“It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work and that when we no longer know which way to go we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.” — Wendell Berry from Standing by Words

I like Wendell Berry and I like what he has to say about “when we no longer know which way to go” we have begun our real journey. Writers have a way of making life more meaningful, but it’s difficult for young dogs. The one I’m thinking of is Mello, who I was determined to return to the humane society. This has still not been ruled out, however, Mello is presenting herself in a calmer way with help from “Raising your dog.”

Last night I sat down to read a “Raising your dog” book after Jeanne went back to St. Paul. Of course remembering what I’ve read has rarely held firm ground in my life. I think my sister and brother were better students regarding remembering. Carol was prominent in that regard.

As some of you know, my column is not prepared in the Herald office but in our home where Mello likes to impose her ways. She is all for either playing with a hollowed out half a tennis ball that she likes to have me throw so she can go get it and then return it, or she torments Echo or Ptolemy. Echo is the cities cat that doesn’t take “crap” from Mello. She is currently coaching Ptolemy, the male cat on how to defend and conguer. I’ve just been informed by spell check the correct spelling of Ptolemy.

Sunday morning, Jeanne and I took Mello down to the ballpark where the swinging bridge once transported folks to Marcussen ballpark. Spell check isn’t sure of that spelling. Either am I. I will remind you of the words shared to me when a psychiatrist at Gerard told me “poor spelling was a sign of genius.” I pass this on to all the poor spellers that incidentally are most often males.

It is interesting that an ambulance can go by with siren blaring, and Mello ignores it, but just let someone walk by the front of the house and it is barking time forever.

It was interesting to read that the second string catcher for the Twins batted four for four in a recent game while the millionaire was out with a soar heel. I’m sure the heel will heal in time. Even though I think he makes too much money he is still a very well respected ballplayer.

Of course there are memories of the Austin Packers from back when where Emil Schied clung to his lemon in his hand as the third base coach and occasionally exchanged pleasantries with the bleacher crowd. Now the bleachers are not only empty, they are gone. There is still baseball there. Maybe I’ll see if I can talk Mello into going to a game or two.

They say in a year Mello will slow down some, mature. Right now that seems like an eternity. This morning I discovered a toenail from one of the cats lodged in her tail. I suppose I could do a paw check on Echo and Ptolemy to see who is missing the nail.

I’m still reading The March of Folly from Troy to Vietnam. In it, the National Council of Churches claimed that America “was seen as a predominantly white nation using our overwhelming strength to kill more Asians.” Martin Luther King, Jr. said “he could no longer reprove acts of violence by his own people without speaking out against ‘the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today—my own government.’”

The Defense Department at the end of 1967 announced that the total tonnage of bombs dropped on the North and south Vietnam together was more than 1.5 million, surpassing by 75,000 tons, the total dropped on Europe by the Army Air Force in WWII. Slightly more than half had been dropped on North Vietnam, surpassing the total dropped in the Pacific Theater.

A sense of disaster pervaded the United States, sharpened by the most widely quoted remark of the war. “It became necessary to destroy the town in order to save it.” Then Sen. Fullbright declared that the country was witnessing a “spiritual rebellion” among it youth.