I talked to Dad today. If nothing else, I have to say that buying that house in Indiana was worth the expense in the increased amount of time I've spent with Dad. I can't imagine any other reason I would have for heading back to Indiana every other month or so. That sounds bad. I like visiting him, I like when he visits me, but neither of us seem to find the time. The house has motivated me to visit frequently, which makes the house the bonus part of seeing Dad.

During our conversation, Dad commented on some event that happened a long while ago, then referenced it a watershed moment in his life: when his father died. He mentioned it casually, but it broke the flow of the conversation for me.

I've been having dreams of loss frequently as of late. In the first one I had, Dad had died. I had cried the inconsolable, sobbing wracks of loss in my dream, with whole body shakes. I recall Kris trying to console me, and being completely unable to do so. I woke up crying. Only a call to Dad later that day alleviated my sorrow.

The next up to die in my dreams was Kris. That one resulted in a waking cry fest so bad that even Kris, fully alive, warm and next to me in bed, had troubles calming me.

I've had other dreams of loss since, but none as bad as those first two. Sure, the dogs died one at a time, but that's a mixed blessing sometimes.

So, when Dad mentioned his dad dying, an event had happened fifteen years ago, the memories of loss from these dreams overwhelmed me. I changed the subject quickly and asked just how he made it through the death of his dad, because I'm fairly sure his death is going to crush me, as would Mom's death or Chris' or BJ's or Kris'. Sure, Dad's had time to recover/heal from his dad's death, but making it past the point where one can start to heal, I'm not sure I can make it that far.

Dad told me that, you know what, he's had a good life. That he'd rather I celebrated his life when he was gone, rather than mourn its loss. That he'd rather I remember him happy instead of remembering him through the pain of loss.

I promised to do my best, but that, yeah, it's still going to hurt like hell.

You know dog, the big pillow is for the big dog, not for the little dog to just be comfy.

I spent money today, and now I feel guilty about spending the money.

For the last I don't know how many years, significantly before this particular economic downturn, I've been fairly good about not spending money friviously. I don't chase fashion: my clothes are well fitting, non-descript, able to work for business and casual, with a few items for formal events.

I drive my cars into the ground, selling my first car only after it had 220,000 miles on it and had been loaned to a friend for six months.

My travelling expenses are nearly all work related, or tax deductible in some way.

No, I pretty much just mindlessly spend on books and food and personal consumable items such as soap and toilet paper and that's it. If it's going to take up space in my already cluttered house, I'm not likely to buy it.

Except that I didn't resist today. Today, I spent money on something I wanted. Not something I NEEDED, but something I wanted.

I have to say that the I'm not sure that the feelings of guilt from making this purchase are going to override the feelings of joy I'll receive when the purchase arrives at my doorstep. I'm old enough to know the difference between NEEDING something and WANTING something. I'm not depressed enough to think a physical item is going to make me happy for more than a fleeting moment.

I do hope, however that these feelings of guilt go away. Because as bad as they are at the moment, I'm still not returning my purchase.

My dad doesn't mow his lawn as much as the neighbors would probably like him to mow it. It's a big yard. It's a big yard on the corner, and a lower priority in life than other things.

It's a skill I, too, have mastered.

Over the last seven years, we've stripped out most of the concrete in the back yard, thanks to Doyle and Kevin. We've also removed a lot of the plants, which may or may not have been a good thing.

Unfortunately, the removal of the concrete and its placement with compost and good soil was an invitation for whatever seeds were blowing in the wind to start in our yard. Each year its something different, this year it was grass.

Kris wanted to dig up all of the grass, rototill it under, or rip it out and throw it away. The grass was growing too tall for him to be able to find the dog poop in the yard to clean it up. Somehow, I managed to convince him to wait a week, for me to order a lawn mower and mow the grass. I don't know just how I managed, but I did.

The mower arrived this week, but it sat there until this weekend. After I opened the box, Kris assembled the mower. He handed it to me and said "Have at it."

The grass was so tall, I had to get a running start on most of it. The backyard is mowed now, but I can't say it looks good.

At least Kris can find the dog poop now.

