Consider the title of this post your only warning. Besides this one.
Clancey, our border collie, died almost a week ago during our move from Austin to Houston (KB is a chaplain in Houston this summer, so this is only temporary). Rather than give details of his passing and health, besides assurances that he did not suffer and that we stayed with him the whole time, I want to tell you about my friend Clancey.
I met Clancey on my first date with KB. I was later told that he did not always take to larger guys, but he and I were instantly friends. KB had him since he was a puppy, and when I met him he was a very spunky teenager.
Clancey loved people in general, and was always kind. I think part of that was viewing everyone as sheep that needed herding and tender loving care (with the occasional nip at the heel). He was friendly towards everyone, especially kids. He seemed to know when someone was upset, and would sit next to anyone crying to clean up tears. When toddlers or other little folk were around, he would simply lie down and wait for them to pet him, mostly so he could lick their (hopefully bare) toes.
Clancey was smart. You could always tell that there was a spark of understanding. One of my favorite memories is from a rainy day in our house in Houston. The mud outside prompted me to leave a towel by the back door to muddy paws and feed Clancey inside to minimize that mud. As I poured food in his bowl, he immediately knocked it over. I looked at him exasperatedly and said "You better clean that up!". He looked at me, grabbed the towel in his teeth, and dragged it over the food on the floor in order to cover it up. How could I do anything but laugh in amazement and hug hm?
Clancey was fast. So fast. At the dog park, he would run after a thrown ball with a speed that was awe-inspiring. On a bad day, he led the pack. On a good day, he could outstrip all but the greyhounds, a black and white streak dashing for a ball in a moment of unbridled joy. Once he got to the ball, he never seemed to mind if another dog took it, because...
Clancey was, above all, desirous of pleasing the people he loved (which was pretty much everyone). Whether it was by sitting and staying, coming when called, playing, caring, or cuddling, Clancey wanted the people in his life to be happy, and the best way he could do that was by doing what they wanted. He was the epitome of utter selflessness.
I know that many of the qualities I attribute to Clancey can be written off as anthropomorphization, or projecting qualities I find noble onto a blank slate, or even part of grappling with my own mortality. Those things may well be true, but I also know that he was an example of living a life in perfect communion with how one is Created. He was perfectly himself, if that makes any sense. There's a trite saying (probably on a bumper sticker) that goes something like "I hope I can be the person my dog thinks I am." I would much rather be the person my dog was; someone who loves unconditionally and fiercely, and who seeks to make the people around them happy.
Clancey was a good boy, and I miss him terribly.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
On music.
Most people that know me (even just a little) know that I have a deep love for music. More precisely, I have a very deep love and knowledge of popular music that is derived from traditional American blues and falls into the "rock and roll" category. I also love the blues, jazz, traditional, and older country music, but rock and roll (and most of its ancestors) is what I really love. I could write page after page, but I thought I would focus on a very specific moment: the song that changed my life.
Obviously, that phrase is hyperbolic, but hearing it really opened my ears to music for the first time and stirred my love for music. It was fall of 1992, and I was right around the age of thirteen, what seems to be the perfect age to fall in love with music. My dad was driving me home from soccer practice, and Eric Clapton's "Layla" (the "unplugged" version) came on the radio. I was instantly slack-jawed. The rhythm, the tone of Clapton's voice, and the lyrics hit me with Road-to-Damascus-level force. I instantly demanded that my father relinquish every bit of knowledge he had on the song and its artist on the double-quick. After finding out just who the Eric Clapton was, I set about hearing anything and everything I could.
It should be said that I was not some kind of pubescent hermit; I'd heard music before. I loved Michael Jackson's Thriller years earlier, but this was the first time that hearing a song made me not only want to hear more, but everything else by a particular artist. It was not just a desire to hear, but to know. Where was he from? What other bands was he in? What made him want to play the guitar (because he made me want to play the guitar)? I was driven by a distinct need to know and to hear.
