Every day when I get home from work , I feel so frustrated, the boss is a jerk. And I get my sticks and I go to the shed. And I pound on that drum like it was the boss's head. Todd Rundgren.

I'm starting this post at 11:30 Thanksgiving night. My boss in his infinite wisdom decided that going to work is more important than spending time with family.

In case you didn't know, currently I work as parking lot sweeper. I clean shopping centers, Walmarts that sort of thing.  It can be a miserable job, I'm the guy that cleans up after the garbage man. To be a street sweeper I would have to get a promotion. But it's a necessary job and I take pride in my work ethic. But not tonight. Tonight it's not at all necessary, not on "Black Friday". 

My job depends on the lot being free of cars so I can get to where the trash is. Tonight there are 4 "Black Friday" sales going on at out of 6 stops starting at midnight. So there's not much I can do. But if I have sacrifice my holiday with my family, I'm gonna get paid for full night. So I'm sitting in a Target parking lot writing this post. 

The best part of this job is quiting time,  which just happens to coincide with the time my granddaughter wakes up. As I walk though the door I'm greeted by GoGo yelling "PopPop"  at the top of her lungs. She then breaks into a 23 months old's sprint across the living room to crash into me with a "super hug". With her arms wrapped  my leg she looks up at me and says "Ofv Yew!!!".

I look down and say" I love you too GoGo." 

She lets me go and I scratch the dogs ears as I tell her "PopPop has gotta go take his shoes off." 

She says to me "Shooz?"

"Yep, I'll be right back. "

As soon as I'm clad in flip flops she meets me at the fridge and  helps me make a bologna and cheese sandwich. 

"Loney?" she'll ask me. 

"Yep, bologna and cheese." I tell her. 

"Cheeze!" she says with authority. 

I hand her the cheese wrapper and she says "Trash." and throws it away as I close the bread and put the rest of the in stuff away. 

I sit in front of the TV and watch the news and eating my sandwich, she hangs on the arm of the chair. 

"Bite bite?" she says. 

"What do you say?" I'll ask. 

"Peas!" she replies and I rip her off a piece and hand it to her. 

She stuffs it into her mouth as she says "Tank yew" and returns to dancing to the music in the commercials. 

This happens 3 or 4 times per sandwich. When we get close to the last bite she will remind me "Woofwoof? Rounie, Chupie?"

"Yes we'll save a bite for  Brownie and Chupie a bite. They're good dogs."

Then we go out back so I can have a cigarette, "Will you help Grandpa?". She grabs my index finger and leads me to the back door. As I open the door she turns around and calls out "Rounie! Chupie!" and the dogs join us. 

The dogs head out the doggie door and I sit at the table. GoGo pats me on the knee and declares "Sit sitting."

I ask her "What do you say?".

Exasperated she'll say "Peeeese.".

I hoist her up in my lap and she knows which pocket to pick and she taps it and says "paPod."

I reach into that pocket and produce my iPod. 

I set it on the table in front of us and she hits the power button and works the slide button on the touch screen that unlocks the devise from the home page. Then she flips though the pages of apps and randomly launches what ever she happens to hit. Sometimes it's something she can play with and I let her go. But when it not something she can play with I say "Wait!", she replies "Waiting". I look at what she has opened and tell her "No, you're not buying a $45 audio book. Stay out of the app store."

After awhile of this she ends up asking me for what she wants specifically. Typically she wants to go though her favorite photo album. She'll say "Babies.". That means the album titled Family photos. 

I find it for her and open it and she'll swipe from photo to photo naming the persons in each picture. (Even some of her toys.)

What's more, to make it interesting, I'll ask to find a particular photo. She'll say "Finding!" as she swipes though the album till she finds the picture in question. I'll ask "GoGo, who is that?"

"Dik!" she replies triumphantly. 

"Who else?" I'll prod. 

"AmMah." she says condescendingly like I should recognize my own mother.  Knowing who her Great Grandmother is in a photograph doesn't surprise me that much. She sees her every day and really loves her. They go shopping together and split a tub of yogurt for lunch daily. But her Great Great Uncle Dick she has never met and had only seen one other 15 year old picture of. The picture on the iPod is from our family reunion last July. I never told her who was in the photo, but she knew him the first time she saw it. 

