For Ada

Ada's beautiful, inspirational struggle ended exactly one year ago. I'm spending this day in my rented condo on Navarre Beach, Florida, enjoying the first hints of fall in the air, thinking about our wonderful life together, our family and friends, our joys and our sorrows.

This will be the final entry in this blog. There is a certain symmetry in deciding to end this blog now and I've always been a big fan of symmetry. I like movies and stories that have an ending; I enjoy it when a news program is "wrapped up" by the correspondent; I dislike Picasso's lack of symmetry; I enjoy Hopper's use of it. I like symmetry and ending this blog exactly a year after my dear Ada's passing just feels right to me.

Those of you who have met Kate know that I have been joined by a wonderful companion, who, in her kind, gentle way, has helped me look back and look ahead. The rest of my immediate family, Josh, Matt, Cindy and the twins, are all pursuing their lives beautifully and bravely, despite their huge loss. Ada's brother Bob, his wife Judy, and their wonderful family, are all doing well, moving forward as we are all meant to do. Ditto for my brother Marvin, his wife, Sharon, and their awesome family.

So there isn't much more to be said about us; therefore, the remainder of this entry will be about Ada.

Ada was the best teacher I ever knew. She decided to become a teacher when she was in the fourth grade having been inspired by her own teacher. She never wavered from this goal. She mastered both the craft of teaching (the design of lessons, the jargon, the planning) and the art of teaching (interaction with students and colleagues, creating a learning environment, bringing joy to the process). To Ada teaching was more of a calling than a job or profession. Some people have said that I was pretty good at it. Believe me, I wasn't half the teacher Ada was. Not half.

As Ada became more ill and less able to eat, she became somewhat obsessed with The Food Network. There wasn't a cooking or food show on television that she wouldn't watch. It was as if the shows and their celebrity chefs were providing the only nourishment she could manage. She particularly loved Paula Dean and Giada de Laurentiis. I didn't care about Paula much but I sure didn't mind watching big-headed Giadda with Ada. Watching those rich, exotic foods being prepared and then trying to help Ada ingest a little tea and toast was certainly difficult. I will hate the phrase "pancreatic cancer" until the day I die. When I'm surfing the tv channels and come across Bobby Flay or Rachel Ray, I immediately think of Ada, weak, sleepy, bundled in an afghan, on our trundle bed in New Hampshire, smiling at me sadly, almost apologetically. Sorry, but that's what I see.

Ada loved golf with almost as much passion as I do. She came to it later in life, but had about 10 good years playing this maddening, addictive, beautiful game. When I turned 50 she surprised me with a trip to Myrtle Beach for the two of us. That was our first foray into the idea of a golfing vacation and after that, we were truly hooked. It wasn't long before we were planning golf trips to Florida, North and South Carolina, Georgia, California, Arizona, even Hawaii, Seattle and Utah. Ada loved the excitement and anticipation of playing a new course in pretty surroundings. We suffered through many a boring timeshare presentation because there was some free golf offered at the end of it. One of the best things we ever did was help originate the Mill-man Cup competition with our lifelong friends Rick and Janet Miller. I kept trying to come up with a format that would allow me to win the Mill-man, but Ada was the true Mill-man champion, winning the cup in over half of the competitions. What laughs we had over that damn Mill-man trophy. It's sitting on my tv stand right now and will go with me wherever I may live. Ada had a hole-in-one at The Country Club of New Hampshire in her second year of playing golf. Her scorecard that day was nothing to brag about except for that big ol' 1 on the sixth hole. Whenever I boasted about one of my golfing achievements, she would calmly say, "That's lovely, Joel, but did you have a hole-in-one today?"

Did I forget to mention she was pretty funny too?

