3 dogs 1 castle: The first night

Charlie's canine friends, Porter and Ollie, are staying with us for about five days. They have only been here about two and a half hours and some pretty exciting dog shenanigans already have taken place.

When Porter and Ollie first arrived, Charlie could not contain his excitement (well, that is always true when someone comes over) and he ran to the front door, pushing himself out, not moving off of the front step until I pulled him by his collar back inside the house. Once we safely got everyone inside, chase-fest 2012 began.

Everyone was moving too quickly for me to get a good picture.

Porter and Charlie ran from room to room of our very small castle until Charlie saw the toy ball that came with his two friends. Like always, Ollie kept his distance watching the crazy take place.

The ball added an new element to the game of chase and was the obsession for at least an hour. Charlie was not afraid to be the rude host, and snatched the ball away from his visitor. Once he had it in his jaws he would run ferociously about, growling, with Porter right behind him. Charlie was determined to be the dominant one. This was his house. He wanted to make the rules.

But Porter had a plan. She went right to Charlie's box of toys in the living room. No one messes with Charlie's toys and he became immediately concerned about what Porter was doing. Porter executed her plan with extreme precision without a moment of hesitation, sticking her head into the box. Charlie dropped the ball to defend his treasure of toys. And that is when Porter scooped up her ball, and dominated again.

Porter can play fetch endlessly. The slobbered ball was gingerly placed on the edge of the couch. On my ankle. Like the dutiful human, I threw the ball so she could retrieve it.

The ball was the object to endlessly dominate, however Charlie put that out of his mind for a moment when he noticed that Anna, Russ, and Vivi were not going to be staying at the house with Porter and Ollie. As they walked down the front sidewalk to the driveway, Charlie made his loud, whiny, monkey-noises. He was extremely sad the human visitors were leaving so soon.

All returned to normal. Sort of. The dogs drank a lot of water to hydrate from the activity.

Before bed, I took all the dogs outside for fear they would wake me up in the middle of the night to go outside as a result of all the water consumption. Immediately, both Porter and Ollie pooped, marking their spots in the backyard. As they ran off into the darkness, Charlie crept up on what Porter left behind, stretching his neck out slowly, getting his nose ever-so closer. Then he raised his back leg to pee on Porter's poop. I looked over in the dark and Porter was rolling around in the grass. I panicked, worrying she was rolling around in some other dog poop. She wasn't.

Once inside, Porter made herself comfortable.

Ollie found a good spot near the window so he could watch the neighborhood.

All was peaceful the rest of the night. Except for Porter barking at every little noise she heard outside. These next few days are going to be absolutely awesome!

The best things in life

There are many things in life that provide us value and a sense of self-worth: the new job or promotion, the nice bonus check, the position of importance or status, the new house or car. All are good in their own context. The best things in life, though, are the littlest, simplest things.

Like walking our dog on a beautiful September evening on the wonderful trails in Lincoln. Charlie was just groomed, his coat trimmed and silky, his ears un-matted, his nails and paws perfectly cut, and a scarf tied around his neck. He was being good that night, not pulling on the leash, heeling next to me the entire time, automatically stopping to sit at intersections like we trained him. Fellow trail patrons wanted to know what kind of dog he was. Others commented or pointed out how cute or well-behaved he was. I was a proud dad that night.

Like having lunch with a great friend and mentor, Elaine, who has recently retired. I lovingly (and sometimes jokingly) refer to her as my second mom. She was a wonderful supporter as I made my way through student teaching. Then I was lucky enough to call her a colleague for almost seven years. Now we are both in different places in life: she still teaching but now in a different setting, me wondering if I'll ever return to the classroom.

Like being an uncle. I love all of my nieces and nephews. They each have unique characteristics, and it is fun to watch them grow from babies into little people and beyond. At each stage of life they discover something new about their world, no matter how simplistic it might be. Last week I spent a short amount of time with Katelyn. She is a little afraid of her uncle Todd. Stranger danger is part of growing up and she is at the age where she is incredibly wary of people she does not see on a regular basis. At first when she saw me she teared up a bit. But then later, as she got comfortable with the newest person in the room, she was OK. When she spotted my shoelaces, she came right over and began to unlace them.

Within seconds, not only were my shoes untied, but Katey was having the time of her life!

She was fascinated with the things. I couldn't believe her intense grip as I worried about whether I would be able to undo the knot she just created.

Katey then looked up and discovered that the leg, which was connected to the shoe, was all part of the scary man. She seemed to have forgotten. We became great friends.

I, Uncle Todd, was proud to be able to pick up and hold an amazingly curious, inquisitive, and somewhat cautious little girl!

Like having an impromptu get-together with friends at our house. Everyone brought their own food. We caught up, sharing the most recent events of the week. We grilled (including chicken nuggets). We enjoyed the company that goes along with great friendship, laughing, commiserating, and playing an exciting game of Hide and Seek with the kids in the backyard. 

Where do you place your focus in life?

I read a post on a great blog the other day posing that very question Foreground vs. Background - Life Refocused. Do we emphasize the foreground or background, or are the two merged together? Oftentimes our focus depends upon state of mind, the moment, our perspective, and even emphasis. So, what are your best things in life? Where is your focus?

Flies are scary

As you may have read in one of my previous posts, I recently have completed a do-it-yourself kitchen update. That work consisted of a partially opened house with no screens. The first time was when I removed the old kitchen door to put in a new one. Half of that day provided a phenomenal opportunity for any insect to welcome them self into our comfortable home we lovingly call "The Castle". The second time hotel insect was open for business was a day-long floor project that required the back door to come off the hinges as my dad and I worked.

Flies love the indoors. I have no idea what is so great about the flavor of the castle's indoor air but it must be something special, and, overly more amazing than outside air.