She is really quite the little smarty pants and she is one of the main reasons I am moving back home. I know she will really benefit from a smaller class size that she'll never have in the Florida school system. 

I thoroughly enjoy this my last hour of my day. Kaylynn's company soothes me and gives me a warm fuzzy feeling that helps me get rest I need to make it another night at my crappy job. 

As I head to bed I get another super hug and she looks up at me and says "Ofv yew PopPop, nie nie."

I say " PopPop loves you too. Try to keep the cuteness down to a minimum." She seldom does. 

Kaylynn snapped this picture while playing with my phone.

1000 Reasons to Stay

This week has been a mixed bag of feelings. The concept of moving is becoming more and more concrete every day. Yet the reasons to stay become more continuous.

This weekend Lisa and I went out to catch Tommy's karaoke show. It was pure torture. I guess that's what karaoke all about though. It was 80% off key country music with a few shining exceptions of really stand out singers with really good voices.

Regardless I had a great time with Sandi and Tommy. I really love those two and don't get to see them enough.

Along with all my other friends and nodding acquaintances from the karaoke show, and Facebook, and 39 years of passing them in traffic. I'm not what you would call a social butterfly, but I do enjoy my short conversations with them.

This got me thinking of all people that I will miss when I leave. Folks I have worked with. A few of the kids I went to school with. My friends from the hippy/artist circles I used to run in.

But most of all my core family. I will miss my niece Rachel growing up. The little milestones, the macaroni art, and the "trace your hand" turkeys. I'm sure I'll have plenty of that sort stuff from GoGo, but I will miss it from Rachel.

Also my niece Alexis. I've already watched her grow into a fine young woman and I couldn't be prouder. She has herself a nice boyfriend and the two of them seem to be building a good life together.

Then the second part of my weekend happened. I'm going to refrain from using any names. As to not be tellin' tales out school( if can figure out who this is from context clues, you more than likely already know the story).

 A friend of mine, whom I love like my own daughter was caught in a domestic violence situation. Her boyfriend's father (with whom they were living along with their infant daughter) came home drunk and began beating his son.

I received a frantic message pleading for help and I was out the door. They live nearby and I was there in a flash.

As I arrived the father was being hauled out to a cop car in handcuffs by two sheriffs and his son was in the back if an ambulance. He was never so lucky to be police custody. Had I been a few minutes earlier he would have been in the back of the ambulance and I would of been going to jail.

His son had minor injuries. He was treated and released. My "daughter" and "grandbaby" were not injured in the attack although it was traumatic for both of them.

After I made sure the kids were alright and taken care of, I stood outside the cop car, with windows rolled up, the cowardly excuse for a father cuffed in the back. I spoke sternly but quietly and told him "Remember this face." I took my hat off so he could get a good look at me.   "These kids are under my protection. If you ever see this face again it may well be the last thing you ever see." as I put my two fists together and made a snapping motion like I was breaking a stick. I believe he understood the message I was conveying. For the time being these three kids are staying with me.

One of favorite pictures of my Uncle Mike is of him standing in front of his three baby sisters. Hulked up with am expression on his face like "If you mess with them, you gotta go through me." That's how I was raised. Real men protect their family.

One of my favorite role models.

If there's one thing I can't abide is a bully. I was bullied most of my life in school because I couldn't afford the popular jeans, or didn't live in the snooty neighborhood.  It bothered me until I realized I was bigger than most of my bullies and started to stand up to them. After that I gained an air of confidence that said "Don't mess with me" and the bullying soon stopped.

But I could never imagine being bullied by my own father. Don't get me wrong, Dad whooped my ass when it was called for. And to this day I know you don't play the bongos with the sharp end of a pencil. But I was never abused. A father is supposed to protect his family and I can't imagine it the other way around.

If you find yourself in a domestic violence situation as quickly and safely as possible, get out. Someone will help you. If not a friend or family member, seek out an abuse hot line or a member of the clergy. There are resources out and you deserve better than that. Don't cover up for them or tell yourself it will get better. It won't.

If you are an abuser, you should seek out the same resources. Just because that's how you were raised doesn't mean you can't break the cycle.

If not, before you pick on someone smaller than you, try picking on someone my size.

