Stay Tuned for Breaking News . . . . . . . . . . . from the West Coast

I will attempt to do something I've never done before . . .
update this blog while on the road.

The suspense is killing me.

- - - David

Leaving on a jet plane . . . together!?!

Hold on to your hats.
David is going on a trip. He’s escaping ADRIAN!
Get OUT OF TOWN!

Brian, who is on his way to Denver as we speak, will be cashing in a travel voucher and taking me along on this next business trip, to SAN FRANCISCO. We’re leaving on Wednesday.

This has NOTHING . . . NOTHING to do with the Golden States new equitable marriage laws AND NOTHING, NOTHING to do with the flamBOYant/flamGRRLant parade scheduled for next weekend.

But it has everything to do with the food, the architecture and the museums that I’ll be able to use to fill up my time while Brian is toiling away trying to earn the money that I’ll be forced to give away to the deserving americans awaiting my arrival. And although I’ll be stowing away with him at The Serrano Hotel for a few nights, he’ll still have to find the cash to pay for the room for the weekend.

The small town guy I’ve become will be running rampant around the big city. There’s the Frida Kahlo show that just opened at SFMoMA, a few meals at Zuni Cafe, perchance a dinner at Chez Panisse.
Ruby highly recommends the Dale Chihuly show at de Young.
Donna urges we try out Canteen, The Ferry Plaza Building, a snack (or breakfast or lunch) at Boulette’s, Cowgirl Creamery, dinner at Spruce, Golden Gate State Park, the Exploratorium, a Climb on Mt. Tamalpais, and the Muir Woods.
Rima has cast out her info-net and, with the help of a “chic lesbian”, points us towards many a must-see. “Slow Club for any meal (brunch on weekends), Universal Cafe (near slow club), definitely Delfina, the Blue Plate, 2223 (in Castro), Bar Tartine, Colibri in theater district near union square (awesome mexican bistro), Cafe Claude (on Claude Lane, if you are downtown shopping), and the Cliff House Bistro (remodeled and awesome for good everything (food, bev, view!).”

Go ahead, live through ME for once, click on the above names for a little bite of San Francisco.

This is a lot to do, and a lot of food to do too. And I know, I know, we only have 4-1/2 days, so little time, so many places to go.

Please note, dearest readers, we are still taking itinerary suggestions. So put on your thinking caps. All entries will be appreciated. But you only have until Wednesday morning.

And also please note, I need to offer my sincere regrets and apologies to my sister, my bro-in-law and our smarty-pants nephew for missing a graduation party while we are away.

Please know that the supreme guilt I feel now will not be tempered, but only enhanced by every moment spent in paradise.

What if I bring you back a Frida t-shit?


- - - David

Big Day in the Family

Brian spent his birthday cheering on the Tigers in San Francisco.
My sister Karen spent her day lending another kind of support

June 18th is a big day in my family. Not only do we celebrate the birthdays of Isabella Rossellini and Sir James Paul McCartney but we also sing Stolat to my better half, Brian Laverne Brock and my supreme sister Karen Marie Staskowski Lunau, of the Motown Lunaus.

This year my two dear family members are both away from home. Brian is, where else, in California and Karen is in Ann Arbor just steps from Briarwood Mall, of all places. Brian is away on business as usual. Karen is at a University of Michigan parental unit orientation for my nephew, and her eldest, Jason.

So I must wish them both happiness from afar with phone calls and blog mentions. And so, I do.

With much love to two of my very favorite people, Happy Birthday.

Both of you have never looked younger.

- - - David.

Up and Into the Woods

Friday morning. Brian is taking the long weekend off. And we're off to get as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.

We will be packing the twins in the car and not much else and heading up into the woods. The tip of the mitten, near Indian River, the land of Leggs Inn . . . Mullett Lake that is, cold water, Michigan gold.

It’s time to go visit Ginny’s cottage. Gary and Ginny are already up there and we’ve finagled an invitation for a short visit. Well. Brian did. And this time we’re bringing Lucy. We hope to get her to jump in the lake.

For me it’s a very spiritual place. It’s what I love about Michigan; the birch and the white pines, the water, the sandy soil.

Part of me is already there.
Part of me always is.

Speaking of spiritual . . . I’ve got a little news for you.
But that will have to wait until we’re back from heaven.