The castle now has closed doors. And the flies are trapped. This is driving Charlie crazy! His head frantically moves in all directions tracking the flies across the room. He will jerk up from sleep, honing in on them. This is quite the sight to see. In the past I have killed flies that have intruded our living space. Usually when this happens, the files are sitting peacefully on the big living room window and they get squashed with my amazing flyswatter skills, their remains landing on the little ledge at the bottom of the window. Charlie has a favorite spot in that window, where he watches the neighborhood, and will reach over to that ledge, trying to eat the fly carcasses. Now, he will jump off the couch, running after a dive-bombing fly. He will leap up as they whiz above his head. He will even randomly run up to the window to check and see if a dead one might be present in the ledge.

I must say that his obsession isn't entirely irrational. I've been a little like Charlie, obsessed, tracking flies. I started with one flyswatter, then realizing I was inadequately prepared. I would see a fly resting peacefully, but having left my weapon in the other room, the fly would disappear when I returned, knowing I was after it. So, being the evolved, intelligent creature I am, I strategically placed a flyswatter in each room (that's right, I own more than one), leading me to be more elusive, agile. Charlie watches me, his dad, proud. When I don't let him eat the dead flies as they fall to the ground, he looks at me, a little disappointment growing in his eyes.

After the fun of hunting wore off, Charlie became more concerned about the diseases the flies left behind. If you know anything about flies they can be fairly gross creatures. So Charlie retreated into his "cage", the kennel he loves when he wants to feel safe and protected, and hid from these filthy creatures that were causing him consternation.

From inspiration to fruition: The kitchen project

I have owned our house, the castle, since I was in college. When I bought it, the entire thing was very humble, simple, and--let's be honest--kind of run down. I've done my best to class it up over the years, doing small (and sometimes massive) overhauls.

The most recent project has been a kitchen update.

I'm finally sharing how things have been going the last couple of months, along with some hardships and words of advice.

The best part about do-it-yourself projects is that I get to tap into my imaginative, creative side. Taking time dreaming about the space I hope to improve is just as rewarding as doing the work. I've been envisioning what I wanted to do with the kitchen for years, so this part came very quickly. I shared my ideas with my wife, Michelle, and she concurred with everything.

The actual purchasing of materials is fun if you have an unlimited budget. Michelle and I live on a very limited, restrictive budget and, consequently, I've been gathering materials for this project for over a year: ceramic floor tile when it was on sale, an exterior door to receive a tax credit, two cans of free paint with coupons, and ordering the cabinets during a huge sale and opening a store credit account to receive 0% financing to help pay for them over time. The list goes on...

Inherent in the definition of "do-it-yourself" is actual work. I prepared by setting aside some serious time to my kitchen project, even though this type of work was not my first. I worked in stages over several months (utilizing vacations and weekends) since I did not have a large block of time to do everything. I asked friends and family for help along the way. And coerced others (mostly Michelle).

Below is the progress in pictures, along with a little play-by-play of how everything came together.

THE OLD CABINETS
Demolition is fun. And therapeutic. I ripped the old cabinets out of the wall in less than an hour.

Before picture: These are the old hanging wall cabinets
that I painted white when I first moved into the house.

Before picture: This is another shot of the old cabinets.
Our over-the-range microwave was old and not working so we took it down.
Yes, we lived for a time without a microwave. This was not fun.

INSTALLING NEW CABINETS
I enlisted the help of my good friend, Russ, for this stage of the project.

Words of advice: Houses are not perfect! The ceiling may be crooked so I couldn't rely on measurements from there. I measured the entire room and then left about half an inch from the ceiling. I screwed a 1x4 board (along what would be the bottom ledge of the new cabinets) into the wall and made sure it was level. I then located where the studs are in the wall and pre-marked their location (or since the castle is cheaply built, there were not many studs, causing issues) so I could anchor the cabinets into something solid.

How it was done: Russ and I started with the corner cabinet and then worked our way out. We lifted the cabinets up and set them on the ledge we installed, which ensured the cabinets were level and easy to hold in place. One of us held the cabinets while the other screwed them into the wall.

Anecdotes: Russ gave up a ten-hour day with his family. He's a great friend. Anna and Vivi visited once to check on our progress. We had a craving for high-calorie lunch, leading to an impromptu trip to Wendy's for double Baconators. They were delicious and just what we needed. Luckily, neither one of us sustained heart damage... yet.

The new cabinets: We now have more storage space
because cabinets go all the way to the ceiling.

The new cabinets: The gap at the top is not finished yet.
It's great actually having a microwave.

PAINTING
Words of advice: Paint first! Any mess you make will be covered with a new floor, new molding, etc. If you hate painting as much as I do this makes it slightly more bearable!

Anecdotes: Michelle picked out the great blue color! The walls used to be white. When she first started to pick out colors for our house, we were painting a bedroom. She wanted to have nothing to do with the process. She claimed to not know how to pick. She hated the endless, infinite choices. She made several trips to the store. Now, she is a paint expert!

New paint: the deep blue adds a contrast to the white molding and white cabinets.
We are going to tile the backsplash under the cabinets and
hope to find some blue accent tile to tie the room together.

 
THE DOOR
Words of advice: Be sure the door is level on all sides before securing it. Use spacers in the gaps. Also check that the door opens and closes appropriately.

Anecdotes: I envisioned that Michelle would be a good helper for this project. But we failed. We were unable to lift in the door together. She did make a valiant effort though. My sister, Brandy, came over and we were able to secure the door in place.

The old door.

 The new door.

Charlie enjoyed helping me take out the old door and put in the new one.

THE FLOOR
My dad came over to help install the flooring. He and I working together made a several-day project a one-day project. Between tag-teaming, planning, and all-around work ethic, we were able to put in one darn good looking floor.

Words of advice: Like everything, be sure to have a plan. If we didn't think through all the steps we might not have realized we had an issue until the end when it was too late and unfixable. When we measured once, we measured a second time knowing after a cut is complete there was no going back. Finally, laying floor of any kind is time-consuming.