Rossi is staying with us for a week. What better way to celebrate her arrival and visit than a trip to Fort Funtown? Andy and I took the girls and the boys up to the beach for a run run run, er, hike. I wasn't sure about the hike on the way up: rain started pouring when we drove past 92. However, like pretty much every other time we've gone, the weather was fine on the beach.

We arrived to high winds at the top of Ft. Funston, at the upper parking lot. We zipped up, clipped in and walked the hundred yards to the trailhead, where the dogs were all unclipped and set free. I should have realized that Bella was going to be a butt when she nearly refused to head down the path to the beach.

The weather was spectacular on the beach. We arrived as the tides were coming in, so we were not able to do our usual loop walk down the beach and back up the backside of the park. Instead, we turned right (north) onto the beach and walked down to the pipes that marked the end in this direction, then turned around and walked to the other end where the tides prevented us from continuing. We then turned around and walked back to almost where we started, planning on walking back up the hill. If only the trip could have been so easy.

Rossi seemed to like the water. Sure, she's a chocolate lab, so the water love isn't really that surprising. What was surprising was just how much she wasn't willing to leave the water as we moved down the beach.

She followed Blue into the water as we walked down the beach. She traipsed through the water when we walked back. She made me nervous on more than one occasion when she followed the water out, then was soaked when the water came crashing back in, nearly dragging her back out when the water regressed. She lost her back footing a couple times when an undertow pulled at her feet, which didn't do much to increase my confidence in her ability to play safely in the water. She didn't stop doing it though.

When we turned to leave the beach, near the end of our hike, she refused, choosing to run back into the surf again rather than head back up the hill. Her refusal was so strong I had to leash her up and, unfortunately in some places, pull her up the hill. She finally figured out that, no, water time was over, she couldn't play in the surf any more. I'm not so sure she was okay with this.

However, I was distracted by the loss of beagles to notice much.

When we started back up the hill, I had nudged Annie and Bella up the hill, then turned back to fetch Rossi, who was sprinting to the surf. Bella had already been a butt on the hike, deciding that, hey, I'll just keep walking away from everyone, it's okay. At one point, the waves went out, exposing the beach at the end of our hike, giving her a chance to walk around an outcropping and continue away from us.

I turned to Andy when she disappeared and asked, "Andy, please save my dog." He chuckled, and went to follow her, and I followed him. She continued to ignore my calls for her to stop, continuing to walk around the various outcroppings to continue along the beach. I had to tackle her to get her to stop.

So, when while I was retrieving Rossi, Bella and Annie were off on some hill adventure. When Andy and I finally started hiking up the hill, the two beagles were gone. We hiked up, looking for them, Andy going to the right, Rossi and I heading to the left. Andy was unsuccessful in finding the beagles, meeting up with me at a local maximum.

After not a few minutes looking around for the beagles, for any sign of movement of the two dogs, Andy noticed Bella walking down the hill in the distance. We watched her run down the hill, back to the beach. Andy had confidence in her return. I didn't. I handed him Rossi's leash and my backpack, and dashed down the hill. By the time I arrived at the bottom of the hill, Bella was gone again. I looked up at Andy, who pointed down the beach. When I looked, I saw a tiny dot with a curl on the top. It could have been Bella's tail, I couldn't tell.

I started running down the beach as fast as I could without actually shifting onto my toes and sprinting. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I ran for at least a minute without slowing, growing increasingly frustrated as I watched Bella move from person to person asking, "Are you my owner? Are you my owner?" continuing away from me. Even when I drew close, and called her name, she wouldn't notice me, wouldn't follow me.

Eventually, I tackled her AGAIN, and nudged her in the correct direction back to the hill we were climbing out. She would take ten steps, then turn back around to head the other direction. After four of these turn-arounds, I grabbed her and slung her over my shoulder and started carrying her back. She didn't like it, and eventually clued in the direction I wanted her to go.

Unfortunately, she didn't clue in heavily enough, and I had to tackle her another four times on the way up the hill before I managed to catch back up to Andy, finding Annie running around at the bottom of the hill when I hiked up it, and leash up ANOTHER bad dog.

That's TWO black star doggies today.

Unlike most days at the beach, there was a lot of trash on the beach. I was a little bothered by this, until I realized the hike was brought to us by the letter U.