They Do

When I first met E, it was through the Dog Doc, as the two had become close friends while in school. At the time they didn't know it, but they were destined to fall madly in love with each other. As the universe moves in mysterious ways, it took a little bit of time for their friendship to blossom into something more. But it did.

Yesterday I had the privilege and pleasure of joining the Dog Doc and E as they celebrated their wedding. It was a simple affair without all the unnecessary trappings of your typical wedding. And yet, simple is not plain. Simple is elegant, thoughtful, and warm. Simple is spectacular. For the more you subtract that which is superfluous, the more you gain in intimacy. And of course, in the process, you allow the core of the moment--love--to shine through unencumbered; a pure white light of beauty, grace, and possibility.

The ceremony itself kept with the theme of intimacy. The bride and groom stood on the beach with their toes in the sand, encircled by family and friends in a ring of love. After some sage words from the Man of the Cloth, vows were spoken, rings exchanged, and then their first act as husband and wife--a kiss. Cheers went up from the crowd seconded by the roar of the ocean. When the two emerged from the circle, it was as something more than when they entered. And THAT is something truly worth celebrating.

Congratulations to two amazing friends as they embark on a wonderful adventure. May their true love illuminate the path forward.

-KM

"Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye."

Baseball Pilgrims

Spring Training Twist On A Classic Cap.

This past weekend the Dog Doc and I morphed from best of friends to stalwart pilgrims as we hit the road for Phoenix, Arizona.  What brings two fine California gentlemen to Arizona, you ask?  Why, only one thing--the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Spring is in the air, which, in addition to daylight saved, weather warmed, and allergies aggravated, means spring training.  For the uninitiated, spring training is when Major League Baseball teams gather in warm weather locales like Arizona to tune up for the season.  After braving a long winter of inactivity, baseball players need a month or so to get their minds and bodies back into peak condition to weather the grind of the 182-game baseball season.

And so on Friday afternoon the Dog Doc and I raised our banners (read: baseball caps), hopped into my Energy Efficient Steed, and ventured eastward to the desert sands of the state in which "Ditat Deus."  After a longer-than-hoped-for journey, including a pit stop in Blythe for some rebellious bbq, we eventually arrived at our lodgings, the aptly-named Knights Inn.  It was a nondescript little building tucked away next to the Interstate and a three-story monstrosity of a strip club called the Jaguares Gold Club.  All things considered, it had some character (and characters).  And I got a pretty good feeling from the recently-immigrated night receptionist who from behind his bulletproof glass regaled me with tales of our shared ancestral homeland.  In fact, it's gonna be hard to point the finger at him when I start seeing charges on my credit card from Osaka to Uzbekistan.

Anyway, we finally get to our room and the first thing we noticed is how spacious it was.  It appeared to be two rooms converted into one giant "suite."  The second thing we noticed was the odor.  A mixture of cigarette smoke and cat pee.  With the smoke detector tucked away neatly in the nightstand, it would appear that the "No Smoking" signs were just a polite request.  The phone is not working, which prohibits communication with the front desk.  However, it also eliminates the possibility of the front desk calling in the middle of the night with unwanted interruptions.  The suite contains a single table and chair, a place where you can easily envision John Malkovich sitting and plotting a presidential assassination.  While carefully opening various drawers and cupboards, we stumbled across a Bible, which I thought was in surprisingly good condition.  The Dog Doc chimed in that it's likely because that book is the least-touched and therefore cleanest item in the whole suite.  Truth.  I'll spare you the details of the bathroom and the beds, but please, feel free to let your imaginations run wild.

I think it's fair to say that the beauty of the human spirit is that it can adapt to any situation.  So despite lacking in the creature comforts of home, we quickly adopted Room 158 as our home for the next two nights.  Plus, the room wasn't that bad (I mean, they'd at least removed the dead body (bodies?) before our arrival).  Certainly nothing a few beers and hits off Clayton couldn't cure.  For, we were devoted baseball templars.  Simple discomfort and fear of disease would not stop us from completing our pilgrimage.  And when I use the word "pilgrimage," I do so in all sincerity.  Many people equate sports fandom to a cult, but to me it's more than that.  A cult implies blind worship;  something empty.  Baseball is more than that.  You don't just worship it.  You have faith in it because you believe in it.  It transcends mere cult to become religion, and Spring Training is its purest manifestation.

