It Hits Me Hard

“I’m not ready to give up.”

My Dad said those words six weeks ago.

One month ago today we lost him.

It seems like it’s been forever ago and at the same time it seems like hours ago.

It hits me really hard sometimes, usually when I least expect it. The other day I was in The Home Depot and saw a mini air compressor.  I instantly thought of Dad. He loved gadgets. It was next to a whole slew of cheap tools.  He couldn’t pass on bargain tools. Next thing I know a wave of grief began to seize control and I had to fight to control my emotions.

It hits hard when I’m cleaning up the workshop. I found a brand new still wrapped tool that I had absolutely no idea what its function is. I instinctively made a mental note to ask him when a hard dose of reality hit me: I can’t ask him anything ever again.

I often slide into Stormtrooper mode. The protectors of the Empire could hide behind an expressionless hard armor shell and not show any emotion.  That suits me fine.

I’ll go by and visit his gravesite today. I’ve been by a couple of times. I want to reassure him that we are taking care of Mom.  She’s handling things pretty well. Although she admits that sometimes she thinks that he’s just away and will be home soon.

Dad keeps surprising me though. We are slowly going through things, trying to figure out what to do with it. I went through nearly a thousand film slides he took between 1958 and 1972. There are plenty of shots of me and my siblings and you can tell by looking who was the trouble maker.  We also found house blueprints he drew for a college course. He got an A+.

I miss him terribly.

It hits me the hardest while I am by myself, sometimes while driving in the car, or sitting watching television, or reading a book… and I think about how he struggled and how hard he fought the last six months. And I remember the helplessness I felt every time he hit an obstacle that hampered his recovery.

But I force my thoughts away from the bad times, instead I think about his fighting spirit. Like how he came out of his first surgery. There was a chance they would have to take his vocal chords. They rolled him down the hallway to ICU he was alert and when he saw us he wisecracked, “They haven’t silenced me yet.” Or how he mocked being in pain when he was having his fingernails clipped.

I think of all the things he wanted to do in his life but couldn’t because of his fight with muscular dystrophy. Projects he didn’t complete, places he didn’t get to go, family he couldn’t visit. I realize that it’s my legacy to do those things for him while I’m still walking this earth.

I’m not ready to give up either. 

Why?

Some time ago, I made a conscientious life changing decision. I decided I could no longer in good conscience eat another animal.

So I, a carnivorous vegetable hater, became a so-called vegetarian. Imagine the skepticism I received when I begrudgingly told people of my decision.

“Dennis, all you ever eat is meat and potatoes,” they said. “I bet you won’t last one week,” proclaimed others. But the number one question is always “why?”

I believe you can tell someone you are a communist, an atheist or came from outer space and people will accept that. But the concept that you don’t eat meat is so objectively foreign to them that they treat you like you were a communist space-alien that doesn’t believe in God. The first question I almost always get asked is “why?”

So here is the ‘why’.

I had visited my parents on Sunday evening. I ate a leftover steak they had and lounged around watching television. That evening when I had got home, I decided to catch up on a little light reading. The book of choice: Daredevil 271.

That’s right, a comic book.

A comic book that would change my life.

Daredevil 271 doesn’t have a jaw-dropping cover. In fact it’s very plain with a nondescript leaping Daredevil on a pale yellow backdrop. It doesn’t have a notable villain/villainess of which movies will be based. The writer Ann Noncenti isn’t exactly a household name. The artist John Romita Jr. is still a prolific comic book artist, but the work here is not spectacular.

In fact the story is rather silly. An animal liberation activist destroys her father’s animal factory, which in reality is a cover up for science lab where they are genetically altering women to be “perfect.” Silly is an understatement.

So why the life changing moment?

It was caused by these two panels, in which the aforementioned farm owning father (who resembles John Holmes) is talking to his farm/lab manager about wire mesh cages:

The callousness of what he said stopped me. Could that statement have any truth behind it? Think about it, if an animal never got out of a cage, why would they need their legs?

Later in the book, on page 22, the following appeared:

“... an animal raised for food deserves a happy life.”

