Deb has been asking me to have a fence installed in our back yard for 11 years, and for 11 years I avoided it, as I found the whole idea offensive (Speaking of offensive, how about that pun?) I use orate to Deb about our migration from the cold hard city to enjoy the open rolling spaces and the natural God given gifts that the Granite State offers. "Shouldn't our dogs be like the people of our state who proclaim to Live Free or Die? Why would we want to deny our children the Walden like wilderness, unencumbered by the urban trappings from which we came? What about the freedom that our forefathers fought so hard to secure? Remember the Donner Party!" "You're an idiot," she would say. "We live in Downtown Dover and our house is surrounded by a neighborhood that are as close to the other houses when we were in Somerville or Winthrop.
After months and months of debate, tap dancing and utilizing all of my skills or persuasion, I finally convinced Deb, and we bought a fence. You see Deb's desire has been to protect our two dogs from the neighborhood traffic. Not that we have a lot of it, but like all of you New Englanders who need to reeducate yourselves on how to drive in the snow, our dogs have to reacclimate themselves to the dangers of the street each spring. There's always a few close calls and Deb loses her...well, let's say she becomes, animated. The reality is our older dog Bean hasn't been on a leash in our neighborhood since we arrived some eleven years ago. She's had a few brushes with the K9 Grim Reaper, but the fact of the matter is that she's more proficient at crossing the street than most of the goofy kids on our street. Deb has always had this dream of letting the dogs out to the backyard where they could roam free and she'd be free from the anxiety of them wandering off.
Last week I was looking out our kitchen window and saw Bean attempting to escape by gnawing on one of the wooden pickets. I just smiled and continued looking out at our dog's new $3,000 chew toy. Also, during the same week, I was working in the yard and our Chihuahua escaped through the gate a neighbor neglected to close. When realizing that George was missing, Deb, let's say again became animated and blamed me for being an accomplice in the escape. Zach hasn't quite learned how to mow in and around the fence and can't seem to do the edging.
As I contemplate spending the summer weather proofing the fence, I sit back and smile. It's a beautiful little picket fence and it really seems to be working out well. Not sure why I avoided it all these years.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Travelling Through Time
It’s a very early morning in Belfast and I’m up early with it. As I awake I try to figure out where I am. There is no clock in my room and I struggle to read the hands on my wristwatch. Is it twenty five or six to four? Am I in Chicago? Does anybody really know what time it is? I As I lay here, I’m thinking about the trip over. It was an unremarkable flight with no issues, so I have no complaints with the exception of the Nazi flight attendant who kept waking me up for the meal I told her I didn’t want. I do however, smile and chuckle at one of my favorite aspects, not so much about travel, but of life in general. That is the absolute fun in meeting new people.
One such person is an old gentleman known to me only as Mr. Schaeffer. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Schaffer while I was connecting through the Newark Airport. The interesting thing about Mr. Schaeffer is that he is currently One hundred and six years old. “Actually, closer to one hundred and seven” he said. Mr. Schaeffer was born in 1903 and emigrated to the states after surviving the holocaust. The remarkable thing about the man is that he walked without the assistance of a cane and he was sharp, very sharp. He was heading over to Israel for the 10th time. He began to list the dates he had visited in the past, “My first visit was in 1967. Then I was back over in ’73, then again in ’76, then in the summer of 78. He told me that he had travelled everywhere because of the import export business he was in.
I couldn't help but tease him about his Members Only jacket and I almost made mention that he was probably the last member, but I realized that there was real truth to that statement. As you would expect, I had a number of questions for him. “What products did he import and export?” “Feathers,” he said. “I filled every pillow in the U.S. Army for forty years.” I asked him where he liked to travel best, and I was not surprised to hear that he liked to visit his beloved Israel. Then of course I asked him what was his secret to a long life? He told me that as a child he was blessed by a Rabbi who told him that he would enjoy a very long life. This was a bit of a disappointment to me, this because I am not of Jewish faith and the only Rabbi I know is me, but that’s another story.
We talked for a short while and my travelling companions were entertained, not so much by Mr. Schaeffer , but by my face which was glistening as I was listening because the old coot was spitting all over me.
The other group of people I had the pleasure of meeting were the finalists in the Miss Northern Ireland Pageant. They were staying at the same hotel as I and I had the pleasure of speaking to a few of them. It was an interesting exchange. They were very young and very beautiful and I asked them questions about the pageant, life in Ireland, and what interesting places I should visit. In turn they seemed interested in me and asked me questions as well. “What are the States like? Have you ever been to New York and…What’s the secret to a long life?”
One such person is an old gentleman known to me only as Mr. Schaeffer. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Schaffer while I was connecting through the Newark Airport. The interesting thing about Mr. Schaeffer is that he is currently One hundred and six years old. “Actually, closer to one hundred and seven” he said. Mr. Schaeffer was born in 1903 and emigrated to the states after surviving the holocaust. The remarkable thing about the man is that he walked without the assistance of a cane and he was sharp, very sharp. He was heading over to Israel for the 10th time. He began to list the dates he had visited in the past, “My first visit was in 1967. Then I was back over in ’73, then again in ’76, then in the summer of 78. He told me that he had travelled everywhere because of the import export business he was in.
I couldn't help but tease him about his Members Only jacket and I almost made mention that he was probably the last member, but I realized that there was real truth to that statement. As you would expect, I had a number of questions for him. “What products did he import and export?” “Feathers,” he said. “I filled every pillow in the U.S. Army for forty years.” I asked him where he liked to travel best, and I was not surprised to hear that he liked to visit his beloved Israel. Then of course I asked him what was his secret to a long life? He told me that as a child he was blessed by a Rabbi who told him that he would enjoy a very long life. This was a bit of a disappointment to me, this because I am not of Jewish faith and the only Rabbi I know is me, but that’s another story.
We talked for a short while and my travelling companions were entertained, not so much by Mr. Schaeffer , but by my face which was glistening as I was listening because the old coot was spitting all over me.
The other group of people I had the pleasure of meeting were the finalists in the Miss Northern Ireland Pageant. They were staying at the same hotel as I and I had the pleasure of speaking to a few of them. It was an interesting exchange. They were very young and very beautiful and I asked them questions about the pageant, life in Ireland, and what interesting places I should visit. In turn they seemed interested in me and asked me questions as well. “What are the States like? Have you ever been to New York and…What’s the secret to a long life?”
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