Take Serious Things Seriously

EVERYONE IS A RELATION

2011-02-07T10:43:00.000-07:00

This morning at 5:30 a.m. it was 26 degrees outside.

Two weeks ago, that would have been horrible.

This morning, it was almost a relief.

Everything is relative, isn't it?

MISSION STATEMENT

2011-02-04T16:33:00.000-07:00

1. This blog IS for my entertainment and developing of writing skills, phrasing, illustrations, and increasing the likelihood of spelling a word such as exemplary without having to revert to a thesaurus to get a word close enough to exemplary that I can actually find exemplary in a dictionary.

2. This blog IS NOT for constant and anxious checking of the stats to see if anyone else might actually have glanced at my blog, noting down the time and location, and fantasying about old high school nemeses grinding their teeth at my brilliant posts.

3. This blog IS for reflection, contemplation, arranging of thoughts, beliefs and concepts.

4. This blog IS NOT to be viewed as a potential source of income by allowing crass advertising companies to take over.

5. This blog IS for future development to an increased audience, and if somehow on the way we share the spotlight with some potential grass-roots movements with admirable goals and the ability to support us in a manner to which we would like to become accustomed, so be it.

6. This blog IS NOT for the posterity to learn more about doodling old Grandma Wilt's illiterate and confused scribblings (in fact, I would be pleased and honored if the first thing done following my death is the total and complete destruction of all my computer files - especially Hope/Documents/Self/Mutterings/CCM.)

7. This blog IS to be used for entertainment purposes only. The information and images on this site are not to be used as advice in any medical action, legal proceedings, or government overthrows, and are not representational of any and all actions to be undertaken by a legally sane individual.

Okay, I feel better now. Do you?

GREAT BALLS OF FIRE

2011-01-31T07:45:00.000-07:00

Freud alone can be held responsible for the death of about 1,822 trees by publishing such a prodigious number of psychiatric papers/books specifically about men's sexual organs.

Freud's views have been called "phallocentric" for it seems men already had the phobia of losing their 'manhood' as a recurring nightmare back in the late 1880's

No, wait a moment - nightmare is too gentle a word - for the sheer TERROR of somehow being separated from their male... anatomy (sometimes known affectionately as "George," "Chuck," or "Tootsie").

Freud insisted that these 'fears' came from deeply repressed memories of childhood sexual abuse and men's fear of castration.

He even declared there was a female fear of castration, "penis envy", by the following convoluted logic (care of Wikipedia, the source of all quick albeit not always accurate information online):

- A girl develops a sexual impulses towards her mother, but realizes that she is not physically equipped since she does not have a penis.
- She desires a penis, and the power that it represents and wishes to obtain her father’s penis.
- The girl blames her mother for her apparent castration
- Sexual desire for her father leads to the desire to replace and eliminate her mother.
- The girl identifies with her mother so that she might learn to mimic her, and thus replace her.
- The girl employs the defence mechanism of displacement to shift the object of her sexual desires from her father to men in general.

And I'm certain that since all men have such a, er, intimate relationship with their penises, they naturally assume that women must be incredibly envious of not having one.

Really, guys?

All of this was brought forcibly to mind as I helped my vet in the gelding of Samuel, a young but obviously potent stallion who fathered the little colt, Roo.

Now, is gelding too strong a word, guys? Castration gets the point across, but also makes every man I knew wince and pale more than slightly.

It's a fairly simple procedure, so just take a look at this fun video from eHow (another great source) with Mike Rowe, the guy from Dirty Jobs - I'm the lady at the head of the horse (hmm, perhaps a poor choice of words there):

You just open the scrotum with the scalpel so that you can clearly see the testicles, then remove them with the emasculator.

Okay, how many of you men will admit to have just gotten up off the floor after fainting?

LAUGHTER AT ITS BEST

2011-01-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

The most wonderful part of being a grandparent is that it almost always is a part-time job.

You get to hold, hug, hover, and hurrah - but at some point, you also get to go home.

Alone.

Since my own grandchildren are 896 miles away (give or take a mile or so), I occasionally play Grannie to a little one at church.

And yes, I do try to pick a baby off of the most exhausted or frustrated young mother at services.

Sunday, I indulged my insane inclination to baby-nap, and took over one of my favorite babies - Obadiah (cool name, eh?) - in Sunday School.

And could not keep myself from making him giggle - again, and again, and again.

Which made everyone in the class smile - again, and again, and again.

It was great.

We need to do more giggling at church.

And since I work with 14 and 15 year old girls at church, I get to do a lot of it already.

ON THE TRACK ONCE AGAIN

2011-01-11T11:06:00.000-07:00

One of the most difficult moments in an argument is when you realize you are totally and completely wrong.

And I have no right to complain about something where I am the only one responsible.

I let our greyhound out around 9:50 p.m. tonight, following the logic that it was late, it was FREEZING (literally - it was 32 degrees outside), and she would simply do her business and rush back in.

HA!

I finally found her by driving my truck far far down the road - at least she had turned around and was headed back.

Reminder - never ever EVER let the greyhound without a leash on her.

Or at least not until Arizona warms up.

HEY, JO... I MEAN, RACHAEL... I MEAN, SALLY....

2011-01-09T21:16:00.000-07:00

Probably everyone has called someone by the wrong name.

It can get sticky - you call your husband by an old boyfriend's name - use your dog's name instead of your mother-in-law's - it can be awkward to say the least.

My mother, for my entire life, called me by my older sister's name.

And as a mother, I have generally gone through all three of my kids' names until I hit the upon the right one.

But now I am in a much deeper quandary.

Right now I have Josephine, Roo, Triple-A, Rachael, Renegade, Samuel, Najale, Sally, Sofi, Delilah, and Pandora.

I confuse Triple-A and Josephine, because they are mother and daughter, and have almost identical markings.

Samuel, Sofi, Sally - I'm sorry, all the S's just run together.

Roo is pretty easy to remember.

So for the moment, when I go out to the pasture, I simply go through every one's names, and hope that they can at least hear their name in there somewhere.

YES IT WAS A MONDAY WHY DO YOU ASK?

2011-01-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

I can't keep this to myself - this email was to prove that I was still alive and breathing at the end of the day to my family members:

------------------------

Yesterday (Monday) wasn’t a bad day - there are a lot of really good things that I happened.

However, the number of HORRIBLE things that have appeared out of NOWHERE balance the scale quite nicely.

Please allow me to tell the story.

GOOD THING: Had a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning at 8:00 a.m. - so I was certain I would be in and out quickly for once - YES.

BAD THING: For reasons completely unknown, about 2/3rds of the way to this appointment, I suddenly had to pull the truck over to vomit quite unexpectedly and copiously into an empty paper sack which (thank goodness) on the floor and I had time to grab. Have not a clue why.

GOOD THING: Got home and had time to take the dogs outside and talk to the horses a little when I first got back.

BAD THING: Delilah, our greyhound, occasionally wanders off by herself. But greyhounds are programmed to go IN ONE DIRECTION, and have a great deal of trouble reversing, backing up, turning around.

I gave her ten minutes, and began walking, yelling out her name. Another five minutes. Took the truck, leaning out the window and calling her as I drove every road within a mile of our home. Then two miles.

Now, Delilah was wearing a bright red cover-sort-of-thing to help her when it’s cold - so she should have been easy to spot as well as warm. But this morning, it was around 49 degrees. Not all that cold, unless you are a greyhound that has less than 2% body fat.

So now I am seriously worried about her.

I begin stopping at houses, describing her outfit, asking them to call me, and just beginning to panic that I have lost my husband’s dog.

GOOD THING: One advantage to living in the middle of nowhere - you get to know your neighbors quickly out of necessity. So there was a car I didn’t recognize pulling out of a house that has been empty for a while.

I rolled down my window and started to launch my “If you see a greyhound…” They answered back immediately, “And is she wearing a red jacket-thing?” “YES!” “And is her name Delilah?” By then, I was out of the truck and gathering her up in my arms. Whew. They were driving to our address which is on her tags.

GOOD THING: With the help of my great neighbor, Cherie, safely transported five horses to her house and mine - one of them a sweet little baby colt named Roo.

BAD THING: My mare, Sally, was almost immediately set upon by the new alpha mare, Triple A (stands for “Always An Angel”) and put in her proper place. Sally wasn’t hurt physical… just her pride.

GOOD THING: I sat for probably an hour and watched the three girls work out their social status, without Najale to bother them.

BAD THING: But Najale, my gelding, was racing back and forth in the corral, watching all of this social adjustment, and getting himself literally into lather. To share his excitement, he kept running over to me to exclaim “WHAT THE @%#^#&* IS GOING ON WITH THESE GIRLS!!?”, and in one of this dashes, slammed his hard head right into mine.

For those of you who don’t know me, this is the same side of my head which was fractured back in 1976, to the point where I was brain-dead for eleven days. The side of my head which I am never, ever, supposed to get hit again. I sat and saw stars for a few minutes, but was fine about that.

GOOD THING: My friends Kate and Cherie got to know each other much better.

