Charlie

Watching our beagle Charlie the other day, and this brought back some memories.  Remember the sheepdog named Ralph from the Roadrunner cartoons?  Sat on top of the cliff, protecting his flock of sheep?  He looked exactly like Charlie does here.  Except Charlie is not looking to protect anything, he's waiting for a squirrel or rabbit to be dumb enough to enter the yard.  

This is doubly memorable, my dad didn't make time for things like cartoons, but for some reason he loved The Roadrunner and Ralph,  the sheepdog.  He'd sit there with us Saturday mornings laughing at the silliness.  Interesting how this would be such a strong memory for me, yet he doesn't remember it at all.  If I'm still around, I want to ask my kids about similar memories when they become adults.

Work Goals

My son shared these, this was done after a motivational / leadership retreat he'd attended at the national headquarters of the company he worked for at the time. He said within 6 months he'd accomplished both. I'm thinking that accomplishing the first would pretty much guarantee the second.  Click the picture if it's hard to read.

Robbie Fulks Show

Saw Robbie Fulks tonight with a son. Had a great time. Robbie's an incredible musician, very intelligent, hilarious, and a very nice guy. Also a Product of the Seventies, although just on the edge. I had a chance to talk with him for a while before the show, he was friendly and gracious, and we both had a few laughs. He asked what my gig was, and I told him it would have been musician, but the F chord kicked my ass. He laughed and said the F chord still kicked his ass at times.

Here he is doing a song from a show 3 years ago, one of my favorite songs of his - It Takes A Long Time To Get Old. I requested it tonight, he said he hadn't played it for several years, then jumped into it and proceeded to blow the audience away.


Here is a pic of my son and I with Robbie after the show.

A very memorable night.

Today's Mental Health

Our family has a lot of experience with mental health issues. Bipolar disorder, or more specifically, behaviors that are the symptom of the disorder, killed a son 3 years ago. My late son's girlfriend came over today to wish my youngest daughter happy birthday. She told us of her plans to become a mental health nurse. Since Ryan died it has taken her 3 years so far to get her life moving in a positive direction, and hearing her say that brought tears to my eyes. Because I know, more than anyone else, she gets it. Gets what?

Mental illness is not curable.

Situational issues probably can be cured, for example, I think PTSD might go away over time. But those born with Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, or other mood or brain disorders are going to have those disorders forever.

She understands that modern psychiatric medicine is, at best, like throwing darts. And the best you can expect from a medication is that it will make life more pleasant for those around the sufferer, and help them fit into a society that doesn't really want to understand. And of course, with luck, it will keep them alive. But that medication exacts a significant toll, more on that another time.

The world will be a better place when there are more mental health workers that understand mental health treatment should be based on compassion, and helping to preserve and cultivate the gifts that are often the result of a mental illness.

Thanksgiving Thought

Missing those who aren't with us, happy for those who are, and thankful for all.

The Lost Wedding Ring

It's a strange story. Don't know if it's ghost related, kid related, or miracle related.

Many years ago - 15 or so - I lost my wedding ring. Just a simple band, nothing fancy. 15 to 20 years pass and I don't often think of it any more. I consider buying another one, but there's always more pressing uses of the money. Over the years I accuse my wife, in a teasing way, that she pawned my ring. She rolls her eyes and ignores me. Kids come and go, possessions come and go, and we even move about 4 years ago. If it was going to turn up, it would have turned up by now.

Yesterday I'm looking for something and open a jewelry box on my dresser. There, laying on top of a pile of silver coins I've collected over the years, was my ring.

The wife thinks it's our ghost. I think one of the kids stumbled across it and put it in there. It doesn't really matter. When I found it, I immediately put it on. Remember it hasn't been on for 15 years, and 15 pounds or so ago. It was difficult to slide on, and will probably never come off. So I won't have to worry about this scenario again...

The Seventies Ghost

It's the stereotypical seventies house, built in 1970. Large, sprawling split entry in what was a suburb back then. Now, of course, it's mid city. Still has the harvest gold counter tops, the dark woodwork, seventies plumbing. And there's one other thing this house has:

A seventies ghost.

We've owned the house for 3 years now and have heard him from the start, definite and distinct footsteps through the house. My kids have big feet, he sounded just like them. He turns the radio on and off. He opens doors, and sometimes plays a single note on the piano. Finally, my wife sees him. A perfectly clear view of him. Medium height, stocky build, thick blonde hair that's seventies long. Tight white tennis shorts and nothing else. Oh yeah - he had big feet.

A seventies ghost. Why am I not surprised?