I just imported all my LiveJournal posts from when I started blogging back in February 2004.  New posts here are automatically added there, but otherwise I don’t use it except for nostalgia.  The number of entries was actually a bit mind-boggling …

There was a time when I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up: the guy who collected the shopping carts at K-Mart. (It was right up there with engineer, which I felt I was well-suited for, but not nearly as much fun.) It seemed we went there every week for one thing or another. I don’t recall anything we actually bought, but my Dad and I ate at the “Sandwich Shoppe” in the back as a matter of ritual.

They had K-Marts in Florida, too, and was one of the first places we seemed to go upon arrival, picking up odds and ends we needed for our vacation instead of taking them on the plane. For some reason, after dropping my daughter off at work, I simply needed to see through the eyes of that child again. I almost never go into one of their stores these days, but this time, I took myself back and engaged with an odd, satisfying joy the feeling I used to have, like the big store was a series of worlds I could explore at leisure. Time stood still and I didn’t have a care in the world.

Of course I went right for the toy section, except I couldn’t find it. I paused by the bikes and thought briefly about all the cool accessories I could put on mine, had I still had one. I took in the ales of unimportant grown-up stuff as if exploring the wilds of another culture, and the only thing different was that eye level was quite a bit higher today for me.

I took a second walk around the store, then sighed that I could find no toys. I didn’t bother to question anyone about it; it just seemed appropriate — it was meant to be. It wasn’t the place I was looking for anyway. I was really looking for myself, and I found him. But I was not him when all was said and done, and that’s okay.

I think my urge stemmed from an insight brought to earlier in the day. My whole life I have gravitated toward starting my own journeys rather than follow someone else’s. I studied subjects no one around me had much knowledge about, and preferred being a big fish in a small pond.

I used to think it was simply ego — the desire to be the center of attention, the alpha nerd, the fearless leader (“Which way did they go?!”). Of course, there’s always some truth to that. But my gut feeling was something else. When I switched grade schools halfway through my primary education, I went from known and loved classmate to ridiculed outsider. I never gave it much thought, and certainly didn’t know I had learned a hard lesson from it.

I’ve been too hard on myself, always keeping a critical eye on my own ego, even when I sleep. Now I see (and accept) I was putting myself in a position of player versus pawn for another reason — an emotional preference for not being the odd man out in every metaphorical gym class. I’d rather be in a position to inspire than be inspired, to be the resident expert helping others rather than sitting back, deferring such work at all times to my elders.

Socially, I’ve always tended to create a space (or club or business) from scratch that would be inviting to others, rather than succumbing to some pecking-order role out in the world. I don’t want to scratch my way over anyone to the top of anything. And I don’t want anyone else in my world to feel they have to, either.

Achievement and ego are no longer tangled up. This is freedom! Not only am I no longer beating myself up over achievements (or potential success), but can’t use it as an excuse NOT to achieve. I can push carts or own my own store — or both! I can accept being a teacher without hesitation, yet maturely acknowledge resistance to being the student I must always be.

This morning, we had our Shih-Tzu put to sleep. We had her for 12 years; she was just shy of 20-1/2 years old. She wasn’t really a dog, but a person that expected to be treated like a princess. So we did.

Last weekend, we had decided it was her time, and it hit me really hard. the worst part was knowing after memorial Day weekend it would be the exact time. Knowing was the worst … thinking it was her last day, her last night.

Merry and I discussed it and said it was time for a while, me being in denial. She wandered about like a pinball more often than finding her blind little way, and we had her in diapers since around the holidays. We were even feeding her baby food, a mixture of powdered rice and jars, since she had a rough time picking up food with her teeth. They hadn’t been really cared for since she was 16 … then again, we had no idea she’s live this long and cleaning was pretty traumatic for her.

But after discussing all the possibilities, I finally came to grips with the situation, and Merry was relieved, as she didn’t want me to “hate her” if she took her in one day and Lady didn’t come back. I was still a wreck. However, Merry quadrupled her meds, and she was young again — VERY relatively speaking, of course.

All last week, I slept on the couch so I could be near her when she got restless, stopping her from getting stuck behind furniture. We cuddled a LOT, which for her means I was her warm pillow and a place to put her chin. Fine by me. She had a few good days left in her, and I’m glad we didn’t take that away from her. I think we needed that, too.

She was eating better — even solid food of all kinds, mostly people food, mostly by hand. She seemed to find her way around, much less upset when she ended up in a corner. We washed her, and even was able to remove a few recent mats and long hairs. Some days her posture was better than it had been for months. I even went for a tiny, 10-foot walk with her on the sidewalk in the back yard. We sat on the front porch, back deck, library, and above all made her comfortable.

But she was restless on and off some days, and cried when we changed her, especially the last couple days. She couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t really eat or drink late yesterday or this morning. Her smell indicated something very wrong for some time, and it became really noticeable just today.

So she got a well-deserved reprieve for a week, we got to say our good-byes in an everyday life sorta way, and she found ultimate rest just at the time we were all ready.

