tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76423512009-07-04T02:40:41.680-04:00Letters from the MoonAll Photos © Robert Mullen - Moon Mullen Photography unless noted.Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.comBlogger877125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-18088784138492660892009-07-04T01:55:00.004-04:002009-07-04T02:40:41.691-04:00More Than Just Fireworks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sk75BW5pAcI/AAAAAAAAJvI/iF6cXePD2yg/s1600-h/stjohnbasilica070309-97.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sk75BW5pAcI/AAAAAAAAJvI/iF6cXePD2yg/s400/stjohnbasilica070309-97.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354490808712626626" /></a>Quick thoughts on the 4th of July would have me reminiscing of bottle rockets and firecrackers, patriotic streamers decorating a Schwinn Tiger, whiffle ball and watermelon, a parade on Church Street, laying in the cool of the summer grass. An All-American day for an All-American boy raised in Idyllic Town, USA. Life almost is that good.<div><br /></div><div>But freedom is something fought and paid for in blood in any free society including ours. Even today, our sons and daughters are defending our freedom and opening up the opportunity for free thought and the expression of ideas in other nations. Some are giving their lives for the same. We are so conditioned to war, I'm not sure as a country we appreciate the sacrifice.</div><div><br /></div><div>On this 4th of July, I pray God will grant the parents of our soldiers peace of heart and comfort in relief of their constant worries. On this 4th of July, I pray for the well being of our sons and daughters until they safely return home. On this 4th of July, I pray that our nation's leaders recognize the gravity of one family losing a loved one and work diligently to bring all wars to a peaceful end quickly.</div><div><br /></div><div>I worry about our young ones being sacrificed in vain.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1808878413849266089?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-31950848214442841602009-07-03T21:06:00.004-04:002009-07-03T22:00:50.342-04:00Robert, Turn Left<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sk63e_HdOAI/AAAAAAAAJuo/aly3cxA7h6I/s1600-h/sky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sk63e_HdOAI/AAAAAAAAJuo/aly3cxA7h6I/s400/sky.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354418749956765698" /></a><br />You don't take a 40 day road trip without some planning. Before I left on my Cathedrals of the USA Tour I developed a Google Map with push pins, web addresses and Mass times for every Catholic Cathedral in the lower 48. Then I put together a sortable spreadsheet of all the cathedrals, pro-cathedrals, basilicas, minor basilicas and national shrines with city and state locations - 346 sacred places in all.<div><br /></div><div>When I left Connecticut on June 24th, I thought I had my route of 40 stops pretty well decided, but 10 days into my trip, I've made a number of guided changes. Each decision to abandon the original stop in favor of an intuition turned out to be a gift from God - Our Lady of Victory Basilica in Lackawanna, NY, Church of the Conversion of Saint Paul Shrine, National Shrine of Saint Therese in Darien, IL and Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in La Crosse, WI. It may be a prejudice I am bringing on my own, but so far I am finding an added reverence to the Mass when celebrated at a national shrine. </div><div><br /></div><div>While I still have my original way points programmed into my Garmin GPS unit, I'm letting the light guide me as well. There's no getting lost with either navigation system.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-3195084821444284160?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-54704516460173887352009-07-02T00:39:00.005-04:002009-07-03T21:05:24.097-04:00We Interrupt These Prayers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkxAI55Pl3I/AAAAAAAAJuI/keW0FyulHkA/s1600-h/adulttv.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkxAI55Pl3I/AAAAAAAAJuI/keW0FyulHkA/s400/adulttv.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353724578760726386" /></a>My second post for the night, but I just had to share this one with you. So it's 11:30 pm and I'm on my knees getting ready to say my nightly prayers. Opening my prayer book the reflection for the evening is titled, Dealing with Demons.<div><br /></div><div>As I begin to bless myself, I hear the walls directly across from my hotel bed begin to moan, "yes, Yes, YES!". And then again, more yeses in a high voice, some whimpering sounds and then several loud YESES in a deeper voice. No no's.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey, I'm a human being, so my heart begins to quicken. What the heck is that I'm thinking when the other side of my brain says to me, "What, are you kidding, holy man?" Okay, so I know what it is, but she's been saying "yes" for an awful long time. Do you think it's real? Damn plastic cups, where is a good crystal glass when you need one?