I've Always Hated Orange

I grew up in the '7o's. A time of roller skates, banana seats, corduroy pants, and pet rocks. Top movie: "Grease." Top TV show: "The Six Million Dollar Man." Top band: The Bee Gees. #1 Hair style: Feathered. And most popular colors: Avocado Green and Harvest Gold.

Avocado Green and Harvest Gold accented with ORANGE I might add. That began my "hate affair" with the color orange. My trendy parents decided to paint each room of the house a different color: the den - orange, (I still don't understand that one since my father's an OU fan), my brother's room - blue, and my and my sister's room - yellow. I wanted mint green with light blue accents, but no, my parents chose harvest gold and avocado green accented with orange. We had these horrendous floral and plaid bedspreads sporting those dazzling colors and if that wasn't enough, my mom bought my sister and I matching nightgowns and robes. And when I say matching, I don't just mean "matching" in terms of each other. I mean "matching" as in "with the bedspreads!" Then to add insult to injury, we had to pose to have pictures taken. I cried my eyes out.

And I've never gotten over this. I refuse to purchase anything yellow - ever, and I want to vomit every time I see anything orange. Any shade or color combination involving orange sets my nausea into motion. Light, dark, bright, dull --- bring me a barf bag. Mixed with green or blue or purple --- all I can do is ask "Why?" Hell, I don't even like oranges, the fruit. You have to peel them and then those slimy little vein things get stuck in your teeth. Nasty!

So see, this isn't just a football thing. Granted, why you'd put orange with black unless it is part of a Halloween costume is beyond me. And burnt orange resembling Gerber's strained apricots is just completely classless. But when it comes to orange I'm equally prejudice on all fronts. I hate them all!

Live Like We're Dying

Since the inception of my blog, I've tried to come up with a different topic each week. Occasionally, I've had a lot to say in a given week, and therefore posted a bit more frequently. This week I had a bad case of writer's block and decided I'd take a break. I have several things working for future blogs, and felt my time would be better spent working on those drafts. But then I attended a memorial service for a friend and realized that I wasn't quite done talking about him and his untimely passing.

By now, most of you know that Daryl Hunt died July 9, 2010 of a massive heart attack. He was 53 years old. He was an offensive lineman for OU and drafted by and played for the Houston Oilers for six years. Even at the time of his passing, he was a physical specimen and looked as though he could still deliver a hit or two if called upon. This alone negated any consolation I was suppose to find in the fact that the average NFL player only lives to be 59.

Saturday, a modest crowd of roughly 200 gathered at Second Baptist of Houston to remember this remarkable man. There was quite the olio of mourners: his mother and daughter, co-workers from Grocer's Supply and Quail Valley Country Club, congregation members from Brentwood Baptist, fellow Sooner alums, and Dan Pastorini, Mike Barber, Greg Bingham, Spencer Tillman and Barry Switzer to name a few.

I debated on whether or not to attend. I've dealt with my share of death in the past fifteen months, and just wasn't sure how much more I could take. Other than the actual day of his funeral in Odessa, I've managed to hold it together pretty well this time. It's hard to explain, but I didn't necessarily feel the devastation in his passing like I did with my friend Wayman a little over a year ago. Instead, his death has left me with a void that I know will not be easily filled.

Normally when we lose a loved one we talk about the things we didn't get to say or do before they left us. I can honestly say that for the year Daryl was a part of my life, we developed a bond that was unsurpassed. From all the stories I heard this weekend and over the past month, none of them were anything I hadn't heard before and I could have supplied a few of my own. Okay, I take that back. I didn't know he liked motorcycles which is probably just as well since I dream of one day owning a purple Harley. But that aside, it was the fact that I knew so much about someone in such a short time that has made it difficult for me to cope. Watching a slideshow tribute made me realize once again how much I've taken for granted.

And hence, the empty feeling. I didn't talk to Daryl every day, but I sure could have if I wanted. When school resumes in a couple of weeks, there will be no more texts at lunch time on Fridays telling me to "Hang in there. The weekend is almost here." When I work on Thursday nights, he he isn't going to surprise me by showing up for wings. His name and number are on my caller ID for the last time. Yet my only real regret is not being able to touch him again. I didn't stay for the reception Saturday, but instead came home and changed into a pair of his old shorts and a t-shirt. Something about that was profoundly comforting and soothing. It was like I could almost feel him again.

I know Daryl is up above keeping an eye on everyone down here and reminding them to cherish every moment of every day. This was evident during Switzer's eulogy Saturday where he praised Daryl and his family for the impact they've had on others. He shared a story about a dinner he had recently with a man that told him the Hunt's had influenced his life greatly. Right there at the dinner table, Barry called Elayne (Daryl's mom) and then Daryl himself so that the guy could thank them. As the story came to a close, Barry's cell phone rang as if on cue. He apologized to the congregation, looked at the LCD screen of his phone and told us, "That was Daryl calling. He just wanted to say 'Thank you!'"

SUMMER 2010

Today I must come to accept the inevitable: in two weeks I'll be returning to school/work. Summer 2010 will come to a close and it will be time to commence to "molding young minds." Although I am becoming a bit bored, I'm still not really ready to make my return.

First, I haven't finished my summer "To Do List." I haven't read the stack of books I wanted to read "for fun." I've gone nowhere, not even Galveston. And until the past two weeks, I haven't worked more than two shifts/week at the restaurant all summer long.

I'm also going to miss my dogs like crazy. They have gotten so used to my being home, and I've become an expert at wasting time with them. I am predicting all three of us will have a rough adjustment period. I know I'll look forward to getting home to them every afternoon.

But on the bright side of things, I've actually made some friends at school: "Shouts out to Ashley, Elise, Kendall, Lydia, and Meggan." This should make the days more fun when you've got friends with other common interests to talk with throughout the day. And of course we'll continue with our fabulous "Girls' Night," so that will be fun!

Yea for me! I've got more AP and GT classes than academic classes this year. This should cut down greatly on behavioral and academic progress documentation. We should actually get some things accomplished during 2010-2011!

