Day 351, March 1, 2021
Opportunity
Tonight's soundtrack: Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings, Rockpalast, 2010 (RIP, wow, what a phenomenal performer!)
It is windy out there and the temperature has dropped.
The wood stove is now burning, and in a few hours the living room will be so warm I will have to take off my socks, but for now, it is a little chilly. The tambourine in my ear buds make me think Franklin is coming into the room, but when I turn to look, he is not there.
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| The Sawmill River |
Our first dog was Big Foot. Parents be warned, that is what happens when you let your kids name the dog. My aunt rescued Big Foot from somewhere, and we inherited him. He was a true mutt in that there were no identifiable specific markers from any breed other than the slightly curly tendrils of hair on his floppy ears. Being our first puppy, my brother and I spoiled Big Foot with all our attention. I think my father was somewhat disappointed that Big Foot was so ambiguous in heritage. His close friend, Bela, had a sleek and utterly obedient doberman named Mitzi that he commanded in his heavily Hungarian accented English. She was a militantly obedient patron of her master. Even without the sleek majesty of a thoroughbred, my father set about training Big Foot in his own heavily Korean accented English.
For kids, training a dog is something magical. One day the kitchen floor is covered with newspaper and coming home from school you are always a little nervous about what you might find. And then the next day, the dog is house trained and the kitchen no longer has a barrier set in the doorways. Somewhere in between was the dedicated negotiation between my father and Big Foot. In that drawn out negotiation my father introduced the bell.
The bell was one of my mom's antiques repurposed for Big Foot's use. It was hung from a string on the doorframe of the back door so that Big Foot could swat it with his paw and we would let him out in the backyard to do his business. There was one particularly memorable evening when we had gone out to dinner in Chinatown after church and didn't get home until late where we found a big poop in the middle of the kitchen floor, and over by the door, the bell had been knocked off its string with the scratch marks on the door frame as proof of Big Foot's determination. He was so smart it was sad.
I remember another time, when we were staying at a rental house in the Berkshires (until my parents built a house on Goose Pond we rented a house every summer while my father worked at Tanglewood for the season), Big Foot decided he was tired of waiting too long for his lunch so he managed to go into the cupboards and find his canned food. By the time we returned home he had managed to puncture the can with a series of canine holes, and I have no doubt that, had we never returned home, he would have found a way to entirely open the can. He was determined not to starve. We were amazed that he had been able to read the label and discern his food from all the other cans in the cupboard. I can't quite remember why he was eating cans of wet dog food, but I always imagine, for a dog, that wet food is like pure joy, like a really fine Tiramisu, or barbecue ribs, or a glass of grapefruit juice. When thought of that way, it makes complete sense that he couldn't wait.
My kids' first dog was A.T., named after the Appalachian Trail, where he was found. He and Luna, his slightly younger partner in crime, were similarly motivated by food. A.T. and Luna mastered the technology of backpack zippers. When my kids returned from school, they threw their backpacks down on the floor of the living room, and over the course the next few minutes, A.T. and Luna would rifle through all three backpacks pillaging the remnants of the kids' lunches. Half eaten granola bars, plastic bags with peanut butter sandwiches, little boxes of raisins, they were all consumed happily by the two of them, and then they would retreat innocently to the couch oblivious to the whirlwind of wrappers and torn plastic bags scattered over the floor.
Franklin is mostly well behaved about food, except when he is given a too tempting opportunity. Given that opportunity, Franklin has the capacity to wolf down an entire bowl of marinating chicken tenders. He would also like nothing better than to lick up my smoothie, which I, of course, never allow. But, he seems to have picked up the taste from somewhere.
I'm something like Franklin... I'm able to maintain my general composure around food aside from the occasional begging face and sudden good behavior, but occasionally, if the Reese's Christmas Tree Shaped Cups are left out.. they might be suddenly reduced to a pile of wrappers like a thief had entered the home, silently consumed all the chocolates, and just as silently, left without a sound. That happens with pints of ice cream too, not always, but occasionally there is an opportunity and something just happens. So, I guess it is good I try to take Franklin for slightly longer walks at lunch time, otherwise I don't have much of an opportunity to work off those other opportunities.
Well, it is my turn to cook dinner, so I better get started.
Take care and be well,
Leo
From Our Friends:
From the Poetry Center at Smith College:
Donika Kelly
Tuesday, March 9 at 7:30 PM ESTThe New York Times Book Review described Donika Kelly’s debut collection, Bestiary (Graywolf Press, 2016), as “glassy, sculpted surfaces beneath which thoroughly black water churns…a testament to poetry’s ability to capture and refine emotion.” Bestiary won the 2015 Cave Canem Poetry Prize, the 2017 Hurston/Wright Award for Poetry, the 2018 Kate Tufts Discovery Award, and was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award. A Cave Canem Graduate Fellow, Kelly is also the author of Aviarium (fivehundred places, 2017) and The Renunciations (forthcoming from Graywolf Press in May 2021). Her poems have appeared in Tin House, Foglifter, and The New Yorker, among other publications. Kelly is an Assistant Professor of English at the University of Iowa.
Zoom Registration Link:
https://Smith.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_mBwcWQi3QrClqMDcu7GXzw
From the It Gets Better Project:
Resources and Stories for AAPI LGBTQ+ Communities
To our Asian American & Pacific Islander LGBTQ+ family: we're here for you. Explore resources serving AAPI queer communities and view stories uplifting queer AAPI voices.
Celebrating Amazing Black LGBTQ+ Dance Icons
From Alvin Ailey to Desmond Richardson, ballet dancer Harper Watters pays tribute to some incredible dance icons who have inspired him.
From Radiotopia:
To celebrate Black History Month we've compiled a list of episodes from across the network that showcases the achievements, stories and lives of Black Americans.
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