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, several more minutes of this am I'm playing out in my mind the kind of words a normal couple might exchange while in the sack. Things like, "if you have to" or "almost done?" I think some guy in Hollywood made up the "yes" dialogue as wishful thinking.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right then and there I knew there weren't two people in room 114. Nope, some guy was going solo and watching porn. Talk about the image in your mind shifting quickly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, time to get back to my prayers. The friggin' devil is everywhere.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-5470451646017388735?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-64412646856954457672009-07-01T22:29:00.006-04:002009-07-01T23:10:11.357-04:00New Address Pending<div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkwklsqNGHI/AAAAAAAAJto/0yDezlA7qpY/s1600-h/prison.jpg.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353694287098615922" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkwklsqNGHI/AAAAAAAAJto/0yDezlA7qpY/s400/prison.jpg.JPG" /></a><br /><div>I found my dream home today while driving up Highway 61 near Red Wing, Minnesota. Well, if I can get in, it's not exactly a home, but more like a room. Still, the place looks beautiful and the best part is everything is free - it's a correctional facility.<br /><br /><div>Free meals, free medical care, no rent, daily exercise hour, company uniform and shoes provided, no utilities, someone else mows the lawn, a hired hand does the dishes, time to read the 100 best novels of all time, opportunity to complete an online masters degree and solitaire tournaments every day of the week. So much to do and so many options, who'd have time for sleep?</div><br /><div>I'm going to ask them if I can bring my ABPA Table Top Baseball game; I'd love to replay the entire 1927 MLB season to see if Babe Ruth could reclaim the single season home run record. ABPA is a dice game based on statistical probabilities and the expectation is Ruth, after 600 roll of the die, would hit 60 home runs in 154 games. Applying a steroid factor to normalize the power stats between the old-timers and modern era players, I think I can get the Babe up to a 100 home runs in a single season. I just need some time to prove it.</div><br /><div>If my Google Latitude location stays static for more than 2 days, I was successful in getting arrested in Red Wing and am awaiting sentencing. Wish me luck, and whatever you do, don't go petitioning for my release or parole if I get accepted. The place looks awesome! </div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-6441264685695445767?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-77002219063288904262009-06-30T22:27:00.007-04:002009-06-30T23:09:51.507-04:00Unbridled Joy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkrTSBIlcOI/AAAAAAAAJsg/KcIoA-R3dvk/s1600-h/waterdancers.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkrTSBIlcOI/AAAAAAAAJsg/KcIoA-R3dvk/s400/waterdancers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353323413578805474" /></a>What is it that moves us from being happy and care free children to prideful and judgemental adults? Don't you remember the summer days spent with your neighborhood pals running through the spray of a lawn sprinkler? What fun.<div><br /></div><div>Hey, if you promise not to laugh at my lily white legs, beer gut and hairy back, I'll dance around the fountain pool with you. Just pretend we're kids again.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-7700221906328890426?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-42995103047313237622009-06-30T00:42:00.004-04:002009-06-30T01:35:08.341-04:00Beat It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkmjUv6qIyI/AAAAAAAAJq4/jzFNG8YjJXg/s1600-h/mj-live-7x9.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkmjUv6qIyI/AAAAAAAAJq4/jzFNG8YjJXg/s400/mj-live-7x9.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352989208961753890" /></a><br />God bless him, but come on folks, he invented the moon walk. Let's bury the guy and get on with it.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Photo not mine. Downloaded from internet.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-4299510304731323762?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-90184511866313521312009-06-29T01:28:00.005-04:002009-07-01T22:22:50.850-04:00Going for the Trifecta<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkhUCs1HLVI/AAAAAAAAJqo/RTDw67_ULm4/s1600-h/576856849_a3RUq-M-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkhUCs1HLVI/AAAAAAAAJqo/RTDw67_ULm4/s400/576856849_a3RUq-M-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352620562500234578" /></a>Well, Saturday it was Mass and a wedding in Cleveland. Today it was Mass and a baptism in Detroit. Tomorrow dare I say, Mass and a funeral in Indianapolis?<div><br /></div><div>"Say, beautiful casket you guys picked out. Mind if I take a couple of photos? Once it's in the ground, you'll never see it again! Think about it."