In my house at Black Dog Ridge there is a shrine of sorts — a nod to the life of the late great Mandela. The noblest dog that ever set paws on this planet. Lots of pictures of her of course, spanning her life. Mandela in the mountains of Idaho, on my sailboat, at the farm and the airport and our various places of residence. We were inseparable, so my experiences were hers.
And my long farewell ode when she had passed. Sympathy cards that came in from around the country in time for her funeral.
And now we have Martini Olive — or Marti as she is more casually known. Marti looks a good bit like Mandela, owing to their similar heritage. But they are very different personalities. Mandela was serene and deliberate. Marti is rambunctious and jovial, but can also be aloof and distant. She will at times pull hurtfully away from our touch, and other times paw our arms mercilessly until we give her some attention.
But then, she was rescued from an Amish puppy mill — with the deal going down late on a Sunday afternoon in a Dollar Store parking lot. Who knows what trauma she experienced at the hands of those inbred assholes.
Marti, like me, is a Pisces. So deeply sensitive but downright weird as fuck. She will jump on the bed at night 4 or 5 times, look for a spot to lie, but then go back to her couch. She often likes to be close, but not too close. But we allow her that. She is her own being and needs to be given that latitude.
Mandela slept so tight up against me that eventually I would get out of bed and move to the other side and then we would reverse the slow migration to the opposite bedside.
Perhaps I remember Mandela differently since I mostly work backwards in memory. Perhaps at 1 and 2 years she was more like Marti than I remember. I don’t know for sure now. I know she would love Black Dog Ridge though. And I know she would get a kick out of having a whole place on this planet named after her.
At work, a colleague, a Senior Director, took a week off to onboard her new puppy. To make sure she had time to start the training and make her puppy feel comfortable. Sasha Bear is the dogs name. Such it is now with our pets. And I for one, am a fan.
It’s early morning now. I can just make out the river in the early light of dawn. Even when I can’t see the river, in the dark, or due to fog, I can always hear it and so I always know it’s there. As it has been now for millions of years. Long before and long after me or Mandela or Marti.
Have I said before how much I love being here? Enjoying this rare bit of natural beauty that I can call my own.
Nature is our most intimate confidant. Our muse. Our playmate. Our omnipresent benefactor. Every item in our household, every article of clothing, our homes, cars, gadgets — the food we eat and our medicines and our beverages all in one form or another originated in mother earth.
So as logic would dictate — we are killing her.
It’s a sobering thought. That these mountains and trees and streams and rivers — they care not of our anxiety about Donald Trump, or the war in Ukraine or just the sheer madness that we voluntarily elect these madmen to poison our society and destroy our planet. We have fleeting moments of lucidity, and usher in an Obama or Mandela, but then we follow that up with a Trump or a Zuma.
But the trees just stand and gently rock in the wind. And the river just rolls by. Month after month. Year after year. Generation after generation. Mother Nature is playing the long game while we are burning through our inheritance like a drunken Trust Fund Frat Boy. But Mother Nature never reckoned on the reckless, masochistic greed of capitalism.
Our arrogance as a species knows no bounds — we think we are winning but we are not even in the game.
It’s light enough now I can see there was a dusting of snow overnight. The deck is covered, but a raccoon passed over sometime between now and snowfall. Otherwise it is undisturbed.
Soon now I must turn my attention to the people who pay for all the good things in my fortunate life. And the quiet thoughts that make me happy will fade into something more like a memory as I delve into the exchanging of information that we now call work.
It must be work because I am very tired at the end of a long day of listening in and sometimes talking in meetings. Reviewing spreadsheets and documents — using my brain. When I was younger, I talked a lot more in meetings. Now I mostly listen. That doesn’t make me wise, but it does give me an advantage over those who senselessly ramble on and on. Seems our level of engagement can be inversely proportional to our organizational position.
It’s interesting, the physics of the body. I can chop wood all day and be basically the same level of tired as just sitting using my brain all day. And that’s not even heavy lifting by the brain — it’s not like I am sorting out complicated math problems all day. Just meetings and reading and writing documents. Thinking about risk and mitigation, some long-term planning, and how to motivate people to do what we need them to do when they are deficient. Moving people around like chess pieces to get the right outputs.
A grand form of bullshit. A hired geek of sorts. But the checks come, and then they go back out again to pay for houses and cars and flights and food and whiskey and cigars and roasted chickens for the dog. And the world goes around.
March was always going to be busy — and so it has been. My birthday tends to run from around March 1st to around Saint Patrick’s Day. So winding down now — mostly. We will be in Pittsburgh this coming weekend but that will be sorta low key. Who knew that men are now required to go to baby showers and why was I not alerted to this development?
The first weekend of March we were in Chicago for whiskey tasting, Starbuck Reserve Coffee Roastery and meeting up with friends. A beautiful city and we walked a good bit of it between activities.
The next weekend was my actual birthday weekend for BD #60. Last year I went to Scotland with Sjoerd and Shane and next month I will head to Amsterdam and Berlin with them again. So this year it felt right to be at home with family and friends.
