The Most Treacherous Aria Ever Written

That's how a music professor decsribed this in college - from the Mozart opera The Magic Flute. Using a whistle voice and reaching F6, this ain't for amateurs. Here, Diana Damrau performs exquisitely. Treacherous indeed. Don't try this at home, kids.

July 12 of 12

Hi there. Nice to see you again. My name's Matt. No, no ... don't feel bad. I don't blame you for not remembering me. I've been away for quite a while.

One thing I swore I'd always do was at least do a 12 of 12 post. I missed last month. I know. Shhh ... there, there. It's okay. I'm back.

In the interest of being ... umm, interesting (slightly), I wanted to do something other than the usual workday awful and boring pictures. A friend (hi Stan!) suggested taking pictures of doors. Great idea ... but I didn't follow it very well. I got pictures of doors, and entryways, and a lot of pictures while driving (no officer, I wasn't taking pictures!). But, hopefully you'll bear with me.

Let's get on with it, shall we?

All pictures were taken on Tuesday, July 12, 2011 in Seattle, Washington.

The door to Joe, my Jetta. He has a special place in my heart, having not owned a car for seven or so years before I got him. My first, and sometimes I fear last, new car. He's taken good care of me and I regularly trust him with my life.

Coming up the stairs from the parking garage, the door to my office floor. This place has been pretty good to me with all its ups and downs, and I'm having an opportunity to impress the top brass this year. This is an opening to me every morning.

Of course, I love this view, the door to the parking garage where Joe meets me and takes me home every day. Very important, too.

On the way home ... the awning and entrance to an apartment building on First Hill. I used to live not far from here (years ago), and knew someone who lived here at the time. A cool older building, it just always had such an elegant facade.

The local home of Gilda's Club, a support system for women with cancer founded by Gilda Radner. I've always loved her. Unfortunately this is in an area that gets graffitied a lot, but they always clean it up and keep it looking nice. It just seems like you're entering someplace important. Which you are.

About two blocks away. The owners have a sense of humor ... but the title seems to match the building. Still, I smile when I drive by every day.

A few blocks from home. Something about this view fascinates me. New built into and on top of old, a weird mix of apartments and house and business and bus stop and kinda all over the place. There are a lot of entrances here.

Down the street from our house. This place tries to be open and welcoming, despite the bars and gates and constant overflow of people who are from many walks of life and ... ahem, occupations. We've never gone in, sadly. Just haven't decided if we'd be welcome or, quite honestly sometimes, safe.

The house across the street. Two women lived here for decades until recently. Lots of history and stories about the neighborhood. They're both in their eighties and one at a time have moved to nursing homes, yet still own the house. They would tend to the rose bushes and grow tomatoes. We'd bring them potted geraniums and poinsettias and Christmas wreaths. We grabbed some fellow neighbors and ran to the hardware store and spent the day scrubbing off nasty graffiti when the house was tagged. We miss them.

Our front door. One of the best sites to come home to. Lots of happy inside.

The back door, from the kitchen leading to the back yard. The pond and gardens and dogs (well, Kali at least). The door is dirty and the window screen is ripped from Kali pawing at it wanting to come inside. Kinda the epitome of our house. Humble, needs some work, but in a cool and lived-in condition.

The side door from the basement steps. Nothing fancy. But I like the dog leashes hanging by it. We still have three. We can't seem to imagine getting rid of Kitty's leash.

The upstairs door leading to the balcony. Sunny but still not hot summer weather, so the screen is covering the door ... but the birds in the aviary love the sun and so do we. It's an opening to a cool world. We're very close to getting the deck and balcony replaced, and then more of our pictures will be past this screen. But it's nice to look forward to something ...

That's it. Thanks for hanging in there with me this month. Happy 12!

May 12 of 12

12 pictures of the 12th day of the month - simple. Actually getting them posted on the 12th - not so simple. But here we go.

Stoli licking her chops after supper. We thought she'd had a stroke a month ago, but it seems she has degenerative back and hip problems, not uncommon for Weimaraners. She's on anti-inflammatory and pain meds, which are helping. She's getting around fairly well these days. Hopefully her paw will heal soon - she developed sores on her paw pads, we think from walking differently - so she can stop wearing the cone of shame.

White lilacs blooming next to the house. I love that smell.

New plants by the front steps - dusty miller and stock. Another nice smell.

Lat year for Earth Day, our company gave all the employees red maple seedlings (yes, even to the employees in New York City). These things can get huge and are the kind that destroyed our sewer line a few years ago. But they look nice in pots.

Hanging basket on the front porch. The weather has been crap this spring, but at least things are blooming.

Bench on the front porch, which it will hopefully be warm enough to utilize someday.

Front door mat.

Some lilacs I brought inside. They don't last long, but they're purty and smell nice.

More pictures that Scott has been framing. His mom is trying to help him get some displayed in restaurants, coffee shops and galleries.

My cousin Jo sent me a packet of old pictures that her mom had. Here is a picture of my great grandparents, plus various pictures of my dad.

Re-bandaging Stoli's paw. We're supposed to take her to the vet to do it, but her bandage had gotten wet and it was too late to get to the vet. We did our best.

The sky looking west from the back of our house. I thought the clouds looked kinda cool.

That's all for this month - happy 12 y'all.

April 12 of 12

Here we go, here we go, here we go again ... It's the 12th again - time to play 12 of 12, Chad Darnell's fun invention. 12 pics of the 12th day of the month. And we're off ...