Ada loved everything I loved: jazz, tennis, golf, Boston, the Aardvarks, the Red Sox, our kids and grandkids, our friends, Hanover, MA, Grantham, NH, youth soccer, lobster bisque at Kelly's in Weymouth, Thanksgiving, Port Clyde, Maine, average students who tried like hell, W. Yorkshire, England and Majorca, Spain, pizza, pan fried dumplings, Michael Connelly and strong coffee. She loved a couple of things I don't: figure skating and asparagus. That was pretty much it.

I'm moving forward and backward at the same time. Somehow, it doesn't feel like I'm staying in the same place.

Thank you for caring about me and my family. I do love you all.

Ain't life grand?
J

Ten Great Days

My past ten days have been wonderful. I hope yours have been as well, but since I don't know about yours, I'm going to have to blog about mine. That's the only way to guarantee accuracy. I know you'll understand.

This great stretch began with a much anticipated visit by Josh, Cindy, and the twins, Sam 'n Sara. I hadn't seen this wacky crew since late June at Ada's unveiling. I couldn't wait for these two 10-year-olds to take their first swims in the Gulf.

The sea was angry that day, my friends, and watching Sam and Sara laugh uncontrollably as the surf pounded them was one of those moments I'll file away for a less happy time. This much I have always known to be true: the innocent laughter of children is the strongest medicine there is. It was particularly gratifying to watch Sam play in the surf. He hasn't always been a fan of the water, but, as in so many other areas of his life, he has grown and learned and moved forward. This wonderful boy's "ceiling" gets higher every day. Sara, who doubles as Sam's twin sister and his other Mom, spent her time boogey boarding, shell picking, and herding Sam away from potential danger. The dynamics between these two munchkins are fascinating and I never tire of the interaction.

While Cindy amused herself picking out several amazing shells, Josh achieved a new personal milestone: most time spent in the water since his Aruba honeymoon way back in the last century. He waded out beyond the breakers and began floating. Not to brag, but the Getman males have always been known for their floating prowess. If there were a worldwide floating contest, a Getman male would undoubtedly float to the top of the competition. We are a very buoyant group.

Another highlight of the visit was a lovely breakfast with Kate. I was looking forward to introducing Kate to my family and they were eager to meet her. After some predictable initial shyness, the twins warmed up to Kate. Believe me, she's easy to warm up to. Josh and Cindy enjoyed meeting Kate as well, and all the initial awkwardness one would associate with this type of event dissolved into laughter and smiles, aided by a huge helping of Bananas Foster. This process will continue next month on our trip to New England. I know that Kate will enjoy meeting my wonderful family and friends and they will enjoy meeting her. There are precedents for this sort of thing: Yaz taking over for Himself in left field; Cowens for Bill Russell; Leno for Carson, etc...Your love and reverence for the original doesn't prevent you from loving and appreciating the uniqueness of the newcomer. Friends, it doesn't have to be complicated.

After some hair-raising adventures on a Waverunner, during which Cindy proved to be the only real daredevil in the group, it was time to say goodbye to this wonderful crew and start the next portion of this great stretch: a road trip with Kate to Asheville, NC to see Matt, his wonderful friend Audrey, and to hear Matt play his usual Wednesday night gig at Mo'Daddy's Bar. Kate was a little trepidatious about this jaunt because it involved a side trip through Atlanta to spend the night at her brother Bob's place. Having lived for a time in suburban Atlanta, Kate was somewhat nervous about driving through or even around this city, noted for its crazy drivers and its crazier traffic disasters. I think she was leery of showing me her "traffic side." I told her not to worry. After all, I grew up in Boston, the proud home of the worst, rudest, and craziest drivers this side of the Baja 500. I told her that nothing she could do would shock me or put me off. She said, "Don't be so sure."

All of Kate's fears were unfounded as she behaved admirably through a few ticklish traffic situations and we arrived at Bob's lovely home unscathed and undented. Even Kate's cursing was gentle, and, usually more playful than malicious. A quality driver for sure.