How it was done:  Very carefully. But seriously, generally, laying new flooring is not technically difficult. But, because working with such a large area there are many parts to consider, we had to be diligent and dedicated until the entire job was complete. I set aside several days in case it took longer than anticipated.

Anecdotes: Charlie was a devoted helper on this project, following along with every step of the process until he was blocked off from entering the kitchen.

Step 1 - Lay the subfloor
We screwed down cement board to the existing plywood subfloor so that the ceramic tiles had a solid base to adhere to. We alternated the direction of the cement board so that our cuts were staggered. I do not have any pictures of this process.

Step 2 - Cut the tiles
Cutting ceramic tiles can be a difficult step because they can chip, crack, or break in the process. Dad was the master of this part of the project. You can use a diamond blade on a saw, a wet saw, or a tile cutter. Our friends Jeralee and Mike lent us a tile cutter that was great. We just scored the tile and then it broke along the line. For other more difficult cuts, Dad used a diamond saw blade.

Tile cutter. Investing in this tool is recommended!

Step 3 - Lay the tiles
Again, this is not difficult, just long and tedious. Thinset is used to adhere the tile to the cement board. Word of advice, buy the pre-mixed kind. It costs three times as much but saves a lot of extra work. Since I was doing this the low-budget way, I had to mix my own. It came in a powdered form, then I added water, and stirred. To get the right consistency, I sometimes had to add more mix or water. This takes forever! Once, mixed, we took a trowel to spread an even, thin layer of thinset onto the cement board. I set the first tile based upon our marking and measurements. Then I lightly tapped the top of the tile to make sure it was an even, secure fit. We worked in small sections because the thinset dries and adheres to the tile quickly and we did not want to (or were able to) pull them up. Dad and I had a system: one person would cut tiles (since this took more time and measuring) while the other worked on laying tile. Investing in a bag of spacers helps keep accurate gaps between tiles.

Using spacers while laying ceramic tile.

 
Step 4 - Grouting
After all the tiles were put down, I waited to make sure they set properly. This required staying off of them for at least 24 to 48 hours before continuing the final work on the floor. I waited a day.

Ceramic tiles setting without any grout.

I returned the bag of ready mix grout to the store after the horrible experience of trying to mix my own thinset and bought pre-mixed sanded grout. I'm glad I did. Grouting takes patience! Playing loud music while working makes the process much more enjoyable. A rubber float (or economy float) is necessary to work the grout into the crevices between the tiles.

To grout, I held the float at a 45-degree angle to fill the cracks. Then, holding the float at a 90-degree angle I smoothed it out. It's OK to get some grout on the tile, but I discovered the hard way it was better to be less messy. Again, it was best to work with small sections at a time.

Then, I cleaned up the excess grout with a sponge and bucket of water. This step was more painstaking than grouting. Here is how this should have worked:

• Give the grout about 30 minutes to an hour to set before clean up.
• Lightly move the wet sponge over the tile to bring up the excess grout. 
• Rinse out the sponge in the bucket of water and repeat. 
• Regularly dump the water and refill. 

But since I didn't clean up the grout as I went, I ran into serious trouble! I grouted the entire room and then went back to clean up later. It took forever because I had to scrub the excess grout off of the tiles. It took serious pressure and scraping to remove all of the grout. Michelle was awesome in helping with this step. If I ever grout again, I will stop to clean up a section before moving on to other parts of the room. I let the grout cure for about a week. 

Step 5 - Sealing the grout
Finally, the last step is sealing the grout. I purchased an applicator and ran it along the grout lines. Then I let the sealer sit for two or three hours before reapplying. It took several applications because the grout is porous. I could tell when it was sealed as the later applications took longer to dry.

Grout sealer and applicator.

THE FINISHED PROJECT
After sustained effort, the finished project is definitely something we can enjoy. We broke in the new kitchen by hosting Michelle's parents and siblings over for food and the Nebraska game against UCLA. The game was disappointing. The kitchen was perfect.

During each step of the remodel, Charlie was the perfect helper, right next to me each step of the way. I kept telling him about how much he would like the updates. He was the final inspector. First, he crept into the room, looking at me from around the refrigerator.

 

Then, he did a quick walk around the room, testing how the texture of the new floor felt on the bottom of his feet.

 

Finally, he went over to his spot and drank from his water dish. All was right in the kitchen again. Charlie approved. 

Charlie's love affair with Dr. Wachal and Dr. Fry

Charlie goes to the vet frequently. He is almost three years old and already has amassed a thick file at his veterinarians office. He loves it there. And that is a good thing because he goes to his doctor more than both of his parents visit their own physicians.

First of all, Charlie has severe allergies. His eyes are regularly runny, his ears get caked with brown smelly wax, and he itches himself incessantly. In order to combat these allergies he gets a Benadryl twice a day, but oftentimes it does not help to curb his discomfort. It would probably help if he didn't like being outside but he loves the backyard, particularly rolling in the grass and peeing on everything he can find. It is difficult to tell when Charlie just has allergies or something more serious.

About a week ago, after inspecting him because he was scratching so much, we discovered little bites under his hair. These were probably flee bites so we used Frontline (a great product if you have a pet) to kill off the little buggers. Last year when Charlie had flea bites he was also allergic to the flea saliva which made him itch even more. We just can't win. So again, this year, he was itching profusely. I noticed yesterday that he had these little irritated spots on his legs and a vet appointment was immediately scheduled for this morning.

Everyone at the veterinarian's office loves Charlie. There are two people that work there who also have Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. As a result, obviously, our dog is popular. When he enters the office, he is very excited because he knows that the front desk staff will dote on him, with their undivided attention, and give him a dog treat.

