by Al Van Dyk | Feb 26, 2020 | Light and Fluffy
He is different, It isn’t like there is something missing…I don’t see the thing that makes him…him. It’s almost like he’s…average. I hope he didn’t sell it, his soul, that is, to take his new job. I admit I have been eating a little more than I have in the past, but I don’t think that’s what he did. I would eat the table scraps if he let me.
It could be something else, maybe it’s the struggle of getting into a new routine, or he is running late because I hid his keys again, or he is sulking because he couldn’t find a holster for his walker. This is different; I can’t put my paw on anything specific. I can’t believe that he sold his soul just for a few bags of Beggin Strips.
I must be jumping to conclusions, something I need to quit doing — these days I have a hard enough time jumping on the couch. I need to be rational. It’s not like there is a market for worn souls on eBay. Besides, l don’t know who would want that thing being so used and all. I know he has a lot left in it; time that is. Sure, I know where it’s been. I have been with him my whole life. I know he had a life before me, rumor has it he even had another dog. He is consumed with time these days, but People-time doesn’t work for me. I barely understand it. Who needs a watch anyway. It either time to eat, time to sleep, or it isn’t.
I don’t understand why anyone would want more than one soul anyway. I’m pretty sure that everyone gets a free one when they come into this world. I can share mine with him, even if it’s a little different from his. When I’m gone, it’s gone; well, sort of. His will last forever. I have no idea how many candles that is; all I know is that I better have the guys from Fire House Subs ready to roll. That reminds me, I better see if they deliver.
I’m not complaining, I like being his sidekick. He tells me everything, well, most things; for sure, the things that he thinks I can handle. Come to think of it. He still hasn’t shared his Manifesto with me or told me why Paul had to die…or explained what exactly is a walrus. An artic flippered mammal’ really? Maybe he isn’t telling me as much as I think he is. I still don’t know what to make of all these petty things. I guess he is entitled to a few secrets
Maybe something isn’t missing after all. Could it be he’s finally at peace? Maybe that’s what’s missing, all that stress he’s been lugging around so long. I hope that’s the case; then my job is easy, I’ll have to take him for a walk and to get him back writing. I don’t want to be the only dog at the park with a person who doesn’t know the meaning of hard work; or worse, someone who could easily be swayed to vote for Bernie. It takes a lot of persuading on my part to get people to believe…that…my person is just an average Joe. He thinks he’s so much more. Most days, so do I.
Thanks for reading and sharing.
Ivy the Wonder Pup, a friend to many, a sidekick to one.
Hey Daddio, when do I get to read your Manifesto?
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Al Van Dyk | Jan 22, 2020 | Attitude is Everything
Oop’s, I did it again!
B. Spears, Influencer
I can think of worse places to be stranded; this big box home improvement retailer that does everything that one needs to feel at home, everything but a monitored in-store security system. It wasn’t my first rodeo, to be stranded, that is. I should have prepped the Wonder Pup on what to do in the unlikely event that our version of Gotham city’s Bat Light appears in an afternoon sky. I expected her to come to my rescue. She is my sidekick, after all.
Not Again
It’s become a cultural norm to romanticize irresponsibility. Some would argue if it weren’t for acts of self-indulgence, and a blatant disregard for the effects of pharmaceutical-grade chemical compounds, that the song-writing machines of many a pop-music superstar would come to a screeching halt. It’s these faux pa’s, the Oop’s moments that we encounter, or more likely, create that will be retold, providing the lyrics to an otherwise mundane story. Still, thoughtless actions have ramifications, and some would willingly trade notoriety and Snapchat stardom for credibility and modesty. If you are unsure where you land on this continuum but you feel the need to put on retainer a publicist and an SUV full of lawyers, then maybe your story has all the makings of a pop music artist.
Does this come in Cordless?
Getting stranded in your local Stuff Mart isn’t the kind of thing that will get the face of an average Joe plastered on the National Enquirer adorning the magazine rack at every checkout at every grocery store. Still, it certainly will rattle a teenager who has yet to experience first hand the debilitating effects of his father’s disease.
It was my fault. I have at my disposal an assortment of those pharmaceutical-grade chemical compounds, but none of them with me at the time. Call it negligence, denial, or just another ordinary day with far too much to do. It could have ended much worse. One could only imagine the carnage if I were stuck in the tool aisle between the shiny yellow and the shiny red things having to fight my way out using nothing more than sheer will power and a Capital One card.
Born Free
I have had to learn, and apparently, more class time awaits, what it means to live within the guidelines, or boundaries, make that the shackles that dictate my everyday events. Over the years I have grown accustomed to an impromptu trip to the local Stuff Mart to purchase that one thing I need that really don’t, or move a heavy object that is screaming out my son’s name. Now it takes a village. Maybe a village is an overstatement, but at the very least a checklist tattooed on my forearm delineating all the things I should take with me will suffice if I want my lovely wife to rest easy.
In all honesty, I am not the best at sharing with my lovely wife every obstacle that I encounter telling myself it’s for her protection. If she knew of all of the times that my disease got in the way or made my day challenging, or more colorful, I’m confident I would be confined to a box of bubble wrap and an adult diaper.