A lovely visit with Bob and his wife, Pam, was followed by a relatively stress-free drive to beautiful Asheville, Matt's home since his departure from Vermont in February. To say that Matt has landed on his feet in Asheville would be a tremendous understatement. In every possible way this relocation has been a positive one for him. Musically, socially, emotionally, whichever way you want to dissect it, Matt's moving to Asheville was a great decision. Think about it: Ada's beautiful battle and her passing last October led both Matt and me to leave all that we "knew" behind to venture out into unknown territories. We have both landed on our feet, have found wonderful companionship, and have carved out new, exciting, fulfilling lives. Ada's example continues to inspire those who love her the most.

We hooked up with Matt and his lovely friend, Audrey, for dinner. This was a double-whammy: Matt wanting us to meet Audrey and me wanting them to meet Kate. It turned out to be a tremendous evening: lots of laughs and good feelings all around. Audrey is a wonderful person and Matt's feelings for her are strong and justified. As usual, everyone loved Kate. Great stuff indeed.

After dinner, we headed down the street to Mo'Daddy's to hear Matt play with his usual Wednesday night jazz group. You can learn all about Matt's musical ventures by going to his cool website: www.ashevillesax.com. Matt was particularly excited to have us there because his group was being augmented this night by Grammy Award winner Kofi Burbridge, an excellent flute and keyboard player. It was quite late, so we only stayed for a set, but I can state unequivocally that Matt is a killer tenor player. After a tremendous amount of practice and dedication, he has advanced to the point where "mastery" is a real possibility. What a joy to watch and listen to. I know his Mom hears and cherishes every note, as do I.

The next day, Kate and I toured the famous Biltmore Estate, a beautiful testimony to what you can build if you are lucky enough to have been born into a ridiculously wealthy family, the Vanderbilts. A wonderful lunch featuring one of the top five hamburgers of my life was followed by a beautiful ride to one of Kate's "holy" places, The Great Smoky Mountains National Park in nearby Tennessee. Kate has visited these beautiful mountains, meadows, and streams many times, often with one or more of her sons in tow. She never tires of the simple beauty of the park. The pictures above barely scratch the surface. I felt honored to be allowed "in" to a place that holds so much power for Kate. The Smoky Mountains are both majestic and gentle at the same time; the stories of the hardy settlers are both inspirational and sad; the woods are both inviting and dangerous. As we drove through a portion of Cade's Cove, we stopped to see a mother black bear watch over her two playful cubs as they tried to climb a tree. Beautiful from afar, dangerous up close, a place filled with contradictions. Experiencing it through Kate's eyes was a wonderful, humbling experience. I feel quite sure that we will get back here for more inspiration.

So those were my last ten days.

Ain't life grand?

Much love,
J

That Whole Jewish Thing...

I was frankly wondering if and/or when I would have to confront antisemitism down here. Last Saturday, on the 16th hole of the Hidden Creek Golf Club I was given the opportunity. Warning: this blog entry is not one of the funny ones.

First some “deep” background.

I'm not a religious person. Religion was more or less forced on me when I was a child. Like many of the other Jewish kids in Dorchester/Mattapan, I attended Hebrew School for six years every Monday through Thursday after school and again on Sunday mornings. It was a weird Hebrew language cum Old Testament curriculum. On Saturday mornings I attended children's services. That was a whole lot of time and effort devoted to making me religious. Sadly, it didn't take. Even the enticement of Charleston Chews was not enough to make me want to attend services.

But don't get me wrong. Despite my disdain for the divisiveness of most organized religions, I'm extremely proud to be Jewish. I love the Jewish tradition of philanthropy and the bravery and heart of Israel. I enjoy the food and the comedians. When Ada passed, I had to find a Rabbi to officiate since I had no affiliation with any synagogue. Rabbi Edward Boraz of the Roth Center at Dartmouth proved to be the kind of decent, compassionate clergyman who would be a credit to any denomination. His gentle, consoling words will never be forgotten by our family.

