Sorry

I know...I'm behind on my writings. This blog business involves more effort than I bargained for...

I feel I need more organization in my life. Maybe writing out the day's schedule on a big eraser board...a carefully constructed grid that maps out my life to the exact minute.. There it is: 9 to 9:30--WRITE BLOG

But then I wonder whether humans are too structured sometimes. The days of doing things off the cuff seem a fanciful part of a now antiquated lifestyle. Who just gets up and goes any more? Especially those of us with families and approaching a certain age. I watch people in movies decide suddenly to fly to California or drive to the shore or even pop out for an after work drink, and I say to myself, "what kind of fantasyland is this?" I have family to meet, things to accomplish, blogs to write. No time for such spontaneity. These things must be planned out, man.

I look at my fictitious schedule on my fictitious eraser board and wonder if Steinbeck or Hemingway or Bill Shakespeare or even Sidney Sheldon actually made a conscious effort to set aside time for writing. You write when you feel it. And I guess that is how I will approach this blog. So we'll see you in April.

Just joshing...I can pencil you in a week from Thursday.

A Slip in Time

After a particularly energetic game of basketball last Tuesday, I slipped into the night in search of a meal and a bit of rest at the homestead...

Approaching the car in a snowy mist, my mind was on autopilot as I pulled the keys out of my pocket...three steps, two steps...reaching for the door...

Then suddenly I'm in motion...from 90 degrees to the Earth to 60 degrees....45...30...15...touchdown...


The ultimate embarrassment for the winter walker...falling flat on your back...

After a quick check to make sure nothing was broken, fractured, bruised or battered, I dusted myself and plopped into the driver's seat.

During the short trip home, I thought about the fall...and how I take the seemingly simple task of walking for granted. Literally thousands of steps every day and very rarely do I think about where I'm putting my foot. Of course, you can't think about things to that depth, but it did strike me how control can be at times elusive.

Oh sure, we can take precautions--set money aside for a rainy day, buy a vehicle with air bags and antilock brakes, even salt your front porch--but there are times when life steps in and slips you up. And the best you can hope for is that you can get up and brush yourself off when it's over...

Lest I get too profound, there's always my wife to bring me back to earth once again (at least more gently than the black ice I just encountered). When I told her about my spill...she broke into an immediate grin and giggle. I would have appreciated a little self-control then...

Felines...whoa whoa whoa Felines...

I've been a cat lover since I was 4, when my sister brought home our first kitty, Tiger, an amiable sort who came seeking tuna and set up shop with us for 16 years...

(If you really think about it, what a strange concept it is owning a pet. You basically grab a living creature -- many times from a different environment -- plop him/her in your household, assign a name and let it flow. No blood ties, no familial connection. How many of us could handle such a transition? One that doesn't involve a beach house and live-in masseuses, of course.)

Not to slight our canine friends, who I have admired for many years, but there is something about the independent, almost FU attitude of cats that has always intrigued me. Of course, at the end of the day, I want a bit of affection from my felines...I figure if the wife can provide some, why not these furry creatures who lay around all day, eat and poop at our expense.

Currently, we own three cats: Simba, who we've had for 14-plus years (basically the length of our marriage), Sammy, a resident of 5-and-a-half years, and our newest addition, a Tasmanian Devil we have dubbed Ricky (see menacing figure above). At six months old, this creature has entered the scene kicking ass and taking names, completely disrupting the rather sedentary life S & S had established.

We've tried various way to take the pressure off of the elder kitties: Bonnie's newest trick is a laser that catches Ricky's attention (diverting it from Simba's and Sammy's tails) and sends him flying around the room in a fruitless search for the elusive light. It's working so far and I'm pretty sure the wise elder Simba shot me a thankful glance earlier this evening. You're welcome, old friend.

DAY ONE

Hi...and welcome to my world...virtually speaking, of course. My name is Bill Davis...and I make my entrance into the blogosphere on the heels of my wife Bonnie's wildly successful Letitbeautism column. She seems to enjoy spilling her cyberguts on a semi-daily basis, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Thank you in advance for taking me into your laptop, home PC or work computer (for you slackers).

Quick life sum up: I'm 44 (really have to shake my head at that one), been married to the wonderful former Bonnie Stonebraker for 14-plus year, and have one child, young son Casey, who's 10. Not that it defines him, but Casey is autistic...hence the title of the wife's blog. My wife does a far better job encapsulating the day-to-day victories and frustrations of parenting an autistic child, so I probably won't make this the focal point of my writings. Obviously, though, it will be part of the blog.

Other things...I'm an editor for a corporate magazine (there will be typos...I'm only flesh and blood). I drive one hour a day just to get to work, so forgive me if I'm cranky at times. I enjoy music of all kinds, playing basketball, exercising (be prepared to be regaled by stories of the wife and I tackling Turbo Jam), following the Detroit Tigers, Michigan State Spartans, Detroit Pistons and Red Wings, and movies of all genres. Fears include rats, stuffed cabbage and challenging home improvement projects.

So there it is...I've bored you enough for one sitting. Stay tuned in coming days for more from the poorly put-together desk (Ikea, of course) of your new favorite reporter.