That statement sealed the deal. At that point I had no idea about the treatment of animals for food consumption. There is another quote in the comic “most people think a farm is a “picture-book” place. A happy place where cows graze, pigs wallow in happy pigpens, chickens sun themselves and peck around.”

That’s what I thought.

Now here is where the clouds roll in. Somehow somewhere I came across a recommended reading list and the book Diet for a New America by John Robbins was at the top. I thought that it was in Daredevil 271 but I can find no such reference. Perhaps it was in a later issue (I had the tendency to buy three or four months worth of comic books and read them in succession.) Regardless I picked up a copy of the book and was horrified by the contents. If one tenth of that book is true, it is still be more than enough to solidify my decision to stop eating animals.

That was twenty one years ago today.

Do I still feel the same way? Yes. It is a conscientious decision. I cannot save the whole world but I can do what I feel is my part. Nothing anyone can say will make me change my mind. Is every animal mistreated? Nope, in fact I would say the cows my son-in-law raises are treated pretty damn well. But I don't eat them either.

I’m not a militant non-meat eater. Most people don’t even notice I don’t eat meat. I certainly don’t advertise it. If people ask me “Are you a vegetarian?”, I might answer “Yes”, but most times I just say “I feel like eating light today.” I have had co-workers, who have known me for years, be absolutely shocked in disbelief when they find out. There is a reason I keep pretty low key about it. I can't stand to hear...

“Why?”

The Okie Blog Awards

First off I must thank the unknown person that nominated my little Blog here for the Okie Blog Awards. I was one of the finalists in the Photography category. http://oklahomablogawards.blogspot.com/

As they say, I am honored just to be nominated. The other nominees are fabulous photographers. I encourage you to check them all out:

http://thepioneerwoman.com/

http://www.lightsmithphoto.com/pixelpost/

http://melindabrookshirephotography.com/

http://zachgray.me/

http://77counties.blogspot.com/

http://www.zachnash.com/blog/

http://blog.newsok.com/photo/

http://dishygirlsphotography.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=section&layout=blog&id=2&Itemid=9

http://erinconrad.blogspot.com/

http://www.trryan.com/

Why Are You Doing It Like That?

Sometime later today, probably around 5 p.m., I'll drive the short two miles over to my Mom and Dad's house to watch The Super Bowl along with my brother. Somewhere in the last five or six years it has become a bit of a tradition. Sure we usually get together for the occasional holiday, but those are somewhat mandatory and planned. The Super Bowl thing somehow just happened over time. There is no elaborate food spread, no huge party, we don't even order a pizza. We just sit and enjoy the game and watch the commercials.

The four of us (Mom is the biggest sports fan of all) usually root for the same team and usually for the same reason. We'll all probably cheer for the Colts because we can't stand Jeremy Shockey and Reggie Bush.

This year will a little more special because it will be my 74th Dad's birthday.

When I was a kid it always seemed that my older brother was off doing something with his friends, my sister curled up in her room reading a book, and my younger brother was..., well he was just younger. So when Dad needed help with a project he would elicit my help. I spent many hours holding boards, handing him tools, and cleaning up afterwards.

I was able to learn a lot of things by osmosis. I would ask him "Why are you doing it like that?" Dad wouldn't exactly stop and explain things as he'd go along, but he would point out a hint or two. I found out much later why he was like that. When I work on a project and my wife is the one helping me, she always asks "Why are you doing it like that?" I don't answer and just keep working, because it is easier and quicker to show her than tell her. Much like my father and me.

I inherited his appreciation of natural wood. Unfortunately I only inherited about 10% of his ability to transform wood into virtually any shape or form that he wants. I can remember watching him carve a block of wood into an object of art with little effort, usually while watching television. Or take wood he harvested from an old closet shelf and turn it into a toy chest for a co-worker. To this day I find it virtually impossible to throw away the smallest scrap of wood, full knowing the value of how it can used for a future project.

Something I did learn was photography. Dad built a worktable that converted the bathroom into a makeshift darkroom. The table ran across the sink and the toilet, and the tub was used as a wash. We could only work in there a couple of hours at a time because invariably someone would need to use the bathroom. Although the tools have changed dramatically, I still use many of the basic things he taught me in those short hours.