These people and hundreds of other are among the reasons I will find it hard to leave this place. Yet I know that heading home is in the best interest of me and my family.

There are 178 parent languages on our planet with over 1000 dialects... It's amazing we communicate at all. Eban Ozen

A ShopSmith. Similar to the two I have.

This week there's no real update. It's been a week of more research and attempting to sort through Dad's stuff. It hasn't been easy. 90% of what Dad left me was tools. Tons and tons of tools. Duplicates of most, even the weird specialty tools. For instance I have two "Shop
Smiths". They are really cool wood working tools that are a combination  lathe, drill press, sander, table saw all in one machine. They are really cool but I will never have reason to have two of them.  Plus five to ten of the common tools, wrenches, sockets, screwdrivers. I've got the tools to make tools. Most of these will have sold at a moving sale.

But this post is not about tools or dogs for once. Rather it's about,

"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo."

For all my "school marm" friends and  family get ready to have your mind blown. That is a grammatically correct sentence.

I was taking a break from researching K9 reproduction and what not when I stumbled upon this. Let me break this down for you.

You must first keep in mind the word "buffalo" has several meanings. First, the most common use of buffalo is an incorrect moniker for the American bison.

The second use is a proper noun for city in upstate New York. Buffalo NY , mainly known for it's horrible winters and spicy chicken wings.

The third is a synonym for "bully". As in "Don't try to buffalo me!"

That being said think of the sentence using the alternative meanings (The words in red are added for clarity, but not necessary to be grammatically correct.).

New York bison (whom other) New York bison bully (themselves in turn) bully New York bison.

If that's not enough to make an ESOL student throw in the towel, then I don't know what is.

Here's a link to the Wikipedia page with the sentence diagram that started all this.

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo
Just something for your brain to chew on. Have a good week!

buffalo

Buffalo

buffalo

**WARNING** Mature Subject Matter ( handled rather immaturely).

The first thing I learned about being a dog breeder is, I know nothing about breeding dogs.  I mean I understand the basic mechanics of course. But there is really a lot of day by day scheduling, feeding, healthcare, licensing, and general business decisions. And that list only scratches the surface.

So I started with the basics. I fired up google and typed in "animal husbandry". For the most part it's not as gross as it sounds. It's mainly the art of selecting the bloodlines you want to breed, to produce the traits you desire in the offspring.

It's said that the only reason to breed dogs in to improve the bloodline. I believe that can achieve this while still making the parents bonified family members and keep the offspring as "product". I don't want to run a "puppy mill", but the bottom line is these dogs are going to be a business. I believe that by selectively breeding the right pairs, I can both improve the breed and make a living matching dogs with homes and/or careers that leave them forefilled.

For my German Shepards I know to accomplish what I want I'm going to need a couple of different momma dogs (I'm still having a problem calling them "bitches". I know it's just a term but it still seems disrespectful.) One possessing a higher work ethic. One possessing a more nurturing personality. Also I'll need a "stud" (it's either that or "sire" I have no problem with either of those terms because they both make him sound like a badass. Make sure you leave all your "double standard" comments in the space below ) that is a mixture of both.

This will be expensive at first, but it will yield two marketable bloodlines. The former for police or search and rescue or military dogs. The latter for home protection, agility training, show caliber family pets.

For the Chihuahuas it should fairly easy. I'm only looking for bloodlines that will produce healthy, good tempered, and cute and tiny family dogs.The main two qualities of temperament and size(and to a lesser degree appearance) will be the main selling points. There aren't really any working class Chihuahuas.

Back to google again. I typed in "animal midwifeing" which is way grosser than it sounds. That's the science of helping the momma actually deliver the pups. I'm sure that in that moment it's a beautiful rewarding experience, but trust me you don't want to randomly search for "puppy whelping videos" on the internet. But it is something I need to know. If you think of clinically it's just a process of helping the pups start their lives and help the mommas though a potently dangerous medical procedure.

There's also tracking the females reproductive cycle to know the perfect time for conception. This is a simple matter of little temperature monitoring and graft making. Along with some behavioral cues.

This line of research led me to the subject of "artificial insemination". Which I  haven't ruled out, so I read on. The female part of which is just a well timed medical procedure. The male part however is much more of a to do. I may employee a vet to do this part. It may one day be necessary to have a "sample" of my dogs essence on hand, but the last thing I want is to come home to a candle lite doghouse with my dog sitting there with his "beaker" and a six pack of Molsen waiting for me. But like I said, I'm not sold on this. It would be a last resort situation.

