Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Ode to Biff

Biff, you are definitely your own man.
The Professor, if you will.

You stand firm to your inner desires. Some would call it stubbornness.
If you don't want to come out of the cave, you won't.
If you don't get what you want the exact way and time you want it, you pout.
If you want to be left alone, you scare away those that come near with a ferocious and menacing growl, baring your several rows of teeth.

And yet in all these things you are undeniably the most lovable guy we've ever seen.

You have a bit of the obsessive/compulsive in you; never entering or leaving the living room without detouring underneath the coffee table.
You jump up to poke your head out the kitchen window when you hear our cars pull in, even though it might possibly take every ounce of energy you possess.
You wait until you have the Perfect Place to take care of business. And then you punctuate your good fortune with a peel-out.
You sometimes wander over to the deck door, just to see what's going on out there.
You must have learned that from Dad.

You have a gentle, lazy, Eeyoretype of disposition -
You stand there calmly while being brushed or washed or doctored; such a good boy.
You live unfazed and at an even keel
until it has to do with food.

Because you like to eat.
You eat your daily meals on a consistent schedule, which is so endearing.
Each night during the 10:00 news we hear the methodic chewing of your Kirkland niblets.
You have your favorite human foods - pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, green beans, ice cream; and you expand exorbitant and uncommon amounts of energy in trying to acquire them.
You have to be tricked into taking any medicine though.
Oh but you love you some Milk Bones and Scooby Snacks.
When you're brought together with a rawhide,
it is as if the world exists just to bring the two of you together.

Along with Mom and the Barbeque, you are what makes the deck worth having.
You love to sun on the deck
and sniff the deck
and watch the world go by from the deck.

You have your favorites in life - you love
Clint's lap,
Dad's love,
Mom's care,
any kind of meat,
good love and attention,
lots of sleep,
your brother Duke
and your cushy cave.

The broom and the vacuum are your nemesis.
Yet you faithfully stay on the lookout for us,
facing away from us when we're gathered together in a room.
We don't mind though because we get to enjoy your cutest little bum
and tail wagging in the air as you lay there with your chin on the ground, perfectly still.

You have a rich heritage with Lacy as your mother
and have helped bring several little Biffs and Biffettes into the world.
You're also a part of a bigger family, ours, and we can't imagine life without you.
You bring endless entertainment without ever trying.

Biff, you love the love.
At the slightest of touch, you roll over to maximize any potential scratching opportunity.
Your favorite way to get the love is sitting in someone's lap
but you'll take it any way you can get it.
You'll stand up for it, sit at someone's feet and wait for it, even pawing sometimes to get the attention you so ardently feel you deserve.
With a face like yours, it's hard for any of us to resist.

You are SO adorable.
You have the biggest brownest eyes and the shiniest lower lip.
You have little tufts on the back of your neck that curl.
Your hear goes punk when it gets too long and
you have chubby little legs that get you around.
Sometimes you sit with one leg extended, showing us your modeling prowess.
Very handsome, Mr. Biff.

We love how you, our first little dog, eventually accepted and loved Duke into the family.
You sleep and play with your little brother-from-another-mother
as if you really were brothers
and always enjoy his company, even though he wears you out.

You yourself seem to be getting worn out and a bit tired but Mr. Biff, our love for you never will. We remember with fondness you as an ambitious youngster jumping up in the window seat to shout your ruh-ruh-roos --- now the most you can muster is the occasional support bark to Duke up on the perch.
But we love your more senior self also; chubby and lazy and lots of you to love.

Such a good boy.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Ode to my Transcriber

Note: This is an oldie but a 'goodie' (subjective, of course). The other odes are freshly-written on their posted dates; however I found this one today from a while back and decided it needs a voice.

Oh my Transcriber,

How do I love thee, let me count the ways.

I love the way thou allowest me to distort my boss's voice (or his co-hort's) to one of no recognition, depending on mine temperament and toleration levels.

I love the way thou allowest me to rewind repeatedly, using only my foot; my flowing fingers never leaving the board of keys.

I love the way the wearing of thy headphones allowest me to appear deep within the confines of a work of grand importance; thereby thwarting any undesired conversational attempts.

I love the way thou ist mine alone, that thine soft ear pieces have not been pressed into the waxy confines of anothers lobes.

