I Wonder Wye

The Bird Dog OR Don't Awaken the Sleeping Giant

2012-02-05T12:56:00.001-08:00

A few years ago, we were visiting my in-laws out west. My mother-in-law fed the area cardinals, blue jays, and other songbirds by setting out birdseed in pie pans on their deck table. One morning our dog, a blue-heeler named Billie, was napping on the deck a few feet from the table when a mountain jay took offense of her presence and decided to run her off.

The large bird began scolding her loudly and dive-bombing Billie, who finally woke up. Billie continued to lay on the deck, doing her best to ignore the bird’s wild antics, until finally, while still in a semi-recumbant position, she jumped straight in the air about 5 feet and clamped her jaws around the unfortunate jay. The bird never knew what hit him as she knocked him down in one fell swoop. I noticed that after that, the other birds left Billie alone, and she never bothered with them, either.

May You Live Interesting Times...

2012-01-28T16:56:00.000-08:00

This year is proving to be more odd and eventful than usual and we are only 28 days into it. On the medical front, the fistula isn't forming and the surgeon proposed a 'procedure' where a catheter opens up the bifurcated vein with a 'balloon' and makes it more accessible and shuts down the errant vein. I worried all night about that one, and had Excy call the next day to make sure no dye would be used (Amy -- dye equals die). Apparently the form you always have to fill out in a Drs. office? The one in my case that takes up three full sheets and about 30 minutes? They never look at them. Despite my writing how highly allergic I am to contrast dye, and a crash cart and a week in the hospital was involved in the past, they were planning to use dye. When Excy explained this wasn't possible because I am allergic to it, the nurse answered brightly that she'd phone in a script for steroids the night before. Excy said it was impossible; I was even allergic to the prep drugs now. Acting like they didn't believe me, they called back to say there was "nothing they could do for me." So a $15,000+ surgery has gone south and there's nothing they can do??! When Emory and NIH won't touch you with dye why would a local hospital feel secure in doing this?

I felt better after talking to a guy who said his fistula took 6 months to form, but since NIH wanted me to have the fistula in place by the time we went up in Feb., and they need to remove the kidney remnant before the tumor metastizes, they are considering options with Emory on how to work around the newest problem. You know the Chinese curse - may you live in interesting times? I am quite sick of it.

In lighter news, I went to the Jan. WOW last night and had a great time. The ladies were on fire. And many were over-served. Quite a few hysterics, funny stories, and tears were shared. After watching B spill a glass of red, and pour 2 glasses of white to over-flowing, I told S that I may not drink at a WOW again it was so amusing to sit back and watch and listen to the carryings-on. (I stop at a half-glass these days to protect the remnant). Not to imply we are all a bunch of drunken sots. It was just a weird night and most of the ladies had tensions that spilled over the end of the week.

Monday Ranting about Nothing Important

2012-01-23T13:14:00.000-08:00

Is anyone else rather disgusted (and totally not fooled) by the ubiquitous celebrity interview where the interviewer (typically a male interviewer does this) raves and swears that xx female celebrity is just "glowing....luminescent...line-less...despite not wearing a stitch of makeup..."

BULLSHIT.

Female interviewers seldom write this, because as woman, they know better. They are savvy enough to realize any celebrity worth their salt has long been schooled in the 'art' of creating a natural appearing face.

You can bet their double-digit-carat diamonds some makeup artist has taught them how to apply all levels of looks, from natural to red-carpet ready, with all the tricks to emphasize their individual features. And they either know all the tricks or employ someone who does.

Unless the celebrity is in their 20s,* if they're being interviewed for a magazine, newspaper article or anything else, a trace of makeup will be found on their face.

Period. End of story.

* that is another annoying interview feature in itself -- since most everybody has great-looking skin in their 20s, raving about some one looking fabulously natural in the 20s?? No biggie...and the interviews where they 'bravely' have their photos take sans makeup?? Oh, please...

A Fateful Day

2012-01-14T20:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we went to a luncheon given by a local paper. The function was called '20 for 20' honoring 20 people in the community doing good things in the state. Excy was nominated for his work with the wild horses. All we had to do was show up for lunch and get a certificate. Easy-peasy. Everyone was very nice and it was an eclectic crowd. And, they gave me the floral centerpiece at our table!~ which my cats are busily snacking on when they think we're not looking...

Then we ran across town that night for a cocktail/birthday party that evolved into the party that seemingly never ended - we finally left at midnight. The poor host - I think he must've thought he'd have to dig out the sleeping bags...there were still four people there when we made our exit. We didn't know anyone but the host and the honoree, but made several new friends.

I did have an unusual encounter, however. A young woman came up to me and asked if I had noticed that she was the only black person there.
Uh m. Yeah. Not that I cared about such things, but I do notice things.

Then she asked if I knew how many times black people washed their hair. I had no idea, but my black friends have mentioned their hair issues...I told her I had no idea; did she know how many times white people washed their hair? And would she believe I only washed my hair once or twice a week? (Gray hair doesn't seem to get oily).

She asked me why I used a cane, but before I answered she launched into a story about breaking her leg in two places...she was hyper and -- uh -- over-served, but sweet and funny...though I couldn't help wonder what points she was trying to get across when the conversation went off the rails...fortunately our host came over eventually and saved me...and she hugged me and pronounced me one of the few 'real' people she'd met, whatever that means.

Fortunately, I learned I wasn't the only one who couldn't figure her out.

When our host left his condo to walk us to the elevator to see us out and continue our conversation, she locked him out of his own house!~ I'm pretty sure someone unlocked the door, since I heard from him this afternoon and he didn't mention the incident...

between a rock and ...a rock?

2012-01-09T18:34:00.000-08:00

Now that the mad dash through the holidays are over, I thought I'd allow myself some time to tread water. It hasn't exactly turned out that way, but at least I am getting things done in the new month of the new year that I've needed to attend to for some time. As I grow older I feel more acutely the energy I deplete that I won't get back, thanks to vHL.

Three days before Christmas NIH sent some bad news via email. I particularly commend them for their timing. They 'can't' pay for Excy's airplane ticket to accompany me up there for my annual tests, and, of more concern, they claim they can't perform the surgery to remove the kidney remnant because they're 'not set up for dialysis.' Since this has been the plan for the past 5 years (since they were responsible for my losing my right kidney), this crushing blow results in adding a $100,000 to the cost of the transplant. (A kidney transplant in this country is $200,000 with an additional $6000 for meds a month until they find the 'right' cocktail of drugs for your body -- NOT covered by medicare). That's a hell of a ho-ho-ho. We are still in negotiation with NIH so not sure -- I do plan to go up there in Feb -- I would like them to look me in the eye to tell me they're throwing me under the bus.

For now, I have been taking it day by day and accomplishing one project a day I have needed to do, and I am trying to keep my pact to myself to do some form of exercise every day, which really helps. I intend to go to everyone's blog to visit, since I haven't kept up for awhile.

I hope everybody has been having a good year so far. Thanks so much for stopping by this blog. I really appreciate you. (Smiley face here). I will get back to my usual snarky posts soon, I promise!

news article

2011-12-26T00:16:00.000-08:00

this article ran in the supplement section of our newspaper on Christmas day. The writer did a nice job. She made a few minor errors like number of surgeries (more) and when certain surgeries occurred, but nothing was majorly wrong. She called out of the blue, saying she had seen my bio on the transplant registry and wanted to do a story on me, and Excy took the call and said Yes...so there we are..there are photos to accompany it, but they weren't available for the online version. The photographer was here two hours for what will probably be two shots, but at least we all had a good time, and I hope to get a new picture out of it to put out on the blog...

RIVER VALLEY and OZARK AREA — Amy Gray Light has a rare cancer - you won’t see ribbons displayed for it - but she also has a rare friend.
One willing to donate a kidney.
“I always wanted to help somebody, and I can’t imagine a better honor than me to share something with someone and know it’s going to change their life or better it in some way,” said Cathy May, 53, Light’s neighbor on Wye Mountain and future kidney donor.

It’s not a cup of sugar. A ladder. A shovel for the walk.

May makes it sound as if it’s not a big deal, although she knows it is.
If not for a crazy thing call Von Hippel-Lindau disease, or VHL, Light’s life would seem charmed.
She’s talented - she’s been a freelance writer for national publications; she’s a former model (that was a lifetime ago,” she said); and is adored by her husband - he married her after she had cancer.
Light, 53, has been dealing with this demon disease since 1984.
VHL inhibits the body’s tumor suppresser, so cancerous tumors pop up throughout her body.
She has had three brain surgeries, five kidney surgeries, a pancreatic surgery, an eye surgery and two spinal surgeries. “Twelve so far,” she said, pausing to count.

Light has only the remnant of one kidney, thus the need for a transplant.
“It’s life or death for me. If I don’t get it, I won’t live very long,” she said.
Light said 10,000 people in the United States have VHL, and only 32,000 worldwide.

“I laugh, because The New Yorker magazine had a cartoon - there was a lady in the waiting room, saying, ‘Well, my cancer’s so rare, we don’t even have a spokesperson.’ That’s kind of how I feel.”
Light first had to persuade a doctor that she had a brain tumor.
The Little Rock native was 23 and living in Washington, D.C.

“It was really kind of weird. I had just moved to D.C. and gotten my dream job,” she said.
Light was writing for an American Institute of Architects publication.
“I started to get sick, then I’d feel OK. This went on for months and months and months, and I was beginning to get frustrated,” she said.
“I went to this doctor and said, ‘OK, I’ve got a brain tumor.’”
He asked her why she thought that.
“I said, ‘I think everything going on with me is neurological — I’m walking funny, my handwriting is funny,’” and she was throwing up in his office while explaining this to him.
The doctor told her that 70 percent of his female patients were psychosomatic.
He made a deal with her — if she’d go see a psychiatrist, he’d give her a CAT scan.
So she did.
Light recalled that the psychiatrist said, “You seem welladjusted, but are you aware you’re walking sideways?”
She decided to go to the emergency room — and she vividly remembers that the movie Dark Victory with Bette Davis — about a woman with a brain tumor — was on TV.
“I turned off the TV, put on my jogging clothes and called a taxi,” she said.
The taxi driver asked if she was going jogging in the park.
“I said, ‘No, I have a brain tumor.’”
And she did.
The doctor recognized it was VHL, and she has been closely monitored and has undergone surgeries, ever since.

Light’s husband, Excy Johnston, is a retired architect, and she was his editor for the architecture magazine when they met through her job in Washington.
They married in 1991. She told him about her disorder, and he was nonplused. “My marriage counseling was with her brain surgeon,” he said, laughing. “I took her out, and that was that. She’s pretty special.” It’s a mutual admiration society. “Boy, he stepped up,” Light said. “I would not be here if it were not for Excy — he would research it; he handles the doctors. All I have to do is get well. “He’s just a blessing — he’s just been there for me.” Soon after they married, the couple decided to move closer to her family in Arkansas, and they wanted land to have horses, which is how they came to live on Wye Mountain.

Johnston started a nonprofit wild-horse sanctuary, Wing Spur, just across the road from their home.
Light worked as the public relations officer and editor of publications for Winrock International from 1991-97.
A third brain surgery in 1997 forced her to retire. She had to relearn how to walk and write, and she now drives with hand controls.

She still enjoys life; it’s just “a new normal,” she said.
Once a year, she co-facilitates grief counseling at St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church in Little Rock.
“I always feel better when I can reach out and help other people; it gets my mind off what’s going on with me,” she said.

She said two women’s groups that each meet once a month serve as a great support system for her. One is the Willows. “We’ve gotten very close. It’s a safe haven. We just share everything going on in our lives,” Light said. Light gets together with her female neighbors, too, who call themselves WOW — Women of Wye. That’s where Light met May. May and her husband, Bob, who is on the writing faculty at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway, wanted an older home to refurbish. When one deal fell through, she saw an ad for a home on Wye Mountain. They pulled up, Bob saw the barn, and he said, “I want it,” she said. May suggested they at least look inside the house. The property fits their lifestyle — they have miniature donkeys and horses, along with cats and dogs.

As they walked the road they live on, May met a neighbor who invited her to the WOW dinners.

“She said, ‘You’ll really like these women; we just get together once a month,’” May said. “We’ve all formed these really strong bonds. I just think it’s so important for women to have female friends.”
She said she recently read that women who have longterm friendships have better health as they age.
“One of the women had breast cancer. ... We’ve all been together through thick and thin,” she said.
“I knew that Amy was sick and had a rare disease, and I looked it up because I’m a very curious person, and I’m fascinated by how people deal with things,” May said.

It was about 2 1/2 years ago that Light told her WOW friends that she needed a kidney transplant.
May is on the national organ-donor registry and the bone-marrow registry.
Giving a kidney to her friend wasn’t a snap decision, though.
“I did a lot of research before I even opened my mouth,” she said.
She read a lot of articles about people who have donated a kidney.
“That allayed a lot of my fears,” she said.
“People can live with one kidney, you just have to be careful with contact sports. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be out on the soccer field,” she said, laughing.
“Yes, I’m going to be nervous,and I’m going to be afraid, but usually, the fear is worse than the actual event.”

May didn’t get a positive reaction when she told her husband.
“Bob wasn’t real happy; my family wasn’t real happy, just because they’re afraid,” she said.
Light didn’t jump up and down when May told her the news, either.
Light had a close relative who declined to be tested as a potential donor.
“It hurt me so much,” she said, emphasizing each word. “I kept hearing stories of people who had a donor, and then the donor backed out. I said, ‘Oh, please, this is nothing to be taken lightly.’
“Cathy kept saying, ‘I feel like this is something I should do.’”

Light gave May a DVD from Emory University Hospital in Atlanta about donating a kidney, and it didn’t change May’s mind.
“She said, ‘I am not going to back out on you,’” Light said.
May said she’s just that stubborn.
“Bob knows when I set my mind to something, that’s it,” she said.
May was tested at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences Medical Center in Little Rock and went to Emory for two days of physical and psychological tests.
“They’re very, very thorough,” May said. “They watch out for you as much or more than they’re watching out for the recipient.”
After May had matched in almost every way, there was one more test for a urine enzyme.
She failed the test.
Light said her husband sat her down and told her it looked like the transplant was off, and she recalled how devastated May was.
“She cried more than I did,” Light said.
May asked the lab to rerun the test.
“They said, ‘It won’t matter,’” May said, but when it was retested, she was a match.

It will likely be this summer when the women go to Emory for the surgery.

Light is a patient at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Md., but it lost funding, and her transplant surgeon moved to Emory.
The surgery doesn’t cost the donor anything, May said.
The recipient is a different story.
“Of course, all the WOWs were wonderful, and they rallied and started my National Foundation of Transplant, a nonprofit account for me when they learned I needed to have a certain amount of money,” Light said. “Through their initial efforts, I was able to raise $32,000.”
The cost to Light was going to be $100,000 - plus $6,000 a month out of pocket for medication - but Light learned some upsetting news last week.
She was notified that the National Institutes of Health center isn’t set up for the dialysis she’ll need as soon as the remnant of her one kidney is removed.

“If I can’t go there, it’s going to end up costing $200,000,” Light said. “We’re still waiting to hear.”
Donations can be made online at www.transplants.org by searching for Light’s name, or mailed to NFT Arkansas Kidney Fund, 5350 Poplar Ave., Suite 430, Memphis, TN 38119, with “in honor of Amy Gray Light” on the check memo line.

May said one of the questions a doctor asked her is, ‘How are you going to feel if she loses the kidney?’
“I will just feel devastated, not because of the loss of my kidney, because it will be hers, just because of what she’s going to be facing, health wise,” May said.
She brushes off the enormity of the unselfish gift.
“Every time I would look at her, knowing that she was feeling better, that’s the gift to me,” May said.

May said Light and Johnston are really good people.
“That’s part of the reason that motivated me - I really care about both of them,” May said.
“She’s my angel in a lot of ways,” Light said. “She’s a kindred spirit.”

It is not surprising to May that she and Light both found Wye Mountain and each other, and are on this journey together.
“I’m a firm believer that everything in your life happens for a reason - you may not realize what it is at the time;you may not like what it is at the time,” May said.

“It is like the greatest honor in my life to be able to do this.”

Spice Up Your Holidays

2011-12-23T21:57:00.000-08:00

This is the season to run around like a crazed person, apparently. Unless you choose to opt out of the whole celebrating-the- holiday thing, it seems everyone is going 90 to nothing, sitting in unavoidable traffic, shopping, writing cards, making gifts,wrapping presents, cooking and baking, not to mention getting the house ready for parties, people and/or guests.

I wasn't going to put up a tree this year but Excy wanted one, so we got a small 5-footer, and I trimmed it yesterday. The collection of nutcrackers is on the mantle. Most of the cooking and baking is done. I have managed to watch a few of my favorite holiday movies, and this year a friend came by for our 10th annual viewing of Christmas in Connecticut, giving me a break with a few hours off my feet from baking up a storm.

If my dad can't eat or drink it, he probably doesn't want it, so every year I make his favorite chocolate-pecan fudge and various other candies and cookies, which I also give out to our neighbor and newspaper carrier and postman. Excy always has more than enough to nosh on, but he always complains that we don't have enough left over. One recipe I tried this year that was a hit is this sweet and spicy pecan treat. It was easy to make and we love things spicy in this house, so I know I'll be making it again. We get tons of fresh pecans as a gift from the wonderful man we buy our hay from. He is a saint who is willing to wait for a check whenever we fall short, knowing about the Sanctuary and wishing the horses well.

Happy holidays to all of you.

Sweet and Spicy Pecans
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 tsp each salt and chili powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
pinch cayenne
1 egg white
2 cups pecan halves

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Spray a nonstick baking sheet with cooking spray.
Mix the sugar and spices together in a small bowl. In a larger bowl beat the egg white lightly with a fork until very frothy. Toss in the pecans and stir to coat. Sprinkle the spice mixture over the pecans and stir to coat pecans evenly. Using your fingers, one by one lift the pecans out of the bowl and transfer to the baking sheet, separating them as best you can. Discard any left-over sugar-egg mix. Bake 30 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes. Transfer to another cooking sheet, breaking pecans apart as necessary. Let cool completely. Pecans will stay fresh for 5 days if kept covered in a dry place. (They probably won't last that long, however).
Serves 8. 240 calories per serving, for those who care about such things. No cholesterol. 17 g carbs, 3 g protein, 20 g fat.

An Important Anniversary

2011-12-15T20:44:00.000-08:00

Today was the 40th anniversary of the Wild Horse and Burro Protection Act. Then-President Nixon signed it into law December 15, 1971. The act protected the animals and their range land. All this happened through the efforts of Velma 'Wild Horse Annie' Johnston (no relation to Excy) and one of the largest letter writing campaigns ever instituted.

By the late '70s, the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), had been given the job of managing the mustang and burro herds. Shortly after, large gathers, adoptions, and horses placed in holding facilities began - and herd management areas began to grow smaller or phased out altogether. I have taken to calling the BLM the Bureau of MIS-management.

In 2004, the Burns Amendment was slipped into a large omnibus bill. The Montana Senator saw to it that all wild horses and burros over the age of 10, or having been to three adoptions, were to be sold. Many being sold to killer buyers.

So today across the country, many mustang and burro advocates celebrated the Protection Act by lighting candles in commemoration, also lamenting the fact there are now only a tiny percentage of the number of free horses roaming their range lands that existed in 1971.

Excy and I put 19 luminaries along the front of the fence line - one for each of our wild ones, plus one for our burro, Pompeii, who died 2 years ago - and said a prayer for their light to illuminate the injustices occurring against so many of their brothers and sisters, and for that light to rectify those injustices perpetuated against them by humankind. I made mulled cider and cookies in anticipation of others coming out, but the weather didn't cooperate - it was cold and raining cats and dogs - so no one else came (don't blame them) - but as we stood in the rain and gazed at the candles - amazingly holding up against the rain - all the mustangs came up to the gate to watch us. RedMan, the lead stallion, commented a lot, no doubt wondering what strangeness we were up to now!!

This article is well worth the read.
excerpts from
http://wwwtruthdig.com/report/item/richard_nixons_rosebud_20111214/

What was it in Nixon, that brought about his defense of wild horses? Clearly there was much more to the story than the sweaty, paranoid guy who hated Eastern elites and didn't look good on television. .....And it wasn't just that he signed the bill and then quoted Thoreau, which would have been more than enough; as I document in my book, he actually went further, much further, and this is the rest of what Nixon said when he signed the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act in 1971: “In the past 70 years, civilization and economics have brought the wild horse to 99 percent extinction. They are a living link with the conquistadors, through the heroic times of the western Indians and pioneers to our own day. … More than that, they merit protection as a matter of ecological right—as anyone knows who has stood awed at the indomitable spirit and sheer energy of a mustang running free.”

Fundraiser Fatigue

2011-12-03T16:02:00.000-08:00

The Wing Spur fundraiser is finally over as of Thursday night and we are still EX-HAUST-ED. It will be great to get our life back. After more than 10 weeks planning and the stressors of coordinating a very public event where you don't know how many people will show up, so you aren't sure how much food to order, and the crates of wine don't come through until noon the day of the event, and the thank-you poster you need to make and laminate can't be finished until all the sponsor logos come through and they don't, so we must search them out on-line, and on and on and on...

Family tragedy prevented us from hosting our picnic in the spring, summer was too hot and miserable, and my surgery demands prevented anything early fall, and this is the week we picked based on every board member's schedule as well as ours. But I missed our sweet relatively easy picnic. Despite a ton of media coverage -- TV, radio, print, internet -- with another TV station coming this week to follow-up -- we were disheartened by the turn-out.

We sent hundreds of snail mail and internet invites and our board members sent some as well, and we had hoped to interest people who learned of the Sanctuary through the media coverage...but the grand number for the night was 50. We were shooting for 100. More than that would have exceeded expectations. Most who came had come to our picnics and were faithful supporters and a few were new and curious after hearing about it. We owe them all a huge thank you.

The night was a lot of fun. The venue was fantastic, the bartender was efficient. HK, our friend, is an accomplished guitar player, writer, and artist, and truly a soulful person who graciously supplied light musical accompaniment to the reception as people grazed the catered food, which was delicious, and the caterers gave us a real bargain as a contribution to the cause. The theater is new, clean, and beautiful. The slide show and our video were both well received, and the documentary film wonderful, if hard to watch. Excy gave a short speech before and answered questions after.

We gambled and went out on a limb in the hopes of generating more community involvement and donors, and despite media input it just didn't work out. So now we know. The costs involved in putting it on put us behind what we need to get through the winter, but we can pay the hay bill off in full, even if we can't get them through the entire winter. Our hay man will be running out shortly and that means buying grain and alfalfa and we don't have the money. We need meds for vaccinations. So we will still need to put on the fundraiser this spring.

The picnic is special. It is a lot of work for the cooks (usually me with a few helpers if we can't get the Redneck Gourmets to cook their fantastic Dutch oven cooking) -- and it's always fun to eat under the Pavilion and watch the wild ones come right up to us and put on a show.

AR has a lot of wealthy horse people, but they just don't seem to care about mustangs. Some people have sniffed that they are 'undistinguished.' Mustangs may not be thoroughbreds or race horses, many are small in stature, and I guess you could argue they are plain, but to a one, they are guileless, smart, strong, and loyal to their band.

What is happening to them is a painful reminder of one of the darkest chapters in this nation's history.The way these horses are being hunted down and removed from their land, with many taken to slaughter and the protection bill under repeal to open US slaughter-houses, and females being sterilized, means that some day, probably in just a decade or so, the last true vestige of the American west will be a side-show or a memory. Some child not yet born but in the not-to-distant future will ask their parent what the Mustang car is named for and they will be told there were once wild horses that roamed the west and changed the lives of the Plains Indians until they, too, were beaten down and almost eradicated because people and the government wanted the land that was once their home.

Rectifying Injustices

2011-11-23T12:04:00.000-08:00

This is the story Excy and I worked on that he told on 'Tales From the South' last night. It was very well received. We all had fun.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!

We had slipped into ‘Nigerian time,’ – which is a cross between regular time and the Twilight Zone. As we sat in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory in Kansas City, my friend Nola waved over the restaurant manager, a short, balding man in his fifties. I shifted uneasily in my seat as he made his way towards us through the crowded restaurant. We had met Nola and her husband Ade and their son Seun for dinner on our 800-mile road trip, and, knowing her as I had for the past ten years, I knew this was going to be good.

Nola had just ferreted out from our waiter, who had done an exceptional job of serving our party of five, that it was company policy he would have to share his substantial tip with the other waiters. And, when he was given a break to grab a bite, he was expected to eat in the employee’s lounge, but pay full price for the food just like any other customer.

As we ate our dessert, cheesecake, of course, Nola talked with the manager about how he could correct these injustices to their wait-staff.

Sitting in the restaurant parking lot was an empty 30-foot gooseneck stock trailer attached to a super-duty truck primed to go to Lawler, Iowa, to rectify another injustice of an entirely different nature.

Two years before, I adopted two mustangs through a program run by the Bureau of Land Management. A friend who works for the BLM Colorado office handpicked these two special wild horses for me. I drove to Canon City, Colorado, to pick them up at the BLM holding facility, which is interestingly enough located in the Colorado State Prison. The prisoner who helped load the horses was named Coronado, who was so kind it made me wonder why he was there in the first place, though you aren’t allowed to ask. Coronado, not lacking a sense of humor, suggested I just leave him in the trailer and he would come home to Arkansas as a hired hand. The armed guard standing beside me thought less of the idea

Those two mustangs came back to Arkansas to live on the land my wife and a partner and I had set up for a horse facility. Since wild horses have a different attitude, a different nature, than domestic horses, my friend Lona from Colorado said if I needed any pointers dealing with them I should contact a group in Nevada with the very unlikely (but highly descriptive) name of Least Resistance Training Concepts (LRTC). I did get lots of pointers from them, but also learned of two large horse herds in the Reno area that have no federal protection and are controlled by the State of Nevada. The State was removing horses from these lands on a regular basis and the LRTC folks helped try to find homes for those captured mustangs.