</div><div><br /></div><div>Kidding aside, it was extremely nice of the young family to let me participate in the baptism of their daughter, Nia Marie. The dad told me Nia means "purpose". A few in the party weren't familiar with the baptism ritual. Maybe Nia's purpose is to lead some of the family back to God. Good start, Nia!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-9018451186631352131?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-21026060610416009172009-06-28T00:44:00.007-04:002009-06-28T01:32:32.958-04:00Idea for a Movie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Skb-xsmFxrI/AAAAAAAAJl8/VRWfT2b2xZg/s1600-h/stpaulshrine062709-83.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Skb-xsmFxrI/AAAAAAAAJl8/VRWfT2b2xZg/s400/stpaulshrine062709-83.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352245336914380466" /></a>Hey, I got this great idea today to do a movie about a guy who goes to Mass on Saturday morning and then hides out in the church to attend a wedding later in the day. He's like a wedding mole, or something. What, they already did that movie? When?<div><br /></div><div>Yeah, but the movie Hollywood produced was about 2 guys who were interested in crashing the wedding reception to pick up dames. My movie is about a guy who goes to the church to witness the wedding ceremony and participate in the Mass. I realize it might have a limited audience, but the scene where the bride and groom kiss after making their vows in a covenant with God has universal appeal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, today I stayed after the daily Mass at Saint Paul's Shrine in Cleveland, OH to photograph a wedding ceremony. I didn't know the bride or groom, but I thought it would be a beautiful way to showcase the Shrine.</div><div><br /></div><div>With camera in hand I thoroughly confused the wedding photographers who couldn't figure out which side of the family I represented. Before the Mass started I was photographing some of the stained glass windows. Their photographers would watch me carefully frame a shot and then come over take a similar shot. One of my shots was of a gray patch in the wall to help me adjust the white balance in my camera.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just before the wedding started a nun from the parish brought me up the stairs to the choir loft so I could have an overhead vantage point. Sure enough, one of the two hired hands followed me up the stairs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly threatened by my presence, she pointedly asked, "Who are you with?"</div><div>"No one," I replied.</div><div>"You 're not with one of the wedding parties?"</div><div>"Nope! I just happened to be here."</div><div>She was thoroughly confused, but a little less threatened. Photographers are so competitive.</div><div><br /></div><div>By chance in the bathroom, I did meet the father of the bride - nice fella about my age. I wished him and his daughter well. I'm sure at that moment I could have gotten a seat at the reception, but I had other plans for the day. I just wanted to see the kiss!</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of the kiss, I think this might not be a marriage made in Heaven. While the photo shows the new Mrs. ready and willing, the new Mr. has got his hands down by his side. Not a good sign. The only thing worse would have been if he had yawned. Do you think they may have had too much pre-marital sex? Me, too. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-2102606061041600917?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-49189358915004852872009-06-27T08:45:00.003-04:002009-06-27T09:14:53.724-04:00Forgot to Pack a Few Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkYbNAoHtAI/AAAAAAAAJk4/GgnrMr7HiNk/s1600-h/DSCN0576.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkYbNAoHtAI/AAAAAAAAJk4/GgnrMr7HiNk/s400/DSCN0576.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351995117496939522" /></a><br />4 days into a 40 day road trip and I'm longing for a few things already:<div><ol><li>Someone to argue with; it's just me and the radio in the Honda Element. I don't really want to argue, but a civil debate would be awesome. Damn, I just want someone to talk to! </li><li>A homemade meal.</li><li>A <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Kiss-Goodnight">goodnight kiss</a>.</li></ol><div>Patron saint of self-discipline, pray for us!</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-4918935891500485287?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-18837559165893594952009-06-25T23:07:00.004-04:002009-06-25T23:35:01.247-04:00Retro Moment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkRA_URfztI/AAAAAAAAJg0/2oAhzIEBPFI/s1600-h/DSCN0578-2.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkRA_URfztI/AAAAAAAAJg0/2oAhzIEBPFI/s400/DSCN0578-2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351473713741024978" /></a><br />When was the last time you saw a full service gas station? Well, the one I found today wouldn't have qualified as "full service" back in the 1970's (no window wash, no oil check, broken English), but with buckets of rain falling down I gave my little grease monkey a thumbs up! I felt a little guilty watching a steady stream of rain drops run off the bill of the station attendant's cap, but he seemed happy enough.