Morning Thanks

Garrison Keillor once said we'd all be better off if we all started the day by giving thanks for just one thing. I'll try.

Friday, July 29, 2011


I'm really not angry about getting old exactly because, after all, that sweet, little puppy is just plain darling.  I must admit it--and I will.  Some sort of spaniel, I think.  It's a cute little thing, but it's just not me.  It's her.  

So why do I have an iPod Touch at all?--because I'm trying to stay young, trying to stay hip, right?  I mean, a man a year away from retirement doesn't really need to be armed and on-line 24/7, despite the fact that half the world is.  But who the heck wants to be part of the other half, the nether half, the half that's in darkness, right?  So WOOT offers a cheap shot at an iPod Touch, and I figure who the heck am I if I don't know a thing about iPads and iPods and wi-fi and receptivity.  I'm in.  Been in for awhile already.  I'm hip.  I've got an iPod Touch, and, of course, I regularly salivate about an iPad--or anything tablet size, actually.

Okay, so she comes over last Sunday for dinner with her parents and her brothers and she flops down on the couch like the gangly teenager she's soon to become (three years) and says, "Papa [that's me], can I play with your iPod?"  

It's nearly impossible to imagine what evil she could ask of me that I'd allow, although I wouldn't deliver the head of John the Baptist.  I'm not way gone.  And her playing with my iPod is, by now, an every week thing.

All I know is, she lies there, "tween-er" like, for maybe ten minutes, then lays down the iPod (doesn't turn it off!), and the next time I tune in myself, voila!--this sweet little floppy-eared  puppy stares up at me.  He's become my wallpaper.  

Which is okay, I guess.  But, like I said, that puppy is astoundingly more "her" than it is me.  HOWEVER, how small would I be if I couldn't live with a tiny adorable spaniel every time I log in. Besides, no one sees it but me, right?  

But what really cooks my goose is I am TOTALLY POWERLESS to change it.  I've been fiddling and faddling and wiggling and poking, but not for the life of me can I figure out how to dump that puppy and pick up something more, well, male and more "mature."  I can't.  

She's coming again this Sunday perhaps.  Thank goodness.  

Although I don't have the heart to ask her to change it.  She's my first grandchild, for pity sake--did I mention that?  My only granddaughter, too.  

And it is cute.

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