- - - David

The Sunday in the Park

In April he turned 18 and on Sunday he graduated from High School. And although, for now, my baby sister’s eldest child is still sleeping in the same room he’s been in for 17 years, I know in my heart that he’s crossed the line into the future.

We drove up to Clinton Township on Saturday night. My sister Karen and my Brother (in-law) Steve met us at my mom’s for pizza. My niece Ali came by later for a visit. Jason was, of course, busy so we didn’t see him until Sunday morning when we were scheduled to leave for the graduation ceremonies. He walked in, dressed all in black with a red tie.

“Where’s Grannie, we gotta go” was his entry line.
“Why aren’t you wearing your cap and gown?” was all I said.

When I heard he was coming over to pick up my mom two minutes before his arrival I yelled to Brian to find the camera and I started to tear up. I imagined the little kid I held first in my thirty-something arms, then on my shoulders and sometimes, to my sisters horror, upside down and swinging by his feet.

His life flashed before my eyes. The water balloon fights that I won by hiding behind the gate with a loaded hose. The times he was young enough to tickle, when he was still young enough to yelp when I came into the room and run up and hug me. So when I heard he was coming over to pick up my mom, I thought of seeing him in his cap and gown and I started to cry. Then he walked in dressed in black. No cap, no gown. I was disappointed.

When we moved back to Michigan in Spring of 2000, Jason was just turning 10. He was still young enough to take for a haircut, to wait for his school bus, still young enough to teach him how to grow a tomato and how to eat Sorrel. The summer we spent at my parents’, before we found our house, we holed up down in their basement which doubled as a diamond for whiffle baseball. I was lucky to live in Seattle while my eldest niece Emily grew from 4 to 12. Now I was watching my nephew grow from 10 to 18.

The day had come for me to experience what parents do everyday, the passage of time through another. It hit my like a car meeting a brick wall.

The night before graduation, when everyone was in bed, I found a binder. It was a life book that Jason had put together for a school project. I paged through it and got a glimpse into the soul of my nephew. He wrote about a teacher, a coach, a friend who was in special education. He wrote how if he won a lottery he would give half of his money to a teacher who taught him through kindness and the other half to his Grannie who didn’t really need much anymore but deserved it anyway for taking such good care of him. He wrote about his mother’s light blue eyes and infinite love, the unfair ultimate horror of his grandfather’s Alzheimer’s, and what his dad taught him about the joy of sports.

During graduation day when he'd grunt and complain one minute and then come up from behind and put his arm around me the next, I thought of the binder, and saw the bright glint of his humanity seeping out of his 18 year old armor.

He graduated along with some 500 others at an outdoor amphitheater. It was a mad scene getting in. Jason was with us until we got inside the gates. We took turns getting my 84 year old mom to a seat. There were snapshots taken amid the hustle but I kept wanting it all to slow down. Like all the important rites we go through, I wanted time to stop so we could savor the moment. Of course it wouldn’t.

We got to our seats and time did stop, as it always does. Now we all sat quietly, except for the 17 year old in me which needed to entertain my niece, Ali. Eventually the crowd grew quiet, caps and gowns were seen on the ramps and Pomp and Circumstance began to play. 

“Look!” I said to my sister, “I have goose bumps”.

I looked over and my stoic sister was dabbing her eyes, which of course made me shut up, as it should have. But then I took a photo.

Marching in, Jason was all the way on the other side. Even with my zoom lens he was just one of many. Still, I was there with my family. My mom teared up too, “I wish your Dad was here” she said quietly. “He is here, right up there. I saw him in the scaffolding.” I told her. “It’s his wings causing all the wind.”

Jason took his seat, right up front. The only thing keeping him from a seat on the stage with the Summa was .01, one one-hundredth of a percent. My nephew graduated from High School with a 3.899 GPA. Because his school rounds down, (and not up, like the rest of us), Jay was merely honored with a medallion on a ribbon, a gold cord and the official distinction of Magna Cum Laude. And despite all the speeches and the wind blowing the caps of the graduates and their diplomas across the stage the whole time, he graduated and we yelled out his name and probably embarrassed him, not for the first or last time that day. I didn’t mind, I was so proud of him.

In my eyes he’s an auspicious miracle. Having Brian and me as uncles has apparently done no damage. He’s smart, he has amazing friends and he’s taller than any of us. Like all of our siblings' kids, looking on from afar as an uncle, I can see the brightness of their light and know in my heart that they will all grow to be wonderful adults. 

