We're finally getting some rain!

We also got this:

What? Where?

Oh, you mean this?

And I'd do it again!

We should have named him YOLO.*

(*note for my parents: this is internet for You Only Live Once)

Autumnal stuff

Oh, this made me happy. And I'm not the only one.



Also, a friendly reminder: What season is it?

Nominated by his breeder as "most likely to get his head stuck in something"

Which I'm sure is a great honor.

Various & Sundry: Mostly things you're not sick of hearing about

It has been a long time, my friends, and goodness knows there are lots of things I could share with you today. But I will try to contain myself and keep it to the bare essentials, the most important and up-to-date...ummm...updates.

For example, we're all still talking about Miley Cyrus, right? I know there's been all sorts of stuff flitting about but I think all except this one article have missed the real issue, here: the terrible music.

Why do your children listen to knock-offs of Marvin Gaye? Why don’t they just listen to Marvin Gaye? Don’t you have Marvin Gaye records lying around, for crying out loud? Marvin Gaye sang about sex, but in a sexy way. Not in a rapey way. For example: while Marvin Gaye sings lines such as “You can love me when you want to, babe // This is such a groovy party, baby” in “Got to Give It Up”, a song that Thicke acknowledged being inspired by and preemptively sued the Gaye family re: copyright infringement allegations , Thicke sings “You the hottest bitch in the place". Since this is a blog post about shitty taste in music and not about feminism, I will ignore the fact that this is an incredibly offensive lyric and zero in on the fact that “you the hottest bitch in the place” is just plain ol’ incorrect English. Instead of worrying about your children watching scantily clad women being dry humped by men who could be their father, you should be more concerned about your children dropping verbs from their sentences.

Exactly so. May I have my curmudgeon card now?

It's strange that we're still talking about this almost one week later, given this eerily accurate description of the attention span of Twitter:

Also exactly so.

On to even more important things: your acting lesson from the week by Sir Patrick Stewart, who reviews previous lessons on the single-, double-, and triple-take, and moves into the extremely difficult quadruple-take. It is so difficult, he actually flubs it.



I deeply appreciated Jessica Creech's post Goodbye Church, Hello God. I feel like I'm in a similar place, in which going to church on Sundays is often not worth the cost of making that effort. Which is no sign of burn-out or loss of faith. It's...something else.

I wonder what has finally happened to the Bay Bridge Troll. Yes, troll, not toll. I will feel better knowing it has a good home when the new bridge opens next week.

Oh, update: "The troll will stay where it is for now, because there will be workers tearing down the old bridge and they will need protection. (This kind of quotidian witchcraft is quite head-spinning.) Later, it will be removed and put in a safe place somewhere near the bridge." I am relieved.

But you know what's even better than having a guardian troll under your bridge? Having a brand new puppy under your chair. Sam has arrived. Want to say hello?

Family update part 2

So. We went to Hawaii with all sorts of plans of what we would do, many of which we did not do, preferring instead to lounge about and watch Top Chef.

One of the things we planned to do but did not do was go on a horseback ride into the Waipio Valley. We had made our reservations, gotten ourselves up, driven through the rain to the valley, took a look at the fog filling the valley and decided...maybe another time.

Instead, we went to a Horse Expo in Waimea. Not that we know anything about horses, but heck. It was to support the Humane Society, plus...horses.

It was still raining, so we soon tired of standing outside looking at horses. I suggested we go inside and look at the vendors. So all that follows is all my fault.

At the Hawaii Quarter Horse Association booth was a binder. I opened the binder and saw pictures of Australian Shepherd puppies "available August 25."

It wouldn't do any harm to call the breeder, would it? Of course not.

It wouldn't do any harm to see the puppies, surely? Oh surely not.

After all, we're never going to actually get a puppy from Hawaii? Well, who would?

Apparently, the answer to that is: we would. We're the only people who go on vacation in Hawaii, get two T-shirts...and a puppy.

And there he is: Sam Parker, named for the Parker Ranch where we saw the photos. He comes home next week.

Family update part 1

I wanted to bring regular readers up to speed on some comings and goings around here. Starting with the goings.

On August 1, we took our older fellow, Andy, in for what we thought would be a quick surgical procedure to remove a lipoma from his hindquarters.

Five hours and four vets later, we made the decision to end his life.

That was no lipoma. The cancer that had been a small, innocuous tumor the week before had quadrupled in size. Back and forth we went, getting a chest X-ray to see if there was something in the lungs (no); aspirating the tumor to see if it was a malignant cancer (yes).