Ironically, those two herds, the Comstock and Virginia Range, were the horses best known to Annie Johnston (no relation), the woman most responsible for wild horses and burros on federal lands being protected. Known as ‘Wild Horse Annie Johnston,’ she was famous in the ‘60s and ‘70s for her diligence in protecting these animals, spearheading one of the largest letter-writing campaigns on record to get legislation passed to protect the mustang and their rangeland.

The call came less than two years after the first two mustangs came back to Arkansas. The folks at LRTC asked if I’d take in some wild horses from the Comstock that were in a particularly perilous situation. These horses had already been picked up by a ‘killer buyer,’ – a buyer who pays for a horse based on its weight and what he can sell it for to a slaughterhouse. At the time there were three slaughterhouses operating in the US. They have subsequently been shut down, largely due to public pressure, but as of just a few days ago, the US House passed legislation that would allow the return of slaughterhouses in this country. For now, though, the trade has simply moved on to Canada and Mexico. The horses are killed for human consumption, the meat mostly going to parts of Europe and Asia. This particular buyer had already taken the horses to his farm in Iowa, but agreed not to take them to slaughter right away as long as he was compensated for feeding them.

After hearing the hard-luck plea from the LRTC, I said yes to rescue as many as our pasture would support. It seemed natural to turn our place on Wye Mt. outside of Little Rock into a sanctuary for wild horses. We named it WING SPUR after my family crest, which is a flying spur. WING SPUR WILD HORSES also has a nice ring to it, as well as a sense of freedom. We were ready to take in some horses.

The one positive note in all this was that through capture records we could determine which families (also called bands), each horse was in. Although they had been separated by sex and age, we were able to reunite the ones we could take, and it was a real joy to watch them as they came together again.

My friend Jacque, who shares my love of all things horse, agreed to make the trip, along with Alicia, a gal who then worked for me caring for the mustangs we had and our recently adopted wild burro. (Taking my wife Amy to a BLM adoption to help a friend pick some horses ended up in our adopting a burro she befriended from across a corral panel).

And that’s how we ended up at the Cheesecake Factory in Kansas City as our friend Nola outlined the staff injustices to the manager.
The manager looked sheepish as we finally stood to leave. He obviously didn’t know what he had walked into. We finally said our goodbyes to the Adebos and piled back into our truck. The plan was to drive straight through to northern Iowa, and it was already 9 p.m.

We arrived at Lawler about 1 a.m. (You know you’re in a little German hamlet when the hardware, lumber, and feed store is called Teissens, you know, like the chicken folks, but spelled TEISSENS).

By mid-morning the next day we were at the farm to pick up the horses. When Jacque discovered this farmer was a killer buyer (no, I had not told her), she immediately got into the cab of the pickup and stayed there until we left. Normally friendly and outgoing, Jacque does not talk to killer buyers.

It didn’t take very long before the farmer, his wife, and Alicia and I loaded 13 wild horses – more accurately – two wild horse bands – and one extra male into the trailer. The trip back was a little slower and lasted through the night, as plenty of stops were necessary to give the horses a break, and us too.

Sometime around mid-morning the next day, the horses arrived at WING SPUR, their new home. Their families were intact, and they had free run of the place, with a large pond to splash in and mud to roll in to escape the flies and heat of the summer. However, it took months for them to feel secure and to calm down. Slowly, you could tell they looked less nervous as they settled into the idea that no one was going to mistreat them.

It’s been seven years since that trip to Lawler. The oirginal 13 are now 15 horses They are much calmer, though they still get ‘flighty’ at times. At roundup when they are vaccinated and wormed each year, they seem to think they are being mistreated. But no one is going to eat them.

Each morning I walk over to the pasture and lean on the fence, and thank God we were able to rectify that injustice. Safe and protected for the rest of their days, they are home.

Back with a Warning...Not a Vengeance

2011-11-20T14:10:00.001-08:00

Goodness, has it really been one month shy of a day?? Quite the bloggie break.

I no sooner began to recover from fistula surgery, than I (thought) I sprained my ankle, but it has gotten worse over the weeks and the usual MO wasn't working. I ended up at the damn ER yesterday after my whole foot swelled and turned red and wouldn't go back down, and the chronic pain grew unbearable, despite pulling out 'big gun painkillers' and after bouts of acupuncture. It turns out the drs and I suspect pathologic neuropathy -- I had this pain when I developed RSD after spinal surgery and it was becoming eerily familiar. Don't know if it's from a tumor or the disabilities accumulated from the way I walk, until we delve into it further. Hell'va way to delay cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Excy's daughter and our grand daughter are driving here from Austin this week, but since her BF can't join us until Sat., to allow him to join the feast (and give myself more time to slowly make dishes), I made the executive decision our 'big meal' will occur Saturday afternoon.

I have also been busy with the fundraiser. Excy wrote his story for 'Tales from the South,' taping this Tuesday evening, about how we came to start the Sanctuary. He was interviewed by the local NPR last week for a 4-minute spot to be aired soon. He will also be interviewed on a local TV station this week. Two local magazines will write up the fundraiser after it occurs (because of their long lead times for deadlines). We are writing a video segment to accompany the footage of our wild ones, to be narrated by a local celebrity. The catering and a guitar player for 'background music wallpaper' is in place. Our wine guy fell through so we are still working on that. To make sure that it was a good copy, we watched the documentary we will premiere, 'Wild Horses & Renegades.' It's rough viewing. Excy never cries, and even HE was in tears at the end. U2's song, Who's Going to Ride Your Wild Horses didn't help matters. Though it's lovely and perfect for the film. The documentary is showing at film festivals around the country. I urge you all to try to see it.

With dramatic footage, Wild Horses & Renegades documents how the US Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is using millions of taxpayer dollars to corral the few remaining American wild horses left in the west through aerial roundup. These wild horses are separated from their band (families), underfed, and forced into inhumane and diseased conditions. Captured horses are either sold for adoption, illegally sold to slaughterhouses, or held in long-term holding facilities. Too many of them are going to killer buyers. Slaughterhouses were shut down in the US (though there is legislation to reopen them), but the horses are easily slipped into Canada and Mexico. The BLM won't be satisfied until every wild horse is off the land. They are falsely stating the horses are detrimental to cattle grazing.

The film lays bare the corporate benefits of the inhumane roundups, including clearing land for uranium mining claims, oil and gas pipelines, and corporate cattle grazing. The BLM estimates it has more than 40,000 wild horses in holding facilities at a cost to taxpayers of $120,000 a day. People suspect the numbers are inflated as to how many wild horses actually remain in the wild, but the BLM is trying to prohibit people from monitoring them as well as the roundups so numbers vary. One reviewer of the film says one of the best things about it is how the director lets the BLM shoot themselves in the foot by their weak actions and explanations. Even harder to stomach is seeing frightened, hurt horses in corrals, and actually viewing a horse at slaughter (with gleeful shouting in the background as the horse is repeatedly stabbed in the neck). Most older horses and the young ones don't survive the roundups, which force them to run wildly for miles over tough terrain. One roundup proved disastrous when the BLM forgot about them and the trapped horses died an agonizing death of starvation without food and water. Another BLM employee, who quit in frustration, was reprimanded for taking matters into his own hands and having a water tank and trough installed after discovering no water at another holding facility.

The roundups threaten one of the most beautiful US-specific natural living resources in the world.

The film features cameos by Willie Nelson, Sheryl Crow, Viggo Mortensen, Daryl Hannah, and other literary and government celebrities. It has been awarded Honorable Mention in Cinematography, Investigative Journalism, and Music Editing/Sound Track at the International Wildlife Film Festival in May. In addition to its screenings, it has received notable national press from Horse Back magazine and Outside magazine. The film’s director, James Anaquad-Kleinert, has made several environmental films including Spirit Riders, an award-winning documentary that aired in part on HBO.com.
It's also a great film. For more information, visit web site: theamericanwildhorse.com.

If you'd like to make a donation to Wing Spur bless you! We could really use it. Not only do we have a huge hay bill (and winter hay bills to come), we are trying to find more land to help out more horses. Wing Spur is a 501(c)3 nonprofit and all donations are 100% towards the horses.

Fistulas and Fundraising

2011-10-21T13:29:00.001-07:00

On the plus side: this fistula surgery was just in time for Halloween. My arm is still swollen (not twice as large as my other arm anymore, but I still look like I have a man's arm), and the bruises are spectacular. The incision runs across the bend inside my arm and makes it appear my lower arm has been badly sewn on, and I have a egg-sized bump there that accents the gruesome. The glue (instead of stitching it up) from the cut is yellow and peeling.

I can finally start typing, but that's about it.

On the minus side, it still hurts. I am a prisoner to a foam cast from shoulder to wrist, and can't bend my left arm, which makes things like pushing my hair back and putting it in a ponytail for washing my face, or putting on contacts, or earrings, impossible, not to mention taking a shower or adjusting a bed pillow. It's been hellish. Five more days to go for a check-up and hopefully, a green light to resume my life. I have to check the flow with a stethoscope four times a day to make sure the fistula is forming and not closing up.

Because we were dealing with Be's surgeries and death this spring, we were unable to have our annual Wing Spur fundraiser for the mustangs. This summer was too hot. So we are having a fundraiser Dec. 1 that is quite a departure from anything we have done previously. We are showing a new documentary in a downtown theater.

The film is just out and already receiving wide acclaim and awards. It's called 'Wild Horses@Renegades,' (Our showing will be the AR premiere of the film), to be followed by a video of our wild ones. Catering will be by one of the 'hot' restaurants, fortunately, owned and operated by good friends of ours. We will have a live band.

Leading up to this, Excy and I will read stories for the Nov. 22 show 'Tales of the South' that is on the local NPR and now syndicated throughout the country. Excy will tell a story about starting the sanctuary and getting the two bands (families) together. I don't know what my 'tale' will be yet, but I'm leaning towards Francis the fox and the 'coons. Kinky Friedman has signed on as our fifth and newest board member. He has a tour so can't come or do anything at this relatively quick notice, but he says in the future he can get some of his singer friends to perform at future events (yea!), and he's been interested and open to making time to come visit.

So in the midst of a lot of darkness and health gloom, it's certainly nice that this is coming together.

Misc

2011-10-02T16:14:00.000-07:00

Finished two projects recently. The hound dogs are recently deceased and were companions of a friend who helped us out with Be and Be's funeral and I wanted to thank him...

The Christmas stocking is for our now-two-year-old grand daughter...

I am working on a tiger for myself (for a change). I am having surgery to have a fistula in my arm, and will be getting ready for it (surgery's next Tuesday). It takes from 3 to 6 months to form and needs to be ready before surgery to have the kidney remnant removed, and will be used for future dialysis. I may post this week but may not if it gets crazy. I will get back to the blogging and blog visiting soon. Blessings...

Fabulous Finds Friday: Natural Stress Relief

2011-09-30T13:51:00.001-07:00

I haven't done one of these in a long time. I grabbed this off the shelf today and thought, huh. So here goes:

Bach's RESCUE REMEDY

In a cherry yellow bottle, RR can be found at most stores that carry homeopathic meds and organic food. It is pricy -- a tall bottle costs $17.99 -- but will last a few months (if you're a daily user like me) or longer.

I have been using RR since I first starting using homeopathic meds and starting acupuncture back in 1985. I was seeking a kinder way to handle chronic pain and to buck up my immune system from cancer (vHL). RR sort of fell into my path.

RR is a flower essence you take by dropping it directly on your tongue, or by dropping it and diluting it in a glass of water. It also comes in a spray. I have done all three but prefer it in water. It tastes lovely, as one could imagine, since it uses the essences of flowers and tree blossoms, such as wild clematis, rock rose, impatiens, cherry plum, and star of bethlehem, among others.

It reduces stress and anxiety and leaves no lingering side-effects. It won't work against allopathic meds. It's very subtle, but, it works for me. I take it every day, and also before leaving the house when I do something like speak in public or go out to dinner or a party. It gives me a little 'lift' and some mental 'armor.'

A few years ago, I read in a Whole Living pet column that it was recommended for animals having problems. My male, Lenny, was beating up my timid older cat, Togo, so I called my vet and he said it'd be fine, so now the cats get some in their water dish every day. Total harmony does not reign, but they are much better and we notice more squabbling when I've run out and they haven't gotten any. It just makes them a bit mellower.

I recommend it to friends on occasion when they are confiding to feeling stressed or anxious, and am a little surprised it isn't very well known. There are 36 different kinds of essences for all kinds of emotional states, and I've tried about a half-dozen others. But I keep returning to RR. If you try it and don't like it, I'll buy if from you~!

www.rescueremedy.com

Once in MY Lifetime!

2011-09-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

When Excy and I lived back east, we were invited to dinner one night at the parent's house of one of his childhood friends. This couple were 'upper-crust,' related in fact, to the Kennedy's, so had a bit of that blue-blood pedigree. I was looking forward to the evening, because Excy had told me a few fun stories. He described how it had felt as a kid to shoot an 'elephant gun,' that the elder man had kept from safaris, and described their mushroom farm. If nothing else, I felt these people, my parent's age, would be delightfully eccentric.

Little did I know I was about to enter into the play/movie Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe, whereas I was unfortunately to be cast as the Sandy Dennis character. We arrived at the appointed time and were ushered into the living room. They had a drink tray full of old-fashions and whisky sours, both noticably strong. Excy and Mr & Mrs commenced with the small talk, catching up on the goings-on, and of their son (Mrs saying in no uncertain terms he wasn't living up to her wishes for his potential). As we chatted on the sofa, she proceeded to pass a tray of saltines with pate on top...I declined and was about to pass them along to Mr, seated at my right, who had extended his hand, saying, "Well, I'd like..."
Mrs slapped his hand away. "They're NOT for you!" She snapped.
I took the tray and offered it to him before handing it on to Excy.

After more dull talk where Mrs droned on, I turned towards Mr and asked what his interests were, now that they were retired. He perked up and began describing an eleborate train set and miniature landscape he had set up in the basement when Mrs cut him off sharply: "NO ONE is INTERESTED in your TOY trains!"
"Oh, no, it sounds great," I protested. "My dad and brother ran trains in our basement and it was a lot of fun!"
Mrs sniffed and turned away. "Don't let him bore you," she warned.

We continued to talk, and drink, and talk, and drink, until finally in desparation I ate some of those awful saltine things, and as time marched well beyond the cocktail hour(s) I began to think we had misunderstood the invitation and weren't expected for dinner after all. I'm not much of a drinker, and two of anything is my limit regardless, and I noticed Mrs getting more and more red-faced and belligerant and elaborate in her insults towards Mr.

Just as I was considering grabbing Excy and making a tackful exit, Mrs trudged away. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared in the doorway and said dinner was 'on the table.' I asked her how I could help and she flicked her hand. Walking into the dining room I saw four small TV trays ringing the walls with various hot-plates on them. On each bubbled some interesting-looking stuff. I'm not sure what we ate, really. It wasn't very edible. I've been in situations where the food has been horrid, but the company made up for it by far, so it didn't matter; I just ate a bit and pushed things around the plate. The company this time? Needless to say, this wasn't one of those times.

Halfway through this seemingly endless meal, the son made an appearance, but from the way Mrs lit into him, I'm pretty certain he regretted making the effort. Finally, finally, five and a half hours after we arrived, we found an opening and left them imbibing some after-dinner liquor. We stumbled out the door.

I am a big believer in writing thank-you notes, but this time, I told Excy I was afraid to, because I'd rather have her think me uncouth and not invite me back! The next day Excy's cousin heard of our evening and shook his head in resignation, saying he and his wife had a disasterous dinner there, too. He looked at me knowingly.
"I never want to go back," I said.
"I know, so did we," he replied.
"So what did you do?"
"I was so drunk and quesy from the food, I took two steps out their front door and threw up in the bushes."

As horrifying as this sounds, we understood immediately how it would happen, and agreed it had actually been a rather brilliant solution.

A Horror Story

2011-09-14T15:25:00.000-07:00

Because of the unusually dry season we've had a bunch of very unwanted visitors.

Ants invaded our home beginning the middle of the summer, burrowing into the insulation of the bedroom addition roof, and making it trickle down like tiny snowflake-like drifts in a few places. No sooner than Excy sprays the area outside, getting it under control, than they start anew on some other area. It seems a bad game. I will be ready for the cooler weather, which seems to make them disappear.

The 'coons shed their fleas under the screened-in porch, apparently, and no amount of spraying there has seemed to eradicate them for good. The cats are strictly indoors, but love their porch. We're on the second round of frontline, soon to be the third, and though the fleas aren't in the house anymore and activity seems to be more under control, it's still annoying. Using the flea comb on them can continue to be an unpleasant surprise, and only Lenny likes it, seeming to think of it as a grooming treat.

The latest, and most dramatic, of the creepy-crawlies, however, made its appearance two weeks ago and we have had four in the house the past two weeks. Not sure what is going on. The last time we saw them was eight years ago when we were building the addition and the ground was disturbed, which drives them up.

Brace yourselves: scorpions.

Freak. Me. Out. SCORPIONS. Even the name sounds aggresive.

They are so primitive, strutting along with those pinchers and cocked tail, ready to sting with that dangling stinger. So ugly.

#1 was dead in the utility room, so the location didn't freak me out too much.
#2 did freak me out, since I was watching TV when I spied Lenny batting at something in the hallway and when I examined the find, I was afraid he'd get stung. Plus, it's a scorpionn...euuwww...
#3 was the scariest find, because I was barefoot in the bedroom addition, and the floor is stained black tile, and it was night, so dark, when I caught a movement inches from my bare toes. Boy did I scream. The boys didn't come running. I don't make a habit of screaming, so what does that say?? Excy finally came when I called in a shaky voice, to his credit.
#4 was in the kitchen, last night, and Excy saw it when he wandered in to see why all four cats were hanging around.

It's Excy's job, by the way, to kill all creepy-crawlies. Mine is to freak and scream like a little girl.

I don't mind bugs outdoors, but when they are in my house, they must die. Unless they are 'good' bugs, like walking sticks or a praying mantis...they seem to have the good sense to remain outside, anyway.

I thought I had the motherlode of horror until my SIL told me this weekend she had been stung by a scorpion IN BED recently. They find them in their shower on occasion, and a few nights before she was in bed and stretched out her leg and something stung her on the foot! When she threw the covers back and saw what it was she said she hobbled down the hall to get Steve to come kill it. The real kicker, to me, is she got back in bed and went to sleep!
Burrrrr.....I would've been flinching and throwing back the sheets every 10 minutes. Happy dreams...

Can You Hear Me Now?

2011-09-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

ARUGGG. I seldom eat out and have just returned from spending an afternoon with a friend. We were in sore need of a quiet conversation and met for lunch at a restaurant I remembered as quiet and intimate. It was anything but.

We were seated in a too-full room with tables thisclose together, and so noisy we HAD TO SHOUT to be heard the entire time.

I don't raise my voice; this actually strained my throat muscles.
It was unnerving to be shouting personal revelations to one another, even knowing otherwise we wouldn't hear one another, and regardless of whether or not anyone else would hear (there was no way).

Why, oh why, do restaurants insist on concrete and hard floors, blaring TVs, and tables so close together one has to apologize for disturbing other patrons when they are getting to their seats?

Miserable.

Despite the wonderful food, I will never eat there again.

What's Your Line?

2011-09-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

In honor of Labor Day...hope everyone is enjoying their 'day off...'

I met a new friend for lunch and a movie the other day. She has a law degree and a degree in social work, and went from being a guidance councilor at one of our most prestigious liberal state colleges for most of her working life to a hospice worker. She said as rewarding as the past three years have been, she is feeling very burnt out - as one could imagine. She said her life-long interest and what she wants to do now is...wait for it...interior decorating. She's taken many classes in the field, and hopes to work at a shop where she can take her life in this new direction. Wowzer. Talk about a sea-change. I didn't see that coming.

It got me thinking of all the job changes I've made and jobs I've held through the years, and how most of them have been in a similar field, except for when I was a kid, of course.

Here is my work history:
A babysitter during high school years. Then an office assistant over the summer for a photography outfit that took those school photos that everybody gets. After that, a part time job (on holidays) working for a woman's clothing shop. I then worked off and on in college and when I came home from Utah to prepare for a move East, as a receptionist for my dad's architecture firm. In my junior year of college I also began modeling for print and media advertising and in fashion shows, and kept that up through age 24, still modeling after moving to UT to work for a ski resort (as a waitress -- started out in the office but waitresses got better ski hours). I wanted to learn to ski and live out west for awhile. After the resort, I lived in Salt Lake City for 18 months more and modeled and waitressed part-time. I entered the 'face of the '80s' contest, and got an offer to meet with Eileen Ford of the Ford Agency in NY but -- (this is my big bone-headed move, but then again, who is to say, really?) coming from AR and UT, I didn't feel comfortable in NY, and took the train to DC instead of making my appointment.** I got off and saw the green space and low buildings and thought yeah, I can live here... The move was also influenced by the fact my college boyfriend was working for one of our Senators and was making a push for us to get back together.

At the time, I also really wanted to do something with my English/Journalism degree before future employers commented that all I had done writing-wise at that point was write for college papers, and mocking the big gap in my resume. I had to temp a few months, but ended up being hired as the second person in a three-person office to start a new architecture journal. Perfect place at the perfect time.

I learned so much on that job. The editor-in-chief left before the first issue was out, and the acting editor and I -- two young women -- put out the quarterly for two years, relying on freelancers to flesh out the staff. My boss was a SUNY grad, accomplished in the field, and brilliant despite her young age (mid-30s to my mid-20s), and we became very close, working in the fox-hole in a 'good 'ole boys' world. She was fired (she sued for discremination and it was settled out of court). The next boss was a brash young man also from NY with major drive and hutzpah. He hired 4 other editors and a graphic artist (who he later married), and took the magazine even further. When it became even more popular than the established 'official' journal of the AIA (American Institute of Architects), at that time #1 of three top architecture magazines, he was fired, and it was folded into the official journal, and my job expanded yet again.

And when it was sold two years later to a NY publishing group, and my then editor in chief was fired (a huge scandal, as he had been the editor for several decades), my job expanded again yet again. Unfortunately, that's when I met up with the 'boss from hell' who proceeded to fire everybody on staff but myself and one other associate editor (guess we were low enough on the totem pole to be 'molded,'), and hired all 'her' people. She then made life so unbearable we all quit eventually when it became clear we couldn't outlast her. I will do a post on some of the things she did, as they were remarkable.

The publishing business is a small world, and during those heady years I loved my job, I was offered jobs with TIME and with INTERIORS magazines, both in NY, and maybe I should have considered the offers more closely, but my intutition (and then-marriage), kept me in DC.

When I quit the magazine, I worked freelance as an editor for a small construction magazine, and as a features writer for my old magazine and a half-dozen other publications. By then I had divorced and met and married Excy, who was floating around as an architect in several states, having closed his Austin practice after a horse fell on him and broke his back. Eventually I wanted to move us home, and Excy was willing, more or less, so I interviewed with WINROCK Int'l, a nonprofit that works in 147 countries, and they moved us here, where I was the editor/public relations officer 7 years.

After going on disability, I have freelanced for various publications and publishing houses. I have begun writing my stories and essays more and more; so I haven't really deviated all that much from my first love, which has always been writing, since grade school. I have veered off to become a facilitator for grief-berevement and chronically ill groups, but that's not what I consider a job or career.

I don't really look back and regret my career moves (or non-moves, as they were), for they brought me to some directions that were highly important to my life. But ah, those roads not taken...they are interesting to ponder on a quiet afternoon...

though as I grow older, I find myself less and less interested in that kind of introspection and more and more interested in looking ahead...

**acronyms, acronyms...

Best Friends Forever

2011-09-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

The second story I told on 'Tales of the South:'

One of my close friends on the mountain where my husband and I live was a woman in her 80s, frail from emphysema, but still feisty and great fun. Before she died, Flo and I enjoyed one another’s company for a number of years. Despite our more than thirty-year age difference, we formed a bond: a love of the outdoors and gardening, animals, bird watching, reading, classic movies, discussions of current events and politics, and an appreciation for the absurdities of life and laughter. Flo liked a good party and enjoyed dressing up. She came in costume to our Halloween parties, and was once elaborately arrayed for a Mardi Gras party in a tiered, veiled, costume and tiara. At 80, she was the belle of the ball at that dinner-dance; despite shortness of breath, she didn’t let it prevent her from ‘cutting a rug.’ When she gradually grew too frail to venture out and relied on an oxygen tank at home, I’d go over on the occasional afternoon with my needlepoint and we’d talk or watch an old movie from her extensive collection, which was piled high on a teetering wooden shelving unit that bulged from overuse. Though Flo loved all animals in general, her particular fondness was for dogs. She had them all her life, and would tell me stories about all the dogs she had growing up while she lived in Japan and Hawaii. Yellow Labradors were her favorites.

When her last one died, after a period of mourning, Flo decided she was ready to adopt again. I had heard about a cute puppy that needed a home, and one weekend the foster caretaker and I took the dog over for a visit. Flo delighted in its exuberance and warm wriggly body. But once I saw how much work would be involved in training and how quickly it scampered around, I grew concerned the puppy might knock her down or tangle up her oxygen lines, which snaked throughout the house. Flo apparently shared my concern, though, and regretfully turned the puppy down, declaring she needed a quiet, mature companion that didn’t require housebreaking. And she decided the only breed she really wanted was another Yellow Lab, explaining, “This is the last dog I’ll ever have.” We started trolling the animal rescue sites, asking at veterinary offices, and watching for one in the newspapers. Then a mutual friend heard of a Yellow Lab that needed a new home. Its owners were older and their kids had grown and were out of the house. They were moving into a smaller house nearby but had decided the dog was too much trouble to bother with. So he brought “Nugget” over to Flo, and a match was instantly made.