But this last week, starting the Sunday before last, was a period of growth for me. I had a lot of feelings, and the pain made me feel alive. I spent a lot of time away from my desk, and my saddening memories and thoughts of the future was an encouragement to live in the present. Carpe diem meets finding eternity in the small moments of where we are, here, now.

A lot of theological buzzings came forth in an urgent way, such as my own mortality and the mortality of all those I love. The nature of the soul … and the soul of an animal. The finiteness of experience, and my ever-present longings to relive other moments, sometimes to the point of letting slip by what’s in front of me, unappreciated.

This was a spiritual wake-up call. I’ve found more balance inside and outside my head. I finished the railing, painted the accent wall in the library (burgundy), and took Pashy for a few walks.

And I will find balance between cherishing her memory and going on with the ebbs and flows of everyday life as she would expect.

I was just thinking about how awesome my daughter is. But then I realized that maybe I was doing a disservice by telling her too often how proud I am of all the things she does or writes or says.

I’ve always been a cheerleader type for the people around me. I show my love by expressing my appreciation for who they are and what they do, no matter how subtle or seemingly mundane. Maybe they think I’m easily impressed; maybe they’re grateful someone took the time to notice them and not tell them they amount to nothing in life like some others probably have.

But not all acts of intended kindness are the right prescription for everyone. For some, kindness can be a cruelty. (more…)

Having just checked my site traffics statistics for my new blog, Think Think Again, a revelation is upon me. First, the number of visits is low, since I only promote this on Facebook. This is not unexpected. However, there were only TWO click-throughs in December from Facebook.

Meaning no one gives a fex.

{And yes, that is a real word, useful for highbrow cussing and scrabble.}

Even my own wife won’t read my blog, under the non-superfluous criticism that my verbosity is … ah, heck, there’s no one to impress or turn off … I use big words. My sentence structure is lugubrious, my arguments tedious, and I’m not sure I can care to change that.

One of my plans is to add images to my posts, which psychologically would make them more attractive at least twice as much, resulting in possibly FOUR visitors this months if I play my cards right.

So here is a picture of a monkey.

It really doesn’t matter that my taxonomy is incorrect enough to drive the more zoologically educated mad with rage — what are the odds any of them are even here? Face it, you, lone reader whoever-you-are, read this far just to see what the picture was all about, didn’t you?

So I continue for its own sake, as you likely click away from this page.

And continue I must: Is attribution necessary, even if protected by a copyright held by a rich, lawyer-laden entity? (If a tree gives a swan song while falling in the woods and no one is there to hear it, do they have to pay royalties?) Is my usual list of analogies unbounded by fear of losing an audience I don’t have? can I truly protest too much?

Will my obsessive compulsion to comment on the primate’s oddly-chosen companion as “unperplexed” or dare I say “looks like a stuffed animal but clearly is not” loose it’s steam? Heck, no, I can mix metaphors and no flags will be thrown as there’s no umpire here.

I can add porn and make rude comments about your maternal genetic source. However, it assumes some certainty of a such a small demographic to have any import, and I have no idea who you are. Except that you are probably not my wife.

And with technology, I can date this whenever I want, past or future, the implications of which are probably astounding to me and only me and I could add many paragraphs about it. Not having a readership, my choice to do so or not is utter freedom without consequence!

Knowing few may ever read this, a secret is given up by the fact I write it:

Does a man with no audience chose sloth over plying their art, or do they aspire further, unfettered by the influence of criticism? Forget not getting paid. Would YOU do what you do in life if no one ever knew about it except yourself? Would you do it more boldly … or just not bother? (If someone IS reading this, I hope this is a useful thought.)

Is it about the hope of someone discovering a fossil of your temporal existence, giving it more than a turning over in their palm? Imagine you being reborn to someone you will never meet, becoming some meaning or encouragement in their own existence by a simple story, memory, song, business, idea, building, statue, article … a monument to you in any form that lives on.

I guess in no small part, I write to hear myself think. Sure, I want to reach out to others, or be forever preserved in some undifferentiable strata in the blogospheric sediments of my time.

But perhaps in the end, it about the choice of expressing my own existence, with or without any of those things. I blog, therefore … well, dear reader, if YOU exist, I leave it to you to finish the statement.

She bumps into things, makes us get up early, pees on the floor, and is as demanding as any Chinese Dowager Princess could be expected. But we love her, and give her whatever she wants and needs. AKC certified as “Lady Flower II”, our shihtzu turns 20 years old today.

Yes, that’s probably a record somewhere (all of New York?), or at least easily in the oldest 1% of all dogs in the world today. The “oldest dog in America” died recently at 21, but there was an alleged 23-year-old (shihtzu) in Florida still alive.

I heard rumors that my Philosophy Professor, Robert Nielsen, was retiring, and felt a great desire to hear his traditional end-of-year recitation of Beckets Last Sermon, of which here is an excerpt …

I have spoken to you today, dear children of God, of the martyrs of the past, asking you to remember especially our martyr of Canterbury, the blessed Archbishop Elphege; because it is fitting, on Christ’s birthday, to remember what is that peace which he brought; and because, dear children, I do not think that I shall ever preach to you again …

The rumors were true. After for years of teaching, today was his last class, and I having been introduced to them as the first person in the history of the college to declare a major in Philosophy. The beginning and end of an era, with no immediate replacement in sight … if that were even really possible. The hugs and mournful faces of the students said it all, and not without the hinting of a tear on my part to watch and share their sentiment. A few confided before class (while the Professor was out) that they would have changed majors to Philosophy if he had planned to stay.