BAD THING: But in the midst of this warm camaraderie, Kate suddenly yelled to me, “CAN YOU DRIVE ME HOW RIGHT THIS INSTANT!??” She had gotten a phone call from her neighbor that her (Kate’s) husband has cut off his thumb.

She and I jumped into the truck and took off, but I assumed that it probably was just a bad cut. However, the paramedics were en route, Kate was terrified, and so I stepped on it.

GOOD THING: My truck can - and did - reach 95 mph on the paved road. I did not race into any speed traps. My truck can also corner at high speeds much better than that I thought possible.

BAD THING: When we got to Kate’s home, they had already called for a helicopter to medivac him to Tucson because, yes, Dave had completely and painfully cut off his entire thumb, bone and all, below the knuckle.

GOOD THING: A helicopter can land on the corner of Hereford and Palomino Road safely. By then Dave had an IV going, had received enough pain killer to be real spacey and out of it, so was loaded quickly to be flown to the hospital.

BAD THING: They were unable to re-attach his thumb; it was too ragged a cut.

GOOD THING: I got safely home.

BAD THING: But first look in the mirror confirmed that I had gotten a BAD sunburn on my face (the rest of me was covered by three layered shirts and two sweatshirts - really). Next to an amputated thumb, it shouldn’t have been much, but I looked like an over-ripe cherry.

GOOD THING: Harmony years and years ago had enlightened me to the magic of Banana Boat Aloe After Sun Lotion, which can turn anything but a third degree burn into a nice tan.

GOOD THING: And the horses were getting along better.

BAD THING: However, by the time I finally released Najale to join the girls, he was hoarse (no pun intended), sore, and was having difficulty simply walking.

HORRIBLE THING: And Cherie had asked one of her kids to ‘put the dogs back’ while we were unloading horses. But inside of the outside kennel, the child put the two large, aggressive dogs inside the house - and they killed Cherie’s cat. A sweet orange kitty that she had videoed playing with the Christmas tree and put it on Facebook.

GOOD THING: Last thing at night, I went out to give the horses some treats and be certain they hadn’t killed each other or broken out en mass.

BAD THING: Najale, for the second time only, bit my finger by accident - he thought that Josephine was trying to get the treat first, and snapped at her… but got my finger instead.

I do still have my finger... but it looks like it got bit... by a horse.

GRAVITY WORKS, PART TWO

2011-01-01T22:50:00.001-07:00

My daughter introduced me to many decorating concepts. Such as using colors which are not complete opposites on the color wheel. Curtains. Throwing away Tupperware containers from 80's.

And cool glass jars from Target.

They do look great on the counter - and make it much easier to remember how much chocolate I have on hand (a critical matter in my life).

But I have also noticed that the level of whatever is in the jar gradually lowers as time goes by.

Both the dogs and the cat have been put through lie-detector tests, and have proven their innocence - although the missing amounts could probably be explained away by cockroaches, if I would allow myself to consider having cockroaches in my house (I will, however, freely acknowledge the huge gopher snake, as well as droves of field mice who have eluded the cat).

So I must blame it on gravity.

Which allows for a complete leap of faith to explain one other matter:

This must be why weight continues to gather right around my midsection - it's gravity, that's all.

So, how many of you are with me on this? And if not, why?

THE YEAR OF LIVING COURAGEOUSLY

2010-12-31T23:35:00.000-07:00

In one hour and two minutes, it will be 2011 (Mountain Daylight Savings Time).

And I just don't like that.

Not the new year - the number 2011. I don't like odd numbers (except 13 - I love 13) - and the number eleven is even extra odd.

In the Arabian calendar, it's 1433. So that's not good either.

It's the end of the Year of the Tiger - that sounds cool. But it's the beginning of the Year of the Rabbit - nah.

So I think we each name this year. Whatever

is meaningful to us.

So this is going to be the Year of Living Courageously.

For me.

"YOU ARE WRONG"

2010-12-31T21:56:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t take much to send some people over the edge.

For me, it’s when people ask what kind of cookie you want - as if there is anything besides chocolate-chip cookies.

Someone I know has an almost psychotic response if you hold your hand up to him in a “stop” motion - I still don’t know entirely why.

(No, forget the ‘almost’ - it is completely psychotic)

But there is something that no one ever likes to hear - “You are wrong”

It has taken me decades to accept the pure and simple fact that no one ever changes their mind by simply being told, “You’re wrong.”

There is a very natural human reaction when you are hit to hit back - probably one of the reasons Christ mentioned turning the other cheek, because it takes a very conscious effort to not retaliate.

I have a poster of a cartoon character completely losing it -- just to remind me how people will punch back emotionally (and sometimes physically) if they feel threatened -- even if you don’t mean it as anything like a menace.

And there must be someone in the world who can hear, “You’re wrong” and calmly and politely answer, “Why, if you say so, I must be wrong.”

But I haven’t met them.

Yet.

LET'S GET CYNICAL

2010-12-27T19:58:00.000-07:00

The media campaign continues to trump the message that youth is beauty - beauty is youth.

Immense amounts of money are spent on lotions, creams, dyes, tighteners, exercises, even surgery to eliminate those horrible horrible things such as grey hair, wrinkles, drooping parts of anatomy.

One of the funniest, at least from my point of view, are the 'wonder'bras and breast 'enhacement' surgeries - yeah, you're 115 lbs., but somehow you also have boobs that would make Dolly Parton jealous?

And young women in particular, do you honestly want to appeal to the most infantile part of a guy who was bottle-fed as a baby?!?

And the most discouraging thing? WE WOMEN GO ALONG WITH THIS.

We put on the creams, we inflate the wrinkles and the bras, we dye our hair, we wear tight clothing, high heels and bright red lipstick.

And we look critically at other women's make-up, fake eyelashes, breast enhancement, and tight clothing, while they look down their noses at ours.

I'm sorry - I've never been pretty, and I know that have been beyond tom-boyish from sheer rebellion. I had a mother who wanted a pretty, feminine little girl - but she got me. So I refused to wear dresses - nylons - make-up for years and years and years - so part of this scorn

So women - why in the world aren't we out there supporting, helping and building each other up instead of being competitive and tearing each other down?

Come on girls - let's stop worrying about pleasing the men, the fashion critics, and helping a lot of people make money off of us - let's work together, and let's spend our paychecks on real things - like clean water and food for people all over the world.

Okay.

TELEGRAMS

2010-12-26T22:23:00.000-07:00

I'm teaching a lesson about communication today, so it got me thinking.

Used to be that telegrams meant only one thing:
A death.

That was the method of notification - at the time, it was fast, efficient and reliable.

I honestly don't know how death notifications are done now - phone call? An officer of the law showing up at your doorstep? Do they just send you an email, and hope that you are on the Internet?

I know with the military, it's always done personally, and I LOVE the logic of the 'how' (care of the all-knowing, all-powerful wikipedia):

For military notifications, there are usually three persons involved: the notifying officer, a medic (in case the family member faints), and an officer that stays in the car in case the family members react violently.

So why does the officer stay in the car; so he doesn't get hurt? So he can drive quickly away and abandon the other two? So he can simply witness the murder of the notifying officer and the medic?

Geesch.

Sorry - perhaps a bit of a morbid attitude, but it makes me giggle (note: take a look at the name of this blog).

TIS THE SEASON TO BE CRAZY

2010-12-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

It's Christmas Eve Eve, right?

And everybody is in a rush - they are going someplace to visit family or in-laws, they've bought into the American media fantasy of having the perfect meal, with the perfect presents while wearing the perfect clothing and trimming the perfect tree.

They need to get to the mall - to the grocery store - to the pharmacy - someplace.

And it is absolutely CRITICAL that they get there FASTER than you do.

So if that entails that you go through a red light, when it's only just turned red - it's actually sort of a light orange, really - well, yeah, that's okay, because you have to get there right now.

And it absolutely means that YOU get that parking space before I do. It doesn't matter if it's an elderly lady trying to pull in there - you may be a young man with an elevated red pick-up with NASCAR stickers all down the sides, but damn it, he has to get into that mall before you do.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Yes, 'tis the season for sharing, giving, and caring -- as long as it doesn't have to be on the roadway.

DO SOMETHING TODAY THAT WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY TOMORROW

2010-12-21T22:35:00.000-07:00

I would like to have a time machine.

But not to go back in time - I have watched enough sci-fi through the years to believe that I will go back to my childhood, accidentally step on a cockroach in 1961, and come back to 2011 to find that we have a black president but Republicans the majority and people still arguing about whether gays should be in the military... oh, wait, that already is today, isn't it?!

I'm be only interested in going ahead to the future.

Think of it - I would know when Wall Street finally and completely collapses - I could see when Wal-Mart takes over Apple - there may even be a day when leather moccasins come back into fashion (yeah, like that's ever going to happen).

And yes, I will bring back the small pill that guarantees we will all be size 6, never have grey hair, maintain erections for four to five days, and stay at age 24 years of age until the day we die.

THE BEST OF INTENTIONS

2010-12-20T23:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, how do these compare to an hour working out in the gym?

- Taking a twenty-nine year old to a doctor's appointment where she breaks into noisy hysterics about the possibility of perhaps the doctor actually do a physical examination.

