How hot was it?

 

          Good evening, 919 Gang. At 4:45 today, the thermometer in front of our house read 108.5. We’re on the Summer Saver Program, so SDG&E turned off our air conditioning from 6 to 8 p.m. Didn’t matter, we ran it for a couple of hours this afternoon, and the house stayed cool.

 

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          LUIS MONTEAGUDO writes:

Thanks for running Mark Monday’s piece on Sparky. We just lost our cat, Callie, and this piece really hit home. It’s amazing how pets and their human companions can form tight, incredible bonds. You wind up spending so much time with them that after they’re gone you still feel their presence for days and weeks. We should all feel so fortunate to have them in our lives and enjoy their memories.

 

          GLENN GRANT writes:

I was moved by Mark Monday's tribute to Sparky. I can relate because we have healthy Shih-Tzus ages 6 and 4, and are doing all we can to give them long lives. But our friend and neighbor recently finally put down her 12-year-old terrier mix after a year of doggy dementia, hearing loss, and vision loss. We feel she waited far too long because we could tell the animal was suffering -- walking in circles, bumping into furniture, peeing and pooping all over the house, crying much of the time. But she couldn't let go and wanted her kids to come from out of state to see the dog one last time. We told her she could do that via video calls, but she and they refused. It was heartbreaking for us to watch, but there was nothing we could do. She finally had the dog euthanized at home in her arms a few months ago. My belief is that if a pet has that much diminished quality of life, it is time to let go. A difficult decision to be sure, but usually the best one to end a pet's suffering.

           REBER: Shorty (he’s the one at left in the photo) was my constant companion as a very young child. You can see I haven’t changed my hairstyle in the intervening years.

          As much as I liked Shorty, he was even more important to my father. Through a divorce, financial woes and family feuds, Shorty was my father’s only friend.

          I was 6 years old when I saw my father take the rifle down from the wall, call Shorty and head for the woods behind our house. It looked like a hunting trip, so I ran to catch up. My father ordered me back to the house. I was really disappointed.

          When my father returned, he had tears in his eyes but he didn’t have Shorty. I knew what had happened.

 

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KAREN CLARK RISTINE writes:

Not sure this photo of the sports department from the Fort Worth Star-Telegram at Christmas 1963 would be of interest to many or even any 919ers.

          However, I thought you might enjoy it.

My dad is in the far left of the kneeling front row. A well-known name among Texas sports writers is also in the photo: Frank Luksa.

 

   

       REBER: That’s a big sports staff. I always felt there was some fellowship among the sports writers in Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas. They all seemed to know and like one another. I was hired at the Tribune because Gene Gregston, of Oklahoma, was friends with one of my references in Kansas.

 

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          JAMIE RENO forwards:

Do Statins Cause Muscle Pain? New Study Says Unlikely

https://www.healthline.com/health-news/do-statins-cause-muscle-pain-new-study-says-unlikely

 

 

Jack J. Reber

P.O. Box 2239

Ramona, CA 92065-0938

United States

Sparky

          Good evening, 919 Gang. Every once in a while, Mark Monday puts out a newsletter for his friends. I don’t usually print them, but I’m making an exception tonight. First off, I have newspaper messages share. Second, I suspect some people can identify with this:

 

          MARK MONDAY writes:

We brought Sparky home this week.

His ashes are in a lovely box; there is a plaster cast of his paw print.

To us, the cast is the equivalent of a spot on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Sparky was about 3 when he joined our family. He was about 13 when he died – not that he ever has left the family. Nor will he ever leave the family. He won’t be there to pet, or to jump on a chair, and then the table, to grab piece of pizza. What remains is indelibly there in our memories.

Sparky joined us from a pet rescue group, 15 pounds of cuddly brown and white hair. The rescue group had shaved more pounds of hair off him. When they took him in his coat was so overgrown they couldn’t tell his gender. We don’t know about his early life. We know he was first adopted out at the height of the housing crisis. We know someone who must have loved him trained him well in those first years. We know he adored kids – maybe because they were his size, maybe because a family petted him and he snuggled with them when the kids went beddy-bye.

After he was adopted out there is a six-month blank. He was next found on the street, his hair matted and overgrown, malodorous even to the groomers. Had he been on the street all that time, had the new owners just cast him adrift, did he run away looking for his first family or “his” kids? No one knew.

But we knew when we saw him that he would be a welcome member of our family. He loved people. And people loved him. When Anne’s Gene doll club met at our house in Scottsdale, Sparky insisted on posing for pictures with the rest of the group. And he was formally made a member of the club. He traveled well. He would sniff the air and look excitedly out the car window when Anne and Sparky would come down for a weekend at Fort Huachuca when I was teaching there. He enjoyed the companionship of Woofie, a poodle of one of the doll club members. And when Woofie’s mom died the poodle moved in with us. Sparky and Woofie would scamper onto the back of the sofa, looking out at the cars and people on the street.

Our first indication that something was wrong was when Sparky quit jumping onto the sofa to look out. We hoped it was just cataracts that led to his disinterest in the activity outside. We hoped that the change of scenery from the Arizona desert to the forests of Washington would perk him up. Woofie enjoyed the change, sniffing out the deer trails through the yard. Sparky, not so much.

