Last week I got a text from my wife. “Could you pick up my prescription at CVS and get me a pack of cigarettes?” I thought it was some kind of a joke and that I wasn’t getting it. My wife never smoked and I didn’t think she was starting now. I didn’t get the cigarettes.

But it wasn’t a joke. She wanted a pack of cigarettes – for a school project. She’s a school nurse and every year she has to prepare a presentation for the elementary school kids about the dangers of smoking.

I made a special trip to a liquor store to get a pack of cigarettes. It was embarrassing, like it is for a teenaged boy going into a drugstore to buy a condom to put in his wallet in case he gets lucky. I hoped nobody would see me. The conversation with the clerk was awkward. I asked for my old brand, paid six dollars and change, and put them into my pocket. I left the store quickly. I felt the old urge quickly. I dismissed the old urge quickly. It’s been about 36 years since I smoked. It’s a strong urge.

My wife crumpled up the cigarettes and put them in two jars filled with water. She let them sit overnight and took them to school the next day. Each jar was labelled, “Smell this.”

I had just walked through the door of the Monocacy National Battlefield Visitor Center outside Frederick, Maryland, where I was expecting to learn of the battle that saved Washington, DC during our Civil War. But as soon as I entered I was met with an exhibit detailing news about the recent discovery, supported by an archaeological dig just last summer, that one of the Park’s six farms had been one of the largest slave habitations in the mid-Atlantic region. That “…from 1794 until 1827, the present Best Farm was …a plantation known as L’Hermitage. L’Hermitage was established by the Vincendieres, a family of French planters who came to Maryland from the colony of Saint-Domingue (Haiti). In 1800, as many as 90 enslaved laborers toiled at L’Hermitage, making the Vincendieres family among the largest slave holders in the state.”

Best Farm at Monocacy National Battlefield Park

Here’s the thing. On the drive up I had been listening to Isabel Allende’s “Island Beneath the Sea,” a deeply researched historical novel. The first half of the book is about relations between slaves and masters in Haiti during the time leading up to the 1791 slave revolt that evolved into the successful Haitian Revolution. The latter half of the book picks up the story in New Orleans, where thousands of French planters fleeing Haiti with their households and human property landed as refugees. But, apparently, they did not all go to New Orleans. Many went to other places, including Charleston, Savannah, Baltimore – and even Frederick, Maryland. And, to my surprise, the story had just come to me in a tangible way on a lazy Sunday afternoon drive with my dog. First it was in my ears. Then it was in my mind. Then it was in my memories.

I drove from the Visitor Center to the Best Farm site.

Now it was under my feet. No one was there except for me and Dusa Dog. No matter where I walked at this historic site, I felt I was intersecting a path made by a real-life character similar to those portrayed fictitiously in the book. Yes, I felt it. Feelings are real, no matter what the catalyst.

I was awe-struck with the interconnectedness of human history.

Now I will go there from time to time to think in solitude and to remember.

Note: To read more about the archaeological dig at Best Farm, read this Washington Post article.

When our neighbors saw us, they joined in. There were only about six families living in our community at the time, as the rest of the homes were still under construction and mortgage rates were astronomical. (Note: Mortgage rates, 30-year fixed, peaked in October 1982 at 18.45%.)

We didn’t stop until we had cleared all the way to the main road.

Good post, Manisha.

Here’s a quick story and it has a point or two about money.

I stayed out of debt and so, when my small business sold at a price I never expected when I was 53, I was able to leave commerce and live modestly. Since then, I’ve tried to make my life worthwhile in non-monetary ways.  I have learned the basics of investing and have held onto my money so far, but am resigned to the impermanence of money. There is no such thing as true financial security. Any of us could be wiped out in a bad time. Security comes from being able to provide a product or service or do work that people need or want and are willing and able to pay for voluntarily. True treasures are what can never be taken away from you.

Walking Away Didn’t Help

The attack happened quickly.

We were walking in a park where we walk almost every day. This park is a large park with several athletic fields and signs saying pets must be on leashes at all times. It is not a designated “dog park” where dogs are allowed to run freely within an enclosed space. We were walking after 9 A.M. because most of the people who walk their dogs earlier in the morning allow their dogs off the leash. This is not generally true of dog owners who walk their dogs later in the day. I would say this is more an evolved tradition rather than an indication of the law abiding nature of the different groups of dog owners.