Other than "Teacher," I have no other job titles this year. No "Team Leader," no "Mentor." This means I'm pretty much only responsible for me and my students. I'm definitely ready for a break in this area as I've been in charge of something for the last fifteen years. It's nice to finally be able to pass the torch.

A big plus is that I associate the beginning of the school year with the beginning of college (Go Sooners!) and professional (Go Vikings!) football season. That always speeds the first semester along.

Lastly, I'm hoping to follow our school soccer team a bit more closely. Depending on what I see, I may decide to return to coaching somewhere down the line.

So all in all, I'm thinking it's going to be a pretty good year. I've got all my "school supplies," my classroom is already set up, and I've even started writing lesson plans for the first six weeks. Now it's just time to get nervous about the first day!

Top 10 Reasons Being Single Sucks

I've really struggled to come up with a creative introduction for this blog. At almost half a century old, I believe I'm an expert in the field of being single. Therefore let me begin with this: I HATE BEING SINGLE!!!

There. Now that that's out of the way, here are the "Top 10 Reasons Being Single Sucks."

10. There is no "good" way to cook for one. Have you ever seen a recipe for a single serving of pot roast? After the second night of leftovers, you'll never want to see pot roast again.

9. You are responsible for making all decisions. From what kind of car to buy to the color of carpeting to put in your house, all decisions fall squarely on your and only your shoulders. Even trivial decisions such as where to eat dinner can at times seem overwhelming.

8. There's no one to talk to at the end of the day. Humans thrive on interpersonal communication. They need someone to share the day's highs and lows. Even the closest friend or family member cannot provide the emotional intimacy of a significant other.

7. The IRS hates single, childless people. I know this because I've never received a single deduction for my relationship status. My accountant can provide additional proof via my tax returns for the past twenty-five years.

6. There is no one to plan/take vacations with. Whether it's New Orleans or Disney World or Jamaica, traveling alone is unappealing (and in this day and time it's a safety issue). Personally I'm dreading returning to school next month and listening to all the wonderful places people visited and when it's my turn piping up, "Me? I didn't go anywhere."

5. Being the 3rd wheel sucks. Seating arrangements for most events (dinners, football games, weddings) are usually done in pairs. There's nothing like being the one that needs that lone, "odd" chair. And who wants to be a "tag along?"

4. Friday night out consists of takeout and being asleep by 9 PM. It seldom crosses the minds of other couples to include their "single" friends in their plans. And even if they do, the aforementioned #5 comes into play. Most weekends I find my family and friends forget my existence completely.

3. There is no restitution for the amount of money a single person spends on special occasions for couples and their children. Various showers not to mention gift giving times such as birthdays, Christmases, and graduations (especially when kids become involved) are costly for singles. To continually cough up $25-$100 gifts multiple times throughout the year and only receive a $25 gift card at Christmas in return hardly tips the scales in favor of equality.

2. Holidays are depressing. Let's skip Valentine's Day altogether. Since no one is in love with the single person, there's definitely no chocolates, flowers, or romantic dates. At Christmas, when everyone shows off what their spouses got them, the single person sits quietly in the corner. There's no one to kiss at midnight on New Years Eve. No one's hand to hold while watching fireworks on the 4th. And on your birthday, if you're lucky, you might get dinner with the folks, a cake, and a present from Mom. (Gee, after reading this one, no wonder I want to crawl into a hole and die on these days).

...And the #1 reason being single sucks...

You always question why you aren't/weren't deserving of of someone else's love. Eventually you reach the point where you continually ask yourself, "What is wrong with me?" "Why did I never get a chance?" "What can I change to make myself more lovable?" "Why am I not good enough?" And the list goes on, and on, and on....

Now I realize there is a topic or two I did not approach today. I did so in hopes of sparing embarrassment for some family members and friends. Just know that if I ever get around to actually writing a book, "Being Single" will be a strong contender for a topic. That being said, I'm sure I will periodically revisit the issue on this blog, at which time I could very well cover omitted sections!

Religion vs. Spirituality

"The essence of religion:
Fear God and obey God.
The quintessence of spirituality:
Love God and become another God."
-Sir Chinmoy

I was raised in a "religious" home. Church on Sundays, (AM and PM), VBS in the summer, Christmas Eve and Easter services.... Around the age of sixteen I told my mom, "I didn't want to go to church anymore." It wasn't that I was turning my back on God. My belief in an omnipotent being was (and continues to be) strong. It was some time later before I could verbalize that my problem was not spiritual, rather my issues were with organized religion.

1. Often religion finds its premise in fearing God. We're told to "do the right thing" so we don't "suffer" in the future. The spiritual approach suggests we find God through love. God is not to be feared, but to be approached through the path of love.


2. In religion, God is referred to as being in the heavens, someone far from our reach. Spiritually speaking, God is omniscient and omnipresent. He is a living presence in one's heart. Not only is he reachable, but we can have an inner realization of God as well.


3. Many religions feel that only their faith can lead to salvation. In other words, their religious beliefs are the "right" ones, and everyone else's beliefs are wrong. This is one of the greatest hypocrisies in the religion debate. Spirituality allows us to accept that we all have the same goal, we just take different paths to get there. One religion is not better than another; it's simply a matter of upbringing and personal beliefs. The important thing is to just have faith.


4. Religion focuses on an outward expression of beliefs and rituals. It's more of a public forum. Spirituality is intrapersonal. The focus is on the individual's one-on-one relationship with God.

Based on these differences, I find religion to often be hypocritical, narrow-minded, and on occasion, even oppressive.

Too many people are "Sunday Saints." It's as if going to worship on the Sabbath and repenting trumps any sins or wrong doings for the week. Publicly proclaiming your faith only to turn around and cheat on your spouse, lie to your boss, and slander other human beings is pure blasphemy.

As previously mentioned, the ultimate goal is to find salvation through the guidance of a supreme being. Religion is merely a means to an end. To profess superiority of one's beliefs over another's undermines God's sole intent. What limited insight to believe that Christian Trial Lawyers and Christian Brothers Auto are most worthy of your patronage.

