Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Please pick pocket after your dog

*note* there are no images to go with this one, but it's probably for the best really*
The other day, whilst waiting in line at the post office, I was struck with the realization that where once was 2 gloves in my coat pocket, now were just one. that panicy wave of grief from sudden loss crashed into me as I frantically checked my other pockets. it was definitely gone. I had to find it. well, first I had to send my package off, then find it. so, I did. send the package off. and find it. eventually. and lucky for me my errands by bicycle route was pretty well confined. and it was not raining. and the feeling I got from finding it (a mitten I had sewn for myself about 5 years ago from a scarf my gramma gave me. sentimental!), tho short, was sweet relief times infinity (ok, yeah, it was just a mitten, but see previous parenthetical statement!)
but. along my search and rescue way, side-car-ed to a marginal bout of anxiety, was moderate disgust. when scanning the sidewalks and roads for a small hand sized dark blue object, I found that the eye feverishly affixes onto all things remotely resembling said lost cherished item. specifically, dog poop in plastic bags. there is this incredible invention called TRASH CANS, people! and they are pretty much ubiquitous. man, the emotional ups and downs those little baggies caused me. annoying! foul! but wait, what is that clever tho maybe inappropriate to bring up because I am talking about fecal matter maxim - when life gives you yellow citrus, make yellow citrus juice. so then it came to me. another genius idea involving dogs (see two posts ago for other mind blowing example):

coin purse wallets made to look like dog poop in a bag!

it's the ultimate anti-theft device! like those fake poops they have to hide keys in, but, uh, different. ! great for traveling, or just being out on the town. at night. in a possible sketchy neighborhood maybe. or just out to a summer time lunch in a fun chicago suburb with your dad while he's out visiting you and your purse is hanging on the back of your chair with the zipper open and a stranger walks by.

oh. . .

thinking about pick pocketing (not dog poop) made me think of my sister (tho she does live with a dog). she was protagonist in aforementioned eating experience, not I. tho I heard all about it and part of me wished I was there. the fictitious big sister part of me that is capable of running down thieves in a city unfamiliar, retrieving the wallet with all its contents still intact with one hand and with the other hand, administering justice in the form of some supernatural punch perhaps, then finishing the scene with a heroic (heroinic?) handing of it back to my little sister while other lunchers looked on with relief and admiration. it was hard enough to hold the knowledge of it from five-ish states and 2 time zones away. I can only imagine how my dad felt. maybe still feels.
maybe I'm glad I wasn't there. maybe if my ideas weren't so cockamamie, I'd have been online immediately, trying to figure out how to birth this little brain child into existence. to spare her, conceivably, from future harsh violations. to spare myself from harsh, albeit remote helplessness. but then there's the whole lighting not striking the same place more than once thingy which metaphorically translates into: odds of that happening again are so preposterously slim that there's no point in fantasizing down that road and also there's really nothing I can/could do. save for being sympathetic from a distance, feeling my feelings, and well, not stealing wallets myself.
or leaving my dog's poop in a bag out on the sidewalk for people to mistakenly, joyously identify as their lost mitt, only to be correctly, disconcertingly discerned as inhuman waste. an act that, for the record, arouses feelings of irateness that, also for the record, pale in comparison to those feelings of outrage brought about by a misdeed of such degree as pick pocketing. sigh.
so my sister is down a wallet, my dad returns home with a chink in his protector armor, and me, a silent character in this tragedy, continues walking my path with my two mittens on my two hands, a daydreaming vigilante, side stepping blue bags all the way home.


(On a side note, I have, as I discovered on my bus ride to therapy, a small plastic bag in my backpack which needs to be dealt with in a do not pass go, do not collect $200 kinda way. A tiny knot is all that separates me and the world at large from ancient picked clean but not quite pear core remnants. I was actually quite relieved to find it because I found myself enduring the same circumstances I believe I was faced with the first time I put said one into said the other: slimy pear core in hand and nary a compost bucket in sight (probably low on the list of priorities for metro bus system). So, yes, I tempted fate and unlocked the secrets of the decomposing fruit but only just enough for me to slide the fresh organic matter in before sealing it up and putting right back where I found it. We'll see how long this game lasts. . . )

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Snow! Dogs! Ingenuity!

I just woke up from the most amazing nap wherein I had the most mundanely surreal dreams about napping. And waking up from napping. At least the subject matter did not detract from the rich quality of sleep gotten and the subsequent out of it-ness I currently feel that is indicator of said nap quality.

Par for the course, really, the ordinary nighty-night life. Whenever I encounter a person who claims to have garnered some divine pinpoint of inspiration directly from a sleeping dream I cannot help but shroud myself in my shawl of disbelief (serape of disbelief? or wait - what are those thickly woven things that look like the softest of mobius strips that people wear around their necks these days? anyways.) and shiver with the slightest bit of envy. My dreams are so mundane (read: if they (Arch Angels of the Universe) are trying to tell (Bestow Upon) me something (Divine Inspiration), I for sure would appreciate it if it weren't so, I don't know, intricately cryptic (Symbolic))! That or dream people are trying to kill me. Either way, where for me are these revelational dreams that these well rested people speak of so highly? This elusive guiding light eludes me in my moonlit, ok slightly on the uncomfortable side organic cotton futon.

And so I turn to snowy nature. Not the Snow-pocalypse of last month, I was in Chicago-pocalypse at the time. I am referring to none other than my two weekend ago adventure to Snoqu-apocalyps-mie Pass. Specifically, an underpass at Snoqualmie Pass. To embark on a few hour snow shoe adventure. An afternoon trek that I have no photographic evidence of. Only fond memories, passing soreness, and a soon to be revealed brilliant scheme. But first, because nothing goes together with narrative writing than a swell image, a photo pulled directly off the internet:



I chose this one because it best refers back to the run-of-the-mill theme of the day. Two other images that did not make the cut but just barely were A) a grouping of old school snow shoes stuck person-less into a snow bank such that it kinda resembled DIY grave stones (ominous!), and B) a grouping of person joyfully engaging in the new to me sport of snow shoe racing. Wait - snow shoe racing? It kinda sounds maybe really appealing. And also maybe only if I was being chased by dogs.

Speaking of dogs: my irradiant idea! It came to me as I was witness to/body checked by our group's 2 canine companion's running abouts and chasing after one anothers. Here it is: 

Dogs for rent at trail heads.

Think about it. Fun loving creatures to bound along side you and provide that extra boost of energy up that steep incline! Cute domestic animal meets the great wild entertainment! An extra hyper extra safety precaution for those who trek alone! Someone to talk about/to when you tire of your chosen human companion! No dealing with wet dog travel logistics! Perfect for cat people who like the benefits of a dog sidekick but don't want to put in the work of ownership! And the operation would double as a dog sleep over place when you are away on vacation! Everyone wins!

Now to find someone to put this enterprise into orbit. . . 

Oh, before I do, though, one last image that didn't make the cut:

Let's see, yes, well, excellent advice. Unless maybe you are snow shoeing for the first time ever in your life, adult or otherwise, then, maybe not so much. Unless. . . you have Rent-A-Trail-Dog! You and your rental canine could chose the path so less taken that no one has yet to take it and shuffle your way (or run, if you are in the know of the snow shoe racing) till your heart's content, safe with the knowledge that you are not alone. And that if you did get lost, you can just follow the yellow snow all the way back to the parking lot.