A Short Look at a Small Dog, and Another Week in Minnesota

I missed Mass on Epiphany Sunday. I’m not happy about that, at all.

But we had very cold weather outside — and I’d been noticing a serious mismatch between temperature readings my body was giving me, and what I saw on a room thermometer.

I’m not a 40-year-old kid any more, so I played it safe. Other members of the household have been quite distinctly not up to par, so playing it safe was probably a good idea.

About all that: getting to Mass is very important. Basically, it’s important because Jesus is there — which is about as big a deal as it gets. Around here, at any rate.

One of these days I’ll talk about that again, but not today. The Eucharist involves ideas that aren’t part of my native culture, and therefore take a little explaining. This week I lack the vim, vigor, and vitality it’d take to say why I think Jesus was telling us the truth.

Let’s see. Context. Epiphany Sunday was the 12th day of Christmas, the end of Christmas season for us.

I’ve enjoyed another year of seeing our Christmas display change as the season progressed, with the Magi arriving at the stable on Epiphany Sunday. It’s a good reminder of the events we’re celebrating.

Now, getting to what I’ve been trying to write about this week.

San Francisco, Remembered (Eventually)

It’s been about a half-century since I lived in San Francisco.

I enjoyed my time there, for the most part, but wasn’t surprised at the city’s 2020 pandemic rules: which were apparently intended to protect San Franciscans from religious cooties.

Number-one daughter, when I asked her for ‘what to write about’ ideas, suggested “maybe something from when you were in San Francisco”.

That struck me as a good idea. Then, when I sat down to actually write something — that’s when I realized how long it’s been since I lived “where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars”.

“…I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars….”
(“I Left My Heart In San Francisco” , Tony Bennett (1953) music, George Cory; lyrics Douglass Cross; via genius.com)

I spent 18 somewhat-eventful months in and around that city, so I know I’ve got anecdotes galore stored somewhere in my mind. But I haven’t accessed them recently. It looks like it may take something in the nature of an archaeological dig to unearth them.

Another Happy Dog

All I’ve got this week is another dog story.

And not even a story. More like a vignette. Which, oddly enough, has little to do with vinaigrette and/or small ornamental bottles for smelling salts.¹

At any rate, my weekly routine in San Francisco included a walk back from a parking ramp near Fisherman’s Wharf.

My destination was a boarding house on Powell Street, a few blocks from the top of Nob Hill.

Man! It’s good to use those names again.

The point is that I’d be walking through what at the time was a moderately okay neighborhood during the late evening on the same day each week. That, happily, often brought me within a dozen yards or so of someone walking her dog.

The human half of the sketch would walk along at a smart clip, which probably suited the dog fine. It was one of those subcompact dogs, about the size of a loaf of bread.

Street lighting was adequate, but if the dog hadn’t had very white fur I probably couldn’t have seen the legs clearly.

As I said last week, I don’t know much about dog breeds. This was probably some particular sort of dog. All I could tell was its size, and the perky set of its tail, ears, and mouth. Its legs, although not in the dachshund class, were not long.

Matching the human’s speed kept the little dog’s legs moving at a very smart pace. All three of them. Not three dogs. One dog, three legs. Two in front, one in back. And all three keeping the dog moving at what looked like a very happy trot. Or pace, or maybe canter.

As far as I could tell, the dog and the human were both enjoying their walk.

Jubilee 2025: “Hope Does Not Disappoint”

I talked about animals and humans last week, and mentioned that I enjoy being human, despite being defective. Instead of repeating what I said, I’ll put a link to “A Dog Named Ulysses” in the ‘related posts’ list, along with whatever else comes to mind.

But first, something I could have mentioned last week — 2025 is a jubilee year.

I may talk about that another time. For now, I’ll share these links:

• Vatican
  • “Pope proclaims Jubilee: ‘May hope fill our days!’”
    Christopher Wells, Vatican News (May 9, 2024)
  • “Spes Non Confundit” (“Hope Does Not Disappoint” (Romans 5:5))
    Bull of Indiction of the Ordinary Jubilee of the Year 2025)
    Pope Francis (May 9, 2024)
  • Jubilee 2025
    iubilaeum2025.va/en.html
• USCCB (United States Conference of Catholic Bishops)
  • Jubilee 2025 — Pilgrims of Hope
  • The 2025 Jubilee of Young People
    (“…young adults ages 18-35 are particularly invited….”)
  • Jubilee 2025 — Calendar of Events
  • Information for Jubilee 2025
  • Jubilee 2025 Resources
  • “Diocesan Holy Doors will not be feature of Jubilee 2025, Vatican says”
    Cindy Wooden (August 2, 2024) [and we have other options]

Right. Now, finally, the usual links to somewhat-related stuff:

• “A Dog Named Ulysses”
  (January 4, 2025)
• “Christmas: Family, Lights, and a Little Weirdness”
  (December 28, 2024)
• “Animals, Consciousness, and Conscience”
  (June 29, 2024)
• “COVID-19: It’s Back”
  (April 2, 2024)
• “Doom, Gloom, and Dystopias: But Hope is an Option”
  (January 20, 2024)

¹ Vinaigrette — a small personal item we don’t use much these days:

• Wikipedia
  • Smelling salts
  • Vinaigrette (“…used most commonly as a salad dressing…[or]…a marinade…”)
• Rarities at Rennebohm Hall: Perfume Containers
  School of Pharmacy, University of Wisconsin-Madison
• Ring with Vinaigrette
  Regency World at CandiceHern.com
• Unseen Object Smelling Salt Bottle
  Arundel Museum; Arundel, West Sussex, England
• Smithsonian
  • Vinaigrette, a bottle made of topaz with a silver top and cairngorm inset
    Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum
  • Vinaigrette / pomander, a gold and silver box
    Kenneth E. Behring Center, National Museum of American History