So I'm not one of those sad, self-loathing, antisemitic Jews. I've never hidden my religious background; nor have I flaunted it. Ada and I never felt the need, as some Jewish people do, to live and/or work among other Jewish people. We just didn't care about having that kind of security or protection. We made our home in Hanover, MA, which had very few Jewish families, as did our respective school systems. We raised Josh and Matt in a "Jewish-lite" kind of way, allowing each of them to decide for himself how much to get involved in religion. We retired to Grantham, NH, not exactly the Borscht Belt. Frankly, our religion or lack of it just didn't come up very often. We did our jobs, raised our kids, made our friends, and lived our lives. Our religion just wasn't a big part of the picture.

This next part is a little tough for me to write. Over the years I experienced a handful of antisemitic incidents. Perhaps incidents is the wrong word; they were more like moments. They were in the category of offhand remarks, not overtly confrontational. They never involved friends, just acquaintances of the time. Frankly, I'm fuzzy on the details, but they were situations when I should have spoken up but didn't. I've been chronically non-confrontational most of my life and simply decided that I wouldn't “make a big thing” out of it. Like countless Jewish people before me, I simply swallowed my anger and embarrassment, and decided to move on, grateful to have discovered something about the ignorami in question before I had really befriended them. I'm not at all proud of this approach or this desire to just get along, but there it is.

All of which brings us to the 16th tee at the Hidden Creek Golf Club last Saturday. I was in a foursome that had been thrown together. None of us had met any of the others before. We were having a good round, each of us experiencing both triumph and tragedy on the course. The conversation was pleasant and typical of the surroundings. At some point one of the foursome revealed that he had spent many years working homicides in Miami, certainly not your average occupation. He told us the story of a mob lawyer he knew who was blown up in his car when his clients felt he hadn't done a very good job defending one of them. The lawyer had a Jewish name.

This revelation prompted one of the other members of the foursome, we'll call him Pete, to say the following: “There's nothing Jews won't do for money.”

So there it was, the classic antisemitic stereotype. Obviously, I had a choice to make: confront it or ignore it. I decided quickly to confront it. Why confront it now when I might have ignored it in the past? I've been asking myself that these last few days. I'm quite sure that witnessing Ada's brave and beautiful struggle had something to do with my decision. After seeing what Ada courageously took on, how could I ever back away from a legitimate confrontation? I'm also quite sure that recent conversations I've had with Kate, conversations about her willingness to confront someone when she felt wronged in some way, helped me make my decision.I thought about the example I would want to set for my children and grandchildren. In the end, there really was no choice but to confront Pete. Believe me, I'm not trying to make myself sound like a hero; I don't see anything heroic in simply letting people know where you stand. It's just that this represents a new and long overdue "approach" for me.

I said, “Pete, I'm Jewish and that's about the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

“You're Jewish? You've got to be kidding.”

“No. I'm Jewish and very proud to be.”

He seemed a bit nonplussed and mumbled something about Christ and the fact that the Holocaust showed that Jews weren't willing to fight for their own survival. Frankly, what he said was so illogical and ridiculous I was momentarily speechless.

There was kind of an awkward silence, at which point he said, “Hey, man, you're not taking me seriously, are you?”

As a lifelong jester, I know when someone is serious and when he isn't. Pete had been serious when he said those things, but was now backtracking to try and end this unpleasant interlude. I told him that yes, I was taking the very ridiculous and absurd things he was saying seriously, but if he says he was joking, then I would just have to assume that he had a very strange and bizarre sense of humor.

And that was that. He apologized and offered his hand. I shook it. After the round was over, he approached me and hugged me.

Obviously I could have drawn the confrontation out. Maybe I should have. But to what end? Was I going to be able to convince Pete that the Jewish stereotypes he grew up with and still chose to believe were false? I doubt that anything I could have said or argued would have had any lasting effect. No, I decided that it was enough for me to have declared myself a proud member of a proud people and just leave Pete to his ignorant beliefs.