Dr. Wachal and Dr. Fry are wonderful. They are understanding, careful, and treat Charlie well. They make him healthy again. Or load him up with enough medication so that he can live a comfortable life with allergies. 

Michelle took Charlie to his appointment because I couldn't get myself out of bed. I've been working on a kitchen update project all week in addition to going to Des Moines, IA all day on Thursday for work. When they got home, I was told that Charlie had itched his way to bacterial skin infection. So now, in addition to Benadryl, he also has an anti-biotic and prednisone.

These vet appointments are not cheap. I sure hope that Charlie's love affair with Dr. Wachal and Dr. Fry are not intentionally orchestrated by his scratching. Because that is something I wouldn't put past Charlie. 

Trust hinges upon truthfulness

If both Democrats and Republicans are unable to agree upon facts and then have an honest debate from those facts, how are they going to be able to solve complicated problems?

Yes, both parties are blurring the truth and being dishonest this presidential campaign season. Clarence Page, a Chicago Tribune columnist, railed against the Romney campaign for their outright lies. I agree with everything Page writes in this piece, and especially acknowledge his last paragraph.
 
Team Romney's war against facts

If we can't trust our political leaders to be factual and truthful on the campaign trail, how can we trust them to lead?

Just try again

"Just try again."

These words of wisdom were offered up by Vivi, the two year old daughter of Russ and Anna, one day while I was in the backyard at their house. Among moments of great conversation and imagination, she wanted to play a game of catch with me. She had a big toy ball that she would throw to me; I would catch it and then lightly toss it back to her outstretched hands. Periodically Vivi would catch the ball. Other times it would bounce off of her little hands and she would go running after it saying, "Just keep trying" over and over again.

Whether Vivi learned this mantra from her parents or intuitively came up with it on her own while we were playing is irrelevant. What I loved about this moment with her was her unfailing determination to perfect the skill of catching the ball. Vivi was unwilling to let failure, or the fear of failure, to dissuade her.

Can we, as adults, honestly say that we operate in life with the same unabashed inhibitions? Or are we so afraid of potential results that we fear trying something that may not turn out well?

I'm dwelling on Vivi's two-year-old wise wisdom because I read an article about failure and our loss of creativity in the Lincoln Journal Star: Losing our creativity: Fear of failure makes us hold back from big ideas : The (402)/411.

Essentially, the article brought back my thinking from a course I took while working on my Master's degree. In the course we discussed aesthetic experiences, ideas regarding artistry and creative thinking, and the relation of those ideas to teaching and learning. Children are inherently creative but that decreases as one becomes older. Studies have shown that divergent thinking in children is high and then diminishes with age. One explanation for why this is relates to the way schools are structured. School treats people/children all the same. They must learn the same thing, at the same time, in the same mode/method. Then students demonstrate their knowledge at a predetermined time (whether a student is ready or not is irrelevant) and are graded according to their correct or incorrect "answers". Worse yet, students are given massive amounts of standardized tests and then compared upon the results. There is little room for questioning, creativity, or disparate ways of considering the world. Part of this is socialization among peers but it also is a function of teacher, curriculum, and student. This is oftentimes called the "factory model" of education. Students enter a class in school based on similar age and are expected to exit with certain knowledge for the correlated grade level. Never mind that some students are well below or above that level, or may need more time to master that level, or might require a different method to learn that level. All are the same. School is standardized. And a mistake in school can equal a bad grade or even failure.

Success doesn't always mean avoiding mistakes. Success can be accomplished in various ways. Oftentimes success can come through trial and error, exploration, and failure. Sometimes people become "good" at something after years of honing a skill, practicing, receiving feedback, and (yes) failing. Additionally, are we limiting ourselves when we restrict creativity and divergent thinking?

Some of these ideas are explained nicely in a 12-minute video on YouTube which is very thought-provoking. The speaker in the video makes an argument for changing the paradigm of public education. If you have time, consider watching it.

Welcome to my house

I saw this photo on Facebook and thought it would be appropriate to write about Charlie's rules regarding visitors. At his house:

1. I'm easily excitable. You must deal with that mood, and that mood only. I've been called "tazy" before by a little kid. All I wanted to do was jump on him when I was excited. He called me crazy. I was just excited.
2. When you arrive, I will make monkey noises. Don't question it. 
3. It is my house. I will greet you. After the monkey noises subside, I will jump on you. Just go with it.
4. You can sit down if you want. But I will jump on your lap, lather your face with my tongue, wrap my front paws around your face or neck, and smother you with my body. You will love all of this. I love you.
5. I live here, you can stay and live here too. Really, my parents won't mind if you move in.
6. My parents don't exist while you are in my house. I will follow you everywhere. Yes, even to the restroom.
7. My parents claim I'm a good dog. But in your presence... impossible.
8. I know you have seen all the cute pictures of me being adorable, sleepy, and obeying my parents' rules. None of that behavior will ever be observed by you.
9. If you don't show me affection, you will be asked to leave my house.
10. Don't leave me. 

Neurosis and underwear

Charlie is an incredibly neurotic dog. If he was a human we would need to seek some treatment for him; probably a combination of therapy and some sort of medication. He is extremely particular about many things, so much so that it can cause him to be unable to accomplish basic dog tasks. Like going outside to use the restroom.

Charlie and I woke up early this morning while Michelle was still sleeping. Immediately, I could tell that he needed to go outside to use the restroom. I opened the back door for him. He just sat there. We have trained Charlie to sit at doors and wait for a signal from us, letting him know he has permission to go.

"OK," I said. He still just sat there looking out the open door.

"OK," I tried again. He just looked up at me.

"Charlie, go outside," I commanded.

Nothing.

It had rained last night. The back step was wet, the cement on the driveway was wet, and, of course, the grass was wet. Charlie hates being outside in the rain or when it has just finished raining. So I closed the door and went about my daily morning business until I heard Charlie pawing at the back door in the kitchen while I was in the restroom. I walked over to the back door again and opened it. Charlie, still, would not go out.