So off I went. "Unplugged" by Eric Clapton was the first CD I bought for myself after Christmas 1992 (when I received my first CD player). From there, I bought Cream, Derek and the Dominoes, and Blind Faith. I stretched beyond Clapton to the Who, Hendrix, the Rolling Stones. The Band, The Beatles (how the heck did I miss them?!), Elvis, Muddy Waters, Leadbelly, Howlin' Wolf. The CD collection grew. While friends dove into Nirvana and Pearl Jam (they came a few years later for me), I was devouring everything I could by Pink Floyd, Steely Dan, and Stevie Ray Vaughn.
My Clapton obsession led to the making of a list for my own personal records; a list of every Clapton album available for sale (fine, it was a checklist). I soon found myself not only scouring through the CD section of any store I went into, but memorizing the title and release year of every Clapton album I found. I had a Wikipedia-worthy list compiled within one year of purchasing “Unplugged”. Through about 1995, my list was pretty comprehensive.
I never came close to owning all of those Clapton records, but my ears had been opened; I was now attuned to the lyrics and music coming form the radio. I was always looking for the nxt obsession, the next life-altering song (which comes about two-and-a-half years later in the form of a music video), but my love of Clapton and the blues continued (and continues to this day) to grow. It is one of the truest expression of the soul I have found in popular culture and music. If nothing else, it tells the listener that they are not alone. Someone else aches the way I do, someone else is overjoyed the way I am, someone else's feet are stomping, someone else's ears are opened, and someone else's life is forever changed,
Obviously, that phrase is hyperbolic, but hearing it really opened my ears to music for the first time and stirred my love for music. It was fall of 1992, and I was right around the age of thirteen, what seems to be the perfect age to fall in love with music. My dad was driving me home from soccer practice, and Eric Clapton's "Layla" (the "unplugged" version) came on the radio. I was instantly slack-jawed. The rhythm, the tone of Clapton's voice, and the lyrics hit me with Road-to-Damascus-level force. I instantly demanded that my father relinquish every bit of knowledge he had on the song and its artist on the double-quick. After finding out just who the Eric Clapton was, I set about hearing anything and everything I could.
It should be said that I was not some kind of pubescent hermit; I'd heard music before. I loved Michael Jackson's Thriller years earlier, but this was the first time that hearing a song made me not only want to hear more, but everything else by a particular artist. It was not just a desire to hear, but to know. Where was he from? What other bands was he in? What made him want to play the guitar (because he made me want to play the guitar)? I was driven by a distinct need to know and to hear.
So off I went. "Unplugged" by Eric Clapton was the first CD I bought for myself after Christmas 1992 (when I received my first CD player). From there, I bought Cream, Derek and the Dominoes, and Blind Faith. I stretched beyond Clapton to the Who, Hendrix, the Rolling Stones. The Band, The Beatles (how the heck did I miss them?!), Elvis, Muddy Waters, Leadbelly, Howlin' Wolf. The CD collection grew. While friends dove into Nirvana and Pearl Jam (they came a few years later for me), I was devouring everything I could by Pink Floyd, Steely Dan, and Stevie Ray Vaughn.
My Clapton obsession led to the making of a list for my own personal records; a list of every Clapton album available for sale (fine, it was a checklist). I soon found myself not only scouring through the CD section of any store I went into, but memorizing the title and release year of every Clapton album I found. I had a Wikipedia-worthy list compiled within one year of purchasing “Unplugged”. Through about 1995, my list was pretty comprehensive.
I never came close to owning all of those Clapton records, but my ears had been opened; I was now attuned to the lyrics and music coming form the radio. I was always looking for the nxt obsession, the next life-altering song (which comes about two-and-a-half years later in the form of a music video), but my love of Clapton and the blues continued (and continues to this day) to grow. It is one of the truest expression of the soul I have found in popular culture and music. If nothing else, it tells the listener that they are not alone. Someone else aches the way I do, someone else is overjoyed the way I am, someone else's feet are stomping, someone else's ears are opened, and someone else's life is forever changed,
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