Marshall Ramsey

Pip the dog has two speeds: Supersonic and asleep. Right now, she’s asleep. Her little brown body is curled up in a tight ball, keeping the night’s demons safely at bay.

Pip is a peculiar little dog, much like her mother Twinkie. The wife of the breeder warned us about Twinkie.  Apparently Pip’s mom has a mind of her own and can be a bit, let me say this delicately, bratty. Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Twinkie’s clone chews up books, shoes, attacks my boys’ legs and the vacuum cleaner. She barks at brooms, squirrels and cars. (Her bark will make your ears bleed.)  She thinks she is a hat when she sits on my son’s head.Her coat is soft and oily, not wiry like most Border Terriers.  And like her mother, she likes to climb into the dishwasher to try to lick the plates.

Pip is our third Border Terrier.  She’s definitely the most unique.

She’ll be nine-months old tomorrow.  And for the past nine months she has done an admirable job healing the gaping wound left by our losses of Molly and Banjo. Pip was born almost to the minute that Banjo died.  As they crossed paths on the Rainbow Bridge, some of the old lug ended up in Pip. She hates the dogs next door and patrols the yard in the same way. But she’s also very much her own dog. She can be a bit aloof at times. Banjo wanted always be next to you. Pip will lay down across the room. Yet, she snuggles next to me when I sleep.  She knows when be affectionate. She’ll give you all her heart — but only on her terms.

I find her loving, playful and interesting. She’s a good listener and loves to play.

You really can’t ask much more from a dog.

Breaking new ground is stressful. Exploring can cause all kinds of anxiety. Imagine taking a journey without  guideposts or roadmaps. And you can’t use your smartphone to get directions.  Your compass just spins and spins and spins. Now imagine charting a new career course during uncertain frightening times. I’ve always envied my friends who are doctors, lawyers and accountants. While their career paths are VERY difficult, they are known. Certain. Charted.  On paper. My career has been a series of probes into the fog. There never has been a how-to guide for how to become an editorial cartoonist. To become one is a bizarre mixture of hard work + chance.  And I’ll admit, I’ve been very lucky to this point.  Chance has smiled gracefully on me. I’ve always seemed to find my way.

In the past 20 years, I’ve gone from being a Janitor to Advertising Artist to Creative Director to Creative Director to Editorial Cartoonist. It is a very analog journey with fits and stops. I’ve made mistakes and more mistakes. I’ve taken chances and I’ve turned down good opportunities.  I’ve fumbled in the dark. My effort has been like ingredients in a some kind of funky career stew.  Thankfully, it has turned out well. But it’s still evolving. And changing daily.  The stew is still worth making.

I spoke to a very good friend who is a fantastic cartoonist on Saturday. He’s also one of the wisest people I know.  His career path has been equally as bumpy as mine; he has been fired a couple of times and has made some spectacular leaps of faith.  He now has his dream job at a dream newspaper. But these are tough times for the newspaper industry.  Vast cuts are blowing across the media landscape, and changing it daily.  So my friend realizes his dream job is as uncertain as my career has been.

We discussed the future, our next steps and what we should do to chart a new path. Like the explorers Columbus, Desoto and Magellan, we are traveling into uncertain waters. But like those globetrotters, we have to start with courage.  Courage to take risks. Courage to try new things. Courage to cut lose things that we love — but don’t work.  My friend will land on his feet. His talent will continue to carry him far. And as long as I continue to try new things and realize that experiments never fail, I’ll land on mine, too. There is always room for good content. I will continue to draw cartoons in some capacity.

Breaking new ground is stressful. Exploring always is. But  I wouldn’t trade my crazy career for any other life or career in the world. Even though I don’t always know how I’ll get there, I know where I’m going. And while the journey can be uncertain at times, that journey is the ultimate reward.