- Fighting approximately 1,322 people, 46 infants, and three adults in motorized scooters at Target who were all frantically searching five days before Christmas for the perfect present for both their mother-in-law, the neighbor who picks up your newspaper when you're on vacation, and their children's teachers.

- Walking a frantic greyhound twice today, each time with her straining and trying to keep up with an equally frenetic chocolate Labrador who is chasing imaginary rabbits everywhere.

- Unloading approximately 675 lbs. of alfalfa hay and stacking it into piles between old hay and 50 lbs. sacks of senior equine feed already in the shed.

- Moving each and every single piece of clothing I hang up out of my closet, separating and re-hanging on three rods instead of two.

Yeah, I agree - maybe two hours at the very least.

CASTING THE FIRST STONE

2010-12-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

We all do it. We see someone, and almost immediately our brain attaches a label to that face - "fat", "old", "ugly", "stupid".

And even when we get to know the actual person who owns that face, and may discover that some of those stamped classifications we so quickly put on are completely invalid...

They stick. Like labels do.

Yesterday, I was having a great deal of trouble watching a group of well-dressed teenagers scornfully glance over their shoulders at my disabled, seriously overweight daughter attempting to complete an on-line job application.

Then I realized what I was doing.

Just the same thing these girls were doing - putting a label on them just as they were putting one on my daughter.

SNAKE IN A CAN

2010-12-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

The fire department is great about a whole lot of things.

They put out fires - they get people to the hospital - they rescue kitties out of trees..

And in some areas, they even make nice calendars.

They also take care of rattlesnakes that refuse to leave the neighborhood, even when asked politely.

So I knew who to call when the female Western Diamondback who had moved in right under the faucet for the horses tank flatly refused my offer of relocation to the other side of the propane tank.

So two very polite young firefighters (sidebar: why do all professionals keep getting younger and younger every year I get older?) came out, picked up and dropped Ms. Rattlesnake into a can, and look her far, far away to a happy place where snakes live with rainbows and little bunnies to eat ... at least, that's what they told me.

(These are actually photos from my cool little iPhone - isn't she pretty?

And even better, now living somewhere else?)

ISN'T DISNEYLAND A PEOPLE TRAP OPERATED BY A MOUSE?

2010-12-14T21:38:00.000-07:00

I can no longer make fun of my dog, Sofi.

Sofi reminds me of Goofy. Her tail can cause serious damage to concrete. Her cold, wet nose is guaranteed to make contact with whatever part of warm skin you would most like to keep dry.

She has a rather disjointed run - a little bit like her fronts legs are at a trot, but her back legs are at a gallop. And she needs constant reassurance that she is loved - to the point where she will chase the greyhound and the cat away when they are trying to get my attention.

But late this afternoon, she alerted me to a rattlesnake, which was just where I would have stepped on it if she had not freaked out at it.

Suddenly she does not seem that silly of a dog.

COWBOY BOOTS

2010-11-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

My first pair of cowboy boots didn't come along until a couple of years after I got Sherman.

When you're 14 years old and paying for buying, feeding, & stabling (a fenced-in patch of Los Angeles dirt, in this case) 800 lbs. of equine flesh by washing cars and making signs ... then things like riding clothes are put on the back burner.

(Also seeing "Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid" repeatedly - yeah, like eating pizza every night for two months can be considered 'repeatedly').

I rode in old jeans, a tank top and sneakers. I rode bareback for quite a while because I couldn't afford a saddle (and I thought it was much cooler, anyway). A group of us would buy a 60 lb. of carrots together and split it because it was cheaper.

But when I did get cowboy boots, they were worn every single day... for years. When I switched to English riding, those type of boots eventually showed up. But I never got ride of my cowboy boots.

Until about eleven years ago.

By that time, my cowboy boots were literally unwearable, for a couple of reasons - MAJOR holes around where your little toe join the rest of your foot (don't ask me why they wore out there more - I have no idea) - holes in the soles of both boots - and my feet had grown one entire size during the six years I lived in Honolulu (one of the extremely few disadvantages to wearing slippers - flip-flops to you haoles out there).

And I do not know why I didn't get another pair - I mean, heck, I live in Arizona, where we have Cowboy Poet Gatherings (I kid you not, look up the link), and wearing cowboy boots and turquoise neckties is as common as, well, as the gangs of people we natives refer to dismissively as "snowbirds" come from places like Wisconsin and walk around in December in shorts and sandals.

I decided to spoil myself - walked in our (one and only) mall's western-clothing store, and bought a pair of cowboy boots.

And now I am wondering why I waited so long, and what other sheer delights I have left behind?!

Besides Paul Newman, I mean.

CHANGE OF SEX

2010-11-12T21:06:00.000-07:00

I've already done this to one animal.

My cat was picked up outside of Wal-Mart (literally - one of a group of kittens in a cardboard box being given away) as an adorable, fluffy, long-haired puff-ball.

So I took a dainty Pandora into the vets as a little feminine feline to be neutered, and took home a musky male cat (yeah, didn't really look closely at the little boy/girl parts when I first got her - I mean, him).

And now I have a newly adopted chunky, sorta pushy big Labrador stomping around.

But she's a girl.

I've just gotten used to having a boy and a girl couple.

I mean, like Najale and Sally - "Good boy! Good girl!" Delilah and Murry - "Good girl! Good boy!" Josiah and Joy - "Bad boy! Bad girl!"

And somehow "Good girl! Good girl!" just doesn't come across right.

So simply for the appropriate use of the pronoun, I am hereby announcing that Sofi from now is a HE.

And Sofi isn't objecting.

At least not yet.

TAKING MY NAME IN VAIN

2010-11-10T23:25:00.000-07:00

There are disadvantages to certain names.

Scientific studies have shown that people respond very differently to certain names or certain types of names. You may have heard about experiments where different names were put on the same homework assignment and given to multiple teachers to grade. Names that were perceived as "old fashioned," like Bertha or Marmaduke, were given lower grades on the average. The problem is, "old fashioned" is a relative term. When those studies were first done, Emily and Ethan would have been considered old-fashioned names, now they're as current as can be.

I haven't met anyone named Monica for quite a few years now - did everyone change their names after Lewinsky became a front-page headline?

My dad's name is Bruce - and he was a musician - and back then every possible gay joke seemed to have the name Bruce, pronounced with a lisp and effeminate hand gesture.

How long has it been since you've met an Adolf - an Elvis - a Madonna - a Bertha - an Elmer? Do you know a Hortense outside of a Dr. Seuss book?

I like my name, but I am convinced now that I should copyright it and make some dinero from all the ways it is being USED nowadays.

And yes, they are all worthy causes - wonderful sentiments - fantastic groups.

But I am getting TIRED of hearing it all the time!!!!

EGG-SUCKING

2010-11-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

An "egg-sucking dog" is one of those hillbilly expressions that I accepted as 'something yucky' without knowing what it refers to.

Now I know.

Sofi is a snoring overweight chocolate Labrador from the local animal shelter. Living three miles from an extremely volatile international border (at least according to every political candidate running on the "secure-the-border" theme down here), I feel slightly more comfortable with an indoor animal of, er, substance around - the greyhound is faster than the wind, but she also is an anorexic slip of a dog that slips away if a mouse challenges her.

But any animal needs some time to adjust to a household. Pandora, aka Master-Of-The-Known-Universe, is not your everyday feline, and it took more than a few seconds for Sofi to recognize and bow to his superiority.

Somehow, the bathroom is off-limits to Sofi, which I am enjoying a great deal - Murray would never request a need for privacy - "I can lick my balls in front of you, why can't you pee when I'm trying to push my snout between your legs?"

However, Sofi is incredibly well house-trained - to the point of where she will let herself become VERY uncomfortable before she asks to be let outside.

But - back to the egg-sucking.

Yesterday my group of teenagers at church had decided to take plates of cookies and treats to several households. And in anticipation of 14 and 15 year-old girls forgetting to bring the assigned goodies, I baked some brownies and cookies Wednesday morning.

And then left my house to go work out (yeah, I get to the gym maybe, what, once a week now?), so I left some cooking supplies out - like the cookie sheets, and the eggs.

PLEASE NOTE - the eggs were INSIDE the stupid foam container they are sold in, on the counter, when I left/

And I came home to - yes, you guessed it - EGGS broken, chomped on, scattered over (of course) NOT the kitchen linoleum (where it could be easily mopped up) BUT the carpet - which, thankfully, has already been stained far beyond any reasonable amount by numerous cats, dogs, one very temporary snake, and klutzy humans such as myself.

But the scariest news of all (and I am quoting directly from http://ezinearticles.com/?The-Passion-of-an-Egg-Sucking-Dog&id=4375334) is "it's too hard to drown an egg sucking dog, just haul 'em over to Somerville County and turn them out. It's probably where they come from anyhow."

Have I forced upon my poor fat dog an addiction that will never leave? Is there a support group such as ESCAPE (Egg Sucking Canines And Potential Enablers)?

BUT WHAT IS THE QUESTION AGAIN?

2010-10-15T16:15:00.000-07:00

Do you ever feel as if everything is suddenly much clearer? The answer is right in front of you? Unexpectedly the top of mountain you have been climbing all your life is now somehow under your feet?