He’s retired, not dead, I remind myself many times over the course of the day. But it feels to me as if the world has suffered a great loss and will almost unknowingly bear it. Or perhaps this is a projection of my own soul, fearing the extinction of those who so effectively cause others to truly think.

But this is of course personal. People who do not know him cannot understand the affinity afforded him by those who do. He taught that education is synonymous with change in a person, and he changed many people’s lives in ways both mundane and profound, but always sublime.

He gave me an old coat of his when he saw I went without one (though I am unsure he pitied me for perceived poverty or lack of sense, the latter of which was more accurate); His advice was a guiding principle in my lifelong relationship with my daughter through the hardest of times. There is no measurable tuition for such counsel.

So Becket speaks to me, true as ever today.

For either joy will be overcome by mourning or mourning will be cast out by joy; so that it is only in these our Christian mysteries that we can rejoice and mourn at once for the same reason.

I look back on all those times I mourned for passed loved ones, yet was thankful for the time given to us. Tragedy and triumph are equally potent, and for once I see an intimate connection between them, pervading all of life’s journey. Maybe we should not resist our pains, but accept them in equal measure with our joys. They do not cancel each other out, but fulfill us completely from both sides.

I have been in a daze all day pondering these things, and have so much more to write and say, but I will not … for now, at least. And who knows … perhaps my Professor and friend, in making his new life, will venture with me into the blogosphere. Which reminds me … I will be sending him a link to “Think, Think Again”, currently at http://KenVille.Net/thinkthinkagain, where I fittingly mention him in my first article.

This one is generated by the “BlogDesk” client I’m experimenting with to manage multiple blogs. {edited for testing}

Social media is changing the Internet and I really need to master it to provide my clients (and myself) with the tools needed to maximize web presence …

I don’t update much here, since I “tweet” snippets of everyday life on my Facebook wall.  I really submerged myself into it .. but sans games.  Getting together with old friends keeps me busy enough.  In fact, I just had Sunday brunch with an old grade school pal I re-met through Facebook.  Unbelievable.

It’s almost like school where you’re able to see and hang out with people you know every day — the opposite of my usual lifestyle of hiding in my office.  Well … I’m still in my office, but now I can catch up (and stay up) with tons of people I met over the years.

But as for blogging, I’m looking to start a SERIES of blogs, with different target audiences, to cover all the subjects I’d liek to write about.  That’s another reason I’ve put off entries — the bigger picture is in serious gestation.

I was at St. Hedwig’s cemetery the other day. 

A beer can sat on a momument next to that of my grandparents.  I thought it was litter at first, but it was unopened.  Maybe funny for some, but meaningful to them.  Reminded me of stuffed animals left on the graves of children.

Followed some turkets into the woods in the back, and looked in the usual dumping pile to find a glass jug that I promptly salvaged.

When I went to the front of the cemetery to visit the grave of my other grandparents, a couple there asked me if i was related to them.  I discovered he was my grandfather’s nephew and godson, and his wife was related to the husband of my aunt in California.  He looked a lot like Grandpa.  We exchanged names and are playing tag on Facebook.

Which brings me to my grandma Evelyn — my 5th grandparent, who married my grandpa (above) after Grandma died.  While doing a Facebook search for one of my cousins on that side, it turned up a web search link to her obituary.  It was odd to hear about such a thing from Facebook before my relatives told me.  I do have a small regret, though, as even though I didn’t really know her, I just found her address at the nursing home the other day and I had planned to write her, putting it off a bit too late.

I have no way to describe it, really.  It was so full of life.  First, we visited Christina at her dorm on Saturday as she was moving in.  Mer put together a care package of food and stuff, and I grabbed an extension cord she needed from Big Lots on the way.  We only stayed a few moments, really, but it brought back memories of dorming and even visiting her college years a generation ago.  And yes, I was a bit teary-eyed on the way home, or at least on the way to Demetri’s on the Lake.

Sunday (today), we went to the final day of the Erie County Fair.  Discount tickets were no longer available at Tops, but right at the gate, a couple gave us two extra tickets they had!  Then we got the most amazing deal on a bunch of AT&T Mobile equipment, as I needed a cell phone that synced with Outlook and ended up with basically a hand-held PC.  Then we ran into friends Bob & Susan and had Chiavetta’s together.  Then the deluge began.  We got thoroughly soaked, and honestly didn’t care.  We didn’t even care about the parking ticket for alternate parking change on our street while we were out.  We were home after a memorable day.

Of course, watching Planet Earth in HD rounded it out nicely as well — the Discovery Channel is like porn to us.  Now I sit here listening to the Best of Jon & Vangelis, utterly perplexed about where I want to go with my personal online presence, but that’s a post for another time.  Back to keeping Mer company, and off to bed.