"You're so weird," I said to him as I closed the door. "Fine. You won't go outside today. You'll just have to hold it." I truly believe that he can understand my English, even though I know that is not entirely true.

I began to clean up the popcorn bowl, empty drinking glass, and random napkin I left in the living room from the night before. In the kitchen I threw out the filter full of coffee grounds left from yesterday when Charlie began clawing at the door and whining.

"This is ridiculous," I said as I opened the back door for the third time while slipping on my sandals still on the floor. As I opened the screen door, Charlie still sat inside the house just looking outside. I stepped out, in my underwear, to remove the soaking door mat, and hang it on the railing to drip dry. Charlie stepped out as I was bending down. When I stood up, I turned around and he was not in the back yard. There was no way he ran behind the garage that fast. I swiveled and saw him walking down the driveway.

"Charlie!" I sternly half-whispered in my underwear. "Get over here!" I couldn't yell because I was practically naked and didn't want to draw attention to myself, even though it was only 7:30 on a Sunday morning. Our driveway where Charlie was standing was just four feet from the neighbor's house with an open bedroom window.

Charlie looked at me, lifted one of his legs, and proceeded to take the longest pee right on the concrete.

"Seriously?" I said, glancing at the window, fearing our neighbor would not only see my underwear but also our neurotic dog taking a piss on the driveway.

The peeing seemed eternal. The yellow puddle grew larger and larger as the pool slowly crept towards his back paws engulfing them. All I could think about now was Charlie's soaked paws being all over the floor of our house and furniture. He kept peeing, the puddle then overtaking his front paws also. As he finished, he proceeded to step multiple times in the urine puddle, apparently sapping up any left over moisture not already soaked up in his white-haired feet.

Then, he proceeded to take off walking down the driveway toward the front yard. I was standing on the back step at this time. I looked at the neighbors open window. Still, no one was looking at me. The house was protecting me from being viewed by anyone who might be in the front of the house. But it was too late. My dog wanted to go find a dry place in the front yard to poop. And I had to stop him. In my underwear.

I took off running down the driveway after him. "Get back here now!" I yelled this time, not worrying if I woke up the neighbor because I was already in plain sight of anyone who might be in the neighborhood. I grabbed Charlie's collar and pulled him to the backyard. When I turned around, I saw the old man two houses down, sitting out on his back porch, like he usually does early in the morning. I quickly moved back inside where it was safe but it was too late.

Charlie proceeded to prance along the brick landscaping along the side of the garage, like he always does when walking in the backyard. He does this with precision. This is his neurotic routine for walking into the back yard as he doesn't quite like to walk on grass. But he particularly stays on the brick when it is wet outside.

I watched this, shaking my head to myself, resigning myself to the fact that I somehow deserved what had just happened.

After a few minutes, Charlie came running back from behind the garage, heading straight for the back door. This means that he just finished pooping. When I opened the door, he immediately went to walk around on the newly washed kitchen rug, circling, leaving wet, muddy Charlie prints everywhere. I wondered whether or not those rug prints contained urine residue but it was too late. So I called Charlie back to me and wiped his paws dry, probably for no reason.

Solidarity

In a previous blog, I wrote about Charlie Rogers, a woman who was attacked in an apparent hate, anti-gay crime. The recent updates in this event are that she has been arrested by the Lincoln Police Department for staging the entire thing. Since the original reporting, there has been speculation that what happened was not entirely true. Everything about this is unfortunate.

I worry that it discredits victims of crime in general. Sadly, some are already reluctant to come forward for fear of retaliation, embarrassment, stigmatization, or undue/unfair questioning of their motives. We need more people to come forward and report hainous acts, not fewer. And we need them to be taken seriously one hundred percent of the time. Especially for those people whom are marginalized in society. Often assault (of any kind) goes unreported. Any type of violence against another person should be taken seriously and I want those victims of violence to not be ostracized or concerned of the consequences of reporting such horrible acts. Unfortunately when events like the one with Charlie Rogers do happen, it may open up the door for those who may want to deny that violence, hatred, intolerance, or despicable acts do occur. There was an article in the Lincoln Journal Star that, I feel, addresses my concerns. Read it here: Supporters: Don't let arrest erode anti-hate efforts.

In moments like this I know I must trust and put my faith in humanity, hoping that we are able to see the complicatedness and complexities of life rather than making assumptions and rash generalizations. I also pray that it brings community together, uniting people rather than dividing them. I'm proud that after the first reports of the assault people in Lincoln came together to stand up against intolerance. This unity was not in vain. Intolerance still exists in a myriad of forms. And we must continue to show our solidarity against it.

Neal Obermeyer is a political cartoonist with extreme talents for adequately touching upon current issues at hand.

Mononucleosis and strep throat

So I've definitely been neglecting this blog. I have an excuse. Well, no, actually my excuse may not be acceptable to the blogging gods. The reason is a general sense of lethargy... and a case of mononucleosis with a pinch of strep throat.

It all started soon after July 4th. I just did not feel like my normal self, lacking energy and having bouts with extreme headaches defying rest and pain killers. This all lasted about a week. Then, strangely, I began to feel like I was bloated or "full" all the time even though I had not excessively eaten. I found this strange but nothing odd. Really.

One night I felt the need to take my temperature. Which I did. And discovered it was 101. This was the confirmation I needed that I was ill. I began to monitor my temperature on a regular basis. It fluctuated from 101 to 103 for about a week, when I decided it was time to go to the doctor. My theory regarding doctor's visits go like this: wait as long as possible to ascertain whether or not symptoms will magically go away by themselves. I was sticking to that philosophy. I made an appointment with my physician who asked many questions, then kept asking, "Do you have any other symptoms?"

I answered, "No."

