A Cubic Foot of Memory Suspended in the Air

Castaic Lake, CA

I took Cinder to Battle Point Park last week. It was a rare sunny winter day. We walked around the park, I occasionally throwing the ball for her, but mostly just walking along. We saw high school kids playing lacrosse, joggers, and lazy geese who didn't fly any farther south. We wandered around the far edge of the park, up against its southern boundary fence, and cutting back across a field to where we had left the car, I walked into a smell identical to that of fishing at dawn with my father at Castaic Lake.

I walked out of the smell before I recognized what it was and paused, trying to figure out how a field in Washington during afternoon hours could smell so much like a distant time and space. It smelled like the location, but not the event. I didn't smell my father's cigarette, the oily Coppertone lotion, or the garlic cheese paste we used as bait. I retraced my steps, leading with my nose, trying to find that smell again. I walked back and forth; I walked in circles. I couldn't find it.

My stumbling search was interrupted by a child's voice. She was in a stroller pushed along the path by her mother. The girl was shouting something, testing out words. As they passed by, the little girl leaned out of the stroller, pointed at me, and said "Papa dead!"

I waited in the middle of the field for a few minutes in case there was a message coming from beyond, but nothing happened. Maybe what the girl really said was "Papa dog."

About Blackouts

Wind storm black out, day three

No, not the self-induced kind, the wind-induced kind.

Meteorologists said on Wednesday that a big storm was coming and that we would lose our power. I'd never heard such an ominous weather prediction. Considering that the island loses power at the virtual drop of a hat, I was pretty well prepared. I could have done better on the firewood, but, oh well.

The lights went out Thursday afternoon around 5. I was standing in the kitchen, watching the weather on the news. They were showing Doppler radar of the storm and had remote reporters getting blown around at the coast. I had previously powered down my computer because it was already windy around my house. There was a flicker, then another that kept the light on but tripped the TV off. I turned it back on and watched more weather. Then everything was off and I was in total darkness.

I lose power about three times a year. It's not a big deal, but it is a major inconvenience. No power means no furnace and no running water. I've got a fireplace for warmth and bottled water for drinking. I've got candles, flash lights, canned food, and a battery powered radio.

The winds were very heavy this time, heavier than I had ever seen. My house is surrounded by trees more than 50 feet tall, and they thrash and groan in the wind. That's what is so spooky...the groaning. The tops sway in 15-foot arcs and the wood makes a creaking sound as it moves under the weight. Self-preservation drew me away from the windows and into the basement.

Cinder and I huddled together in the dark, and I listened to Herman Melville's Typee on my iPod until I feel asleep. The basement is well insulated and quiet. With my headphones on, I couldn't hear that unnerving groan.

The next morning I found no damage, only a few large and several small branches shed, and no downed trees. The blackouts, however, were widespread, and what goes off in an instant usually takes hours and sometimes days to come back.

Cinder curled in the cold.

Black outs are a mixed blessing. It's something Wendy used to call a "forced chill out," an involuntary break from your routine. You're more likely to talk to your neighbors (or rather I'm more likely to talk to them), it requires a certain amount of manual labor to keep things running (hauling of wood and water, for example), it makes you appreciate your conveniences, and, if nothing else, it tends to put you to sleep sooner in the evening.

But they are also frightening. I feel exposed and vulnerable during a black out, as well as completely dependent on electricity and technology. The minor hardships that I've heard myself and others complain about in the last few days are nothing compared to what's being faced on a daily basis in Iraq and other struggling, bleak places. I think more about those poor people during black outs and I worry about our future.

The power came back on tonight, so I was without for about 48 hours. Not too bad. Why, then, did it seem like a whole week?

The One About the Elderly, Dogs, and Hot Cars

Dogs Die in Hot Cars

About a month ago, we had a heat wave. It was minor compared to the rest of the country, but significant around these parts.

I was going to Safeway and had Cinder in the car. I rolled down the passenger- and driver-side windows about half-way down, made sure that Cinder had enough water, and went in to go get our groceries.

After about 10 minutes of shopping, I hear someone break into the Muzak with, "Will the owner of a green Honda hatchback please go out and check your car. Your dog seems to be in distress."

