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Monday, January 9, 2006

Somebody somewhere was determined to make this just another lousy Monday, but I tried hard not to let them. On the phone first thing this morning (well, 8:30 am), I kept my head while others were losing theirs. For once, I was the one telling the Boss not to panic about whatever crisis he had concocted to start the week with.

How small a crisis was it? I canít even remember it now, thatís how small it was. Crises, at least the crises generated by people who thrive on them like the Boss, come and go, like politicians. Thereís no use getting excited about a crooked (or, just for the sake of argument, incompetent) politician getting into power, because he wonít be around long enough to destroy the system, and then someone else — someone either more or less crooked (or incompetent) — will come along to take his (or her) place.

And thatís the way it is when youíre in crisis mode all the time. Someone just has to dial it down a notch, and today was my day to do that. Sometimes, believe it or not, itís the other way around. Sometimes I get into a panicky mode and think the world is coming to an end, and itís the Boss who tells me to chill.

Iíd say it was a healthy symbiotic relationship, except for the fact that it canít be all that healthy to base a relationship around talking each other down off a ledge. Even if itís successful most of the time, you only have to fail once. And then where are you? And in how many pieces?

4 January 2006

Afternoon sky.

There was so much going on today, and all at once to boot, that I could have let it get me down if Iíd been in that frame of mind. Lucky for me (and anyone who came into contact with me), I wasnít. By the end of the day, the Boss and I were laughing together (long distance, of course) about the ex-employee who got drunk and called the police to come to the Kennel as a practical joke. Not very practical, and not much of a joke, but it was a good sign we were laughing about it, Monday or not.

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So I was checking out the new castaways on the upcoming Survivor: Panama-Exile Island, and we seem to have a retired astronaut and a retired Navy fighter pilot, a couple of former teenage beauty queens, a karate instructor, a lumberjill and a published author, among others. There are two Dodger fans, three Red Sox fans, and one fan each of the Cubs, Braves, and Twins. But the kicker is this: four tribes of four — older men, older women, younger men and younger women. It starts February 2, in case youíre interested.

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For other journal recommendations, check out the links page.

One year ago: Together
"We are too old to tell kindergarten jokes at full volume (though not to old to laugh at them, or to help the actual kindergartener color in his Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer coloring book)."

Two years ago: Family Affair
"This isn't my wedding in any way except how close I am to all the people involved."

Three years ago: Dampened
"I'm old, I'm tired, I'm ready for the pasture. (That's the car talking, but it's pretty much the way I feel myself these days)."

Four years ago: Muffled
"It's not that I don't believe idiots have a right to their opinions."

Five years ago: Out of the Tunnel
"It's the prerogative of the minority to stand up for itself and, if necessary, howl about the abuses of the majority."

Six years ago: Not a Critic
"Some day I want people to invite me to dinner and ask me to bring my ... whatever."

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