Lastly, there is nothing uplifting about being preached "at." The last sermon I heard a little over a year ago used the song Amazing Grace as its springboard. The minister began with an anecdote about a C&W band who sang the song but changed the word "wretch" (the lyrics say "saved a 'wretch' like me") to "soul." The message was that the band was wrong for having done this because "all of us in the congregation were wretches" and needed to be reminded of such. Now I don't know about you, but when I go to church I don't expect to be chastised. This is not to say I'm 100% saint and automatically absolved of all wrong doing. But I'm definitely not the evil, vile transgressor this person would have me believe. I left feeling like a dog with their tale between their legs. And obviously the sermon's intent disturbed me enough that I feel the need to bring it up a year later.

In closing, I recognize that for many, religion and spirituality go hand-in-hand. But for others, it does not mean their faith is any less strong because they don't attend church, mass, temple, etc.... Print and media make it easy to learn and spread God's word. The approach is not what's important. Having faith is.

"And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit." ---Ephesians 2:22

And Then...There Was Jolie!!!

For a long time I wanted a second dog, but when Jackson was diagnosed with cancer that put things on hold. Once I knew he was going to be okay, I also knew that I needed a second dog. "Needed" is a strong word, but Jackson's illness made me realize he wouldn't be around forever, and well, when something did finally happen to him, having nothing else to take care of and love would be my demise.

Anything but another Boxer was never a consideration, but this time around I knew I did NOT want a puppy. They are fun and all, but if I thought time was an issue before, it was really a problem now. I was working two jobs full time (teaching and bartending). Furthermore, there was no way the timing of things was going to work out like before with regards to me finding a puppy just the right age to bring home at the start of the summer. With Jackson being seven years old, a male was out of the question as the "Battle of the Alphas" was bound to eventually erupt. I had never had a Boxer with brindle markings, so I was leaning that direction. And lastly, though I love Jackson dearly, and for him he was worth it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, I will NEVER pay that kind of money for a pet ever again.

This made the decision to rescue or adopt a dog the obvious answer. In Houston we have a wonderful organization called Lone Star Boxer Rescue. Adopting a dog was like adopting a child. There were applications and forms to fill out, visits made to my home to check out its "dog preparedness" and my interaction with Jackson, and meetings for Jackson and I both to get to know other dogs in an effort to find the one "just right" for us. Every weekend for six or seven weeks we drove from place to place looking for the "perfect fit." It was heart-wrenching because needless to say, I wanted to save every dog. There were always more males to chose from than females, and many of the dogs had health issues. Normally I wouldn't have cared about the latter problem, but since I already had one dog with a serious illness, it was unrealistic to bring another one into the household.

That's when I started looking at breeders. I talked with several of them and looked at their pups, but I just was not getting good vibes. AND, I did NOT want a puppy anyway! By now it was the first of March and I was growing frustrated, so while I was out on my Saturday morning run, I decide that the litters Jackson and I were going to look at that morning would be our last for awhile. At peace with that decision, I made the final turn for home ready to sprint the last quarter mile. It was trash pick up day in the neighborhood, and wouldn't you know, propped up against the curb was a wire puppy crate. I froze because I am a firm believer in fate and I knew this was God's message that today was the day. I was coming back with a puppy.

You already know how this turns out. Just know there were two litters and after meticulously running through my "Selection Process Checklist," I came away with Jolie. The name choice was spur of the moment; I was still sticking with a "J" name, but it had to be different, so I took the "J-o" from my brother's name, Joel, and the "l-i" from my sister's name, Juli. The "e" was thrown on for good measure in hopes that people would pronounce her name correctly, (pronounced Joe - Lee, not like Angelina Jolie). It was also a clever name choice because now I got to wave it over my siblings' heads that I named my "kid" after them, yet they never named their kids after me! :)

So other than the fact that Jolie was a puppy, I had just what I wanted. That first week I would run home on my conference period and let her out of the crate. The following week was Spring Break, and bless her heart, every day she was kept in a different room because my house was being repainted after storm damage from Hurricane Ike that previous September. And the schedule never got any better after that. She was unexpectedly boarded for almost a week and a half after the sudden deaths of a friend and a family member. I fault the lack of routine the first six months as to why she was so difficult. Don't get me wrong. She mastered the basics, "sit," "shake," and "lay down" in a timely fashion, and she never really tore anything up. But whereas Jackson had never had to be told more than three times to do/learn anything, Jolie was an entirely different story.

The third time I would tell her to do anything, she started barking at me and she would run and hide under my bed. And the bark was not the "Big Dog" bark you'd expect from a Boxer. It was a yippy Poodle bark. I'm pretty sure if I could translate what she was telling me, I'd learn her little a$$ was back-talking me! She was a nightmare on a leash, breaking loose repeatedly and stopping for nothing. She was vicious at meal time, scaring poor Jackson into submission. She gutted my backyard, running like she was possessed when I let her out (hence the early nickname of "Taz" for the Tasmanian Devil). She knocked holes in the fence trying to get to the dog next door. She hated to be petted. She had an affinity for paper, be it plain paper, toilet paper, or even greenback paper. She once ate four five dollar bills. When she pooped them out later, I thought I had my own personal ATM machine until I realized I was missing $20. But probably the most annoying habit was her potty tendencies. I couldn't get her to stop relieving herself in the crate. And this wasn't something that was a result of being in there too long and unable to hold it. She would purposely go into the crate to do her business. By July I'd had it. I called my vet and told him I just didn't think I could do it. Honestly, I was ready to go stand on the street corner and give her to the first person that showed interest. The vet told me to "hang in there," and "not give up yet. She'd come around." He and a friend convinced me to board both dogs for a few days and get away.

I did. It had been a rough year, loosing my roof during Ike, suffering the loss of two loved ones, and repairing my big screen TV when it went out only to have the AC go out the following week. The break helped and when I returned, my head had cleared enough to start again with Jolie.