Flo promptly renamed the dog “Sweetie” for her disposition. Even after so many years of responding to “Nugget,” the new name was quickly adopted and the dog never seemed confused. Perhaps she was pleased to finally be truly ‘recognized.’ From the first instant of mutual love and appreciation, the two ‘little old ladies’ got along splendidly. They mostly sat around, Sweetie gently snoring and farting, sleeping on the carpet at Flo’s feet as she read or watched her movies – just keeping one another company. Sweetie was a polite dog who never missed an opportunity for a head-rub, but when you moved your hand away she sensed it was time to move on, and never got obnoxious about attention. She was strict only about meal times, and she did not tolerate or appreciate any deviation to her eating schedule. Fortunately, Flo was acutely aware of Sweetie’s concerns, and Sweetie didn’t have to work too hard to train Flo to drop whatever she was doing or interrupt a visitor to attend to Sweetie’s bowl.

Sweetie also enjoyed her twice-daily constitutions outside, but she didn’t roam far and Flo never had to worry about her straying down to the road. When Sweetie developed shortness of breath, you’d hear the two ladies huffing and puffing as they gently labored to breathe while they puttered around their living room and kitchen, side-stepping one another as necessary. Sweetie’s health seemed to dovetail Flo’s. After a few close calls, we weren’t sure who was going to die sooner, Sweetie or Flo, who was growing more anxious for Sweetie. After her hospitalizations, she’d mostly talk about Sweetie, and what would happen to her when she was gone. A friend volunteered to take Sweetie in if that happened, but Flo frequently forgot the offer and would lament about it until reminded. In the back of her mind, though, I think she worried because she knew no one would love Sweetie as she did. I wondered if the two of them weren’t just hanging on for the other. Sweetie often seemed on the brink of disaster and would then rebound miraculously; and Flo seemed as close to the edge.

The sad call that Sweetie died finally came on an early spring day. Despite Sweetie’s health ailments, Flo wondered aloud why she died, and her already-frail voice trembled and sounded beyond sad. “I don’t think I can live without my Sweetie,” she wailed. I think all her friends knew what was coming, and weren’t surprised when she died days later. We knew the end of Sweetie meant the end of Flo, too.

Flo had planned a memorial service as unique as she had been. We gathered in her cozy house and trooped out into the back yard to say the Eucharist, read prayers, and walk around the front where her ashes were scattered with Sweetie’s in her dog cemetery. The air seemed soft and still and full of birdsong as we said goodbye to our two old friends.

Before she died, I had dug up some ‘Star of Bethlehem’ bulbs from her garden. They are among the first flowers to bloom as the season moves towards early spring, which always reminds me of Flo and her Sweetie, now walking together outside somewhere, breathing easily again.

blah, blah, blah...

2011-08-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I'm a real 'chatty Cathy.' When I'm among my WOWs or WILLOWS, or close other friends, I keep up with the best of them.* I tend to interject when Excy is 'holding court,' because, frankly, he can talk too much or too long (Seriously. Ask anybody).

One thing I won't do is dominate the conversation or go on too long -- underneath it all, I am a bit of an introvert. I can only fully articulate my feelings on the written page. And arguments make me 'shut down.' I am getting better with age at speaking up. I wouldn't call myself a door-mat, by any means, but sometimes it takes an effort when it's a touchy subject.

In the '90s when I was at my last full-time job, I spent all my working days in meetings, interviewing people, on the phone, and writing and editing on the page and for videos. When I needed to write (newsletter, scripts, speeches, brochures, etc.), I was frustrated by constant interruptions. I finally made a sign and tried to establish guidelines of when I didn't mind being interrupted and when I'd be checking email, that kind of thing...of course, it didn't work that well. It's amazing how many people don't think a sign applies to them. They want what they want when they want it. "I saw your sign, and know you're working, but I just need to ask...."

My director was the worst. I guess she thought she had to " pop in for a sec" just to make sure I wasn't face-down on the desk catching a few ZZZZZs or cruising the internet.

The last thing I felt like doing when I got home was talking on the phone. So I started to take 'vows of silence' and refusing phone calls. A ringing phone never bothers me, anyway. I usually let 'the electronic butler' take a message and get back to the caller later. That can drive Excy crazy, since he can not NOT answer a ringing phone. Not to mention a friend who insists on calling just to 'chat' while out running errands. Drives me insane...but most of my friends respect my 'phone phobia,' and I don't mind a good long conversation if it's been awhile since I've seen someone.

Sometimes I spend a whole day not talking at all. No set day, just when I feel I need to refuel from a hectic pace. Honestly, with email and a writing tablet, it's not that difficult to go one day without talking. Excy doesn't mind, knowing I will go at least one full day without interrupting, and I am a captive audience. Unless you call a hastily scratched note an interruption...

* sometimes I catch myself interrupting, which I hate to do, but it's the only way to get a word in edge-wise, at times, with a group of excitable women (particularly ones with wineglasses in their hands)...

Animal Observations

2011-08-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

We went to my parent's house for Sunday supper. Not only was it fun to visit with them, I got to see the turtle mom's been talking about for a few weeks. She keeps a bowl of scraps by the kitchen porch for various critters and, in her words, "an army helmet showed up at the back door." Now, every day, the turtle lumbers onto the porch to eat his fill of strawberries, lettuce, stale bread, and whatever else mom puts out. They learned the turtle was a 'he' when they saw him en flagellate with a lady tortoise, who trapped him when she snapped the shell closed on his toes! Dad splashed cold water over her shell and she released him and 'sped' away. (They can really speed when they want to). A chipmunk also seems to be the turtle's companion, hanging out on the porch with him. But maybe he just likes the daily buffet.

For the past two weeks, a red-headed woodpecker has been on the 'bird tree' (a cedar stob we hang the feeders from), feeding one of her kids (who is as big as she is) by plucking out a sunflower seed, prying it open, and feeding him the meat. She is also demonstrating how to peck holes in the stob. The kid waits patiently for his meal and practices his holes under the watchful eye of the parent. I'd love to put suet out, but the 'coons even steal all the suet that they supposedly will not eat (guess they didn't get the memo).

Speaking of 'coons, we still have the two mommas and the five babies between them. Three and two. One mom and two of the little ones were eating the dog food in the yard, and the third wandered onto the terrace to drink from the koi pond. When he realized he was alone, he began to whine. Hearing it, the mama ushered the other siblings underneath the screen porch and then hustled up to the terrace. Seeing that the baby was fine, just alone and disoriented, she kinda brushed his fur and urged him on. If there had been a thought bubble over her head, I swear it would've read, "Oh my gawd...you're fine....come on, dummy..."

On a most sad note, we lost our 17 yr old domestic horse a few weeks ago. Leroy came from Santa Fe, and we rescued him after he had spent a life in hard service in a working cowboy's string of horses. He hadn't been well cared for. He helped Excy round up the 'wild ones' for a few years, but when a stallion challenged him, he apparently decided he was getting too old for the work, and so he was retired to the corral where he lived with our two adopted mustangs and they all were close friends. Apparently he got kicked hard in the upper shoulder during some rough-housing. The vet confirmed the leg wasn't broken, and so for a week he was dosed, and since he couldn't walk or move to keep the flies off we aimed a fan into his space. Excy checked on him every few hours. Towards the end of the week he seemed to be a bit more comfortable, but by the time he was checked on and we watched a movie, he had fallen and died, and rigor mortis had set in. The vet said it was probably the pain and shock of the fall that killed him. It took Excy and a helpful neighbor 8 hours to get him out of the corral and down a hill and buried the following day. The two boys in the corral seem to be better now but they sure missed him at first.

This has been a sad year....not just with the loss of human loved ones, but with the loss of two beloved cats, one raccoon, Francis the Fox and her family MIA, and now the horse...I am hoping that's all...

The Menagerie

2011-08-20T21:14:00.000-07:00

Two of my 'essay/tales' are being published in a book from Temnous Publishing for 'Tales of the South.' The only stipulation is the stories be true. I thought you'd enjoy reading them, so here is #1...

One afternoon this summer I stepped into a jewelry store and ran into an acquaintance from high school. I was embarrassed she remembered me, calling out my name, because while she looked familiar, I couldn’t quite place where I knew her. But she had been in a different graduation class, and we had never known one another well, so I didn’t feel too awkward when she re-introduced herself. Besides, high school was more years ago now than I care to remember. We passed the time chatting about this and that, and then I told her about the ‘wild bunch.’ My husband and I live on Wye Mountain, in the countryside near Little Rock. We are caregivers to a small herd of mustangs across the road, having saved them from slaughter, and we starting a nonprofit sanctuary for their care. When I tell people this, they are invariably curious, and want to come see for themselves. When my old high school acquaintance heard about the mustangs, she let out a whoop -- “My son loves horses!” she trilled, “he’s absolutely crazy about them; we’d just love to come out!” She seemed so eager we consulted the calendar on the spot, and made a date for the first available afternoon.

I was raking leaves the afternoon the car pulled in the drive. ‘T’ jumped out, crying greetings, followed by a young boy and then yet another boy. I was a bit startled by the sudden on-rush of bodies pouring forth, and noticed more passengers still in the car. My mind flashed to those clown cars at the circus. “This is Braxton, my son, and his friend, Jack Russell. When Jack found out where we were going, he insisted on coming along.” “Hi,” I said, walking towards them. “Jack, you’re named after one of my favorite dogs.” I cringed when I heard the words come out of my mouth, but since Jack Russell stared at me blankly I assumed he didn’t know the breed.

“What’s that smell? I’m allergic to hay!” whined Braxton. ‘T’ whirled around towards him. “Stop it!” she said. “We’ve heard it driving out here four times now; you’re allergic, you’re allergic! You’ve had Benadryl, you’ll be fine!” she glanced towards me with an apologetic shrug. Just then, I noticed a woman climbing out of the driver’s side of the car. She trudged forward, glaring at me. I wondered briefly if I knew her, as she seemed to know – and disapprove -- of me – but her face didn’t ring any bells. “This is my friend, ‘T,’” said the first Ms. ‘T,’ “and she brought out her friend, Mimi, who wanted to get out of the nursing home for the afternoon,” said the first ‘T.’ By now I really was thinking this was a clown car. The passenger door cracked open and a wizened woman with a deficit of teeth popped her head out. “Hello,” I said, walking over to her side. “So glad you could join us…” “SHE CAN’T HEAR YOU!” shouted the second Ms. ‘T.’ I took a step backward. Mimi couldn’t walk, either, and a wheelchair was hauled out of the trunk. “Sorry about the gravel, but you can drive the car across the street to see the horses in the pasture,” I said. “That’s fine, I’ll just walk her around the corrals over here,” said ‘T-too’. Mimi settled into the wheelchair. She glanced towards ‘T’. “Who’re you?” she asked. “Why, you know me, Mimi, I rode out here with you,” replied ‘T.’ “You’re FAT,” Mimi said. ‘T’ stood shock-still. “I’m fat?” she echoed in a small voice.

“Do you have any other animals?” asked the boys. I told them we had three cats in the house, and they asked to see them. ‘T’ said she also wanted to see the house, so we left Mimi and T-squared on their walk to the corrals and went inside. Once in the house, however, the boys proceeded to run through the rooms, down the hallways, and into the master bedroom, racing after one of my now-terrified cats, which had been dozing peacefully on the couch in the living room. By the time ‘T’ and I walked back to the bedroom, all three cats were cornered on the screened porch, teeth bared and claws extended. Fearing for their safety, as well as the boy’s skin, I quickly suggested we go back outside.

By this time, my husband, Excy, had driven up in our 6-wheeler. “Hello, boys,” he called out, “Who wants to load a bale of hay and go see some horses?” “Oh, boy!” crowed Jack Russell. “I’m allergic to hay!” whined Braxton. Braxton eyed the 6-wheeler dolefully. “I wanna ride in the car with you, mom!” The two Ts climbed in the car where Mimi had been deposited, having seen the horses in the corrals over here and gotten back in the car while we were still inside the house. “I’ll just stay here,” I said weakly, glad of the opportunity to be alone again. Excy and Jack Russell led the way across the street and through the first gate. But the car had stopped and sat at the gate. And sat. And sat. And sat. Finally, Braxton and his mother climbed out of the car and strolled back towards the house. “I have ‘ta use the bathroom!” shouted Braxton. I gave them directions to the hall bathroom and continued raking yard debris. Fifteen minutes rolled by. Just as I was considering going in to see if they needed anything, they came out the front door. “We’re just like a circus!” ‘T’ sang out merrily as she and Braxton joined the others. “Uhm,” I replied.

They were across the street a long time. Then I saw the car exit the pasture lane and drive off. Guess they had to get back to town, I thought, not at all upset they were unable to say goodbye. Shortly afterwards, though, Excy drove up with Jack Russell, Braxton, and ‘T.’ “What happened?” I asked. “Mimi had some ‘health issues,’ and she didn’t want to miss dinner at the home. They serve at five,” said ‘T.’ “But don’t worry; she’ll be right back.” “Right back,” being a 45-minute trip one way to the edge of west Little Rock. I quickly calculated another hour-and-a-half of visiting. “Can we see your horses over here?” she asked. We walked over to the corrals by the house. Excy dropped the boys off, and without saying a word, drove down to his studio, where he disappeared for the rest of the visit. ‘T’ and I sat on the porch of the tack room and watched the boys toss a rubber ball from the horse corral back and forth, dirt rising like mushroom clouds that enveloped them in greater circles with each throw. “I’m thirsty!” said Braxton, as he walked over to grab a ‘Big Gulp’ cup out of ‘T’s hand. “Where’s your drink, mother?” he added sweetly, taking long sips through the straw. ‘T’ ignored the query.

“I’m bored,” wailed Jack Russell. “Can we go watch cartoons inside your house?” “No,” I said. “I just had the house cleaned yesterday, and ya’ll are filthy; besides, you freaked my cats out.” Both boys frowned. “What if we take our shoes off?” said Jack Russell. “What good would that do?” replied ‘T,’ saving me the trouble. “I don’t know,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry…” I began. “Don’t worry about it!” replied ‘T.’ “I make Braxton strip before he can come inside the house all the time!”

“Let’s go sit on the back terrace,” I suggested, leading the way through the yard. Braxton plopped on the chaise lounge beside us. “Look,” said ‘T,’ “I’ll give you $50 dollars if you catch a lizard – but you have to show it to me.” “Geez, ‘T,’” I said. “For $50 dollars I’ll find a lizard!” Jack Russell jumped off the terrace wall. “I’m gonna go find me $50 dollars,” he said, ambling off. Braxton didn’t move. Ten minutes later, Jack Russell was back. “Couldn’t find one,” he said, his voice trailing off weakly. “What??” I said. “I just saw three sitting here!” He went off to try again, this time with Braxton in tow. But they were soon back, having exhausted all possibilities of capturing an allusive lizard. “What’s in there?” asked Jack Russell, pointing to the goldfish pond, and he and Braxton, without waiting for a reply, were soon merrily trying to capture the fish with their hands, splashing and dislodging plants and the filter. Relieved they were briefly preoccupied, I didn’t bother telling them to stop, though I know the fish were mighty disturbed, and that Excy would be spending the early evening putting the plants and equipment to rights again.

Just then, ‘T-too’ drove up and joined us, and some the foursome were on their way back towards the car. “Thanks a lot,” said ‘T,’ as the boys huddled together and giggled, no-doubt complaining to each other about what a Nazi I had been about not allowing them back inside the house. Without saying a word to me, they climbed into the car. Without a further word by anybody, the car disappeared down the road. When I told the story to a friend, she laughed so hard she snorted. Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “Braxton? Are you sure it was Braxton? Maybe his name is Brat-son.. You were a free afternoon’s entertainment!” I laughed, and made a mental note to find a different jewelry store to frequent.

Paper Trails and Trials

2011-08-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

I read in the August issue of Real Simple magazine that 83% of human-resource managers feel that the state of an employee's office affects their perception of his/her's professionalism. I think that's trite, but since I heard once that it takes about 10 seconds for someone to size you up before forming an opinion, I guess it's not that surprising.

I knew someone who was fired for her disheveled office. J was a good friend and a solid (though slow-working) graphic artist. She was creative and hard-working. Incidentally, she was also a hoarder. You couldn't walk in her house easily, and even then, in a single-file path, as 'things' were stacked from floor to ceiling. She had two metal racks full of costumes in her dining room, for some reason never fully explained when I asked. You couldn't see the furniture for the junk. She also had a crammed-to-the brim storage unit, and she had a layaway tag on so many items in antique stores in the state that a fellow worker and I used to joke to one another about how we knew it was 'J' before we turned a tag over on an item we wanted.

This was before the TV shows on hoarders, so we didn't know quite how (or if) we should approach the issue. I felt as long as she wasn't affecting anybody and it didn't interfere with her work, it wasn't our place to intervene, other than to let her know we'd help should she want to have a garage sale (!) I went as far as to suggest we might team up to tackle each other's houses for any 'daunting' cleaning projects or painting chores, but she didn't seem interested. I let it go. Unfortunately, our bosses didn't feel that way. I heard raised voices one afternoon and our 'head' boss from DC was loudly inquiring how he was supposed to walk into her office without stepping on 'something important,' and that she 'couldn't possibly be efficient and organized in a mess like this.'

I tried to talk with her a few times after that to let her know people were talking, and whether or not I could help her organize. She insisted everything had to stay in place and everything was necessary for work, despite my picking through stuff like 4 rough drafts of edited papers that had long been published...

Well, you know where this is going...she was fired after being put on probation a few months. She went back to school and is in a totally new career and much happier. Sadly we don't get together too often anymore, and when we do we go to a restaurant. So I haven't seen the inside of her house.

Every time I sigh over the 'trail' Excy leaves throughout the house, I remember J and don't feel quite as bad. But I have had to 'surrender' the library over to Be (his dad's) paper until he gets all the mess sorted out. He's promised to let me have a bonfire this fall.

Alternate Realities

2011-08-05T15:48:00.000-07:00

Life has been so terribly difficult and depressing. I never consider 'things can't get worse,' as invariably life then conspires to show me how yes, it truly can. I am almost to the point of going back to Mayberry: my fallback decompression mode for when life gets so suck as to be nonexistent --retreating into the simple pleasures of Andy Griffith tapes. (Blog post 'Back to Mayberry' was written 9/25/09. How do you make a link?).

People who know me well will be shocked to hear I am finally resorting to considering meds until I can regain a will to continue. I hate to take anything, and resist 'feel-good' drugs--it would be odd not to be depressed at this point - but it's time to pull out bigger guns...

Lately I have been reading even more than usual -- which is a lot, anyway. And the books I am grabbing off the shelf are true-life accounts of people who have lived through harrowing times. Reading of their hardship and perseverance and strength of spirit gives me some measure of strength and will power.

The first book I highly recommend is finally out in paperback: Empire of the Summer Moon. As related on the cover, it is about the rise and fall of the Commanche nation and also the account of Quanah Parker, who was the son of a white captive and a tribesman chief. Parker became the 'last' Commanche chief who never surrendered but acquiesced and became a leader in helping his people live and adapt once they moved to a reservation. The book is full of fascinating stories about Mexico and Texas from the 1600s on, the rise of the Plains Indians and the mustang, the beginnings of the frontier and the Texas Rangers, range wars and horrific battles between Indians pushed to the warpath, and white settlers trying to claim a stake...I think I highlighted every page and poured over the notes and bibliography for more books to read.

The second book is Unbroken. The true account of a poverty-stricken kid who was a real juvenile delinquent who was saved from no-doubt a criminal life when he discovered running, and became an Olympic athlete whose career was cut short by WWII. He was a bombardier whose plane ditched in the ocean and he and two other survivors broke a record of drifting 47 days in a life raft, fending off sharks with no food or water. When they were found by the Japanese and interred in a POW camp they missed the raft. He was imprisoned 2 1/2 years in conditions and treatment I don't know how he endured. The book has a happy ending - thus the title - but it's a heart-rending read.

I received Same Kind of Different as Me, about the relationship between a modern-day sharecropper slave turned homeless man and a millionaire and his wife, and it's also a diverting read.

I have tons of others stacked on the bedside. So many books, so little time. It helps me when I have no energy for anything else.

What are you enjoying reading?

I (Heart) Myrna!

2011-08-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

I share my birthday (August 2) with my favorite movie star: Myrna Loy.

I couldn't believe it when I first found out.

Born in 1905, the fabulous Myrna died age 88 in 1993. She never received an Oscar for a single performance, but did receive an honorary Oscar in 1991. Acknowledging the recognition was her last public appearance.

I first became enamored with Myrna watching the entire Thin Man series -- Nick and Nora Charles and their dog, Asta, are so cosmopolitan and suave as they solve crimes. They have a fabulous life; watching it just makes you want to be a part of it.

In every film, Myrna is poised, witty, sophisticated, funny, pretty without being distractingly gorgeous, and, while always a lady, she can be disarmingly down-to-earth and bawdy. She treated everyone equally, getting along with everybody no matter who they were.

She was miscast when she first began in films, playing exotic roles, femme fetales, and vamps. She came into her own in the '30s when she got scripts where she was allowed to be witty and showcase her comic timing. She was an excellent comedienne -- and her slight air of ditziness and clumsiness further endeared her to me, since I seem to share both traits.

Some of my favorite films are the Thin Man series, as mentioned, as well as Libeled Lady (one of my favorite screwball comedies), Test Pilot, Wife vs. Secretary, The Best Years of Our Lives, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer, and Mr Blandings Builds His Dream House. She worked with them all: Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Spencer Tracy, William Powell -- and held her own with all of them. Her most frequent co-star with the debonair Powell. They were in 14 films together.

She was rumored to have affairs with Spencer Tracy, Leslie Howard, and William Powell.

Personally, she sounds as awesome as I would have hoped she would be. She all but quit acting during WWII to concentrate on raising funds for the war effort and to work with the Red Cross.

She spoke out against Hitler so vehemently she was on his blacklist. She was an advocate for equal rights. She supported black performers when it wasn't popular to do so.

She married four times but the marriages just didn't work out. She never had kids, but was close to the step-kids she had. She was a breast cancer survivor in her later years. Sadly, she died during an operation.

Myrna Loy was class. There will never be another like her, and more's the pity.

What's Bugging You?

2011-07-30T14:29:00.000-07:00

WARNING: this post contains graphic descriptions of creepy-crawlies and may result in headscratching

Bugs rule the world. Okay, maybe not. It just seems that way when they overwhelm your world and make your life miserable.

For being so small they have such sneaky, steadfast ways.

Living in the country holds many advantages, but what really 'bugs' me about it are 'bugs.' Even if they come with the territory. The 'plus' side of enjoying our wildlife are the 'down side' of the bugs that accompany them.

Last September we had a tick epidemic some creative soul could make into a real spine-tingler. Francis Fox had taken to sleeping under my car and hanging out in the gravel drive. She dug a smooth shallow trench to keep cool and sheltered, away from the kits but close enough and within eye-distance of the tack room to keep a wary eye on them. They were too young to venture down the drive. At first I thought it was cute. It certainly was clever. On a 'good' week, I only drive to town once or twice, so the car doesn't move that often. Then -- disaster. I was driving and noticed small brown spots on the windshield. Then the dash. Then the side windows. Then the roof of the car. My god - it was a horror movie -- a tick epidemic of crisis proportions. When I got to my destination I dashed in the bathroom to do a quick 'tick-check.' Found quite a few on my jeans. Hours later had to drive home. Repeated the tick-check and threw all my clothes in the washer. Checking the shoes showed more ticks. Yuck and double-yuck.

Excy got super-duty spray bomb for inside the car and then tackled the drive. When he came back in, we must've picked a hundred ticks off his clothes and off him. It was incredible. We had to bomb the car three times. Excy developed tick-fever. Fortunately we caught it right away, but with his heart issues and the meds he was already taking, it was a worry.

Finally, I could get in the car and not start jerking at every sensation. Francis didn't seem to mind the inconvenience, she just moved into the tall pampas grass.

This year, it's ants in the roof of the addition of the house. And it's a metal roof - somehow they got in the insulation. White flakes of insulation drift down gently like tiny snowflakes, coating the walls and the floors. Every time Excy conquers one spot they just move to another. It seems to be slowing down, but maybe it's my optimism.

I learned the hard way not to use Orkin type outfits -- yes they 'killed bugs dead,' but they also killed the 'good' bugs that kept most of the 'bad' ones at bay. We had more of the horrible spiders and others I won't freak you out with than we ever did before -- fortunately outside, but still...

Now we are encountering a problem we haven't had since the cats became strictly indoor cats in '99. FLEAS. Mama 'coon and her three babies hang out underneath the screen porch, which is the cat's 'outdoor room.' They lounge out there hours at a time. Last week I noticed an inordinate amount of scratching going on with our three and Dixie, our semi-permanent houseguest. Then I trapped one on the bed. Eeewwwwwhhh...

A thorough flea-combing revealed it was a problem of epic proportions. They all got treated three days ago, and there's been a lot of unpleasant side-effects, and it's still not resolved. I'm afraid I'll be bathing them and giving them another dose in a week or so. Excy sprayed the ground.

BAD BUGS. The bane of my country existence. You 'city folks' can thank your lucky stars.

On another note, though, a walking stick the size of an asparagus stalk has been providing entertainment for days -- I've never seen one as big before...

Final Run-in with a Whack-a-do

2011-07-26T16:06:00.000-07:00

part two of the story:

About eight months after we moved in, I found myself back in DC having my second brain surgery (nine years after the first - also discovering I had VHL, a chronic disease that would require kidney surgery that year, once I recovered from the brain surgery). It was a rough surgery and I needed to stay up there to go into PT and OT to relearn how to walk and write. They figured we'd be away from AR about 4 weeks, maybe five.