<div><br /></div><div>I'm <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1q98m7qJ8g">singing in the rain</a>, just singing in the rain!<br /> <div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1883755916589359495?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-2341983945955620442009-06-24T22:57:00.007-04:002009-06-25T00:49:45.940-04:00What, Lord?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkMBvgCkrfI/AAAAAAAAJdc/AnDIXSs-AMo/s1600-h/devinemercy0624-52.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkMBvgCkrfI/AAAAAAAAJdc/AnDIXSs-AMo/s400/devinemercy0624-52.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351122697812487666" /></a><br />Today, on the Nativity of John the Baptist, I left home for a 40 day pilgrimage in faith. Following a loosely mapped out trip ticket, I began a cross country journey to listen to the Living Word and partake in the Eucharist every day. Confused with feelings in my own heart, I am a man in search of the truth.<div><br /></div><div><div>A man of incredible strength and courage, John the Baptist was a stalwart of truth. He foretold of the coming of truth, recognized the truth in front of him and died in the name of the same. Pray for me, John the Baptist. Give me an ounce of your courage so that I may accept and live in the truth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mass today was at the National Shrine of The Divine Mercy in Stockbridge, MA. Off to Auriesville, NY tomorrow to visit the National Shrine of North American Martyrs.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-234198394595562044?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-38748100714430893362009-06-24T22:02:00.004-04:002009-06-24T22:25:03.638-04:00New Family Logo?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkLf9O9DMnI/AAAAAAAAJbs/jW4kvYBad2A/s1600-h/devinemercy0624-28.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SkLf9O9DMnI/AAAAAAAAJbs/jW4kvYBad2A/s400/devinemercy0624-28.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351085550348743282" /></a>Once reserved for drunken sailors, tattoos are everywhere. I've never been real fond of them myself. My youngest son, James hid his body painting from me for over a year thinking I'd disapprove. Poor kid, it looks good on him.<div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, I found a tattoo I could live with today on the arm of a construction worker. An Irish-American moniker, it was a thing of beauty. Give me two bottles of rum and I'm there! Well, probably not, but I might look around for a bumper sticker. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-3874810071443089336?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-88368262349648742292009-06-23T03:45:00.000-04:002009-06-23T03:45:00.254-04:00Forrest Gump II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj9UwhXDUzI/AAAAAAAAJKw/6VYI8yTCPsM/s1600-h/DSC_0636-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj9UwhXDUzI/AAAAAAAAJKw/6VYI8yTCPsM/s400/DSC_0636-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350088074904949554" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jakers turned 5 last week. This fall he'll be sentenced to a minimum of 17 years educational labor before society forces him into another 40 years of institutionalized work. Where's the friggin' chocolates? Run, Nathaniel, run!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-8836826234964874229?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-10945106122142710412009-06-22T05:34:00.004-04:002009-06-22T05:43:05.474-04:00Just Add Water<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj9SDnP-2aI/AAAAAAAAJKE/vZHtb3wzsd8/s1600-h/Robbins+Famiy.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj9SDnP-2aI/AAAAAAAAJKE/vZHtb3wzsd8/s400/Robbins+Famiy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350085104368540066" /></a><br /><div>Friday night we joined our good friends, the Robbins Family, for Nicole's graduation party.</div><div><br /></div>Snapshots in time...and it's a good thing. So many memories. So many shared moments. The prospect of more to come. It's wonderful to have family and friends.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1094510612214271041?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-30984872254323733282009-06-21T17:44:00.003-04:002009-06-21T18:45:06.493-04:00On Being a Father<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj63uHyEcpI/AAAAAAAAJJQ/lXrEgsy3hkY/s1600-h/65159143_MQ6Kb-M.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sj63uHyEcpI/AAAAAAAAJJQ/lXrEgsy3hkY/s400/65159143_MQ6Kb-M.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349915410353648274" /></a>Today at Mass two women sat in the pew in front of Julie and me. Both were beautifully dressed and accompanied by a handsome boy of 10 years old, or so. No dad in sight. As the priest wished all of us dads a "happy, Father's Day", I had a pang in my heart for the boys.<div><br /></div><div>It's fun to teach your boy to hit a baseball, throw a football or swing a golf club - all good skills. And memories are made from a hike to the mountain top or fishing on the lake. Every boy needs a right of passage to becoming a man.