He asked that same question about three times, then stated that he wanted to do a blood test to determine if what I had might be bacterial. He told me he was certain I had virus but wanted to do the blood draw to be sure. Of course I found it strange that my diagnosis was "a virus" which seemed awfully vague. I received a call later that day to confirm I had a virus.

So I went back to work and tried to power through my days. This did not work very well as the week seemed like an eternity. The fevers persisted. I stared having cold sweats. And then I got a sore throat. I scheduled another appointment at my doctor's office; since he was not in that day, the physician's assistant saw me. Immediately she postulated that I had mono. When I told her about feeling "full" she was almost certain. Apparently one of the symptoms of mono is an enlarged spleen and liver which pushes against other internal bodily matters. She ordered the mono test and it came back positive.

The saga does not end there.

I took off work to rest, eat well, and drink fluids. That is how mono is treated. For someone who doesn't take sickness well this was a doomed prognosis. I did the best I could to follow the course of action against this mono. Mono was winning. My throat became extremely irritated to the point that swallowing, eating, and practically breathing became torture.

As a whining sick person, I scheduled another appointment. Not with my doctor whom I was still perturbed with for his vague viral diagnosis. My PA was my go-to savior. She was nice, empathetic, and wanted to do her best to make me comfortable. I joked that I'm not a good sick person. She said her husband isn't either. She basically said guys are wussies. Well, she didn't really say that, but essentially that is what she told me. I didn't care, because she was still being nice and sympathetic. She checked out the white grossness that was canvasing my entire throat and decided to run a strep test. If that didn't come back positive she wanted to take a culture to be definite I was okay. At that point I decided I was going to schedule all appointments with this PA. I became more disgruntled against my doctor who apparently didn't care to be as thorough as her.

The PA walked into the exam room. "You're falling apart," she stated. The throat culture was not needed. I also had strep.

I left the office with an antibiotic prescription and what the PA called her "secret concoction" that I could use for gargle to control the throat pain.

From that point forward, each day became painfully, yet slowly, better. The clingiest dog in the world received his greatest dream: his father sequestered in the house with him, unable to leave. Charlie followed me everywhere from the couch where we lounged, to the bed where we slept. He was my faithful companion. I have no idea how I got mono, and I'm still slightly convinced that maybe Charlie had the canine mono while I had the human mono. Together, we enjoyed countless hours on the internet (reading, amongst other things, everything there is to know about mono), viewing Olympic coverage, and watching season DVDs of the TV show The West Wing to pass time. I enjoyed revisiting episodes of my favorite show, relishing in the genius of Aaron Sorkin. While Charlie loved out time together, sitting around the house has never been my thing, and, I became restless. There is only so much I can do in the confines of home before my mind becomes anxious and I miss people.

I attended my sister's wedding, because, let's face it, mono was not going to make me miss that. But I was miserable.

I missed:

• David, my brother-in-law's baseball game
• Katy, my sister-in-law's birthday
• A Counting Crows concert
• My plan to take time off of work to finish my kitchen remodeling project

And, evidently, mono makes you also forget that you have a blog. And I'm happy to say my energy is back. And it is great to be amid the living.

I don't understand hatred

A horrible, vile, disgusting attack took place in Lincoln recently. I don't know all of the details but what I do know is that a woman was viciously assaulted in her own home by a group of men who apparently singled her out because of her sexual orientation.

At first, there was very little information presented in the local Lincoln media (that, itself seemed a little intentional and shady to me). But based on photos and accounts shared on Facebook, it is clear that this was a hate crime and this person was specifically targeted. Gay slurs were carved in her skin. Absolutely horrific! 

Because of Facebook, hundreds of people organized in Lincoln to stand in peaceful solidarity against what happened. The Lincoln Journal Star finally ran a more comprehensive article on what happened when they covered the vigil.

Hundreds attend vigil after reported hate crime

It is hard for me to comprehend why any person would violently attack another person. Period. What goes through the attacker's mind? Where does that hatred and violence originate? How does that level of extreme evil take over a person so that they totally disregard the humanity and dignity of the victim, abandoning all compassion?

Taken a step further, this event was and is a direct aggression on the GLBT community. Misunderstanding, mis-education, and close-mindedness brews hate. It simmers. It smolders. It sparks. It spreads.

I'm proud of those in Lincoln who are standing up against this aggression. I pray for more peace, openness, compassion, and understanding in our world and our communities. We all deserve better.

Dogs Have Health Benefits for Humans

Michelle and I were watching ABC News one night while eating dinner (yes, we still watch the traditional nightly news like old-people) and this segment about the health benefits of having a dog sparked my interest. Of course, Charlie generally sits next to either one of us while we are eating and watching the news.

The notion that you can "trade everything in your medicine cabinet" for a dog (or pet) is intriguing. I realize that statement may be an over-exaggeration, but I do believe that having Charlie around is a mood-booster. The segment confirmed for me what I have always known about having a dog in the house. When I come home and I know Charlie is there it gives me just a little something to look forward to. That unconditional excitement shown to Michelle and I when we walk in the door can't be replaced by anything else. And I only realize the importance of that simple feeling when Charlie is absent (usually because we are getting ready to be on vacation so we have already taken him to someone's house to be watched).

Charlie makes me happy. And, according to research, he is helping to keep me alive and healthy.

Traveling

I'm sitting in the Minneapolis airport right now posting on my iPhone. It's amazing to me how convenient and connected technology has made our lives. One can debate whether it has enriched or detracted from how people used to live. I tend to side with the former part of that debate but, regardless, it is remarkable.

I really don't want to comment on technology today. Rather I want to state that I miss Charlie. I know he is in good hands with our great friends Anna, Russ, their daughter Vivi, and Charlie's canine friends Porter and Ollie.