I left my cart in the middle of the aisle and almost knocked a child over while running through the automatic doors. I imagined her somehow sticking half-way out the window.

I got there and she was fine. Barking, but she always barks in public. A little old lady pulled up behind my car and unrolled her passenger-side window. "Is that your dog?" she asked. Yeah. "You need to roll down the window. He's not very happy." Mam, I said, the windows are rolled down. "Oh," she scowled, "Not hardly enough. He's barking because he's so hot!"

I didn't bother to tell her that he was a she and she was barking because she hates strangers.

Later that same day, while leaving another store, I watched a man in his nineties park a brand-new car in front of a parking garage pylon. It was clearly not a parking spot and he seemed confused. I walked up and told him he was not in a parking spot.

"So?" he said. Well, I don't think you can park here, I said. "Why not?" Well, for one, you're sticking about 6 feet intro the lane.

"People can drive around," he said. "It's hot and I want to park in the shade," he said, adding, "I've got a dog in the car."

The Bone Parade

Bone

My dog Cinder loves these. We buy them by the dozen. It's the one thing in life she savors.

When I give her a new bone, there's usually a long break-in period. There are all sorts of rules in her head about how, when, and where a bone can be consumed. It's a constant puzzle for me and Wendy. She only eats them in the living room, and usually both Wendy and I have to be present for some reason. If we left her alone in her kennel with a bone, she would never touch it.

Lately, she's been doing something we call the Bone Parade. She cradles the bone in her mouth and paces through our house. She will often do this for a half-hour straight, just going in a circuit, making the rounds. If she catches our eye during this Bone Parade, she'll nod her head up, as if to say, "Hey. What's up? I've got a bone."

There's also the Careful Laying Down of the Bone, and the Hiding of the Bone (she will stash it from us under the dining room table where she thinks we can't see it). Then there's the Loving of the Bone, when she decides it's finally time to consume it. We call it "Loving" because she grips the bone between her paws and licks it to soften it up. The she way licks it, though, with eyes half-closed and her tongue slowly slathering the end, is quite obscene.

Once a bone is ready for chewing, it never lasts long. I've seen her polish off a whole bone in about thirty minutes.

New Morning

The media blackout is still weird and difficult. I keep getting impulses to turn on the radio or pick up something to read. Even the title makes me think of a Bob Dylan song, and he's going to be interviewed on the radio this morning. I'm glad I've done this, though. You can never measure something's effect on you until you experience its absence.

I've got to do some work today, but I figure that can wait until noon. I'm not going to turn on the TV or radio until 5 p.m. (when the Boston v. Yankees game starts). So what am I going to do until noon?

Excercise

Clean the house/garage

Take Cinder for a walk

Do some yardwork

First I'm going to eat some breakfast, though

Dog Terrorist

Wendy slept in this morning. It's the second-to-last weekend of the official summer--that season between two national holidays that completely surrounds another. Yesterday, we did little but hang around, watching TV, going in the hot tub, and reading Today is only slightly more active--we slept in and went out to breakfast, bought some groceries and a NY Times, and read and napped all day since.

This morning, before we went to breakfast, Wendy took Cinder to the beach where they were interrupted by a notorious local dog, Jake. Jake and Cinder have gotten into fights before, and Wendy said that she didn't like the dog at all until she met its owner, a very nice, friendly woman. But Jake is often outside by himself, and that's when he gets into trouble. Jake first stole Cinder's ball, and he wouldn't give it back. Wendy said he would drop it, but keep his mouth close to the ball. When Wendy would come near, he would snatch it again and run away. Wendy did get the ball back from him, and trying to leave, put the ball in the car. She then took out Cinder's towel to dry her off and, as she said, "before I knew what happened, Jake had taken off with the towel." He brought it down to the sand and shook it violently. She tried everything to get it away from him. She eventually succeeded, but he stole it again and took it far out into the water, where he left it to drown. "That dog was terrorizing us!"

