Happy Thanksgiving, Pat

I was reminded of something very important this morning: never leave for a walk without the camera.

This morning we walked by this antique wonderland called Pat's. From floor to ceiling across the huge expanse of store, Pat's is packed with distressed treasures from another lifetime -- which you can have custom refurbished for a very reasonable price.

To find something specific -- say, a small vanity and cute little stool -- you'd have to spend hours, days maybe, navigating the mazes of stuff stacked upon stuff propped up by stuff that's covering stuff. Or you could just ask Pat. Because Pat know exactly what's in every inch of that place, inside and in the giant antique graveyard out back. She's like the rainman of cluttertown. And she's awesome.

I can't say I know Pat all that well. She helped me find my vanity and cute little stool so many years ago, and that was our one and only interaction. But I remember her well. She's an older, no-nonsense, let's-get-down-to-business kind of lady. I like that. And she had this cat (there were many, but I remember this one, in particular) that laid on the counter, entirely uninterested in the world around it.

In any case, we were walking past Pat's, and I turned, as I have for the past few weeks, to look through one of the giant picture windows that surrounds the place to see if they still had the chair that I've been meaning to tell my friend Mary about. And there, sitting in that very chair, was Pat. Right there in the display window.

Now, when I say sitting, what I really mean is totally passed out, head draped over the back of the chair, mouth agape, wearing yesterday's clothes. And next to her, looking back at me, was that cat.

This was such a wonderously awesome sight that I actually looked around to see if there was anyone around who could maybe take the picture and send it to me. I don't mean this in any sort of condescending way. Even though I don't really know Pat, looking at her in that chair, all sprawled and uncaring, I thought, that's so Pat.

As I continued on my walk, I started thinking about Pat, and how it's a holiday, and that she was all alone (except for the cat) in her store. And I started to worry. I created a whole slew of "what if" scenarios as I hurried back that direction. To my delight, I found an empty chair when I passed by the second time. Pat's all good. Happy Thanksgiving, Pat.

On a side note, I also saw a round man wearing a sky blue velour suit with a green top hat pulling a roller bag behind him as he ran to catch the bus. I'd pay cash money to know what's in that bag. I also may or may not have seen Bono. It was a great walk.

Ruffin it

It's been raining a lot here. But the dog still must be walked. And the car still must be retrieved from the night before, hopefully before the ticket has been cast (not this time).

So Merlin and I were out walking in the rain, totally commando style (in the rain sense), and on the other side of the street we saw some sort of schnauzer wearing a raincoat. And when I say raincoat, I don't mean some flimsy canine poncho. I mean an REI-style raincoat designed for the hardcore doggie outdoor enthusiast. It was so elaborate that I had to do a double take.

As we continued on our walk, both pretty soggy, I started thinking about this alternative doggie lifestyle. And I wondered if I was a bad dog owner for making my beloved pooch brave the elements without protection. When I was in San Francisco a few weeks ago, I saw several dogs wearing sneakers -- yes, sneakers (I'm very sad that I didn't get photos of that). I have absolutely no clue what the point of that is. And yet, I still wonder, is Merlin underprivileged?

Of course, I will never know the answer to this, since Merlin can't whine about not having what all the cool kids, like the schauzers, have. Nor will he ever refuse to go outside for a walk or trip to the park in the rain, even though I know he hates being wet. But still, I wonder. Perhaps next summer I'll buy him some doggles just to keep him current. But for now, we'll just continue to ruff it ... ah, I know. terrible.

Superman in daisy dukes

This morning I was out walking the dog and I saw what I believe to be the oldest man in the world wearing what I'm certain are the shortest shorts I've ever seen on a man. His getaway sticks were long and the loose skin on them rippled in the breeze. And I looked away before I could confirm, but I think I may have caught a glimpse of the satchel ... ew.

At first I was horrified, but as I walked off I thought, good for him. If I make it to be that old and I want the ladies to peek out from beneath a totally inappropriately revealing blouse, then I hope I have the genuine F-it attitude required to just do it. If you're gonna do it, you better rock it.

That old guy in the daisy dukes stood with his fists on his hips, all superman style, chatting up his grand kids with all the confidence in the world. So I say, you go guy. You inspire me.