Now that we are all older, my Dad still calls me when he needs help with a project. Only now the roles have changed. I'm the one standing on the ladder, he's the one handing me the tools. And ever so often, he'll ask me the question, "Why are you doing it like that?" I just reply, "Because that's the way you taught me."

Going to the Dogs

I've had cats. Their okay I guess. I don't really have anything against them. I'm a dog person. Most definitely. I guess my personality has a lot of dog-like qualities. Sometimes I like to lounge around and do absolutely nothing. I'm friendly when I want to be, bark when I need to, sometimes for no reason. I have a short attention span. Playful one minute, protective the next. It takes a while for people to gain my trust, then I'm pretty loyal. Every time the wife thinks she has has me trained, I pee on the floor.

Just kidding.

I currently have four dogs. A lhasa apso that gets called a handful of different names, a pair of Australian shepherds named Duff and Sophie, and my old girl Sable, a lab shepherd mix.

Duff is the puppy of the bunch, he's a year and a half old. One of the smartest dogs I've ever had. No he wasn't named after the beer, he was named after the bass player Duff McKagen of Guns N Roses. Duff likes the snow so much he'll bury himself in it.

Sophie here is Duff's sister from a different litter. She is Paetyn's dog and she's about three years old now. Her main function is to mess with Duff. She doesn't like to have her photo taken. The only way we can tell her and Duff apart is to look at their feet. She has white socks, Duff doesn't. Her face is a little narrower but it's hard to tell when they are moving so fast.

Australian Shepherds are diggers. They love to hunt moles. Duff here is doing his ostrich impersonation. One day I found him carrying a wool sock around in the backyard. Turns out it was a mole. Ewwwwwww.

This is my old girl Sable. She is such a regal dog. I got her and her twin brother Coale about nine years ago from the pound. Unfortunately Coale got poisoned from a snake bite. Sable is the grand dame of the backyard. Her favorite thing to do is get food, set it in front of her, and dare the other dogs to touch it. Sophie will tuck tail and run. Duff hasn't figured it out yet and will go for the food. For such a smart dog, he aint too bright. Sable will tear him a new one. She got out one day and got hit by a car. She ran off and hid for two days. I finally found her in the bushes. Her leg healed all right but she doesn't run too often. Most days she just sits back and watches the other two play.

Duff is a lot of fun. He can sit and shake most of the time. He'll come when you yell. Doesn't bark too much. Paetyn taught him how to fetch. I love to take snowballs and throw them. Duff will run after the snowball and gets utterly confused when he can't find the snowball in the snow. Maybe he isn't one of the smartest dog I ever had after all.

Escape

Today's post is a twofer: The result of a little game I play for inspiration plus a way to say happy birthday to a little five year old.

The game is to pick a random music cd from my collection. The choice was Metallica: Ride the Lightning. Then pick a number between one and twenty (I chose six) and come up with a photo based on the title of the corresponding track. Hence the title "Escape".

I thought about it for a while when I remembered this photo from earlier this summer. We were trying to corral the horses and needed to keep Adyson in the yard for safety.

I love the grim look on her face, reaching through the barrier, longing to be free...

"Out for my own, out to be free
One with my mind, they just can't see
No need to hear things that they say
Life's for my own to live my own way"

I converted it to b/w because I felt it conveyed the mood better even though it nearly blackened her eyes..

It reminds me of the early days when my dad was teaching me the basics of photography. Since black and white film was so much cheaper, plus we could develop and print it ourselves, that is all I shot for many years.

Anyways, Happy Birthday Adyson. Come get your birthday spanking.

Happy New Year, a look back....waaaaay back

The older I get... seems like every new year or birthday that rolls around, I force myself to remember where I was and what I was doing 10, 20, 30 or 40 years ago. I'm not one that harps on the past or longs for those days. I am quite happy in the present. But I force myself to remember so those memories don't fade. I don't have a pensieve that I can just conjure up memories like Dumbledore. So I look through the few old photos and do the best I can.