</div><div><br /></div><div>But if you want to teach your son about something with lasting value, teach him about God. Share you faith and help strengthen his. He'll swing his last bat before he's age 21. A relationship with God will last him a lifetime, and another to come.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-3098487225432373328?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-62647446978329528282009-06-19T11:37:00.003-04:002009-06-19T11:49:49.178-04:00Soaking Up the Sunshine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjuzjyZBAWI/AAAAAAAAJHw/s3qktW77w0k/s1600-h/DSCN0562-1.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjuzjyZBAWI/AAAAAAAAJHw/s3qktW77w0k/s400/DSCN0562-1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349066409836085602" /></a><br />After days of raining water balloons, it feels so good to sit in the sun. Listening to the sound of the lapping waves on the ocean shore is better than a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eszopiclone">Lunesta</a>. Life slows down.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-6264744697832952828?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-79416135785268933532009-06-17T11:15:00.003-04:002009-06-17T11:39:48.018-04:00All in Due Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjkOEJs1jVI/AAAAAAAAJG0/uhgyvaPZLbw/s1600-h/nicole-2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjkOEJs1jVI/AAAAAAAAJG0/uhgyvaPZLbw/s400/nicole-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348321496965418322" /></a>Our good friends' daughter is graduating from high school this Friday. We've known Nicole since the day she was born. She's a beautiful young girl. Julie is her Godmother.<div><br /></div><div>I'm always a bit melancholy when it comes to sentinel moments in the lives of our loved ones, especially the children. Looking into my own rear view mirror, I can see a lot of what will be coming Nicole's way in future years. Lots of happiness, a bit of sorrow, definitely some growing pains. Part of me wants to protect her and give her all of the answers I have right now, but then again, I'd be taking all the fun out of life. Everyone deserves their own journey.</div><div><br /></div><div>And life is a journey, Nicole. A journey of friendships and love, a journey of accomplishments and reward, a journey of spirituality and reunion with God. Look for people with similar ideals and the path you follow will be a little wider.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd give you more specifics Nicole, but I promised to let you live this one out on your own. I'm thinking in pretty short order, you'll be giving me a little advice. I'll surely listen. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-7941613578526893353?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-32469251789734757942009-06-13T09:31:00.009-04:002009-06-22T06:20:12.748-04:00Yours Forever<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjO5io7ForI/AAAAAAAAJGk/Nqkbxyn5oBc/s1600-h/12106805_ze7nH-M.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjO5io7ForI/AAAAAAAAJGk/Nqkbxyn5oBc/s400/12106805_ze7nH-M.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346821187370853042" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A good friend of mine sent me a letter this morning that his mom wrote to her departed husband. It encompasses a lot of feelings and thoughts, but one theme rings true - love is eternal. I was struck by the honesty of emotion from a woman in her twilight who is at once looking back on the path traveled in this world while </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">yearning</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> for the passage into the next. With thoughts of the day when I am separated from my own lover, I now share it with you:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">PAUL J. </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">LECLAIR</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> SR. 6-12-1927 TO 6-13-2006</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dear Paul,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">What a difference 3 years make. All those good people were right. It does get easier, but it never gets better.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> when I feel like it's me against the world, I ask God to make the world go away, but more often it seems all sunshine and roses. I long for the time when there will be no more goodbyes, no more wars, no more suffering, no more wealth, fame, power and greed, no more yesterday, today and tomorrow, just one long lovely Eternity Day, filled with laughter, music, flowers, you and God.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's good to know that we are going to a place where there are no degrees of freedom. The lowest and the highest among us will be equally free, and freedom to love cannot be commanded or purchased. Life goes on. We are forever seeking the truth. He hides Himself in us, and waits for us to find Him. He gave our hearts freedom, and refuses to violate our freedom. May He grant us the Way to know, the Truth to keep, and the Life to win.