Now, I know that parts of my mind are gradually slowing down as I age... okay, okay, I admit it, I leave HUGE STACKS of gray matter trailing behind me anywhere I go nowadays.

But I am trying to remain optimistic about Alzheimer's taking over.

And look at it as refreshing to have almost every joke be one I haven't heard (i.e. because I can't REMEMBER hearing it), about being in agony ever time I read Pride and Prejudice about whether Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are finally going to get together (wait, I was doing that before my brain injury, wasn't I?), and watching every episode of Firefly, Castle, and the movie Serenity over and over, again and again (do we see a pattern here as in NATHAN FILLAN?).

So I am never quite certain if I am having a epiphany or it is sometime I am simply remembering from before. But Sunday afternoon,, it hit me again - hard.

To quote John Lennon and about a hundred other people, love is the answer.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, is looking for love, acceptance and peace. The terrorists, the Republicans, the homeless people begging on the street, your neighbors who have the little yappy dog who barks CONTINUALLY all day and all night, the greeter at WalMart who looks so wore out, the candidate with the pasted-on fake smile and automatic handshake.

And I keep learning again and again that it isn't difficult to give everyone just that - love the people you come in contact with. It doesn't mean you take them home with you, it doesn't mean you think they are great, it means you LOVE them, just as Christ and Heavenly Father love all of us silly wayward mortals here on Earth.

Now I will probably also need to learn that tomorrow as well, because I will have forgotten today - one reason I need to keep this silly blog going.

TEN THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

2010-10-09T21:21:00.000-07:00

So were you counting? Did you notice there is only nine? (Well, my grandkids count as two)

Yeah, but... well, who cares?

FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD

2010-10-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

I knew I was at the right house last evening simply by the sheer amount of Mormon Mom-mobiles double and triple parked.

Baby showers are almost a guarantee for first-time moms, but since we as Latter-Day Saints tend statistically to have more than the average 2.4 children, it often ends up being the only one shower.

From then on, the rest of the kids grow up with recycle, reuse, and pick up at thrift stores for their outfits and toys.

However, this lovely woman was having her first boy, which made a wonderful excuse for a party.

The kitchen was overflowing with refreshments, people and gifts, as well as a decibel level right around 80 (90 is considered dangerous). So I took my lemon-water, walked right past the table of frosted, dipped and over-all incredibly caloric-ridden hors d' oeuvres (and did you know that the term hors d' oeuvres originally was an architectural term? See what you find out on the Internet when you have no idea how to spell a word?), and went out into the main room.

I was sitting quietly on a couch, just listening to all the babble around me (not that it was meaningless chatter - I'm partially deaf, so almost everything around me is reduced to sheer nonsense if I am not lip-reading and can connect your words with what I am hearing), when I noticed a very nice young mother, sitting all by herself.

It's almost an odd form of the herd instinct - people in the same social, economic and physical attractiveness level seem to group together no matter where you are.

And the less wealthy, less elite, and yes, less pretty, are sometimes left by themselves in the corner.

I am oh-so-familiar with that sense of not-quite-belonging, so of course I immediately went over, started chatting (it has been said that I can begin a conversation with anyone at anytime - and yes, it is entirely true).

So we had a very nice visit, learned some things about each other that we didn't know, and didn't feel quite so disregarded.

And I am fully aware that every single one of those well-to-do, beautiful people have experienced that same feeling of isolation in different settings, with those wealthier and even prettier than themselves.

But how quickly we all forget.

DISAPPOINTMENT WEIGHS HEAVY ON THE PRIDE

2010-10-07T00:09:00.000-07:00

"Assume" makes an ass out of u and me.

When the animal shelter people mentioned that Sofi would need to be seen by a vet, I somehow assumed they had a vet-on-call or a vet on the site.

Turns out there is veterinary clinic in town that will examine her... on Monday.

At least Soft has a new collar and a "I AM ADOPTED" tag on it - I can still visit and walk her every day - and I guess we simply have a few more days to bond.

But wait - Monday is that exciting-and-highly-anticipated-holiday of (drum role here, please) of COLUMBUS DAY.

Which is the celebration of the date that ... er, Christopher Columbus was born? Accidentally landed on an American short, still thinking that he had made it to India? Or the day he uttered the immortal words, "Hey, do you guys think we should stop and ask directions?"

So I guess I still need to find out if the vet is even OPEN on Monday - or deal with the disappointment for one more day.

Hand me another tissue, please.

CANIS FAMILIARIS

2010-10-05T23:17:00.000-07:00

I went today to our local animal shelter to begin to think about possibly of maybe finding another dog.

My husband has accepted a job in Iraq for the next year, assisting the new government to develop a new form of criminal justice other than hey-we-think-this-guy-did-something-so-now-shoot-or-hang-'em.

So although we have a lovely greyhound named Delilah, she is perhaps not a, eh, threatening and/or defensive symbol.

Murray, although one of the sweetest dogs in the universe, would bark fiercely and at least sound like a dangerous animal.

So at the animal shelter this morning, I will admit that I did walk right past the kitty cats, toy poodles and large lizards.

I also passed the multiple pit-dog and Rottweiler mixes.

And when I got to Sofi, she was the first dog who was not barking frantically, the first who did not jump up on the fence, and she licked my hand.

I will post photos tomorrow of her when we get home.

NO, IT WAS NOT UTAH

2010-10-03T21:24:00.001-07:00

Twice a year, church for us Mormons is televised from Salt Lake City. Extremely dedicated members will still dress up, go to the chapel to sit on uncomfortable metal folding chairs in the midst of the wildly echoing cultural hall and watch the broadcast.

But since these are usually the same people who frown at Diet Coke, chocolate, and shorts that end above your kneecap, I watch from the comfort of my home and my pajamas, with the cat on one side and my new iPhone on the other.

Most people in the U.S. are vaguely acquainted with someone who is LDS - this woman they worked with - a cousin who joined the Church - and isn't that cashier at Safeway one of them?

Certain associations always seem to pop up - BYU, polygamy, and aren't y'all Republicans?

But one of these links has been used several times in the last month, and has gotten under my skin enough that I am writing about it.

"The Mormons settled in Utah," "Mormons colonized Utah," and "Mormons fled to Utah in the 1846."

NO, THEY DIDN'T. They settled in MEXICO.

Members of the church had an extermination order placed on their heads (which interestingly enough, was not rescinded until 1976) in Missouri (and was based on a whole LOT of misinformation on BOTH sides) - so they weren't simply moving out of town...

THEY WERE LEAVING THE COUNTRY.

EMPTY SPACE

2010-10-02T23:44:00.000-07:00

I live in a both a very full and an extremely empty environment.

My bedroom is stuffed with filing cabinets, wooden boxes, every possible office supplies that could conceivably be used in a home office, enough writing materials for approximately 23,963 full-time professional writers as well as every DVD commercially available for The Office, anything with Nathan Fillon, and all film adaptations of Jane Eyre since Orson Welle's in 1944.

My closet has stacks of school supplies (on sale at Target after school begins for about 10 cents a piece), fourteen yellow and/or green comforters for an area which can brag of the average temperature of 72 degrees year-round, four large plastic containers of shoes randomly purchased because I liked the color/pattern at the time as well as three only partially finished quilts.

I have books that range from LDS Institute Manuals on the New Testament to science fiction as well as Judge Judy's "Beauty Fades But Stupid Is Forever." I owe every color Sharpie every made. I have probably 128 Bic Blue Retractable Pens, and about 995 calling cards with my former phone number on.

But I now have an empty space that I'm not certain how to deal with.

Per my request, my son moved my dog Murray's old Queen-sized mattress into the spare bedroom.

Cenophobia is fear of empty space - or the necessity of filling up 'white' space.

I suddenly am overcome with that irrational alarm of insecurity; a place that has always been filled with at least the memory of unconditional love, warm fur and doggy breath, is empty.

2010-09-29T22:41:00.000-07:00

ONE OF LIFE'S LESSON

2010-09-29T22:11:00.000-07:00

Not a word that follows is anything I wrote - it is completely from a column written by Robert Kirby, appearing the Salt Lake City Tribune on September 20th.

But it bears repeating... especially when I'm in a dry spell.

-----------------------

Church is all well and good, but the place where you learn the most about why you're here and where you're going is out in the world. Church has to consider your feelings. The world doesn't.

It's out in the mean old world - and usually when you least expect it - where you painfully learn what God really wants you to understand about yourself. Basically, that you're an idiot.

You're not supposed to stay that way, of course. Not entirely. The idea is to experience life in such a way that you learn stuff and end up a better person for having been through it.

But let's be honest. You can't fix what's wrong with you if you're oblivious to the problem, or, worse, have come to regard it as a personal virtue.

Life handed me one of those lessons on the way home.

Blasting along a Nevada two-lane, I had the stereo cranked so that the windows in my van bulged like Saran Wrap. …

Suddenly, a pickup wandered onto the highway several hundred yards ahead. I put on the brakes.

It wasn't even close to an accident, but I had to kill the cruise and slow down while the driver took his time meandering up to the speed limit.

I could have forgiven this inconvenience but that would have made the lesson I was about to receive moot. I was still really smart, you see.