And slowly but surely, she made progress. I approached her training differently and she got it. Most of the aforementioned issues resolved themselves. By November, she no longer needed to stay in the crate at night and she was only nine months old! But the one habit I couldn't break was the defecating in the crate. In the middle of the night she'd even go in there to use the bathroom. She continued to have no fewer than two "accidents" when I left her there during the day. So once again I returned to the vet, but even he was at a loss on this one. "Dogs didn't usually soil the area where they slept." Okay, let's get serious here. Nothing about Jolie had been "usual," at least by my standards. He was going to contact a behavioral specialist for dogs, but I in the mean time had another problem.

Jackson still had not adjusted to having another dog in the house and he was beginning to mark his territory, usually in the middle of my living room floor. That was the final straw! It was now the first of May (I'd had Jolie for fourteen months), and while it was bad enough cleaning up the crate after her two or three times a day and constantly bathing her, this with Jackson was totally ridiculous. I brought in the second crate, and for the first time in five years, I started crating Jackson too when I left. I positioned the crates side-by-side (with no more than an inch between them) because being a teacher, my rationale was that of "cooperative grouping." The higher level kid, in this case dog, would teach the lower level kid/dog. When Jolie saw that Jackson would "hold it" when he was in the crate, they'd talk in whatever their dog language was, and she'd learn to "hold it" too.

Now if you're done laughing you can pick yourself up off the floor, and I'll tell you that this actually worked. However, not for the reasons I had hoped it would. "Dogs," the vet told me, "do not understand 'cooperative grouping.'" Rather, what he suspects is that Jolie suffered from separation anxiety. Because I had her for five months before there was really any set routine/schedule, he thinks she was scared. Yes, Jackson had always been in the same room as Jolie whenever I left, but he usually laid across the room. The vet thinks Jolie felt alone and abandoned. Placing Jackson right next to her reassured her that was not the case. I am happy to say that it has been two and half months and both dogs seem secure. Jackson has stopped his marking, and while I was typing this, Jolie sprinted into the room, bolted to the back door, and came barreling back down the hall to let me know she needed to go out, NOW!

I can't believe Jolie is the same dog I wanted to get rid of twelve months ago. Yes, she was definitely more difficult than Jackson in the beginning, but she really opened my eyes. She made me realize that her "not getting it" when I first tried to teach her something was not a reason for me to quit or give up. It simply meant I needed to find a new approach. Now she loves to cuddle and play "fetch" with anything. Her favorite place to sleep is under my bed. Since she is as tall as Jackson, I'm not too sure how she fits under there, but hey, it's her "safe" spot and I always get a chuckle when I walk in and see just that nose and a paw sticking out! She is the sweetest, most loving dog I've ever owned.

And oh yeah. I no longer call her "Taz." Now, she's "Momma's Angel."

TOMORROW'S NOT A GUARANTEE

So for the fourth time in just over a year I've had to accept the untimely death of a loved one and friend. While there is no real "good death" for us that remain behind as those we hold dear pass on, I must say, death increases the complexity of things when it's a friend your own age. Today I learned of the death of my friend Daryl Hunt.




I've known Daryl for several years, but it was the last one in which we became close. We met in 2005, at where else, an OU alumni event. And despite Houston's size, we managed to run into each other occasionally around town. But ironically enough, it was a small vacation back in Oklahoma last July where we really had a chance to sit down and talk. We hit it off and most of the separate 500 mile car trips home was done via cell phone with each other. I was about two hours ahead of him and I'll never forget his call telling me he was caught in a tornado and describing the semi in front of him being lifted off the road and neatly dropped on top of a hamburger marquee sign.





We ended up dating the rest of the summer, into fall, and early winter. I liked Daryl because he was so fricking laid back. My favorite time together was Friday nights. He worked two jobs like I did, and by Friday, we were both just plain tired. We usually grabbed take out, had a couple of drinks, and watched a movie...or talked. And we talked about nothing major or life altering. We talked about his last family reunion (the pictures he shared of his family were so wonderful! I thought his mom was his sister---his younger sister at that)! He talked to his mom often and cherished those visits. He told me about his daughter, her looking for a job, and getting hurt playing of all things, football! Man, he was proud of her! We talked about my family, the hard time my brother was going through, my mom's health, my dad's absence in my life. He'd tell me stories about his playing days as the first African American at Odessa, Permian, the championships at OU (#85 on right), the rigors of the NFL as an Oiler. Sometimes, he'd get so carried away he would reenact his favorite hits with me being the opposition!






We talked, or I should probably say argued, about music. He was into old school rock. Me---not so much. He LOVED music! He was always looking to download something new and he had bought books to teach himself how to play the base. He liked decorating his apartment and would bring things home and ask my opinion. He was making plans to buy a house that didn't have too big a yard because he "didn't want to do yard work."


Yard work would take away from golf time and that was Daryl's true love. His part-time job was at a country club. He had his tickets for the Masters in September. And it was never too early to discuss playing Palm Springs in February as part of a charity event. Everywhere you looked there were golf clubs. In the den, in the bedroom, in the closet. But my favorite? The set in the kitchen pantry! I never asked. I just accepted.


Although the romantic interest between us dwindled, we did keep in touch. I hadn't talked to him since school was out and had recently emailed him telling him we needed to get together and catch up. A mellow Friday night would be awesome. I never heard back and I can't help but think if I had, I would have been there when he had his heart attack.

I can see so clearly how it all happened: he brushed his teeth, took out his contacts, made sure the cell phones were by his bed, turned the radio onto timer, set the alarm, and laid down on those gold sheets that gave the room such a palatial air. He was asleep by eleven, twelve at the latest, and never woke up. Had he called back, maybe I could have been there and called 911. May he'd still be here and I wouldn't be talking in "What if's?"

The point is, at fifty-three he wasn't out to set the world on fire. He was just enjoying life, living day to day, making ordinary plans, doing what made him happy. The hardest part for me is thinking about just the little things he had planned and there was no question they would happen. It was all taken for granted.

My one wish for everyone is this: We are all so busy. We always say, "I need to give so-and-so a call," or "I really need to shoot him/her an email." What on earth are we waiting for? Make the call. Shoot the email. Are the petty squabbles worth the avoidance? Let someone know how you feel about them. If you're mad, tell them. If you love them, tell them. Who cares if the response is not what you anticipated? You only get one chance. Live each day to its fullest. No regrets. You've only got here and now.