Until that glorious day comes, or rather if it comes, getting stranded occasionally will continue to be a risk I am willing to take and through those rare instances. I will get to experience the goodness and compassion of complete strangers, just like I have so many times in the past few years.
Thanks for reading, liking, and sharing,
Are you sure, Ivy? You can’t see a Bat Light during the day?
Al and his faithful, but technology-dependent sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
Sure, I can send you a text. I know, you like messages that are all emojis.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Al Van Dyk | Dec 9, 2019 | Attitude is Everything
“Whatever gets you through the night…is all right!
J. Lennon
One person’s restful night is another’s addictive vice, just as one person’s slippery slope is another’s slip-and-slide. A gateway to addictions, a stepping stone to ruin and destitution, is now available to all with limited interference. How ironic that it took the allure of an untapped tax base to generate an outpouring of compassion to those seeking relief. There has to be a more humane way to keep the recreational users and addicts, marginalized and ostracized, trapped on the lowest rungs of the socioeconomic ladder than to promote and tax the very thing that holds them there.
I never think to ask the convenience store clerk for medical advice. When it’s time to replenish my hidden stash of Twizzler’s and Peach Snapple, this question never comes up, “Which CBD product do you recommend for my insomnia?… Great, I’ll take your value pack and another $50 in Powerball tickets.” Maybe it’s because I don’t like the way it rolls off the tongue. To be fair, the phone number for my neurologist wouldn’t be the first I would look for if I were in dire need of an infusion of Twix bars to get me through the night.
What’s in your wallet? Is there an MMJ license hiding behind your Sam’s Club Membership card? With such a large number of people choosing to get stoned as a way to manage a debilitating condition, odds are I might know someone who does. Having never walked in their flip flops, maybe there’s a question they have answered that I should ask myself. “Is this something for me?”
There must be some logic that I’m missing, that taking something that is known to destroy brain cells to relieve my discomfort that is caused by a disease that is killing off brain cells will somehow benefit me. I can assure you that it isn’t my intent to belittle or malign someone else’s ailments. Who am I to judge, and who appointed me arbiter?
Terminal diseases, end of life, or palliative care, I get it. If it’s legal, why not? If it’s not, why isn’t it? Athlete’s foot, pattern baldness, or feelings of sadness after a bad hair cut; for me, that’s where the logic breaks down a little. None-the-less it is an option and a viable one. Whether it’s for relief from chronic pain or a chance to relive parts of the ’80s and 90’s that are fuzzy, it’s a hair that each individual must split.
Following in the footsteps of Cheech & Chong is not just icing on the cake, it can be the whole pan of brownies. Beware, we are now leaving the kiddie pool and venturing into deep waters. Many that started down the slippery slope are no longer with us, having turned to more powerful cocktails when the brownies could no longer satisfy their needs or reduce their suffering.
If you don’t think that it can happen to you, guess again. If you do find yourself stuck on one of those lower rungs, don’t expect anyone running for office to help you up or give you a hand. That swim lane is crowded now that Bloomberg is all in. Besides, most are in fly-over country, pandering to an unfamiliar crowd, while the wanna-be is touting their accomplishents, measuring Big Gulps and taking down names; presumably, names written on big checks.
So what’s hanging in your garage?
Thanks for reading, licking, and sharing. That would be liking.
Good point Ivy, a slippery slope can be just a sheet of plastic, a garden hose, and a few sprinkler heads away from becoming a fantastic slip and slide.
Al and his faithful, but chocoholic side-kick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
Of course, we can ask the boy to translate this into emoji. A reader is a reader, sort of.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Al Van Dyk | Nov 17, 2019 | Through Ivy's Eyes
Tails from the dark side.
I know they care, I see their true colors, but it would be great that when they jump to a conclusion, the conclusion wasn’t the wrong one. I wonder why those who care for me are always worrying, Generally speaking, I am careful. Sometimes foot stools pop out of nowhere, and other times, bookcases fall. I can’t make this stuff up. For the record, I have been doing a much better job of planning my emergencies. I keep telling them that striving for independence comes with a price. I guess I never asked them if it was a price that they were willing to pay.
hey, sad eyes
It’s not going to end this way, not on my watch. What’s he doing on the floor now? He was doing so well. I will check his temperature by sticking my nose in his ear. I wonder how long he’s been here? Good, he’s still warm. I’m not going anywhere until he either gets up off the floor or until…What to do? I can’t wait to go for help until he’s room temperature, that will be too late.
don’t be discouraged
When are these cramps in my feet going to release? I have to keep my day moving. I don’t have time for this. My morning was going great; now I’ll be late. It seems like it only happens when I am in a hurry, and I want to get somewhere fast. What’s up with Ivy, and why does that silly dog have her nose in my ear, anyway? I know she likes to play, but this is getting weird even for the Wonder Pup. What is this Pup, some kind of vigil? I’m nowhere near room temperature.
