You’d think we would know better . . .
#3 PUPPY: MISCHIEF
I saw darling dog stretched out on the carpet, chewing. Chewing what? I wondered. Not his green ball, no. it wasn’t his stuffed Lamb, hedgehog, or teddy-bear; not his “safe, unflavored teething ring,” not the blue Kong tire, or the yellow monkey’s knot rope toy. What was it?
#30 TATWTD Happy Birthday, Me
Ah! I open my computer and in the upper right-hand corner (ding!) comes the announcement: Today is Barb Pine’s Birthday. And so it is. I woke (4:48am) with that thought and here was my second (as I climbed over the bed’s end-board so as not to wake the now twelve week old puppy, Scooter, whose sleeping crate is situated on the floor next to my side of the bed and who would love to wake and keep me in playful company in this early hour. But, no. I have morning thoughts I wish to record in my mostly neglected 2019 journal, and so to coffee and computer I quietly, ungracefully, adjourn.
#2 PUPPY: EXTRA! EXTRA!
Not that we needed oxygen. No, no. Perhaps the carpet needs +Oxygen but we are following the wisdom of Cesar Millan. We are creating “perfect obedience from day one through rules, boundaries, and calm-assertive leadership.”
#1 PUPPY: SCOOTER SUBLIME
When Scooter rolls from his crate to lift his wiggling self into the lap of the person who so kindly rose at 5am, as he plants licks on the person’s cheeks, plans change.
Wind/Wind/Wound/Wound
“No, no!” I cry—not Wind, not air moving swiftly enough to push the water of Puget Sound up into massive Marcel waves, not “Wind,” the noun, but “Wind,” the verb.
#28 TATWTD —GRIEF: Expectation—or Not
In previous blogs when I spoke of Absence, I didn’t notice the impossibility of it without having first expected it . . .
#27 TATWTD - GRIEF, a fourth thought; the final thought for now, perhaps
Oh, Skoshi . . . Did we . . .what if we had . . . should we have . . .could we have . . .
#26 TATWTD - GRIEF, part 3
Did you know that when you decide to move (I’m reaching for my coffee mug now at 4:15a.m.), the brain’s frontal lobe emits an electrical signal ahead of one’s thought, that is, it prepares for the thought (to move) before it’s thought.
#25 TATWTD - GRIEF, the Second Wave
You can see where I’m going, no doubt. In absence, great presence is preserved. It causes us to wonder how . . .
#24 TATWTD - GRIEF, the first of innumerable stages
Grief rides in on unwanted information. It doesn’t matter how many grieving I have been experienced before, it always arrives as fresh and readily identifiable as the first bite of a ripe peach off the tree on a hot summer’s day, dripping with distinctive flavor.
#23 TATWTD — WOBBLY WORLD VIEWS
I am a Christian. I have a Christian worldview, but . . .
#7 NEW PineAweigh Adventure 9-22-19
Westlawn Institute of Marine Technology says that yacht “connotes elegance and expense.” I’m wiping tears of hilarity from my cheeks.
#6 NEW PineAweigh Adventure - Lake Union Exchange
. . . fortunately, there was room enough for both of us. And, believe me, had we noticed . . .
#5 NEW PineAweigh — PERSEID METEOR SHOWER
SHOULD HAVE SEEN ALL THOSE STARS
SQUIRMING HARD IN THE SKY,
BEING WARNED TO REPENT FROM THEIR SIN.
#22 TATWTD — THE DELICACY OF LANGUAGE
Pirahas hum, sing, whistle, yell, and speak their language. Oh yes, the men whistle conversation when they hunt in the jungle. Go ahead gentlemen, whistle the words to a Robert Frost poem.
And for grammar snobs — no past or future tense, no recursion; that is, no relative clauses, ever. You will not find a phrase within a phrase. Sorry, Chomsky, nope. Now, concerning the words for Enemy and Friend.
#4 NEW PineAweigh — Only one expletive
Picture it. Slung over my left shoulder was my big purse, an open tote bag with dog blankets, a few forgotten food items, and in my left hand a hanger holding a tablecloth. Dog leash, my house key, and a coffee mug in my right hand. Ready to leave the apartment, I was. But . . .
#3 NEW PineAweigh — “Trouble”
Friday, July 12, 2019, in near perfect mid-morning cruising conditions. True. The weather was perfect, but. . .
#2 NEW PineAweigh — ANNOUNCING
She’s too busy to be here this year . . .