R.I.P. Daryl Hunt. God got a good one today.

The Best Dog Ever

Never let it be said that I never wanted kids. In April of 2002 the alarm on my biological clock went off. I marched into the office of my long time friend and boldly announced, "I want a baby!" Ever so slowly he pushed his chair back from the desk, rolled the pen back and forth that he was holding between the thumb and first two fingers of each hand, looked at me over the top of his Martin Luther King, Jr. glasses, and cleared his throat.

"I think you should get a dog."

Not exactly the answer I was looking for. Ever the smart guy and ready to squelch any other notions I might have had about wanting a kid, he had a name and number for me to call by 3PM that afternoon. I did call and the next day I had an appointment to go check out two litters of Boxer pups.

I knew in selecting a puppy there were certain qualities to look for and there were several dogs that fit my requirements, in particular, one girl and one boy. The female absolutely loved me and climbed all over me. But there was something about the male. I made arrangements with the breeder to return again a few days later and see how the dogs responded upon a second visit.

It's hard to explain the butterflies I felt in my stomach when I left that day. I had wanted a dog for so long, but I had a schedule that was anything but conducive to owning a pet. This was big commitment, not just of time, but of work and money too. And my parents weren't too keen on the idea. I even remember my mom telling me, "This is going to change everything." Boy, was she right!

Over the course of the next few days I read every piece of literature I could find on Boxer dogs, focusing mostly on "Selecting Your Puppy" and "Preparing to Bring a Puppy Home." Despite the fact that most breeders try to have the puppies in their new homes at six weeks, I knew it was best to leave them with their mother and litter mates until they were eight weeks old. This was perfect as eight weeks for the dogs I was interested in would fall on the first day I was out of school for the summer.

When I returned to look at the litters, I was once again drawn to the same two pups. Like my previous visit, the female wouldn't leave me alone, but that little male (who wasn't so little at the second biggest of the litter) was special. He was a beautifully marked flashy-fawn and in the end, he was my choice.

Picking a name was easy. It had to start with a "J" and I really wanted something with four letters (it's a family thing). "Jack" would have been the obvious choice, but something about signing Christmas cards "Love, Jack and Jill," was just a bit to portentous. Years before I had worked for a private caterer, Jackson Hicks, and thus I had my new puppy's name. I asked that the breeder start calling him that and made arrangements to visit Jackson several times over the next few weeks so that he'd be familiar with me when it was finally time to take him home.

The next month passed quickly as I was winding down the school year and "puppy-proofing" my home. I bought a new car because a full grown Boxer would never fit into the two door sports car I was driving.

Puppy supplies were ready, school ended, and on Monday I was taking my dog home. But that Friday before, as my friend Jen and I were signing out for the summer, my excitement got the better of me and we decided to go get him right then. He rode home in Jen's lap and at that moment she became his "God Mother" and agreed to care for him if anything ever happened to me.

Jackson adapted quickly. He was a bit timid about his crate in the beginning, so I crawled in it first and he followed. By the end of the first week, he could sit, shake and lay down on both verbal and non-verbal command. When I left him for the first time a week after picking him up, he cried like crazy. (I know because I have the video tapes to prove it)! I was afraid neighbors in my apartment complex would complain, but fortunately they didn't. Still, I knew we could not stay in an apartment forever. A dog his size would need a place to run and play, so I began looking for a house and by the end of the year I was a homeowner!

Now I know what you're thinking, but I'm going on record and saying that my step-dad thought it first. I was the only person he knew "that bought their dog a luxury SUV and a house." Of course I adamantly denied this accusation, but he was right! There was absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for my dog. Here I was, a dog owner for only six months, and "everything had changed."

Yes, Jackson was/is spoiled, but he's deserving. While I was helping Jackson grow up, he was helping me to simply grow. He's taught me patience and to appreciate the little things in life. For eight years he has given me something to come home to. He's offered me purpose when so many times I've felt lost. He's travelled with me and been the dugout mascot of my school softball team. He's the "social dog" of the neighborhood, sitting at the foot of neighbors' driveways until they acknowledge him with a "Hi Jackson!" He can get the mail, or bring me my shoes, or pick out his "ball" from his "toy" from his "bone." He knows the difference between a "biscuit" and a "chicken nugget." ("Biscuits" he knows are kept in the cabinet; "chicken nuggets" are kept in the freezer. Duh)! He has made me laugh, but he has also made me cry.

It's no big secret that Jackson has always had health issues. However, when he was five I began to notice some serious changes in his behavior. None were more disturbing though than the trail of blood I found across my floor one afternoon. The vet suspected a UTI and kidney stones, yet when he failed to adequately respond to treatment, I knew the problem was far greater. After more in depth testing, Jackson was diagnosed with prostate cancer in April of 2008. He had never been neutered, (I had tinkered with the idea of breeding him), so he was scheduled for emergency surgery. It went well, but a small patch of cells still remained meaning he would need further treatment.

Chemo and radiation for a pet is costly. I still haven't fully recovered financially, but not doing it was never a consideration. All I cared about was "making my dog better." Because of the vet's and my quick and aggressive response to a horrible situation, I'm happy to say that Jackson was cancer free four months after his original diagnosis. Life slowed down for us after that, and we both began to enter another phase of our lives. I struggled with having to accept Jackson's mortality, but the vet reminded me I could either embrace my pet's journey into his senior life or I could wake up each day questioning how much longer do we have together? It was a startling realization, but the latter was no way to live, so again the choice was easy. I continued with Jackson's regular check ups and he continued to remain in remission and grow healthier and healthier...

...Until two weeks ago. I had noticed a black mass on his belly and asked the vet to take a look. The cells revealed abnormal growth, and as we speak Jackson is undergoing yet another surgery to remove that tumor and another that has emerged since our visit.

