Monday, May 21, 2012

following the north end of a south bound dog


Dearest blog reader
I hope that this blog finds you doing well. It leaves my hand in a bicycle ride, endorphin fueled bliss. I really needed it tonight. Work has been pulling me in too many directions lately.  So, fifteen miles on the bike and I feel good as new; focused and ready to write. 

Mother's Day, in this father's humble opinion, was great. After ignoring all of the sage advice in the last blog, I went out and purchased the "single most important kitchen utensil available." That's right I went out and bought the perfect Mother’s Day gift; a pressure cooker. Being the highly evolved male primate that I am, I looked thru the instruction manual and found that setting one is 8 lbs of pressure and setting two is 15 lbs of pressure (more power).  Armed with this information, Bev was able to whip up a very nice bean and bratwurst lunch.  I'm just kidding. We live in a fair and high minded household. She looked it up herself. Just kidding again. I made the beans and brats, (5 minutes on setting 2) and followed it up tonight with that other Sharritt family pressure cooker favorite; maggot meatballs. We have been without the "single most important kitchen utensil" for way too long. 

Mother's Day being over, the summer holiday season has shifted. This weekend finds us in search of the next summer celebration; high school graduation. Our Facebook demographic has been displaying it’s newly minted under and unemployed college graduate offspring. In an effort to lift our economic spirits, we headed to the land of greater hope, the high school graduation. (Maybe the economy will turn around after four or five years and that art appreciation degree can be put to good use.) Bev and I found ourselves in Iowa for a graduation celebration. (Bitter economic irony though, we went past Herbert Hoover’s Presidential Museum on the way. Look it up high school graduates.) That's right our empty nest has dumped us back out on the road; so it's off to the Mayberry of flyover country, Story City, Iowa. After arriving, I found myself at the little league ball diamond observing a tableau of 10,000 blogs.

But I promised that I would stay focused for this blog. Just say no to little league blogs. Just say no to little league blogs. I must stick with graduation blog.

This blog started 6 weeks ago for me. I was enjoying one of those glorious 80 degree March days. Walking up the sidewalk to the house after a long day at work, I noticed the dog track that leads from the back yard to the front yard. That first spring flush of lawn had manifested itself, and the tireless wanderings of our two Jack Russell Terriers had kept the grass from coming back on this slender sliver of our front yard. It leads off towards the front yard where numerous bicyclists, diesel trucks, and the occasional squirrel would pique their interest and send them tearing off in a barking frenzy as fast as their 4 inch legs would take them. The beginning of this path is precisely placed. It is on the very rim of their universe. Four inches further to the West and the invisible-fence, collar of death starts to beep its Death Star warnings of electro-shock therapy.

So their path takes a gentle arc towards the front yard, until it approaches a flower bed with several shrubs, and plantings of perennials; there their path becomes paths and it splits off to go between some plantings in the bed. The day in question found me looking at their decision point, wondering what made them split off there. What from their five inch high perspective convinced them to zig and zag several times during the course of the winter and early spring so that their wanderings sank in, making their mark on the world.  Those gentle thoughts took me to Carl Sandberg and his poem about the road less traveled; which led me thank fully to Robert Frost and his poem “The Road Not Taken”. (Thanks Google and Wikipedia.)  Robert Frost -  Carl Sandberg is an easy mistake for the common man to make. In my mind, Carl Sandberg is just Robert Frost with calluses on his hands. I have no idea why.

(Semi-interesting note; Carl Sandberg was born on the same road as Herbert Hoover’s Museum; which I was on while traveling to Story City, Iowa. High school graduates can look up these factoids also )

Looking at my dog trails, contemplating hugey flob’s poem about the less traveled road, it occurred to me that he was really just following one of two dog paths. What’s the big deal Bob? No big choice here. Maybe one smelled better to stupid dog a few days in a row making it more traveled, or stupid dog had a tick near his right ear that pulled his head right and viola, his body followed. In the end, you’re just following the north end of a south bound dog. But no, Bob somehow made this big choice and followed the “road less traveled by dogs, chipmunks, squirrels, cows, farmers, traders, horses, wagons, cars, and trucks. Which by the way, is the evolutionary path of the road that passed Carl Sandberg, and Herbert Hoover’s house on the way to Story City, Iowa was marked for creation.

How many times this spring will principals, superintendents, presidents, and valedictorians, encourage the newly minted graduating class to take the road less traveled? “You’re choice will make all the difference.” “You’re life is out there now go and seize the day.”

I figured that before I became too presumptuous and started talking smack to Robert Frost, I should read the poem and familiarize myself with some of its subtler points.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Low and behold, I think that Bob and I are on the same page here. Let me paraphrase; fork in road, this path looks like that path, Being stuck in this time and space continuum thing, I choose one. Since I am the kind of person that doesn’t look back and change my mind I keep going. Until one day in order to feel better about myself, I make up the part about choosing the one less traveled and who’s to say it didn’t make all of the difference.

He really was just following the north end of his south bound dog, but recognized the future failings of his reinterpretations of the past. And for the most part, we have just followed along.

Take care,

Roger


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