I love the way thine volume hast the ability to increase exponentially, drowning out the rantings and ravings of Others whose vocal volume increase without limit when spurred on by the vices of engineers or other menaces.

I love that thou allows me to enlarge or diminish the speed of thy sounds. If the voices from within thy tapes are dragging on, I may gently nudge thee forward, increasing my chances of maintaining gentle moods.

Pearlcorder T1000 Microcassette Transcriber I love thee, and I shall love thee forever.

Please, thou must not leave me without, subject to the rigors and fallacies of thy counterpart, the Microcassette Recorder.

With all my fond and warmest wishes and love,
Colleen

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Ode to Air-Conditioning

Dearest Air-Conditioning,

You are so hard-working and yet under-appreciated.
In our homes, offices, shops and cars, you churn out the cool air.
Hitting our faces with your giant cold,
Enveloping us in your cooling arms;
A reprieve from the soaring temperatures and brazen sun.

Air-conditioning,
to tell you the truth,
I have no idea how you work.
I looked it up on the World Wide Web and read about you;
something about Freon and condensing.
Whether it's that or pure magic,
it matters not.
Like my strange little dog Duke,
I don't have to understand you to love you madly.

I know about your weak step-brother the Swamp Cooler
and your even lamer cousin, the Electric Fan.
Air-conditioning, these two can't hold a candle to your expansive coldness and power.
Your friend the Ceiling Fan is not so bad in the sense of transitory temperatures,
but Air-Conditioning, that's not what we're talking about here.
We're talking about blowing COLD AIR. Not circulating it.

Air-conditioning,
you make me forget it's even hot outside.
You chill my little dogs until they're WANTING to be in the hot sun.
Your chilled blows of air seduce me into a deep and restful sleep,
allowing me to burrow down in my blankets.

Your worth is above that of rubies, diamonds, health insurance and Alan Jackson tickets.

Thank you, dear Air-Conditioning.

I shall not take you for granted.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Ode to My Family

I find my family to be perfect.

Not perfect in every word, thought or deed or perfect in having a pristine, spotless home but instead,

Perfect in that it wouldn't be (perfect) without every single member of it.
Perfect in that each person adds so much and without them it wouldn't be right.
Perfect in that each member loves and strengthens and wants the best for the other members.
Perfect in that each member is so different from the next yet we have each other in common.
Perfect in that we can sit around "looking at each other" for hours.
Perfect in the way that each person is unfailingly there for the others.
Perfect in that we have so many good memories.
Perfect that we don't have to be doing anything extraordinary to make new ones.
Perfect in that we can let each other be who they are and love them for it.
Perfect in that we are happy for each others happiness and our heart breaks for each other's sadness.
Perfect in that we have our two little dogs who are perfect for us, and us for them I hope.
Perfect in that we have jokes with each other that are as old as ourselves.
Perfect because we can work together when someone's car is getting fixed.
Perfect because our senses of humor share a common thread.
Perfect because we appreciate what each person brings individually and the amazing combination it makes as a whole.
Perfect because we are each other's best friends.

I love them.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Ode to St. George

Oh City of My Dreams

How can a city have such a grip on me.
You hold me hostage, unable to resist the grasp of your charm.

Brother Brigham designed your roads, organized and spacious.
You shun your desert upbringing and sprout green-ness in all your city blocks.
You embrace those who would have a cup at Dick's,
And those who would invade from the North to stay at the Hampton and shop at the Factory Stores.
You stand unashamed of your mockable Mall.
You attract the large national chains while making sure the Frostop plugs along.
Your climate is unparalleled.
Your winter cold never reaches into my bones, and your summer heat invigorates, making me feel alive.
You lie at a perfect distance from Las Vegas. Close enough that driving down is not an ordeal, yet far enough away to not be associated in any way.
You are a perfect distance from Salt Lake. You stand, seemingly as your own entity, separate and independent of Northern Utah. Provo is your Mason-Dixon.
You have but a single bar,
it's name is The One and Only. Karaoke is on Wednesdays.
You are rich in history and character; think of The Electric Horseman,
Bruce Hurst,
the Sun Bowl.
Many think you are bigger than you are. They start TV news stations.
You are self-sustaining. You welcome all your weekend and other-event visitors with open arms, invigorating your own economy. You offer them golf, sun, and the same shopping they have in their own town. Your residents stand so proud.
You have that intangible quality those other towns could never define or have.