The end of the first week Ms Thing the landlord called my room. I was not expecting to hear from her, and I was definitely unprepared to hear the real reason she called.
"Hey. Sorry to hear about your operation. I wanted you to know, I sold the house."
me, slightly panicked: "You what?! The house you said we could live in for four years?"
Cuckoo-batshit-crazee: "Yeah, well, I changed my mind. But don't worry: you have 6 to 8 weeks."
me: "Well, gee, that's just great, since I'm in the hospital up here for two weeks and then in rehab two weeks after that -- leaving about two weeks or maybe if we're lucky, four, to find a house and move when we get home, in addition to continuing my therapy so I CAN WALK AND WRITE and go back to work. Thanks soooo much -- you're a real gem, and your timing is incredible." CLICK

When we got back to AR, we drew a circle around my work place and decided we wouldn't look at anything outside the circumference. Not buying a house wasn't an option. I never again wanted to be at the mercy of a landlord. We saw a lot of dismal prospects. We wanted to live close enough to commute to town and my work within 30 minutes, and ideally, have room for Excy's studio, and land for future horses.

We were down to the last two weeks when we were aimlessly driving the backroads yet again, when I spied a 'for-sale-by-owner' sign in front of a ranch house. "Pull in, pull in!" I shouted. The house and yard were a real mess, but I saw the possibilities right away. It was a decent house (good bones), had 7 acres, and a detached shed Excy could use for a studio, now being used as the owner's carpentry studio (he built lawn swings).

It was one of the quickest sales in history -- amazing when I think about it. They promised they could move out and we could move in even when the final papers were still being filed. We had all of a week to pack, move, clean the rental and clean the new house and pull up the disgusting wall-to-wall carpet and paint everything. Luckily (!), I was still out on medical leave from work. Excy also had to patch nail holes and repaint walls in the rental. I cleaned the rental and scrubbed the bathrooms as well as I could, but the water stains were permanent. But we left that place spotless -- which it hadn't been when we moved in. Then we worked like dogs on the new house. Thank the goddess for friends and family, who were enlisted to help. Because this place was horrid. It was like instead of cleaning a plate, they'd toss it into the yard. One bathtub took all afternoon to clean and the pumice stone my friend started with looked like a pebble when she was through. (And I swear to you, I like things clean, but I am not a neat-freak by any means).

So when Ms Cuckoo called and proceeded to berate us on how "filthy" she had heard from the new owner (her friend and former hairdresser) we had left her house, I lost my mind. Anyone who knows me well knows I seldom go ape-shit. I avoid confrontation. I swallow disappointment. I turn the other cheek. And when you finally punch that last nerve, you better hope you have a plane ticket out of the country, because I will make you regret you ever heard my name. Back away slowly because there will be a smack down and you will not be the one left standing.

After vomiting all over her punk ass on the phone, I proceeded to follow this up with a two-page, single-spaced letter. Then I made sure everyone at Winrock (her former work place) heard the whole story. And then I found the hair stylist and told him how great I thought he was, and how I'd definitely recommend his services to everyone.* Finally I made sure his only neighbors (who adored us, and are friends to this day) knew how Mr Wonderful treated us via Ms Cuckoo.

Never heard from her again. At least she was smart enough to do that much.

Months later, a mutual friend ventured that Ms Cuckoo was "really a good person."

I gave her a long look. Silence. "Are you friggen' kidding me?! You saw what we went through..." I made her promise not to say the name again.

* I told you I can summon my mean-streak...

AR is Not in a Third World Country

2011-07-22T10:25:00.000-07:00

This drought reminds me of a story. After we moved to AR in 1991 we needed to rent a house while we debated our options. One of the scientists at Winrock was preparing to go to Harvard for a PhD and said she'd rent her house to us for 4 years. When we went to discuss it I fell in love - the house was darling, newly designed by an architect, barely lived in, nestled into a wooded lot on the edge of town....tiny, but we could make it work. Excy was concerned that the only water was from a well, and asked her many questions about it and whether or not she had ever had a problem. She assured us she never ran out of water.

After she left town we moved in. The house may have been new but it was filthy. After cleaning two days and moving in, and running two loads of laundry - You guessed it - we ran out of water. Zip. Nada. Excy primed the well pump and did all the voodoo one has to do and concluded we were out of luck. Driving to friends who also worked at Winrock so we could fill bottles of water from their tap (they were in the city limits) that night, they told us that this happened to X "all the time," and she had been to their house for water or had heard about it happening at least 2-3 times a week. On the second day Excy ruined his truck's transmission hauling a heavy water tank up to the house, and livid, called X yet again -- she wasn't returning the messages -- this time telling her she had until the end of the week to make a decision: we were moving and canceling the rent check if we didn't hear from her within the afternoon.

When she called, she said she had no intention of paying for another well, and thought what we should do is put up devices on the roof and rain barrels so we could catch run-off and use that. She had "discussed it with another employee at Winrock and he agreed it would be a sensible solution." Okay, I knew she was odd, but BSC??? Number 1) AR doesn't tend to have much rain in the summer. This didn't solve our immediate problem. Of. No. Water.

Number 2) I didn't really see the necessity of living like we were in a third world country when we were not in a third world country.* She hemmed and hawed. We stewed and argued -- then we realized there wasn't a way to bring a person back to earth when she was so far-out of range. So we told her we'd be moving on Monday, having lived there for seven miserable days (well, five, since the first two days were fine).

Sunday night she called and said she'd pay for another well on the property. Duh, she'd have to do it anyway regardless of who moved in. This 'ole boy came and witched it and taught me how to witch, too, and we found a spot and it was a great well. Never ran out of water again, though it did turn brown at times and stained the porcelain in the bathroom, but her well did that, too.

We paid the rent on time and never contacted her again - thankfully never had reason to -- but this left a bad taste in everyone's mouth and she really got back at us. I'll tell you part two in another post.

*yes, I know it's correct to say 'developing country' now - then it was accurate lingo.

Excy and Steven Tyler

2011-07-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, one of my closest friends moved to Kansas City for her husband's job. Her son, Seun, asked us to participate in a 'Flat Stanley' project for his 6th grade assignment. Apparently, 'Flat Stanley' is a writing exercise where the kids make paper outlines of themselves and then send them to their preferred destination, where the people chosen take the cut-out, in this case 'Seun,' around their town and take photos, then send them back to the kid and he writes up a 'What I Did on my Spring Break' sort-of paper. Seun choose us over PA and DC, and we were flattered, though a little concerned about how to show a paper cut-out a good time for the week. Anyway.

We were remodeling the house, so had plenty of wood lying around, and one of the carpenters decided to make a wood cutout of 'Suen' so he could stand up when posing. Seun was busy that week. We have photos of him feeding hay to the horses, painting walls, on the roof of the house, even visiting his old house and favorite neighbor's yard.

Seun has a mask on to protect his face while working with chemcials...

Finally we needed to wrap it up: He went to church and posed with his old friends and the priest. As we were driving home, I got the brilliant idea that 'Seun' should pose in front of the Clinton Library downtown, which was being built at the time. it was then Excy started to whine.
"I have too much going on today...you go."
"He's your godson, too. I am not driving all the way home and then back downtown."
"Okay, damnit, but hurry up..."

We get to the Library. Take the picture. I decide as long as we're there we should take 'Seun' to the Riverwalk.
"Oh, come on...the horses need to get out this afternoon..."
'Please? Just to make his stay more interesting to write about..."
((sigh)) "Okay...damn..."

Driving home, I have another idea.
"I know! As long as we're here, let's go by the Old State House."
"Seriously??!! Amy, let's go HOOOMMMEEEE..."
"It'll just take a minute.." I'm driving so I win the argument.

By this time Excy is hot cross and double whiny.
"Should I go with you?"
"Stay in the car! You can't walk fast! I'll just run up and pose him!"

I park across the street and watch as Excy hauls 'Seun' up the steps and then deliberates where to prop him up. What looks like a slender woman with dark hair is sitting on the bench with a man. They engage Excy in conversation. Now, Excy is a talker. I mean, A TALKER. But since he's done nothing but kvetch about this exercise since the day began, I feel certain he will cut it off -- or at least respect the fact I'm sitting in a hot car waiting for him.
No dice. Eventually the woman-figure goes over to where Excy has propped up Seun and wraps an arm around him while Excy takes the picture. Then, does Excy leave?? Nooooo.

Five more minutes pass. Then ten minutes. Finally it's been 20 minutes and I am peeved. I am not known for my patience, either, but I'm more than a little annoyed that he's bitched all day about having 'no time,' but then seems to have all the time in the world to chat up this person while I'm waiting in the car.

BEEEEEPPPP.....at the sound of the horn all three heads turn my way to stare in the direction of the car. Excy makes his goodbyes. Trots across the street.
"Sure as $%#@ took you long enough for someone who couldn't wait to get home," I grumbled.
"Know who that was? You know the girl I think kinda looks like you, the one in the Lord of the Rings?''
"That was NOT Liv Tyler," I snap.
"No,that was her dad, Steven Tyler. He played here last night and was just hanging out before making a plane."

Oh no -- you did NOT just meet Steve Tyler and not even bother to wave me over.
I did NOT just honk my horn at a celebrity.

The next day I take two rolls of film into Walgreens for the fast photo process. Return within an hour. "Sorry, mam, but we ruined one roll of your film."
"You gotta be kidden' me....I had Steve Tyler on one of those rolls!"
This would be a 'big fish' story -- where we'd tell it to people and they wouldn't believe us.
The fat cow sat at the desk, mouth agape, blinking a bit. I could tell she had no idea what I was talking about (this was before he was on American Idol).

Fortunately, that roll survived.

But we had to replicate one entire roll -- going around to all the places again, for Seun.
His teacher was apparently crazy for Tyler -- she gave him an A+++ and still keeps the photo as her screen saver.

We, however, have yet to even read his report. I finally quit asking. But we've got our own story.

Tyler's rock-star pose with Seun...

Hill Country and Then Some...

2011-07-11T15:37:00.000-07:00

My favorite way to visit, especially these days when the weather is so BSC* hot, is by sofalizing -- wish I had thought of the word, because it's brilliant. I'm finally feeling some strength ebbing back, but that still means I'm good for about one thing a day, with rest in between. Please Lord make it rain, and this summer weather to end in the fall, earlier than it usually does. Hate to be a whiner; I know this heat is miserable and sapping everybody. I think people deserve a medal for just getting out in it. Poor momma 'coon practically drags up to the terrace and those babies hang on her legs, just like the toddlers I see with their mom at the grocery store.

Last leg of Texas: We left Houston for San Antonio. I have never been to the River walk and have always wanted to, so it seemed a logical choice for celebrating our 20th, since we were in Texas anyway. My dad's architecture firm had designed a hotel on the River but we ended up at the Hyatt, which was also on the River and quite nice. They had glass elevators and I tried not to swoon when we went up and down; heights are not my thing.

It was boiling hot but jam-packed with tourists like us and fun to people-watch. We took a boat tour. Met an old high school friend for dinner with her boyfriend. She hasn't changed at all, still a force of nature. Decided to take advantage of the breeze to walk to the Alamo at midnight, which was pretty, all lighted up. I was struck by how small it actually is. Made the story seem even more romantic. I was surprised by how many people were still in the streets.

They're making plans to turn the River walk more into Times Square in New York, and hearing this made my heart sink. Right now it's quaint and has lots of architectural integrity...reminds me somewhat of a more thriving B&O canal, which winds through Georgetown in DC. Foreseeing another Disneyland-like Times Square in the future, made little sense, but I guess I'm just a purist. Definitely against all cities blending into the same look, anyway. I was glad to get to Vegas a few times before they made it all 'kiddy-friendly.' I wish I had been there as an adult in the hey-day, when people dressed up to catch a show of the Rat Pack...

The following day we drove on to Kerrville. The hill country is beautiful, even if it was choking for rain. We strolled the downtown and had a great lunch, and stayed at a B&B called The Painted Horse that actually is a painted horse ranch. We had a lovely two-bedroom cabin with a kitchen and living room to ourselves. The long front porch was full of rocking chairs to sit when it cooled off (a little) at night to watch their Axis deer and horses roam around. The cabin is the only thing they rent out so we were glad to stay there; it can get popular at foaling time.

Unfortunately we didn't get to meet our appointments. I told Excy to go, but he didn't want to leave me. I fell quite ill. Terrible GI problems. Tongue as black as a chow dog's. (Kidney remnant doesn't like getting dehydrated and we were too active - getting up early and staying late - and I pushed myself too hard). For two days I rested in front of the a/c and downed glass after glass of water. Going into an ER in Kerrville didn't strike me as much of a good option.

Not what we intended, but at least I was able for us to continue to Austin for a night. Going through Fredericksburg we bought some awesome peaches and produce and jams to take to the kids. Excy's kids and our 2-yr old grand daughter are in Austin, and we were able to stay a night before heading home. Seeing the kids is always fun. Only wish we had more time.

*Bat Shit Crazy

Houston We Have a Problem

2011-07-07T15:25:00.000-07:00

I've fallen down a hole the past three weeks. Haven't been able to rebound from the Texas trip, and am spending the days resting and rehydrating. A lot. Even sent Excy off to a 4th of July party with a platter of deviled eggs. Hated to miss fun times, but it's taken me years to learn to stop and hibernate when I must, and not push myself and feel worse. What I lose, I don't regain. At least Sci-fi was running their annual Twilight Zone marathon, so the cats and I were able to enjoy our quiet evening...yesterday I got cabin fever so bad we decided to risk a movie. (Midnight in Paris - which was entertaining.) But now I'm down for the count again, and spent most of the day reading The Help. Always want to read the book before seeing the movie....

Critter update: Three weeks ago just before we left, Francis fox and Mr moved the kits into a deeper part of the woods. Usually she doesn't do this so soon, but those damn yippy dogs of our trailer neighbors (dachshunds) came over twice, and scared her, I think...it's not like her to not come back when they are settled, though, so I'm worried. Our neighbor who has a cattle farm behind us has seen coyotes, and the raccoons haven't been up, either, so I think that's what's up. I miss watching the kits grow, but would rather have them safe. Today a mama 'coon came up with three babies -- tiny ones -- so I threw out some dog food, as it's insufferably hot and mama needs to eat, and I'd prefer that than having them disturbing the bird feeders...If anyone needs a sure-fire recipe for keeping 'coons from digging up their flowers, I found one. You must reapply it after watering or the rain, until they get the idea the pot or patch isn't a good idea...it's far more effective than the expensive pellets, sprays, and liquids I've bought in the past. Though it smells awful, it doesn't overpower the flowers, for some reason.

On to the Texas posting:
the first leg of our trip was to MD Anderson in Houston for the VHL conference.* The medical conference was incredibly well set up. Maybe 50 patients and caretakers were there, and a panel of doctors. Having lived with this for 27 years, I knew most of what they had to say, but I was surprised to learn only 10,000 people have it in the US. (reminded me of the cartoon I liked in The New Yorker -- a woman is in a waiting room and replying to a man beside her that 'her disease is so rare, they don't even have a spokesperson for it'). Also, learned that since I can't handle contrast dye anymore they can do an endoscope of my GI to 'see what those tumors are doing'. Still no luck on the brain or spine, though. My doctors said that at this point, I'd know something was going on, before they'd see it on a scan.

The last hour of the meeting the facilitator, Joyce, who I've known since '92, blindsided me by sticking a microphone in my face and telling the group that I was now going to tell my story. Yikes. I don't mind speaking in public, and I am used to lecturing med students at our local teaching hospital, but I like a little warning. I was shaking so badly I could feel my lips trembling when I was through! Fortunately, Excy is a deft hand at handling the follow-up questions and elaborating when I skim over details. Afterwards Joyce tells the crowd that 'I'm a pioneer who has paved the way so hopefully their cancer journey with VHL will go more smoothly than mine.' I've always dreamed of being a pioneer, just hadn't realized I was...

A few folks come up afterwards to say they thought they had gone through the wringer until they heard my story...I have yet to meet anyone who has had full-blown VHL activity like I've had, but there were so many brave souls in the audience who have undergone a number of surgeries. Talking to other VHL survivors made me feel strangely optimistic and depressed. It was a very long day and after a mojoto and some Mexican food, I fell into bed to get ready to get up early and drive to San Antonio....

* if you don't know what VHL is, google vhl.org

Love & Marriage

2011-06-25T15:29:00.001-07:00

We are back from Texas. I took the laptop but when I had time, I didn't have the wifi access or it wasn't free -- mostly it got too hectic. We had fun for the most part, though I am glad to be home. I wanted to post about our wedding anniversary first...

June is an auspicious month for our family. On June 9 my parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. True to their style they didn't want to have a 'do' and chose to honor the date with a dinner just the two of them...mom and dad are an inspiration. They have never dated anyone else -- something I have always found amazing -- and from the age of 15 and 16 (mom was the 'older woman') have gone steady, and have been pinned, dropped, engaged and married, in the way people 'went steady' back in the day...this is their wedding day...they waited 7 years before having kids...mom worked as a 4th grade teacher, and dad was getting an architecture degree, then they traveled as he was in the Air Force for a stint, and finally settled down in AR, where he left to join an architecture firm and they began their family...

Things got a little more complicated for us kids. Here my brother Steve (red suspenders at far left) and sister-in-law Susan (gorgeous girl in the middle in blue dress, with dark hair and bangs) are surrounded by family and friends after their nuptials on June 12 at a good friend's house. Steve and Susan were high school sweethearts for 2 years until he left for college and she dumped him (broke his heart). Susan went on to marry twice, and Steve married and divorced once, before they met up again. Today they have been married 22 years...(mom and dad are seated on the couch - she's in the light-colored dress and he's next to her..I am next to Steve with Carol between us, with an unfortunate permanent and red hair).

Excy and I celebrating our garden wedding on the lawn and terrace of the Big House in Stevenson, MD 20 years ago, June 15th.

Excy and I 'met cute,' in the parlance of the classic old movies I love to watch...I was a happily divorced writer and editor of ARCHITECTURE magazine in DC, and he closed his architecture practice in Austin after he broke his back and was living and working in Baltimore. I was dating an architect in NYC and his distance was one of the things I liked about our relationship...

One afternoon my editor-in-chief threw a project on my desk and suggested it would make a good article for a column I wrote about new designs. Usually when a journalist calls an architect they're thrilled to have their work published -- particularly in one of the three prestigious architecture magazines in the country...but this guy sounded peeved. "Whattya do? Pull it out of the round file??" Okay, I responded, sorry to bother you. Click.

Twenty minutes or so the phone rang.* He said he was so sorry, just we had the slides for over a year and he had been trying to get them back to publish them elsewhere (they were taken by a primere architectural photographer). After we got it straightened out, we began the business portion of the phone call. When I played the tape back later I was surprised by how much we laughed and 'got on,' and noted that about 30 minutes was all business and the rest was all hahaha...

After two weeks I reluctantly called to thank him and said I had everything I needed and to tell him what issue it'd be in...and the next day he called. "Hey, kid. Just missed talking to you." (He is 11 years older). Because I couldn't very well gab away at work I gave him my home phone. He would call every night around 11 and we'd talk for a long time....it occurred to me he was checking up on me...

After three months of this, he proposed meeting...he had asked before but I kept putting it off...there was the architect in NYC (though that infatuation was fading)...and I was having so much fun talking to Excy...I knew it'd burst my bubble if we met and he was blonde or fat and bald...(not that anything's wrong with that...)

Finally he said this was ridiculous...we would be meeting...I protested that I had to work that Saturday...he replied he would pick me up for lunch. At this point we hadn't discussed what either of us looked like, but he said he was 'tall,' and I said I was tall and had (then) auburn hair...At the appointed time, I nervously sat in the lobby and waited...and in he walked. And my first thought when he swung through the door was Damn! I don't want to get married again! It took awhile of course, and we lived together awhile, but after that day it was pretty much over for us with anyone else...

* I never knew 'his' side of the story for 14 years, until he told a friend who asked how we met---apparently he called my editor-in-chief to complain and 'ask if he was slipping,' as he'd never had a lowly (my words) associate editor contact him before, having been used to a senior editor or 'the' editor...Mr. Canty assured him that "He wanted to meet this girl......Don't you have a new restaurant you designed somewhere? You should take her to lunch." "Don, I've never had to take an editor to lunch before -- why do you want me to take her to lunch??" "You aren't listening to me. You want to meet this girl..."

I wish I had known that my reserved, taciturn and wonderful boss set us up. He's no longer living, but thank you, Mr. Canty...

2011-06-11T19:52:00.000-07:00

The Redneck Gourmet dinner last weekend was a lot of fun. We have to rely on Excy's photos from his phone which are not the best, because I forgot to take the camera. The show is going to air in the fall after the finale of ice road truckers. Apparently the premise is these 'hairy bikers' (two guys) are chefs and 'explore' the region by eating local delicacies. They gigged our pond the night before to make a frog leg gumbo (they should've asked; we would've let them in the gate, though I hate that some of the frogs were killed. I couldn't try it).

They found the RNG when googling dutch oven cooking in AR. These guys -- including our neighbor -- have won awards for their cooking. They have done two of our picnics - making a pork loin in a chutney-apple glaze, corn pudding, rolls, and a peach cobbler one year...utterly fantastic. For this event, they had a lot of extra dutch-oven chefs in a cook-off competition. After filming all day we could finally eat -- and I couldn't get to half the food...it was all incredible.

This little guy was found without his mom and the couple taking care of him brought him because he needed feeding and they'd be gone all day. He slept peaceably despite lots of people milling around all day and making a fuss over him...

Our neighbor Keith working on his two dishes - his dessert, a carrot cake with icing, won an award that day...

Here are what the hairy bikers rode up on...note their license plates...despite it being a hundred degrees, it was all very fun.

One of the kits peeks out from under the tack room floor...

Fox and Cat Daze of Summer...

2011-06-07T16:14:00.000-07:00

In between the phase two posting of the Redneck Gourmet dutch-oven cook-off, we finally got some photos of Francis and the kits. Since you have been waiting patiently, I am interrupting the 'flow' to post these shots. Without further ado...

This is who Excy saw when he walked out to feed the horses this morning..sorry the shot is blurry. He was in a hurry to grab his phone. When he turned the corner of the tack room, he saw four kits wrestling in the ivy...

When they ran underneath the floor, he dangled a string from a hay bale over the edge and went 'fishing' and this is who he lured...

Francis interrupted her lounging in the cool recedes of the ivy this afternoon to eat her favorite treat of vanilla wafers...oops, we're out as of tomorrow...time to run to the store!

Meanwhile inside, Corey's cat Dixie, loves the screened porch so much she is out there all hours, despite looking like she's about to fall out from the heat!

Lenny lounging on the porch...though he prefers the cool bedroom.

Ya'll keep cool!!

Wye Social Network, part 1

2011-06-05T21:33:00.000-07:00

This was a busy weekend on Wye. Friday night I hosted the June WOW (Witches of Wye. For all you newbie readers out there, this is basically an excuse to get together with girlfriends on the mountain and eat and drink wine, and relax -- we aren't really witches, we just thought it would be fun to call ourselves that -- and maybe some of the 'dicy' element would leave our property alone if they thought we were...).

Then on Saturday we went to a neighbor's dutch-oven cook-off and taping of a show for the History channel. That'll be my second posting. I forgot my camera (can I blame Excy, who was rushing me out the door?) so I have to use Excy's camera-phone photos, which are...well, let's just say, they aren't mine. Sorry. Not that I'm a professional, or anything.

But back to the witches. Things got busy that night, too, so no photographs (Again. Sorry). I got over-enthusiastic about inviting several 'town witches' - friends from town who wanted to come party -- before I knew it we were up to 13. (Does that make a coven?).

What was I thinking?? Mildly freaked out, I put Excy and Corey to work cleaning up the yard and grounds, and hauling around chairs and putting the three leafs in the table to sit 14...yeah, they were thrilled. The indispensable Robin came in to clean on Thursday, so I could spend time tackling things she doesn't do (like windows, of which we have a million, all with cobwebs and all a zillion feet high, it seems), and the porch and terrace (where it ended up too miserably hot to sit, even at night, anyway...). I bought red and orange lilies from Beth's flower and berry farm down the road...her professional flowers are bigger than the day lilies blooming in our yard. Excy drove by on Saturday and said her zinnias are also in bloom now. Love those happy flowers -- and her blueberry and raspberry bushes are now ripe for the picking -- but I digress...

For some reason I had thought having a salad bar would be an excellent idea. One of my favorite lunch spots in Little Rock is a build-your-own salad bar, and I saw an article in O magazine touting the idea for a party, so I went with it. Again: What was I thinking?!

I was cleaning and chopping veggies, fruits, and greens for hours. Cathy suggested next time, instead of usual pot luck, we each bring an ingredient for the salad. (That's the only time there will be a next time on that idea). But the salad was fabulous. I had mixed greens and romaine, and bowls of mushrooms, carrots, red onion, bell peppers, chickpeas, hard-boiled eggs, cherry tomatoes, radishes, dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, goat and feta cheeses, and 4 kinds of dressings. Hmmm...maybe I've left something out: I counted 14 bowls on the counter...Suzanne brought breads. Cathy made a delicious lemongrass soup. Deb made a chocolate cheesecake with strawberries that was to die for, and Sharon brought some special yummy cookies. Yes, we ate well. I'm sorry we were having so much fun, I forgot to take the photographs. My bad.

Saturday was also another high school reunion party of several classes, but since our neighbors were having the dutch-oven cook-off and demonstration that was also being filmed for a show that will be on the History Channel in October after ice road truckers ends its season, The 'Redneck Gourmets' (the emphasis is on 'gourmet') won out. That'll be my second post. Since there will be photos, it's one you'll definitely want to see.

Francis fox report: Francis and her Mr were grooming each other in the driveway Saturday. This tender scene took place in the shadow of the big tree next to the tack room so I couldn't sneak any pics. The kits (still counting three of them), are beginning to venture away from their den under the tack room and Excy caught them wrestling when he walked up to feed the horses on the house side...they ran off...but now that they are coming outside more I will be able to take photos. The baby coons should start coming up with their mamas, soon, too.