Friday night Brit and I cooked a fab dinner for the family. Ceviche with scallops, Dover sole, and shrimp for 1st course. Then caesar salad and eggplant parmesan. I started making the tomato gravy on Wednesday and so by Friday it was perfect. I also prepared the eggplant a little differently and the result was fantastic. Crispy and cheesy and delicious. Then chocolate birthday cake Brittany had made. Thursday was Marti’s birthday so Brittany also made a cake for her.
Saturday Brittany and I took mom and her friend Sherry to a cooking class at Sur La Table. It was fun — the cooking is basic but we always pick up a tip or two. We got there early and so we wandered around and shopped a bit and chit-chatted with mom and the guy who checked us in. Just a relaxing day. Mom needs to get out of the house to get some relief from dad who is really losing his mind now. Dementia is all over him and the result is an angry old man and while we know it’s hard on him, it’s also hard on mom as he takes the anger out on her. He is sullen and snaps at her over the smallest of things that he cannot remember or understand. So we do what we can to shield her and remove her from the environment when we are able.
Tough duty for everyone involved, but just the way shit goes down here on planet earth.
After the cooking class we had a beer at Fado and then headed back home. The smallish things can make the difference in the lives of people who are not able to get out much. It was nice to see mom and Sherry sitting in the bar having a beer and smiling away.
Monday, March 11, we went to our 2nd whiskey tasting for the month. We met Allen, Lars, Mike and Craig for a private whisky tasting at Echo Spirits Distillery. Very nice evening. Quiet, with good friends — just chatting about whisky and friendship and having fun. We tasted 4 whiskeys and the results were interesting. Craig, Mike, Brittany and I were pretty closely aligned on our order of preference. Allen and Lars were aligned with each other but not with us. After additional tasting, we wound up in agreement on our top choice. So what else to do but buy the barrel.
Actually I committed to 1/2 the barrel — but I also do get to keep the aging barrel. So after selling off 4 or 5 cases I will still have 5 or 6 to myself or thereabouts. Who doesn’t need their own branded whiskey bottles named after a dead dog?
On Thursday I drove to Cleveland to meet my good friends and former colleagues Katie and Karina for drinks and dinner. Two of the very best. Intelligent, thoughtful, compassionate, beautiful women who live life fully and have fun but who also manage 1,000 other things gracefully. I say all that and neither of them has any idea this blog exists.
Saturday the 16th was a banner day. Gorgeous blue sky day for rugby, drinks and cigars. The only thing that would have made it better would be if I were playing rugby.
Brittany always gets me a ticket to the annual Fado and Tinder Box cigar event for my birthday. We got to Fado at 9:30 after dropping Marti off at the doggie spa. We had a Guinness with breakfast and watched the Italy/Wales match. Then out to the cigar tent to drink, smoke, and watch the Scotland/Ireland match.
For some massively irresponsible reason, they flipped over to basketball so I missed England/France match— but stood outside and had a final beer and another cigar. Basketball? Really?
And finally on Sunday — St Patrick’s Day, we gathered for another family Dutch Oven cook off. I made vegetarian shepherd pie, Larry made traditional corned beef and cabbage and mom made bangers and colcannon. We had some drinks and some laughs and Brittany amazed everyone with her authentic Irish accent.
I got up at 4:30 and drove to Black Dog Ridge for a few days. We need to be in Pittsburgh for Kara’s baby shower on Saturday so I will drive from here.
Speaking of rugby. About 3 or 4 nights a week, I dream of playing rugby. That’s how strong of an imprint I have of my time as a player. I loved playing rugby so much that my brain takes me back to it once in a while to give me some fanciful moment of remembering. Or perhaps just to tease me. Sometimes, in that half-dream/half-awake state, I make myself go back into the dream to prolong the experience of playing.
This post is a little heavy on drinking and ruminating, and light on politics. But what the hell – it’s my birthday time so that’s how it goes. Besides, what is there to say that I haven’t already bitched about. I have 90% made up my mind to consider Panama or Costa Rica if DT gets re-elected. So probably have to rent BDR for a year or two until we see if the country survives or not. I don’t want my dog to get called up if civil war breaks out, and I don’t see this country as worth killing or dying for.
On matters of work, I turned down a new gig to stay at UMass for another year or so overseeing the systems integration for the acquired hospital. Seemed the right thing to do, all things being somewhat equitable.
BDR continues to inspire. The healing power of being in nature is formidable. I will likely come back next week if the weather does not improve in Ohio. If weather does improve, I need to get back there and finish painting the house so I can have a lot of fun this summer without that hanging over my head.
In Cleveland, I walked around the old downtown neighborhood a bit. There is a church near my old office. An old style downtown cathedral. On the front steps is a statue of an old lady with a small plate, begging for alms. It strikes me as insanely corrupt that this is the image churches portray, while they and their constituents do all they can to institutionally and systematically deny assistance to the poor and support a racist, xenophobic, sexual predator for president who does all he can to steal from the poor to enrich himself and the wealthy.
No other news of note.
Humbly Submitted – Greenbrier Valley, West ‘by-god’ Virginia, Unites States of America dammit
The Martini Tales 