My Great Grandpa Brown used to raise hunting dogs. I'm pretty sure he did more of the animal husbandry and left the midwifeing to nature and the mother.Not that he wasn't concerned with their well being. I want to take a more active role in the birthing to insure the over all health of my pups. And build a better relationship with the mommas.

Andrew Brown and his hunting dogs.

The bottom line is that it is astounding the amount of learning I still have to do.  So now it's back to the Internet for more research on feeding and training.

"Well I Might Be Moving To Montana Soon. Just To Raise Me Up A Crop Of, Dental Floss."- Frank Zappa

O.K. Here's where I try to tie all of this together. Thank you all for your patience.

So let's recap the story so far.

I'm sitting right squarely in the middle of middle age.

I'm facing a lot typical middle age health problems. Most of which stem from stress and diet.

I have a go nowhere dead end job that's never going to get better. In fact, in all likelihood I've already had my best day there. I hate my job, but I'm grateful to be employed.

Somehow I became the patriarch of a 7 person 4 generational family. My role models of my life have instilled a moral compass in me that dictates that I have to do everything in my power to take care of and provide for them.

My Mom, my Wife, and I just returned from a family reunion / vacation in small town KS. It was 4 of the best days in recent memory.

Is there anything else??? Oh yeah, I like dogs. In fact some of my most influential friends have been dogs.

I think this pretty much catches us up.

One thing I haven't really touched on is the place I live. That being Sarasota FL. My family arrived here on Thanksgiving day in 1972. It's been a beautiful place to live. The weather is always warm and tropical. Granted you pay a premium to live here. Florida has one of the highest cost living of all the states. Sarasota has the 2nd highest property tax rates in the state. Only behind Ft. Lauderdale.

There has always been lots of jobs and I have rarely been unemployed.  I was once fired from job around noon, and had two job offers before  I made it home.

That is before the housing bubble broke. Sarasota's economy has revolved around construction and tourism for the last 50 years. After the bubble burst in 2008 things around here rapidly declined. There were no jobs in construction and the industry even suffered mass lay offs. It didn't stop there. The " mom and pop" restaurants that served the construction workers soon began to suffer. Along with building supply companies, the local gas stations, pretty much everyone felt the ripples of the bust.

Then came the B.P. oil spill in the gulf. While no oil ever washed up here, our tourism took a big hit anyways. People just didn't want to take a chance of having tar balls ruin their vacation. Our service industries took another hit.

Add all this together with banks going under and a nationwide recession, and you get one of the highest unemployment rates in the country (over 13% a couple mths. ago. Rivaling  Detroit at the time. We are back down to around 11 % now.)

While we were in Hutchinson recently, I looked at the local classified section of the paper and WOW! There were 10 times the number of help wanted ads in their paper compared to ours.  When you factor in the relative sizes of the two towns, that is really amazing. Hutch is about 2/3's the size of Sarasota.

When we got back home and I did some checking. This time in the real estate market. Comparable houses there are renting for 30 to 50 % of what I'm paying down here. Plus some of the houses I was looking at were farm houses that sat on several acres of land.
I think the difference between these two places  is down in FL. real estate speculators have been "flipping" houses for years driving property values through the roof. When they suck every penny of equity out these houses they either sell it off at above market value to another house flipper who in turn does the same thing continuing the vicious cycle. Or they rent it out at an exorbitant rate. Even homes that  haven't been flipped repeatedly are affected by the rising property values of surrounding houses. So in turn they raise the rental price on their house.

In KS. I don't think house flipping has been such a big thing and many of the homes have been in the family for generations. Chances are, the  mortgage has been paid off for years.  I think they're more concerned about having renters in there that take care of their home than building equity for the next flip.

Let me move on, somehow this is turning into an economics lesson.

I guess the seed of this idea was planted on Lisa and I's trip to Osawatomie. Lisa said " If we ever had to move, we would have to move here." That was the catalyst. On the trip back to Florida, my Mom asked " Have you ever thought about moving back to Kansas?" (The truth was over the past 39 years I had often about thought about it, and always came back to the same answer. No I do not want move back. ) I told Mom that's funny because Lisa and I were considering it. Mom told me she would really to go back home. She had been talking about it for a couple of years already.