One of the other two players quietly told me how ridiculous he felt Pete was. I thanked him, but was disappointed he hadn't spoken up publicly. The other player said nothing, which may indicate something and may not. After all, in the past that might have been my choice also.

So what does all this mean? Probably not much in the grand scheme of things. Are there any more people like Pete down here? Certainly. Are any of them golfers at my club? Probably. Are there lots of fair-minded people here as well? Of course. In other words Navarre, FL is just like anyplace else you could name; it is inhabited mostly by kind, decent people and, to a lesser degree, by jerks. I'll draw my own conclusions as I interact with them one by one.

And when the jerks say something ignorant, I promise to offer up a challenge. I will never again allow someone to say something offensive or hurtful in my presence without making sure he or she knows where I stand.

Life is too short for needless bickering. It is also too short for laying down when the situation calls for standing up. You just never know where your odyssey will take you.

I can feel Ada nodding.

Much love,
J

Updates

I thought I'd send out some updates on recent developments.

1. Kate

Our friendship has grown by leaps and bounds since that first awkward dinner in March. We enjoy our time together and look forward to each visit and new adventure. We've been making some interesting plans for trips, etc. Coming up in a couple of weeks will be a trip to Asheville, NC to see Matthew playing at his regular Wednesday night jazz gig at Mo' Daddy's Bar. It will be wonderful to see Matt in his "element" and he's looking forward to meeting Kate. We're eager to meet Matt's new friend, Audrey. Love is in the air; what can I say?

The next day, after we visit the magnificent Biltmore Estate in Asheville, we'll drive the 60 or so miles to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This will be a very special trip because, as far as I know, there has never been a Getman who has set foot in Tennessee! Actually, this magnificent area resonates with Kate and she wants to share it with me. I'm putty in her hands.

In late September Kate and I will be traveling to Boston, Grantham, NH, and Montreal. It will be my first opportunity to show Kate my "roots" and have her meet many of my South Shore and New Hampshire friends and family, including dinner at my brother Marvin's and sister-in-law Sharon's place in Lexington. It will be great to see them again. One of the many highlights of the trip will be the brisket luncheon my sister-in-law, Judy Ernest, has planned for us on September 24. Brisket at Bob and Judy's is one of the great culinary experiences in the galaxy. It's right up there with a hard salami sandwich at the G&G or a hot fudge sundae at Brigham's.

Of particular interest will be a trip we have planned for early December. We've enrolled in a "Road Scholar" (formerly Elderhostel) program entitled "The Cajun Experience." The five-day program will take place at the university in Lafayette, Louisiana which is the epicenter of Cajun culture. In addition to the history of the Acadians and their famous trek from Canada, the program will focus on Cajun music, lifestyle, and cuisine. We're both looking forward to learning something about this interesting group of people, including how to do the two-step.

2. Coco

That's her picture above. She's Kate's impossibly neurotic Shitzu. Kate, a lifelong dog lover, rescued Coco from a very bad puppy mill situation. Damage had been done and it took Kate both a long time and a lot of tenderness to get Coco to trust her. While she is still skittish (Coco, not Kate), she is much more comfortable under Kate's loving care. The roll of thunder or the sound of passersby can still terrify her (Coco, not Kate), but a quick tummy rub and a slice of salami will usually calm her down (Coco, not Kate).

The other day for the first time Coco allowed me to pet her. Time and love are both great healers.

3. My Acting Career

The first performance of "Cookin' It" will take place next week at The Boys and Girls Club of Pensacola.

We're not ready. Not even close.

One member of the cast is having a very hard time remembering his lines. He probably should be spending more time reading his script and less time reading the greens at his golf club. The same cast member is simply an awful dancer, make that a hideous dancer, surgically repaired knee notwithstanding. He had no idea there would be dancing when he signed up for the project. Some of the other cast members were at first shocked at his ineptitude. They thought that even just by accident and the law of averages, he would be bound to get some of the steps right. They know now that he defies the law of averages and are now simply amused at his awkward moves, lunges, and hand movements. Amused and aghast. The director has given up trying to improve this unfortunate situation and has decided to change her name and salvage some of her damaged reputation.