Peggy, vHL Warrior

2011-06-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

When things are going along 'normally,' I can pretty well put living with a chronic disease in the background and adjust my life accordingly. Inevitably, something eventually comes along to jolt me back to the unpleasant reality of living with cancer. Usually it's poor health or some physical issue. Today, however, it was the discovery our friend and fellow vHL survivor, Peggy, died two months ago. Her dearly beloved husband followed 9 weeks later. His health was poor as well, but no doubt a broken heart had a lot to do with it.

I met Peggy in the late 1980s though the vHL connections one inevitably finds when researching one's illness. Peggy was a font of information, having lived with vHL and coming from a large family who have lived with vHL all their lives, and she was always serene and graceful at answering one's frantic and searing questions of what to expect and where one should turn for information.

Peggy sensed a need for even more service to her fellow vHL sufferers, and she instigated a nonprofit organization that people could call for information, counseling, that could also provide small financial stipends to those in need when traveling for medical tests or hospitalization. Peggy corralled everyone into contributing what strengths they had towards this charity. Before I knew it, I was writing a column for the newsletter. I could never say 'no' to Peggy. I suspect no one else could, either.

Peggy lost most of her family to vHL over the years, including their eldest daughter. Peggy lost an eye and parts of her kidneys and underwent several brain surgeries to the disease. All these trials never took away her humor or kindness. She didn't die of vHL, surprisingly enough. She died of leukemia, that medical professionals conjectured she got from all the CT scans she had to undergo through the years. They surmised that her body, already so compromised from vHL, could not withstand the new assault. It's a stunning loss to all of us who knew her.

She'd been on the other end of the phone line for so many years. She's come back from so many health battles. She was just in her 60s. We were lulled into a false sense of security that we would have her with us for many more years. It's a false sense of security we all develop, surprisingly enough, despite knowing better.

I'm glad that Don didn't have to live long without Peggy. I know he was miserable after her death. She was always his north light, and what strength they had they drew upon from each other.

Poison Ivy and Thor...*

2011-05-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

* Not two comic book figures...just one...

Friday with a 'to do' list as long as my arm to accomplish before my WOW this Friday (got 13 coming! A 'real' coven!) what did I allow myself to be talked into by Excy and Vance but an afternoon movie break. And we saw 'Thor,' no less -- which I had zero interest in. Excy sold me because it had Natalie Portman, Anthony Hopkins, and Rene Russo in it. Vance said Kenneth Branagh directed it, and the 'hero' had the best-looking body he'd ever seen. So, the boys won out. If nothing else, I'd enjoy the eye candy. And WHAT eye candy! WOW. And you know what? It was actually a fun movie. Pleasant surprise.

Saturday was a day I've dreaded all week. A day spent in the yard, which was in serious need of help. It was beginning to resemble a long-abandoned lawn. Which I guess it was. I used to love to garden, but I can't physically keep it up any longer. Plus, the ticks and chiggers have gotten so bad it's like a horror movie. Living in the country has that going for it as a disadvantage. I told Excy I wish I had a haz-mat suit. I settled for two layers of clothes and a bathing cap under my sun hat, and rubber boots and gloves. Sprayed every 2 hrs. Feel like I got off easy with three ticks, only one that bit (of all places my ankle; I guess it was on some dead leaves that got into the boot), and a welt of poison ivy from when I fell against a tree weeding the triangle bed. Found another tiny seed tick (as small as the head of a straight pin) later. As long as I don't get chiggers, though, I guess I can cope. Chiggers itch for a week and leave marks.

When I was gone Thursday Excy finally got out a bird that had gotten trapped in our fireplace overnight. We have a fire stove in the LR. He said it took 1 1/2 hours. I asked what kind of bird it was and what color -- he said he didn't know and it was 'ash gray.' Haha.

Francis report: She has been coming up several times a day for dog food and vanilla wafers and tries to bury the wafers she doesn't eat, but the coons always sniff them out. Francis will politely lie in the yard and wait if we don't see her. She has at least three kits that we know of, because today they were out from under the tack room. They are as small as a 6-week kitten. I will try to get photos as soon as I can. I have another day planned in the yard tomorrow (I had to give myself a day off) and hopefully I'll spot them again.

Where Were You When the World (Didn't) End?

2011-05-24T15:26:00.000-07:00

Friday night I went to one of the stranger slumber parties I've attended in my lifetime. While slumber parties were popular when I was growing up, aside from a few occasions, it's been quite a few years since I've gone to one. But my movie-going buddies Rosemary and Vance and I have said for a long time how much fun it'd be to sit around in our pj's eating popcorn and drinking wine -- so we finally made a date. It was pouring down rain, and thunder and lightening most of the night, so I was glad we didn't make plans to leave the house. RoRo lives alone -- not counting her golden retriever, Annie -- so we met there. After a pizza dinner with a neighbor where we talked about politics and everything under the sun, we played a round of 'Smart Ass.' I'd never heard of it, but won, being 1) Smart, and 2) an ass. I guess.

By 12:30 RoRo was turning into a pumpkin. Sir Vancelot and I are both night-owls. If I'm up past 1 a.m., I get a second wind and it can see me through into the wee hours. We started watching two different sci-fi movies off Netflix but they were both dreadful, and before I knew it he was snoring away on the couch. I was awake and alone by 3 a.m., too wired to sleep. It occurred to me that should the world actually end, I'd very much regret not having spent my final hours with Excy and the kitties. But it was a fleeting thought, and I was pretty sure that wasn't gonna happen. (It was a good thing I hadn't heard about the horror in Missouri that night; how awful). I read, and before I knew it, was drifting off to sleep when the birds began chirping.

Saturday we had a fabulous brunch using fresh eggs another neighbor gave her, and lounged around some more drinking coffee. I arranged flowers for a wedding shower Ro was attending that afternoon. As I prepared to leave we noticed my back front tire was flat. Triple A is expensive; Excy and I had discussed just that week not renewing the policy, but when you need it, boy, is it convenient! My spare looked like a doughnut, however, and I didn't feel I should drive on it all the way home, so Vance followed me to a nearby tire place. Saturday's a busy day for them. They estimated a 4-hr wait to patch it (picked up a nail), so we left the car there and went shopping for the afternoon.

An estate sale had two contemporary 'womb' chairs -- both for $1800! Such a deal. I'm hoping to inherit one of mom and dad's, but with an acquisitive brother, it's debatable. But didn't buy them, regardless. Looked around a jewelry store. Fell in love with the black diamond chip necklaces last year, and found one of black spinel that is half the cost and just as fabulous, so put it on layaway. Found a small hostess thank-you gift for Ro. Went by Pier 1 and bought some napkins and napkin holders and place-mats for next week's WOW. Treated Vance to Starbucks. This $25 tire turned into a far greater expense.

Weekends like this remind me of the importance of making time to spend with friends and loved ones. (And how, when one is in the mood, it can actually be fun to shop, sometimes). I slept in Sunday and read the paper in bed surrounded by cats, who were glad to share the bed with me. I think Excy had missed me, too.

Easter Parade

2011-05-22T16:09:00.000-07:00

It's not Easter at our house unless I've made two things always on the table: pickled eggs, and cheese grits casserole. The pickled eggs recipe are from my maternal grandmother's side of the family. We adore them in the Gray family. Excy? Not so much. Invariably friends who see purple hardboiled eggs go 'hummmm...' The beet juice and sugar and tang of the vinegar and the cinnamon stick combine to make them fabulous, however odd a purple egg may look to folks.

Unlike the eggs, everybody loves the cheese grits. Even people who don't like cheese grits. When we lived on the east coast, every Sunday we'd have pot luck with Excy's cousins at Burnside. Sunday afternoon the phone would ring. "What are you making tonight Amy? Cheese grits?" Then another phone call. "Hi, Amy. Are you making strawberry-rhubarb pie tonight?" I was pigeon-holed with those two dishes.

A few years back, Kraft foods stopped making their cheese-garlic cheese rolls. You could hear the dismayed cries of Southern women all over the country -- some cookbooks actually specify the Kraft roll in their recipe. No longer able to rely on it, it took a bit of tweaking and trial-and-error to replicate a recipe that's tasty. I don't use a recipe anymore I've made it so long, so it varies according to taste, ingredients, and what's in the pantry.

The pickled eggs are great alone, in salads, and on the side with cottage cheese. I'm happy to send any of the recipes I mentioned to anybody if they'd like.

the write stuff

2011-05-14T17:06:00.000-07:00

I have been out of comission lately. First was a stomach virus that took more than a week to get over, than the quick edit of a dissertation paper for a high-maintence client (those feel doubly hard to work on and hardly worth the fee). Over now. Yea. I will read your blogs soon and get back into the swing of things.

Three days ago Francis Fox showed up with her same Mister. She quickly resorted to her dog-like 'feed me dog food and vanilla wafers' mode. Then two days ago, Excy heard her kits under the tack room. A mom for the second time! Mr has moved on until the kits are old enough to begin roaming around, then he will be back on-hand to help feed them and 'show them the ropes.' Now that I know she's a mom I'll start feeding her better stuff, like peanut butter and fruit and veggies, to supplement her diet. I threw her a chicken carcass after making chicken stock for soup. (It's cold here -- a cold front came through yesterday). She loved that.

Yesterday was a WOW (Witches of Wye). Felt right for a Friday the 13th. My WOW is this June. I am hosting it early because we're going to Texas for a week. First to Houston to a VHL conference, then San Antonio because I've never seen the Riverwalk, then to Kerrville (hill country) to look at the area. We went to hear Kinky Friedman a few weeks ago (he signed one of the books I bought of his from 2004), and when Excy told him we were going to be there he gave us his digits and told us he'd show us Kerrville. That'd be fun.

A Mineral Miracle

2011-05-03T20:52:00.000-07:00

After the spring we've had, (well, that and -- err, aging)... the stress was definitely showing in my face. I went to my favorite skin technician at my favorite day spa and told S that I wouldn't be on-board with drastic measures like a face-lift or pumping myself full of Botox or Restyline, but I'd listen to any of her other suggestions. She threw out starting with BBL -- Broadband Light laser -- to rid my face of age spots, fine lines, and capillaries around the nose, and after one or two treatments, following up with a light chemical peel.

I had my first session last week to take advantage of a 25% off special. It took a quick 20 minutes. I was nervous. After slipping on a pair of eye goggles like swimmers wear (only metal), she proceeded to zap away the offending spots and lines. I could see the light, even through the goggles with my eyes closed. I could feel the slight burn and zap, and I held a small fan to my face to counter-act the burning sensation. Not my favorite thing, but definitely not too bad.

After she was finished, other than a slight ruddiness and a noticeable lack of spots and lines, you couldn't tell any work had been done at all. S said in four weeks I'd be ready for another session, and my "issues" were such that only one more session should do the job. Then on to the next phase.

In the meantime, I hadn't been satisfied with my makeup for 2 years now. I had been a Bobbi Brown user for years, and had switched to Giorgio Armani after a makeover. I liked the natural look, and aside from the expense, liked the product, and it lasted a long time. But lately -- especially when we were out west in the desert -- I started to feel it was looking too cakey and wanted to try something lighter. S suggested I give mineral makeup a try.

Sometimes a product comes along that you finally try and later wonder why it took so long for you to pick up.

This is the case here. I had a makeup session using Jane Iredale product, and ended up taking home the concealer, foundation, blush and pomegranate mister. The product seems to melt right into your skin and the mister 'sets' it, making it appear seemingly natural. The foundation is a powder, and I wondered how it would provide any coverage at all, but it does, and a little goes a long way. I have an oily T-zone, and usually need a blotting paper 2 hrs after applying makeup, but with this mineral makeup I can go 4 to 6 hrs without a touch-up. It doesn't crease under the eyes. I am definitely going back to buy more of this product...some before I've finished with the Armani, which isn't like me at all, as I tend not to buy more before using up what I have.

Another 'fabulous find,' is Clinique bottom lash mascara. It is genius covering the small lashes on your bottom lids. My suggestion is to wipe the wand with a tissue before applying, though, as it can migrate to your skin underneath the eyes if you aren't careful. (My lashes are long, so raccoon eyes have been an issue, particularly since I wear contact lens).

NOTE: usually my facial cleanser has been sufficient to remove any trace of makeup at night, but with mineral makeup you definitely need to use makeup remover before using your regular cleanser....I have used Dermalogica and Kiehls for decades now, and have been pleased with both. Before that I used Erno Laslo and then Sonja Dakar, and found that the D and K do as good a job - for less money. Always love a savings...

The Long & Winding Road

2011-04-22T21:24:00.000-07:00

I was driving over to visit the parents a few days after coming home from Be's funeral. Be's death was so difficult, we haven't really had time to process it in the past three weeks; except for a few key moments, I haven't cried. Now I know why the bereaved look so shell-shocked. Death is so complicated, family members are too busy to do much more than get through the myriad details, and decompress later.

Anyway, I'm driving through the old neighborhood, when I see it. Turning onto the final stretch of the road on the street mom and dad have lived for 50 years, men in yellow hard-hats were clustered around a huge machine that was demolishing the Roark house. I slowed and rolled down the window. The high-pitched whine of buzz-saws cut through the thick afternoon air as trees were being felled in the front yard. The beautiful wooded lawn was disappearing along with the house.

My heart sank as I pulled over, the better to access the destruction before me. Tears welled in my eyes.

The Roark house was the first one built at the top of River Ridge and River Valley Rd. We first drove over to look at the wooded lot where we would eventually build when I was age two, though of course I don't remember much of that. We moved in when I was three, and over the years growing up, the neighborhood grew up with me. River Valley was a dirt and gravel road for a long time, and ours was the first house on that stretch of the road. I jokingly referred to it as 'architect's row,' when older, since every house was designed by an architect, and several, like Price Roark, George Wittenburg, and dad, designed them for their families.

The Roark house was grey wood with touches of stonework, and had a flat roof. Every Christmas a 5-foot-tall, lighted Santa Claus would perch next to the chimney. I told Mr Roark it never seemed like Christmas to me until I saw Santa on the roof.

By the time I was six, the neighborhood was filling up with a huge gang of kids, but only a few girls. Consequently, I was a tough tomboy. But Sally Roark (a year younger), and I did put down the sticks and balls long enough to play with her extensive collection of Barbies.

I loved going to their house. It was always restful and dark and quiet, and they had the first screened-in porch I had been on, that soared over huge old trees, with a wicker hanging chair that cradled you as you swung over the treetops. I realized later one of the reasons the house was always so still was Sally's mom was very ill and eventually died after a long illness. But the house never felt sad or oppressive. Too young to fully articulate anything but concern and compassion for my friend--I couldn't imagine losing my mother--we didn't speak of it later. Eventually, different grades and schools and activities wedged us apart and we didn't see one another until we were grown many years later.

I jolted from my revere and drove down my parent's steep driveway. Glancing at their elegant '60s-style house that dad designed in his 30s while a newly established architect, I couldn't help thinking about the 'improvements' made to so many of the other houses on the block over the years that have been sold by their original owners, and what would happen to our old house when mom and dad moved out. But so far, none had been torn down. That had, so far, been the MO for the quaint bungalows and pre-WWII houses in the Heights and Hillcrest neighborhoods to make room for the McMansions of today, that lumber right up to the edge of their properties, dwarfing their more modest neighbors.

It was a shock to have that happen here -- to a thoughtfully designed house. Destroying it and a 5-acre lot of trees seemed sacrilege. It truly is, now, the end of an era.

footnote:
Another house was torn down several years ago that felt as shocking. My best male friend--my boyfriend in high school--had an architect-dad as well, and their beautiful house fell into ruin when it was sold. In our lifetime the road the house was on went from being surrounded by bucolic countryside to bustling strip centers and a main street.

This house I'll remember for many special memories. In my mind it will be 'forever young,' as we were then. When walking inside you couldn't tell from the front it was actually a large split-level that hugged the hillside, and the horizontal windows overlooked the wooded lot. It felt like a posh tree-house.

Though prime real estate by the time the family was grown and gone, it was hard to see it fall into decay to make room for more silly little stores in the future. It was painful to see it look so overgrown and ruined after the second owner allowed it to go to seed, but it was still an affront to drive by one day and see it was no more...

Snapshots of a Life Well Lived

2011-04-18T15:53:00.001-07:00

We got home last Wednesday and are slowly getting back into the swing of things. Lots of missed appointments, over-due chores, boxes to unload, photos to copy and send to relatives...a WOW this Friday I need to make dessert for, and Easter brunch here to plan and prepare....until I can sit down and string a sentence together, here are a few photos of Be that we used at the reception...

The Johnston family. Be is the small boy to the right. Next to him is his sister Caroline "Carrie," the only one of the siblings left.

Another family portrait, this time with the brother's wives and a few of their kids. This would be in the early '40s. Be is standing tall in the middle.

Be left Trinity College in 1941 to volunteer with the American Field Service, since his eyesight was so poor he wasn't accepted into the US Marines. He drove ambulances across Africa for a year. After that experience the Marines took him, and he served until 1943 when he was honorably discharged. He was in the rear unit that landed at Iwo Jimo, which probably saved his life. He seldom discussed the war but for a few fun stories, and I don't think he ever rode another motorcycle.

Marrying Rozenia in 1946, on the steps at Burnside. Excy's mom died in 1973.

When Excy was seven the family moved from Burnside outside of Baltimore to Florida near Key West but his mom's allergies resulted in another move to Prescott, Arizona within a year and a half.

Be and his third wife Jean. She is the only mother-in-law I knew. They were together 20+ years. His turquoise bolo tie, his pride, is now Excy's.

On our wedding day, reception on the terrace of Burnside (where Be was born and where we lived for two years when we married). Be is kissing me and his nephew Chaloner (Chal) is kissing the other cheek. How lucky am I?!

Be with his 'minis' -- he used to race chariots until he got too old to handle large horses. With the minis he just bent over them and saddled them up! He was in parades and he always took them into nursing homes.

What the World (Doesn't) Need Now

2011-04-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

Do we really need another book out on JFK, Jr? Or any of the Kennedys, for that matter?

Jr's girlfriend of four years from Brown University days (that's before Darryl Hannah and wife Carolyn Bessette, for anyone keeping it straight), said she sent a note to his sister Caroline warning of the impending memoir and said 'she would've said something if she had a problem with it.' Really? Did the silence from the non-response not send a message? Maybe Caroline's mom, 'Jackie O,' said, like mine, if you didn't have anything nice to say, it's better to say nothing at all? What would she have done if the family had said no -- table the book? Something tells me not...I think it was a done deal. Frankly, I think JFK Jr would've been appalled.

It feels a bit like vultures picking at carrion. Enough, already.

Though I know that as long as somebody has something to tell, stories will continue to pop up and sell. This doomed family is American Royalty and the public can't get enough. I wonder if the mini-series just out is any good?

Anyone know where JFK Jr's flight instructor is? I'm surprised there hasn't been a tell-all book out from him, about how Jr wasn't quite equipped to handle navigating a plane, especially with a hurt foot.

Enough, already...

We leave Wednesday at the crack of dawn to drive back to Santa Fe for Be's funeral. We are planning it--it's been difficult long distance. We'll be glad when it's all over. Not that we don't want to honor Be, just that it's been a long slog...

Oh, Lighten Up

2011-04-03T14:18:00.001-07:00

"When it comes to our health, there are four things essentially under our control: the decision not to smoke, a commitment to exercise, the quality of our diet, and our level of optimism. And optimism is at least as beneficial as the others." -- Martin Seligman, PhD, author of Flourish, and expert in the field of positive psychology.

Most people who meet me and find out about my chronic illness and surgeries remark on how calm and happy I seem and are rather astonished at my history. I don't have a neon sign flashing about my head that advertises 'hardship case' and never will. I do find it irritating, however, when every once in awhile someone nods sagely and suggests I am too 'Pollyannish' and not in touch with my feelings to truly 'process' my situation.

No.

Believe me, I've processed it.

Happiness is a choice.

It resides within. Negativity is stressful, sucks one dry, and the worry spikes the cortisol hormone, which can suppress the immune system. So not only is negativity a downer, it can make you ill.

The people I know who are happy, have just as much unhappiness in their life as anybody--they just make the choice to remain positive during difficult times. Knowing you can choose is a powerful tool to have in your arsenal. There will always be hardship and pain and nothing is ever perfect (that's why LIFE is a four-letter word), but if you choose to accept that and live in the moment and with the mindset that you will ultimately prevail, trust me, things will lighten up. Or you will.

You can train yourself to focus on the sunnier side of life if, when your mind veers off to dark projections, you relax and loosen up, express yourself, reach out to others, try meditation and exercise, seek help when you feel you need it, and choose to look at the bright side of things.

Like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz, 'don't go looking for happiness because it's in your own back yard.' (paraphrasing here).

I was reminded of this last Sunday at a support meeting that got hijacked by a woman who was bemoaning the same things she has whined about since October: lack of a job. Parents and siblings who didn't understand her plight (she's 54).
While these things were problems and real to her, I looked around at the group she was talking to: A widow. Someone whose husband has ALS who has called in hospice care for him. Another who has lost a child. One who cannot conceive. Someone living with cancer the past 25 years and had that week lost a family member. Another whose adult child lives at home and is a constant source of worry.
Yes, Eyeore's problems are real, but in the scheme of things?? Not so much. She went on far too long. (And she used 'you know' far more than an adult should). I found myself thinking if I were a potential employer, I'd never hire a sad-sack like her. Finally, after wishing I had a peen-ball hammer in my bag, I got up and excused myself from the group. Because of her we all decided we'd better limit the amount of time people could hold the floor.

I am a super-optimist, and that can come with its own bag of tricks, but internal happiness is far more powerful to me than the fleeting external happiness so many others focus on. And I think it's kept me alive all this long.

life goes on...

2011-03-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

When we got home, it seemed things had decided we needed cheering up. Everything had decided to bloom. It was so nice to see how life can continue as normal...spring is always magical, anyway...

A friend sent this gorgeous arrangement over the weekend...

We finished planning the funeral and reception. Because Be was a WWII veteran he will have the gun salute and taps at his internment.

I can't get behind the idea of wearing black for a year (or longer) like they used to, but I do like the idea of those arm bands people used to wear -- something that shows the world that people are grieving and just need a little consideration; a bit of compassion in this harsh --at times--world...

Seriously?!

2011-03-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

While we were away a guy stopped to ask Corey (Excy's son, taking care of the place), if we'd take in his horse. He said it was rideable but he couldn't keep it any longer. C explained the Sanctuary isn't an 'open' sanctuary for horses, but for wild mustangs only, and domestic horses wouldn't be welcomed by the 'wild ones,' and we didn't have the resources or land to take in any others, anyway. Apparently the guy didn't like what he heard.

A few days later C was over at the property at dusk and a truck pulling a rusty horse trailer pulled up to the entrance and stopped...when C stepped out of the shadows the truck sped down the road and but then turned around and stopped again at the lane. The same guy and a woman got out of the truck, and he launched into more of his sob story about how they were broke and couldn't afford to feed the horse, how it had a broken leg and couldn't be ridden, and how it needed a home. They had intended to just dump it in the corral and go on their merry way. Knowing it would be in peril and there would be fighting among the mustangs didn't seem to bother them in the least, I guess.

I wish C had gotten their name and number. As annoyed as I was to hear yet another case of someone dumping a helpless animal off on someone -- and it happens all the time, but with horses it's a bigger problem, as you can imagine -- I can think of a dozen ways this innocent horse can be saved, and it sure deserves better than the people it's with now. I hate to think of it with a broken leg, too...

Geez.

Some people aren't fit to own a gerbil.

'Bye Be

2011-03-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Be had a full life...he was improving and we were looking at assisted living facilities when he took a turn for the worse in rehab - a combination of being released from the hospital too early and being given the wrong drug at the rehab facility - not sure if this happened due to the doctor error or at the rehab but by the time we got him back to the ER it was too late and he died the next day...we are on the way home - about 10 hrs away now -- planning the service and all it entails and driving back out in 2 weeks' time -- now I know why the bereaved are so shell-shocked -- when do you get time to decompress and grieve?? Thanks to all for your thoughts and prayers..p.s. we learned the doctor wanted to leave town for 'march madness' and made the wrong judgment call -- and had no one on call in his practice! Amazing. Just amazing...this will run in both Santa Fe papers and the Baltimore Sun...

James Houston Eccleston Johnston, died age 90 on Friday, March 18, in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Nick-named “Be” (family lore: as a child he couldn’t pronounce ‘me’ and would say, “Give it to Be”), Be was born into a historically prominent Maryland family at their summer home ‘Burnside,’ where his grandfather started a 500-acre dairy farm in the Green Spring Valley, in Stevenson, MD (formerly Eccleston, MD), outside of Baltimore. He was a member of the Society of Cincinnati, whose members are direct descendants of officers of the American Revolution.

Be’s formative years were spent on Burnside with five siblings, where adhering to the propriety and social mores of the upper echelon did not prevent him from youthful adventures and high-jinks, such as spending summers working at a family-owned mine panning for gold, or driving a car with friends cross-country.

When World War II broke out Be was at first unable to join up due to poor eyesight, so in 1942 he volunteered for the American Field Service, serving with the British 8th Army, and driving ambulances across the African desert. Though he seldom discussed the war except for humorous anecdotes, exploits of his valor are described in the book Ambulance in Africa, written in 1945 by Evan Thomas, who mentions Be by name. Following service with the British Army, Be was finally able to enlist in the U.S. Marines in 1943. He was assigned to the 5th Marine Division, which went to Iwo Jima. Fortunately, Be was left behind in the rear echelon in Hawaii. Be received an Honorable Discharge in 1945.

Be attended high school at Saint Andrews in Delaware (featured in the movie The Dead Poet’s Society), and Trinity College in CT before the war. After the war he attended Georgia Tech on the GI bill.