5:06 p.m. All my pics were taken after work, of course. I work in the building on the right (the half-obscured grey and beige building):

5:07 p.m. Not sure why, but I like this picture:

5:07 p.m. I know they're replacing all the windows in this apartment building, but I'm not sure why it's shrink-wrapped:

5:12 p.m. I've posted this same view on Capitol Hill before, but it always makes me laugh. This is an old movie theater that is now a drugstore. The sign was originally advertising the price of a gallon of milk ... but for the past few years it has read "Gal Milk". It's even more deteriorated now. Notice the Statue of Liberty guy on the corner selling tax preparation services:

5:16 p.m. Cal Anderson Park on Capitol Hill. Actually a pretty nice afternoon, even with a few clouds. Tons of people walking and hanging out in the park, and playing soccer and baseball:

5:36 p.m. Just got my hair cut next to Octo Sushi:

5:40 p.m. 11th Avenue, heading home:

5:40 p.m. How much is that skeleton in the window?

5:43 p.m. Toxin-free dry cleaner. How very Seattle:

5:44 p.m. I can't tell you how excited I am that Skillet Street Food is opening a diner near us:

5:46 p.m. I'll never get tired of the view when you get to the top of the hill at 18th Avenue and see the Cascade Mountains. We live in a cool city:

5:59 p.m.: One of the original rules of 12 of 12 is that you have to be in one of the pictures. I can't remember the last picture taken of me that I liked, but here ya go:

And that's it, kids. Happy 12, join next month, and watch your head as you exit the ride.

Testing Our Strength.

I want to be strong. These past few weeks have tested that, for me and for Scott.

We have two cats, Kasha and Hunter. Hunter is a big, strong, awfully affectionate kitty. He makes friends with everyone and has no fear. Kasha - ehh, the polar opposite. Sixteen years old (or more - we're not really sure), had medical issues as a kitten, and has always been our "scaredy-cat". Hides out in the bathroom closet, runs from everything, afraid of her own shadow. Both cats are STRICTLY indoor cats. They're okay with that. Hunter may want to peek outside when the door is open, but Kasha - no thanks. Needs her home, her security, her places to hide.

Kasha has been missing for two weeks now. We couldn't imagine where she had gone. A senior cat, we were afraid she had gone and hid someplace, ready to make her peace with the world and pass away. We searched everywhere. Tore the place apart. No Kasha.

Then we realized that we had a dryer delivered the last day we saw her. The basement door was open for quite a while. What if she had been in the basement, freaked out, tried to run up the stairs and - with the door open and blocking her path to the kitchen - ran outside? Impossible. But, the only answer.

We posted fliers. Talked to all the neighbors. Posted, pleading, on neighborhood blogs. No answer. No one has seen her.

The weather has been typical Seattle spring. Not too cold, but wet, ugly, unfriendly. She hasn't come home. We don't think we'll ever see her again. We sob, thinking of her alone, terrified, cold, hungry, too scared to let anyone help her. We go on, trying to keep our hopes alive. She's our baby, one of our kids. She's missing. We never thought we'd see her beautiful, fragile face on "Missing Pet" fliers. We don't eat or sleep or work well. She's gone.


Last Thursday was Scott's birthday. I bought flowers, photography books since he's really getting into that, bought steaks for dinner. I started dinner before he got home, arranged the flowers with his gifts and cards placed just so next to them.

We have two dogs, Stoli and Kali. Kali is big and strong, five years old, a strong warning bark and protector of the the universe (our universe at least). Stoli - not so much. She was, in her prime. The runt of the litter, but sleek, agile, fast, athletic. She would catch low-flying birds swooping across the back yard, leave them as gifts on the back step, I love you, I hunted for you.

She's fifteen years old now. Half blind, half deaf. Her back legs and her spine are giving out, so we carefully maneuver her down the stairs, keep her inside when it's cold out, pick up after her when she has "accidents" in the house. We take care of her now. She's our baby.

Birthday dinner cooking, Scott comes home, we let her in like we do every night to eat inside. She's not walking right. She falls. Something has changed.

Scott carried her out to the front yard to do her business. In horror, we realize she has no use of one of her back legs. It drags, her paw bent under, she can't walk. We start to cry.

Scott is off the next day. He drops her off at the vet, waiting by the phone. I'm at work, stomach in knots. It's an incredibly busy time at work. I dread going to the clinic, watching her die as we make that decision, and then having to go back to work. I don't like to talk about personal things at work, and I'm dying because I have no support. I tell one of my co-workers, another animal lover, she tells me she's so sorry. I wait for the phone call.

Scott calls later, Stoli may have had a stroke. They're not sure. Dogs recover easier than humans from strokes, the vet says. But her spine is deformed, discs out of place, she's an old girl. She seems okay, to the extent she can be. They give anti-inflammatory drugs, pain medicine, send her home. Scott carries her to the car, carries her inside, carries her upstairs. She'll be around a little while longer, but no more walks. No more getting up and down the stairs. No more puppy.

She's doing okay - still has an appetite, still love chewing on the new toys Scott bought her, still loves smelling the grass and the air. But we have to carry her in and out, up and down, steady her and be her leg while she pees, poops, eats.

I wonder if I have the strength for her.

But we do. We do whatever we need to do. We'd do whatever we need to do for any one of our kids, at any time. We'd probably lay down our lives for them. Really.

So we grieve for the fact that Kasha is gone. We grieve for the fact that the young, athletic Stoli is gone. We grieve for Hunter, who doesn't know why Kasha isn't there to play with anymore, and for Kali, who is out in the back yard alone all day. We go on.


But part of us doesn't. Part of us dies, and we grieve.