Still, the guy had pulled out in front of me when he could have waited to let me go by instead. Worse, he now insisted on traveling only slightly over the speed limit, which is no way to appreciate the scenery of northern Nevada.

We had gone about a mile when his left turn signal came on. Then it went off. Then it was on again. Off again for half a minute, then back on. It stayed on.

The guy drove like that for a mile with no indication that he planned on turning. We blinkered along passing crossroads, driveways and lanes without even slowing down.

If I could have passed him, I would have. But traffic and topography prevented it.

Stuck behind him for miles, I had time to ponder just how stupid a person would have to be to tool along with his turn indicator going. Clearly, it was the sort of person with no regard for anyone else on the road, perhaps even an escaped mental patient.

More likely it was the sort of person with no brain at all. Maybe in Nevada, all you needed for a driver's license was just a cerebral cortex, something rudimentary that allowed you to breathe and turn an ignition key.

I worked myself into a rage. Hey, all it takes is a glance at your dashboard to...

That's when I noticed the blinking light on my dash, specifically my left turn indicator. Exactly how long it had been going was anyone's guess. An hour? Hell, maybe days.

Carefully, hoping no one would notice, I reached down and shut it off. A moment later, the turn signal on the pickup ahead of me stopped as well. The driver waved in his rearview mirror.

There might be a life lesson here, but I'm not sure. Apparently, I'm only smart enough to have a driver's license.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby.@sltrib.com

A POEM BEGINS WITH A LUMP IN THE THROAT

2010-09-26T21:40:00.000-07:00

The title is from Robert Frost.

Me? I'm trying to figure out why I have not been able to write.

Normally writing is not a simply a compulsion - it's a necessity for me.

It may because my damaged brain needs to see words physically banged out, misspelled, and in increasingly random disarray.

Because I think the methodology of checked, moving, putting in correct order, helps my thinking process to somehow straighten out.

Or maybe not.

I think right now with hugely conflicting emotions dueling on my inner stage, the brawl must be completed, the winner recognized, before I can write about it.

At least I hope - I miss this blog.

"Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is." ~James Branch Cabell

STILL ON A ROLL...

2010-09-19T23:37:00.001-07:00

The last couple of blogs I've written about memory loss...

... wait a minute, was it about memory loss or something else?

Hmm. I don't remember.

But our church's world-wide conference is coming up the first weekend of October. Which means the great majority of Latter-Day Saints in the United States stay at home and watch our church leaders on television in our pajamas while eating left-over popcorn and drinking diet soda.

Or maybe that is just me.

Anyway, this happens twice a year - April and October - and we got two days of live broadcasts (at least here in U.S.) of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and talks from our prophet (President Monson) and a wide variety our leaders, who range from heart surgeons, lawyers, nuclear engineers, pilots, and very regular teachers.

I find it amazing that no one is assigned a topic, but somehow there always seems to this incredible choreography of subjects that tie gracefully and magically into each other.

Okay, maybe I just find it reassuring.

But one complaint I have heard over and over again is "but why do they always talk about the same old things?! I mean, like prayer, scripture study, family home evening and attending the temple! We've heard it again and again!"

And this is where the old lady with no short-term memory can tell you exactly why -

Because we still don't get it.

Let's listen this time, people, and keep trying, okay?

P.S. And this has to be one of the funniest things I have ever seen about our work for the dead - click on the link, but I think you really have to be LDS to laugh at it.

MEMORY LOSS AND SOMETHING ELSE, I THINK....

2010-09-18T23:16:00.000-07:00

"Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline.

If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5, and 6.
If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want - we will trace your call.
If you are schizophrenic, listen and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All operators are too busy to talk to you."

"When my doctor knew I had memory loss, she made me pay in advance."

"Doctor: I’ve got your test results and some bad news. You have cancer and Alzheimer’s. Man: Boy, am I lucky! I was afraid I had cancer!"

--------------------

I've been aware for a long time that my memory isn't very good. I mean, I'm over 50, I have a brain injury, and I have a family history of Alzheimer's.

But tonight it was brought forcefully home by one thing and one thing only.

YouTube.

See, I have been without any Adobe Flash Player ever since I was stupid enough to purchase a 64-bit computer because the cute salesman said it would handle multiple tasks at a much faster rate.

Yeah. Maybe.

But a 64-bit computer won't run Adobe Flash Player.

So until this afternoon, when I discovered a trial piece from Adobe which temporarily runs the player on my computer.

And I rediscovered YouTube.

And accidentally discovered old bits of the program "What's My Line?"

When I realized I was watching the episode with Jack Benny for the FOURTH TIME it became apparent that my short-term memory loss was significant.

But there is one very good advantage.

The jokes are just as funny even when you don't remember watching it before.

Now, what was this blog going to be about tonight?

DANGERS OF DRYING

2010-09-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

"A man grows most tired while standing still.”

So I'm exhausted.

I strained my back day before yesterday, reaching from the back of my galloping horse to rescue a starving kitten from the grasp of pursuing wolves...

Okay, okay, no, it was actually taking socks out of the dryer.

But this dryer was obviously possessed by an evil spirit.

When I bent over to remove the clean dry laundry, the machine reached out, viciously grabbed my lower back & twisted me into a pretzel - until, with my mind powers, I grabbed my light saber and sliced off the electrical power cord as well as cleaning its lint filter in one swift move. Then, with Heidi Klum on the attack as well as her blow-dryer on my side, we burst out only to have to deal with three days of being unable to stand up straight.

(Okay, dudes, it's way to late to try to write anything actually amazing - my apologies!)

DISCRIMINATION BY ANY OTHER NAME

2010-09-17T14:26:00.000-07:00

Posted on Facebook more than once, from "a young physician by the name of Dr. Roger Starner Jones. His short letter to the White House accurately puts the blame on a 'Culture Crisis' instead of a 'Health Care Crisis'.."

Dear Mr. President:

During my shift in the Emergency Room last night, I had the pleasure of evaluating a patient whose smile revealed an expensive shiny gold tooth, whose body was adorned with a wide assortment of elaborate and costly tattoos, who wore a very expensive brand of tennis shoes and who chatted on a new cellular telephone equipped with a popular R&B ringtone.

While glancing over her patient chart, I happened to notice that her payer status was listed as "Medicaid"! During my examination of her, the patient informed me that she smokes more than one pack of cigarettes every day, eats only at fast-food take-outs, and somehow still has money to buy pretzels and beer.

And you and our Congress expect me to pay for this woman's health care? I contend that our nation's "health care crisis" is not the result of a shortage of quality hospitals, doctors or nurses.

Rather, it is the result of a "crisis of culture" a culture in which it is perfectly acceptable to spend money on luxuries and vices while refusing to take care of one's self or, heaven forbid, purchase health insurance.

It is a culture based in the irresponsible credo that "I can do whatever I want to because someone else will always take care of me". Once you fix this "culture crisis" that rewards irresponsibility and dependency, you'll be amazed at how quickly our nation's health care difficulties will disappear.

Respectfully,

ROGER STARNER JONES, MD

By this same logic, we should refuse medical treatment for anyone who smokes - and then obviously for their children who have been raised in a smoky environment and have or possibly will take up the filthy habit.

Truly obese people would be denied medical treatment - I mean, we all know that can be avoided - it's like they’ve been buying food when they could be getting health insurance, right?

So how about overweight? Forty pounds? Twenty? Ten? Same reasons, right? And underweight anorexic teenage girls? They should be turned away from even the school nurse office.

This slippery slope is exactly why we desperately DO need health care for everyone equally.

Who would you want to determine if YOU are one of these "culture crisis" individuals and therefore can be turned away from the emergency room?

What if you have pierced ears - you wear contacts - you have stopped at McDonald's this week to get your kids Happy Meals?

Discrimination is discrimination regardless of the terms used - we are not the judges of who is worthy of what. We do not know who people were raised, who installed different values in them, what trials they have been through - God is the only appropriate judge of that.

"Equal under law" is something our Founding Fathers believed in - and so do I. Other people may not spend their money the way I want them to - they may dress differently - they may even be unbelievably STUPID. But they have the right in the U.S.A. to do that - and I have the right to be just as stupid in my own way. That, my friends, is freedom - people being able to do things you may very well not approve of.

BAD THINGS TO MAKE GOOD THINGS HAPPEN

2010-09-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

You know the expressions like "it's always darkest right before the dawn" (well, like DUH, it's still NIGHT, you idiot) - and "Get back on the horse" (that one I do happen to agree with).

So why not go ahead and inject a radiographic tracer in a person who already has finicky heart and lung conditions?

Normally radiation is not what you want. Radiation does occur in nature (did you know there is more 'natural' radiation in Colorado than any other state?), but can be lethal when it is over 1,000 REM (which stands for the röntgen equivalent in man/mammal, the product of the absorbed dose and a weighting factor, W_R, for the effectiveness of the radiation to cause biological damage)...

Okay, is anyone out there besides me scared by now?

Wait, it gets worse.