Be lived all over the country, ultimately preferring the west to life on the east coast. The majority of his career was spent with the Colonial Life & Accident Insurance Co., where he was sales rep/field agent for TX, AZ, and NM, receiving numerous awards before retiring in 1992 after 25 years.

Among Be’s many interests were horse racing, racing chariots, and driving his team of ‘minis’ in parades and to area nursing homes, to the enjoyment of the residents.

Be is survived by wife Jean Johnston, son J.H.E “Excy” Johnston (Amy), of AR, sister Caroline “Carrie” Gardiner, of AZ, and numerous stepchildren, nephews, nieces, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and many, many friends. He is preceded in death by first wife Rozenia Dunn Johnston and daughter Martha “Mattie” Johnston, and his second wife Flo Watkins, as well as his parents and four brothers.

An honorable man with an infectious sense of humor, Be saw only the good in everyone he met, and cultivated friendships of all ages. A life-long Episcopalian, both Be’s brother and Uncle were noted Episcopal priests.
Services will be held on April 9 at 11:00 a.m., St. Bede’s Episcopal Church, 1601 S. St. Francis Drive, Santa Fe, NM 87505. Telephone: 505 982 1133. A reception at the church will follow immediately afterwards.

Memorial contributions may be given to the following nonprofits: Wing Spur Wild Horses (www.wingspur.org); and the von Hippel Lindau Family Alliance (www.vhl.org).

Westward, Ho...

2011-03-10T16:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow we are on the way to Santa Fe. Be now has a feeding tube and had a reaction to narcotics, so is just on a mild drug, so he's still in pain and refuses to move...he's asking for Excy...I am taking the laptop so hope to find a way to keep connected...but may be away for a week...take care, all...

Fabulous Frodo and The Alien

2011-03-08T14:28:00.000-08:00

Frodo...
Frodo found his forever-home this afternoon. Our housecleaner mentioned she was looking for a "tiny kitten" to be a companion to their adult cat and also for her daughter. She didn't think she'd be interested in a young male, but agreed to go to the studio to meet him before she left. I watched as Excy and R walked down the lane....and then walk back up with Frodo nestled in her arms! Soon after arriving home she called to say Frodo would not be returning to us and he and her daughter were having a love-fest on the porch. Excy came in and said that as soon as they had walked in the door Frodo made a bee-line towards her. He quickly worked his magic. This is the 30th cat we've found homes for...I feel so happy (and relieved) every time...
and the Alien...
Corey's cat is our resident alien. She's moved with him from Texas, Chicago, Arkansas, and soon, probably this summer, California. A peripatetic traveler.

He doesn't know how old Dixie is (Dixie Lou Ellen Johnston). Someone shoved her in his arms when she was a young cat. He's had her ten years, though. For an older cat, she is as active and playful as a youngster, forever wandering around trying to get one of our three rousted from their snooze on the bed for a game of chase.

Having been an only cat, and having lived briefly and unsuccessfully with two dogs and another cat, C was convinced she wouldn't acclimate to our household and kept her in the guest room the first 6-8 weeks. When we finally got home from Excy's surgery in Cleveland, I started opening the guest room door. She'd venture out and stealthily explore, darting back to 'her' room at a moment's notice.

Her big discovery was our bedroom cat door to the screened porch. She's never been outside. After watching longingly the others go in and out, she screwed up her courage. Now the porch is her favorite hangout. That and a sunny window ledge in our bedroom. Despite her occasional rambunctious, Dixie is a timid cat -- think Don Knotts in The Ghost and Mr Chicken -- but she's slowly coming into her own.

She and Togo agreed to tolerate each other. By some unspoken agreement they merely ignore the other's presence. Phoenix she mildly dislikes for the simple fact Phoe has taken to sleeping on C's bed. Dixie dislikes sharing 'her' person...C can wear her on his head* or tease her, but she adores him and she lives for when he comes home, greeting him at the door any time of the night.

But she and Lenny -- well, they're a revelation. It may be because he's male, young, and friendly to all cats, but they romp and place chase all over the house. Usually he runs and she chases him. He runs looking backwards to make sure she's hot on his tail.

With me, Dixie's figured out I can't chase her, which is her favorite game. So she'll engage me by flopping on her side and yelling "braaaccckkkoooo," and then racing off into another room and hiding. I stomp off after her and clap my hands when I 'find' her and she runs to another hiding spot.

Sometimes she gets lost for real -- the house is bigger than the apartments she's used to -- and she'll caterwaul until we call back to her. When C's gone a long time she'll pace and cry for him. When we come home she always comes to greet us but looks rather crest-fallen it's not C.

Dixie can't stand the black stray -- despite being male and friendly. I think she feels there's 'no room at the Inn,' and she worked hard to get here and doesn't want to be displaced by an interloper. I've grown fond of this strange alien girl. I'll miss her one day. I think she'll miss us, too.

*see my halloween post (2010 halloween WOW) to see Dixie being worn as a hat...

Way to Go, Woody

2011-03-04T22:10:00.000-08:00

Even the most mediocre Woody Allen movies are better than most. We find them all entertaining, funny and at times suspenseful. My favorites are the wry and tender (and amusing and poignant and sarcastic) Hannah & Her Sisters, the excellent Annie Hall, the Purple Rose of Cairo, Radio Days, Deconstructing Harry, and Melinda & Melinda. Oh, and Match Point.

I'll always have a soft spot for NY Stories, a trilogy of segments from three directors (Allen's was the best, the entire movie was rather dull). We saw it on our first real date after meeting initially for lunch the week before. We were in love by the end of the night.

Some of the middling ones (IMO) that are still great to watch include Midnight Summer's Sex Comedy, Crimes and Misdemeanors, Alice, Everybody Says I Love You, Shadows & Fog, Stardust Memories, and Broadway Danny Rose.

The only one I couldn't watch because of hand-held jerky camera movements was Husbands & Wives. His earlier ones are just too silly but sometimes in a silly mood they're a hoot, especially Sleeper, or Take the Money and Run, or Bananas. The only real bore, to me, is Interiors.

Last night we watched You Will Meet a Tall, Dark, Stranger. While not top drawer, it was a fun way to pass the evening. The cast was excellent. It was interesting.

Footnote: Excy's 90-yr-old dad, 'Be,' has been in the hospital since Sunday -- he had fallen last Wednesday and the pain was getting intolerable. This Thursday he had a pacemaker put in and after stabilizing him some more, today they performed hip surgery, as he had fractured it in the fall. Excy will go out in a few days when they take him to a rehab facility, and I'll follow when I can help him out and cook and freeze some meals....

Truck Fever

2011-03-01T16:17:00.000-08:00

Excy's got new truck fever. Or at least, new to us. As in a '09 Dodge diesel he found on Craig's List that resides in Texas. But at this point, almost any Dodge will do as long as it pulls 1500 lbs.

I don't blame him. The '03 Ford has given us nothing but financial and other headaches for two years. No one will take responsibility, but the same parts need fixing, and my mechanic cousin says there is no way it could keep happening unless it was 'fixed' incorrectly. Regardless, it's cost us around $4000 so far, and left us stranded on the side of the road for two days on the way to Santa Fe, using up all the money I had saved for Indian market and then some. To hell with it. Excy doesn't feel comfortable driving it long-distance especially pulling horses. He doesn't fit in my little Vibe, and it can't haul a trailer anyway. We need a tough vehicle.

We don't have the money to repair it this time so it's sitting at the service center. Knowing they caused the problem when they 'fixed' it last time, and would charge $800 to replace a part we can buy wholesale for $400 leaves a bad taste in my mouth, anyway.

He's been talking about selling it as is and using the money to finance another one. Or leasing. He's a smart man. He'll figure it out. It is a model that people like and if they are a mechanic, it'd be a good deal.

All these financial pressures are building, as we knew they would after the 'year of surgery' last year. Selling the house is a given. More people are interested in the property. I'd rather keep it so we have the option to build across the street if a move west doesn't pan out. I told him when we'd go out in a few weeks I'd keep an open mind but I don't want to be backed into a corner.

Sigh. In the meantime, it's a lovely day...

Dead of Night

2011-02-23T13:13:00.000-08:00

Early in the morning (3 a.m.) the house phone rang. Remember how late-night phone calls were on my list of things I would not miss? This freaked me out, of course. Corey was spending the night in town celebrating his BD. So of course my first thought was god, something has happened...Excy never hears anything - the man could sleep through a tornado -- so I am sorry say I prodded him awake (hey, if it's bad news I don't want to hear it alone), and checked it out only to see there was no message and a phone number we didn't recognize. (I love caller ID).

Excy immediately fell back asleep but it wired me up. My darkest thoughts began to fester in the darkness. A week before, a gang member came into the restaurant/bar C works in, and acted all squirrely, and high. He drank a beer for which he didn't pay. When C ordered him out, this man threatened him, saying he'd be back with some of his gang members. It's bothered me ever since he told me the story.

Several years ago, the son of friends of ours was killed by high school gang members. Not content to murder their youngest son, these paragons of society called the house and told our friends where they could find their missing son (falsely, as it turned out), and while they raced across town to the location, they burgled their house.

My monkey mind began racing...thinking about murder...home invasion...

Last weekend, a friend of a friend was murdered in his home...no leads yet...his three dogs taken to the pound...

It sounds like LR is a murder capitol, but it's really not...but I guess everyone knows someone affected by crime and tragedy. I wish I could say these were all the stories like this I know; unfortunately it's not.

After stewing an hour with these various scenarios in mind, I finally sat up and wrote a short story draft for a writing competition coming up. I had won second place for a 'Gimme the Creeps' story two years before, and now used my paranoid anxiety to come up with a suspenseful yarn I was fairly pleased with.

I got to sleep around 6 a.m. When I looked at the guidelines after getting up later that morning, I saw they were for submitting a ghost story. Oh well. I have several of those...

The Apple Dumpling Gang

2011-02-16T21:14:00.000-08:00

I assume you heard the national news on New Year's day about the thousands of red-winged blackbirds that were found dead in the woods of AR? Lots of people didn't believe the investigation's finding they died of blunt-force trauma caused by being startled from their roost at night and colliding into tree trunks, limbs, and each other. The assumption was the birds roost at night and noise from NY Eve celebration fireworks startled them. At the time I heard the story, I wondered if this could really be the case.

Last week for two days during the latest snow, we had a humongous flock of red-winged blackbirds in the back yard, all settling around our bird tree (what I call a cedar stob with lots of feeders, suet cages, and peanut butter smears on it). I've now seen firsthand these guys fly into anything. We didn't have bird bodies around, thankfully, but every few minutes one ran into the screened porch or a window...guess they don't call them bird brains for nothing...was kinda eery -- made me think of the Hitchcock movie The Birds.

One of those cold days I made a large pot of red beans and rice, and casting about for dessert, remembered this quick and easy one. If you like apple pie or cobbler, this is a real treat; usually people have the ingredients already on hand:

Apple Dumplings

pie crust
granny smith apples, one per person--peeled and cored (up to six or less for these ingredients)
1/2 c butter
3/4 c brown sugar
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t nutmeg
3 c water
2 c sugar
1 t vanilla

400 degrees. Preheat oven.
Butter a 13 x 9 inch pan.
On a floured surface, roll out pie crust into a large rectangle and cut into squares**
Cut butter in pieces. Place each apple in a square of pastry (or see below), and place one piece of butter in the opening of each apple and two pieces of butter around the base. Do this for each apple. Reserve remaining butter for the sauce. Divide brown sugar between the apples, poking it inside each core and around the base of each apple. Sprinkle each apple with cinnamon and nutmeg.
With slightly wet fingertips bring up the corners of each pastry around the top of the apple and press together. Seal each apple this way. Place them in the buttered pan.

In a saucepan combine the water, sugar, vanilla, and reserved butter and bring to a boil in medium heat. Boil 5 minutes or until sugar is dissolved well. Pour over the apple dumplings.

Bake 50 to 60 minutes.

Place each apple in a dessert bowl and spoon the sauce over the top. Serve with vanilla ice cream....enjoy the compliments.

**I was lazy. What I did, which made extra crust, was to wrap one large granny smith apple each in one Pillsbury pie crust and let the top overlap. Worked beautifully.

Be Mine, Valentine

2011-02-13T15:08:00.000-08:00

According to an article in the paper, a handwritten love letter is the most sought-after gift a man could give a woman (national poll among women ages 18 to 70). I wonder why men find it easier to go with flowers and candy?

My close GF C. hit the romance bonanza when she married B. Although they've been married more than 17 years, he writes and mails her a sweet letter every single day. Let me repeat that: EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Yes, B's a writer, but he's also a professor at a college and writer and director of a children's theater. He's a busy guy and the fact he makes time for this is all the more cherished by C. She once lamented foreseeing a future where the letters stop. Knowing B, he'll write some and have them mailed posthumanly. Like in that movie, P.S., I Love You.

The excellent McCullough book on John Adams revealed a loving couple and I don't think Adams would have been as successful without his Abigail. They wrote each other daily, exchanging 1,100 letters that we know of. She always began hers with 'Dearest friend.' Although they spent years apart during his political and diplomatic career, she was a keen businesswoman and confidant, and kept the home fires burning. In return he was devoted, and always let her know how grateful he was. They were married 54 years.

Mom and dad have been married 61 years. I came across a few letters he wrote her while he was away at college and she was teaching school. They were ardent and professed jealousy, though she only confided she went out with one other guy , once -- mom and dad have been together since they were 15 and 16 -- going steady, dropped, pinned, engaged and married. They are still so cute together. (They seldom remember their anniversary, which I take to mean they don't have to celebrate the day when they make each day count). Dad's never been much of a hugger or talker, but his actions count.

Excy and I are going on 19 years, and together for 20. He's never been big on writing, either - though I begged for one love letter early on. Does it count when one begs? The first 16 years he made me romantic drawings and cards. I hung them in my dressing area. I tease him 'the bloom's off the rose' because he hasn't done this in awhile. I'm sure he will eventually.

But he shows his love and devotion every day. After Thanksgiving dinner my niece told my SIL she wanted a husband "just like Uncle Excy, who pulls the chair out for Aunt Amy and gets her plate for her and is attentive." She's right, I am a lucky lady. Every morning he brews me tea and serves it to me in bed. Every time we go out he holds my hand, walks on the outside of the sidewalk, and opens the doors and car door for me. Right now he's making another hammered dulcimer stand, as my original one fell apart. I didn't even have to ask! I just showed him the plans and how much they cost to buy -- tee hee...He tells me every day I'm beautiful and that he loves me. If that's not a living legacy of love I don't know what is. I'd still love a letter, sometime, though!

Happy Valentine's Day to all my blogging buddies. I am thankful for you, too!

Alta Memories

2011-02-09T14:05:00.000-08:00

All this snow-snow-snow (up to six inches and counting -- went out to feed the birds and test it, but it's too powdery to make a snowman or snowballs), has me thinking back to when I worked at the Alta Lodge in Alta, UT. I left AR for the west with my then-BF after collage at age 21 (making me the black sheep of the family overnight). When we landed in UT to visit friends of his, I was instantly hooked and decided to stay for a season and learn how to snow-ski...

Alta is on top of a mountain range right next to the more well-known Snow mass, and down the way from the popular Park City. But Alta is the best-known secret (or it was then), because it was far less crowded and the skiing was excellent. The Lodge was run by a family -- whose patriarch was the then-mayor of the town, and the Lodge was very swank -- just spectacular.

Most of the guests were repeat clientele who came each season, staying the week in the same rooms etc. And many were very nice. We had a few celebrities. Unfortunately it seemed the majority were high-strung New Yorkers with an overbearing attitude and demeanor who thought paying through the nose allowed them the right to treat employees like galley slaves and servants. Disclaimer: I have nothing against New Yorkers in general. Every future trip and business trip I had to New York proved lovely, regardless of their occasional attitude towards out-of-town-ers, no doubt cultivated by necessity.

Back to Alta; Everything about the place fascinated me. I started out in the late summer working in the office, helping summer guests, making reservations, stocking the bar, and making their renowned Alta Guacamole Dip*. The Lodge was glass and timber and nestled into the slope of the mountain. To get to the entry you walked down a billion stairs, or could enter through the service entry at the top of the parking lot. This kept the Lodge from being struck by avalanches. (Avalanches did wipe out a few cars and some buildings at street level, though. Most were planned, set off by Ski Patrol with howitzers, but some, as described above, were not). The buildings standing at street level all had doors instead of windows for the second and third stories, and I was thrilled to discover we would be walking out of them after the snows came. By the third week of October the snows began that year and by December we were using the upper window-doors and rooftop windows.

I had quickly figured out over the off-season that waitressing in the dining hall got me better ski hours (working as a maid was out of the question), and I hated the snob I had to work with in the office anyway, so I switched over just before the season began and the Lodge would open. Everyone working there was in their late teens and twenties - I think the eldest ski-bum holdouts were in their 30s -- seemingly ancient to me at the time. The manager/maitre'd of the dining room was one of these 'old men,' and for weeks he coached his staff on how to walk with heavy trays, how to open wine bottles and pour out glasses, how to put down plates and clear them away, and most importantly, how to be discreet and polite and make sure our guests had a sumptuous dining experience, drilling into us how the guests were always to be treated like royalty.

Working as a waitress I learned just why you should never, ever, offend your waitress, and what is likely to happen if you do. I have seen with my own eyes just what some can do -- or some chefs -- if people are obnoxious. But back to our story...

Opening night, we all donned our uniforms of long skirts and unitards for girls, hair neatly back in buns, and stood at attention before the doors opened while the manager made one last minute inspection of his staff and the dining room and tables. Finally the door opening. Our guests poured forth. The first table was seated. The manager clicked his fingers at his favorite -- I don't know why -- maybe they were sleeping together -- a whiny nasal-voiced New Yorker with haute attitude who proved to be a huge slacker over the season...we all hung back to watch her in action...striding over to the full table of noisy, chattering guests, she waved her hands in the air. "SHUSH-SHUSH-SHUSH!! Whadd'ya want??!" She screeched at the now shocked patrons.

The manager/maitre'd slumped against the wall.

* I'm too lazy to find it now but if you want the recipe send me an email and I'll send it to you.

Partial Listing

2011-02-06T13:45:00.000-08:00

Borrowing an idea from the Ephron book, I am submitting two lists -- things I know I will miss when I'm gone, and things I never shall. Though hardly conclusive, the only changes would be additions...

I hope everyone is doing well. At this rate I think AR should change its initials to AK, as we are all sick of the weather, which threatens to continue today and then again on Wednesday, getting down to 4...yikes...have had to make many cancellations and adjustments the past two weeks...we are all over this 'winter wonderland.' Maybe not school kids -- I remember how exciting snow days were...

THINGS I WILL MISS
cats taking a sunbath
cats talking
cats
bread pudding
Pride & Prejudice (book and BBC version of film)
sitting on a beach and watching the ocean
fresh sheets
iced tea
clear blue skies
sex
Ella Fitzgerald songs
dining with friends in nice restaurants
laughing
driving fast
the smell of burning leaves
reading in bed
nature
really good chocolate
jordan almonds
trees
going to the theater
nightcaps
hand-written letters
decorated Christmas trees
Thanksgiving
balmy summer nights
fires in fireplaces and in outdoor fire pits
Abbot Also's caramels with nuts
walks
all music but rap and heavy metal
guacamole
steam baths
animals
green tea
traveling to a new city with Excy
pink lady apples
watching movies from the '30s and '40s
sailing
picnics
flowers
fire-flies
stars
picnics
lap blankets
frozen margaritas
finishing exercising
I'd better stop...

THINGS I WON'T MISS
ticks
chiggers
confrontation
bigots
drunk people
commercials
people yelling
bras
mammograms
surgery
hospitals
tests
bad drivers
gossip
long fingernails, especially on men
fake nails
reality shows
calves liver
stepping in dog poo
cell phones
chronic interruptors
new technology to master
walking with a cane
taxes
funerals
Fox news
Glenn Beck, Ann Coulter, Sarah Palin, and their lot
packing
barking dogs
tripe
rudeness
polls
clueless people
standing in lines
bad movies
cleaning toilets
weeding
late-night phone calls (never good news)
asparagus pee
forgetting a birthday
losing your train of thought
coughing
being late
boors
obligations
dead flowers
a dirty house
worrying over money
trying on clothes
religious fanatics
litter-bugs
braggarts
no money for charitable giving
telemarketing calls
bad food
ringing telephones
I'll stop now...

Sweet Nothings

2011-01-28T13:26:00.000-08:00

I've enjoyed reading Nora Ephron's book I Remember Nothing. Many of these essays were printed in other magazines, but some are new. They are funny because they invariably strike a nerve. She may be a decade older than I, but her thoughts and opinions ring true.

Take her stance on going to the movies, which I recently lamented when I wrote about True Grit: Nora - Instead of how romantic theaters used to be, we now go to horrible unadorned gray rectangles where the sound bleeds in from the gray rectangle right next door. It's sad. How true. She goes on to mention how most projectionists today are just teens and don't seem to know their stuff, as evidenced by the movies that end up out of focus and out of sync to the sound -- until finally somebody in the audience has to go out and track down an employee who looks at you blankly and you end up missing a chunk of the film regardless of whether or not it gets fixed.

Or this: things you once had that you are finally old enough to appreciate, you no longer have anymore - usually a casualty of a move or divorce -- when you leave behind all sorts of things you don't have the sense to know you'll someday wonder about or wish you had, (my biggest was an expensive office chair), or, worst of all, feel nostalgic for (a gorgeous watercolor I had before marriage). And Waterford.

And especially, this is my life: Running into someone who seems to know me -- maybe I don't catch the name because the party or whatever is loud. I decide to assume we have met before and not say 'Nice to meet you,' because invariably the person will say we've met in an aggrieved tone. So I say, 'Nice to see you,' with a big smile and hope against hope they'll throw out their name, which, of course, they never do. About that time Excy will wander up and I won't be able to introduce him and I give him my panicked secret look for help, which, of course, he never recognizes, and when he doesn't pick up on my secret plea for introduce yourself so this person will tell us their name (despite the fact he was coached in the car on the way to the function to be on the alert for such pitfalls), I'm stuck there like the boob I am. When the person finally realizes the mind-fart and archly gives their name -- glancing at me sideways as they do to register my discomfort -- I realize 10 minutes later I've forgotten it already.

Finally, she identifies a few symptoms of 'OLD AGE' all of which I realize -- aside from the physical -- even though 52 doesn't seem quite like old age to me...I guess I am on the slippery slope.

1) repeating a story (though I usually catch myself I can see the writing on the wall for this one). BORING.
2) walking into a room and suddenly realizing I have NO idea why I am there. Thirty seconds of standing shock-still usually is enough to resurrect the thought...
3) not getting the joke -- though I pretend to...
4) watching a movie and realizing I've seen it before -- yet it's as if I have never seen it, for the most part. Particularly irritating is when Excy quotes some line from it -- not some memorable one, either, like 'here's looking at you, kid,' 'frankly, m'dear, I don't give a damn,' or 'I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore' from the popular lexicon...how does he remember??
5) when a friend (or mom) quotes me -- and I have no memory of having said it.
6) aging out of People - who are these people? And why are there so many 'b' and 'c' grade celebrities? What are they famous for?
Like Ephron, I have not yet reached the nadir of OLD AGE, which she calls 'The Land of the Anecdote,' But I'm getting there. On a bullet train.

Good lord. The problem with remembering nothing when you don't have a medical excuse is that you know you remember nothing.

Stormy Weather

2011-01-24T19:32:00.000-08:00

It was a winter wonderland out there, and so beautiful I was going to take a photo from bed -- of course, I didn't. The best laid plans...It was our second snow of the year. Now it's just COLD again.

Our studio cat, MC, rushed out the door to chase off the stray two Sundays ago and is still missing...In the cold, rain, and snow. Considering she's been an inside cat for 7 years, we are heart-broken. Plus, our neighbor reported two coyotes in his yard. Not cool. A friend (mentor of 'all things cat') suggested hanging an item of clothing outside to 'lure' her back via the scent.

Our next-door neighbor has hiking trails behind her house so I went tramping around trying to find cat tracks in the snow. They have a motion-detector camera near a deer-feeding station that I noticed when it 'clicked' -- if I had seen it earlier I would've given a big wave and smile!

After this MC incident, and Excy's hand bite, I am MORE than ready to find a home for this little stray. I talked to at least 10 people about the cat Sunday, but no takers. I know it's not the little guy's fault, but he's worn out his welcome. With everything we're dealing with, on top of this, I just cannot deal. I wish they'd stop seeking us out.

When I'm upset, I cook and bake. So far I've made coffee-braised beef brisket, roasted veggies, spaghetti and meatballs, roast chicken and mashed potatoes, chili and cornbread, quiche, citrus salad, apple crisp, and brownies. Tomorrow is chicken and dumplings. Yikes.

I need to turn my attention to my latest editing project and house cleaning (or Weight Watchers).

Low Tolerance

2011-01-21T14:10:00.000-08:00

Tuesday was the last day to talk with the 2nd year medical students about vHL. In separate exam rooms, five other people with various afflictions and chronic diseases were giving their talks as well.

One of the participants was a women in her 60s with MS. I met her last year at this thing. She complained then that doing this was depressing to her because it emphasized just how ill she was, so I assumed she wouldn't be back, and was a bit surprised to see her. Considering she's had no surgery, is fully ambulatory, and you'd never know she had a physical impediment, she's certainly a negative person. And aside from asking why I was using a cane, she asked no questions and was remarkably uninterested in my or anyone else's illness or wellness journey (however you want to look at it).

She kept whining about how her doctor says to exercise, but even though she knows she's supposed to, she just can't anymore...I confess to tuning her out at a certain point. Finally after shooting down the other's - - all with ALS or Parkinson's, and far more physically compromised than she -- well-intended and thoughtful suggestions, I'd had enough.