We were walking on a sidewalk by a parking lot when a married couple we had recently met a few times drove by and pulled their car into a space in the direction we were walking. Knowing that their dog is usually off his leash, Dusa and I started walking away to avoid getting too close. It has become standard practice for us to cede the right of way to dogs who are off their leash.

Here’s what happened next. The couple let their large breed dog out of the car, accompanied by a small breed dog they had been taking care of for a friend. (In my opinion, the breed of the dogs is irrelevant.) Unprovoked, at least by anything a human would understand, the small breed dog immediately came growling and charging at Dusa. Dusa responded with growling, but since I had her leash on I was able to restrain her. This, of course, didn’t do any good because the small breed dog was not restrained.

The rest is a blur, but this is for certain: The couple’s dog, a large breed dog who usually walks placidly alongside his owners carrying a blue frisbee in his mouth, followed the small breed dog and came charging and growling straight at Dusa. The next thing I knew he had Dusa’s neck and part of her head in his mouth. It was a very violent scene.

I didn’t know what to do. Pulling on Dusa’s leash was not an option while the large dog had her in his jaws. I thought of kicking and hitting the large dog to drive it off, but decided on grabbing him by his collar from behind with my left hand, because I had Dusa’s leash in my right hand. I had to get into the fight to accomplish this. Moments after I grabbed him, his owner got there and somehow got him away from Dusa.

“I Never Thought He Was Capable of Anything Like This”

It was a matter of seconds. I looked at my trembling and defeated little blind dog and saw that she had a puncture wound on her head. I told the owners of the large dog, now at a safe distance and with their pet on a leash, that I would take Dusa home and put some antiseptic on her “breaks.” I was so shook up I couldn’t think of the word “wound.” The large dog’s owners are very nice people and they were very sincerely upset and sorry about what had just happened. The man said, “I never thought he was capable of anything like this.” This struck me, because it’s approximately the same words we have all seen many times in newspaper stories about all breeds of dogs who, out of the blue, have attacked children.

Instead of going home, I went immediately to Dusa’s vet. It was then that the full extent of the damage became known and that Dusa had her wounds cleaned and stapled together. The vet said that Dusa was actually “very lucky.” I shudder to think of what “very lucky” meant.

I puzzled over some tiny punctures on one of Dusa’s front legs and realized they could have been from the small breed dog. The small breed dog was quickly forgotten once the larger dog got involved, but could have been there.

Who Is To Blame?

So, what went wrong and who is to blame?

What went wrong is the easy part, though many might reasonably disagree. The special cause of out-of-character behavior on the part of the big dog that day was the small breed dog’s actions. The big dog, normally quiet and peaceful, followed its natural instincts as a pack animal and got drawn into the fray by the small dog. If the small dog had not charged at Dusa, I’m certain the big dog would have gotten out of the car and marched on its happy way with its cherished blue frisbee in its mouth, as usual. Its owners and I would have exchanged a few pleasantries from a distance.

Who is to blame, besides the authorities who rarely enforce leash laws? In a case such as the one I’ve described, where other dogs not on their leashes charge at your leashed dog, it’s pretty certain who is at fault: the owner of the unleashed dog(s). I’ve been told that this is the case in the eyes of the law even if your dog on its leash actually starts the fight. If your dog is off its leash, you are by definition not in control of your dog.

People have encouraged me to sue and ask if I gave the other dog owners a piece of my mind. No, I did not. I don’t feel this way, though the thought did occur to me very briefly. The owners of the other dogs involved are no different from so many others. It could just as well have been the fault of many other dog owners. They all want to see their dogs romp freely and be dogs, even where leash laws are posted. I understand this and am not previously (and possibly in the future) without sin, which is why I have tried to keep from sounding self-righteous here. Most dog owners believe their dog is not capable of seriously injuring another dog because they never have, or because of their breed characteristics, or because their dog “would probably just roll over if another dog wanted to fight.”

Did Dusa “Diss” the Little Instigator?

What about Dusa? Does she have any fault? Did she bring this on herself? Did she send out a dog vibe unrecognizable to humans that “dissed” the small breed dog who instigated the whole mess? Does the fact that Dusa is quick to respond in kind and might attempt dominance if a dog in her immediate proximity snorts, growls, breathes heavily or displays any other sign of canine aggression have anything to do with it? It might, except for one thing. I have her on a leash. I have control over her. Unless I allow it, she cannot act upon her instincts. (Okay, there’s the self-righteousness you’ve been waiting for.)

