Hey Morty becomes Love, Morty

I have missed writing to you, my people. Morty has not said one word about whether or not I’m still sharing his antics and our latest adventures with y’all. He has no skin in the game, no ego to massage, not a care in the world. Well, he does care about the B-A-L-L. The Morty Moo is always and forever inquiring as to whether or not I know where said ball is and if I might go get it and then throw it down the hallway where he chases it and brings it back for an endless amount of time. All of this gets said in one look.

So much has happened since the last installment of Hey Morty. I want to thank my website surgeon, Dr. Jay Jolton, who has been kind enough to create a place for me to write about what is going on that doesn’t involve me emailing anyone. It is just me, simply me. And the Mujz. Here. You can drop by anytime, or not.

I think the moon was full last night. The humidity slowly crawls back into our daily weather. Morty needs a trim, even though he looks so dang adorable with his wild shaggy look. I’m not in the mood to cut his hair, but that does not stop me from constantly looking at the status of his hair as an action item.

Today is the second day of Passover. This holiday tells the story of how the Jews in Egypt became liberated from slavery and traveled through ‘the narrow passage,’ which is a metaphorical state of confinement. This is my fast-food version, so forgive the simplicity. Summaries are all that some of us can handle.

This year the narrow passage has been difficult to navigate: because of Covid, because of my father’s death, because of my God-shaped hole that I often attempt to fill with everything other than God or spirit. Beads were a hot item for years; now washi tape has taken its place. Grief catches me by surprise and also never leaves me alone.

Thank goodness for Morty. Since the last episode there has been another escape, the neighborhood dog incident, my training with a new trainer, and thus Morty’s training, and so much shtick that all of a sudden I can’t remember any of it.

Thank you for coming over. I have missed you. Tell me how you are.

Welcome to Love, Morty

Years ago I wrote long emails full of Sturm and Drang to my friend Eric, signing them, “Mortally yours.” One time he wrote back, “Dear Morty,” and the name became a placeholder for feeling mortal, vulnerable, humbled.

In 2019 I brought home a puppy who was expressive and stubborn, with ultra-sensitive hearing. Go know. I tried different names for the puppy, including Shlomo, Marty and Jack, until it occurred to me that the puppy was indeed my placeholder, and thus he became Morty. During our first year together I sent weekly emails to friends about life with Morty, which was wild, overwhelming and precious. Love, Morty is a place to continue telling the stories. Thank you for being here.