I am so very proud to be their uncle.

On Sunday, I saw a young man who has the whole world in front of him. All the joy, all the discovery, all the wonder the world has to offer.

I wish him all the happiness I have known and none of the pain. I wish him the world.

- - - Uncle David

I said WATCH the Birdy

Last wednesday Sophie threw up her breakfast.

She was out in the yard and I noticed she was obsessing on a part of the grass. This is what she does, maybe all dogs do, when their breakfast is going to waste on the lawn.

This has happened before, she’s a delicate gal with a genteel digestive tract. Sometimes she heaves just because her body believes she gone far too long without food. So, knowing the drill, I ran out, scooped everything up and brought the girls inside.

When dinner time came around, she wasn’t very interested, which around here is very very odd. She ate a little and then later out in the yard, that little bit came back to haunt us. Again I did the drill, brought Sophie in and made sure to give her a little soft snack before bed, it may have been a few small pieces of expensive aged cheddar, poor thing.

Thursday was a repeat performance in two acts, with an encore. It was the encore that was really interesting. After reviewing her breakfast and her dinner on assorted carpeting throughout the house, I thought the show was over. But early in the evening I came across two damp spots on priceless, vintage dining room braided rug. The maids had left for the day so I dutifully mopped with a few rags. Shortly after, I sat down on Brian’s little love seat, (that’s one of two small sofas in the living room, not a euphemism), and noticed a strange glob next to the dog bed.

It was purplish, lumpy in a globular way and had two little leaves artfully arranged at one end. “She must have eaten a bunch of fake grapes” the CSI in me speculated. I went to check the bowl where my only grapes were located, and there they were, right where they were supposed to be. I racked my feeble brain.

I’ve “collected” hundreds of bunches of fake grapes, teeny miniatures to grossly oversized, but they are all packed away in the cellar. Where did she find this one? Again I went for the rags, rinsing them out before going to mop up Sophie’s newest masterpiece. Wiping down the sink I picked up what I took for a blade of grass, (the natural component dogs ingest to alleviate gastric distress). But it wasn’t grass, it was a feather. There was more than one, and it was unmistakably a long, black and thin feather.

Fade in: a look of startled clarity comes across your writers face. He shouts to the girls, since it is only him and the canines in the house. Brian is, of course, on the west coast. “You ate a BIRD? You ATE a bird!” Weimaraners ARE bird dogs, but they’re supposed to capture them and bring them, soft-mouthed, to their master’s feet. “You AREN’T supposed to eat DEAD BIRDS!”

The blob of death must have been nesting in Sophie’s gut for at least 48 hours, now it was laying on my sisal, (feel free to retch, I did). And later that night, while I was on iChat with Brian and Parker and Jeff in Seattle, Sophie performed again. This time, her screen premiere on the internet.

Friday I had an appointment at the vet with Lucy, her first adult vaccination. I could take Sophie with me, but breakfast came and went with no fanfare, so I merely discussed it with the young doctor. Monitor her, feed her bland soft food, and make sure she continues to drink a lot of water.

Saturday breakfast was uneventful and the Vet closed at noon for the 3 day holiday weekend. As if she heard the all clear signal, Sophie began a revival show as soon as the doctor’s doors shut.

She was ravenous, constantly hunting for food. But 90 minutes after something went in, it came back up.

Then on Sunday morning my sister called. My mom was acting strange and said the side of her mouth was a little numb. “She says she’s fine,” my sister related, “What do you think?”

Facing death and destruction on all sides for the last few weeks, the fatalist in me surfaced and told her to get to the hospital. “Call 911 or push her in the car and call the hospital on the way” I advised in my calmest tone.

On Monday, Ginka, the mother, was stable but still going through tests at the hospital. It was a holiday, so things were moving even slower than their normally stagnant health “care” speed. Then after 10 that night my sister called and said that our mom had called her and was hallucinating. “She’s telling me she’s not at the hospital, that she’s sitting in my living room . . . And that there are children outside the window.”

Ginka’s not young, she just marked her 84th. She’s a little forgetful and is known for sharing her stories repeatedly, sometimes during a single telephone call. But she hasn’t been acting like this before. The nurses seemed to consider this normal behavior for an older woman. The doctors were of course, not available.

My sister was in tears. I was feeling useless. Sophie threw up.