Not long after we got home I told the rest of the family about what we were thinking about. Everyone was willing to think about it themselves. That is everyone except Anthony. Chris is thinking that it might be a good way to make a new start. Danielle was intrigued at the thought of Kaylynn going to a school where there aren't 50 kids in a class. Anthony on the other hand flatly rejected the idea. His opinions are of value to me, so I asked him why. His reply was that Florida is his home. I can understand this, Florida has been my home for a very long time. At his age I didn't want to leave either. So far this has only been polling. Fishing for opinions.



Usually it goes something like  " I don't wanna go to work, I wanna stay here with you." On this particular night my protest was " I don't wanna go to work, I wanna move to Kansas and start raising dogs. "
Lisa asked "What kind of dogs?". "German Shepards and Chihuahuas."  I said.  She just looked at me like I was crazy. I kissed my wife goodnight and headed off to another night of loathing my job.

Day by day, hour by hour, the idea continued to evolve. We could find a farm house with a stable and a barn. I could convert the stables into kennels, and set up my print shop in the barn.  Lisa could go back to school and get certified in child care and run a day care from our home.

The way I'm crazy about dogs, MeMe is crazy about kids. She used to provide day care for several of our friends' kids. She would quiz them with flashcards, teach them to sing songs, and color with sidewalk chalk. Quest (our nephew who first called Lisa " MeMe" and coined the praise "MeMe's World" for her day care.) was reading at a college level in the 4th grade.

Soon I had started this blog. Not only as a public confession to somehow make me committed to the plan. But also to document the evolution of the idea and the kennels.

Last week I registered the domain of  www.livingindogyears.com as place to give the kennels a presence on the Internet.  After researching other breeders online, I realized I needed something other than puppies to drive traffic to the site. I could make custom collars and leashes. My Dad and I used to supplement our income selling handmade leather goods when I stayed in KS. back in '82/'83. Plus ever since Goober's unfortunate demise I've had an idea for a safer tie down system for outdoor dogs. The plan is still evolving everyday.

So... ( ready for this? Big announcement time.) We are going to be moving back home to south central KS. It's no longer a question of if, it's just question of when.

When is a totally different question. I have 38 years of loose ends to wrap up here. Everything from a house in foreclosure to my half failed print shop. Not to mention my father's "estate" ( read: pile of crap my Dad left me.)and four decades of personal relationships.

I have never been one to do things impulsively. Truth is I may be a bit too deliberate. All the things I need to do may take me a year to do.

I intend to use this blog to keep you apprised of my progress and share a dog story here or there.

So until next time, I'm living in dog years.

** Special Bonus Episode**

This a special bonus episode. Not part our main "too be continued" story,  but it does play into the over all story.

This was my dog "Goober". He was another good friend. Granted he was no Falcor, (in fact he was one of the dumbest dogs I've ever known) but he was my buddy.

I watched his Mom give birth to him. So I knew him his entire life. His Mom is a A.K.C. Samoyed husky and his Dad was a traveling dog( I believe he was a black lab because Goober had 2 black litter mates and they all had webbed feet.).

Not only was he my dog, he was my Mom's Granddog. He even lived at my Mom's house a few years out his life even when I didn't. Other times when we both lived elsewhere, Mom would bring us "care packages" containing a pound of bologna for me and 5lbs. of left over pot roast for Goober. (Sorry Mom but I ate most of the roast although he had lots of snacks from it.)

I could ( and likely will later,) tell you stories about him from him jumping out of Mom's car window at stop light to meet a new girlfriend by jumping  in another car's window 5 cars back, to him burying chicken bones in my roommate's mattress because he was mean to him.

But this story is about him pulling. Being a "husky" he loved to pull. I'd take him for a bike ride and never have to peddle. He broke every rope or chain he was put on when trying to tie him outside. Breaking these chains meant he would run away often. Not really running away as much as going exploring. Chasing after him was the worst thing you could do because then it was a game. The only way to get him home was to simply pull up next to him in the car and open the door. The only thing he liked better than exploring was a good ol' fashioned ride in the car. Eventually  I put him on a 3/8" thick tow chain meant to pull cars out of a ditch. It weighed more than 10 lbs.