"Use it or lose it," I replied, and said there was also lots I couldn't do anymore, including the yoga and floor exercises she kept harping on, but I could modify Pilates and exercises in a therapy pool, work with weights, and there were lots of adjustments one could make or trainers that could coach you, which was far more productive than focusing on what you've had to give up. I saw a few smirks on the faces of the group. She was silent. For about a minute.

Then she started on the fact she couldn't wear high heels anymore.

God in heaven.

This is a sore point with me. I used to LOVE high heels. Lord, when I modeled, I walked a few runways in 5-inch heels as gracefully as a cat.*

Do I miss it??

Hell yeah.

Did I bother to mention any of this?

Hell, No.

* Yes K-rowe, I was actually graceful on the runway!

A Must-See

2011-01-17T14:10:00.000-08:00

Coin Firth winning a Golden Globe for his performance in 'The King's Speech' was no surprise. After seeing it with friends a few weeks ago, I told Excy that Firth was going to win an Oscar. And Geoffrey Rush will get the supporting Oscar. You heard it here first.

'The King's Speech' is a brilliant movie. I did a lot of looking up facts afterwards and was pleased to learn much of it was true. Those 'based on facts' type of movies can take liberties, so you never know.

King George VI ascended the throne in 1936 after his erstwhile brother Edward (played by Guy Pierce, always genius), abdicated in order to marry the Baltimore socialite Wallis Simpson (a three-time divorcee). The new King never wanted or expected to become King. He struggled since childhood with a severe speech impediment, and suddenly he's thrust into the world's stage on the eve of WWII.

The story centers upon his attempts to overcome his stutter with the help of an unconventional speech therapist and the support of his loving and no-nonsense wife -- who becomes 'the Queen Mum' when her daughter Elizabeth takes the crown after her dad's death in 1956. The King and his speech therapist, Lionel Logue, become fast friends for life. In recognition of his helping the King with all his major speeches and broadcasts, the King conferred upon him the Royal Victorian order in 1937, and made him a commander in 1944. (A dynastic order of knighthood and chivalry for personal service). In a footnote, the real Lionel Logue was really a good-looking man! Wow!

Don't Bite the Hand that Feeds You

2011-01-14T16:22:00.000-08:00

What a week. Freezing temps, snow, our truck needs yet more expensive repair, and now the latest drama: we have been feeding a feral cat sleeping in the hay barn for weeks now that has been trying to angle a spot in our home. NO. WAY. With Corey's cat still with us and MC in the studio, we are up to four and that's my limit. Said cat is sweet, though, and since I have had some success placing strays in 'forever' homes after em-ing their pictures and a brief bio, Excy was on the terrace attempting a good picture when the cat freaked out and BIT the ever-loving $%^&**#@ out of his hand.

Dixie apparently had been lurking close to the glass and the cat felt threatened...the bite is to the bone and you can see the entire outline of his mouth and teeth. Excy's hand is now swollen and red and hurts like hell. He's on antibodiacs. I admit to being worried about it, I have heard so many horror stories (so please, please, don't tell me more). If it isn't better after the weekend I'll insist he go back for stronger stuff--I know it's nothing to ignore.

Thursday afternoon and again this coming Tuesday, I've been talking to 2nd year medical students at our teaching hospital about vHL. Since it's a NORD (rare disease), most don't know about it. This is the first time they've met with real patients, and learn not through lectures or a text book. For the most part they were very bright, respectful, and sensitive. (Guess that jaded dr thing is something a lot of them pick up as an intern). They came through in groups of five or six at a time and we met for 20 minutes each session. I found it interesting that the only student who wanted to ask me about the "mental and financial stresses of dealing with it all" had been a nurse for 10 years. She obviously learned the compassion gene in her first career and no doubt will be an excellent doctor. The jury's still out on the girl who grabbed my foot and welded a device to test reflexes without saying a word. Guess she hasn't figured out she's dealing with a person, not a 'disease.'

It's hard to believe I was their age when I had my first brain tumor. They seem so young. Doogie Howser was on the tip of my tongue (they probably wouldn't even know who that is). This is the 6th year I have done this, and it makes for a long day but I always enjoy it.

Hit or Miss

2011-01-09T21:15:00.000-08:00

I'm a huge advocate of the home-made present. Each year I do something, in addition to the baking treats. Some years have gone off better than others.

This tradition began in childhood with those typical kiddie things you made your mom in kindergarten. Most of my early presents back then were pieces of art work or clay sculptures and one time I made ornaments using walnut shells, cotton balls, and teeny wooden figures my mom still has.

A few years ago I made paper stars and moons for ornaments and also sheets of paper I impregnated with violets and ferns I pressed over the summer. The week before that Christmas I was chatting with the bagger at our grocery store when he asked if I was finished with my shopping. I said yes, I just needed to finish making my home made gift, which was paper that year. He was aghast. "Lady!" he exclaimed, 'NObody wants paper!" That still makes me laugh.

This year I made fudge, three varieties of cookies, gingerbread, lemon curd, chocolate and cranberry covered nuts, a photo book of my mom's cats in humorous positions (she wanted it to draw from), a Klimpt-inspired needlepoint pillow, and six suet feeders from instructions found in Bird&Bloom magazine. The one I kept is below:

Taking old pieces of cypress, the suet holders are hammered pieces of flat wear. The suet cakes are held in position by the plastic trays they are sold in. A door hinge nailed on top holds the wire I strung through and looped to hang from a chain or whatever. I took the wood burning kit and burned our initials and a bird on the bottom. I think they came out rather cute. I plan to make more for gifts next year.

Excy's getting better at flying his remote-control helicopter and is almost able to land it on the ceiling fan. Surprisingly enough, the cats don't seem to be scared of it at all...

First Things First

2011-01-04T15:17:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had an excellent holiday. Considering where we spent last year (the hospital for Excy's ER surgery), this year was perfect, even if it wasn't! I am feeling over-fed, over-indulged, and lucky. One thing, though - candies and cookies had better freeze well. We got so many treats if we ate them all, I'd be a fat diabetic by spring.

Most folks feel let-down after Christmas -- empty house again, tree and decorations down, the magic's over and all that. Truth be told, as great as the holiday is, I feel a slight sense of relief. I like the first of January. It's rife with possibilities. The emptiness and silence gives me space to consider the new year. I've always been a lover of anticipation, anyway. I don't really make resolutions, I just try to make a small positive difference in my world every day and reflect on how I can enhance it. May everyone reading have one of the best years of their lives...

True Grit is What We All Want

2010-12-27T15:53:00.000-08:00

We don't go to the movies often, preferring to watch them in front of a warm fire at home with a cat on our lap, where we have our own refreshments at hand (and frequent bathroom breaks are not a problem) -- and I don't have to ignore people's cell phones, or their eating ice, or chewing their cud in my ear. But every so often one comes along I simply can't wait the requisite 3-4 months for Netflix to churn out. Such is the case with 'True Grit.'*

I have been a fan of TG since I read the book as a teen. I felt it necessary to read all the works of Charles Portis. He is a fellow Arkansan -- who also graduated from U of A Fayetteville, with a degree in Journalism (though the year I was born). His writing style is like a newspaperman - sparse and clean, with the added delight of a sly wit. But of all his work, TG is by far my favorite.

When the movie came out, I think in '69, when I was a kid, I hadn't read the book yet, but I loved westerns and John Wayne ruled the western movies. I loved John Wayne's acting in it, and Robert DuVall was an excellent Ned Pepper, but I was sorely disappointed with the casting of Kim Darby as Mattie Ross. And Glenn Campbell as the Texas Ranger??! Let's not even go there. To make matters worse they filmed it - god knows, but it sure as hell didn't resemble AR and the Indian territory of OK...as much as I liked the movie, it was a bit of an embarrassment. Then when I read the novella, I felt they didn't do a good job at all, despite making a movie that stands up today. (Wayne's Oscar was a nod to sentiment, but his performance is still a pleasure to watch).

This movie seems to put things to rights. All the actors are amazing. One reviewer in TIME said he couldn't understand Bridges 'growling' as Rooster Cogburn. I don't know what his hearing issues are, but maybe he should clear out the wax. Bridges gives another Bridges brilliant performance, and the young Mattie and Matt Damon as the Ranger are pitch-perfect. All the actors are excellent.

I didn't even miss General Sterling - the cat featured in the first movie. As a fierce lover of all things feline, that's saying something.

* another is 'The King's Speech'

quick snapshots over the holidays

2010-12-26T17:26:00.000-08:00

Parker a.k.a the Cutest Baby in the World, loves to walk in adult shoes, and she does it quite well -- even high heels and her Uncle's boots...walks better than I do! ha...

My nutcracker collection, which grew by one this Christmas. My newest is a gun-slinger with eyes so blue I am calling him Butch. He looks like an old Butch Cassidy...

Some more decorations...doesn't the sunset in the window look like a picture?

Excy and I on our way to a wedding...

The Christmas Tree story

2010-12-15T11:05:00.000-08:00

Things are getting hectic around here with the cutest baby in the world (and her parents) coming in Friday. I will take photos as promised, but won't be getting back to bloggie-land for awhile. Here is the story Excy told for the Christmas 'tales of the south' holiday show. It is also on YouTube if you'd like to hear him: tales of the south on You Tube.

Feeling it might just about be what we needed, I was drawn to the tin Christmas tree in the little shop in Juarez, Mexico, the day before Christmas Eve, 1969. It stood in the middle of a table full of Christmas ornaments already marked down. It was shiny tin, about 2 ½ feet tall, with maybe a couple of dozen branches and a perfect conical shape. There was a candle holder at the tip top and at the tip of each branch. As I moved in to take a closer look at this little wonder, the shop keeper, in her best Tex-Mex, tells me to be very, very careful, and to hold it by its base.

I should have listened.

The day before, I had driven from final exams at Texas Tech to my parents home in El Paso. Although glad to be headed home, holidays at our house could be a bit “iffy,” because my mother was severely bi-polar. Most Christmases were really special, but my heart sank as I drove into the driveway; there were no yard lights and no brightly lit Santa face hanging on the wall, not even so much as a wreath on the door.

I rolled in late but everyone was up to greet me. Dad, not a hugger, gave me a two-handed hand shake, Mom gave me a good hug and a kiss, and so did Mattie, my younger sister, home from school in Phoenix. Mom wasn’t looking so good and quickly and quietly retreated back to her room. Dad told us about Mom’s latest battle with depression and stated it might be best to just kind of skip Christmas this year, and then he retired for the night. Mattie and I stayed up to visit for a while. She had been home a couple of days, and she thought Mom was feeling even a bit worse from the guilt of not doing anything for Christmas.
But the decision had been made: no decorations, gifts, or Christmas church; we just were to enjoy one another’s company.

The next morning Mom was up to fix breakfast. While obviously still depressed, she seemed a little more interested in the idea of Christmas. She kept apologizing for the holiday and that she had not so much as put up a tree.

Mattie and I put our heads together and decided to do at least a little something. We would keep it simple, just a few small gifts, anyone of which would be appropriate for any one of us. We headed off to Juarez, where we would have gone shopping regardless.

Back then, Juarez was a friendly city full of small wonders and delights. Just after crossing the Paso del Norte bridge there was an ornamental iron works shop. You knew when it was open by the Volkswagen beetle parked out front. The entire shell had been removed from the body and replaced with rose vine iron work in the exact shape of the original beetle body. I loved that car.

Further in town was a market with a public plaza. As an architecture student I was always impressed at how such a large open space could seem so intimate. The market area was made up of small shops connected to each other, each with its own barrel-vaulted roof. Going there was always a joy.

Mattie and I started hitting the stalls and had picked up two or three things and then headed into the tin shop. There were all kinds of incredible works in tin: mirror frames, sconces, table tops, even light switch plates. And the little tin Christmas tree.

Following the shopkeeper’s advice, I picked up the tin tree by its base and held it ever-so-carefully. The trunk was twisted wire covered in tin. Each branch grew from the trunk and had a spine made of that heavy wire. To that was soldered a strip of tin an inch or so wide. Then the maker took his snips and cut into both sides of each strip, creating hundreds of little very sharp “pine needles.” I can only imagine what goes through the craftsman’s mind before he created such a thing. At the very least, I was sure he checked to make sure his tetanus shots were current and he had a lot of iodine and Band-Aids.

The shopkeeper secured it in heavy brown wrapping paper, then gave us a few dozen candles, each about ½ inch around and 3” tall. She wishes us Feliz Navidad and added, again, in English, “Be very careful.”

We head back north across the Paso del Norte, our meager Christmas in hand.

That evening, Mattie and I set up our little Christmas on the coffee table: four presents under a 2 ½ foot-tall tin Christmas tree. To avoid scratching the table, we made a skirt from the wrapping paper. Dad, hoping all this was a good idea, nodded his approval, but Mom did seem to brighten up.

Next day, Christmas Eve, went along pretty well. Mom and Mattie fixed a nice brunch and we had some good conversations about school and life and such. Still, Mom spent a good part of the day in her room. But I noticed when anyone walked past that tin Christmas tree, they seemed to hesitate and on their face would be a slight grin.

That night, since there would be no going to church, we decided to have our Christmas. We turned out all the lights and gathered around our shiny little tree. Mattie and I started lighting the candles. Even before they were all lit, it was starting to get pretty warm in there. But when all the candles were lit, it was a sight to behold, almost beyond description. It was bright, very bright; it was as bold and magnificent symbol for Christmas as you could imagine. It was also very warm and not unlike a small forest fire. The dull roar we began to hear was the air being sucked out of the room. The top candle, within moments, had been fully consumed. Then we looked up.

The paint was boiling off the ceiling.
As my sister and I began desperately trying to put out the tree, Dad sprinted off, only half serious, to find the lock box of important documents, just to have it handy in case the house burned to the ground. Mom watched all this in amazement with both a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Mattie and I managed to blow out all the candles, suffering just a couple of burnt eyebrows. After all the excitement, we all just sat in silence for awhile, then my folks got up and went to bed. The paper skirt proved to be very handy, holding a pool of wax, and we decided to open the other presents after the wax they were covered in had cooled.

Mattie and I watched a movie on late night TV.

Christmas morning, Mattie and I were the first ones up, just like when we were kids. We had agreed to give each other a surprise gift, but one we could not spend any money on, and it could not be too serious. I gave her my very old single shot 22 rifle, something ridiculous to a gal who had a concealed weapon permit. But she won in the absolutely pointless category; she gave me one of her French textbooks from high school.

Mom got up shortly afterwards in a good mood. She, and all of us for that matter, would look at the tin Christmas tree standing in a pool of wax, and just laugh. Then later that day we opened the four little gifts that had been entombed in that wax.

We were all thankful to that tree. It had given us a real thrill. Gave Dad the chance to make jokes on just what to write for the insurance claim on the damaged ceiling. But mostly, for at least a while, it gave us back our mother.

laughter pushes me forward...

2010-12-11T13:28:00.000-08:00

One of the things I'm obsessed about this week is the 'talking kitty' on YouTube. What, you thought I was gonna say the flash-mob singing the 'hallelujah' chorus at the mall? Naw, nothing that highbrow. In fact, Sylvester has quite the potty-mouth.

My Lenny talks as much. You'll be walking down the hall, and he'll be strolling the other way, and I'll say in passing "Hey dude what's up?" and will always get a response. His chirps are the last things I hear at night and the sounds that wake me up in the morning. Blather, blather, blather. I love it.

You'd think he was Siamese other than a black kitty. He and Sylvester look a lot alike down to the white patches on their tummy. Separated at birth. You can tell Sylvester is sweet by his body language and the way he's kneading his paws while he looks at his person. But the plots have him 'with attitude' and I have gotten in the habit of 'talking' like him sometimes when Excy asks me some question, which he finds funny.

"Nooooooooo.........." "Stoooppppppppp thatttttt..." Never fails to make Excy laugh. Which is always a goal. Being a ham, and making him laugh during the day, is just something I've always done, and one of the reasons I think he was attracted to me in the first place. Who doesn't like to be around someone who makes them smile? He once told me I was a combination of Lucille Ball and Myrna Loy (my favorite actress, I will post on her some time). Excellent combination.

We have a Christmas tree in the LR! We usually wait until the 16th but his kids are arriving next Friday for an early visit and I want everything to be ready by then. The branches haven't dropped down enough to decorate yet. It's Excy's job to string the lights - he does it in such a way they appear to twinkle as you walk around it. My job is all the rest of the decorating. I relish taking my ornaments out and fussing with the tree, a holiday movie in the background. It takes me a long time to get it the way I want it and I usually have to make adjustments later. The ornament collection stalled last year. With all his medical drama, I didn't get to shop sales after the holiday and pick up any fabulous ornaments at a bargain. But this year, I couldn't resist buying a raccoon and a Santa ornament. I decided I'd start buying Parker, the grand-princess, an ornament a year based on the interests in her life, so that when she is on her own she'll have a good start on her tree. And she was fascinated with our raccoons this summer when they visited, so I bought her one, too. And a container to put her ornaments in, that I need to decorate this week. I'm making her a stocking that should be ready by her BD in June. I figure it'll be good timing because she will be 3 next Christmas and beginning to 'clue' in to stuff like that, though she'll still be young...

Mom and dad have stopped putting up a tree. It's gotten to be a bit much. They only like live trees, as do we, but dad doesn't want the hassle, and they won't let anyone put it up for them. They are decorating their ficus with white lights and buying a half-dozen poinsettias as they did last year. I hope they will let me go through their ornaments some day. I'd like the ones I remember from childhood, and I am crazy for vintage. (Being an antique myself).

One of the time-consuming things I do on our tree is wrap a 'red berry' glass ball at the end of the branches, which saves special ornaments from slipping off, and making the branch look 'finished.' When the tree's done and the decorations are finished I'll take some pictures. Our holly bushes are popping with berries, luckily, so I will take branches from them for the table for Excy's surprise party the 22nd. I'm going to try to make the last horrid Christmas a distant memory.
Excy's remote-control helicopter came today for his BD. (He never reads this blog). It looks like a lot of fun.

Holiday Survival Guide

2010-12-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

Like everyone else these days, I find my 'to-do' list growing to include extra shopping, holiday decorating and baking, sending holiday greetings, on top of preparing the house for visitors and holiday meals. In this ongoing rush of hurry-up-and preparations, finding time to savor the fleeting joy of the season can be difficult. It's hard not to feel extra pressure to make a great holiday, thinking back to where we were a year ago, when Excy ended up in the doctors offices on his BD the 22nd and having ER surgery Christmas Eve. It felt extra hard last year, zooming from the hospital and back, taking care of the house and animals while worrying about Excy and fretting about his 89-yr-old dad visiting from out of town. Being in the hospital can be alienating in itself. I know, having spent several holidays in hospitals out of state.

And that makes me think of the special difficulties friends and loved ones are going through this season, struggling with their own surgeries and illnesses; in particular the loss of loved ones. This year my SIL is having her second surgery in as many months, yet insists on hosting Christmas day at their house as usual, determined that the kid's will find comfort in the routine. It's too much pressure. I know. I constantly put those kinds of pressures on myself (see above). I'm not sure why we're so hard on ourselves.

For those of you struggling with physically and emotionally painful situations right now, please allow yourself the time and space to get through the holidays on your own terms. It's a well known fact that time heals - and when you don't have time to heal and the world marches on with holidays, try to find ways to be kind to yourself by having plans and back-up plans.

Don't feel you have to do the same old things because of 'family tradition' or the guilt of 'spoiling' everyone's holiday -- in a crisis, you need to do what's best for you in the situation. Christmas and New Year's Eve comes around every year. If you don't feel like celebrating this year or you can't, give yourself permission not to.

Your true friends and family will understand. Even if you don't feel like canceling altogether, maybe you can do something different that takes some of the pressure off -- go out to dinner, or see a holiday movie together instead of staging a big dinner. Some people see the holiday ritual as a way to survive tough times, others need some time to grieve and not 'be normal.' There's no right or wrong way to act -- and no one can tell you what you should or shouldn't do.

Be gentle with yourself and don't do more than you want to or can take on. Don't keep emotions bottled up. Your family and friends aren't mind-readers. You need to communicate your feelings, without apology. You may be surprised at their response and find yourself having eye-opening conversations. Most people don't openly discuss their feelings for fear of hurting others, and you may be pleasantly surprised by their response.

And give yourself permission to change your mind. If you committed to something, and at the last minute you feel you can't go through with it, don't. It's not going to be the end of the world.

The holidays can be the toughest times in the world for people going through pain. Remember: grief is a rite of passage. Only you can find an authentic way to navigate stormy weather.

variety is the spice of life

2010-12-03T21:39:00.000-08:00

A few things to add to your diet, if you haven't yet...as for me, any excuse will do...

cocoa or dark chocolate -- these can lower blood pressure and help dilate blood vessels, plus, both made you feel good emotionally!

cranberries -- can't seem to get enough of them when they're in season, and find ways to sneak them into everything -- when they aren't in season I use the dried ones. I use them because with only 1/4th of a kidney I get a lot of nasty infections and they are well known for warding off urinary tract infections (UTIs). It was thought the cranberry juice was only marginally effective for UTIs, but new research is reporting it blocks off a strain of bacteria that comes from staph infections which can range from minor things like skin rashes to serious problems like MRSA - the staph infection that hasn't responded to most antibiotics.

cinnamon -- specifically a cinnamon extract. A study led by the USDA suggests that it contains antioxidant compounds that could help reduce risk factors associated with diabetes and heart disease. While more studies are needed, it's plain that adding a little more spice to your life couldn't hurt.

In general, I've been using a lot more spices to my meat and vegetable dishes in an effort to make them more flavorful without using a lot of salt and pepper and butter.

Update on 'Cokie' -- we didn't see him tonight -- it's been three days. The wildlife rehabilitators we've contacted have basically said 'Yeah, good luck with that.' The Zoo isn't helpful. Tomorrow we are going to put together a wire cage we've used for composting that has three sides and a 'door,' and if he shows up we will try to lure him in there. If we can get him a bit sedated with a crushed pill in something to eat, we may get him to the vet, who can gass him and then get that can off its foot...I hope not seeing him tonight isn't a bad sign...fooling around with this coon is the last thing I want to do, but I feel so badly for him.

Thanks - giving

2010-11-29T18:54:00.001-08:00

This wonderful national holiday that revolves around food.

If you're lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of someone else's labor, it's a truly great holiday. Or if you enjoy cooking. I do like to cook, though honestly this year I have done more of it than ever before, and am a bit tired of it.

We have the biggest dining table in the family, and it's one of my favorite family treasures. It's made from a single cherry tree that died on Burnside, Excy's family's former estate in MD. It must have been gigantic, because we have three inserts, and fully extended will sit 16, 14 more easily. Thanksgiving became 'my' holiday because of the table, and because my SIL felt it too difficult to pack up the kids and all their gear when they were small. They're 14 and 17 now, but she won't give up or alternate the holiday, which is slightly annoying. But I've had years to adjust. I don't mind it much; it's an easy enough meal to make, and my mom and a family friend as close as a sister contribute some. A few years back, my SIL and I finally figured out that (duh) they really didn't need to eat two huge meals in one day, so they come over later for dessert, coffee, and conversation.

We like to eat around 5 p.m., which leaves plenty of time for my traditions: watching Macy's Parade (I'm such a corn-ball, and usually something gets me teary-eyed). By the time Miracle on 34th Street comes on, I am a whirling dervish of activity with last-minute silver-polishing or whipping up the mashed potatoes, but that movie always gets me in a sentimental holiday mood.

Our menu is usually set but every once in awhile I'll make something that sounds too wonderful to resist an experiment. We eat way too many carbs and starches, and to make matters worse we go back for seconds before the desserts. Combined with the left-overs we devour the next day, and then turkey and cranberry sandwiches after that, we consume more in three days than the rest of the year.

To assuage some of the guilt I feel from over-indulging, I donate during Thanksgiving and Christmas to the AR Food Bank to ensure a hearty meal for everyone. It's not just the young who have a hard time. Six million Americans 60+ suffer from hunger and not enough reliable food sources.

p.s. What a mess. I went out to feed six 'coons hanging around the terrace because it's cold and rainy, and one has a Coke can stuck on his front paw! I heard this clanking...he's charging around on it so it's pretty far up his arm...Poor thing...I hope he figures out how to extract his paw...

thanksgiving meditation on gratitude...

2010-11-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

"Both ancient teachings and modern medical research agree that one of the quickest, most direct routes to restoring harmony and balance in our lives is to foster gratitude and appreciation. The moment you shift from a mindstate of negativity or judgment to one of appreciation, there are immediate effects at many levels of your being: brain function becomes more balanced, harmonized, and supple; your heart begins to pump in a much more coherent and harmoniously balanced rhythm; and biochemical changes trigger a host of healthful balancing reactions throughout your body.

In the healing ways of indigenous people, the restorative power of gratitude was well understood. Giving thanks was the first step for many indigenous communities to any meeting, celebration, or gathering. A heart filled with gratitude generates actions and prayers that complete the circle between the gift offered to us, the receiver of the gift, and the sacred source of the gift. To offer prayers of thanksgiving is a gesture of rejoicing in discovering the many gifts that life brings us.

Here is a practice we often teach as a way to dwell in gratitude and thanksgiving. It has been shared by many circles of friends, families, and communities around the world at times of Thanksgiving:

Reach up and touch your heart and smile with a tender sense of deep connection and deep reflection. Allow your mindful awareness to blend with the natural rhythm of your breathing and settle into this state of openness and flow. As you become more fully present, open your heart and call to mind every one and everything in your life that you are grateful for. As you inhale, gather these people or aspects of your life into your heart one by one and reflect upon your thanks and gratitude for them. Breathing out, let your heartfelt gratitude flow to them and through them. Continue for as long as you like, letting each breath bring to heart a loved one, a friend, someone who has been kind to you, someone who is teaching you patience or how to forgive, or something or aspect of your life for which you are grateful. Allow each breath to shine from the depths of your being through the depths of their being in order to light up their life with your love. Taking your eyes, your ears, your hands, your intelligence to heart, bless them in a similar way with the heartfelt radiance of your gratitude and appreciation. Whoever or whatever comes to mind, gather them into your heart, one at a time or all together. Taking these many gifts to heart, complete and affirm the circle with gratitude, assuring that the stream of blessings in your life and in the universe will be unbroken."