Watch the national news programs next Friday, August 13, to see if there is some kind of walkout or riot at The Boys and Girls Club of Pensacola.

I'm psyched for the cast party!

4. Josh, Cindy and the Twins

This awesome crew is coming down for a long weekend on August 20. It will be their first trip to see "Grampy" in his new environment. Needless to say, Grampy is bursting with excitement and pride at the thought of seeing his family. I can't wait for the twins to experience swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. They both love the water, and the beauty of the Gulf here is staggering. So far, no tar balls here, thank goodness. Josh and Cindy will get a chance to sweat more than they ever thought humanly possible, so we have that going for us. Naturally, I'm looking forward to having Kate meet all of them.

As is Ada.

Ain't life grand?

Much love,
J

The Heat

Late breaking news: this part of Florida is hot.

It's hot at 11 pm and it's hot at 6 am.

I don't have any direct knowledge about 2 am, but I bet it's hot then too.

I'm told by some veteran Panhandlers that I ain't seen nothing yet. August and even September are usually hotter than hot.

Back in April, when some well-meaning Panhandlers were warning me about the inevitable heat assault I was about to experience, I scoffed and said "Bring it on!"

I thought, "Here is one Yankee who can take it. I've experienced 95 degrees and I've experienced minus 20 degrees and I'll take 95 every time."

Talk about hubris! What was I thinking? Sure I've experienced 95 degrees. A day here or a day there, but never for months at a time with no let up.

It sucks the life out of you.

And I'm chafed. I'm powdering much more than I ever used to. Not to be any more disgusting than I have to be, but there are portions of my nether-world that could use a couple of crisp New England fall days! I hope that doesn't make me a bad person!

I prefer to walk when I play golf, but in this heat it's a real challenge. If I don't start my round by 8 am, there is no way I can walk the course and stay upright after 18 holes. On a couple of occasions, I have been putting and trying to decide which one of the three balls I was staring at was the genuine article. Then I had to decide which of the two holes looming before me was the actual one. There is plenty of drinking water available on my course, Hidden Creek, and I bet I drink ten or twelve containers of water during a typical round.

Luckily, there are several bathrooms placed on the course, but that may be more than many of you wanted to know.

Not to mention the chafing issue!

The intense heat combined with the heavy humidity tends to rob me of my desire to get anything done. A trip to the grocery store seems like an Everest expedition. Even climbing up the three flights of stairs to my condo takes all the energy I can muster. Who lived here before air conditioning and why?

I saw some roofers the other day putting the finishing touches on a new house. How they can function on top of a hot roof in weather like this is beyond my ability to understand, like the speed of light or the theory of relativity.

I bet they're chafed.

Tonight after dinner, about an hour before sunset, I decided to head down to the Gulf (a couple of blocks from my condo) and grab a swim. The Gulf waters were as warm as a baby's bath, but when I stood up in the roiling surf, the late afternoon breezes caught me and, for just a brief moment, I was....cold.

Ain't life grand?

Much love,
J

My Acting Career

I'm an actor.

Many of you have known that for years but it was never official.

It is now.

I was chosen from a tremendous throng of auditioners to play the coveted role of Farmer Mark in the blockbuster hit, "Cooking It", scheduled to open in an Escambia County (Pensacola) elementary school this fall.

OK, it wasn't a throng of auditioners, it was more of a mob.

OK, it wasn't a mob, it was very similar to a group.

Fine. There were two of us and we both got the gig. We'll alternate. (But take my word for it, I'm better.)