Now, though, it's a little after 5 and we're sitting out on our balcony, enjoying a late afternoon. We got a citronella candle, and the whole thing is recently painted, and it's all just really, really nice. My back has been hurting lately, and it's come as some odd relief. The right side of my lower back has been hurting me, off and on and with varying degrees of mild bluntness, since May. If I weren't so paranoid about kidney disease or--gasp--cancer, I'd probably have had it checked out by now. With my back hurting the way it does now (unmistakeably a backache), I can rationalize a connection between them. "Yeah, that's it, I just need to stretch more..."

I have been in awe of the weather we've had this summer. We've had so many sunny days that I'm ashamed of having at times wished them away. I do worry, though, about how dry things have gotten and about our fire risk. A town in British Columbia had to evacuate 300,000 people yesterday. Previously, I had consoled myself with the fact that serious fires have seemed so far to restrict themselves to those Washington counties that are east of the Cascades.

Look at all that worry--never a better indication that things are really, really good for you than when you're worried about all the things that can bring you down. Do you think crackheads worry about their retirement?

I said it was the second-to-last weekend of the official summer, but it's also the first one we've had without guests for about a month. Our first guest was Aaron. Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to take him out on the boat, since it was still at the mechanics for repairs. We did have a good time, including the first time for any of us to go kayaking! It was really nice to have him around. Wendy said it gave her a preview of what it will be like when we have kids of our own. The next pair of visitors was Bill and Jane. They stayed in Seattle on the Saturday following Aaron's visit and stayed with us Sunday night before going off on a mid-week jaunt up to the Olympics.

They stayed with us the next weekend, where we went out on the boat (they didn't like it too much, too fast and bouncy) and had a very relaxed time. They picked berries and Wendy and her mom made jam. Bill and I (mostly Bill) fixed a toilet downstairs. I showed them some movies that they didn't care for, but the best times with them was during dinner, either out on the town or together in our dining room. I think that they're pretty pleased with our lifestyle, though they act cool when they're here. I hope that they do like it, anyway, since Wendy and I are very concious of how we were raised and we want to use the best of both families in our household habbits. Certainly one of our triats that we model after Wendy's family more than my own is a practical style. I tell Wendy that all the time. I love how practical she is, and how it informs her sense of style.

The boat is sort of the same way. They might not like the boat we got, but I think they're glad we're interested in exploring our environment. The closest corallary to what my parents had was a trailer that they took to the seaside town of Carpenteria, but by the time I was growing up, that was just a fond memory. They stopped going to Carpenteria when (or perhaps 'because') Pam and I were born. It was likely, too, that the kids were spinning off like free radicals and my parents, working jobs and changing diapers, where just trying to get by.

Two Dreams of One Dog

I've been sick the last couple of days and last night at about 3 a.m. I woke Wendy and myself up with a coughing fit. I decided to get up, suck on a ColdEze losenge, and sleep on the couch.

I noticed that Wendy had the dog blanket out on the couch. The dog blanket is warm and fuzzy, and it allows us to break the house rule of "no dogs on the couch"--It's a mostly psychological thing. And since it was already upstairs, I invited Cinder to come up and sleep with me on the couch.

Sleeping with a dog like Cinder is as much problematic as it is comforting. It's nice to snuggle up with her, but invariably we just keep waking each other up everytime one of us moves. We tried a variety of positions, usually with her chin resting either on my ankle or my hip, for a few hours before she finally gave up and retired to her place in the kitchen.

But in our interupted sleep, she had a starring role in two of my dreams.

Bad Dog: I woke up from sleeping on the couch and felt tiny, brittle leaves all over me. I reached out to the coffee table and felt them covering the surface. I got up from the couch to turn on the light and could feel and hear them crunch under my feet. I also felt as though I were walking on bits of plastic and soft little bodies, like the corpses of bugs. When I turned on the light, I saw our entire stock of breakfast cereal thrown about the living room and their boxes torn to shreds. Cinder, in a satisfied, playful pose, watched me from the corner of the room and wagged her tail. I was so angry at her that I repeatedly screamed "Bad dog!" at her and didn't care if I woke up Wendy. I picked her up and was hitting her legs (including the 6 Million Dollar leg) until I got to the door and could physically throw her outside. I was quickly swallowed by guilt and worried that I had irreparebly hurt her.

