QuestionAbel Parenting

I have been busy.  Camp is a beast that needs constant feeding.  My time off is spent reading, as opposed to writing.  Which is okay.  I am craving the time I will be able to spend writing more and perhaps staving off the foul beast known as a Real Job.  I don’t like those much, no I do not.

Friday I am to be wed.  It is a simple ceremony at the courthouse, no relatives other than parents, no friends other than two witnesses.  Christofski and his wife, Amanda shall witness it.  It is indeed a shotgun wedding which we are having for financial reasons and personal reasons.  It will be much easier with the baby in the long run, and we are planning on being married anyway.

In October of ‘09 we shall have a vow renewal ceremony, which will be a normal wedding in most respects.  People shall be invited to this one.  It will be fun.

Regular posting is still postponed to Augustish.  Even weekly posting is iffy.  It is so funny how something can consume your life and other things must take a backseat.  My options for other camp things have to be prioritized and Sam comes first.  Writing is far behind right now, but it is okay.  I have more ideas for stories.  The problem is writing them.

I enjoy music.  Not many people do.  This comment will no doubt be the source of much angst.  But I hold that within the realm of this post, I am the only one correct.  My opinion counts for much more with me because it is mine.

The problem:  People say they like music but do not really.  Most people do two things:  They constantly have music playing.  It keeps on going no matter what.  It relegated to the background, ignored.  Occasionally it will be forced to the forefront by an individual who loves a certain song.  We are forced to be quiet so they can hear it, or sing along.

Those people do seem to enjoy music quite a lot.  But the actual music doesn’t seem to matter that much.  It becomes noise all too often.

Other people use music as veneer.  It is so loud that nothing else can be done.  The sound fills in all the cracks of silence and thought and doesn’t allow real appreciation.

Ted Kerasote had a dog and his name was Merle.  And he wrote a book about that dog.  Not just about that particular dog, but other dogs, wolves, elk, and the people he lives with in Wyoming.  And this book made me cry, oh yes it did.

Kerasote gives mostly chronological anecdotes of Merle’s life, interspersed with bits about what is actually good for dogs.  Training wise, that is.  He talks about the intelligence and personality Merle develops being allowed lots of free-roaming time.  The door in the title is an actual doggie door with which Merle receives something few dogs get – total freedom.

Merle and Kerasote do not share the popularized “Alpha -Beta” relationship – which has been found to be seriously missing crucial portions.  Instead, they share the leadership role.  Kerasote respects Merle as he would a human.  The way Merle acts, it’s hard not to acknowledge that dogs certainly can be considered people.

What an excellent read.  I have not cried due to a book since “Where the Red Fern Grows” in fourth grade.  Fittingly, also a book about people-like dogs.  Dogs are great people.  I love my dogs.

I bought this book instead of borrowing.  Sam actually used part of her Christmas present to buy it for me a long time ago.  I have been reading it for a while.  After weeping through most of the final chapter, I set the book aside and gave Grendel a big hug.  He didn’t know why.

He laid down afterwords, sighed, and farted.

Which is what dogs do.

Lifeguard training started today, so I am dog tired.  We swam a lot, pretended to drown, and did general lifeguard stuff.  It was intense.  But all in preparation for the children.
Today, I am planning a trip Up North with Sam at the end of June.  It is hard.  Really, we should have planned it long ago, as we are now searching for hotels.  And we have very specific dates of hotel-stay; we are campers by nature.  For some strange reason, there is no campground on Mackinac Island.  The confuses me greatly, but whatever I suppose.

And I sit and stare at my journal.  It is a fancy Moleskine which I like okay.  My favorite journal was my last one, a black affair that said “Notes” on the front.  It was normal.  Moleskine seems to scream at other people “I am Fancy!  Look at my MOLESKINE?  Hey, Elmore Leonard, did you see I’m writing in a MOLESKINE?

What is the point?

I do like the ribbon and the band.  It is obviously popular for a reason, so poking fun is not needed.  But the last entry?  May 1st.  Two sentences.  Before that?  March 3rd.  Journalling is hard work, I guess.  I do enjoy it, but I wonder why I seem to forget about it so often.  I have filled one journal in my day, a feat I found impressive.  The damn things just seem to float around for days sometimes without my spying it.  But there are things my head would like to put on paper or keyboard that I’m not willing to put here.

They are thoughts that don’t belong here for the world to be bored by, ideas I don’t want taken from my mental coinpurse, and general stress relief.

So, journalling.  Should I not update here with witty observations, I shall keep the written word ongoing in my own handwriting.  Which is also hard.  Handwriting has become a lost skill.  I find myself forgetting the way to write letters.  I spent five minutes trying a cursive “J” the other day.  It kept coming out as an ampersand.

This is somewhat odd as I do write many letters and cards to people.  These are rarely creative endeavors.  My grandparents aren’t interested in visual imagery, just how the family is.  So that is that.

ALSO:  Should you find yourself interested in minutae of Sam and Mine’s life, we have a blogarino:  abelclan.wordpress.com.  It updates rarely now, but come Baby Time, it will rock.