Nevertheless, it's very exciting for me to resume my acting career at age 63. I say resume because my very promising acting career was cut short sometime around 1962 when the long-awaited production of "West Side Story" scheduled to open at the Hecht House Jewish Community Center was canceled due to the inability of any of the primary actors or actresses to become Puerto Rican. I was going to play Officer Krupke, so don't blame me.

Undaunted by the cancellation, I diligently honed my acting craft at Temple University where for four years I played the role of "someone who was glad to be in Philadelphia." Very challenging!

As a teacher, I worked on my "method" when I took on the role of "someone who cared whether you did your homework." In actuality, I didn't. That's called acting, friends.

There were other roles over the years. Perhaps the most challenging was that of an overweight, bald, middle-age Jewish man. With all the fanatical dedication of a De Niro, I gained 40 pounds and willed myself bald. I was already Jewish, so that part was a breeze. Unfortunately, the part was given to Wilford Brimley and Dom DeLouise, who eventually passed it on to Abe Vigoda. I kept the weight on just in case I was needed to fill in. Acting is in my blood; what can I say?

All of which brings us to the role of Farmer Mark in "Cooking It!" There is no question that this will be my most challenging role to date. The point of the play, which is being underwritten by a grant, is to teach children the benefits of good nutrition and healthy eating habits. My character has a produce wagon and is trying to convince the students to eat fruits and vegetables. Another character, a sexy female named Sugar, tempts the students with donuts, candy, etc. In the end, with the help of a couple of vegetable puppets named Sprout and Broc, good nutrition triumphs over Sugar, and my Rainbow Produce Farm is open for business.

Obviously, it will take an Olivier-esque effort to convince a group of fifth graders that I've ever even been in the same room as a vegetable. If any of the little bas--rds have read this blog, the entire suspension of disbelief will have been suspended.

To prepare for this role, I am going to spend an hour each day in the produce section of my local Winn-Dixie. If that raises any eyebrows, I may be forced to buy something. When I visit Kate, I am only going to bring one donut from Destin's famous Donut Hole Restaurant. Hopefully, she won't notice the powdered sugar residue from the one I ate in the car. I'm going to study the fine art of makeup and costuming to see if I can look like I've lost 40 pounds.

Of course the bane of any actor's existence is the need to memorize lines. While there is no one who respects the written word more than I, (Hey, I'm a blogger for goodness sake) there is very little chance that what I say during a performance will have any connection to the lines as written by the playwrights.

The most I can promise is I'll be in the ballpark.

We call that improvising.

I've been doing it full time since October 1, 2009.

Break a leg and much love,
J

A Fish Called Wanda

The excellent relationship Kate and I have developed has progressed to the point where she recently asked me to care for her fish, Wanda.

I reluctantly agreed.

I don't have the greatest track record with pets.

This request was necessitated by the fact that Kate was leaving the area for about a week to visit family in Jacksonville and Atlanta. She had made arrangements to board her wonderfully neurotic Shitzu, Coco; however, there were no takers for Wanda so I became the best of a bad set of options.

"Kate," I said, "I'll do my best, but you have to understand that there is every chance that when you return in a week or so, Wanda will be 'sleeping with the fishes'."

"Are you going to deliberately slay Wanda?" she asked.

"No. I love Wanda with all my heart, or at least that portion of my heart dedicated to slimy, nasty creatures who live in bowls. It's just that..."

I then proceeded to tell Kate about my family's pet history. I told her about our first pet, Mouse, an incredibly muscular and intensely stupid Alaskan Malamute who allowed us to live with him in our homes in Weymouth and Hanover. I think if our pet history had begun and ended with Mouse it would have been a much better history then it turned out to be. Mouse loved Josh, Matt, and Ada, but wasn't all that fond of me. Walking Mouse was like trying to harness a tornado. And like a tornado, there was much destruction and devastation. Rather than show remorse for the chaos and heartache he caused on a daily basis, Mouse just smiled. That's right, the crazy Malamute would smile! To this day I've never seen anything like it. You know how most dogs get that heart-wrenching sad look on their faces when you scold them? Not good ol' Mouse. He would just smile at you as if he were saying, "Yes, I just wrecked your formerly screened in porch...and I'll do it again!" Still, Mouse hung in there with us for about 14 years. His quiet end was met with tears from Josh, Matt, and Ada. I was busy repairing the screens.