take courage
How we choose to live, and how we choose to face our fears, is rooted in our willingness to embrace the unplanned and engage the unforeseen. What one perceives as a simple hiccup is another’s last dying breath; just as one person’s idea of a mole-hill to side-step is another’s mountain to conquer. Not every bout of indigestion merits a trip to the ER; similarly, not every stutter-step will end in a face plant on the tarmac. Most of the time, the solution is clear; as hard as it may be, we have to learn to adapt to our new reality.
all you can bear
It’s fear that entices us to only see and expect the worst in our circumstances and others; fear that is capable of convincing us that, given our condition, we are somehow incomplete, unloveable, and unwanted. It is this fear of isolation and brokenness that will highjack our thoughts and take our minds down rabbit trails so dark and bleak that even the effervescent Energizer Bunny will pack an extra set of Duracells to light his path.
just call me up
Every dog should be so fortunate to have a person to care for them as nice as mine. Sure, he only lets me lick the ice-cream bowl when its almost gone. He isn’t selfish, he wants me to watch my weight. I’m not sure why he has had so many rough nights again lately. I wonder if the trolls are back. He hates trolls. I thought we put them behind us. If he needs me, I hope he calls for me. I am a trained therapy dog. The couch isn’t as comfy as it looks.
i’ll be there
The Wonder Pup can sense when I am uneasy or when I am home alone. Everyone should be so fortunate to have a faithful sidekick, one that stands close by, really close. I know that she is checking on me if I am roaming around in the early morning hours. When the house is dark and it’s her and I that are up— neither one by choice — it is she that keeps me company. I’m beginning to wonder if she knows something that I don’t. She is starting to freak me out.
the darkness inside
Why is it we let our true color show when we have nothing left to hide, no one left to keep our stories in check and we have no one willing to walk beside us? The darkness feels like the end, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be the beginning of something grand, something amazing, and something life-changing. When we have nothing to lose, we have everything to gain.
shining lights
When we finally do let our true colors shine, when we are vulnerable and lost, the colors that shine through us can be indescribable, as magnificent as a sunset on a late summer night; Colors so vibrant that even a master painter can’t find words to describe them or call them by name. Now we are but spectators, standing in awe of what it is that we are experiencing.
to my true love
I see your true colors shining through, I see your true colors, and that’s why I love you.
So don’t be afraid to let them show. Your true colors, true colors are beautiful…to me.
Thanks, Lisa, for encouraging me to be me.
Thanks for reading, liking and sharing,
Ivy ran out to the store to get painting supplies. It turns out that she wants to be a famous painter.
Al and his faithful, but color-blind sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
I had to tell her to buy a paint set with numbers. I couldn’t find the words to describe a marmalade sky.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Al Van Dyk | Oct 6, 2019 | Light and Fluffy
I blame my disease on the Russians. There, the secret is out, I said it. Until they are proven innocent, my claim stands. Maybe Congress or CNN will investigate my claim. There has to be a headline there; a morsel of food to throw out to a hungry and angry world. I’m sure I am not the only victim. I suspect that it was my entire generation they had in their sights.
Was it the heinous Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale who orchestrated this dastardly deed? Who knew and when did they know? Did they report to Khrushchev; have a direct line to JFK via Marilyn Monroe and the KGB? Or were they merely wanna-be bad guys, faux villains if you will, Soviet agents too inept for the Gulag, banished to the American entertainment industry and cast in the starring roles of a 1960s cartoon?
It had to be the likes of these two that devised a way to kill off my dopamine-producing brain cells during my formative years. To think that my parents left me alone, unsupervised, in front of a black and white television for minutes on end watching a show that was clearly designed to destroy one’s ability to think critically. How could these simple people, living their simple lives, have known that there were bad people out there without the modern-day the elites telling them what to think and how to live?
It screams of child abuse. Were there no heroes who could have saved us from this despicable act? Really, a moose with a slight lisp and a flying squirrel?
Voices of Reason
The voice of reason in public discourse is all but gone. Hysteria has taken its place leaving behind a combination of straw men and groupthink. Statesmen caved to squealing shills, and those sent to lead locked arms with the lemmings. Those once dubbed the defenders of democracy, are now exposed for what they are — mouthpieces for the vacuous souls who lack the gravitas to present just the facts. If we cannot rely on these elite to shelve their ideology and temper their hubris, what chance is there that they can identify the real threats on our shores and at our back doors? If not them, then who? Rocket J. Squirrel, call your office.
A Time to Laugh
I make no apologies for my seemingly irreverent attitude toward my disease. I’ve shed my share of tears when comfort was allusive and used my bowling words when I thought it would help amplify my voice.
It’s time to learn to live with what I have because quite frankly, it is the very thing I can no longer outrun.
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up.
~the Original Quester
Thanks for your patience and for reading, liking and sharing,
Sure Ivy; we can make amends with the Russians. We can invite them over for a Moscow Mule.
Al and his faithful, but diplomatically naive side-kick, Ivy the wonder pup.
That’s good to know, Ivy. We should cover the carpet. Mules can be messy. And hide the good silverware?
Like this:
Like Loading...