I'm going to be honest. I do not feel these are life-threatening tumors. As usual, I have done my "research" and there is a one in three chance they are malignant. Jackson is stronger, has more energy, and is more playful than he has been in three years. Just like I knew before something was gravely wrong with my dog, I know this time he is going to be fine. My faith in a greater power will get us both through this.

Jackson is my life. It was meant to be that I selected him that day in April, 2002. I cannot imagine my life without him. I love him. He loves me back. He's the first thing I ever really did right. He's the best dog ever...the best dog ever...for me.

Tip$ for Dining Out (Part 4 of a 4 Part Series)

When I started this series of blogs, I knew "tipping would be the coup de gras. I've wrestled with how to best approach this topic as I could well write a book in order to cover everything I really want to say. (My first two drafts were over ten pages each when I realized both times I had only covered 75% of what I deemed necessary to address). In creating this series I did do some research using both primary (interview) and secondary (print) sources and it was the comments I heard and read about tipping that really resonated the loudest. But none of what came across my desk had greater impact on me than the following comment from a gentleman (a term I use loosely here) diner:

When I eat out I tip around 10% of the bill. People say I'm cheap, but I'm not eating out to pay someone's salary. That's not my responsibility. If what I tip is not sufficient for my waiter, then it's on the restaurant's [management] to pay their staff more.

Okay jack@$$, it is your responsibility to pay these people because tipping is the custom here in the U.S. You don't want to tip, then move to Europe where it is not the expected practice. When you eat out in a full-service restaurant (a place where you are seated, someone takes your order, delivers your drinks and food to you, and handles your payment), tipping 18%-20% of the bill needs to be figured into what you're willing to spend before you ever leave your house. If you aren't going to be able to afford the proper tip, then you don't need to be eating out in the first place.
And yes, I said 18%-20%---NOT 15%---is standard. Now I'm going to attempt to explain why that is the case. Here are a couple of things you need to know up front:

*Most servers/bartenders make $2.13/hr. This is what the federal government mandates as base pay for tipped employees. (I know some places pay more, particularly in the state of California, but higher hourly rates are the exception rather than the norm).

*Though not theoretically proven, most tipped employees pay roughly 8% in taxes (social security and federal income tax) based on their net sales. (Hence the reason they are required to claim a minimum of 8% tips). Note that most restaurants require employees to claim everything.

*Tipped employees are required to "tip out" a percentage (this amount varies from restaurant to restaurant) of their net sales to other co-workers. These include but are not limited to: busboys, bar backs, bartenders, dishwashers and greeters.

In an effort to keep this simple, we are going to assume the following numbers for our imaginary employee:

*They are paid a salary of $2.13/hr by the restaurant.
*8% of their net sales will be deducted for tax purposes.
*They "tip out" 2% of their net sales.
*They work a five hour shift.
*Their net sales are $100/hr.
*For Scenario 1, the employee made 20% in tips from their sales.

You ready? Pay attention.

5hrs. X $2.13/hr. = $10.65
5hrs. X $100 net/hr X 20% tips = $100

So it looks like our employee just made $110.65 for their five hour shift, right? But hold on. We need to figure out the take home pay after taxes and tip out.


$500 net sales X 8% tax deductions = $40.00
$500 net sales X 2% tip out = $10.00
Total deductions = $50.00
$110.65 - $50.00 = $60.65

There you go. This employee at $60.65 only takes home just over half of what they made.
Now let's take a quick look at Scenario 2. This server only received 10% in tips from guests. All previous numbers remain the same except the $100 in tips. At just 10%, this employee only made $50.00 in tips. So $10.65 (hourly pay) + $50.00 (tips) - $50.00 (deductions) = $10.65. At 10% tips this employee would have made $10.65 for a five hour shift. Seriously, who can support themselves, much less a family on $10/day? Understand now why your tip is their pay?
These employees seldom receive a paycheck. Deductions are made up front and as a result not only are their paychecks often "Voided," but because there wasn't enough on the paycheck to begin with (at $2.13/hr), they frequently write a check to the IRS every April. Personally, in the last two years I have received three paychecks, none of which were over $13.00. Furthermore, I have owed the IRS seven of the last ten years.
A couple of other things to consider when tipping:

*Servers prefer cash tips vs. charge tips.

*If using a coupon or receiving a discount when dining out, your tip is based on the original total. A good rule of thumb is to tip the greater amount of 20% of the the bill or tip the amount of the coupon/discount.

*If just having drinks, $1.00/drink is standard.

*If your server was rude or horsing around with co-workers instead of taking care of you, by all means, tip less than %18-%20.

*If your server had a personality, kept your drinks full, anticipated your needs without you having to say anything, etc..., tip greater than 18%-20%. Anything from your server having to clean up spills to splitting checks constitutes a couple of extra dollars on their tip.

So there you have it. I hope you've found this series useful. It has kind of surprised me the number of people who've wittingly responded, "These tips need to be sent out via radio/tv." What do you think? Did you learn anything? Is there anything you take issue with? Let me hear from you. Until next time...Keep it real!!!

Tip$ for Dining Out (Part 3 of a 4 Part Series)

Welcome back to Tip$ for Dining Out Part III: the do's and don'ts for restaurant diners. Let's get right to it.

9. Complaints. Mistakes happen. But before you rip off your server's head, assess your own problem. You didn't want tomatoes, but your burger has them? Wouldn't it be easier to pull them off yourself rather than making a big scene? You were brought the wrong side order? Kindly ask for the correct one. Is it taking too long to get your margarita? Take a look at the bar. Is the restaurant so busy that people are standing two deep? I'll eagerly admit no server is perfect, but many times problems aren't solely on the person who spends the most time at your table. However, it is usually up to the server to resolve the problem, so nicely tell them what you need. If the problem is not resolved to your satisfaction, ask to speak to a manager. And whatever you do, do not wait until the end of the meal to say you didn't really care for your steak because it was tough. When the server looks down and sees that you've cleaned your plate, it's a little too late for them to be able to do anything about the situation.