Spring baseball is stripped of all the monied trappings of the regular Major League Baseball season.  The stadium are tiny, the games are no frills, and multimillionaires mingle with journeyman scrubs lucky to get a couple-hundred-dollar signing bonus.  The game is distilled to its fundamental essence; to what you loved so much about little league and sandlot games.  But, most of all, the air is filled with pure belief.  From the players to the organization to the fans, everyone has hope.  Everyone believes that this season will bring with it glory; that in October the Dodgers will be the last team standing.  Sure, all that belief may ultimately prove to be in vain, but right here right now, it feels very real and very possible.  I suppose that's the beauty of games that don't count.  A beauty that only spring can foster; something too fragile for the oppressive heat of summer and the chilly winds of autumn.

Religions have their rituals, and I think making the trip to Arizona could be one that becomes a regular part of my March routine.  Although, next year I may switch up the lodging situation.  That is of course unless the Dodgers win the World Series.  At which point, for better or for worse, the destinies of the me, the Dog Doc, the Dodgers, and Room 158 will forever be entwined.

--KM

"So what we get drunk.  So what we don't sleep."

Murder, Grief, and the Pursuit of Justice

There was foul play in my aquarium.  Murder, to be specific.  I have no suspects, but it's only a matter of time before the killer is brought to justice (Yes, I realize I need to get out more).

A few nights ago, I returned home to find that Sparky had passed away.  I was a bit surprised because he'd been doing fine up to that point.  No signs of distress or discomfort.  In fact, he'd taken two "fishwives"--Junior and Dotty--and the trio had been pumping out little babies at a rapid tick.  Perhaps in anticipation of their ever-growing family, they'd just purchased a home.  A newly remodeled sunken ship with all the upgrades.  The three of them would hang out inside there for the majority of the day, with Sparky patrolling the entrances and shooing away interlopers (I'm looking at you, Bert!).  All of it signs of happy fishdome.  And yet, there he was floating at the top of the aquarium. Staring at me.  I felt a little like Tom Hanks in The Da Vinci Code.  What are you trying to tell me, Sparky?

After some inspection and review of clues, I concluded that Sparky's death involved foul play.  Healthy fish just don't up and die.  But then who did the fateful deed?  My first thought was to Hanza, the resident bully of the tank.  She'd been acting up recently, and I'd spied her chasing Sparky around from time to time.  She had an alibi though.  At least one good enough to hold up to initial scrutiny.  Same for Bert.  I'd seen Sparky kick his ass a few times after catching him lurking around Junior and Dotty trying to get some action.  I thought maybe Bert's jealousy had turned to rage to murder, but that theory was also quickly debunked.

After searching into the deep recesses of my brain for all the criminal investigation knowledge gleaned from countless hours of watching Law & Order, I remembered Detective Lenny Briscoe stating that, more often than not, killer and victim are acquainted.  So I turned my attention to Junior and Dotty.  Had something happened to disrupt this happy, polygamous union?  Had Sparky been cheating on them with some young vixen?  One of the twins perhaps?  Or had he been spending the grocery money at the track?  Or was it something more devious; a conspiracy to cash in on his life insurance policy?

However, it quickly became clear that Junior and Sparky weren't involved.  In the days following Sparky's death, the two of them hid inside the sunken ship.  They were mourning.  It was strange to see that fish--an animal you'd consider to be somewhat dim--feel grief over a departed mate.  My veterinarian buddy, the Dog Doc (the artist formerly known as the "Transporter"), informed me that it wouldn't be unusual for even fish to feel some level of distress after the passing of a mate, especially if the mate was a male protector-type.  Whether that distress rises to the level of what we call "grief" or "sadness" is unlikely and possibly more a projection of human emotions than anything.  Still, as man to whom magic and science stand on almost-equal footing, Junior and Sparky's behavior looked like sadness to me.  And, I say that because something similar happen about a year ago.  After the passing of the wife in that prior fish couple, the husband was sad and lethargic for about a week before joining his wife in the Great Aquarium In The Sky.  Cause of death?  A broken heart.

Anyway, the fact that there are two grieving widows only strengthens my resolve to find the killer.  And, add to that the two more victims I found this morning, both unceremoniously lodged against the filter intake.  Whoever is doing all this mischief is certainly calculating, acting when it knows I'm away.  Actually, I'm starting to get the distinct feeling that despite my belief that I watch my fish, one of them has been carefully and meticulously watching me. . . even as I'm typing right now.  Dun dun du~n.

To be continued. . . (maybe)

--KM

"It was Miss Scarlett in the library with the candlestick."