Following this isotope injection, the technician hands me a paper which (and I quote) says:

"Due to heightened security measures instituted by the federal government after September 11, 2001, the small amount of radioactive material that remains in my body may trigger monitoring devices used to detect persons carryng radioactive material . I agree to carry my copy of this form with me FOR UP TO THIRTY DAYS after the SPECT in order to be able to advise authorities of my exposure to material used for this test."

In other words, I am a security danger and a glow-in-the-dark figurine for the next month.

Wanna see?

MY WEATHER REPORT IS BETTER THAN YOUR WEATHER REPORT

2010-09-15T21:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight...Mostly clear. Lows 61 to 67.

Thursday...Sunny. Highs 95 to 101.
Thursday Night...Mostly clear. Lows 61 to 67.

Friday...Sunny. Highs 95 to 101.
Friday Night...Mostly clear. Lows 62 to 67.

Saturday...Sunny. Highs 96 to 102.
Saturday Night...Mostly clear. Lows 62 to 68.

Sunday...Sunny. Highs 94 to 100.

Through Wednesday...Mostly clear. Lows 58 to 66. Highs 90 to 100.

Sometimes I simply love living in Arizona.

FLU VS INFLUENZA

2010-09-12T21:56:00.000-07:00

Words develop lives of their own, light-years beyond what their original meaning was.

Gay used to mean 'happy' - cool was a temperature - a solid was something... well, something solid.

'Liberal' was getting to be too accepted, I guess - so the term 'progressive' is wielded by both sides proudly.

And having influenza is much more dangerous than having the flu.

Because the word 'Influenza' is associated with plagues - large number of deaths - snow - bare floors - poor quality black and white photography.

But having the flu... that's laying in bed, drinking a lot of fluids, and sleeping a lot.

And having to feel sorry for yourself...

because no one else wants to be around you to catch it.

OLD YEAR RESOLUTIONS PART II

2010-09-11T23:29:00.000-07:00

Let's go over this again: get out of my 'comfort-zone' - things I have never done before - mildly challenging - not a suicide attempt.

So these seem to be appropriate; most of them are local things I just haven't taken the time to visit - sort of like when you live in Maryland, you never go take the White House tour.

1. Drive up Carr Canyon

2. Visit Coronado Cave and take the tour inside

3. Visit the Ramsey Canyon sanctuary

4. Drive to Nogales (carefully)

5. Take the longer tour of Kartcher Caverns

6. Drive all the way up Ash Canyon

7. Visit the San Pedro River House

8. Eat at the Mesquite Tree

9. Eat at the Outside Inn

10. Find out what the hell the Serenity Club is

Okay, let's see if I can tackle these before the end of September - the weather is great right now.

OLD YEAR RESOLUTIONS

2010-09-10T23:49:00.000-07:00

This was inspired by another blog, by a woman who has a list of new things to try, the number determined by her age.

I know I need to get out of my 'comfort-zone' more often, so let's see if this helps at all... or if it will simply become one more thing to feel guilty about.

So, let's see - things I have never done before, actually could do (dating Harrison Ford is probably out of the question, then), and would be mildly challenging ('challenging' translated as 'something that an almost senior-citizen-discount-eligible woman can do and still hold on to what of her dignity is left.') and would not be perceived as a suicide attempt (although some day I am going to jump on Najale's back and take off for New Mexico).

I was planning on completing the list at work today, because normally the 2nd and 4th Fridays of the month consist of me sitting and reading for 95% of my scheduled (and paid) hours - it ain't my fault if the clients don't show up.

Today?

Almost everyone scheduled showed up.

So I will post my list sometime this weekend... hopefully.

A PRISTINE MOMENT IN TIME

2010-09-09T21:29:00.001-07:00

There was a perfect moment released for me yesterday.

I was doing the extremely pedestrian task of taking the trash out when I recognized it.

Blue blue sky with soft white clouds floating lazily. Lofty, luxurious green green grass, dotted with daisies of purple, yellow and white. Mesquite thorns masked by tickling branches and filled with singing birds. The Huachuca Mountains on one side, the Mules and San Pedros on the other, verdant from the recent monsoon rains.

A dog patiently following me - the mare following my every move, and the silliest of geldings whinnying in anticipation of an early dinner of hay,

And just to add to it? An empty house to return to.

Am I the only person in the world who actually relishes solitude? I know fully well that part of it is simply my way of dealing with my reality, but I do honestly enjoy time by myself.

Well, as long as I have the Internet, of course.

KICKING YOU IN THE TEETH

2010-09-07T20:58:00.000-07:00

My daughter just told me she's gonna have to pull her little boy's tooth out tonight - it is literally hanging by a bit of skin.

Why are teeth always a problem?

I mean, most of us are born gum-less, and really, we could survive like that. At least with a blender in the house.

But teeth grow in, normally PAINFULLY and slowly.

We have to learn to brush and floss them.

Then just when we are dealing with pubescent bodies and hormones, our parents pay thousands of dollars to have metal slapped on our teeth and tightened every month for a couple of years, keeping us in pain constantly by the constriction and the continual griping by our parents of the cost.

So finally, teeth straight, into adulthood, keep brushing and flossing.

But now instead of cavities, things like gingivitis, receding gums and teeth recrossing begin.

And so instead of coming in, the same teeth you grew, corrected, brushed and whitened - well, then begin to come out.

So Colin - you and I are in the same boat... for at least the moment.

MY HIPPOCAMPUS OR LACK THEREOF

2010-09-06T23:59:00.001-07:00

My short-term memory is capable of holding approximately 2.7 seconds of recall - beyond that, nothing.

So I have developed some ridiculous strategies to overcome this in my day-to-day life.

When I take a shower, I ALWAYS shampoo my hair the very first thing - sometimes before I remember to turn the water on.

My numerous medications must be set on in a particular order and placement, and then put BACK into ANOTHER particular order and placement AFTER I have taken them to guarantee that they all are consumed and/or not over consumed.

When I schedule an appointment - medical, church, or completely imaginary with high-ranking nobility - I put in down in a small calendar I try to keep with me, as well as on my cell phone calendar, the wall calendar in the kitchen as well as inform my second daughter who, although learning disabled and restricted in many ways, has the memory of an elephant, and will remind me of the date, time, place as well as question whether she can also get a pizza delivered to her that evening for her efforts.

And I have a practice when I feed the horses - go out, begin the water running into their tank, throw hay over in the corral for the gelding, feed him a handful of the mare's food (which is the only way I can get him into the corral by himself), then shut him up in there by a gate and a strongly tied rope (which soon may need to be replaced by a combination lock - he is getting quite good at undoing the rope with his teeth).

Then I take the mare's food in a bucket into the shed, where she can eat and not give it all up to the greedy gelding. I walk back, turn off the water, and go back in the house for two hours, and then release the gelding to finish what the mare leaves him, and the mare goes in and eats what hay he has left.

It works very well - most of the time.

This evening, I was driven into the shed with the mare by a rainstorm, which rapidly developed into a hailstorm, and kept her and I confined for about half an hour.

So then at eleven o'clock tonight, completely naked and just beginning to run my bath water, I realized I had left the horses' water running outside.

Only because the water pressure was so low.

One advantage of living off a well.

But I think having to redress, walk outside in total and complete darkness, slog through the mud, weeds and random holes grope along the side of the house until I could locate by touch the facet and turn off the water, and then fumble back into the house, completely and totally drenched.

Please please please tell me that this is not normal behaviour for most women in their mid-50's.

And if is not, I may see if I can begin my own reality show.

WHEN YOU CANNOT WRITE ANYTHING BECAUSE A DOG IS ASLEEP IN YOUR LAP BUT YOU CAN DOWNLOAD PICTURES

2010-09-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

SO IT'S NOT JUST THE CARAVAN MAN

2010-09-05T19:33:00.000-07:00

I love doing things that I love doing again.

Does that make sense?

It may be a security thing - you know, like when you feel out of control with your life, you hang on desperately to the few things you feel like you can control.

But if I really love a movie, I usually love it the 18th time I see it.

When I love a book, I might as well purchase the hard-cover, because I will wear it out (you do NOT want to know how many copies of Pride and Prejudice I have worn out).

So right now I am watching "While You Were Sleeping" for the billionth time.

And there are a couple of classic lines.

"When I told my mother I was getting married to my wife, her intestines exploded. You tell them the truth now, well, you may as shoot grandma."

"He would get these far-off looks in his eyes and he would say 'Life doesn't always turn out the way you plan'. I just wish I'd realized at the time, he was talking about MY life."

"I'd say that she gets under your skin as soon as you meet her. She drives you so nuts you don't know whether to hug her or, or just really arm wrestle her. She would go all the way to Europe just to get a stamp in her passport. I don't know if that amounts to insanity, or just being really, really... likable."

"No, that's not it."

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to... "

"I object."

'I didn't get to that part yet."

"I would have to object too."

"What about you?"

"I'm thinking."

"$45 for a Christmas tree and they don't deliver? You order $10 worth of chow mien from Mr. Wong they bring it to your door."

"Is she all right?"

"She has a little heart problem - she's had three attacks already."

"They weren't attacks, they were episodes!"

"Nothing wrong with her hearing."

"It's just... I never met anyone I could laugh with."

MENTAL ILLNESS OR LOVE?

2010-09-03T23:24:00.000-07:00

I'm not certain, but I may be falling in love.