Winged chariots that soar across the tops of the fluffy clouds. True time machines that shave zeroes off of travel hours, turning them into minutes. “Airplanes are the true miracle of our time,” Gray Drucker thought as he removed his shoes. The middle-aged man did a mental checklist in his mind while he stood in security.  While most chose to grumble and complain about the inconvenience of flying, he could easily rattle off at least 25 reasons why he was glad he here today. Mainly, he was just thankful he wasn’t driving. He fumbled for his boarding pass.

Gray took his belt off and tucked it in his bag. Then he pulled his laptop out of the case along with his toiletries. Thanks to two nut jobs — one with a bomb in his pants and and  the other in his shoes — passengers now had to practically strip down bare-ass naked to get on the plane. But it was just what it was.  Complaining about it wouldn’t make the line move faster. He looked at the man feeding people trays to put their stuff in.  Gray never grumbled about the TSA. They had to work in a cloud of foot odor all day.

BEEEP.  The person in front of him had set off some alarm. The large man in the blue uniform drug him over to the side and wanded him.  Gray took a deep breath and repeated, “I will catch my flight, I will catch my flight.”

He stood there, with his arms up as some random person in some room saw him naked. Just once he wanted to bust into the Heisman pose. But airport jail didn’t appeal to him.

Gray Drucker had once prayed for patience. God gave him the opportunity to learn it by becoming a frequent flyer.

Airports really were miraculous little cities.  They had police, infrastructure, workers, leaders, shopping and lots and lots of people.  Gary watched their faces as he emerged from security.  There was the older man in the Hawaiian shirt and the black socks. An obvious athlete in sweat pants. A young girl with a baby strapped to her front zipped past him with rolling carry on luggage. A soldier passed, looking no more than 13. All traveling to different parts of the world. Each seeking a new adventure. And leaving all from this one spot. It was the one time that their lives would intersect. Yet they were oblivious to it.  Random chance was arriving and departing every day at the airport.

Gray had been at the airport’s grand opening in 1980. He had been a kid and he remembered the politician calling it the “8th wonder of the world.” Now that he wasn’t a kid anymore, he’s have to agree with the now-deceased mayor who who the airport was half named for.

He looked up at the giant bank of TV’s showing the arrivals and departures. DL541 was delayed. He was almost relieved, knowing that he wouldn’t have to rush to his gate in Concourse C.  Gray got on train and went to Concourse B.  He grabbed a burger at the top of the escalator and sat at the tables overlooking the sea of parked Delta jets.

The setting sun peaked over the looming thunderheads. Severe storms were marching in from Alabama.  Gray hoped he could get on his plane and into the air before the airport got shut down.  He took another bite of his burger and released his worry. That was out of his control. All he was responsible for was showing up to the gate on time. The day he had realized that was the day that traveling stopped being something that caused anxiety.

Gray just smiled and finished his dinner. He began his usual habit of searching for faces in the crowd. He always ran into someone he knew in the Atlanta airport. He had seen an old girlfriend, a friend from college, his sister (who was coming back from China.)  Today, he didn’t see anyone he knew. But there were familiar-looking two men in older clothes.  They sat at a table next to the window and were looking around in awe. Gray picked up his tray and moved a little closer to them. They were pale and just stared out the giant planes as they did their ballet on the tarmac.

Gray got a refill on his drink and sat back down at a table near the two men.  Like the announcement said, “If you see anything suspicious…” Something seemed different about these passengers. The younger of the two men began to talk.

“Look at the giant steel birds leap off the ground.”

“I know. They soar into the sky with a minimum of ease.  And so quickly. I don’t even see a propeller!” said the older one.

“Our flyer would have never done this. These flyers don’t even need rails. And they hold so many people. It’s a miracle.”

Gray pulled out his phone and Googled “Orville and Wilbur Wright.” He then looked at his phone and then back at the two men.

But when he looked back at the table, they were gone.

Gray rubbed his eyes, and picked up his bag. He must have been tired — it had been a long day already. He didn’t just see… He picked up his bag and headed to his gate.

The frequent flyer had another flight to catch. No, a miracle to catch. All thanks to the two bicycle mechanics from Ohio.