Flashback Friday

Reaching into the grab bag of pictures past, we have a first, and a last.  And some stuff in between.  Like most pasts, I suppose, it is bittersweet.  We experience, then we stuff those memories in pockets and folders in our brains.  Some wither and die from lack of use, others, hang onto us everyday.  Such is life.     

This is Mackenzie's first trip to a barber shop.  Not sure the name or the person doing the cutting but it was in that small group of shops heading to the Mary on Farnham street.  Her Mother was crying if I remember correctly.  Maybe I was, too, but then memory is a fragile thing.

After my trip back home I began remembering things like juicy morel mushrooms.  Didn't have them every Spring, but usually a friend would have them or a friend knew somebody.  Wouldn't it be great if you could go to the store and buy them like in this picture, that I didn't take but found somewhere.   Of course, morel's are virtually non-existent down here.  But I recall the smell of a kitchen while they were simmering.  The first expectant taste when cooled and blotted on paper towels.  The confusion of the taste buds since there is nothing else quite like it for comparison.  The devouring, endlessly, until nature says no more.  If we can send a machine to laser rocks on Mars, why can't we hydroponically grow morel mushrooms?  Answer me that.

I have never displayed this picture of Missy.  It was taken on March 20th, 2009.  It was taken at the Vet's office in Aledo and she was soon going to be relieved of her pain.  This is her last picture.  Even after three years I am still sorrowful and haunted by that day.  It was a Saturday and I was so relieved to have found a Vet that would put her down, and thankful, also because Brendan was visiting that week.  She was a Hell of a good dog and I probably waited too long to put her out of her misery - I was selfish.  The process itself was wonderfully easy, gentle, peaceful and she died in my arms.   

I have been looking for a new friend for some time down here but have been unsuccessful.

Maybe I don't want rescued.  I don't know.  But the pain and the loss is still there.  I call off the hunt, and then, like last weekend, I'm at the pound again, searching for that elusive friend.* 

I just liked this picture I saw somewhere.  I didn't take it.  I think it was Shorpy's, a website that has old pictures on it.  Cruise on over and take a look at it.  They will send you new old ones everyday.  The black and white photography, along with the old car and the ice cream place reminded me of our trips to the Tastee Freez in Keithsburg when we were kids.  The place no longer exists, but I still recall the dark green and white color combination, the smell of the river wafting up the street, and the mayflies flying around the street lights and inside the window panes that had been dead there for years.  This was back when summers lasted forever, and still ended too soon.  It looked a lot like the picture.  They were family trips, with the three boys jostling about in the back seat - fun trips in youth that in its mid-point would reward us with a great ice cream treat. 

This is Michael spontaneously giving me a smooch when he was living with us in G-Burg.  He was probably around 3 when this was taken.  This past Monday, August 20, he turned 10 years old.  Although not technically our grandkid, we claim him anyway, and for a couple years back in the G-Burg, he was a fun fun part of our lives.   

Michael today.

* The search is difficult because of three personal criteria:

1.  My dog must be a female.  I am an interactive partner.  I like getting on the ground, wrasslin',  and petting.  I have no desire to rub a tummy that has any kind of male protrusion, elongation, or "things" obstructing a good long sweeping pet.  

2.  My friend must NOT have any Pit Bull/American Staffordshire and, frankly, down here, 90% of all pound dogs are Pit.  I have been told they are loving and loyal pets, but the fact remains, they eat people.  Pits are an aggressive breed that scare people (me included), and are, generally speaking, not movie-star pretty.  

3.  Shawshank has a 30 lbs weight limit.  This is somewhat moot, because we have seen bigger than 30 lbs dogs here, but I don't want to draw any attention to myself.  I am, however, willing exceed that limit to a certain point.  I'm not sure what the consequences are and we have heard of one owner who told the Board to "shove it."  I rent, however, so we are somewhat limited in what is allowable.