"Search" by Robert Crais is Bittersweet for Man and Dog

I just realized I didn't turn on my tv in time to get the segment on war dogs with PTSD.
I wish I had. I read recently that the dogs don't get left behind anymore like HumVees and ditchdiggers. They come home.

I have read almost every book Robert Crais has heve written. Many are the bloody, gory, sensitive, make-you-pull-out-a hanky grisley detective stories featuring Elvis Cole and his partner, Joe Pike. They aren't just that. They touch feelings. Gentle, vulnerable ones. I admire that. He writes violent action scenes and always makes you care about the characters. Especially the young and innocent.

And sometimes Crais writes independents. Not in series. "Search" is one of those.

"Search" is his latest. The connection between real life and the book is the subject: a dog with PTSD hooking up with a multiply shot police officer with PTSD to solve a mystery. Crais never has a simple one. This is no exception. The dog is a major player. Her viewpoint is included.

I didn't know if I could read this one, though, after the prelude.

Crais can really write gut-wrenching prose when he chooses to. After the first chapter, I collapsed, sobbed, and read something else for awhile. I eventually got back to the book.

I think this may be one of his best. Really murky, convoluted plot. Pain, dog love, redemptive love by cop...Crais would probably be pleased to hear his writing brought me to collapse and tears. It is quite a talent. Not many have it. Oh. No booty call in this.

Good art deserves appropriate appreciation.

I gave it.

He earned it.

"Search", by Robert Crais. Be sure to read notes after, where he describes the real training and when he sped things up for artistic interest. I just think this is a winner.

When You Get So Much More Than You Pay For

I have had a new job this last month, and yes, I'm paying for the privilege.

It's called Buying a House, something I never expected to do again. This week we should close. I'm starting to pack. Arranged the electric today. Have to nail down the house insurance.

It's been so long since I was an owner, I qualify for firsttime buyer bonus.

It's a little house, perfect for one or two, although I am sure a whole family could be fitted in comfortably should someone wish. Hardwood floors. A large, screened front porch. A big deck, which faces west and won't get much use until fall, when I hope I have a table and chairs for outdoor eating after summer heat gets below 90 degrees--around October.

A large backyard. Small front yard with some nice plantings and trees. The neighbor who is selling it has promised to continue mowing.

I asked my son for a gate in the backyard fence, because that fence separates his larger home from my new home. The gate will facilitate passage back and forth for all of us.

I do not have a big fortune, but I have some savings. I also haven't had a credit card in seven years and haven't had a time payment in more than ten. And yes, I have had to work hard for this. I have considered this my job. What the banker has wanted, I dropped everything else and got it. Twice, I was sure I wouldn't get it. Each time the glitch resolved. And they were big glitches. Actually, they were problems I couldn't do anything about but pray. So I did. Each time I was at peace with whatever the outcome would be. And we have gone forward.

I'm nervous about talking now, before we close, but you know, I'm going to (or as we say here in Texas, "I'm fixing to") be really really busy, and when I move, I'm going to be offline a week or more while I change service.

I look at the future and I see so much I'm going to have to do. And I'm joyous.

My paternal grandmother was really mean to my mother, so much so that Mother told me once to make sure I lived across town from my inlaws. And yet, when my mother was a widow and slipping into illness herself, she went over every evening to pick up my grandmother and brought her home for the night when my grandmother became afraid to stay alone at night. My grandmother looked at me with wonder when I came home from college to visit. She told me how kind my mother had been, when she had been so mean to her. She asked God, and my mother, to forgive her, and she cried a little. She was at peace.

I was thinking about that yesterday. Wasn't I lucky? Maybe my mother's legacy has made me someone who my daughter-in-law actually wants to live next door. I am very honored. My son is delighted. My granddaughters already refer to it as "grandma's house." My younger son anticipates the happiness with which my granddog will explore the fenced lawn.

I know it is doable to grow up without security and support and become an adult who can be kind and supportive to others. It is easier if one has grown up with a good role model, or two, or three. But I have friends who grew up with the bad example and turned away from it to find a more satisfying, happier way to live.

Multi generations are important. While not the majority, many families choose to live together with three or even four generations together. I know a good half dozen with side by side homes like we will have, many others with a suite or outbuilding on property for the grandparents. I knew a family where the woman had her adult daughter and granddaughter living with her and her husband, and also her mother, who was quite active. The toddler was taught to call the oldest family member GiGi, or really, GG for Great Grandmother. I thought that was charming.

The grandparents died off early for my sons, and I always thought they missed out. My granddaughters have three grandmothers, a grandfather, three uncles and an aunt. Whew. They have a richness of love and connections.

Soon, one of those will live next door. I promise to do my best in the years to come to contribute as much as possible to the happiness we all feel today.

I can't wait to find out what comes next.

Happier Kid Without a Dad

Followup to the boy who broke my heart. I've seen him every Wednesday for the past two weeks. And learned more.