10. Acknowledge a job well done. Often the experience was great, but this seems to be when customers really clam up. Take a minute to call a manager over and tell them what made the visit special. Complete the surveys now printed on many receipts. These usually only take five minutes to do. If you really have some time on your hands, write a letter to the corporate office. The only time most restaurant employees get feedback is when something went wrong. And, more and more restaurants are resorting to filling scheduling needs based on the number of positive comments vs. negative ones.

11. Be conscientious of your surroundings. Is the restaurant super busy? Do they appear short staffed? (Hey, I realize this one isn't your fault, but rest assured, it sure isn't the fault of the server that showed up either). Is there a problem at a nearby table? These special circumstances really are rare, and a guests' disrespectful attitude, impatience, and flippant remarks only serve to exacerbate the situation. In short, recognize there are other patrons in the establishment.

12. Be aware of closing times. Look, I know it says the place is open until 10PM, but walking in at 9:45PM is the equivalent of you getting ready to leave your job for the day only to have the boss drop something on your desk as you're heading out the door. These people are tired and ready to go home. (Not to mention they usually have an hour of cleaning to do after everyone has left). A good rule of thumb is to have your entire party in the restaurant and seated thirty minutes prior to closing. Also, please realize that at such a late hour, restaurants are apt to be out of some items. (Special note to restaurant employees on this one: #12 is a huge "no-no" for fellow employees. Your co-workers are ready to go home too and you of all people know this)!

13. Please do not order coffee at 9:50PM or hot tea when it's 100 degrees outside. The chances that either are ready in these situations are slim to none. (Actually, most servers would prefer you never order hot tea, but I digress and am just being picky now)!

14. "No, you CANNOT get a TO*GO cup for your Long Island Tea." This is not New Orleans and Katrina was four years ago. By now you should be familiar with state beverage control laws.

15. Squatters. Squatters are people who sit and talk for an extended period of time after they've finished their drinks/meals. Personally, I don't care how long guests stay after they're finished as long as they accommodate me for occupying my table. Servers make money by turning tables, (i.e., getting guests in and out). When guests sit and talk for two hours, this is money waiters are losing by not being able to seat new guests. Standard fair is to tip an extra $5-$6 for each additional hour you sit at the table.

Well, we're almost done. Thanks again to those of you who have left comments. I love the feedback! Until next time...keep it real!

Tip$ for Dining Out (Part 2 of a 4 Part Series)

Glad you're back and that you weren't scared off by anything we discussed yesterday! Continue reading some of the "Do's" and "Don't's" for a guest that can ensure a supreme dining experience the next time you're away from home.

5. Control your kids.The inside of a restaurant is not a McDonald's playground. An eighteen month old does not need a basket of chips - even a small one. Your screaming prodigy flicking Cheerios on the floor and smashing crackers everywhere is making the dining experience unpleasant for everyone in the area. (And I've often wondered, is this mess acceptable in your own home)? Should your child make an obscene mess, apologize to your server and be sure to add a couple of extra dollars to their tip since having to clean up the mess is time consuming and costly for them.

While inside the restaurant, our kids do not need to run or use the skates on their shoes. They don't need to crawl over the back of a booth, or across the top of the bar top, etc.... Allowing this type of behavior from your child is a LIABILITY for your kid, the restaurant, and other patrons.

6. Respect your server. This is a big one with a lot of little side notes.
*No snapping your fingers, flailing your arms, raising your hand (it's not a classroom), yelling "Hey!," or my personal favorite, whistling for your server's attention. They are not dogs.

*Pay attention to your server. Say "Hi!" Smile. When they offer a drink, "I'll have the Chicken Fried Steak" is not the proper response. (I swear one day a guest is going to say that to me and I'm going to ask, "Do you want a straw with that?" When asked if you'd like cream or sugar with your coffee, "Yes" isn't the answer.

*Don't tell the staff how to do their job. Restaurant personnel are dealing with multiple issues at one time and therefore are usually about ten steps ahead of the guest in the thinking process. Besides, you don't want your server at your job overseeing your management of things.

7. If you say you are ready to order, be ready to order. On a busy Friday night, your server doesn't have fifteen minutes to review the menu with you. It's perfectly acceptable to ask a couple of questions, but many questions can be answered by simply reading the food descriptions provided in the menu. And, by all means, read the descriptions carefully. If you can't have pork, you might want to avoid the Bacon Cheeseburger.

8. Order from the menu. A Chicken Caesar Salad has romaine lettuce, grilled chicken, Parmesan cheese, croutons, and is tossed in Caesar dressing. You don't want croutons? Fine. Ask the server that they be left off. So what is the problem then? Keep reading. A Chicken Caesar Salad with fried chicken that has been tossed in wing sauce on a bed of iceberg lettuce with bleu cheese crumbles and tossed in Ranch dressing is not a Caesar salad. Adding or deleting an item or two is okay. Creating an entire new salad? Not okay. You are simply inviting trouble when you ask the kitchen to make something that is not on the regular menu.

So there you have it. What do you think so far? Let me hear from you. Until next time....

Tip$ for Dining Out (Part 1 of a 4 Part Series)

This marks my 25th year in the food service industry. On most days I like my job; usually it's such fun that I consider it more of a "hobby" than a job. But there are days when I wonder if my guests have ever eaten in public before? Even on the good days, some of the things I'm about to share with you are bound to happen. Just as guests have expectations from restaurant staff (especially their waiters/waitresses, i.e., food servers), that very same staff expects certain rules of etiquette to be followed by guests. Thus, this blog is about YOU, the diner. In this four part series, we will take a look at some of the "Do's" and "Don't's" for a guest that can help ensure a pleasant experience every time you head out to eat.

1. Wait until all of your party has arrived to be seated. Most greeters will begin to get a table (or tables) ready as soon as party members begin to arrive, so you don't need to worry about whether you'll get the "next available" seating. When guests (particularly in groups of five to six or more) sit down two or three people at a time, your server is having to make multiple trips back and forth to get drinks, take orders, etc.... While this may seem like no big deal, it can result in three, four, five, even six trips just to get a beverage order and ultimately slows down your overall service.