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We take a tremendous responsibility for our own lives. Not all teaching is confined to classrooms. In the end we've learned that the only things that really matter are not what we bought, but what we built, not what we got, but what we gave, not what we learned, but what we taught. All our sacrifices and acts of courage were not wasted. They built character along</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> the way.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Our young grandchildren like to ask me, "How am I going to find you from so far away?" I tell them, "One fine day, when my tomorrow never comes, with great confidence, I'll climb the Stairway to the Stars, hop aboard the Starlight Express and somewhere, way up high, when I arrive at the Footbridge, you'll take my hand and cross me over to your side. It will be very easy." Then they smile with a little doubting and start to laugh. I love it when they laugh. They're so full of all things beautiful and somehow understand that Love is Everything.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Of course, I know that you're only a moment away; but that moment sometimes seems so far. I truly try to hang on to happiness. Happiness is most definitely a gift from God, as God is the fountain of all happiness. How do I pretend I'm happy when I'm blue? I close my eyes and think of you. I no longer need you like I need to breathe; but I know that sometimes when I'm sad and blue, somewhere from time and space, you reach back, and from a zillion miles away you still light up my life. I hope you know that far beyond forever, no one else could love you more. </span></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />Please, dear Paul, ask God to pardon our mistakes, forgive our enemies, without restrictions, and grant us peace, knowing there will never be true peace until it is found in the heart of every man. In peace, all the earth's inhabitants could pool their energies to save this Great Planet, which once was Paradise. I believe in that wonderful tomorrow, when God has saved the best for last.<br /><br />Actually, I just wrote to say I Love You, and of course to wish you a Happy Birthday.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Gratefully enjoying life at the Lake House, precious life on Earth, Jackie and your still growing family: (all 31 of us), missing you more than word</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">s can say.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-3246925178973475794?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-15851399082246862462009-06-11T06:46:00.003-04:002009-06-11T06:59:43.775-04:00DNA Rubber Stamped Part II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjDjglfY4rI/AAAAAAAAJGE/r2x9wy202ww/s1600-h/556104682_vbJaj-M-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SjDjglfY4rI/AAAAAAAAJGE/r2x9wy202ww/s400/556104682_vbJaj-M-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346022906647863986" border="0" /></a>Shea and Ayva had their own version of cousinly love that didn't involve ramming into a wall or jumping off a couch. Instead they gave each other a simple, but warm hug. Shea then made them paper crowns and deemed the two of them, Queen of the Cousins.<br /><br />A mind toward others, resourceful and creative, aiming for the top - is there any doubt women will soon be ruling the world? Be good to your sister Nathaniel, someday you might need a job!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1585139908224686246?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-41908690171736263172009-06-08T17:53:00.005-04:002009-06-08T18:10:57.112-04:00Summer Camp?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Si2MWb4n15I/AAAAAAAAJF8/P0Tkctu8RGQ/s1600-h/bagpiper.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Si2MWb4n15I/AAAAAAAAJF8/P0Tkctu8RGQ/s400/bagpiper.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345082649828906898" /></a>I want to be a bagpiper. I photographed the regal man to the left at a recent church event and thought to myself, "I could do that!" Great looking uniform, and at least for a song or two, everybody loves the bagpipes. <div><br /><div>Years ago I thought playing the banjo would be cool. So I bought a banjo and self-help guide, <i>How to Play the Banjo in 30 Days</i>. A month later, and 1 verse into Red River Valley, I bought another instruction book, <i>Seriously, I Can Teach You to Play the Banjo in 30 Days</i>. Two weeks later I hawked the banjo to a pawn shop.</div><div><br /></div><div>Given a bagpipe cost over a $1,000, maybe I'll just stick to taking photos of someone who already knows how to play. Look for a post with a banjo player coming up soon!</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-4190869017173626317?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-67681540463859576182009-06-07T21:00:00.005-04:002009-06-07T21:59:29.013-04:00DNA Rubber Stamped<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SixwIKRqxzI/AAAAAAAAJFs/eoylm7u0JoM/s1600-h/cousins.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SixwIKRqxzI/AAAAAAAAJFs/eoylm7u0JoM/s400/cousins.