Charlie has quickly become an integral part of our small family. When my alarm (which is on my iPhone by the way) went off this morning at 4:30, the morning was different because Charlie was not there to leap out of his bed, like he always does when my alarm goes off. I've become accustomed to him, his personality, and his pure devotion to us.

I know he is just a dog, but he is an important part of our life. As we were printing our boarding passes at the Lincoln airport, an option was to add a "special passenger". I commented to Michelle that Charlie would be a great special passenger. Michelle didn't think Charlie would like the plane. I think the opposite. Charlie would be elated with the entire flying experience. Maybe I'm wrong. I would like to think I'm right.

Charlie's first emergency vet visit

Yesterday started off like any ordinary Saturday in the Pernicek household. We were planning on traveling to Central City to spend time with Michelle's family for Father's Day. I like to get up early on the weekend (when I don't work) to spend time relaxing on the couch, the rays of sun entering in the window, with a cup of coffee, and the laptop or a book. Charlie was sleeping next to me for a while until Michelle got up to enjoy our beginning laziness of the day.

Charlie needs serious and regular attention in the grooming department. He has eye ducts that produce a lot of excess discharge and we need to wipe that away for him. He also has a lot of ear buildup so those must be cleaned. Additionally his long hair (which falls out everywhere all the time) needs brushed and often becomes matted. We are not exactly the best human parents when it comes to the grooming department because we certainly do not maintain a regular schedule.

On this particular morning I was distracted. I was engrossed in The National Writing Project's Blog Talk Radio. If you know nothing about the National Writing Project, it is a phenomenal organization that believes teachers are the change agents in education and since teachers are the ones with the knowledge and expertise, they are the ones who are bust suited to improve teaching and learning in schools. This is accomplished in many ways, in various factions, mainly through local sites in states all across the nation. It is the only federally funded program that focuses solely on improving writing. Check out the NWP website to learn more about this wonderful organization.

I had my headphones in, listening to editors and authors of the book What Teaching Means: Stories From America's Classrooms. This book, in which I have an essay, is a unique, honest portrayal of what it means to teach, and my friend Susan Martens was on the show, along with some other authors who I had not met.The conversation had my entire attention when Charlie let out a loud yelp. I looked up briefly and saw that he was OK. Michelle was cutting out matted chunks of hair under Charlie's ears. I quickly went back to Blog Talk Radio.

I don't remember what really happened next, but something pulled me away from the show and I saw Michelle huddled on the floor of the living room, crying, and clutching Charlie close to her. I asked what she was doing and she said that she accidentally cut him. I probably was not very nice in my response, forcefully saying, "You cut him?" I hit pause, pulled out the headphones, and went to investigate. Poor Charlie, had a significant surface level cut underneath his left ear. Charlie was acting fine, but the visit to the vet ended in three staples, some medication, and bit of sympathy and mild scolding from the vet. Charlie loves his vet and he didn't object or make any protests to the staples. He was just happy to be able to see more people than originally planned that day.

After the Vet, we headed on to Central City and continued with rest of our day, where Charlie enjoyed himself like he always does, chasing the other dogs, taking naps, running around the house, and dashing to the refrigerator every time someone went to get ice for their drink.

People Watching from my Lunch Window at Work

My favorite thing to do during work is spend time looking out a window. I know, strange. Let me explain.

I've noticed that florescent lighting has a negative effect on me. It's not like I immediately react to it by feeling extremely ill. But I do feel overanxious, or stressed, or hyperactive. When I was a teacher, my classroom was lit entirely by florescent lighting, aside from one small window in the corner. I enjoyed nothing more than turning out the lights in the room before or after school to grade papers by the window with a lamp on for extra softer light. It calmed me. I felt more productive. Because I noticed such a change in myself, I choose one year to turn off a row of florescent lights and bring in extra lamps for lighting for my students. I have no conclusive evidence they were more engaged or that their learning was enhanced. In fact, most days there was no detectable difference between florescent lighting and dim lamps. Someone should study that though.

I have read before (and I wish that I could remember where so I could cite the original piece) that natural outdoor lighting is good for people. I hope I'm not making this up, but I think it stated that those who work with a window in their office, or who make a point to look outside the window are happier and more productive (or something to that effect). Again, I'm not going to go any further without being able to back any of this up. To add some credibility to what I'm saying, here is a website I like that speaks to the importance of natural light for people: Beat the Wintertime Blues with Natural Light.

The point is, although I'm currently not teaching, I still work in a place with florescent lighting. I hate it. Additionally, my office is in the corner with no windows, which I equally despise. So when I have a particularly hectic day, I eat my lunch in a room at work with windows. I turn off the lights, sit at a table that faces the window and eat my lunch. I have a spectacular view of the busy street and intersection, along with the parking lot of the retail store where I work.

Gazing out the window not only rejuvenates me, it also provides an opportunity for great people watching. I must admit, people watching is one of my most favorite pass-times. It allows me to quietly let go and observe the ordinary moments of others' days: near collisions about to happen before either driver notices a potential for danger, a rushed mother balancing her recently purchased items and her three children, the elderly person who struggles to put one foot before the other, the casual person making a short pit-stop in work-out clothing, or the inquisitive child who takes off running across the parking lot with no sense of fear or imminent danger.

Today I had a late 4:00 lunch, a time when a shift-change takes place at our store. One after another, people, alike in their dress-code, make the trek in from employee parking at the far end of the lot. As I watched each person head toward the building, I realized I hired almost all of them. I had some part in their work, their life that day, their employment. I shaped their training, which in turn, influences how well they do their job. I stopped eating and smiled to myself. I was a little proud in that moment, excited for what each person's shift might bring that day. I sent positive thoughts their way, hoping that they would actually reach them.

Soon my lunch was no longer in front of me. I wanted to stay at the window, yet somehow managed the motivation to gather up the empty reusable containers and finish the rest of my day.