He stays from 6:30 am to 8 pm four days a week with the young woman who brought him. She has a really healthy, two-parent home with three sons who love each other and are rambunctious. It is a very good place for him to be.

Turns out he is four. Very limited ability to play or interact with other kids. His mom calls him a loner. At four. His father is an alcoholic who told his son these damaging words in a pity party when his wife told him she could no longer support the family and his habit and he had to leave. The boy seems happier. He still doesn't know how to play with other kids, or much about play at all.

I am new in this community. And most folks just think all he needs is stability and love, which he is getting. In my professional (ret) opinion, he should go to the play therapy clinic with sliding fee scale at the nearby university. I will suggest it. I doubt the outcome. But he has his mom three days a week--hopefully--and a healthy, happy family with three boys around his age four days a week.

As I say, I would like to make it still better. But I am glad it is as good as it is. And his mom was brave to do what she did.

Seminal Oregon

Huh. When I wrote for a newspaper, I had 150,000 readers. Now I am concerned by the expectations of 15 or so per day.

And that is good. Maybe I need to focus more on the fewer rather than the more.

I haven't written about Oregon. I wrote about my expectations. I suppose one would suppose that since I haven't written about it, the experience failed my expectations. Far from it.

It was seminal, and yes, I just looked up the word to make sure I was using it accurately. It changed my world view in a major way.

As beautiful as the west part of Oregon is, that was only a part. As wonderful as the friends I stayed with are, they are only a part. But maybe a bigger part. They gave me so much. So much. And I think, before in my life, I couldn't have accepted it. But now I could. And it was so wonderful.

It was so wonderful spending 10 hours with the childhood friend I hadn't seen in 49 years. We just picked up where we left off, because we were always in tune. We have been through a lot we still haven't shared fully--but the music still plays. And I love the tune.

I couldn't do some of the things I wanted to do because of my RA. And for about two minutes, I wept. Then I focused on the positive, and what I had and was experiencing and doing. And it was OK. Better than that. Blake made biscuits from scratch and omelets with wild mushrooms, and then we set out. It was great, whatever I was able to get to. Oregon has so much, even us impaired, hobbling folks can partake.

In 11 days, I can truthfully say I had NO negative experiences. No one person rude. No one person it wasn't pleasant to talk to. No view that wasn't beautiful, and worth going 2,000 miles to see.

See why it's so hard to write about?

But I will, for me if not for the readers. I need to see the words and in some ways, grow from it. It was the vacation of a lifetime.

And I hope there will be more.

You Can't Buy My Love

Actually,John answered the puzzle in 20 seconds. And as simple as it is, I was going to renege and not run the list, but I do get some international readers for whom English is a second language. So:
Startling
Starting
Staring
String
Sting
Sing
Sin
In
I

Easy--but still fun. Riddles don't have to be portencious.
***

My father taught me well.

Today is Valentine's Day, largely considered by males to be a commercial extravaganza to eke money out of men. My dad saw it differently, and indeed, lived in a different era.

I've heard a lot of ads for jewelry. Ha! Of course, cards. All for the females.

My dad celebrated any day that encouraged a special expression of love for my mother and me. My mother reciprocated. I am puzzled by the female only drift of today's advertising, because it wasn't that way at home.

Yeah, men sometimes need a little goose to do something romantic. I would say especially in Texas, but that isn't so. Maybe women do, too. But as a child, I didn't feel left out when my dad got Mother a box of chocolates. I did understand the hierchy when I got a bag of heart-shaped redhots as my due. Mom would always share at least one piece. And she did, indeed, LOVE chocolate. Her eyes would dance and her smile was sweet at breakfast when we exchanged cards and gifts. She always had something for him, too. My dad, living in a dress-tie world, loved bowties, the kind you tie yourself. She often would give him one,which he would wear to the office that day. He always tied them a little off-plumb, which he insisted gave them individuality. He gave her mushy Valentine cards, and she returned the favor. And I gave cards to both.

A couple of days ago, I gave cheap, pretty boxes of Valentine chocolates to my granddaughters, and they actually were excited. I got spontaneous "Thank you, Grandma!" responses. That made me feel really good. And made my heart swell. Which I think was the original purpose for Valentine's Day--simply to take a day to do a little something special to make the love swell.

In February, we need it.

The Most Gallant Lie

This past week, I got together with some old journalism buddies, and of course, we told stories. Well, I still write a better story than I tell. So I'm going to relate one of mine.

Back when I was a reporter, I had a "beat" which is what we call an area of reporting that involves expertise, sources, etc., in a specific area. I worked closely with the CEO of a large cooperation, and he had pretty much an open door policy with me. I liked and respected him tremendously. He did his job extremely well.

Well, we got a letter at the paper from a soldier overseas. It rambled, and it didn't always make good sense, but the bottom line was, he accused this CEO of having an affair with his wife. He admitted she had filed for a divorce, but he said she was still married to him, and she worked for the CEO. Which she did, as head of one of the departments.

