Month: August 2025

Long live vinyl

For National Vinyl Records Day, I — what else? — fired up the turntable. Here’s my favorite electronic toy playing Side 4 of the The Rise of Skywalker soundtrack, where in “Finale,” the closing credits music, John Williams revisits all of the memorable themes he created over the course of nine films. Williams is almost singlehandedly responsible for my love of movie music; his liner notes for the first Star Wars movie taught me a bundle.

I like the idea of National Vinyl Records Day, commemorating Thomas Edison’s invention of the phonograph in 1877. Edison famously spoke the nursery rhyme “Mary Had A Little Lamb” into the prototype device and was amazed when he discovered he had successfully recorded his voice. Supposedly this incident occurred August 12, 1877, and so whoever came up with the idea of National Vinyl Records Day chose August 12 for this annual observance.

I never stopped buying LPs. Even in the dark days of the 1990s, when vinyl was officially declared dead by nearly everyone, I sought out stores that still sold records. I confess you can’t beat digital music services for convenience; if I want to hear a new album, I can dial it up on Apple Music and there it is.

But … if the unthinkable happens and the internet disappears, I’ll still be able to listen to my hundreds of records, including a load of 78s from more than 100 years ago. Of course, if the electric grid fails I’ll be up the proverbial creek.

At that stage all we will have left is the recorded music of the 1910s through the 1950s and the wind-up Victrolas that ran without electric power. The good news is they made a lot of good music during those decades.

(And why am I writing about National Vinyl Records Day on August 13? Why, the 12th was Dejah’s 12th birthday! Surely one’s golden retriever takes precedence over some silly holiday.)

A well-deserved celebration

Look upon this wise old canine face, which seems to be locked in an ever-present smile of expectation, when it is not in calm repose. This is the face of Dejah Thoris, Princess of Mars, her very self.

She has been a member of this household since October 4, 2013, a few weeks after her birth on or about Aug. 12 of that year. I phrase it that way because, although that’s what it says on the paper provided by the people who sold us the puppy, there are other papers that conflict with that information. After much reflection I’ve finally decided to go with the paper that says Aug. 12, 2013, and so Dejah becomes the first golden retriever of this household to celebrate her 12th birthday.

Dejah several times has threatened to depart this plane of existence before her time, most notably less than a month after her arrival, when her tendency to eat debris of all kinds led to emergency surgery to remove pebbles, mulch and sharp twigs from her digestive tract, and a couple years or so later when serious unsteadiness on her feet led to a diagnosis of Lyme disease. She has proved to be almost as tough a cookie as her human Mom, known here as Red, whose puppy Dejah became almost as much as I laid claim to Willow The Best Dog There Was™, her big sister. Dejah was afforded a mere five months as the spoiled only child before the arrival of her little sister, Summer.

This house not far from the shore of Green Bay has been the only home Dejah has ever known, and I am loathe to contemplate the inevitable time when she is no longer a part of this household. Still, there is nothing on the horizon to suggest she will not celebrate a 13th birthday or more, so while I steel myself against the inevitable, for now I enjoy her company and the daily theater of her tug-of-war with Summer over the seemingly indestructible throw rug.

I maintain the secret to achieving world peace is to embed at least one golden retriever in every home. Dejah was a mischievous puppy and has grown to be a sweet old thing with a twinkle in her brown eyes.

Happy 12th birthday, Dejah. You’ve earned this.

I love the flower girls

The other day I wrote about restoring Red’s gardens, several of which have become overgrown since she passed from this mortal plane two years ago. Not long after I wrote about it, I realized there’s a patch next to the evergreen she planted that has turned into the wildflower garden I always wanted.

Yes, there are grasses and weeds, but here the coneflowers and black-eyed Susans and other perennials dominate — and now the compass plants have begin shooting up their August stalks full of yellow flowers. It is a joyful sight. Perhaps there’s something to leaving it alone and letting it thrive tended by God and nature.

Mary, the sweet widow who crossed my path a few months ago and has settled by my side as if she was always there, walked through the flowers with me Sunday and could not stop talking about how beautiful it all was.

In many ways Red was a much more private person than Mary and shied away from my camera, and so there are already more photos of Mary and me smiling together than from the 26 years I shared with Red. I do not wish to leave an impression that I have cast aside her memory in favor of this new woman who surprised me by capturing my heart.

I have to say that the sight of Mary smiling in the middle of Red’s wildflowers took my breath away. I thought I was content to live out my days alone after losing the love of my life, but God apparently had another idea.

Mary looked at the garden, and looked around my house still filled with the decor largely crafted by Red, and said, “I wish I had known her.” Oh, so do I.

I feel like the most blessed of men. I cherish and embrace the sweet memories of those 26 years, and I have found a companion willing to share those memories as we build new ones. I posted a selfie of me and Mary Sunday evening with the caption, “I love the flower girl.” Among the many reasons I love her is how she loves the person who planted the flowers.