Patience

Charlie is a dog that struggles with patience. He is very excitable and when he wants something, he wants it immediately.

Charlie desires nothing more than to please his human owners. He needs to be wherever we are at all times. If he gets left alone in a room of our small 800 square foot house (which we have lovingly dubbed "the castle") he will saunter over to where we are. It is awfully common for him to pitter-patter behind our heals as we move about. His inability to be content while alone can be one of the most infuriating things about him. However, his loyalty is the most endearing.

We have a short, nine foot, space between the back door of the castle and the gate to the back yard. When Charlie spends time outside he is initially thrilled until he realizes that we are not there with him. From the house it is common to hear him pawing at the chain-link fence. The rattling of it, as it jangles back and forth, can be heard through the entire castle. Charlie will impatiently, with increasingly persistence, make the metal fence ring with fierce sound until we come to open the gate and let him re-join us in the house.

Today at work, the internet was maddeningly slow. Waiting for what was probably only minutes seemed several times that. That moment made me realize how impatient I am and how much I take for granted. I remember a day when people tolerated a website taking time to load because that was how the internet worked. Today, a slow connection or peak usage times make me annoyed. I think I have become so accustomed to the quickness of everything around me. If I need to tell someone something I can shoot off a quick text message. When I need to verify something, I can quickly reference Google and find my answer.

I'm not blaming my impatience on technology--although I think our technological lifestyles may contribute to my inability to be patient--because I've always been somewhat restless. By nature, I know that I'm anxiously future-oriented. I always am ready to move on. I'm a planner. When something is not going the way I want it, I want it to be corrected immediately. When a task is completed I move on to what is next. Waiting makes me uneasy.

Embracing the here and now requires a certain calmness. A state of mind. A way of being.

I often wonder how a little patience could improve the livelihood of everyone. Although,we first must learn to be patient with ourselves--our failures, insecurities, dreams, and uncertainties. I'm not sure what that would look like, but I bet it would require a different process for everyone. That inner-patience would probably make us better people. We would listen longer, enough to really understand others. If we first gave ourselves a little credit, we would be more content with not only ourselves but with what we have. We would be more grateful. In turn, we would treat others better because we would be patient enough to have tolerance for those unlike ourselves.

I'm going to work on becoming more patient in all aspects of my life. While working on that goal, I wonder what changes I will experience.

Gratefulness

Today, at work, I did something that no one ever wants to do. I went to visit a co-worker who was just diagnosed with cancer. Being ill is never a good thing but the "c"-word seems to carry with it a certain understanding that we are all mortal. Sometime, someday, we will have to face the reality of what we choose (or chose) to deem as important in life.

I've watched Laura regularly. My office sits at the end of the long hallway all employees travel down at least twice a day--once to punch in and once to punch out on the time clock. My view from the office window grants me the perspective into these two moments of their day. For the early birds, I see their determination, positive energy, and potential they are ready to encounter that day. For others, their hurried stress, minds elsewhere on what comes next, or a frustrated defeatedness, an all-knowingly prediction of the work before them. Still others make the dazed casual saunter on the way in, no urgency beyond any movement. All these workers have a story. Sometimes I get to engage in brief conversation with them. Oftentimes it is a ritualistic exchange of pleasantries, "hellos", "good-mornings", and "how are yous" that don't stand a chance of delving beyond the surface. Nevertheless, I can identify with all of those countless forms of walks down the hallway.

Laura's walk has progressively changed the past few months. Her pace has slowed and so has her spirit. Her gait has become shorter. She used to smile before she punched in. Sometimes she would stop to talk. Lately, taking the extra few steps over to the office door after entering her number into the time clock have required such energy that she barely smiles an acknowledgement that I'm there. Her walk had turned into a limp, a hobble, a slow painstakingly effort-filled job that should require little thought.

Friday I didn't see her walk toward me to punch in. I saw her at the other end of the hallway, ready to round the corner toward the exit. She had stopped at an office doorway. Even though I didn't see her face, I knew she was upset. Crying.

Soon I learned she had already left for the day, even though it was still morning. I heard that she was headed to the hospital. Doctors had been running some tests. The news was not good.

That was Friday. This morning, the second-hand knowledge I had was that Laura had bone cancer. So I circulated a "we're thinking of you" card and arranged to have a bouquet made. Then later in the afternoon I drove to the hospital where I knew she was staying for further testing.

I arrived at the hospital to a closed door and empty bed. She was having an MRI done on her brain. But when Laura returned she was in good spirits given her situation. She tried not to cry, though a few tears were able to get through. The prognosis was not as bad as previously thought. Rather than bone cancer, a carcinoma was discovered in her left hip. How one cancer can be perceived as good news over another is amazing. Within the span of a couple of days, one's view of what is favorable can be shaped so dramatically.

Laura stated she had been doing a lot of crying lately. She is using a week of vacation instead of short-term disability because she needs the full-weeks pay for bills--loans, house payments, the daily living obligations we're all required to meet. Her daughter who is working on completing a doctoral dissertation left, reluctantly, to prepare for her final stages at school. Laura is still-future oriented, wanting the best for the daughter she has raised, urging her to go back to what is best for her. Her sacrificial love for her daughter reminded me of the spry woman with the loud laugh who used to excitedly walk down the hallway at work every morning.

I hugged Laura before I left her room. The lights in the hallway were dimmed, and I walked quickly remembering how much I dislike hospitals. They remind me of people--those I know and those whom are strangers--and the realities they all must face because they are there.

I will check in on Laura regularly while she is away from work and when she returns, simultaneously undergoing chemotherapy.

Her day has made an impact on my day. It has reminded me of that ever-so-cliche-saying: don't take a day for granted.

As I walked out of the garage to enter my home today after work, Charlie (and his friend Ollie who is visiting our house) was excitedly anticipating my return home. Charlie never takes my existence for granted. He is always excited to see me.