I tried to leave you once.
Found myself in your cold, bland, Spectrum-sharing City to the north.
It was the Newman to your Jerry.
I was only able muster courage to go in the first place because of the short 40-minute distance.
Away from you, I lasted only three months.

You are not without your faults St. George.
You loudly sing the Siren Song of the Seniors,
beckoning them to bring their RV's,
bring their aging, gray-haired masses.
Come, you say, partake of our Senior Sampler and our Ranger Bart.
Bingo is only thirty minutes away, you lure.
And they come.
By the Buick they come.
Clogging our roads, beating the heartbeat of your several buffets.

I can't hold this against you St. George, you are only doing what you know how.

Forever will I cruise your Tabernacle Street,
be entertained by your goings-on, both as they happen and as 'reported' in your newspaper,
and enjoy and be grateful for your goodness.

That, my friend, is a Given.


A Mona Given, of course.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Ode to My Car

My Dear Goldish/Tan/"Champagne" Camry

You are something else.

You came to this earth in the year 1994 and here you are 11 years later, trucking along like those 180,000 miles never happened.

You are SO good to me.

Never would I have expected to drive a car of such a hue - but as months and miles pass and we travel so many roads together, your color matters less and less to me. All I see is your tireless soul.

The day I got you I knew I was getting something special (besides the Good Daughter Discount).
$4,000 dollars later when I paid you off, I really knew.


You are SO good to me.

I am admittedly not the most vigilant caretaker of your fluids and parts.

I take you for granted dear Camry.

I took you up the hilly roads of the Rockies to Denver, returning to find your alternator was on the brink of death.

I took you up I-15 and across I-80 to Reno and back, only to find your C.V. joints should have left me at the side of the road somewhere in Northern Nevada.

But you did not.

And that is the miracle of you, Dear Camry.

Upon returning from Las Vegas last weekend to see Mr. Yoakam, you were close to bone dry in your chamber of oil.

Yet we made it back.

You are stalwart, faithful and true Dear Camry.
You must really like me. I love you, too.

Please forgive me for my failure to properly care for you.

I know my feeble attempts at vacuuming your interior and washing your outside are small drops of water in the Ocean of Care you so validly deserve.

I'm trying to be better, Dear Camry.

I will check your oil BEFORE you run dry.
I will take you to Steve's when the little sticker says.
I will call Rob immediately when I hear the slightest of a strange noise or murmuring.
I will even shampoo your carpets, I think.

Nothing is too good for you Dear Camry.

I will do my best to preserve you.

I will park you in the shade whenever possible.

I will try and be a more suave, more gentle and kind driver, not the 16-year-old Bat Out of Hell you have come to know and resign yourself to.

Thanks for everything, Dear Camry.

Here's to another 180,000.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Ode to my Head of Hair

Head of Hair, I come to you with a mixture of feelings.

On the one hand I stand in awe of you, so thick, so full, so... much.
There is no shortage of your follices.
I have you thinned by The Stylist regularly and yet your volume seems to diminish only temporarily.
There is so much of you; I fear there are so many of your strands I have never even met.
You seem as though you must lie on the floor of a lush tropical rain forest rather than my head.
Rogaine, thinning, balding--- never do these misfortunes near my mind.
Bless you for your abundance.

But oh my Head of Hair, there is a dark side.

Your consistency is that of the common equine.
Thick, coarse.
Lacking the expected softness that I've seen in so many of my human friends.
My small Shih-tzu Biff, his hair is softer to the touch than yours, dear Head of Hair.
I thank the heavens for the products, the
Bumble and Bumble deeep condition
Joico K-pak Moisturizing Treatment
Bedhead AfterParty and
Biosilk Silk Therapy
for it is only with these and the grace of many other shampoos, conditioners and styling products, I am able to leave the apartment each day.

I shall not dwell on your shortcomings though, dear Head of Hair.

For you sufficiently cover my scalp.

What more, really, can a girl ask for.



And totally unrelated - how about this: if I'm in a public bathroom, inside a stall with the door shut - let's not get all chitty chatty.

Have a nice weekend.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Ode to Odes

From now on my blog is going to be odes-only. Odes to whatever needs tribute on a given day.

And if in a few minutes or days I change my mind that's fine too.

But for now, - we're going all odes all the time. Can't wait.