Of errors…

Update: The phone has been the primary means to keep the kids connected about their grandfather (hospice is now administering to him) and their grandmother (now in a ‘memory loss’ unit) in Omaha.  Next Monday’s letter to the duo will detail most events.

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A note came in Monday night about common errors in the last few letters and repetitive repeat wording in recent posts.  I should strive for more accuracy said the reader.  Fair enough although I will never claim to be a by-the-book grammarian or world-class speller.  You know the national spelling bee that just concluded?  I would’ve made an abrupt (and deserved) exit in the early rounds on some word as simple as s-e-q-u-e-s-t-e-r.  Those kids would’ve beat me like a bass drum.

Unlike a lot of writers, criticism doesn’t phase me.  In fact I appreciate quality sniping and educated second guessing.  Good editors earn their pay; their job is to make things cleaner, crisper, more understandable.  Unfortunately I have no editor.  This is a one man operation.  Actually the sort of creative writing I espouse needs no editor.  Letter writer’s get a free pass.  The blog is sort of like my weekly output; if I see an error it is corrected on the spot.  If something slips by me – and obviously it often does – no sleep is lost.  Spell check?  Never.

If I get hung up on a misused word here and a gross error in spelling there, I’d never get anything done.  So to my erstwhile Monday evening quarterback, my apologies.  I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but to say otherwise would make my nose grow longer than it already is.

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Wayback Wednesday.  As per the custom, here is a letter plucked from the archives.

June 1

EB:

Well, it was a tough day on the old home front as you can imagine.  Taking Scooter to Dr. Bob’s for the final time was one of the toughest things I’ve had to do.  If Bob had disagreed, which he didn’t, we would have had other decisions to make.

He was such a good little guy.  He must’ve known what was coming, because he stayed close but you could tell that somehow, it was okay with him.  When you look at Scoot’s last year, it wasn’t the best.  His old habit of running when the doorbell rang, or tooling around the back yard just weren’t him.  He had a tough time up and down stairs, and his days were spent sleeping in his kennel.  Nothing seemed to bring him joy, except maybe an ice cube or a piece of taboo food like bacon or chicken.

It was over in seconds, literally.  He yelped when they put a catheter in.  When the injection was made, his head dropped to the table and I could feel his little heart stop.  That was it.  I kissed him and petted him one final time and told him we loved him.  Then I stepped out the door.  But as I broke into tears, I went back into the office and gave him one more pat and kiss and hug.  I haven’t cried or sobbed like that in a long, long time.  Tim sent us a lovely email.   That was nice.

Little dogs like Scooter exist only to be around their families, like you and mom and Reid.  That’s what he was made for: to be around people.  Your mom says he’s with other Bischons now, and it was the right thing to do.  She says we’ll always have his picture, and you and Reid will always have your memories of a playful little dog that liked to bark when the doorbell rang, run around like crazy in the back yard on 104^th, and try new tricks that you taught him (few as they were.)  Of course, we’ll all miss him.  He was a member of the family.

Well, now it’s on to other chapters, like working.  It has to feel good to get a call from W_____ Township, to know that more than one district wanted your services.  That has to feel good and fulfilling.   Too bad they both couldn’t have been made at the same time, but the job world doesn’t work like that.  Take the bird in the hand, I always say.

A company that I visited at the kitchen and bath show in Las Vegas sent us a spiffy new, high-tech/high-end sauté pan, which we’ll be sending your way.  It’s pretty heavyweight and nice.  Hey your kitchen gadgetry has to start somewhere.

N______ is getting geeked up about the move to the retirement village.  She’ll be fine once she’s there, but it’s hard leaving her one and only house.

Took out another bunny today.  Stay away from the lettuce.

Let’s all move on, remember Scooter for what he was and what he remains: a good friend and a dear memory.  Later, honey.