"Oh, I’m sorry Doggies.  I forgot to feed you earlier.  Well, let’s get you some foodies," I bantered to our two beautiful mutts, Jessie and Billy.  I always talk to them, and I swear they understand.  I measured their servings and stepped out to the patio, the two of them dancing around me excited and impatient.  I spied their bowl, but it still had food in it from yesterday.  Hmm, what’s up with that, I thought?  Moving, undulating in the darkness of night, I spied something amiss, something sinister.

ANTS, big biting ones, were swarming over the food and around the bowls.  I reached in to see if I could it pick up to move it away or something.  Ouch ouch ouch, I got bit all over, stupid, argh, ouch, damn you, ants!  That’s gonna leave a mark.  I am continually fascinated with ants and how they collaborate, find, and devour, but this time they had gone too far.

Now, being who I am, I hate to waste perfectly good doggie food, but how to separate it from the ants without being eaten alive.  Jessie, impatient, circled her bowl looking for an opening.  The poor dear must have been so hungry.  Will you ever forgive me?  She decided to risk it and before I could shoo her away, she tried to take a bite and recoiled instantly.  Ooo, you bit my dog, you bit my dog.  For that YOU SHALL DIE! I practiced my action hero voice.  "One man, two dogs, a swarm of ants — this time it’s personal.  COMING SUMMER 2006"

Bring in the nukes.

I ran inside, grabbed a plastic seal-able container and quickly transferred the ant/food contents to it.  As I was fumbling around in the kitchen, Jessie and Billy were barking in their typical communicative fashion.  "Are you done yet?" 

"No," I answered. "Just a second, I’m almost done.  Hold your horses."  They’d wait 15 seconds patiently.  This is considered a great feat in the culture of the dogs, an eternity for their kind, an honor bestowed only upon the bearer of food. 

"Arf, arf arf.  Now?" 

"Just a second."

15 seconds of silence.

"Arf arf arf?  Now?"

"Almost there, just a sec."  I opened the door to the microwave, placed the angry angry swarming ants inside, and pressed start.  One and half minutes later I was met with the smell of fresh ant surprise, a mini lobster dish for my doggies, in fact a gourmet meal, not a dish served cold as proper revenge dictates, but a dish served hot, flavored with the succulent bodies of our former adversaries.

The microwave beeped completion, and Ms Jessie and Mr. Billy could no longer contain their gentile behavior.  All bets were off.

"Here I come," I said, as an explosion of frantic leaping and spinning ensued.  "Now you enjoy that.  I’m sorry for the inconvenience.  I’ll not let those ants get you again.  You just feast on their carcasses.  Buen provecho."

I picked Olaia up from school today, and this song came up in the rotation.  

"You don’t need eyes to see, you need vision," she parroted from the back seat.  "That’s right, Daddy, right?  You need vision to see, right?"

"Yeah, but the song is making a play on the word ‘vision,’ Olaia.  You see vision is like perspectiva in Spanish, I guess.  I don’t know.  Hmm, it’s like an outlook, a way of looking beyond what is there and seeing… er." I was struggling to define the word vision, trying to use vocabulary appropriate to a 7 year old.  It was tougher than I thought.  "Okay, vision, is like this. I have a vision of a world full of peace, where people are happy, where no one hurts, and where everyone finds love.  It’s like a dream, but it’s not just a dream.  It’s something you make with hard work, effort, and persistence.  Yet, it’s also like a dream, in the sense that it’s an ideal, something great, something beautiful.  I don’t know.  Does that make any sense?"

And then without any effort whatsoever, this little sage said, "Oh, so, vision is imagining things to become true."

"Exactly, little girl.  I couldn’t have said it any better."

And I really couldn’t have.

"I don’t wanna take a nap!  I not tired!" Jaimito whined.

"Yes you are, little boy.  You’re crying, and that means you’re tired.  When you cry, you’re telling me you’re tired."

 "I not tired.  I not tired.  I don’t wanna take a nap."  Jaimito looked desperate, how was he going to get out of this?  He did not want to take a nap.

"Little boy, sometimes your mommy and daddy know what’s good for you.  We think you’re tired.  We know you’re tired.  You’ll feel better after a nap, I promise."  But, Jaimito continued to wail like a banshee.  "Well, here’s the deal," we told him, "You get to stay in here whether you’re taking a nap or not.  You have to stay in mommy and daddy’s bed."

Soon, the wailing came to an end.  Curious, we peeked in and…

he’s passed out like a frat boy, complete with drool.  

So, we remember this day, when mommy and daddy were right, when mommy and daddy knew best, and we submit, your honor, exhibit #1 as evidence for future prosecution. 

I’m trapped under something heavy.  Won’t you please come rescue me.  

I’ve
got some posts brewing here, but I’ve not had time to finish
them.  Well, actually I haven’t had the time to start them either,
but let’s not mince words.

I’ve been working on a big website for a bread baking company in Puerto Rico (http://www.holsumpr.com/)
installing servers, doing a security audit, trying to keep abreast of
my volunteer work, maintaining the ongoing development of our software,
and trying to keep it all straight so we can build and launch a cool
Secret Startup Project(TM). It could be fun, fun and lucrative, fun,
lucrative, with ruthless efficiency.  Bah, I’d settle for fun, but
hey – if it’s lucrative and ruthlessly efficient, I’m not going to
complain.

In the meantime, here’s what keeps me motivated when I’m ready to light myself on fire and run screaming from the house/office.