Tuesday morning I had committed to work at Hidden Lake. Brian stayed home to monitor the phones and keep an eye on Sophie. My sister assured me that the drive in would be futile at this point, as Ginka would be spending the day with various machines in and around the hospital. She had talked to mom that morning and after a little story of being in a school, (was it all the talk of tests?) my mom seemed to settle back into reality. Sophie was booked into the vet at 2:15. I headed to the Gardens for a few hours of clearing brush from one of the trails.

I got home in time to put Sophie in the car and get her to the doctor. (Meanwhile, Brian had left to fly off to California.) Now Sophie was the one being poked and prodded (she flinched dramatically, on cue). X-rays showed bowel compaction and little flecks of bone trailing through her innards. Nothing seemed to be blocking her and temperature readings showed fever but didn’t indicate serious punctures. They advised keeping her overnight, cleaning her out, testing for pancreatitis and administering medication to sooth her gastric system.

Tuesday night, with Brian out of town, and Sophie in the hospital it was just me a Lucy playing bachelor(ette) at home. Ani didn’t even drop by to visit. We slept, (Lucy soundly), on the sofas.

Wednesday brought no answers from my mom’s hospital, but Sophie was resting comfortably and eating hospital food. A call to the Vet at noon resulted in a good diagnosis. The Doctor got on the phone. “She’s all cleaned out. I stood at her head and positioned Daniel (our beloved Vet Tech) and the other end.” the saintly Doctor Kelly told me. “I opened her mouth, shined a flashlight down and I could see Daniel waving at the other end.” (I am madly in love with Nancy Kelly.) X-rays showed no bone fragments anywhere. She was prescribed Carafate, Pepcid and a few days of boiled chicken and rice. I picked her up at 3.

Today, Sophie is at home and healing. My mom is still waiting results at Henry Ford Hospital. Sophie’s bill came to a whopping $159.00, I shudder to think what Henry will be billing for Ginka.

It’s a sad day when we can get better health care for my dog than we can get for our mothers.

Vive la revolution. It’s time to change the system.

- - - David

14K Dog

Don’t let that innocent look for you.

Sophie's wasn’t feeling well and needed a bland dinner, so I went to the store and bought a chicken. I also bought some carrots to cook along with the chicken.

I pealed half a bag of the carrots then started to clean the chicken and put it on a board to rest in the fridge. I left the carrots safely on the counter.
So I thought.

I returned to put the chicken in the oven and went looking for the carrots.
Now where did they go?
LUCY!

At least she stole something healthy. I still had half the package left, so I pealed those, put them with the chicken to bake.
When everything was done I pulled the baking sheet out, let it cool high up on the window sill and then started to bone the chicken.
Piece by piece I boned the chicken, Sophie at my feet, Lucy coming into the kitchen once in awhile to check on my progress.
(yes, once or twice, while Lucy wasn't in the room I may have snuck Sophe a teeny little piece of chicken . . . she's hasn't been eating, after all.)

Chicken all boned and put in the fridge, scraps double bagged and put in the trash, I turned to chop the carrots.

Now where did they go?

LUCY!

She had been coming into the chicken, waiting until I wasn't looking and stealing a carrot from, literally, under my nose.
She would sneak it out of the kitchen, eat it where I wouldn’t see her, and then come back in again looking so innocent that I didn't suspect a thing.

Then she would steal another one.
There were 7 baked carrots in the pan.

With the raw ones she had before, that makes 14.

Lucy, our 14 carrot Weimaraner.

- - - David

Life Goes On

My mother-out-law was in Michigan last weekend. Judy asked if we were having problems with the blog again. She was probably concerned that bugs had returned to the apple. But this time, that isn’t the reason, I haven’t published anything in two weeks.

I tried to write about the silence and the guilt. I tried to write about the strange dreams and scary nightmares. It was oddly comforting to vent, but the outcome wasn’t enjoyable to read. I thought of a tribute page with excerpts from the emails and cards we received, but Brian advised me that those were sent in private, not for publication. I tired to write about Lucy, and the laughs that she was still capable of extracting from us. But I couldn’t stay in the moment long enough.

But even without the blogging, slowly and surely life went on.

