The Standoff

So I'm sitting at my computer thinking about what awesomely cool story to tell you all today, when Kona starts hopping onto my lap. That's cute and all, but Kona's 45 lbs., and I'm still wearing my church clothes. I keep pushing him off, but Kona's resolve to get my attention is steadfast, and he starts nipping at my pants, rubbing his muzzle under my elbow, and continues to jump onto my lap.

Meanwhile, I have this little bit of a headache, I'm feeling kind of crabby, and my patience is awfully short. Kona pokes and prods and thumps me too many times, so then I say, "Kona! I'm gonna punch you!" He looks at me with his big eyes and tilts his head in response. "You wonna fight?!? Come on, let's do this!"

So I pretend to punch my wonderful pal, who starts to playfully growl, then playfully rears back onto his hind legs, and then playfully punches me square in the face. We stop, and Kona looks at me, smiling, wagging his tail.

Guess I asked for that....

Little Nuisance

What a nice day today! Sunny sky, the aroma of autumn, the feel of your hoodie keeping your head warm despite a chilly breeze here or there...it was INDEED a lovely day.

My wife (Jen) and I are buying a house a few miles up the road.The closing date is within a month's time, and with us being so busy, we thought it best to start sooner rather than later in getting things packed and read-up. We packed and cleaned plenty and still had time to play a video game, run Kona across town and through the woods, and watch a movie, not to mention WRITE A BLOG!

Speaking of woods, let me tell you a funny story...

There was once a little boy whose mother taught him to be weary of TICKS, for she told him ticks bring lime disease and certain death. The boy's mother defended him so, and NEVER did he acquire a tick. When the little boy became a man and a husband, he was preparing to take a shower late one evening when, after taking off his shirt, he noticed a black dot on his stomach. Upon taking a closer look, he discovered it to be a tick, and ran crying to the ER, where the physicians extracted it for $200 and had a good laugh about it afterwards.

While writing this blog, I felt something crawling on my knee, reached up into my pant leg, and pinched the tips of my fingers around a tiny tick. With that, I'm now going to take a shower...



Kona's Discovery

Kona discovered the bed, and it's all my fault.

Yesterday, after rolling across sidewalks, putting on band-aids, and writing a blog about the whole thing, I sat in bed to read. Kona was laying underneath the bed, and I worried that he may be slyly chewing on one of my dress shoes, or a dress sock, since he has recently started this inconvenient habit. I looked under the bed and found Kona laying quietly, innocent as a lamb.

Then the cats came.

Kona really likes the cats, and thinks that jumping on them and trying to knip them is awfully entertaining. The cats, try as they may, attempt to convince him otherwise by repeatly swatting at his muzzle, their claws often becoming stuck to Kona's face. Kona apparently doesn't seem to mind, or notice, one of the two.

I watched the drama unfold as Chloe, the gray one, sits at the foot of the bed, fending off Kona's playful advances as his nose pokes above the foot board. I'm trying my best to read, but Kona's thirst for attention is too much to ignore. Not wanting him to loose an eye, I get down from the bed and he lays down beside me. After about ten minutes, I assume it's OK to climb back under the covers. A minute later, a flash of black clumsily appears on the bed beside me, and after making a few quick circles, Kona curls up to me and looks at me like, "See, isn't this nice?" I should have had him return to the floor, but I REALLY wanted to read, and in all the commotion, I figured it was better for all the parties involved if I did nothing. I could read in peace, the cats wouldn't get pummeled, and Kona's muzzle wouldn't get used as a scratching post.

Hind-sight is 20/20. I should have just put the book down.

Now Kona jumps up on the bed whenever.

And now I have to worry about a paw to the face.

First Stumble

So it happened. For the very first time in three months, I wiped out while jogging with my dog. We had ran from our end of town to the southern end, through the practice fields and the graveyard, and then around a school campus, running back home. Meanwhile the street lights have turned on, I'm tired, and I'm growing leary about where my feet are landing. Shortly after my toe hits the edge of a sidewalk and I go skipping across the pavement like a stone over water! Luckily we were almost home, so I didn't have far to walk before tending to my wounds. My left hand paid the price with a gashed middle finger, ring finger, and the corner of my palm. My jeans didn't fair well, either. I just noticed a big hole.

Here's my inspiration for getting up and getting out after a hard day's work!

KONA!!!

(psst! Kona! Look this way!)

I still have to teach him to look at the camera.

If you're wondering how Kona made out in the ordeal, he's fine. A little freaked out, but he didn't leave me to die, which I'm very happy about! You're a true friend, Kona. A true friend!



Love of the Journey

I'm feeling pretty motivated. Two blogs in two days!

Yeah, I know, you're probably thinking,

"Big deals?"

When it comes to survival (and by survival I mean continuing to blog despite the fact that I really really really need to hit the hay after another never-ending day of teaching), every little victory counts!

So, HA!

Teaching is something I just do. I know this for a fact, because despite my devotion, my wallet's capacity is never given a chance to prove itself worthy of such a work ethic. In other words: I don't do it for the money, honey. I teach because nothing gives me greater fulfillment. However, a level of financial security would certainly be appreciated!

You know what's funny about what drives us?  Here I am going on about my profession and its pay, while when I think of ways to be better off financially I think of how to do so within my field? Isn't that silly? Think about it...instead of investing money towards a career garaunteed to make money, like being a doctor or an elevator repairman, I choose to hang out with the underpaid and underappreciated.

WHY?

Because money isn't everything. And because I'm awesome like that.

Here ends the third blog on the fourth day. Hoorah!

Waters of Reverie

I used to have a recurring dream about a pond and its fish.

You're standing somewhere in your grandparents' yard when you realize that there's a pond. With the pond being drained a long time ago, you are pleasantly surprised of its elusive existance, wondering how you have failed to notice it all this time. Sometimes the pond is where you remember it being, and other times it is elsewhere in the grandparents' yard. The water is always crystal clear, the pond sometimes overflowing its edges, but always growing in depth and circumference. Looking beneath the surface, you see every detail of its lining, and as you make out the terrain, fish appear, simple at first, then larger and more colorful ones gracefully materialize out of the woodwork, their size and grandeur keeping pace with the expansion of their habitat.

You wake up feeling a deep impression, as if wisdom was bestowed upon you in a language in need of deciphering.

Enlightenment. Complete and confident understanding without knowing the details. At least, that's my definition.

I have since stopped having this dream. Either I'm enlightened, or I've completely missed the point.

At the Forest's Edge

I can be intimidated pretty easily, sometimes. Mostly it's all in my head. My wife has her own blog, and she does a pretty good job of it. She subscribes to other blogs which we read together, and I think to myself,

"Self, you could do that."

A blog is a journal...a public journal, which all of America can read. Blogs can be poetic, charming, insightful, and inspirational, the four legs which I aspire to hold my ecsense. While I like to think I'm doing OK at acheiving this goal, it's all in my head, which means there is no one to prove me wrong, until I narrate my life for all to read and judge. Being an excellent autobiographer requires a good memory recall, a library of dictionaries and thesauruses, and a knack for finding the right words for the write affect.

I took creative writing once.

As I march forth into the dark caves and slimey wilderness of being a blogger, purposefully facing the pitfalls of procrastination, the boulders of writers' block, and the dragons of insecurity, armed and protected only by my trusty sword of wit and sheild emblazed with "I took creative writing once," I hope to inspire you, provide insight on whatever it is I'm writing about, and charm you with my careful choice and organization of words.

A daunting task.

I look across the vast wilderness. I take a deep breath. I grasp my sword.

"Self, you could do that."

I enter.