You’ll be wanting to listen to this: ‘Lost’ Cameo Leads to Revival of Obscure Book

Read a great article in The New Yorker about Cesar Milan, aka The Dog Whisperer. I loved reading about what this guy does at his Dog Psychology Center. Here’s more information from the web site:

Cesar Millan teaches that, in order to properly fulfill both our dogs and ourselves, we need to become our canine’s calm, assertive pack leaders. A dog that doesn’t trust its human to be a good pack leader becomes unbalanced and often exhibits unwanted or anti-social behaviors. Cesar does not “train” dogs in the sense of teaching them commands like “sit, stay, come, heel,” – he rehabilitates unbalanced dogs and helps “re-train” their owners to better understand how to see the world through a dog’s eyes. Cesar counsels people to calmly, assertively, and consistently give their dogs rules, boundaries and limitations to establish themselves as solid pack leaders and to help correct and control unwanted behavior. He doesn’t believe in “quick fixes,” even though changing some behaviors can appear to happen in a relatively short period of time. None of those changes will “stick,” however, unless the human acts consistently with his/her dog every day to keep unwanted behaviors from returning. In Cesar’s opinion, no one should ever hit or yell at a dog to correct unwanted behavior.

Sleep eludes me and I have two projects due tomorrow. So apologies for my silence the past couple of days. I’ll be back later tomorrow or Wednesday or Thursday or Friday. Or maybe I won’t.

here is the doppler.





This is my driveway a little less than two hours ago.





Here it is now. So far no flood warnings, but the rain just picked up and is now torrential.

We had a few days of sun/clouds–drier. It was nice. Almost made me feel human again.

This is the end of my street last Sunday. The water is still rushing through at this same spot.









Another view of the end of my street on Sunday.









The front yard with rain falling on Sunday (this photo was taken during DAYLIGHT!)









Today, it is raining again–thunder and rain, dark sky, black. But I am inside, dry. That’s a good thing. And here is a photo taken just moments ago.

I hope that you will please take 2 minutes and 30 seconds of your time and watch the embedded trailer. Afterwards, if you find you are interested in seeing this film (as I am), here is a list of theaters and dates: find a theater, and here is a link where you can take action.

Just read this at nerve–Amy Hempel’s Offertory:

We did it twelve times — made love, all of us, to one another twelve times, the two of them doing everything two people could do to me twelve times. I was going to say only twelve times, but it wasn’t “only,” was it? It was wonderful.

It took me a long time to get through this book. Not, though, because I didn’t love it. I did love it. Very much, in fact. Mostly it was because when I got to the final sections–Illness and Decline & Death–I found I could not go on. I did not want Daisy Goodwill to get sick; I did not want her to die. I had lived her whole life with her–and her voice right in my ear narrating the story (oh, what Carol Shields does with POV in this novel is truly genuis and not to be tried by those less skillful).

But then when I did set to reading these sections, I got to one of the most powerful moments–a moment that both chilled and comforted me. And it came, surprisingly from Daisy’s daughter Alice (or, perhaps Daisy was being charitable and giving Alice this moment because Alice had taken such good care of her during her illness):

Something has occurred to her–something transparently simple, something she’s always known, it seems, but never articulated. Which is that the moment of death occurs while we’re still alive. Life marches right up to the wall of that final darkness, one extreme state of being bunting against the other. Not even a breath separates them. Not even a blink of the eye. A person can go on and on tuned in to the daily music of food and work and weather and speech right up to the last minute, so that not a single thing gets lost.

For me, this humbling book is all about those moments always known but not articulated–all about how our lives go by, pass through and from us. All about “one extreme state of being bunting against the other.” It is all about how we slip away but stay in place, turning into stone as Daisy does at her demise.

It’s hard for me to discuss this book without being effusive (which is what it deserves), so all I will say is that if you have not read it, please do consider it.

Check out the killer Kirkus Review of Ellen Meister‘s soon-to-be-released novel: Review of “Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA”:

Three conflicted housewives in Applewood, Long Island, long for something more fulfilling than what their families and their membership in the local PTA offer.

Allen and I had the following conversation this morning:

me: Do you think we’ll ever see the sun again?

him: I saw photos of it in the newspaper this morning.

It just keeps getting worse, and worse, and worse.

Another day, another brilliant piece by Kathy Fish: Smooth

Thanks to my pal Robin for the link.

It is raining again. Actually, it never stopped–only lessened. And grew worse. And lessened. And grew worse.

On our walk this morning we were mostly dry until the very end when the rain picked up. Boston Globe columnist Brian McGrory speaks for us all in his column today Just go away (if you’re wondering what he’s talking about in the first paragraphs–he’s referring to a piece in the Sunday Globe about people who have moved out of Massachusetts and/or New England to lead a happier life):

Here’s the problem: I’m fragile. I can’t afford to lose May. You want to meteorologically maul me in January and February, that’s fine. You want to throw in a snowstorm in March and put April underwater, knock yourself out.

But not May. I allow myself a little bit of optimism in May. May is an emergence. May is when the days grow long and the nights get warm and the morning grass is supposed to be coated in dew, not covered by deep puddles of fetid water. May is when wool gives way to linen, when inhibitions are shed with winter coats.

and:

Enough of the windshield wipers. Enough of the rancid towels that do nothing to dry off the foul-smelling dog. Enough of the radiators creaking in the middle of the frigid night. Enough of my hair frizzing up like I just stuck my fingers in a light socket, which, come to mention it, is a temptation.