Andy was a trooper through it all. He hadn't had any food since we'd thought he would be in surgery. So a few short minutes before he died, we fed him chicken from the rest of our sandwich wraps. Then the lettuce. As we wrapped up the rest to throw it away, he gave us a look as if to say, "Really? You think the tortilla is going to kill me?" So we gave him the tortilla too. Then he dug through the trash to see what else we might have thrown away. Andy to the end.

He died very peacefully, with us wondering if we'd done the right thing. It was really, really tough. We felt like we'd been hit repeatedly by large sticks at the end of the day.

Yesterday, we got a condolence card from the vet's office. The first vet who had seen him that day, who had lifted his tail, taken one look at the tumor, and said, "Oh my God," wrote, "You made the right choice about Andy." It was a wonderful gift.

I still miss him, though.

Obit round-up

As threatened promised, here's a quick round-up of the best obituaries I saw this week.

In sports, mad props to Scott E. Entsminger of Columbus, OH, who "respectfully requests six Cleveland Browns pall bearers so the Browns can let him down one last time." And here's to the Browns who presented the family with a jersey with the number of his favorite player (Hall of Famer Lou Groza) but with his name on the back at the memorial service.

In spy news, not only did I enjoy the obituary this week for Austin Goodrich, a cold war spy who worked as a journalist, but I received a tweet from Kristina Goodrich who pointed me to two videos of Mr. Goodrich, entitled Born to Spy.






In feats of World War II derring do, I'm not sure much can beat the obituary of Nadezhda Popova,"a member of an elite corps of Soviet women — known as the “Night Witches” — who fought as bomber pilots in the air war against Germany, and the only one to win three Orders of the Patriotic War for bravery." Intrigued? You should be.

There was no radio; navigation was done with a stopwatch and a map. The planes carried no guns, no parachutes and had only enough weight allowance to take two bombs, forcing the pilots to make multiple sorties (Nadezhda Popova once flew 18 in a single night), returning to base each time to collect more bombs, which were released with a wire cable jury-rigged to the wings.

They would fly in under the radar, cut the engines, two would serve as decoys drawing enemy fire while the third would drop the payload of bombs (which, as you see above was connected by wire); then they would go around again, the second would drop the bombs while the other two drew enemy fire, and then go a third time. Amazing stuff. And because there were no engines and they whooshed along, the Germans called them Nachthexen, the Night Witches. Had you heard about them? I sure hadn't. (She's the one standing in the picture below.)

In canine news, I just read the obituary for Jim Buck who created the job of the professional dog walker.

Establishing Jim Buck's School for Dogs, he trained dozens of dog walkers, using as a test case an otterhound named Oliver the Awful.

During the 40 years Mr. Buck ran his school, he was an eminently recognizable figure: an elegantly turned out, borzoi-thin man of 145 pounds, he commanded the leashes of a half-dozen or more dogs at a time — a good 500 pounds of dog in all — which fanned out before him like the spokes of a wheel. 

He walked in sun; he walked in rain. In wintertime, his charges might be clad in small sweaters bearing the logos of the European resorts where their masters skied. 

Jim Buck’s School for Dogs was equal parts exclusive preparatory academy, exercise class and reform school. In a 1964 profile of Mr. Buck in The New York Times, Gay Talese described him, plying his trade, as looking “like Charlton Heston in the chariot-racing scene in ‘Ben-Hur.’ ” 

But with hindsight, it is more apt to liken Mr. Buck to Lee Marvin in the 1967 film “The Dirty Dozen.”

Oh, it's a wonderful obit. Do check it out.

This is my kind of dog

More about Lucky, and other Dogs of Shame.

Various & Sundry: The Video

I love movie trailers. So what could be better than a movie trailer for a movie about movie trailers?



Except maybe a few seconds of Gromit:


Or two guys who walk into a bar...which isn't quite what they expect.



Or this beautiful eulogy by Stephen Colbert for his mother.

What is a Gromit?

Since we got him a little over a year ago, the Infusion household has been pondering this question. What does it take to become a Gromit? I mean, besides poise, savoir faire, and someone's clerical collar. Clearly there was some dachshund involved, but what else?

Well, thanks to the Wisdom Panel (R) Dog DNA test (oh yes there is), we have either a) learned about Gromit's mysterious past or b) been sold an excellent story.

First of all, can I just say I cannot believe we got any DNA sample out of Gromit at all. According to the directions, we were supposed to swab the inside of his cheek with a little brush that looks like a mascara applicator for 15 second. If we got three seconds, I'm amazed.

But apparently, it was enough, because here's what they came up with:

Gromit is...(drumroll please)

a Standard Wirehaired Dachshund, American Staffordshire Terrier, English Springer Spaniel, Kerry Blue Terrier, Miniature Poodle Mix

Well, obviously.

Here's the official lineage, according to our results:

Call the AKC! Now that we know the magic formula, we can start churning out Gromits like crazy.