So, while we were skeptical--the longtime single CEO had a reputation for NOT fooling around, and the letter was a bit wacky--I was sent to confront him. Chee, I was uncomfortable. But it was my job, and I did it. And he responded. He always had. He was quiet for a moment.

Then, with a little smile, he asked, "Have you seen her?"

Oh, yes, I had. Petite, with a kind of church lady plainness and prettiness, and glasses. Rather earnest. He was in his late 50's, and she wasn't much younger. They were of an age, anyway. If you gave me a list of 100 women who might be having affairs--this was back in the 70's when just separating didn't necessarily mean you were free--she wouldn't even have made the 51st possibility.

I nodded. He sighed. He said the accusations were preposterous, and if he were having an affair with a staff member, weren't there a number of women more likely? Much more attractive?

Thinking over some of his professional women staff members in my mind, I could think of two or three who were extremely attractive, outgoing, and really smart cookies. I agreed. He shook his head dismissively. He said the idea of him and the department head just didn't made good sense. Well, gee, that was pretty much what I had thought.

I went back to my bosses, told them what he'd said, and we simply went on to other things. We wrote nothing. We didn't think much about it.

And within the year, the CEO and the department head quietly were maried. When I saw them together, it was obvious that he adored her.

But talking to me, he'd thrown her under the bus. To my younger self, it didn't seem very nice. Now, I think it was the most gallant fight for a lady I've ever known personally. If I had pursued the story, he would have been caught out. And he knew me well enough to know I would have quoted him quite accurately. He took a chance. And it worked.

And he did it, mostly, I still believe, for love.

There Are Sunshine People Among Us

I want to write about the Sunshine People, but they are difficult to describe. Not too plentiful on the ground. Still, most of us have met two or three sometime. I don't think I've ever known two at the same time.

I think they are born that way, and then they lead lives to enhance their natural inclination for warmth and goodness. They come in both genders, and pretty much all ages, although they really shine as they age. They are not prepossessing, so it may take you a while to realize what a special person this is and what a difference he/she makes.

Sunny dispositions? Of course. But so much more. It is that special warmth that draws us, almost as if we are warming our hands. We soak it in.

Linda was one of them. She was a pleasant, silver-haired woman in her 50s, dependable, prompt, and efficient at the tasks she was given.We had been without a receptionist several weeks before she was hired and had had to take turns subbing on the phones. The reception area had gotten a bit grubby and pretty trashed out. She immediately had the area spotless and immaculately organized. Without, I might add, comment or complaint. A woman with a green thumb, she started watering our office plants, and I'll be darned if the poor things didn't start looking better, losing the brown edges, putting on new leaves. She could manage civil conversations with some pretty difficult people, although she would hang up if they started cussing her. She wasn't a pushover. But so gentle. and kind. and a megawatt smile.

She was just so genuinely glad to see you. Her face would light up to see you. I think most of us got in the habit of drifting into her area sometime during the day if we could, just to talk a few minutes. Our days simply went better if we did. We felt better, more positive. She didn't fuss over us, or bake stuff, or do anything special. She just radiated that warmth and goodness and welcome.

She had been there awhile when someone in the break room said, "You know, I feel better with Linda here." And someone else said,"me too." Several mentioned the lift they got from her good morning smile, and one of the supervisors said, "she makes this a better workplace."

She was just an ordinary woman. No special skills. We certainly could have found someone with more computer skills. But Linda's warmth made much more difference than a few computer skills would have. When I talk with former colleagues, we still talk about Linda sometimes. We will always remember her.

I first made a Sunshine sighting in my 30s. An older lady at church whom the kids swarmed over,and pretty much the adults, too. What I finally figured out about her was, she let you love her however you wanted, and she was comfortable with it. She pretty much loved everybody back. You sat down with her and you just completely relaxed.

A mental health administrator I wanted so much to work for is one. Retired now, he had this excellent, amazing center that is still doing very good work. But somehow, his warmth, his belief in his staff, lifted them to heights of performance they can no longer reach on a regular basis. He was incredibly protective of them, making sure they had as much balance with family and work as he could possibly manage for them.

The poster child for Sunshine People, I suppose, would be Mother Theresa, but that's just one end of the spectrum.

We talk about liars and bipolars and self-centeredness, and brood about "people are no damn good." And all the time, these rare, wonderful perfectly normal people are moving among us, living their lives. I know lots of warm, cheerful people. The Sunshine People are a step above that. You don't just enjoy them, you feel better when you are around them.

Take time to remember the one or two or more you've known,or know, and remember that warmth, and for just a moment, revisit it. And smile.

Love in all its Forms

I have a married friend. Her husband is very devout. She was divorced, so not a virgin when they married. He was. He loves her very much and grieves that she will go to hell if she does not convert. She has her own beliefs, and feels she cannot. She is Christian. He is Muslim. And they love each other. Just want to say, Christians aren't the only ones who think non-believers can go to Hell. And that despite desparate beliefs, love can thrive.