Good Dog: I was sleeping on the couch and Cinder woke me up by dropping something in my lap. It was an electronic device about the size and weight of a closed laptop computer. On one side was an array of 20 or so square buttons, each with a picture inside. Cinder nudged my arm with her nose and wagged her tail. I held the device up for her and she pressed buttons with her nose that made the device say in a robotic voice, "Kibble. Kibble. Walk."

Travels with Mom and Gus

The last few days were too busy to write anything down. I got to Mom's and spent Thursday running errands for her and packing up the car. I got kind of sad when I was picking up some of Dad's and Grandpa's tools. We left early Friday morning and stayed at a Best Western north of Sacramento--we drove about 600 miles in 12 hours. Mom and Gus slept most of the way. I put in an audiobook called Void Moon that I had given Dad a few years back, which was written by a writer he liked. It was about 12-15 hours long, and Mom was awake enough to follow the story. We drove the rest of the way Saturday and had dinner with L & W at a very nice place right along the Rogue river.

Yesterday I got up early and was on Interstate 5 by 6 a.m. and was hoping to get home by 2 p.m., but I was beset by a blown out rear tire and traffic. When I made it onto the island, I had Wendy bring Cinder out to the park so we could introduce her to Gus on neutral ground. The good news is that we can get them warmed up to each other enough so that no trouble happens, but Cinder has to be reintroduced to her after every parting. Gus is being great--she's just trying her best to stay clear of Cinder. She seems like she really misses Mom and home. Things will be better when Mom comes up.

This morning, while waiting to board the ferry, I tried out an experiment. I picked a passenger who was walking around the line (basically in through the exit lane) and gave him a big, booming "Good Morning!" when he was in range. He froze, said good morning, and asked what was going on. I told him that I was just saying good morning (I chickened out--I was going to give him a line about how he must be really important, seeing how he was bypassing all of us waiting in line, and that I wanted to greet him), and then he said that it was a good morning and mumbled something about being tired. I mumbled back and he walked on. It surprised me the way he stopped, though, and I was also surprised by the way other line-jumpers like him just kept walking, completely unbothered by the scene we were making. I think I'll write a newspaper column about it.

Parade is Too Much for Local Dog

We had a nice fourth of July yesterday. It started with us going seperately to the Grand Old Fourth parade because Wendy was in the BIB part of the parade and I was taking Cinder to watch. Cinder and I got there kind of late--about ten minutes after Wendy had already gone through. The event proved too much for Cinder and she lunged and growled at people during four different occasions. Later, we had Andrea and Phillippe come over for a barbecue and we invited new friends John and Adrienne Brown, who live just up the road. They brought their puppy, Nooki, and a friend from San Francisco, Lynn. It was just a nice, mellow time with a lot of conversation. It's great to know more people in the neighborhood who are our age.

We stayed up pretty late, though, and kind of overslept for our flight. We were trying to make it on the 5:30 ferry, but didn't wake up until 5:25. We booked out of the house pretty fast--we got to the ferry terminal at 5:45--but the boat had left on time. We decided to risk parking the car and hiding the key, hoping we'll be able to find someone to take it back home for us. The good news is that we made it onto our flight. It was pretty scary, though--I've never come so close to missing a flight in my life.

Too Much Dog

I hate to say it, but Cinder is too much dog for me when Wendy's away. When the twg of us are here, maybe she just spends to this much time following Wendy around. With Wendy gone to see her brother, Cinder is almost constantly underfoot.
It took me 7 minutes to write that. I am still not sure whether it is faster to look at the text I am writing, or to look at the writing area.

Sundays Are For Taking It Easy

"Sundays are for taking it easy." What a slogan. I just heard it on the radio. Wendy and I are home again. 2002 has turned out to be a tumultuous year, to be sure. The house is a mess, we're months behind in yard work and such, but that's okay--we're home now and everything will get done in time.

Cinder's doing better, it seems. She still favors her leg occasionally, but less so after prolonged use. Wendy's taking her to the doctor for Xrays on Monday. I hope it's all good news.