A writer, reloaded

One of the fiercest boxers who ever lived–a man whose powerful body time has softened, but in its place left perspective–recently said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” It’s simple quote, very memorable, and one anchored in fact.

Looking over many notable figures from history, the knockout blow that bumped them from their perch came not from a rival, but from somewhere less obvious.

For at a certain point in these journeys, something very profound happened. The fire burning inside them, the one that once compelled they fight on flickered. Maybe the flames dipped just for an instant. Not so much that anyone on the outside might notice. But a second of shadows where there had always been light was enough time for something else to work into its place.

Possibly for the first time ever, these champions questioned whether or not what they had always wanted, was worth it. And that second guess was the first step towards the end of whatever empire they had constructed.

And so they killed what they loved, not with acts, or neglect, but with their beliefs.

Afterward, maybe the flames roared back smartly, burning as bright as before. Many empire builders rise and fall several times. But the voices of self-doubt now waited at the perimeter for them going forward, like a fire extinguisher ready to snuff the flames forever.

That quote was from Mike Tyson, and it described a lot more than his own boxing career. Ultimately his most cunning adversary proved to be himself.

Entering home stretch before the school year begins in earnest. Students from all over the world will return for another year on campus. As usual there is much to be done on campus.

Updates might be sporadic for the next two weeks.

Towards the middle of September, I’ll have some news about some store signings and contest results, too.

In Cat Army News, whose shelf is it, anyway?

Lessons learned in the past week:

1) Even the most recalcitrant feline will ingest their medications willingly–if the pill is wrapped in salmon flavored wet cat food. So much easier than aiming a dispenser down a throat while the cat hacks and claws.

2) Jennifer’s Body was neither scary nor titillating. From the marketing and packaging, one of those seemed to be the objective. However, I really liked the camera work and shot composition. Particularly how the director handled filming in woods and fields at night.

3) I’m ready for Fall. Doubly true since the forecast for the first week of September includes 5 days in a row of near ninety degree temperatures.

4) Friday at 5pm is not the time best time for splicing cables, especially when standing on a six foot ladder. Got a bit aggressive with the scissors. The side of my first finger paid the price.

5) I like this newly remodeled Dunkin Donuts.

Always nice when a longstanding problem inches closer to resolution. And tomorrow a little technical issue at work that snowballed into a big crisis collides against the mighty wall that is a new sweet piece of technology and stops piling into my knees.

Or at least changes course.

Enough tech babble. Someone please tell these two cats to stop pretending they don’t like each other. Charade over Ms. Abra and Mr. Oedipus.

As the last horizons of summer beckoned, and the faculty began their annual march back to campus, getting a jump on the weekend not only seemed like a good idea, it seemed urgent. And I listened to experience.

On Monday high alert status ensues, a seven week long period where the nights and weekends after work are not really my own. In place of dreams, technical problems from the days before brawl for their slice of what’s left of my subconscious mind. This era of heightened awareness concludes the first weekend of October, when the students disembark for an all school trip. Shortly thereafter, breathing during the day gets a lot easier. Check that: There’s actually time for breathing.

Before the insanity begins though, there was the day off. After sleeping in, and checking the Internets, I grabbed the CamelBak and hit the trail.

For various reasons, haven’t hiked much this summer. More importantly, my last round trip through these particular woods was nearly three years ago. Over the past ten years, probably covered the eight mile loop three dozen times. Good thing, too.

While the trail was exactly the same after all this time–albeit even more impacted thanks to erosion, a dry summer, and increased foot traffic–the blazes looked different. Different not in the sense that there were less markers in new places, but just as profound. My eyes tried to reconcile the all new color schema.

While not terribly dependent on blazes, when it’s been a few years and you just know blue intersects orange, only now white crosses pink ( and green/white ), it does cause the odd double take. Especially towards the end, long after killing the last shard of beef jerky.

Changes aside, a very good loop. I’m going to make it a point to get at least one long hike a week between now and Halloween. Perhaps into early winter if the weather prove mild. Thoughts just come much easier in the woods, particularly the creative sort of thoughts. That’s an important lesson to rediscover.

Particularly when things get crazy.

Late last week, Electra, one of the founding members of the Cat Army, exhibited some very disturbing symptoms that necessitated a midnight run to an emergency vet. Of her fourteen years, thus far she has has only had one real medical situation–eleven years ago. And I’ve been pleasantly spoiled by her good health and pointy nose in my ear every morning since.

For the first time she didn’t wake me up in the morning, wasn’t scratching the door when I returned from work. She sat in the middle of the hallway meowing like the wounded still stranded on the battlefield. Usually when a cat’s behavior changes drastically, something is wrong; they make their discomfort known. That’s what I learned during her last disaster.

Fortunately a nearby 24/7 animal hospital diagnosed her quickly and began a course of antibiotics. Instead of having to administer–read lose fingers to biting–tiny pills down a very agile and recalcitrant cat’s throat three times a day, science delivered its second miracle of the night.

A single injection that delivered bacteria zapping goodness for ten days. It cost three times as much as the pills. And I didn’t care.

Because my cat. Got. Better.

A few weeks ago, started experiencing headaches and serious eye strain. More than an hour at the keyboard and objects near or far appeared blurry. Eye drops and a fistful of generic Advil swapped aches and strain for heartburn and watery eyes. Relief lasted until the symptoms returned, and usually quickly. Being preternaturally stubborn, this self medication cycle of denial went on for awhile, until reading became too painful for any length of time.

Then I remembered I had the same eyeglass prescription for nearly three years. Probably my vision had declined over time. That’s how it’s been since age six.

So it was off to the optometrist.

Instead of an ominous diagnosis, the eye examiner provided a rather welcome bit of information. Somewhat paradoxically, I have hit the age where vision often improves, rather than deteriorates. I am there roughly 5 to 10 years ahead of schedule, which I’m conflicted about, but I find no fault with the fix: Crank down the current prescription a few notches, and voila. Headaches and eyestrain begone!

So too much correction actually causes far more discomfort than not enough. I did not know that.