I am a dog, looking at man. I know that genius and wisdom are not always combined. Take the advent of the atomic bomb. What other creature even dreams of inventing something that might wipe it’s species from the planet?
Dogs are different. We live in the moment, not in our dreams. No, we don’t invent the future (we have better things to do…). Instead, we enjoy the ‘what is-ness’ of every day. No human to my knowledge can say the same–but all should. I hate to think that it is only in the face of man’s own mortality that true wisdom kicks in, granting him understanding and peace at a final reckoning. Is it too much to ask that man grasp the fleeting nature of creature-hood; the ridiculous lightness of ego and esteem before they realize that both are little more than self-reflection?

Perhaps, it matters not when they experience that epiphany but that it IS experienced.
Steve Jobs gave us all (yes, even the thumb-less dog) the ability to communicate in ways we never imagined just two short decades ago. He lived, arguably, half a human life-time. And, in all his achievement, notoriety and wealth, in the end, he understood the base meaning of this life we hold as true:
The physical is fleeting; the ephemeral, eternal. There is genius in wisdom. I wonder if the opposite is true?

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”
Thank you, Steve Jobs, for sharing your genius and your wisdom.

The universe is better for it.
May we all use it well.

rolls in an overripe eggplant and heads for my legs thinking she will wind herself along my ankles like a Boa Constrictor.
Why, you ask? What possesses said feline with such odd behavior?
Some Italian; some English; some Latin. Perhaps the word
Humans: Language is a wondrous gift. Learn to use it well and enjoy.
The smells were exquisite: artisan cheeses, provencal sausages, crisp white wines, multitudinous flowers conjuring the famous perfumes of Grasse just up the hill….and Socca.
And, I always get a wedge. I assume this is because nothing about it is bad for the figure of a small dog.
I guess you could add herbs, or spices to the batter. There are probably endless possibilities.
treasure on the street… a la cobblestones. Still, heaven.
and neither by the well-worn rags of the common man.

Room service never arrives without a biscuit meant for a small dog. And, yet, the theme of the whole trip is problematic. Mind you, I love the bursts of color in the sky; the way my long shadow lights up against the fine aubusson carpet. But the noise takes me back to some genetic canine memory of hunting, firing squads and death. We’re still hours away from San Remo and the skin between my toes is sweating.
Chow.