My sister Karen brought her family and our Mom over for Mother’s day. We had a simple cookout and kept the sadness to a minimum. Last Saturday, we drove to Holland to see Judy and Len who were visiting from Phoenix in their Prius. Lunch at the Journeyman Cafe in Fennville was great and pizza at the original Fricanno’s in Grand Haven was just as good, in a very different way. We even saw 6 foot 2 nephew Alex in a soccer game. The best part of the trip was that Lucy sat between us the 3 hours there and the entire 3 hours back. A paw on the hand brake, her gaze out the front window, just like Anioł in her younger days. Just like Ani.

Brian left for the West coast early the next day. That morning I opened an email from Alicia Reyes, our ex-next door neighbor and our only friends in Adrian. She had sent it while we were in Holland. “Will you both be home tomorrow afternoon? The kids have something for you all to remember Aniol”

A happy reason to clean the house. They arrived, on schedule, as the clock chimed 4, Alicia, her husband Santos, their two big Goldens and Jose and Marcia.

The kids and the dogs had brought over a memorial plaque. Alicia handed to me while Jose and Marcia were playing with Lucy and Sophie. “I’ll wait until the kids are here,” I said. “No,” this perfect mom warned, “it will make them cry. They were crying over it at home.” So, raised almost right, I did as I was told. Then I teared up. I have a feeling Alicia was taking care of me too.

Then Marcia came in, and also raised right, noticed I hadn’t opened the card. So I did.

“Losing a pet is losing a good friend” the card said. And inside, “Hope time will help to ease your sorrow.” It was signed “Jose + Sueño and Marcia + Sonya”, the dogs signed too, of course.

Their gift now lays in the garden, right in front of the Blessed Virgin. I visit it every time I am out with Lucy and Sophie. (I can’t refer to them as simply “the dogs”, not yet). Having this wonderful group of people join me and the rest of all of you who remember Ani was a very healing moment. When we first moved to Adrian almost 8 years ago, Marcia and Jose were still toddlers. The kids learned to trust the black dog in our yard and the black dog learned to trust them.

Their memories of her join mine and Brian’s and everyone else’s. There’s a great big black fluffy fur-ball of memories for me to hold onto. I thank them and I thank everyone who remembers her for reminding me of all the joy she brought to life.

The visit itself reminds me that life and love go on, with or without us. For now, I’ll take the with.

In memory of a faithful friend and companion, rest in peace.

--David

Love was blind

This morning our friend Anioł passed away.

Ani has been in my life for 15-1/2 years, and in Brian’s for 13. She lived from coast to coast and died in between. Words cannot describe her loyalty, bravery or stoicism (in the ancient Greek sense.)

Ani was half blind before she was a year old and fully blind since 2004. But until the end she made her way through the world with determination. In the old days she ran and swam with the best of them, more recently her walk was slower but no less sure. She has taught me the meaning of not giving up and the true sense of beauty.

She was a trooper, but at 16 her long life finally took it’s toll on her body. Her Vet told us that she was in pain and there wasn’t anything else we could do. She was able to spend the last few days with us eating whatever we could think of that she loved. Her appetite, which she had lost when faced with a prescription diet, returned with gusto and she feasted until the last moment.

I would write more about her life, but that will have to wait awhile, until it’s a little easier to laugh. Until then feel free to visit the Anioł photo album.

Brian and I wish her fields of high wavy grass to bound through, a cold swim in the water on a hot day, an open window, and a world of love.

I will always remember how she saw me through some of the darkest moments in my life and walked with me through some of the best.
I will never forget how she helped me walk up the hills.

She was a great pal.

- - - David

"Ask the animals, and they will teach you." Job 12:7-10

May I?

May Crowning is a tradition that goes back as far as ancient Greece.
Another way to celebrate Spring.

Sing gaily in chorus;
the bright angels o'er us
re-echo the strains we begin upon earth

It’s May, go out and crown the nearest virgin.

I found one in my back yard, but she’s hard to catch. So I crowned the Madonna instead.

May is the month of mothers, the month of the earth finally warming up and sprouting growth. May is the month of planting, the month of renewal. And at last, we can go outside and sit on the freshly mown lawn and breathe it all in.

Go outside and crown someone, crown a friend, crown a mother, crown yourself.

This time of year, we all deserve a tiara.

Happy May, to one, to all.

Bring flowers of the rarest Bring blossoms the fairest,
From garden and woodland
And hillside and dale;
Our full hearts are swelling,
Our glad voices telling
The praise of the loveliest flower of the vale!

-- David