I have never seen Dusa attempt (remember the leash) to charge another dog without provocation… What? This sounds familiar? Where could you have heard this before? (Smiley face.)

Note: For another blog about Dusa see bit.ly/auc6mh

“How would you like to participate in the wedding?” This question was posed by the mother of the bride. Maybe because it was news to me that I was participating in the wedding and because I couldn’t think of anything else, I said, “I’ll be the photographer.” My proposal was instantly accepted. After all, I have a good camera and a few lenses. It all made sense. When you take good pictures, people compliment you with, “You must have a really good camera!”

Months went by. The “Save the Date” reminder arrived and was placed on our refrigerator door. I attended two weddings as an invited guest and keenly observed the professional wedding photographers. Then, after the passing of many more months, the formal invitation arrived. It was time to start getting ready for my participation. How hard could it be, just walking around taking pictures with a good camera?

YouTubing, Lenses and Discovering There’s An App for That…

After finding some YouTube videos on wedding photography I knew the answer. Wedding photography is very high-end because it combines several types of photography into one assignment: macro (extreme closeup shots of objects in sharp focus), portrait, candid, documentary and probably low light. There are no rain dates and timeframes are compressed. And in my case there was one other thing: This was for family and if I screwed it up there would be no sanctuary. Ever.

First thought: “This is great. I can justify buying a couple of new lenses and other stuff!” An online session with B&H Photo in New York City promptly followed.

Second thought: “Oh no! I will have to pose people!!” Macro photography wasn’t intimidating and I had plenty of experience with candid and documentary photography. But as a primarily sports, landscape and candid amateur photographer, posing people was anathema. I was actually resistant to posing people. For me, it was like breaking the rules.

I decided I would search online for good bride and groom poses and print them as thumbnail shots on a few pages that I could carry in my pocket. This would be time-consuming. But wait! I have an iPhone and there is an app for that! No kidding. It was $4.99 and I would be able to whip out my iPhone and show the bride and groom: “Okay, now we’re going to do this one.” Perfect. Also, I would be able to justify several outings to coffee shops to select and study bride and groom poses from the app in Ethiopian Yirgacheffe caffeinated coffee bliss. Really perfect.

The new lenses and other stuff arrived and I rehearsed how I would carry two cameras, additional lenses, spare batteries and miscellaneous other necessities around at the wedding. After nearly strangling myself with straps looped around my neck, it became clear that trade-offs would be necessary. If I used this, I would have to do without that. These were critical decisions. I made them.

Semi-Nude Females and A Bayonet Charge…

On the day of the wedding I arrived with the caterers and the florist at 2PM to take a few detail shots of the things that lots of people put a lot of work into, but that the bride and groom are too busy to notice on their special day.

The Art of the Wedding Table

I took macro shots of bottles of wine, goblets of colorful candies and rows of cupcakes. I took wide angle shots of artfully arranged food-laden tables.

At 3:45 I attempted and was denied entry to the bridal dressing room by a number of goodnatured but semi-nude females. Eventually I was allowed in and took the “getting ready”pictures.

The Bride Being Laced In

At this point I was actually dividing my time between the bride getting ready and the groom getting ready in another room. Knowing where to be at any given time required total attention, because “it” was happening simultaneously.

While I was taking the “getting ready” shots the ceremony location was changed. It would now be outdoors as planned, but under a pavilion. Rain was threatening. Luckily, the rain held off until well after the ceremony, but the beautiful filtered light from the overcast I thought I’d have for the ceremony was gone. The ceremony would be in the shade under the pavilion roof and the surrounding landscape background would be bright. If I didn’t do things correctly to compensate for this, all my photos of the ceremony would be underexposed.

The ceremony began on time at 5PM. The ceremony is candid and documentary photography like the “getting ready” shots, but now there is no cheating by asking anybody to “do that again.”

The Ceremony

A major challenge here is finding the best places to stand to get the needed shots. There was no center aisle, so I was circling around the sides and rear of the guests. People and objects get in the way. Someone tilting their head just a little bit one way or another can block the shot. It all worked out.

At least I wasn’t forced to stand at the back of a large dark cathedral and use a telephoto lens.

