My friends and I lost a friend today. Tracey was one of the guys in our lunch group when I worked at Veeco. He worked at TI then, and more recently at Raytheon. I was much newer to the circle of friends, and he always made me feel welcome. He made us all laugh. I enjoyed being around him.

I remember Tracey was saving up to buy a Porsche. No hurry — I’m sure he could’ve financed it, but you see he had this fund. He knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t driving him the way wanting something drives a lot of men. All good things in all good time.

I can still barely believe it. Somebody must have made a mistake. A computer screwup maybe. I kept thinking we would get an e-mail from him — it was all a mistake or a joke. Wasn’t he in my e-mails just yesterday, suggesting lunch to the group? It hasn’t been long since I talked to him on the phone. He called to encourage me with a problem. So it must be a mistake; some misbegotten line of code, unchecked, unproven; some wildly misfiring offspring of Intel, bringing us this news. No, it was his heart. He always seemed to me the kind of guy who made good use of it.

Please take a moment to say a prayer for the good man Tracey Gourlay, for his family and his friends.

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My template got corrupted. Had to get new html from blogger, ’cause I didn’t have a good backup. At least not the time to keep searching through my backups for the right one. So it goes. May take me a little time to get the blogroll and comments re-established.

Please excuse the sawdust and bent nails.

I don’t know why, just felt like typing that title. Owl says that in Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day, which I watched with my nephew T a while back. He, T, arrived for a visit with his mommy tonight. Daddy will follow in few days, when the work’s all done this week. ‘Course, they’re not here with Tasha and I at Condo del Cielo. It’s a swingin bachelor pad, so they’re all over at the family’s summer cottage.

Tasha had a pretty good day. A bath, some relaxed wandering about the grounds, and a few aminal cwackers.

We’re both pretty tired. The sprinklers should be off by now, so time for walkies and a quick pee in the wet grass before bed. (No, not me, Smarta–)

Tasha had not a bad day. She ate her food with enthusiasm, did some napping, got brushed, and got lots of petting and hugs. And she handled her first at-home sub-q fluids like a trooper. Laid very still, a heroic dog. And I must admit I did OK too, considering that before yesterday I’d never before stuck a needle into a living being.

Reminds me of Biology lab at Chico State in 1984. We were learning to type blood and had to stick ourselves in the tip of the finger with a sharp, sterile lancet. I couldn’t do it. Wasn’t afraid of it, not bothered by blood or fear, just couldn’t get my brain to cooperate and let me do it. I started laughing at myself, then got embarrassed. My lab partner that day was a beautiful – seriously – little blond girl. Finally, she took the lancet, grabbed my hand and just got it over with. Women amaze me sometimes.

We took Dad out for an early dinner, starting at Outback Steakhouse. There was a crowd outside and no place to park. Headed for Olive Garden, same deal. (It was 3pm!) But we found ourselves parked in front of a Japanese style steak house. Like Benihana, but not. Those guys really put on a show with the knives and the spatula and the flaming onions and stuff. It was really pretty good. Dad liked it, and he’s not into the exotic at all.

Happy day, Dads.

Tasha is lying on the grass in the sun, next to one of the cassia trees Dad planted this year. The breeze is ruffling the hair of her tail and her ears. She can stay there as long as she likes, and go with me when I go. I would not leave her behind for anything.

The vet called today with lab results. Tasha’s kidneys are failing. She has about one third kidney function left. She’s also anemic.

She just got up and moved into the shade by the fence, farther away but facing the house. I wonder if she’s watching me where I sit on the deck, watching her. I waive.

So today we went to the vet and I learned how to give her fluids with an IV drip, under her skin. You pinch the skin and make a little tent, then poke the needle in. she winced when I did it. I will do this for her every day and it’s hard; it hurts my heart. But she would do anything for me.

So we have the IV ringers and some special KD food. Kidney Diet. And the words of the vet to carry home: “guarded to poor;” “some dogs carry on a while;” “weeks to months.” Strange, since she seems to feel better today, after the fluids. Like she did a couple of weeks ago, at least.

They say when she starts having “more bad days than good ones,” we’ll know it’s time.

Tasha has been with me since October 1991, when she was a little over a year old. I’ve had dogs around me all my life, but Tash was the first to be well and truly mine. I’m her guy. She loves me, follows me from room to room, would rather be with me than anyone else, ready to travel anywhere, any time. My companion, my best and dearest friend. I cannot tell you the summit of my gratitude for 14 years. I love her so much.

Isn’t that amazing? I did nothing – God knows – to deserve it. A pure gift, and how much is love like that, loyalty like that, worth? It’s priceless, and there is no king in a palace, no rock star in a mansion, who has more friendship than me. No one has anything more precious.

