ch.7, v.25-36 (the sickness)

An embarrassment of johnnies.

Yea, tho' it is the way of the pestilence to proliferate in numbers innumerable,
Tho' the fervent myrmidons of its genealogy escape the naked sight of the eye of the human,
Yea, tho' they thus seek to abound in the tissues and vessels of my companion's body,
A succor no less mighty and determined enlists to the aid of our pack.

Let these my verses praise the clan combined of beth israel and deaconness,
The tools and arts of healing great in both gentleness and fight.

Let me praise also the gifts of the hand and words of the mouth of these,
The members of our extended pack, some who journey from across many blocks of city, or many states of the land,
To offer comfort and sustenance in these days leaden with fatigue.

Unto their exaltation, we make with the cycle of each moon a celebration,
With feasting upon the bounty of the land and the fizziness of the vine,
And with the napping upon pretty feet.

June: brunch on Forest Hills Street






July: O bday at the MFA




Marcia's dessert made it into this picture, but not Marcia.

At home later with Julia and Roberta



Wanna see Roberta on her visit? Watch the feature film.


August: party boat at JP Seafood








Exegesis and Commentary
Hmmm, I feel the need to apologize at least a little for this blog. I suspect I was motivated in its composition less by a genuine desire to convey a Frida-eye-view of the world and more by my own desire to offer thanks to the many friends who have given their support of all sorts of the last five months. But, if you'll bear with this rare lapse in my apostolic charge, there is at least the nice video of Frida to enjoy.

ch.7, v.1-24 (the sickness)

Quietness and lassitude gather round about our den,
For a sickness is upon my companion,
And tho' the nose of the human smells it not,
Still in their ways of perception they discover it,
And hereunto we retreat for the recuperation of she who has many days
Been to me comforter and physician.

She makes not the perambulation of daybreak nor that of eventide,
And, lo, the greenness upon her face is greater even than the greenness of usual.
I make my way upon soft and noiseless pads,
And tho' tempted mightily to draw her from the nest of pillows and of blankets
I resist these the callings of my anxiety,
Nay, and trouble neither Karen Who Is Tall.


BTW, my sweatshirt says "Roxy," not "Sexy."
This was not a sexy moment in my life. Not at all.

O what physic is in the power of this dog to proffer?
The dew claws of my feet will function not as opposable tarsals;
I cannot hold the vial of medicine,
Nor can I prepare the soup of the chicken
Without consuming it prematurely to my own satiation.

Yea, but with the laws of the den cast aside, my companion,
I can give to you this gift of canine knowing--
I augment the deepness of your sleep,
By bringing within the sanctuary of the human bed
The healing transcendence of the napping of the dog,
And so I shall be if not your physician
Then on and as your comforter.




Exegesis and Commentary
Frida knows so much better than I do, maybe than many of us do, her limitations and her strengths, tho' it is an unusual ability for her to control her anxiety and not claw at me for attention when events occur outside of our routine. But, like most dogs, she knows when I'm not well and respects that. She also knows, from past experience, that when I'm not well and I'm sleeping a lot, she gets the rare treat of coming up on the bed, which really is just as much for me as it is for her. So altho' we haven't generally allowed the dogs on our beds since we moved in together, Karen agreed to break the rules this time, and Frida brought her healing dog nap onto the bed with me. I have to share this odd thing I noticed: the picture I took of the view from the dog bed


had this line in it:

(I was reading Emma, just fyi.)

And also just fyi, I found a picture of my "physician" online. For those among you who think your doctor is attractive, I like to put this in the category of "my surgeon is more beauteous than your surgeon." Think your favorite medical professional can compete? Bring it on.


Frida's Auntie Julia observed that it's standard protocol to be at least a little infatuated with your surgeon, but I think this fine wielder of the scalpel must have made it easier than usual to comply with that imperative. Esp for those of us with a thing for attractive, capable women with a good sense of humor.

ch.6, v.45-80 (journey to cape)

The Trial

O what torment is this that my companion visits upon me?
What wisdom justifies this abasement of the glories of my hide?
Nay, I think none, but endure still this willfulness of her unsmelling.

Yea, for in the numberless hairs of my coat
I have carried unto this our denning place
The many pleasing odors of our recent journey,
And enrich the fibers of our carpets with the perfume of salt and sand,
And, lo, even that perfume of the exotic beasts from deep upon the sea floor
Whose rare carcasses the waves of the sea brought before us
Rotten and redolent upon the head of the beach.

My companion she comprehends not the enlargement of our portion in these new treasures
Added unto our storehouse of odors
And in the paucity of the perception of her nostrils
She knows not the sacrifice she makes nor the loss she subjects us to.




Look if you dare upon this bitter crime of hygiene, and see the injustice of my portion.
I am hemmed in by porcelain, and thick lather covers my face.
The tremblings of my limbs are as quiet lamentations;
They call unto my companion to stop the torrent of this false ablution,
But she knows that her hand only can command the flowing of the water of the faucet,
And heeds not my entreaty.




And, yea, tho' my drowned limbs could carry me over
The wall of this slippery confine, still I remain within.
I challenge not her command of sacrifice,
Nay, nor challenge neither the command that my deliverance
Must wait upon the aid of her relenting arms.



Why then this acquiescence?
Why, but for that I am a wise dog of many years
With the grayness of experience upon my muzzle.
I have seen often such rituals within the porcelain altar,
And know that from this my patience with her ignorance
Shall follow generous praises for my ears,
And for my stomach even better
The choicest of choice rewards
Given many times over from the palm of her open hand,
And thus is preserved the communion of canine and primate
In the smoky goodness of the jerky treat.

Exegesis and Commentary
Okay, water is not in and of itself always good.

ch. 6, v.19-44 (journey to cape)

Perambulation the Third

And upon the morning of the second day
We ventured from this cape of glacial deposit
Further upon a tenuous scapulary of sediment and sand.

Behold in this refuge such a myriad of paths
To astonish the expectation of even dogs most dissolute.

Find ye o wandering dogs beneath the pads of your paw
The way of timber made straight and plane
A bridge of passage upon the atlantic tides.


Find ye here the way of coarsened sand
Dug among the bent and sparsely branched trees
As by the industrious diggings of the terrier known as jack russell.



Or here the way of the fine and softened grains
Smooth among the flat-top of grasses at the edge of land.



Yea, but all these welcoming ways are walks only tired and pedestrian
When compared against this, o glory of glories,
The Way of the Water,
Wherein the unending channels of libation and ablution
May carry a dog above and before all other elements.

The hide of my unsweating body
I sink into your cooling bath of redemption.
I walk as floating along your uplifting chemistry.
I wish never to depart from these your aqueducts of deepest clarity.



Upon the hour of our return
The sea has worked a wondrous confluence
And the way of timber and the flat-top of grasses
Have become one with the Way of Water.




Exegesis and Commentary
Well, apparently there is no underestimating the value of water to St. Frida. Here as everywhere we have traveled she will plunge herself into any pool of water during a walk. In fact, at Branbury State Park in Vermont a few years ago, we only just caught her before she shot down a water-carved funnel of stone into the Falls of Lara, which really might have been the end of her.

She is not, however, a swimmer, which makes the two of us alike. We love the water, we revere it, we find a certain transcendence in it, but neither one of us swims well, ondine as water spirit notwithstanding. I'm not, however, quite as willing to step blithely off into whatever body of water presents itself; fortunately, I had my Bean rubber shoes on for our return trip through the tidal flats of Wing Island.