Formal Portrait of Bride and Groom

When the ceremony ended at 5:20, right on schedule, the part of the day I was most worried about began. In the 40 minutes between the end of the ceremony and the beginning of dinner, I took all the group photographs of the wedding party and family members, then the formal bride and groom portraits. At most I had 20 minutes alone with the bride and groom, in which we had to move from backdrop to backdrop and take the photos. I can see why even professional wedding photographers think, “If only I had more time.” There are so many wonderful poses and so little time. You have to be satisfied with what you can get and they better be right. Again, it all worked out.

At 6PM the bride and groom were taken away from me and hustled off to dinner and cake cutting. I followed. The ceilings in the house were white, so I was able to bounce flash off of them and get some beautiful shots.

Bride and Groom Cut the Wedding Cake

At some point after the cake cutting, everybody started to drift out to the pavilion, which had been transformed into a dance floor. Toasts were made and the bride and groom danced together for the first time as a married couple. After the toasts the serious celebrating began. I stayed to the end and probably took many more photos of the happy, celebrating people than a professional photographer would have. At some point I ran out of batteries for flash, so I changed to a very wide aperture lens and continued taking pictures without flash using available light, which included the DJ’s green and red disco-style lights.

Dancing at the Reception

This is the photographic equivalent of making a bayonet charge when you run out of ammunition. Some of these natural light photography pictures have a unique artistic appearance. Too bad it was all an accident!

A Special Aspect…

I suppose I should tell you that there was a special aspect to my one and possibly only stint as a wedding photographer. The bride’s father was a personal friend.

My friend Bill (l.) standing with me and the canoe we used to explore the St. Croix River in Minnesota back in the 70s. One night the river rose and we had to chase the canoe downstream to retrieve it. Bill, an ex-Marine officer, knocked on a total stranger's door while it was still dark and asked if we could borrow his truck. He said yes! Bill died not long after this photo was taken.

He died seven years ago, but he was very much present at the wedding in the minds of those who knew him. As someone wrote to me later, “You knew the meaning behind every shot you took.” This is true and I think it guided my focus. It was the one advantage I had over a professional.

And it’s the main reason why I agreed to be the App Sustained Wedding Photographer.

“Here we go again.” These are the words you should be thinking when attending a wedding. Or looking into the face of your newborn child. Or maybe even when you stare across a crowded room and lock eyes with one particular member of the opposite sex.

We are the sum of all the men and women we are descended from.

The author's great-great-grandfather, who had to survive the Civil War for there to be this author

In every generation for as far back as humans have existed, those men and women had to survive, sometimes against tremendous odds. They had to meet. The had to be available in geography and in time. They had to copulate. And someone had to sustain their offspring to maturity to keep the cycle going.

Had the soldier not survived the war. Had the trolley car not been missed. Had the college not been selected. Had the job not been offered. Had another guy asked your mother to dance first. Had “Match.com” selected different matches. Had the teenaged girl been supervised in the afternoons. Had the mother successfully avoided unwanted intercourse. Had birth control been used. Whatever might have prevented that particular man, your biological father, and that particular woman, your biological mother, from bringing together their 64+ trillion unique combinations of genes, would have resulted in there not being the you that you are.

There, but for the grace of God, go I? Not entirely true. As an old proverb says, “Breed is stronger than pasture.”

Think about your ancestors. Subtract yourself into nakedness. Do it…

As Greg Levin says in his comment on that post, I took a “creative risk.” The risk was that some people would not read beyond the first paragraph. This would cause one side to think I am completely in agreement with them and the other side to think I am completely bigoted. Both of these first impressions would be completely wrong, as you would see by reading all 440 words.

My main goal was to show the ambivalence of the American people towards illegal immigration by personifying it in myself. I try to give discerning readers a hint of this ambivalence in the first paragraph by contrasting the major issue of illegal immigration with the petty issues of littering and pressing “1” for English.

In the second paragraph, continuing the imagined discussion with illegal immigrants, I come to the realization that all of my feelings are not negative. Then, in the third paragraph I reveal my confused feelings with the “reprehensible, disgusting lawbreakers with adorable children” declaration and by saying I would do as they have done if in their shoes.

In the last paragraph I contrast the stereotypical symbols of Mexican culture, “enchiladas and margaritas,” with a very beautiful piece of classical music by Mexican composer Manuel Ponce.

These were my intentions and writing devices.

Yes, I did see the movie, “Day Without a Mexican” and I do realize what could happen if you all left at once. Yes, I know there are many jobs waiting for you when you get here and many businesses that want your labor, especially at a low price. Yes, I know that you serve honorably in our military in very high numbers. Yes, I do know that your children want badly to speak English and blend in with all the other teenagers, just the same as all previous generations of immigrants. Yes, I can see that you have a work ethic. In fact, by toiling in the lowest paid jobs and holding your heads up, you are bringing back the dignity of all honest labor. We were losing that before you crossed the river.