In the late '80's early '90's I was doing a lot of " couch surfing". Which is to say, I wasn't really homeless I just didn't have a stable place to stay (or really even want one). At one time I ended up staying at Sandi's house sleeping on her couch. Goober stayed there with us. He even had his tow chain attached to a tree outside. He loved being outside.

Our yard was weird in that our driveway went along the side of the house and we shared it with the efficiency behind us. In the backyard it lined up with driveway of the dry cleaner on the street behind us. So a lot of people used our drive as a short cut out of our neighborhood to the main roadway that the dry cleaners was on. Goober took great pride (as much as a dumb dog could) in guarding our little side yard and barking at every cat or any traffic that happened though.

One day Goober wanted out bad. Usually I would put him on his leash and attach his leash to the tow chain. This day his leash was nowhere to be found. I looked high and low it wasn't where we kept it, or anywhere else. But he really wanted to go. So I took him out without his leash. I hooked his collar directly to the tow chain and went back in.

Then the unthinkable happened. I can still hear the blood curdling yelp. Goober was in pain and a lot of it. I bolted out of the house and sprinted the 20 feet over to where Goober was lying. Not even 10 seconds had lapsed since he called out. I looked up and down the drive thinking he had been run over, but there was no cars in sight. There's no way I could of missed a car either. There was fence between the dry cleaners driveway and ours. You had to slow down and thread the needle through the narrow opening. The other direction was our street that dead ended at our driveway and the nearest intersection was 70 yards down the block. No way I missed a car. Yet Goober lied there motionless. I dropped to my knees cradling Goober's head in my hands. His eyes  looked up at mine. He was breathing but there was no other movement. I checked him over there no cuts or scrapes anywhere on him. I was totally freaking out. Sandi and her boyfriend Mike were with me by now.

We decided that we had to get him to a vet. It was a Sunday evening around 7 or 8 P.M. His normal vet was closed. We had to take him to the emergency vet clinic 10 miles away. We loaded him up in the car with Mike driving, Sandi riding shotgun Goober and I in the backseat. My niece Alexis stayed with our neighbors and friends in the  efficiency out back.

I feared Goober would bite me from pain or shock when I picked him to get him in the car. Instead it was nothing. He didn't growl, or bark, even whine. I knew he was in bad shape.

Mike drove like a madman, doing up 70 mph blowing the horn and flashing his lights as he wove in and out of traffic like he was an ambulance driver. I was scared to death and grateful at the same time.

We arrived at the vet's in no time. I carried him in and the tech on duty ushered us into an exam room instantly. The vet checked him over looking for snake bites, doing x-rays and running a whole battery of tests. She found nothing. By now it was close to one o'clock in the morning. We left him there for observation.

Three days passed with no improvement.  He was paralyzed from the neck down. He would eat and drink. But he had to be cleaned from his own waste. This was no kind of life for a would be sled dog.


At this point I made the most difficult decision of my life to date. We put Goober to sleep that day. I held him as the vet gave him an injection and he drew his final breath. I had watched being born, I had watched him die. I knew him his entire life.

We still don't know what really happened to my buddy that day. I suspect that he saw a cat or something in his yard and went after it. Being used to having his leash on the end of his chain, he thought he had 3 feet more to run. Also the nylon leash had some give and stretch to it to absorb the shock. A 10 lbs tow chain however had no give and stretch. I think he ended up horizontally hanging himself. either breaking his neck somehow that the vet couldn't find or causing nerve damage that wouldn't show up on anything short of a MRI.

Whatever happened that day I blame myself. I have never put a dog on chain since.

This experience from 20 years ago still haunts me enough that it plays into my plan of my new found pursuit of happiness today.

I'll try to tie all this together this weekend. Please stay tuned...

Part 2 "Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done." Kerry Livgren

Three weeks after my birthday, my Mom, Lisa and I left for a vacation back home to Kansas. My best friend Lee said he had a feeling that I wasn't coming back. I assured him that I was absolutely coming back. I had been to Kansas. Although I hadn't been there in 29 years I knew what to except. Small towns, friendly people, rolling hills and acres and acres of farm land. Kansas didn't disappoint. It was exactly as I remembered.

