life as a dog…

I love how this photo came out.

Has anyone ever wondered why the “three R’s” are actually only one? Yeah, I know…they’ll say they start that way. But since when does “Arithmetic” start that way? What is it, “Rithmetic?” Uh huh.

My 20th High School Reunion is at the end of this month. I sure as hell don’t feel like it’s been twenty years. I don’t feel that old. But I’m finally going to make it to one of these things. Back in high school, I got along with pretty much everyone. The brains, the jocks, the stoners, the party people. I don’t know if I ever really fit into any of the groups. Hell, who knows…maybe they all just tolerated me. I never really had a “best friend” in high school. I had several close friends. Most I haven’t talked to in years. I’ve been in touch with a handful at best. Even then, it’s been sporadic.

I’m actually looking forward more to the trip itself than the actual event. L and I are going to head out a few days early, but instead of going interstate, the plan is to take Route 40 the whole way. Take our time and probably stop somewhere along the way for the night. I think it will be pretty fun and interesting to see those things off the beaten path. We’ve already started looking at things to see along the way. The plan now is to make it to Columbus and spend the night there, then head out early to make it to Centerville and then Richmond. Why Centerville first, since it’s west of Richmond? Simple…we both like checking out the antiques around (well, at least we can look at them). Centerville is pretty much the center of this stuff in Indiana. One of the areas, you can hit about 900 dealers in a 30 mile trip (granted, about 500 of them are in one spot). There’s some stuff that could be interesting to see along the way. I really want to see the West Virginia state penitentiary. No convicts anymore, but it looks cool as hell from outside. I don’t think we’ll have enough time to see everything in Richmond – I want to spend a good bit of time taking pictures of different areas (including the old YMCA, which apparently is scheduled for demolition). Plus, I have to do the “tour of old haunts” thing.

As far as the reunion itself, it should be interesting to see where people have ended up. Who has been married 50 times… who has 10 kids… who is still living in the town… and the macabre one…who is dead? My feelings toward it go from one side to the other. I’m looking forward to the trip, and to see people I haven’t seen in ages. But I’m also nervous about seeing people I haven’t seen in 20 years. Who is going to show up? Will we have anything to say to each other? Will it be another 20 years before talking to them?

Harley gave me a good scare the other night. I was lying in bed, ready to fall asleep. He was on the bed, too. Sometimes he lies at the foot, sometimes right up against me on top of the covers, sometimes underneath a couple feet away. This particular evening, he decided to plop down against me. I didn’t really think anything of it. He was against my back. But when I turned over, it was a sight I had never seen. He was looking up at me, and glancing away quickly. It was almost as if he saw something that really scared him, and was looking at me for protection. Then I noticed it.

He was acting VERY bizarre. His front paws were up by his face…but rigid. I wasn’t sure what it was…but it was not good. I turned over, and noticed that he seemed unable to move his front paws. Pulling on them didn’t help. And he still had this helpless look on his face. So I picked him up, and put him on the floor…nothing doing, he was not going to stand up. I finally got his legs out straight and put him down again. But now his back legs were starting to pull up toward his body. Finally he stood, but his back end was swaying something awful. It seemed like some sort of paralysis. Not good. So what’s the first thing to do? Of course, call L and see what I should be doing. She looked up a couple emergency vets, and I found one in the meantime. I called them up, and they said I should bring him in since there were a few things it could be. 12:30 at night, and I’m on my way to the vet with Harley. By the time we got there, he seemed to be doing better – no strange behavior at all, and he was able to jump up into the passenger seat with no problems. They ran him through some quick physical tests…all negative. The only advice they could really give was to keep an eye on him. The duration (maybe 15 minutes) of his episode didn’t point to a seizure, so no medical work needed to be done. So I’ve kept an eye on him. Nothing has happened since.

It was not a fun evening. I didn’t get to sleep until about 2:30 in the morning. But at least Harley got some treats out of it.

Every Easter, 4th of July and Thanksgiving, it began the same way. Everyone would pile into the ’74 Chrysler Town and Country…back when the Town and Country was a station wagon, not a minivan; when regular gasoline was leaded; when car engines were sized up by cubic inches, not by liters. It was so cushy, Dad used to call that thing a marshmallow. This behemoth of a car that could outrun a number of muscle cars. It was BIG. Rumor was that it was the largest station wagon ever built. We would all have to fight over who got to sit in the back seat – the one facing the rear window. Once we all had our seats, we were off.

Even some three decades later, I can still completely visualize the drive. We’d stop sometimes at the hospital so Dad could make his rounds. From there, we’d hit 35 out of town. It always seemed like such a long trip…but it was only about 30 miles. Through Economy, Losantville, Blountsville, the railroad track that followed along for most of the route. If we were lucky, we’d see a train on its way to wherever it needed to be. What seemed like hours later, we’d hit the Muncie streets. After the bypass was put in, we’d avoid most of the city streets. Eventually we’d make it to Linden Avenue.

My grandparents had a small white house. It was your typical “grandparents’ house.” It had that smell that I think everyone’s grandparents’ house has. Everything inside was exactly as it was the last time we visited. The kitchen had the same old white refrigerator, the same old gas range and the same yellow formica topped table. The living room had the piano, the couch, and the old table that when not used was up against the wall. When it was opened, it seemed so huge. There was a porch that had been enclosed when grammo had TB. The bathroom was pink tiled. And there were two bedrooms off the living room. Upstairs was the cool area. When my dad was young, they had it finished off. Cedar paneling everywhere…and a hidden attic that I think went around the entire second floor. We always got into the old toys. One time we got there, and a new picture was up. A drawing of a leprechuan with the simple message: “I have my eye on you, so be careful!” I still have that picture. Grampo drew it. It is one of my few true treasures. Out back was the garage. So small, when they parked their car in it, they couldn’t close the garage door. The lawn…that’s where we all sat when the weather was nice.

We usually got there before anyone else. At some point, our cousins would arrive and our aunt and uncle would get there. Everyone would catch up, and then begin doing whatever it was they normally did. Grammo would be back toiling in the kitchen, grampo sitting on the couch, usually with one of the kids. Others would sit at the kitchen table and continue to gab. And of course, some of us would rush upstairs to play with the toys. On the 4th, we would all end up in the backyard under the one large tree.

Nothing seemed to be wrong… no worries in the world. Sure, the adults probably had things on their mind…the embargo, watergate…whatever. We kids…we were oblivious. Carefree days. Good times.

Here we are on another 4th of July. I’m in the nation’s capital, which one would think would have the best 4th of July of anyone….the monuments, the festivities, the concert, the fireworks. I’ve been to the fireworks once as a spectator. Every other time here, I’ve been there as a worker. Granted, I have pretty close to the best seat in the house – the top of the Netherlands Carillon. While I’m up there, nobody else is allowed. It’s a great view. But I hate going to the DC fireworks.

When I was little, we did one of two things for the 4th. Originally, we would all go to the grandparents’ house. We’d set out the lawn chairs in the miniscule lawn, the adults would sip their drinks while us kids would play. There might be some small fireworks there. I’m not sure when we stopped going there. In Richmond, we’d go up to Test field to watch the local fireworks. They would set them off at the park, but since that was further away, and usually pretty crowded, we opted for the less crowded school field. Every once in a while there would be a lull in the display for us – that was when the “ground works” would be set off.

If I had my choice of the two, I’d go with the small town fireworks. Less crowd, less fuss. Sure, the fireworks can be pretty lame, but it’s just more enjoyable. My smalltown-ness coming out, I guess.