Sorry...

Once again I have to apologize for adversely affecting the weather. This weekend I bought a new rain hat. Therefore the drought will continue. and most probably worsen, causing untold personal and economic devastation.

I know I'm responsible because I have a history of doing just that.

My wife bought me a really nice trench coat some years back. Soon I learned that, no matter what the weather's doing in the morning, if I put it on before leaving for work, by the time I get to the office twenty minutes later, the clouds will be breaking and the sun will be peeking through them. The weathermen will be scratching their heads and muttering about unusual Jet Stream patterns that cropped up overnight.

Of course, it only affects precipitation. Cold is cold no matter what I wear.

And now that I'm getting older, and my once-luxurious head cranial forest has become more of a meadow, I find hats (which I've always loved) have become a necessity. The last few years I've worn a beautiful soft brown felt fedora. Unfortunately, it got wet that winter and ended up in my trunk, where it was growing at least one lost colony of some indescribable microbe; so it went the way of all millenary, and left me hatless.

So when the wife and I played hooky last Friday and headed up to Hendersonville, NC, she happened upon a really cool oilcloth fedora. It has a flannel interior to keep my poor noggin warm, but the oilcloth makes it waterproof, so it doubles as a highly effective rainhat.

Now here in the Upstate we've had almost a week of rainy weather: not enough to break the worst drought in decades, but enough to give us a little hope.

Now I've ruined it.

Friday morning was cool and damp, with forecasts for rain through the weekend. When we entered the store in Hendersonville, the clouds were lowering, and the air heavy with the promise of more showers.

We exited the store with my new hat and watched the clouds dissipate into the most beautiful blue October mountain sky you could ever hope for.

The forecast is for sunny skies and dry weather for the foreseeable future. The only use I can see for my new hat is to keep the dew off.

I apologize for any inconvenience my ill-considered fashion choice may cause.

A Dalmador Labmation of Carolina

Two Halloweens ago my wife and I were sitting at a local diner talking about what to do about the dog next door. The neighbor had brought him home and didn't really want him. He was being fed whatever scraps were left in the TV dinners got tossed out the door. That morning I had wandered over to check on this dog, and found him with a tie wrap around his neck for a collar, and tied to an old bicycle by a seven-foot length of cable.

Clearly this could not go on, but we had a dog (a dachshund mix), three cats, and two teenagers, all crammed in a house way too small for the crowd we already had. Also this dog was a puppy, half Lab, half Dalmation, and if he actually grew into those feet....

The neighbor had already offered him to me, and I had turned him down. But the beast kept coming over to our house (when he could get loose, which seemed to be pretty much anytime he wanted) and calling me Poppa.

So after lunch I went over and asked if I could have the dog. The man didn't even blink.

Now Bo is a 96-pound behemoth, consisting of feet, a mouth, and an enormous heart. As I write this he's napping on his love seat, because he had two walks today, and it was raining, and Mom dried his face for him (he dearly loves getting his face dried).

Just a big old black dawg.

One stranger we met on a walk pointed out that because of his Lab heritage, he'll be a puppy for three or four years; and the Dalmation part means he'll be a puppy for about fifteen.

And that works for me.

It's All About Words

I have to admit to a life-long fascination with words. As a kid I'd take down the biggest dictionary I could find and pick a page and read the words and definitions. They seeped into my mind until, sometimes, I could feel them floating around in my mind like the music that's always there. (Yes. I have a mental soundtrack. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with what's going on, but it's there. Right now I'm mentally humming "Never My Love." Sometimes I annoy myself.)

Sending me to look up a word or spelling has always been an adventure. I once spent two hours looking up ten vocabulary words for a homework assignment. OK, next word is ablative. A's, an, ag, ae.... Ooo! Aeolian! Aeropause!

When I read I find myself pausing over a rich, perfect word, or phrase. Even reading silently I pronounce each word in my head, and I stumble over the awkward phrase like a verbal cat that's wandered in front of me. And I'll stare at the blunder and try to figure out what the writer was trying to do, and how I could fix it.

It's a curse, yes. But at the same time I get true joy out of the delightful, subtle twist of meaning a really good poet can put on a sentence.

So it's a blessing, too.