Anyways, New Years 40 years ago in 1970 I was 8 years old, the same age that my little girl Paetyn is now. We had just settled into permanent base housing at Grant Heights Air Force Base in Japan. I was in second grade at Narimasu Elementary and a review of the report card says that Mary Galvin was my teacher. She wrote:" Dennis is an excellent student. He is intelligent, conscientious, mature, and enthusiastic. (He) is a very good all around student who continues to show consistent progress in all areas." A hand written certificate reveals that I read 40 supplementary books that year.

It's quite obvious that my academic prowess peaked in second grade. Haha. Truth is living in Japan we didn't spend hours in front of the television, the only English speaking show was Sesame Street on the educational channel. Of course there were no video games or computers to pass the time, we actually had to go outside and play. Makes me wonder if 40 years from now Paetyn will look back and say "We only had 200 channels to choose from and had these things called laptops that weren't even in 3D."

I was looking forward to summer because that's when I could officially start playing baseball. There was no tee-ball or coach pitch back then, it was strictly kid-pitch. Age groups were separated in two year increments, 8-9 year old, 10-11, 12-13 etc. On sign-up day you would get a number pinned to your back, then you went through a series of drills so the coaches could evaluate your skills. They would see how well you could field the ball, throw it, pitch, catch, run, etc. That lasted a couple of hours then they would have a draft. Coaches were allowed to keep the nine year olds of their team from the previous year. The draft would only last five rounds, then the players remaining were put on teams at random.

I was the fourth player chosen overall that day, and I went to the Tigers. Thus beginning my lifelong love affair with the Detroit Tigers. Coincidentally I also instantly started hating the Yankees that day. :) Anyways, as an eight year old on a nine year old team meant more bench time instead of playing time. I played a little outfield and short stop, but it would be the next year before I really played baseball.

Summer that year we went to Expo 70, the world's fair held in Osaka, Japan. Some things I remember: One was the seeing the Taiyo-no-to or the Tower of the Sun which was this double faced totem pole structure that was the symbol for the fair. Here is a link so you can see what I'm talking about: http://worldsfairphotos.blogspot.com/2009/11/expo-70s-tower-of-sun.html. The second was all of the different countries had pavilions. You could buy a commemorative passport and have it stamped at each pavilion. The most popular was the United States pavilion because they had on display an actual moon rock. The third thing I remember is my sister lost her military ID card and she got in big trouble.

I enjoyed the 4 1/2 years I lived in Japan. Now forty years later, I might get to go back because my oldest daughter Shana is trying to get stationed there.

It's Been 29 Years

I was a skinny 19 year old kid, living on my own in a two bedroom apartment in Midwest City. I could barely pay my bills and I lived on fried potatoes and ramen noodles. Because I couldn't afford electricity I kept my heater turned completely off and the apartment was so cold that downstairs you could see your own breath. My entertainment budget was zero, and the used bookstore was my only means for escape.
I was reading The Two Towers and had less than a couple of dozen pages to finish. I was reading fast, trying to finish because I really needed to go to sleep. I had my radio on, listening to the KATT when the DJ said that there was a report out of New York that John Lennon had been shot.
I didn't really think much about it and plugged away at the book. A few minutes later the DJ came back on and said "John Lennon has died." and launched immediately into "Imagine."
I put my book down.
I couldn't read another word, I was in shock. I turned off the light and listened to the radio for another hour before drifting off to sleep. I don't know exactly why his death affected me so much that day. I was a good Beatles fan as a young lad. I visited a Hard Rock Cafe once and noticed they had the same Beatles lunch box that I had when I was six years old. Yeah I was a cool kid. I did love the Beatles, but in all honesty, Ringo and Paul were my favorites.
Anyways, I think I was affected by John's death because the Beatles were a big part of my youth, and the fact that they would never ever get back together blew me away. I realized that we truly lost an icon, and we would never get him back.
In 2004, December 8th became a double dark day for music, when Dimebag Darrell Abbott was executed in a small club in Ohio. Dimebag was one of my favorite guitarist of all time, he truly reinvented the steel.
Rest In Peace