The pouring out.

Some follow up notes on Joni and the outpouring of love and fond memories her death inspired.

It has been just over a month since Joni passed, and I’ve received quite a few notes and “cards and letters,” as people used to say. Really, the outpouring of support has been terrific and heartwarming. I knew Joni was special, but hearing from so many of you helped to confirm and finalize that feeling for me in a way that has really been truly wonderful to experience.

There have been a few nights since she died where I find myself lying in bed at night at thinking about her. It’s suffocating. That’s the best metaphor I can come up with to describe what that kind of despair feels like. It’s final—and vaguely terrifying. The worst experience of the whole ordeal, as I wrote in her obituary, was knowing with a crisp and certain finality that I would never see Joni again.

This is Joni with my grandmother shortly before she (Joni) passed away. (My grandmother is still, thankfully, very much alive.) These two were truly best friends. They had a special connection.

But I’ve already gone over all of that. In this post, I want to highlight some of the reflections I received on Joni’s life, starting with this vignette from my lovely sister-in-law.

Joni was the best dog. My mom grew up with boxers, and she passed her partiality of the breed down to my siblings and me. My parents brought a boxer into the family before I was born, and I had the fortune of experiencing the breed’s unique qualities in childhood, and again in adulthood with Joni.

I don’t say that Joni was the best dog lightly or flippantly. She was watchful, patient beyond belief, and just the right amount of playful to be fun, but not a nuisance. Growing up I had rubbed my boxer’s knuckly head habitually and with abandon. The first time Joni flinched as I went instinctively to pat her head, I was admittedly stung. I was even more appalled at whatever she had experienced in her then young life that caused her to fear the motion. I learned her stomach, however, was never off limits, and loved the way she would assert herself against an unsuspecting foot and insist on a belly-rub.

Joni faced a good deal of abandonment. There is her origin story of course. In the time B.P. (Before Paul). Less severe, but only Joni knows how impactful, was abandonment by other women. Perhaps it’s because she was Paul’s true love all along. But regardless, for a long time I approached Joni as though wearing a pair of kid gloves, not wanting her to think I’d hurt her, physically or otherwise. Over time I could tell—by the wag of her nubby tail and how often she solicited me for those foot belly rubs—that I had earned her trust. When she finally stopped flinching as I instinctively went to pat her head, I felt like I had won the dog lottery. I don’t think she ever really loved it, but she seemed to know that I did.

Joni’s only flaw, a notorious boxer trait, was her flatulence. The only reason one might not want her around was to avoid the pungent perfume, especially during dinner. However, in later years, as other dogs joined the family, Joni was not alone in causing unwelcome odors. She eventually got beaten out so badly by poor Murphy that in the end, even in this regard, Joni came out smelling like a rose.

I can’t bring up memories of Joni without recounting my favorite, and what forever cemented Joni’s status as the best dog. Joni and I share the minority Cook trait of being a mom. Joni may not have gotten to spend a lot of time with her offspring, but she sure had patience with mine. As Joni became more and more a lady who lay, a canine who reclined, she allowed herself to remain unbothered by the ruckus and distraction my kids brought to the table—and the living room, and the yard. But Joni cared for her people, and they were her little people. One day, while Joni napped in the living room, my youngsters were around the corner and outside playing on the porch. Felix, the youngest, was two or so at the time, and exploring the same metal peddle car his dad had played with at that age. A visiting young neurotic German Sheppard, though supervised by her owner, was becoming increasingly concerned by the little figure pushing the rolling metal car and the general chaos that tends to follow three small children.

Remember, Joni was napping, and I don’t mean that figuratively. She was asleep in the slumber of the elderly—unbothered, deep, and with no awareness or concern of who or what are around to see.  At the first hint of a growl outside, I turned, ready to rush out to the porch and rescue my children from a clearly disgruntled and potentially dangerous dog. But Joni beat me to it. Asleep one moment as alert as a racehorse they next, she ran around the corner, pushed past the screen door, and gave that German Shepperd what for before I could even make it outside. Her message was clear. The children were completely off limits, and the young pup would respect her elders. Joni was a hero in my eyes and got some extra treats and hugs that day.

In fact, of all the dogs in my adult life, Joni was the only one big enough or who stayed still enough to hug goodbye. And I took advantage. I’m glad I did.

Here’s another remembrance of Joni from a former colleague:

I met Joni at a Halloween party. I was surrounded by humans that night but definitely felt the most comfortable hanging with her. She came over to my house and met the one who saved me after a divorce, my sweet Heinz. She was truly lovely, Paul. Seeing the adventures you two went on brought my heart joy, and brought me memories of my travel and adventures with Heinz. I’m so sorry, my heart aches for you. I’m glad to have met Joni. ❤️

Another from my old friend Sheila, who got to spend a lot of time around Joni when she (Joni) was still in her prime.

[Joni] was the sweetest girl ever and I loved her very much. Her sweetness inspired me to get my own sweet girl (Biscuit, a rescued boxer bull) and I will never forget her snuggles and how when Paul would take off her collar and say, "she can be funny when she's naked." hahahaah.

Life goes on. I wish Joni was here to hear about all the developments in my life that have happened just over the last month. I haven’t updated this Substack in a minute because I have been busy with writing and finalizing the draft of the book, which may be undergoing a title change based on the most recent feedback I received from one of the readers. The current title is The University in Postdigital Culture: Lies, Language, and Literacy. The reviewer didn’t feel that it really did the book’s subject matter justice and that it might get passed over by librarians and other academics who work in the information literacy space. I agree with this assessment, so I am thinking about a potential title change.

What do y’all think about this one: Beyond “Fake News”: Misinformation Studies and the Future of Higher Education? Or, similarly, Beyond “Fake News”: Misinformation Studies and Higher Education in a Postdigital Age?

Thoughts?

Let me back up a bit and fill you in. Long story short, I submitted the manuscript to the publisher on March 1. That was a big day. Just the other day—Friday as a matter of fact—I received the reviewers’ reports recommending the book for publication with minor revisions. I am elated. It feels like this long and somewhat tedious process, which is in all likelihood about to get even more tedious in the next few months—is rounding its final turn. I will get back to my editor one day next week and see if she can give me until July 1 to get all of the edits and revisions finalized (the breathing room would be nice). I am working with a wonderful copyeditor, Hana, whose stellar work I became acquainted with through a recent article manuscript I wrote for the WAC Journal (forthcoming soon!). Hana is incredibly thorough, but that is precisely what you want in someone who is doing this kind of work. Nothing, and I mean nothing, gets by Hana.

I will know more specifics in the coming weeks, but my hope is that the book will see the light of day sometime in November, just in time for the Christmas holidays. Everyone in my family who reads this newsletter should know what they’re getting for Christmas. 🤷‍♂️