They’ve shown me what to do and tried to tell me what I’m up against, but the truth is they don’t know. They think my dog is going to die, but that’s a shadow of the thing.

Love is so high, so wide, so vast in its infinite blue and thundering clouds, that no one can tell you what it is. No one can tell you what you lose in the absence of it, of the friend of long stormy nights, the ears that listen without judgment, the soft hair to pet … I look at the sky and the sky will not hold it. The stars are just a screen to hang it on.

But I tell you a miracle: love fits in this yard, there by the cassia tree in the shade. And through this long, sad day – a consolation – love dreams of walking with me.

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Memos Show British Concern Over Iraq Plans – Yahoo! News:

“In one of the memos, British Foreign Office political director Peter Ricketts openly asks whether the Bush administration had a clear and compelling military reason for war.

‘U.S. scrambling to establish a link between Iraq and al-Qaida is so far frankly unconvincing,’ Ricketts says in the memo. ‘For Iraq, `regime change’ does not stack up. It sounds like a grudge between Bush and Saddam.’

The documents confirm Blair was genuinely concerned about Saddam’s alleged weapons of mass destruction, but also indicate he was determined to go to war as America’s top ally, even though his government thought a pre-emptive attack may be illegal under international law.”

I know, it’s been a while. I’ve been busy. My doggie is sick. I had to take her to the vet, and now I’m watching her like a mother hawk.

Got a haircut today. In the next chair was the CEO of CKE, the corporation that owns Carls Jr and other restuarants, and which is headquartered in my area. At least I think it was him. They called him Andy, which is the first name of their CEO, and after he left the barbers said he was the head of Carls Jr and that he’s a really nice guy. I found a photo online, and it looks like the guy. I’m not going to link to it, because it’s on Fox News, and those guys are asshats.

The CEO was talking about the Paris Hilton burger ads they’re running. He said he’s been fielding e-mails which decry the ad as pornographic. He pointed out that there’s no nudity, no sex, no murder, no bad language, etc. And he’s right. I know it when I see it and that ain’t porno. And I just kept my mouth shut and listened, because I learn more than way. But it seems to me that as much as I support their First Amendment right to show us a wet, soapy Paris cavorting on a Bently and getting hosed down, I have to wonder if this tactic shows any respect at all for the people they’re trying to communicate with.

Using meat to sell meat is interesting, though, don’t you think? Reminds me of the walking, talking entrees in Douglas Adams’ Life the Universe and Everthing… or was it The Restaurant at the end of the Universe ? No matter, never mind. The thing is I’ve felt even more inclined than usual to drive past their burger joints since that ad started, because it seems like if I go there it means I’m every bit as bovine as they think I am; as much as the fatty, heart-stopping stuff they’re serving up.

Yahoo! News Link

Well, that’s a long time. But not so much long than some other folks. My grandparents on Mom’s side were married in January 1928, and were together until Papa passed away in October 2002. That’s 74 years, folks.

Grandma was a good cook. Papa stayed out of her way while she was doing that. … A lesson there?

“I simply can’t imagine the world will ever be normal again for us. I do talk about ‘after the war,’ but it’s as if I were talking about a castle in the air, something that can never come true.”

— The Diary of Anne Frank, who would have been 76 years old on June 12, if only …

“What do you believe in?”
“Ha-ha, ho-ho and hee-hee.”

– Sissy and The Chink in Tom Robbins’ “Even Cowgirls Get The Blues”

History is made at night. Character is what you are in the dark.

– Lord John Whorfin

Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.

– Groucho Marx

Only our concept of time makes it possible for us to speak of the Day of Judgment by that name; in reality it is a summary court in perpetual session.

– Franz Kafka

I don’t have much for you tonight. I’ve been sitting here staring at the screen with a greater than usual sense of futility. It’s not writer’s block, it’s static. Too many notes. Too much there, there. Sensory overload. And not enough reading. So I’m thinking maybe some Hemingway.

I went to church today. There was a really nice turnout for our little parish; it’s really been doing well lately. I should get some photos of it and post them. It’s a beautiful place. Today there were lots of folks with little children, and I didn’t even realize it until we went out for communion. (I serve in the altar, and when we come out from behind the iconostasis for processions during the Liturgy, I’m trying to concentrate and not gape at the people.) There were a lot of little ones, and my point is that they must have been very well behaved. Usually, I can tell where there are restless children in the church.

I hung out with my folks this evening – Mom made a very good dinner – and we watched The Aviator. Lots of rough language, but the acting was excellent. The camera work was fine, and special effects were impressive.

Hope everybody has a good week.

Ain’t but three things in this world that’s worth a solitary dime,
But old dogs and children and watermelon wine…

Old dogs care about you even when you make mistakes;
God bless little children while they’re still too young to hate.

– Tom T. Hall