Or maybe we'll just enjoy the one and only Gromit that we have.

Various & Sundry: Mostly heartstring-tugging, and some celebrity gnomes

How's your week been? For me, it was one of those weeks when I couldn't quite tell what day it was. It's Saturday, right? I know it's Saturday because I'm working on a sermon. Trinity Sunday, don't you know.

Yeah, I'm not planning to explain anything. Let's focus on tugging some heartstrings, shall we?

We'll start with Queen Helen Mirren who continues to be fabulous, this time by meeting with a 10-year-old boy with terminal cancer.

When royal officials informed his family that Queen Elizabeth II would not be able to fulfill his wish by meeting with him, actress Helen Mirren decided to reprise her famous role. The Academy Award winning star of the 2006 film The Queen invited Oliver and his family to a play (in which she also portrays the queen), then took them backstage for tea and a special knighting ceremony for young Oliver. Mirren stayed in character the entire time.

There's a reason Tom and Lorenzo call her Queen Helen of Fuckinfantastica. And it's not just the fashion. It's also the celebrity gnomes.

Yes, celebrity-designed gnomes. To the shock and horror of many, the Chelsea Garden Show is *gasp* allowing garden gnomes in the displays -- just this once, on its 100th anniversary.

“It’s good to confront the received wisdom that all gnomes are nasty,” Mr. Llewelyn-Bowen said. Referring to his wife, he added: “Also, Jackie has had to overcome her poshness and confront her gnomophobia.”

Dame Helen's and other celebrity-designed gnomes are now available to buy on eBay. Three guesses which one of these was designed by Sir Elton John.

Meanwhile, at least two hankies are required for this story about the Marine who is reunited with the dog he worked with in Afghanistan. It is lovely. And I have to blow my nose again after reading it.

I was surprised to learn this week of the death of Henri Dutilleux. Surprised because I had no idea he was still alive, or had been alive all this time (as one is until one dies, I know).

I have for many, many years attempted to play his Sonatine for flute and piano (well, just the flute part), with limited success. But I found a recording of it to give you an idea of what it would sound like if I ever were able to play it well. It's such a reflective and--what's the right word?--I don't know. It's a no-nonsense piece of music. I can hear the intelligence behind it. I think that's what I like about it.

From the annals of Law Enforcement Social Media

From the Solihull Police in the West Midlands, UK.

The UK legal definition of an offensive weapon is any article made or adapted for use for causing injury to the person...
— Solihull Police (@SolihullPolice) February 28, 2013

.@aeromad No, technically a Justin Bieber CD is not an actual Offensive Weapon.
— Solihull Police (@SolihullPolice) February 28, 2013

And for anyone wanting a dose of police dog cuteness, the West Midlands Police has a Flickr Feed. Awwww.

Whatcha doing?

Well, I was trying to do research for my write up on Martha, who is one of my peeps for Lent Madness this year. Why? Do you think I should be doing something else?

Irish Wolfhound Fan Club

Here's Liam the singing Irish Wolfhound:



Here's Harper's reaction to Liam the singing Irish Wolfhound:

Feel free to add your own thought bubbles.

Gromit's Christmas Present

What'd'ya get, Gromit?

Hmmm...

Various & Sundry, December 8: Art, Life, Peace

A few quick things before I dash to drop the first of the deposits at the White Elephant Sale...

In art news this week, check out these fabulous trompe l'oiel pieces from John Pugh. For example, these aren't windows:

And that is not a reflection of a truck in the window. Isn't that amazing?

In a similar vein of amazement, check out these beach creatures:

Oh, heck, while we're at it, here's some architecture for dogs.

Speaking of architecture and animals, I loved this obituary for John Heyworth who turned his family estate into a wildlife park. Isn't that picture a kick? How lovely, though, to be remembered thusly: "A kind, modest man, he was a devoted patron of the estate’s living, and served for more than 50 years as a church warden." And had rhinos.

How do you want to be remembered? And how do you want to remember your life? A friend of mine passed along this great article on the Top 5 Regrets of the Dying. It's a beautiful article. Please check it out.

In another deeper turn, an anthropologist wrote this initial reflection on what peace looks like as an empirical reality, exploring in particular the behavior of a town called Le Chambon-sur-Lignon which has a history of welcoming the outsider going back centuries, which made it possible for the whole town to be involved in the work of hiding Jews during WWII. I'll be interested in hearing more about this woman's research. But here's what she says for the moment:

Peace is knowable — in gorgeous, imperfect detail — down to the level of everyday habit and choice. And what are those choices? To walk down streets with unfamiliar faces and to open your own countenance as you do; to buy baskets of fruits from someone whose accents are not your own; to allow the happy, teary scramble as your children figure out how to play with new arrivals to their school; to open the door at the threshold of your home even when storms threaten outside; to hear of the vivid suffering of others even when it weighs down the heart; to invite to the hearth, to break bread, together now. The foot crosses the threshold, the face is open, the habits — discernible to the eye — over time, become fixed (and knowable) and sure. 

