The gentleman walks into a room without asking for attention,
but he gets it anyway. Everyone sees that
he is dressed the part.
Those who look closer, notice his bearing.
He carries himself with a quiet confidence.
The kind that says, I know who I am.
And I know that I belong here.
He respects, and earns the respect of all:
women and men, those of high station or low.
He treats them all as equals.

The women he has fancied all remember him.
He is gentle with their emotions,
but strong in their defense when the situation requires.
Tender, but unquestionably masculine.
Every man she meets will be judged based
on the high standards he set for himself.

When he leaves, people talk about him;
How he can converse on a broad range of subjects
without putting on airs, without showing off.
They talk about how he puts others at ease.
Ladies want his attention. Men want to be him.

My friend, Tosha, shared this with me in honor of my upcoming birthday. She is the best friend I could ever ask for, and an extremely talented writer and singer. Her blog is a wonderful read. I highly recommend it.

One of my best friends is celebrating his birthday soon and I wanted to do something special for him. Niles and I go way back and we’ve been seen some (insert curse word here) Twelve years of friendship and our bond just grows stronger. This is my tribute to a gentleman with a lovely creative […]

via A Scholarly Gentleman — Everything I Never Told You

My grandfather loved animals. My dad and aunt grew up with animals running all around their farm. Most of their pet dogs and cats wandered into the yard, where dad fed them. And, not surprisingly, they stayed. By the time I was old enough to remember, my grandparents had three beagles, at least two of which they had bought. A few years later, my parents bought two beagles for my brother and me. We enjoyed our dogs. They kept us fit running all around and gave us love and companionship. And I think our dogs, named Smokey and JJ, received the same from us.

We used to spend one or two Saturdays a month at my grandparents’ house (about a forty minute drive away) to visit and to help in the garden, especially when it was time to plant or to pick the fruits and vegetables we grew. I could write a whole blog post on my experiences with the garden, but I have other plans for this post.

My grandparents’ beagles, named Scooter, Belle, and Dot, were all different in appearance and personality. Scooter was the adventurous one, brown-headed with a black and white body. He was gone half the time we were over there, just roaming the neighborhood. Belle was the easygoing one- black, brown, and white spotted and bigger than the others- she would play with us some and let us pet her. Dot was the enigma. I’m not sure if my grandparents bought her, or if she just showed up in the yard one day and stayed. But she was different than the other two dogs. In color, she was white with brown spots. And she was shy and skittish. If any of us were outside, she stayed in the doghouse in the corner of the yard. Most of the time if she was in the yard and she saw someone coming, she would cower into the doghouse and stay until the coast was clear. My grandfather was the only person she would come to- until she came to me.

My grandfather passed away when I was eight years old. One Saturday, somewhere around a year later, I didn’t have anything to do after lunch so I walked out onto the back porch. There stood Dot about twenty yards across the backyard, eyeing me suspiciously. She didn’t run- just stood there looking to see what I would do next. This was my chance. I wanted to be like my grandfather and have Dot come to me. I don’t know how long it took as I talked to her very softly and held my hand out, urging her to me. It was probably half an hour, but it seemed like twice as long. The whole time I prayed no loud noise or other person would scare her away.

She wouldn’t bite if you got close enough to touch her. I had helped give her medicine before, which involved giving it to her as she was pinned up against the wall of the doghouse with no escape. But she didn’t like it at all. This time was different. She came to me out in the open and of her own free will. Slowly, she decided she trusted me enough to let me pet her for a while before she decided to back off and retreat to her house. I remember that I couldn’t wait to tell my dad what had happened. I read an article online talking about beagles and started thinking the beagles I grew up around and talking about them with my dad. The picture below is a dog whose coloring resembles Dot’s.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The new Boeing 787 Dreamliner can carry about 250 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,200 times in 2012. If it were a Dreamliner, it would take about 5 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

I decided to write a bit about my experience of the 9/11 terrorist attacks- mostly because I never have. A few friends and family have heard all or most of the story over the years, but I have never written thoroughly about it. No particular reason for it. This year I wanted to share.
I don’t know anyone personally who was killed in the attacks. But I know people who did lose family and/or friend. I was working at Barnes & Noble bookstore. I had been there for about a year and a half. It was a time for me to unwind from school (I had finished my undergraduate degree) and think about the next step, as I knew I wanted to go back to school. My dad was supposed to fly from Atlanta to Philadelphia that morning for work. Mom was teaching and my brother was in school in Atlanta.

Our morning meeting at the bookstore was happening as the planes hit the World Trade Center. I worked at the front of the store so I got the story bit by bit from customers throughout the morning. The first tower hit; the second tower hit; the Pentagon; the field in Shanksville, PA. I had no visual picture in my mind since I was not able to watch in front of a television. Part of me wishes it had stayed that way. It took what felt like an eternity, but my dad was finally able to call and say that he was in Atlanta and waiting for the chance to get back home. A co-worker had a sister who worked in the Towers, but was not there that morning. A former teacher/coach regularly visited and worked in the Pentagon. Thankfully he was unharmed as well.

I remember the relief I felt when I found out that no one I knew was injured or killed. I remember the hurt I felt for those who had lost someone. I remember the feeling of anticipation for what would happen next. I remember thinking about how my life and the lives of all Americans would be different from that day forward- and that I would always remember.

9/11 Limited Budweiser Commercial