October 12: "A Dog on His Master," Dinner, Anniversary

Chill day.

My son is staying the night at a friend's house.  Dropped him off this morning.  Then I practiced music at a few churches.  Went for a couple long walks with my wife and our puppy.  Played for the 4 p.m. Mass at my home church.  Went out to dinner with my wife to celebrate our 29th anniversary.

Juno, our fur baby, enjoys chill days when she can lounge on the couch with me or my wife, bark at squirrels or cars, and generally be spoiled.

Billy Collins talks dogs and walks and aging . . .

A Dog on His Master

by: Billy Collins

As young as I look,
I am growing older faster than he,
seven to one
is the ratio they tend to say.

Whatever the number,
I will pass him one day
and take the lead
the way I do on our walks in the woods.

And if this ever manages
to cross his mind,
it would be the sweetest
shadow I have ever cast on snow or grass.

On Monday, my wife and I will be married 29 years.  That's a long time, more so in dog years.  I'm not gonna lie--there have been some very rocky years in those nearly three decades.  Yet, our marriage has weathered those storms.

I'm not going to get all sentimental here.  (I sort of did that in last night's post.)  But I do want to say that it seems like just yesterday when we stood in front of our family and friends, slipped those rings on our fingers, and kissed.

Time is so strange.  When you're a kid, summer vacation lasts three lifetimes.  As a teenager, you can't wait to turn 21 to buy alcohol and get shitfaced legally.  Once you hit that milestone, things seem to speed up.  Thirty years go by, and you find yourself sitting on the couch, petting your dog, and looking at your wife--your beautiful, funny wife--who has been with you through the best of times and the worst of times.  (Do NOT turn that statement into something sexual--I know you were thinking it.)

Nobody knows how long they have on this planet.  It could be seven years or seventy years.  I'm hoping to see my daughter become a doctor.  My son to become a poet.  (Okay, he says he's into cybersecurity, but a guy can hope.)

And Saint Marty's hoping one day to watch the sun set in Hawaii again with his beautiful bride.

June 30: Dinner, Judith Minty, "Section 16 from Fall"

I'm really hungry.  Since I got home from work this afternoon, I've been grading assignments for my students.  Now, I've written two blog posts.  Pretty soon, I will sit down and eat dinner.  I don't know what it's going to be.  Something warm and filling hopefully, washed down with a bottle of cold water.

That sounds like a paradise to me at the moment.  Tonight, the beginning of a holiday weekend, I will stay up late and write some more or read a good book or watch a favorite movie.  A reward for the work I have completed today.

Saint Marty is ready for some food.

Section 16 from "Fall" in Yellow Dog Journal

by:  Judith Minty

This good French bread
from the Negaunee bakery
has lasted almost a week.
I tear off a piece, then lather it
with butter.  I remember
she apologized it wasn't a long loaf.
No doubt, hearing my downstate accent,
she thought I meant to cut it with a knife.
How could she know my tongue
ached to thank her in the northland gutteral,
that I would kiss the bread before I ate.