A Chihuahua must be the most irritating animal in the entire universe. Wait. Perhaps something bigger than the universe.

They are little, and yappy, and spastic and ANNOYING ankle-nippers.

And the ONLY reason I offered to dog-sit this weekend was that I simply felt SORRY for someone who was already going to be dealing with four kids under the age of six for a four-day weekend with a three-plus hour drive each way.

So Thursday afternoon I stopped by her house, loaded a crate with a little three lb. version of a brown RAT as well as a tiny bucket of miniature dog food, two chew toys and a partially disintegrated disgusting blanket that actually is what this dog literally BURROWS INTO to go to sleep.

Now it is Friday evening, and this same irritating tiny canine is curled up in my lap, snoring in the tinyest voice you can imagine as I attempt to type without waking him up.

Okay, yeah, I do think it is love.

THERE IS A WHIRLPOOL FORMING RIGHT HERE

2010-09-02T23:47:00.000-07:00

I have a operational dishwasher once again. Hallelujah.

I have lived before without a CLOTHES washer (worse reality was with a newborn). I have lived without running water (only hours at a time, thank goodness). I am tough enough to have our air conditioning off during July (hurrah for Arizona winds!) - I have hung laundry on a line.

So I have regarded a dishwasher as an unnecessary luxury - a machine just to heat water to a higher temperature and sterilize your plates.

But right now? In August? In Arizona?

No - it is an essential piece of remaining alive.

Because when you are still dealing with 90 degree inside the house during the day, I can think of a thousand things I would rather than do than have my hands soaking in hot dishwasher - can't you?

And I'm also more than a little ticked because the greyhound broke it.

Stretches the imagination just a bit, doesn't it?

But the dishwasher was open, she came racing through the kitchen, and fell on the door, CRASH SMASH BROKEN.

So she just cost me $300.

Do you think maybe I should put her back on the track for just ONE more race and see if I can make it back?

GUESS

2010-08-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

"Dreyfus once wrote from Devil's Island that he would see the most glorious birds. Many years later in Brittany he realized they had only been seagulls. For me they will always be glorious birds."

"I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one."

“Now, what's that supposed to be coming out of there?”

“Lightning. Fire. The power of God or something.”

I'm beginning to understand Hitler's interest in this.”

“They ain't paying us enough for this, man.”

“Not enough to have to wake up to your face.”

“What? Is that a joke?”

“Oh, I wish it were.”

"On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons and basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! ... This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God."

------------

Oh, the things I will do to avoid what I should actually be working on.

LOVE IS NEVER HAVING TO SAY YOU ARE SORRY

2010-08-28T22:01:00.001-07:00

(I mentioned this on my Facebook page, but I need to expand it a little - hence today's entry.)

We fall in love with movie stars... because we don't have to deal with their habit of eating pickles in bed.

George Cloonley is gorgeous on film... but in real life he's shorter than I am, and used to have a pet pig (I really really really do not like pigs other than served in a BLT).

Hugh Laurie, the actor that plays "House", actually is a lot like Dr. House - (but at least he really IS 6'2").

And I will continue to drool over John Krasinski even when I am embarrassed to admit he is one month younger than my daughter.

But it may be a particular movie - just one scene - that will always get you wobbly inside. There may a song - from college, a date, that one night.

But for years and years and years, that same wash of emotions crashes over you when ever you hear or see it.

Okay, so here is my confession - the logo for Caravan Pictures (a now-defunct section of Disney), in the opening credits of "While You Were Sleeping" (which I have watched 3,422 times, so it has been ingrained into what little itty bitty part I still have left of my brain), the Walking Man.

I'm in love with this guy, what can I say? I guess it's the style of his walk - the confidence - it is just SEXY.

And the other one is even weirder (yeah, Hope, what could be odder than you longing after a movie logo?), but both of you will understand (when you look up "odd and strange" in the encyclopedia, my photograph is right there staring back at you).

Harmony introduced me to the ethereal wonder (or alternate reality) of Sandra Boynton's music, and one in particular - "The Intermission Song!" by the Aardvarks, which is on the Philadelphia Chickens album (I swear that all this is true, I am not making all of this up).

There is an spoken... interlude, might be the nicest way to explain it when the Aardvarks are conferring about what aardvarks do say... well, there is a guy in the background of these voices who says, "I don't know either" at exactly1:19 of the recording....

Well, sorry, someday I am going to meet this voice, and rainbows will shine and angels will sing praises. I have no idea what it IS about this voice, but man, is it THERE.

The mental institution up in Benson opens at 9 a.m. tomorrow, okay? I'll be ready, I promise.

DEAR DAD:

2010-08-27T21:42:00.000-07:00

A book I am reading suggested that we write a letter to those who have made significant and positive impact on our lives.

Immediately I thought of you

You were always my cheerleader - I was the brightest, prettiest and nicest girl in the world - at least to hear you talk about me. I can't think of anything you did not support me in. You encouraged me to follow my own path and always to do what I felt was right. But you didn't rescue me when I did fall flat on my face (more than once or twice) - you would let me feel the consequences and learn from the experience.

I realize as an adult and a parent now how much shielding from Mom you did for both Brad and me. I'm sorry that Brad and I both let you know what she did do, but I know you did the very best you could possibly do.

There is a lot about your life that I still don't know - you never wanted to talk much about being in the Pacific during WWII.

I never really understood why you wouldn't marry Joann, but I'm glad you were together for as long as you were - she made you happier than I'd ever seen you.

And it was really only after the obit was published in Kalamazoo that I realized how many of your students were influenced and moved by you - I got a lot of letters and emails.

I am so incredibly sorry that the last two years were so miserable, but I'm so glad you were already living down here and Wilt and I could both help.

I would have given almost anything to give you back your music and your writing, and that was the most comforting thing when you did pass - I am certain you are writing and composing beyond the veil right now.

I miss you - but thanks so much for being such a great dad.

And I will see you again - and then I'll get the chance to say, "told you so!"

Love,
Hopie

OXYGEN DEPRAVATION

2010-08-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

My first baby was not a snuggler.

She was affectionate, and a friendly, lovely infant - but would actively struggle if you attempted to hold her close.

She wanted her own space.

My second child was okay about being cuddled and snuggled - but she was pretty much okay about much of anything - the first year of her life, she was passed around between every single member of our English-speaking branch of our church in Dusseldorf.

I'm not too much about getting all cosy and up close - well, except for my grandchildren and my horse Najale - but it's impossible for me to sleep with someone touching me.

Well, I haven't tried going to sleep with Liam Neeson touching me... yet.

But back to the story.

I have a cat who is now going through an extreme case of feline dementia and forgotten he is a cat (i.e. standoffish and aloof) or has some highly contagious disease that he is determined to have me catch.

Because now every night, he demands at least fifteen minutes of close, almost intimate contact.

With his face smashed into my left armpit.

I'm trying to figure out if he's getting high by this oxygen deprivation or attempting a ritualistic form of elegant suicide.

But right now I am still leaning towards some contaminate that will destroy the entire world except for him and a life-time supply of cat food.

CHANGE

2010-08-22T23:25:00.000-07:00

It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.

- Marilyn Ferguson

Sometimes change is welcome -- discovering you have lost 10 lbs. - that the blue shirt you've been drooling over for the past six weeks is now in the sale rack and 50% off - someone else did the dishes.

But it can also be scary -- when you move to a different part of the country/world, far away from friends and family - parts of your body stop working like they are supposed to - you begin to agree with some Republican candidates.

Now, tonight there was a major modification in the life of my husband's pet, the greyhound Delilah.

Now pay attention, this was a RADICAL deviation in her existence.

She got a new bed.

My husband may not sleep at all tonight, because the dog is not immediately taking to a different dog bed.

Have I mentioned in the past how my husband does NOT respond well to change in any way, manner or form?

DREAMING

2010-08-21T20:00:00.001-07:00

I don't go see movies in the theatre very often.

There are DVDs - Netflixs is addictive - and if I wait long enough (and sometimes not even very long), it comes out on television.

But there are some movies that really need to be seen on the big screen.

Since Ben-Hur came out in 1959 when I was three years old, if I actually did see it at the theatre, I don't remember it.

But that is most definitely a big screen movie.

2001: A Space Odyssey - especially with that incredible music - needs to be experienced in a big, big room (which is one of the reasons Annette and I sat through it twice the very first time we saw it - go, Rialto theatre, South Pasadena!).

The very first Rocky movie - the first three Star Wars - Lord of the Rings - Dances with Wolves - yup - all big screen ones.

And at my daughter's insistence, I went yesterday to see "Inception" at the mall.

And trust me, it's worth seeing there.

Now my only problem is the implanted paranoia which is now accompanying me every time I go to sleep - which level am I actually on?

COLORS BEYOND SIGHT

2010-08-20T22:22:00.000-07:00

A man who works with my husband describes our little section of Arizona as being "beautiful landscapes drenched in 385 different shades of brown."

The first time we lived in Arizona, back in 1981, my husband, an Oregon native, thought this all was simply ugly desert.

Then he served six months in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait during the first Gulf War, and learned what real desert looks like.