We spent next few days soaking in the mid west lifestyle with my most gracious Aunt Peggy playing host/tour guide. Meeting family members that hadn't been born the last time I was home and catching up  with family members that have been my role models for my entire life. Lisa and I both really felt at home.

Lisa and I made the 190 mile trip to my Dad's hometown of Osawatomie.  Along the way we joked " That could be our farm if we moved here. " at every homestead we passed. From the fancy 10 bedroom ranch houses up on the hill, to the doublewides trying to scratch out a living from half acre of beans.

We headed back to Florida much too soon. It wasn't long into the trip before the conversation turned to the subject of the places we went. The people we had seen.  And just the feelings the things we had experienced.
 Lisa loved sitting outside on the porch in the morning, drinking her coffee. I sat with her, noticing how fresh and clean the air was. At the same moment Lisa remarked that " it smelled like morning". She was right.                                                                          

Rebecca, Dorothy, and Lois Brown

 Mom's favorite part was the family reunion.  It was my grandparents anniversary. Just being there with her family made her so happy. But she really lit up when her Aunt Beck arrived. The whole room did. I had never met her in my adult life. Peggy had just shown me pictures of her as  a child from 80 years ago the night before. I recognized her instantly. Mom spent the majority of the rest reunion sitting and talking with her aunt. It had been a long time since I had seen her that happy.









 It was really hard for me to narrow down my favorite moment. There were so many to choose from.  I finally landed on a weird one.Just as we crossed  over the KS/OK border we made a pit stop in little one horse town with an all night gas station.  The ladies went inside to get drinks and freshen up. I went back  outside to have a smoke. The wind was blowing hard, about 20 miles an hour out of the south. It was like standing in front of blast furnace. The wind it's self was hot, I'd guess about 85 degrees, and dry.  


In Florida that doesn't occur.Winds in Florida are almost always cool because they blow across the gulf or the Atlantic ocean. The water is cooler than the land and chills the air. Either that or they are down burst winds caused by rainstorms which by nature are cooler than the surrounding air mass. Another thing is the wind is very humid from blowing through the rain or across the water. If are lucky enough to stand in a sustained 20 mph wind, you'd end up damp. Just this little change in atmosphere enthralled me.Well once again I've prattled on much longer than I intended. I had hoped to finish this story in this post, but it doesn't look like that is going to happen. So please stay tuned. I promise I'll finish it in our next episode...

Family Reunion 2011

Why "Living In Dog Years" you might ask? Well that's how I intend to live the rest my days on this planet. Dogs have much shorter life span than humans. Most put it as a ratio of 7 to 1. Yet they can still lead a forefilling existence. I plan on cramming 7 years of happiness into every lap around the sun.

As usual I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's rewind a bit.

A few weeks ago it was my 45th birthday. All in all not a bad day. I slept well, I had a good supper, I spent a little time with my family. Chris baked me a birthday cake ( super chocolate with chocolate frosting  my favorite). Then it was time to go to work. This is where the day took a 180. My job is a crappy one. So crappy I couldn't get my birthday off. I've already resigned myself to this fact, so I kissed my wife and grandbaby goodbye and headed on in.

The first couple of hours were pretty uneventful. Then out of nowhere I started having stomach pains. I spent the next few hours pulling over trying to find a bathroom every 20 mins. I finished out the night in agony. The next day, still horribly sick, I went to the E. R. where I was diagnosed with diverticulitis. Not a death sentence, but not the most comfortable thing to live with. The main causes of which are poor diet and stress. I took it as a birthday card/wake up call from Mother Nature ...( Hello... Welcome to middle age.)...So I had to make some changes.

A couple of days later Anthony and I were talking about all this. I was saying that I needed to find a different line of work. I said anything would be better. I could work at office supply store and be happy selling ink pens and toner. I could work at a pet store and be happy selling fish food and playing with puppies all day. Anything at all would be better than my needlessly stressful job.


Note this post started to get really long so I broke it up into smaller bite sized chunks. To be continued...

"You're My Best Friend" Freddy Mercury

The picture on the background of this page is my best friend ever. Yes I realize it's a dog. His name was Falcor. He left us 05/28/20008. No this isn't going to be a blog about " BooHoo ... I miss my poor little dead dog...Wahhhh!".

