When I was a kid I wanted a dog.  For several years my father said, “No.”  He believed he would end up taking care of the dog, which he didn’t want to do.

But kids have nothing better to think about each day than how to persuade their parents to give them what they want.  My record on this was far from perfect – I never did get a BB gun.  But after a few years of lobbying, my brother and I successfully landed a black cocker spaniel who lived in an enclosed porch next to the kitchen.

Of course, my dad was right.  Not only did our cocker spaniel pee all over the dining room carpet, but after a few weeks Dad had to take over the feeding and walking.  When Dad eventually gave the dog away I was actually relieved – there would be no more angry reminders from him to take care of the darn dog.

I learned from this experience. None of my six children had a dog while they still lived with me, because I didn’t want to take care of it.  As adults all of them have adopted rescue dogs.

One of my daughters owned a rescue dog named Bryce who actually climbed trees.  I loved that dog.  Our entire family was devastated when Bryce, chasing a squirrel, ran into the street and was hit by a car.  She died in my daughter’s arms on her way to the pet hospital.

Eighteen months ago my wife Daveen agreed to take care of a thirteen-year-old rescue dog expected to live less than three months.  Named “Little Mama” by the family, the dog had been terribly beaten, suffered from arthritis, could barely hear, and had difficulty seeing.

Little Mama is a quiet dog.  She seldom barks, does not run to greet Daveen or anyone else, and walks as stiffly as you might expect.  But whoever predicted “less than three months” doesn’t know how good Daveen is at caretaking. Daveen is entirely devoted to Little Mama who is still with us after more than a year and a half.

Daveen walks her dog multiple times each day. She feeds Little Mama what she needs and takes her to visit several vets, including a veterinary surgeon and a doggie cardiologist.  I should mention that Little Mama is not a candidate for doggie day care, since, even with her hindrances, she tries to kill any other dog near her.

I salute Daveen, and I very much like Little Mama, who is nearing the sunset of her life.  I’m a little stiff myself, and a bit hard of hearing, so I identify with another being who is similarly plagued by the problems of aging.

I propose a toast, water of course, to Daveen and Little Mama, and to all creatures, large and small, who are caretakers or who need caretaking, especially Little Mama who faces her growing physical limitations with acceptance and good cheer.

I am reminded, and touched, by the fact that we all need someone to take care of us.

Love,

Alan

When I was growing up I was afraid of policemen.  As far as I was concerned they were only there to give people traffic tickets.  Actually, I found many adults scary back then.  Parents, teachers, school principals – they had the power, they knew it, and many of them used it.

During the past few years I’ve discovered the small town of Kihei on the Hawaiian Island of Maui.  I recently spent a week there with my daughter and her family.  They rented snorkeling equipment for the week. “The snorkeling is great,” my daughter said.  “There’s a cove right off the beach, with a reef and schools of colorful fish.  The crowds don’t arrive until after nine.”

So one morning, I put on my sunscreen and bathing trunks, and drove to the beach with my granddaughter and her boyfriend Matt. We arrived at 8:00 am.

I had no idea how to climb down to the beach from the parking lot, so I followed their lead.  After a few false starts, Matt opened an old gate near the lifeguard station, and we were on our way. They are in their early twenties. I’m in my late seventies. I didn’t want to hold them back, so I told them, “You go on ahead. I’ll take my time.”

Soon, they were frolicking on the beach while I was still carefully picking my way down a path that was rocky and steep in places.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Are you trying to use this path to get down to the beach?”

Oops.  It was the lifeguard who had spotted me and climbed down from his shack.  I was busted.

“Yes.  I’m just trying to get down to the beach.”  I pointed toward my granddaughter and Matt, expecting a reprimand for trespassing.

He extended his hand.  “Here, let me help you.”

I was stunned.  I was already in the middle of preparing my excuse and apology for using the wrong path.  And where was the sign, anyway?

But the lifeguard wasn’t carrying a pad of traffic tickets.  He just wanted to help me.  He wasn’t being mean.  He was being nice.

He assisted me over the final long three or four steps to the beach.

His kindness made my day.  I think we’re here to help each other, and this was a wonderful example.

The next time I visit Maui, snorkeling will be high on my list.  But next time I’ll use the regular steps to the beach.

Alan

They are usually stuck together.

If you smiled you can give me credit for quoting the comedian George Carlin.  If not, then I guess he wasn’t very funny.

I was reminded of Carlin’s ironic observation in a roundabout way.

Earlier this year there was unexpected turmoil in my life.  As a result I spent a week living with my son Craig and his family, and several months living at my Dad’s house.  Both were new experiences for me – and quite positive.

At Craig’s I enjoyed our late night conversations. I was especially thankful for his family’s hospitality and for their helping me to feel at home

At my dad’s I was also well taken care of. One memory stands out — my encounters with the neighbor across the street.  We often left for work or arrived home at the same time, and whenever he saw me he always offered a cheerful “hi”.  I felt I was a part of a community, rather than apart from the community.  For me this too was a new experience.

It was this play on words – “a part” and “apart” – that reminded me of the George Carlin quote.  Most of us live as a part of a community, yet we often live apart from that same community.  Apparently we need to feel both separate and connected.

Today is Christmas – a day when many families are together.  But many of us feel apart even when surrounded by friends and family.

So this holiday season ask not what your friends and family can do for you.  Instead offer everyone a cheerful “hi,” then listen to their dreams, their hopes, and their stories.  And in the words of Shannon L. Adler, “Pour God’s love out of you in pitcher fulls, not thimbles.”

I appreciate your reading my blog this year.

Love,

Alan