It's our family's post-Mouse pet period that is...questionable...to say the least. We went through a series of dogs, each of whom met a mysterious end. First there was Sally the Pally, a nondescript mutt whom we rescued from the local humane society. I don't have many memories of Sally either good or bad because she just upped and disappeared one day. The strange thing is, I don't think anyone in the family really noticed. I don't remember any frantic searches in the neighborhood or calls to the police or handmade posters on telephone poles. Sally just didn't make any impression on us. She probably sensed that which would explain her disappearance. Sally, we hardly knew ye!

Undaunted after the Sally episode, we returned to the humane society to take stewardship of Homer, another mutt of questionable character and ancestry. We dubbed him "Homer the Hose Hound" because of his charming propensity to urinate anywhere and at any time he pleased. We kept a carpet cleaning company on retainer during the brief but exciting Homer period. Homer had another interesting quirk. He loved to bite anyone crazy enough to deliver the newspaper to our home. There are at least three members of one newspaper-delivering family who sport ankle scars to this day thanks to Homer-the-Newspaper-Delivery-Person-Bitin'-Hose-Hound. After the third incident we had to make a decision: cancel the newspaper or cancel Homer. We chose the latter. I packed him in the car for his final walk down the green mile. Dead dog walkin'. Euthanasia seemed like the kindest option for Homer. Certainly it was the kindest option for the newspaper delivery family! However, the vet mentioned that he might be able to farm Homer out to a rural family that works with troubled pets. That sounded good to me. I didn't ask Homer's opinion. He was busy urinating.

After the Homer fiasco, there was a gap in our pet stewardship. We would make occasional attempts at the humane society, but, somehow, the dogs there had heard about us and were reluctant to be adopted. Instead of that sad, "Please take me home" look, they would affect a blank stare. It was as if they were trying to become invisible, like students in my English classes who didn't want to be called upon.

Eventually we did find a pup who evidently hadn't gotten the word on us. This was Panda, an incredibly cute and loving black and white something or other. Panda was a return to pet normalcy for us. She loved Matt and Josh. She was playful and perky, cute and cuddly. She was also dead within six months. She ran under the wheels of a car that was circling our cul de sac. The car was going about two miles an hour so there is only one sad conclusion: a clear case of puppy-cide. We'll never know why Panda felt that this was a better alternative to living with the Getmans. She didn't leave a note.

What a tragedy it would have been if our pet life had ended with Panda's sad demise. Happily, I can report that E.B., a border collie mix from East Bank, West Virginia (hence the name) was just about the best pooch anyone ever had the privilege of sharing a house with. E.B. came to us though the Willett family. Bob was the long time principal of my school and one of his daughters had rescued the infant E.B. from a tough family situation in Appalachia. When Bob asked if we'd be willing to adopt E.B., we reluctantly agreed. What a fortunate decision that was! For the next 12 years, E.B. delighted us with her love, her keen sense of herding, and her distaste for sheep. Her classic border collie looks prompted us to learn about this remarkable breed and to attend several border collie trials. What remarkable creatures they are! Anyone who has seen the movie "Babe" knows what these fine dogs are capable of. And while not pure bred, E.B. demonstrated many of the stellar qualities of the border collie line. Probably the only area she came up a little short on was intelligence. But, hey, we weren't a family of geniuses either!

Cancer took E.B. as it did her beloved mistress. Two very sad days for all concerned.

So maybe now you can understand why I was a little reluctant to take on the responsibility of caring for Wanda. God forbid Kate ever asks me to care for neurotic Coco!

Of course, it would make for a pretty good blog!

Love your pets,
J