Sparky did like the snow last winter. He seemed to enjoy wading around in a few inches of the unfamiliar cold white stuff. But it became apparent he was afflicted, increasingly so, by doggie dementia. He never attempted the stairway to the upper level; we always carried him up and down with us. His coat was long enough to visually hide his weight loss, but when we carried him it was obvious how thin he had become. He ate well but we had to pick him up and place him in front of his food bowl – he couldn’t see it.

Sparky slept a lot toward the end. He had a soft basket right beside Anne’s chair. But when Sparky would get up he might wander aimlessly around the first floor. Or Sparky would just walk a few steps into the middle of room and stand staring ahead for long minutes. He seemed unsure what he wanted to do, or where he wanted to go. Sometimes he would go on a wobbly walk-about – his hind legs were less than reliable – but usually he would just incuriously head back to his basket and bed down again. That I remember, painfully, of course.

But I also remember Sparky as I first saw him at the rescue group, standing and staring straight ahead, giving his undivided attention to the people who were caring for him. Sleek and well-groomed then, eyes shining brightly, he exuded an abiding interest in those around him. Then, and later, he was curious and caring, loving to everyone, obedient in almost every way. Of course pizza slices on the table were open season so long as you didn’t explicitly tell him “no.”

We can no longer pet him, but Sparky is still with us. His memory may have left him long ago but our fond memories of him don’t fade.

 

Jack J. Reber

P.O. Box 2239

Ramona, CA 92065-0938

United States

Visitors to Mexico

 

          Good evening, 919 Gang.

 

BOB HAWKINS writes:

This week we enjoyed visits from two former San Diego Union-Tribune staffers to our beautiful town, San Miguel de Allende -- Jennifer de Poyen and Janet Lavelle.

          Purely coincidence that Janet and Jennifer picked the same week to head south of the border. Both have friends here with whom they stayed. Neither knew the other at the U-T. Jennifer covered arts and dance and left before Janet was hired. Jennifer left to be a full-time mom for Sacha and now works for a San Diego arts non-profit. Sacha was here with his mom. He is now 18 years old and leaving next week for University of Chicago in pursuit of a math degree.

          Janet went on to become North County editor and, on a second round with the paper, the medical writer who replaced Cheryl Clark. She still lives in Oceanside and works for UCD in the health sector.

          On Sunday afternoon, Rose and I met up with Jennifer and Sacha at one of our favorite places, Tacos Don Felix restaurant. Don Felix and his wife, Gloria, started with a humble but extremely popular street cart and eventually moved into a beautiful house which uses several floors for food and drink.

Jerry and Jan Rife introduced us to the restaurant and Felix and Gloria more than four years ago, on our first visit to the magic city. We love taking friends there.

          Sadly, they will be selling the restaurant soon. So it was extra special to take a U-T friend there.

          Today, Janet and her traveling pal, Laura, and Jennifer and Sacha met us at a cafe in our own San Antonio neighborhood for a late breakfast and coffee. I was able to show them the beautiful campus of the Instituto Allende, a private arts college here since 1950 and a spot rarely seen by visitors or locals as classes are often in session.

          We all came back to our house so they could see what an authentic Mexican hacienda-style house looks like. Like so many visitors, they were all intrigued by what lies behind the doors of San Miguel. The most humble wooden doors can hide some breathtakingly beautiful estates.

 

The picture was taken on the stairway leading to our second-floor living quarters. From left: Jennifer de Poyen, me, Janet Lavelle.

          They both leave Wednesday morning -- Janet and Laura back to San Diego by way of Tijuana, and Jennifer and Sacha will take the bus to Mexico City for a few days.

          For me, it was such a gift to hear other U-T alumni talk about their time with the paper. They jogged so many dormant memories in this old man.

          I'm flying to Tijuana on Sept. 9 and plan on attending Mike Kinsman's legendary San Diego Blues Festival on Saturday. Anyone else going? On Sunday, my son Ryan has Padres-Dodgers tickets. No other plan until Thursday when Ryan and Larisa head for Cape Cod for a family wedding. Rose flies in on Thursday from Chicago to help me babysit our two grandsons over the long weekend.

          The kids apparently think the grandsons would be too much of a handful for one old man ... little do they know.

 

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          SANDRA DIBBLE writes:

Thanks for posting my AAA piece on 919. I felt honored when Jim Benning, the travel editor, invited me to write about the border in a non-political way, given the range of people of varying political persuasions who read the Westways Magazine. And getting the Southern California connection was important, as well mention of driving a car.

          I love reading everyone's postings. It's been more than two years since I wrote a daily story for the San Diego Union-Tribune. But I've been staying in the game a bit through Voice of San Diego, where I write their "Border Report" newsletter every other week. Not sure where the road now leads, but remaining connected feels more important than ever.

          I was sorry to read about Doug Hope. He was one of the people who interviewed me back in 1994, when I interviewed for the border reporting job.

 

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JAMIE RENO forwards:

The Ride Of His Life: When A Young Cancer Drug Company Executive Gets Cancer

http://therenodispatch.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-ride-of-his-life-when-young-cancer.html

 

 

Jack J. Reber

P.O. Box 2239

Ramona, CA 92065-0938

United States