Truth is Falcor was my best friend. Which wasn't unusual for me. Over my lifetime I've been friends with many dogs. Not detract from my human friends. People like Lee, Charles, Christy and Steve, have always been there for me. But even the best of humans (hopefully I can include myself in that category)  still operate on a level that best serves themselves. Dogs tent act in a manner that is best for the friendship.
The day I met Falcor my roommate Christy brought him home, unbeknownst to me while I was at work. When I came home for lunch, Christy was out running errands, and Falcor was left to guard the house. He had been there only couple of hours and already took his responsibilities very seriously. Falcor and I spent the next 20 minutes circling the dinner table, him barking and growling at me. Me making a bologana sandwich, trying to stay unscathed so I could return to work. After eating my lunch in the same manner,with table between us, I made a dash for the door. Falcor lunged half way across the room stopping only after I threw the last bite of sandwich in the air in the middle of the room. He snatched it in midair and sat down. He gave me one last bark and smiled at me. Yes he smiled. As if to say "Thanks, but I'm still gonna be watching you".
Over the next few weeks we become closer and closer. He would follow me around. I would take him for walks. He started to sleep in my room instead of the livingroom.
Months later, Lisa and I became room mates. We were not involved at the time. She worked days, I worked nights so we shared a room in shifts. On the first night of this arrangement, as I was leaving for work, I jokingly told Falcor "Watch her". I meant as in "don't let her steal the silverware". Lisa took as "take care of her and protect her". Lisa patted the bed next to her, Falcor hopped up in the bed for the first time ever. Fast foreward a couple of years of him not missing a night in the bed, I could not get him out of it, to the point of him growling at me when I tried to move him so I could get in. It got so bad, I would have to go into the kitchen and crinkle the bread bag to trick him into think that I (and him by proxy) was getting a snack. Then it was a race to get into bed before he did. Defeated he would settle on a spot between Lisa and I.
If you came to my house and you were not one of Falcor's humans, he would bark at you until you were seated. If he did not like you he would continue to bark until I told him to mind his manners.  I realized he was a good judge of character. I learned to trust his instincts and more often than not he was right. One guy he didn't like ended up in jail two weeks later for strong arm robbery. I adopted a policy of "I don't like anyone my dog doesn't like".
He was smart. He was a sheperd. He would roam the house at night making sure his flock was in bed where they belonged. He had an uncanny ability to locate property lines better than a surveyor. He could tell time. Not only did he know when his meal times were, but he knew we had a BBQ every other Friday, at which a hot dog inevitably roll off the grill just when he was handy to help clean it up.

Falcor lived to be 14 when he developed a cyst on his neck that grew so large it ruptured though his skin. He was old and had other health problems. We decided it was in his best interest not operate. We had one last BBQ in his honor at which he had his very own london broil all too himself. I spent all night sitting up with him, giving him bites of his steak. I gave him one last bath. That morning we went to the vet and I sat on the floor with him, stroked his head and told him that he was " a big mean dog" (Which he took great pride being his whole live.) as he drew his last breath.
As I stated earlier this post isn't about BooHoo, but rather to point out the profound influence Falcor had on me. And that knowing him has helped guide me to make the choice that this blog is about.
But I do miss you "Old Man".

Preface

I am Scott. This is my mid life crisis. 
In the upcoming posts I will relay what happened to bring me to this point and discuss what actions I will take. Be forewarned I am a horrible writer. I misspell words. I use poor grammar. And I tend to leave words out when typing. I think that's because I think way faster than I type and I get ahead of myself.
I am a 45 year old man living in Sarasota Fl. I have a wife and 2 wonderful kids (I have 3 children but 1 of them is an real asshole). Haha I've been telling that joke for 10 years and at one time or another all 3 have admitted to being the asshole. I just tell them they're right.
I am running a 7 person 4 generational household. It's me and my wife, Lisa, my 70 year old mother, my 25 year old son, Anthony, my 22 year old daughter Danielle, her boyfriend and baby daddy Chris. And then there's Kaylynn (GoGo) my 19 month granddaughter. My third kid 21 year old Robert lives in Maine.
These are the principle players for now. Others will be added as the story dictates.
I'll get into the story in the next post.