Now he is able to appreciate the beauty of the high chaparral surrounding us.

This monsoon season has been very generous, and the surrounding valley looks lush and green as Kentucky.

(And this is obviously when real estate agencies take all the the photos they display on the Internet to get people from Nebraska and Wisconsin to move down here)

But I am beginning to seriously question my sanity.

We have incredible sunsets here normally, but over the past couple of weeks, I am seeing seen colors that I don't actually think exist.

At first I just thought I was being extra sensitive to the beauty, or perhaps a heightened appreciation with all the unusual greenery.

Or perhaps because of being diagnosed with glaucoma is making me simply more conscious of my sight.

But I am now seeing greens/emeralds/ chartreuse/malachite (do you have any idea what malachite? I didn't until right now - cool word) that are brighter than regular greens - shades of purple/lilac/violet/mauve/lavender/ amethyst that I would give almost ANYTHING to have a shirt the exact same color as.

I'm either taking drugs that I am not aware of, or I am having flashbacks from drugs that I did not take when I was a teenager.

Hey, if you can come up with a better idea, I'm ready to hear it.

SKINNY JEANS

2010-08-15T21:24:00.000-07:00

We as women are all familiar with "fat days."

Times when our regular jeans are suddenly uncomfortably tight - the t-shirt is just a little bit more snug - even our toes need to be jammed into our shoes.

Especially as women with menstrual cycles, this becomes a disquieting and monthly occurrence for the majority of our lives.

Today I unexpectedly had a "skinny" day.

Now, my uterus left me about six years ago, so I can't blame it either way.

I hadn't changed anything I ate or drank today.

I certainly haven't been losing weight, although my goal of being my college-weight has remained firmly attached to my bathroom cabinet for years... as well as the feeling of frustration and failure as I continue to lug around the extra 45 lbs. right around my middle.

But today as I got ready for church, I actually felt like my clothes were loose.

As I walked across the parking lot to enter our chapel, I felt light on my feet.

When I settled down in my regular pew, there wasn't the regular feeling of sheer extra mass oozing around me.

And as I put on my regular everyday go-feed-the-horses-and-prepare-to-be-covered-with-hay-hair-and-humidity jeans, they felt unrestricted and almost slack.

Okay, people, how can I put this into a bottle and market it?

WEIRD STUFF

2010-08-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

There are some things that are just odd - strange - peculiar .

-- Men and women trying to live together - that is simply impossible, but we keep trying to do it.

-- High heels. I mean, I understand making your legs looking longer, but WHY has that become a cultural icon? It's STUPID.

-- And while on the subject, nylons - cover your legs with something that is DESIGNED to only last a couple of wearings.

But when I read about a using a neti-pot to treat sinus infections... I could not get one image out of my mind (and this is only for you die-hard "The Office" fans) - Dwight explaining, as he tips Jim's Secret Santa gift to Pam, a teal tea-pot, up into his nostril, about using it to treat his sinus infections.

YUCK.

However, I did not allow this distasteful scene to stop me - researched (translates into "puts words in Google) more, and actually purchased one.

And it is amazing. Although also utterly gross.

My nose still is bothering me - but you would not believe the crap that got flushed out.

Really. You wouldn't believe it.

(And now I got that image in your head, don't I?)

CHARLIE AND MURRAY

2010-08-12T00:17:00.001-07:00

Annette Shurtliff and I became friends in a seventh grade art class, over the creation of a mural of animals wandering across the African veldt.

And we remained friends through junior high, high school, horses, going to different colleges, becoming members of the same church, living together, living apart, same college, marriage (different guys - sorry to break the pattern here), different states/continents, babies around the same time (she had one extra), husbands in radically different careers (teaching special-education kids vs. thinking like a terrorist... wait a minute, maybe they're more alike than I thought).

We became grayer, and heavier, a little slower.

But we both were madly in love with our dogs.

And unfortunate, both Annette and I very recently had to make the incredibly difficult decision to have our dogs put down rather than suffer.

Annette's daughter Mary Anne made a Facebook page for Charlie - I've written about Murray in here.

We'll see you guys in the next life for sure - if we reach that high.

HOW THE NIGHT MOVES

2010-08-09T21:32:00.000-07:00

I love my horses so much that sometimes I do rather foolish things just to spoil them.

Last night, I got home after sunset - in face, quite a while after sunset - so it was dark - real, real dark.

For those of you who have never lived outside of a populated area, it is rather surprising at first when you get away from city lights, streetlamps, traffic and even houses indoor lights.

We even have 'light pollution' laws in our county, restricting streetlights, flood lights (well, except for the border - they can use pretty bright lights there) and even the type of lights that we can use - they must be shaded for limited exposure.

So again - it's dark.

But as I got out of the truck, both horses were emanating their deepest, darkest mind control thoughts straight at me -- "YOU ARE A VERY VERY BAD OWNER WHO HAS FORCED FORCED FORCED HER POOR STARVING UNDERFED HORSES STARE AT THE GREEN GREEN GREEN GRASS OUTSIDE THEIR FENCE ALL DAY LONG AND COMES HOME TOO LATE TO TAKE HER HORSES OUT TO GRAZE AND YOU ARE GONNA PAY PAY PAY."

Yes, I am a weak person, and am extremely susceptible to equine mind control.

So I took both animals, each weighing over 1,000 lbs. apiece, with four feet each (that's eight total for you mathmatically-challenged out there) which are EACH approxmiately five feet across and can easily crush each and every metatarsus bone in your tiny little weak human feet - I took these beasts out IN THE COMPLETE AND TOTAL DARKNESS to graze.

Only one thing saved me... well, sort of.

It turns out that my younger horse (who is responsible for the majority of the mind controlling beams) is a little bit "scawed of the dawk" (that's Elmer Fudd talk there - did you know there is a translation site that has redneck, Swedish chef, Cockney translations?).

So I got slammed by Najale's head (enough that my upper thigh looks just like this today) as he alternated between ripping and gulping grass into his mouth but then spooking at the sound he was creating by of every single blade being crushed between his huge teeth.

So the lesson learned from all of this is 1) wearing a tin-foil helmet does deters my horses' mind-alternating thought rays, and 2) although I am not frightened by coyotes, illegal immigrants and scary things that go bump in the night close to the Mexican border, I now realize that I need to be scared of my horse eating in the dark."I woke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose..."

And I'm including this last thing just because it made me laugh.

IS THERE AN UPSIDE TO ANGER?

2010-08-07T21:33:00.001-07:00

Forget all that I blogged yesterday about heat and suffering and how we stalwart Arizonans deal with it.

Because I got hailed on today.

I have been aware that thunderstorms were moving in and out of our valley. We've had fairly steady late afternoon rains the last couple of weeks - actually, we're already had over 15 inches this year as of this afternoon, and that's pretty good for this part of Arizona.

And this evening, as I went out to put the horses back together (see this blog if you don't understand the dynamics of our feeding ritual), I was fully prepared for some rain.

I mean, I actually had my hat on.

But I was in no way prepared for the large pieces of ice that begin to pelt me from the heavens above.

So I did what seemed obvious at the moment - I hid out with the horses in their shed for the next twenty minutes or so, with the ice pounding on the metal roof.

However, I did not count on two things:

1. The fact that hail makes enough noise that even my husband and son came from their respective rooms to witness the phenomena, and

2. They then noticed that I was not in the house.

Somehow this was a case for major panic - somehow the threat of, I don't know, kidnapping by exhausted Mexicans crossing our property was increased a hundred fold by it being in the middle of a hail storm.

So when my son finally found me (holding a knapsack over his head), safe and not too incredibly wet, he and I stood in the shed with the horses until the storm passed (he also learned that yes, horses can push you aside fairly easily in small places, don't try to fight back).

And then went back to the house, to be welcomed back with a warm hug for my safe return?

Not exactly.

My husband has one 'main' emotion - which is anger.

So instead of being scared... he gets angry.

When most people would feel nervous... he gets angry.

Anxious... anger.

Protective... anger.

Irritation... anger.

Problems sharing... anger.

Are we seeing a pattern here?

So guess who was furious when I came back inside?

THE SMELL OF COOKIES IN THE OVEN

2010-08-05T21:37:00.000-07:00

I've felt so incredibly sorry for the people in the Midwest and East Coast that have been suffering from this most recent heat wave.

Temperatures have been in the "triple-digits" - which, by the way, is one of my favorite television weather-person expressions.

My mind immediately goes to somewhere around the 300's, so it gets my attention... which is exactly what they want, right?

And to me it is totally insane that people actually get PAID to say things like "the probability of precipitation is the likelihood of measurable precipitation for this forecasted time, and occurring at any point for which the forecast is valid."

Wow.

Okay, where were we? Oh, yeah, the heat wave.

There are heat warnings in Arizona, of course, but we expect those. It was 102 degrees F here yesterday - but hey, we're in Arizona, so....

But THIS AFTERNOON, a nice little thunderstorm blew in, poured a few buckets of rain over us, and cooled off the area nicely.

Right now it is 72.3 degrees - I may get my sweatshirt out.

And I have to provide some cookies for a funeral on Saturday - I am jumping on the chance to have the oven on and still remain inside the house!