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344770143281661746" /></a>Alisa's family came north from Texas to visit with us this weekend. She has a beautiful family.<div><br /><div>Alisa is my niece and goddaughter. Her son Tyler is 4 years old. My grandson Nathaniel is also 4 years old going on 5. Nathaniel is my son John's son making him my grandson. I guess I didn't need to tell you that. John and Alisa are cousins as Alisa's mom is my sister Jeanne. All of this makes Tyler and Nathaniel <a href="http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~gentutor/chart.html">2nd cousins</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is something about a cousin that makes you instant friends even if you've only met once and live 1,953 miles apart.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey guy, you're my cousin. Me and you is cousins," Nathaniel giddily proclaimed.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah, weeze cousins," confirmed Tyler! </div><div><br /></div><div>And then they ran around the room and bounced off the walls a few times. Not thoroughly evolved in the ways of expressing themselves, this is a common substitute for saying "I really like you" among 4 year old boys. </div><div><br /></div><div>Best friends forever.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-6768154046385957618?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-60043849359161661702009-06-05T08:41:00.003-04:002009-06-05T10:30:10.350-04:00My New Quija Board<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sikrt_e_ffI/AAAAAAAAJFE/stroFZVZG04/s1600-h/empty"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/Sikrt_e_ffI/AAAAAAAAJFE/stroFZVZG04/s400/empty" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343850501987335666" /></a>I think filling the car up with gas is akin to taking out the garbage - nobody likes to do it. We have 2 cars in the driveway and no matter which one I get into, the gauge leans towards empty. It's been such a common occurrence I twitch when turning the ignition key.<div><br /></div><div>Wake up with the sunrise, say my morning prayers, eat a bowl of Cheerios, brush my teeth, shine the shoes, straighten the tie, grab a cup of coffee and walk out the front door to a choir of songbirds. Unlock the car door, hop in, turn the key and then...the gas gauge flashes a bright yellow light in my eyes to remind me I'm devoid of content. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, so maybe I'm too superstitious and it really just means I need to give myself another 15 minutes head start in the morning and pick up my coffee at the Shell station. Yeah, that's it. An inanimate object can't pass judgement on a person, can it? <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LE1F7d6f1Qk">Hal?</a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LE1F7d6f1Qk"></a>Just to be sure, I'm going to begin checking the gauge at the end of the day.<div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-6004384935916166170?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-13642277176618625382009-06-03T23:10:00.005-04:002009-06-03T23:34:24.463-04:00I'll Have Them for You Tomorrow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SidAGnIyR4I/AAAAAAAAJE8/JvMIadeitwc/s1600-h/553626967_o4fTK-L-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SidAGnIyR4I/AAAAAAAAJE8/JvMIadeitwc/s400/553626967_o4fTK-L-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343309965227607938" /></a>On Memorial Day weekend, of last year, I took photos of my niece's wedding. I finally finished editing them today. I didn't even meet the 1st Anniversary deadline - what a shit bird. Thankfully, Alisa and Billy are a patient couple and any pressure I felt for the past 13 months was purely my own.<div><br /></div><div>The delay was caused in part because I was too lazy to clean my camera before the wedding and there were about 50 dust bunnies on the digital sensor. Were I a male model, it would have been the equivalent of wearing dirty underwear to the fashion show. The pictures were a mess.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two new software programs later, and roughly 2500 clicks of the mouse, the photos are like new. Amazing what software can do. Alisa, I moved the tattoo to your left arm; I hope you don't mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, now that I'm done, who in the family is getting married next? I have some free time and my camera is spotless. Call me!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1364227717661862538?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-43426098710859627272009-06-02T15:57:00.005-04:002009-06-02T20:08:12.165-04:00Truffle on Suicide Watch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SiW677rqHcI/AAAAAAAAJDs/6o182RaAnKI/s1600-h/DSCN0488.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SiW677rqHcI/AAAAAAAAJDs/6o182RaAnKI/s400/DSCN0488.