Actually, I love to see your teenagers who have been here a while and are so completely American, but who can speak Spanish when they want to. It makes me glad I’m an American. And I love to see you out with your families. Your kids are adorable, by the way. And when I was in that long line of people waiting for the H1N1 flu shot, I didn’t want anybody to ask you for your papers. (See “In Line for the H1N1 Flu Shot“)

So, let me sum up. I think you are reprehensible, disgusting lawbreakers with adorable children. But if I were you, I would do exactly what you have done, especially if I thought it would be best for my family. If you are here because we collectively lacked the will to keep you out and because we all have lawns that need tending and houses to be built, we are complicit. If I could wave a magic wand and send every one of you back to where you came from, I would not do it. Nor do I believe most Americans would do it, though most of us would like to get back in control of our immigration situation.

By the way, did I mention I love enchiladas and margaritas? And that song, “Estrellita” by your composer Manuel Ponce…well, who knew!

Comment left by the author on Madison Woods WordPress Blog, “Blank Canvas”

I know some financially successful people, people who could retire tomorrow, who say they have no idea what they would do if they stopped working. They say this is why they continue. They are sad about it and they are not joking. They have spent their entire lives focused on their work. It’s all they know. Most importantly, although they don’t admit it, they believe their status in life is wrapped up in what they do for a living. It’s who they think are.

I try to encourage them. I tell them they will never know who they really are until they drift for a while, until they just empty their minds. I offer a metaphorical suggestion: Drop your bottom into one of those big black truck inner tubes on a warm day. Float down a lazy stream until all the thoughts that follow one after another, on the power of association, are gone. When you reach a mental dead-end you will have actually arrived at a new beginning. Now your canvas is blank.

It takes time to shed the symbols, mannerisms, “corporate speak” and attitudes acquired in the work world. It takes time to realize that deadlines are not always necessary. And it takes time to completely empty out the self-imposed and self-limiting choices anchored in your own mind.

The attitudes about what’s important and unimportant in life are the first things that need adjustment.

During my headier work days, I once referred in conversation to “the real world,” meaning the “important” world of pressure to perform and compete, of deadlines, of movers and shakers, and of travel with perks. This comment and my attitude were quickly put down by a few stay-at-home-moms and a guy who went to a regular job everyday. They wanted to know what world I thought they lived in and why I thought I lived in the “real world.”

Today, I would completely take their side. I’ve seen it from both perspectives now. People who don’t have a day job do manage to stay busy – and worthy. They take care of children and the elderly. They do all sorts of volunteer work. They create amazing pieces of writing and works of art, for the free enjoyment of others. The list goes on and on.

Here’s a clue to what’s really important in life: Observe people who are retired. They rarely talk about their past work lives. They may talk about their travels or the people they worked with, but not of the work itself or even their most worthy work accomplishments. Everybody has to work to live, so big deal. (An exception to this is military service, about which older men frequently reminisce, because they see it as something different from just making a living.)

So, what have I done with my own blank canvas? I have become a person I’m much more comfortable with than the person I have relinquished. I have done a turn as a house husband and found out how rewarding it can be. (Yes, ladies, I know I had a choice and it was not automatically expected of me. Plus, Mr. Mom gets praised for things real Moms are expected to do as a matter of course. But you’ve been keeping quiet about the many satisfactions!) I have been able to help others with medical situations (some terminal) and have been the executor of somebody’s will. I have hiked a bit on the Appalachian Trail at age 62, sleeping alone at night in a lightweight tent that fit me like a hotdog roll, and I have encountered bears at close range.

The author, happy and revised on the Appalachian Trail

I have become a competitor in the fast world of draw-from-the-holster defensive shooting sports, something I would never have imagined given my previous attitudes. It has tested me, humbled me and given me a new circle of friends. I have volunteered my photographic and video services for Boy Scouts, church, my younger son’s lacrosse teams and to help preserve a Civil War battlefield. I have become my dog’s best friend and constant companion.

Now, just so you know, there’s one more check-in-the-box I need. It’s something I saw on a postcard once in trendy little shop in Austin, Texas. Here it is: I want to be the person my dog thinks I am.

Impossible.