would try to nest in my ankle-located pants and underwear.

Well, Simba has moved to another house now and I'm left with Sandy and Lilo. Sandy (Indian name: Poops on floor and doesn't give a damn) saunters in and proceeds to rub against my legs and talk about her day as well. You have no idea how difficult a cat's life can be. She is a bit skittish, and leaves as soon as Lilo comes in to do the same. Lilo (Indian name: Rules the world and will kick your butt if you disagree), however is more bold on the story telling. If he thinks I'm not paying attention, he puts his front paws on my knees to make sure I'm focused on the important things (which does not include the business for which I'm on the porcelain throne).

I love all animals, and have had some very smart dogs. Dogs have some respect for people and accept that people have at least some intelligence. Cats, however, think we are stupid. That's why every morning they ball and wail until they get their breakfast. They figure we must have forgotten from five seconds ago when they asked for it. Being on the toilet just gives them an opportunity to corner us for conversations that we don't understand (ok, maybe they are smarter than us).

I swear that when Sandy and Lilo leave the bathroom after one of these episodes, they shake their heads in a way that indicates I must be an idiot...
Feral

I have recently come to the conclusion that I am the Buddha reincarnated in cat form. The two-leggeds who subscribe to Buddhism believe that the Buddha is in us all, but for cats? It's just me. So, in an effort to reach all cats I'm channeling the following thoughts of wisdom...

The squeaky wheel may get the grease, but would good is that? The balling cat gets whatever it wants.

The world is big and beautiful, but when your feet get wet, go back inside.

Alarm clocks have snooze buttons, cats don't. Use it.

A captive audience is much more susceptible to listening to your desires and ultimately appeasing them. There is no audience more captive than the one that is on the toilet.

You can break, chase, destroy or deficate on anything as long as you can give a cute face, snuggle, and purr.

Follow up: depending on the item broken, chased, destroyed, or deficated on, you may have to increase the quantiities of cuteness, snuggling, and purring to continue getting your way.

Beware of the two-legged children: prolonged exposure may rid you of use of your legs, as they believe you must be carried everywhere.... even to the catbox.

Bugs are great toys. You can chase them, play with them, and even eat them. Then you throw them up, and they look the same.

Cat boxes are a poor substitute for the outdoors. If you must use one, be sure to fling the occasional litter and fecal matter outside the box to keep the two-leggeds aware of who's boss.

Embrace your big cat essence. We were meant to be in trees and up high. Despite their attempts, the two leggeds can really not keep you off of tables, counters, sinks, windows... whatever...

Enjoy a friendship with dogs. A few smacks on the snout makes them your slave for life. This can be very handy when you want to know what good stuff is in the trash.

If you get fleas, resist the urge to scratch. This will keep you from the horrific experience of a bath.

There are two leggeds that are afflicted with a terrible, terrible disease. When in proximity to you they begin to itch and sneeze. Follow them around and feign an interest to be cuddled. It's a lot of fun.

This is my wisdom for now. Keep these points in mind, and you will have complete control over your two-legged pets. And remember, they aren't very smart, so be patient with them.

Lilo the Cat Buddha

Just a quick note: Annie has returned from the sleep over at Colleen's. I think it was a great success, but there is no place like home...
Glad to have her home.