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342882071740816834" /></a><br />The dog tried to kill herself this morning, and the cat helped out. Truffle almost overdosed on a prescription drug meant to help her arthritic condition. While Dora hasn't confessed to the assisted suicide attempt, we've been able to reconstruct the incident. It went down like this:<div><br /></div><div>7:00 A.M. - Dora (the cat) jumps up on our bed and walks across my forehead. When I don't budge she moves to an overstuffed chair and begins to attempt to declaw herself by ripping into the upholstery. I throw a pillow in her direction and she meows. Disgruntled she walks out of our room and heads towards the kitchen.</div><div><br /></div><div>7:10 A.M. - Dora jumps up on the kitchen counter and finds an empty can of cat food. Angry there isn't a fresh can opened, she begins knocking items off the shelf. Cooking spices, a box of Jello, the empty can of cat food and a plastic container. The cat is hungry...and impatient.</div><div><br /></div><div>7:12 A.M. - Truffle, having heard the tin can hit the floor, shuffles out to the kitchen in hopes of leftover cat food. An opportunist, the dog has a collection of cat food cans stashed behind the couch. Her routine includes licking the can clean in search of a morsel of chicken liver pate before beginning to shred the metal with her teeth.</div><div><br /></div><div>7:13 A.M. - Truffle leaves the cat food can where it lay and instead goes to investigate the plastic container that has spilled open. Jackpot! The container is her prescription bottle of PhyCox JS, <i>a soft chew joint support formula to help reduce inflammation and discomfort due to normal daily activity. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>7:45 A.M. - Julie rises and goes out into the kitchen to put on the coffee pot. She notices the empty PhyCox container on the floor and picks it up to read the label - <i>In case of accidental overdose, contact a health professional immediately.</i> "Rob!" I'm not a health professional.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:10 A.M. - Julie ushers Truffle into the Animal Medical Clinic where they rush her into an operating room to pump her stomach. "Why, Truffle, why?"</div><div><br /></div><div>8:30 A.M. - Truffle throws up 52 pills. The vet pulls Julie aside and warns that she may not be out of trouble yet. If enough of the PhyCox got into her system it could cause kidney or liver failure and prove fatal. Julie begins to pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.</div><div><br /></div><div>10:30 A.M. - Animal Medical Clinic gives Truffle a clean bill of health and discharges her with a caveat of nothing to eat for the remainder of the day. Julie calls home to give me the good news. I stop making <i>The Life and Times of Truffle Mullen</i> slide show. The cat meows and walks away. </div><div><br /></div><div>So you ask, why in the world would a dog want to eat a bottle of pills? The answer is not depression. No, the answer is they taste good. Unlike the bitter pills we swallow for our own maladies, canine drugs are often disguised as a tasty treat to fool a dog into digesting the prescribed dosage. Having once witnessed my chocolate lab poop out a kotex, I don't think it's necessary to coat her medication with artificial beef flavoring. We're thinking of suing the manufacturer for emotional distress...and $159 medical bill. Frigin' dog!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-4342609871085962727?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7642351.post-10829817292743922212009-05-29T15:32:00.003-04:002009-05-29T16:04:53.883-04:00Shit He Never Wore<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SiA_iSbw_7I/AAAAAAAAJBs/tvucb7-xG3Y/s1600-h/1newshortsbw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o8ayD311kp0/SiA_iSbw_7I/AAAAAAAAJBs/tvucb7-xG3Y/s400/1newshortsbw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341339016357806002" border="0" /></a>Today would have been my Father's birthday - happy birthday, Pa! I'm not sure what his age would have been without looking it up, but he would have been old.<br /><br />Joe was a good man, but as he got older, you just couldn't buy the guy anything he appreciated. Not to imply that he was particular, because he wasn't. He just figured he had all that he needed and didn't want anything more. The funny part is, Pa didn't really own that much - an old pair of re-soled shoes, 1/2 dozen shirts (pink was his favorite), and a bag of 2nd round golf balls. Layer on top of that a lawn chair to sit in, a radio with a ballgame playing and a cigar and you have the treasures of King Tut's tomb. Grave robbers need not apply!<br /><br />As I get ready to embark on my closet spring cleaning, I can appreciate the need to simplify. Dad, for your birthday this year I am going to honor your memory by throwing out all the shit that I don't wear. If I come across a pink golf shirt, we'll have a ceremonial burning in the yard.<br /><br />Happy Birthday, Dad, and don't be afraid to come back in my dreams. I might even let you give me a golf lesson without telling you to f%#k off - I've started to mature since you died.<br /><br />Your Loving Son,<br /><br />Robert<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7642351-1082981729274392221?l=www.moonmullen.com'/></div>Moon Mullenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08610277219729230854noreply@blogger.com1