Various and Sundry: Andrew, Advent, Aid, and Autism, among others

"I'm not barking at YOU."

Happy end of November! It's the feast of St. Andrew who, to my astonishment, I've never written about. This is especially egregious since we have a dog named Andrew who's registered name is Tollwest Quack Come and See. Did you know that according to legend, "young women should note the location of barking dogs on Saint Andrew’s Eve: their future husbands will come from that direction"? Too late now. You'll have to wait until next November 29th. I wonder if Andrew is the patron saint of single women because he was a fisher of men...

Of course the feast of St. Andrew means Advent is nigh, and I loved this collection of the 42 worst nativity sets, some of which I admit I like, and one of which I bought for my mother. It's not this one, though.

This spinach salad with warm bacon vinaigrette looks delicious, doesn't it? And it contains an actual vegetable! (And lots of bacon.)

In other food and wine news, I appreciated this post about teaching people to appreciate the pleasure in wine with flavors that sound awful: minerals, barnyard aromas. And it goes beyond that to talk about appreciating those things that challenge us -- in food, in art, in life.

[I]f we think more deeply about pleasure, we realize it isn’t always so straightforward or even comfortable. After all, why do so many of us love sad poems, disturbing horror films, or intense, subtitled psychological dramas. Why am I capable of loving Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska” or The Smith’s “Meat Is Murder” or Elliott Smith’s “From a Basement on the Hill” — while at the same time I can enjoy T. Pain, Taylor Swift, and dancing with my kids to Psy’s “Gangnam Style”?

Here's a really touching story from Bill Murray about Gilda Radner.

In obituary news, I have two impressive as hell women to bring to your attention. First is Vladka Meed, "who with her flawless Polish and Aryan good looks was able to smuggle pistols, gasoline for firebombs and even dynamite to the Jewish fighters inside the Warsaw Ghetto," who died this week at the age of 90.

The other is a woman named Maria Santos Gorrostieta who was found dead on November 17 at the age of 36. She "was a former mayor of the small Mexican town of Tiquicheo and became famous for her refusal to be cowed by the drug gangs battling for control of the western state of Michoacan."

A doctor and mother of three, Maria Santos Gorrostieta served as mayor from 2008 to 2011. Over that time she survived at least two assassination attempts, including one that killed her husband Jose and another that left her body peppered with bullet holes and scars.

May she rest in peace. My prayers are with her family.

You may recall that last week I posted the parody video of Radi-Aid: Africa for Norway. As a follow-up, here's a terrific interview with the people who created the project, explaining why and how they did it and what they want it to accomplish. Good stuff.

Finally, on the Confirm not Conform blog, I hope you'll check out this interview I got to do with my friend Emily LeBlanc, talking about how the church can better work with people with autism. Really helpful stuff.

Have a great weekend!

Sunday Funnies, October 21

 Many more photos from (and I am not making this up) the 22nd annual Tompkins Square Park Halloween Dog Parade can be found here.

Sunday Funnies, September 2

So I'm back from Hawaii. *sigh* and though I'd like to post something related to a  post-vacation let-down, really I think you should just spend most of your Labor Day weekend reading the Dogshaming Tumblr.

Here's one example: Insult to Injury

dogshaming:

It's a tremendously reassuring blog, I have to say.

Garden Update, August 2012

It's about time to check in on the garden and see how things are going.

Well, the tomatoes are doing just fine.

In fact, I believe I am due for another BLT for lunch today.

A couple of volunteer hollyhocks are standing guard at the corner of the house.

They're the only hollyhocks I have this year. Well, there's one other but it's been a green mound, a bust of a plant.

The hydrangeas continue to be unstoppable.

Not quite the monsters they were last year, but still.

The bed next to the hydrangeas is still scraggly; however, the bee balm is in year 2 and decided to bloom.

We went a little dahlia-mad this year, and some of them are finally blooming in that extravagant dahlia manner they have.

Love the red edges on this one.

This one is called Tip-toe.
Check out the Daddy Long Legs hiding in the petals!

Meanwhile, in the backyard, the side bed is looking pretty good. Coreopsis and zinnias are the stars this year.

But let's not overlook the zucchini hiding in the undergrowth:

I have GOT to figure out what to do with these.

And in the side beds, a coreopsis managed to survive several uprootings and is blooming!

Strangely, though, there is a new bare patch in the other side bed where the alonsoa once bloomed.

I wonder why that is...