2. Do NOT take it upon yourself to rearrange the furniture in the restaurant. This includes adding extra chairs to the ends of tables and/or booths. Not only are you blocking aisle ways used to deliver drinks and food, but often it also violates fire code regulations by obstructing clear exits ways in case of an emergency. Furthermore, you're a "guest." Do you go into your friends' home and redo their seating arrangements for a dinner party?

3. Allow yourself time to enjoy your dining experience. You'll never be satisfied if you try to eat at a nearby restaurant when you only have a thirty minute lunch break. Entering a restaurant at 6:15 PM and thinking you'll have time for dinner and drinks and still make it on time to the 7 o'clock showing of Eclipse is completely unrealistic.

4. NEVER, I repeat, NEVER, under any circumstances, seat yourself at a dirty table. Okay, first of all, this is just plain DISGUSTING! Do you have any idea what the people there before you were doing?! Secondly, a dirty table often signals to the greeter that the server needs five minutes to get caught up. Since servers make their money by "turning tables" (i.e., getting guests in and out), rest assured that as soon as he/she can handle another table, they're going to get that dirty one cleaned.

So are you guilty of any of these things?! What you want remember is that when guests begin to exhibit these behaviors, they are impacting the quality of service that could be provided. I hope you'll check back for more in a day or two!

Pride, Patriotism, and Yes, Politics

Let me begin by saying today's blog was not my initial topic. But you know by now that "breaking news" often preempts "regularly scheduled programming." And right now that "breaking news" is the World Cup. Futbol to most---soccer to us here in the U.S. Once every four years domestic interest in the sport reaches a fervoured pitch. For many it's thirty days of thirty-two teams playing a slow, low-scoring game. But really it's about more. Much, much more. It's about pride, patriotism, and politics.

The Collaborative International Dictionary of English v. 044 [gcid] defines "pride" as the following:

The quality or state of being proud; inordinate self-esteem, an
unreasonable conceit of one's own superiority in talents, beauty,
wealth,rank, etc., which manifests itself in lofty airs, distance,
reserve, and often in contempt of others.

Let's face it. Before Wednesday's 1-0 defeat of Slovenia in the 91st minute of play, probably the only player of any notoriety on team USA was midfielder Landon Donovan. I'll even go out on a limb and say many knew of him not because of his professional accolades but rather his marriage to Rules of Engagement actress Bianca Kajlich. But oh what a difference eleven seconds can make! Now Donovan, Tim Howard, and Clint Dempsey are household names. Why, they're "Good 'ol boys! One of us!" Thanks to them "we" believe "we" can achieve anything. All of a sudden they're America's team and we're all walking with our heads a bit higher and our chests a bit more bowed. Feelings of superiority? You tell me.

I'm pretty sure the flags I see flying in peoples' yards and on the windows of their cars are not in early recognition of the 4th of July. Even I have foregone my bathing suit, swimming pool, and bottled water for my sequined stars and stripes vest and stars and stripes Converse high tops, the neighborhood pub, and an ice cold brew. Yet I'm modestly dressed from the looks of others. And rest assured I'm chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A!" as loud as the next guy. Look, currently we're a country divided on many issues-immigration laws, health care reform, bipartisan government. These World Cup games give us an opportunity to show our solidarity, our patriotism, our true love for our country. They bring us together as a united front.

Lastly, the World Cup is about politics. The host country obviously stands to benefit economically. You didn't really think President Bill Clinton was attending these games for lack of anything better to do? Furthermore, the simple fact that this year South Africa is hosting the vary games they boycotted during apartheid sixteen years ago gives the country a chance to show the world what they've become. Smaller countries whom have been victims of oppression to larger, more powerful countries have a chance to say, "We finally beat them!" A country's national team actually becomes a symbol of that nation. It's almost a bit intimidating when you think about it. In the hands of eleven men lies the power to say, "Our country is better than yours." No wonder Donovan was moved to tears when asked immediately after Wednesday's match, "What was going through [his] head?" at that precise moment.

So to Glenn Beck and others who say, "What's the big deal? It's only soccer and I'm not going to watch," you may wish to defer your comments. It's not only soccer. It's not just a game.

"Why Blog?"

When I was younger, I loved to write. Short stories, poetry, songs, journal entries.... Heck, even through grad school, I was that student who just couldn't wait to write their research paper, term paper, thesis paper, whatever. Case in point, I had done most of my research for my English IV class the summer before my senior year, and I pretty much had my thesis written before I ever enrolled in my first post graduate course.

Maybe this is why I became an English teacher. Afterall, everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE in my family is some sort of math major. And if you know me at all, you know that I've always had a lot to say.

But then, a funny thing happened on my way into the classroom. I stopped writing. Don't get me wrong. I still wrote poems, anecdotes, essays, etc... for my students to view as models of writing. I'd write a quick letter or many a witty email. And ssshhhh! Don't repeat this one. I even wrote papers for other educators. But somewhere along the way, I quit writing for the fun of it. Something that I've known for a long time completely contradicts everything I tell and teach my students.

Much like the kids I teach, I can offer plenty of excuses as to why I abandoned something that was once so important to me. "I got too busy." "Nobody would want to read what I had to say." "I couldn't think of anything to write about." " It was too hard." The list could go on, and on, and on. You get the idea.

What I can't do is come up with any excuses as to why it would be too late to start writing again. Yeah, I'm still busy and people still might not want to read what I have to say. I still get writer's block and it's still a difficult process. And heaven forbid I should offend someone with my opinion. If I really come clean here, I think the real problem is that to do it and do it well is going to require commitment. There, I said it. The dreaded "C" word. But enough (for now) on my issues with commitment. Bottom line is, I still love to write.

So this blog page is about me returning to something I love doing. The blogs will be about whatever is on my mind at the time. It might be controversial, or silly, or sarcastic, or heavy. It might be short; it might be long. Maybe I'll blog once a day; maybe I'll blog once a month. None of that matters. The only promise I'm going to make is the one that I'm making to myself, and that is, I will resume writing. If you choose to tune in and follow along (and I hope you do) that's great! If you decide not to, well that's all good too! Who knows? Maybe this will inspire YOU to do something you gave up a long time ago and would like to attempt again.

Until next time....