-- Excerpted from Joel & Michelle Leveys' books, Luminous Mind: Meditation and Mind Fitness, - and - Wisdom at Work.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all -- I thank you for your friendship and comments, and look forward to continuing our friendship in the future......peace.....

Call It Superior Sexy

2010-11-23T09:11:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna take a page from Arkansas Patty's book and talk a bit about something that annoyed me highly last week when I picked up a copy of People magazine (oh, yes, I read this drivel -- cover to cover -- such a font of information...though I am starting to 'age out,' as the personalities they keep featuring I a) don't know OR b) care nothing about...especially those 'celebrities' who are famous for being famous reality 'stars' -- sheesh gimme a break...).

The new 'Sexiest Man Alive,' Ryan Reynolds, is, to borrow a phrase from my friend Toni, an 'embryo.' I know, I know, I saw him with his shirt off in The Proposal too, (my friend Vance could not stop gasping and ta-dah, there went his infatuation with Brad Pitt). But come on folks. He's barely got stubble on his face. (Ryan, not Vance -- who could pass for CoCo O'Brien). I'd feel like a cradle-snatcher.

But I have always preferred older men. More experienced. More seasoned. More mature (so I can be less mature, I guess...). Nope, AR Patty is right: I'll take Sam Elliott. Even with his 'crumb-catcher' -- which on him looks downright wicked:

Or Robert Redford:

Or Mr Darcy -- err -- Colin Firth:

Or James Bond -- err Connery -- forever Bond in my Book:

Let's not forget Tom Selleck,either, and of course there are the real men in my life. But I don't want to make ya'll too jealous. Or track them down ;)

PS: Amy's Awesome Whole Cranberry Sauce
It wouldn't be Thanksgiving if I didn't make this cranberry sauce, which is also awesome with ham and chicken...Enjoy!

1 lb. fresh cranberries
2 cups sugar
1 t. fine grated lime zest
1.4 c. fresh lime juice
1 t. fine grated orange zest
1/4 c. fresh orange juice
1/2 c. water
Combine ingredients in heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 10 minutes, until berries pop open. Skim foam off surface. Don't overcook. Cool to room temperature. (I make ahead and refrigerate). Serves 12.

Time & Lennon

2010-11-20T13:44:00.001-08:00

I meant to write something on John Lennon's BD, which was October 9, when he would/should have turned 70. Good Lord. I choose to commemorate his BD and not the anniversary of the great one's death, which I remember all too well. Time got the upper hand and I didn't get around to it, but it still stuck with me enough to think about it some more...

In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life:
IT GOES ON.

Wish I could take the credit for that one, but it's our estimable poet Robert Frost.

'Anthem'
Ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything;
that's how the light gets in.
--Leonard Cohen.
Also a brilliant guy, in my book.

Lennon, as long-time readers of this blog know, was my favorite Beatle, then George. I am not ashamed to say I love their music more than anything and usually listen to something every day while piddling about the house.

Excy lived in the Dakota for awhile on the condition that he cleaned up the condo so a friend could sell it. His friend had moved back to Texas, and the previous tenant she sub-let it to had been a PIG and it needed a lot of work. Excy had broke his back and had to close his architecture practice in Austin that fall, was newly divorced, and a bit at odds, so the timing was excellent.

His friend's condo was directly above John and Yoko's condo. In fact, the friend had a plumbing problem once and water had dripped onto their piano. THE white piano. This being NYC, Yoko proceeded to contact lawyers to deal with the issue of paying to have the piano fixed. Excy's friend is a lawyer. And she's a nice person. (Sometimes that isn't an oxymoron). One day riding down in the elevator, Yoko got on the next floor, and the friend proceeded to introduce herself and tell her how sorry she was about the leak and how upsetting it was and of course she intended to pay...and started to cry she was so worked up... by the time they arrived in the lobby, they were friends and the matter was resolved without further legal proceedings. All it takes is communication, usually.

Anyway. On the first anniversary of John's death, Excy was riding in the elevator when Yoko got on. She noticed his sketchbook and asked if he was going to the park. He said yes and she asked if he would mind escorting her across the street to Strawberry Fields, as there were a lot of people gathering around the building. So that's how he squired her to the park. He said they didn't talk much.

The Dakota is a pretty neat old Victorian building. I can't really say what style it is; they seemed to have thrown everything at it. It was used to film 'Rosemary's Baby' and has all these queer servant halls and entries. Other residents Excy met while there include Arthur Cantor, the Broadway producer. The guy in the 'Mad Max' movies who flew the airplane (goofy looking guy). Rowan Atkinson before he was well known in the states. And, he heard the distinctive foghorn (or whiskey and cigarettes) voice of Lauren Bacall chewing out the doorman, and said he just had to look.

Excy didn't have much money, so after tossing out tons of garbage he walked to a futon shop to buy a bed and a frame that converted into a couch. It wouldn't fit a cab so he said he tossed it over his shoulder and walked back to the Dakota. The doorman said it was the first and only time a condo in that building would be furnished with a futon! He made arrangements for the frame to be delivered.

Alas, I hadn't met Excy then, so never got to lurk around the halls of the Dakota myself, but I always enjoy his stories.

Back to Lennon: It is forever a shame we lost a musical genius and brilliant light and spirit in this world to an evil wacko. We have far too many wackos and not enough love and brilliance in the world.

AGL on YouTube

2010-11-18T11:26:00.000-08:00

Here is my 'Tales of the South' performance on YouTube. The audio is 'off' but it's all there...

http://www.youtube.com/user/talesfromthesouth

Some Wild Horses (And All Old Men) Can't be Tamed

2010-11-08T17:02:00.000-08:00

Here's my story for the Tuesday show...I will put up a link when it's archived for anyone who wants to listen to all the stories...

"Amy, you're not going to believe what I just read about." My husband Excy was standing in front of me in our kitchen, Western Horseman open in his well-worn hands. I dried my hands on a dishtowel and turned to listen. The excitement in his voice bounced around the room. "It's a new competition in Ft. Worth to promote mustangs called Extreme Mustang Makeover..."

I knew there was no way he was not going to be involved.

Excy loves doing anything “off the back of a horse.” And he’s really, really, good at it. So when we adopted wild mustangs to keep them out of the hands of a killer buyer, people kept asking, “Well, what does he do with them?” I kept replying, “He doesn’t do anything – he just lets them be.”
I jokingly called them moving statuary, until Excy told me it sounded disrespectful to the horses.

The competition pairs you with a wild horse. You pick it up, and have 90 days to tame and train the beast. Unfortunately, we could not use any already out in pasture.

Now, let me explain a bit of our complicated life. We don’t have much fun. Don’t get me wrong. We have fun, but it’s just the simple, everyday kind of fun. Once or twice a year, I’m in cancer treatment or off having surgery. So our life in the interim isn’t jetting off to Paris, or even motoring to Montana. Every big-ass decision we weigh is wedged between what medical drama is looming in the near-distance. So typically, this decision of his was fraught with drama from the get-go, and getting the horse was a logistical squeeze between another surgery and recovery.

Excy’s dad, nicknamed ‘Be,’ also a lover of ‘all things horse,’ made plans to fly from Santa Fe and ride with Excy to Fort Worth for the competition. I’d follow a day later with a girlfriend. Afterwards we’d put Be on a plane from Dallas. This would be a father-son bonding experience.

When Excy unloaded the big, beautiful, muscular horse, I named him Othello on the spot. Little did we realize how apt that was. To say this horse had trust issues is putting it mildly. You couldn’t get near him. His sole intent in life was to kill my husband. Which he nearly did, several times. Every few hours, I’d walk across the street and peer into the working corrals just to make sure Excy was still on his feet. They were two old, stubborn, warriors circling each other warily.

Finally, by living in the corral 24/7 (did I mention this was in the summer when the horse flies and mosquitoes and gnats were at their worst?), Excy was able to begin training. Time was coming down to the wire.

Be arrived the week we were to leave. Now’s the time to mention that Be, god-love him, is also ‘high-maintenance.’ At that time he was 88; deaf as a post, even with his hearing aids on. His wife had recently left him at age 90, explaining she “didn’t have much time left and wanted to enjoy life.”

Tuesday afternoon, Be discovers his wallet missing. After thorough searches of the house, guest room, his clothes, the truck, car, and the driveway, we realize Be’s lost wallet could be a very bad thing. In this post 9/11 world, there is no way Be can board a plane without an ID. Last he remembers, he had it at security in Albuquerque.

Here is what he had in his wallet: $400 cash, credit cards, driver’s license, several blank checks, his VA card, and his social security card. (Sigh). A thief’s bonanza.

A charge has been made on one card for gas. Be still doesn’t comprehend his wallet has been stolen. When things begin to get more complicated with money matters, I’m right there with Be, so Excy takes over, spending hours making rounds of calls – credit companies, the bank manager, social security offices, credit unions…between answering and re-answering and answering again Be’s interminable questions, waiting endlessly on hold, being transferred wrong, again and again trying to reach the right numbers, the right people…honestly, I marveled at his patience, and would have understood completely if he had a melt-down.

Now we had two precious days left, and dozens of chores to do before leaving. Instead we are suspended in this fresh hell, trying to calm Be down.

I start to worry we will be driving him home (maybe he can board a bus? No, we can’t do that, no knowing where he’d end up). A neighbor breaks into his house and looks for some ID to be sent Fed Ex so he can get a photo ID; he doesn’t have a valid passport. Because Excy has to leave early on Thursday, Be must now ride in my tiny car with Carol and me.

Thursday morning, Excy leaves with Othello in the trailer, Fed Ex delivers, and Carol arrives. She volunteers to take Be to the DMV so I can clean the house for the sitter. Be asks if he needs to take the materials from Fed Ex. It takes three hours to get his license. It had to be approved and apparently those people were in ‘meetings.’

To make room for a 6’4” man in the backseat of my car, an insulated chest, trashcan, and container holding wipes, paper towels, flashlights, and other items must be removed. Later down the road, as any of these things become necessary, Carol tells me whenever she travels, she has (insert) necessary item here. And I realize we have taken off without the folding chairs, ice chest, and other necessities for the exhibition.

Thirty minutes down the road, Be has to eat. Carol insists we grab fast food and eat in the car. I know what will happen next, but my Oxycontin has kicked in by then, and I just don’t care. Sure enough before we are out of the parking lot, Be has spilled a 2 quart cup of Coke on the floor, and says he’s sure glad the lid was on and it didn’t spill. I glance back to see his size-14 boots swimming in inches of brown liquid; I point this out. “That’s okay honey, it won’t ruin these boots.” I toss back a towel. In the next instant, the Coke Carol has set on the console spills on my new purse. Of course it does.

Hours later, we are in Fort Worth, trying to find the motel in the dark, with Be helpfully shouting nonsensical directions from the back seat as we maneuver through traffic.

Be’s room is on the second floor; there is no elevator. Carol drags his suitcase in and sets it up. It’s ‘wrong,’ so must be set up again. She collapses into her room and disappears for the night. I discover that every room but ours has a microwave, refrigerator, and coffee maker. I guess it’s because it’s a handicap room. Yeah, it makes that much sense to me, too. I also collapse for the night.

There is a reason I opted not to have children. The rest of the weekend reminds me of this. From Thursday through Sunday I see Excy maybe all of 15 minutes. The majority of the time is spent babysitting Be. Be asks us to phone him when he’d like to get up. We discover the room phone rings three times and kicks over to voice mail. Without his hearing aids he never hears it or the incessant knocking on his door. After arriving late to the cocktail reception at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame (he mumbled something about a plumbing problem), I’ve had just about all I can take.

Excy and the sponsors decide the best thing to do is scratch Othello from being shown. A local vet must write up a certificate for him after he’s adopted. All this guy needed to do was stand outside the stall, write down his freeze brand, and hand Excy the certificate. Even though Excy explained how dangerous Othello was, the vet goes into the stall and yanks his mouth open. So Othello did the only thing he could: kicked the crap out of him. Then he broke out of the stall and scattered spectators in the aisles until Excy wrestled him back inside.

Throughout the weekend until he managed to load Othello into the trailer that would carry him west, Excy continued juggling calls from Be’s banker, then running into the stands to ask Be if such-and-such a charge was legitimate. Finally, it was all over. The trip had been snake-bit from the start. But as we watched Be safely board the plane and he turned, saying with a smile how much fun he had, I thought back to Excy’s philosophy of dealing with the wild ones: he doesn’t do anything. He just let’s them be.

Ricci and Rocko

2010-11-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

I have had a cold and sore throat since Saturday. The only good thing about that are the hot toddies Excy makes before bed (keep them coming, Excellent...). I am no longer a menace to be around, so went out yesterday for a trial run, because tonight we have tickets to 'Wicked.' I have longed to see this play since I read the book, knowing it would be excellent on stage. I wanted to see it on Broadway. I bided my time as the touring productions came closer, and closer...finally it's here! And nothing's going to keep me from going!! Excy finally had the round-up of the 'wild ones' yesterday where he gave them all their shots and had them tested for the year, and the only thing I warned him about was if he got hurt, I would be going tonight. The end. (How's that for a supportive wife? I even tried to get him to change the day...fortunately other than bruises and sore backs, no one was hurt). Anyway back to Wicked: The two leads have gotten excellent reviews. Interestingly enough, they are two best friends in real life, playing best friends on stage.

I need my voice back by Tuesday. I am recording one of my stories for 'Tales of the South,' a radio show on our local NPR which is being syndicated soon. These evenings are fun -- it's at a neat restaurant, where we eat, listen to music, and then the authors record in front of a live audience. The producer said the last six shows have been SRO. Excy and his son Corey (sans cat-hat, see Halloween post below), and my mom will be there, and a few friends are joining the audience. The show airs the fourth Thursday of the month on KUAR FM. I'll post a link so you can listen to the show once it's archived, and I'll also put the story out here so you can read it if you don't care to listen.

The Tale of R&R:

These are not my photos. I wanted to show a flying squirrel gliding and then just how small they really are.

Six summers ago, two flying squirrels that live in the woods around the house decided to leave their tree house and venture out to a new spot. They were young and had just hooked up, having left their parents at age five or six weeks to find a mate.

The first spot they chose seemed excellent at first. Wary of predators, (mainly owls and raccoons) they need some place very high and sheltered. This spot was 10 feet in the air, had a roof, and actually had some screening, which provided protection from the elements and a way to climb around. (Because they don't really 'fly' they glide from high places).

Because flying squirrels are nocturnal, they would be asleep during the day and needed a quiet, dark, protected home. They each brought up one large dried leaf and a few pine needles for their bed, and nestled on opposite ends of the beam. It was an excellent spot.

But after a week, someone spied them sleeping away during the day, and they were pointed out to others. And even though the tall, mostly hairless things seemed to respect their privacy and couldn't peer any closer because they were perched much higher in their nests, Ricci and Rocko were disturbed by the activity and noise. But they decided to stick it out. Things were okay for about a week longer.

But soon, the people were making even more noise, and doing alarming things like banging on wood and dragging things closer to their area. Then they started putting up more screens, making walls were no walls had been. Ricci and Rocko were all for screens, but they didn't want to be 'fenced in!' They knew they'd have to leave and find another place fast.

Ricci went back to the woods. Rocko thought he had found another place nearby, though -- a little wooden box on a pole raccoons and snakes couldn't climb up. He just needed to make the hole bigger...after gnawing a larger entry to his satisfaction, he lived there a few weeks until he was startled from a deep sleep during the day by the face of a monster gaping at him...the thing had opened up one of the walls to check on the house, which was intended for bluebirds.

Thoroughly unnerved, Rocko didn't give up, and a few nights later he discovered another perfect spot. Affixed to a column on the front porch of the house was an empty roosting pocket just perfect for curling into. It was covered with wisteria vine and sheltered by a wood and wire roof to make quick escapes if necessary, and protection from the wind and rain. The best thing of all was the room service! When the monster found out Rocko was now living there, it would leave little food offerings among the vines. Now this was class.

He lived there all summer, until the comings and goings of the family got to be a bit much. One time he stuck his head out and scolded them for making too much noise -- they were running some machine over the grass too close to his home -- during the day! Can you imagine?! So he moved back into the woods were it's quieter and less confusing, but he still likes to hang out by the house at night, where there are treats and easily accessible fruits and nuts to eat.

When the benign monsters come out of the house in the evening he squeaks a greeting so they know he's around and so they'll hustle to throw out some stuff to eat he can't find in the woods. He has them trained pretty well.

2010 Halloween WOW

2010-10-30T20:29:00.000-07:00

It was my year to host the Halloween WOW (Witches of Wye). I also invited some 'town witches' (guests), so that made 13 of us (a coven??). Trolling the Halloween store, I noticed the trend this year was zombie children. There were no fewer than five life-sized tots in crouching positions leering up at me with yellow teeth and red eyes, drooling with anticipation at chomping into my flesh. Then I saw one little tyke walking alone before me (he was moving, and had normal coloring, so I assumed he was still 'one of us.'). He was scared stiff, moving s-l-o-w-l-y and cautiously among the 'children.' When his mom called to him from another aisle, he lit out pretty quickly. I'm pretty sure he had nightmares that night.

I've collected lots of Halloween decorations over the years when we held an annual party, but I didn't put a lot out this year. I wasn't spending a week digging a 'graveyard' in the front yard. I do like to decorate though...

I was a gruesome witch. Excy wouldn't even take my picture or kiss me goodnight (warlocks not allowed at a WOW). We had another witch, of course, and a student from Hogwarts, but for the most part the girls didn't dress up this year.

I like my witch and ghoul pumpkins, and you can't really see the severed body parts, bugs, and spiders and cobwebs around the porch...

I took black plastic trash bags and shredded them, stringing them in rows above the entry.

I made a wreath by spray-painting a grape vine wreath black and entwining snakes and bugs around it, also painted black.

My zombie digs out from the earth every year. I put a kerosine lamp and lighted pumpkins on the walk to illuminate him and added snakes slithering up the drive.

Some of my vintage-inspired decorations, like the little cat band and the 'conductor.' The ghosts I found at flea markets. That's Leatherhead lighting up the mantle.

One of my many witches with her roses full of bugs...

Celebrating Lynne's October birthday with a Mickey's cake -- they're the best...

I made the ghosts by spray-painting butternut squash and painting them. We painted the tombstones and the boys did a wonderful job, I wish you could see them more clearly. Surrounded the arrangement with spanish moss and spare eyeballs. Put out pumpkins full of chocolate and candy corn.

A few of the witches solving the problems of the world...

And finally, the best costume of all -- Excy's son Corey wearing his cat Dixie as a hat. She stays as still as he likes to do this...You have heard of the Cat in the Hat? This is another take altogether...

Watch that Snake!

2010-10-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

Tonight one of the best screwball comedies ever made is on TCM.

I have watched every screwball comedy classified from the AFI and other lists, and I know whereof I speak, having made the 'Golden Age of Hollywood' something of a passion.

One of my bucket-list dreams is attending the TCM Film Festival in LA some day soon.

Not only does The Lady Eve star Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck, but it features a solid cast of character actors who, if you don't recognize the names here, you probably will when you see their faces: Charles Coburn, Eugene Pallette, and William Demarest. All they needed was Edward Everett Horton to make my viewing complete (he was probably tied up in a Fred Astair-Ginger Rogers vehicle).

Directed by the brilliant Preston Sturges, the one-time white-hot director who burned out too quickly, (his best movies beside this one being Sullivan's Travels and The Palm Beach Story, two other must-sees),this 1941 film has Stanwyck doing what she does best - playing a smart woman several steps ahead of everyone else - in this case, she's a con artist who tries to hoodwink - and then of course falls for - wealthy Fonda, a slightly dim-witted, affable guy who is looked after by his 'right hand man' Demarest (Uncle Charlie for those of you who grew up watching My Three Sons).

Watch it for the witty repartee, the gorgeous gowns, and the old passage-liner crossings. They really don't make them like this any more, and more's the pity.

Gray Matter

2010-10-24T20:40:00.000-07:00

I went to a high school reunion party two weekends ago featuring classes from 1971 to 1977 (I'm class of '76, perfect since we were the Patriots). I was only the second girl in our class who has 'let her hair go' -- parlance for not coloring it anymore. The other person has lovely salt-and-pepper coloring...

As much as my old classmates and friends, all now in their early 50s to 60s, oohed and awed over my gray, to a one they all said they would not look good with gray hair. In fact, as the night wore on, my girlfriends decided my hair was not gray at all, but 'Platinum' (I don't think so...). I think they just hated calling it gray.

I really am 'Gray Light' like my name, and I have been for many years now. I began turning gray in my late 20s but wasn't ready for it so colored until my mid-40s. My hair was auburn but photographed very dark. Dad's hair was black and by the time he was in his early 30s it was salt-and-pepper. His mother had snow-white hair by the time she was 40. I guess I could deal, but I'm glad mine hasn't gone white on me. I lived in DC during the Bush years (Sr) and keep remembering how First Lady Barbara looked like his mother, although they insisted on calling her the 'silver fox.'

When choosing to grow out your gray, it's a universal fact no one looks good at first. You just have to suck it up for awhile. But there are tips to help the process. The gray begins at the roots, obviously, and your part begins to resemble what I call a 'skunk stripe.' Unless you like looking like Cruella D'Ville or Mortitia Munster, you'll want to add highlights that help blend the shades together, which look rather startling until they transition. Blondes and red heads have an easier time of it. But you also need the transition highlights to avoid looking washed out and dull. Just because you don't want to color doesn't mean you've given up and don't care for appearances.

Being in the pool 3 to 4 times a week, I put a clear gloss on my hair every 3rd month or so to keep it from getting brassy looking. If you don't like your gray or feel it needs to look more glam, you can add silvery highlights that help it along. I haven't done this yet because the reason I stopped coloring in the first place was to get away from the tyranny and expense of coloring, and because I didn't want my hair to look like cotton candy after decades of abuse. Now that I don't color anymore it has grown soft and shiny again on its own. My stylist says if people do add highlights they won't need to do it often.

The length is another thing altogether. As long-time readers know, I toyed with a bob, and my parents think I should cut it, but after considering it I guess the underlying reason I haven't is I've had three brain surgeries that have shorn my hair, and with the possibility of surgery in the future, I've decided to keep it long until I can't. And Excy likes it long. He'd like it longer, but I don't want to get all Pentecostal or anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Going gray is a highly personal decision. One of my closest friends hates it. I think it reminds her we're old. I've never been mistaken for a younger person with this color, that's for sure. And you have to watch certain colors and change some makeup if you use it.

But I'm used to it and it's authentically who I am.

I do think it odd younger kids are coloring their hair gray, though. I'd never have willingly done that at their age.

What am I Saving These For??

2010-10-18T20:59:00.000-07:00

Let me run my freak flag up the pole a bit and tell you what I've been saving for several years now:

Cat whiskers. (I call them 'whiskey's for some reason). So now I joke to Excy I have DNA on our deceased 'kids' when cloning is less expensive...but seriously, I don't know why I save them.

I keep them in an old breath-mint tin with a picture of Lucy and Ethel stuffing those bonbons in their mouths.

It's amazing how many one finds when you keep your eyes out for them. I've simply thought they were too special-looking to toss out or vacuum away. Togo's in particular are white and long and very curly. Reminds me of walrus whiskers.

I met an artist a few years back who lives on the mountain and she's offered to teach me how to weave baskets with horse hair. I figure when I take her up on it, we can use the whiskies to top off the horse mane baskets.

Fox Drama

2010-10-13T16:03:00.001-07:00

Those new to this blog may want to check out my posts from June and July discussing Francis and Mr Fox, who have raised a family of kits under our tack room. Francis and three of the kits remain and if they are hanging around, come up for dog food once or twice a day...

Last week I glanced out the bedroom window to see two of the kits in the back yard waiting for a handout. When I went out on the terrace to throw them some dog food, to my horror one came scooting forward on her two front legs. Her hind legs were useless and seemed paralyzed behind her. Still, she acted normally and ate a lot, just extra-nervous because of her vulnerability. Her sibling kept close-by and trotted after her when she went into the woods.

I googled information and the contact of a wildlife rehabilitator, but unfortunately my em came back a few hours later. Excy and I discussed the possibility of trying to put her out of her misery if we needed to. We didn't want her to suffer.

We didn't see her the next day. But the day after that, she showed up as hungry as before, and still scooting around on her front legs. But this time, she stood on all fours to eat. A few days after that, she came walking up but very wobbly. I am amazed at her tenacity and spirit of recovery, and so glad we didn't make any hasty decisions!

This morning she was sunning herself on the 'Fox Rock,' a flat table-like rock I had a neighbor move from the woods with his forklift to our bamboo grove. Some of our late, beloved animal companions are buried in a ring around it. Francis Fox and the Mr began using it so often over the summer we named it Fox Rock. I could tell it was Shaky Fox on the rock (Excy likes to call her Draggen' Lady). Suddenly I noticed a tuxedo cat under a nearby tree watching squirrels eating seeds under the bird tree. It took off in pursuit of the squirrels and swaggered back when it didn't catch one, and not until it was four yards away did it notice the fox.

That cat has balls of steel.

His tail puffed up, he walked right up to the fox, who was standing up by now, her ears pinned back. The fox pointedly didn't look at the cat and the cat finally moved on. I guess looking at it would've meant engaging in a fight. The cat finally headed towards our nearest neighbor, who lives in a trailer with a billion yappy dogs.

Excy got up and threw out some dog food for the Shaky fox who seemed to be moving around better. When she runs too fast her legs tend to splay out from under her, though. We weren't able to grab the camera for a picture before it was all over. We haven't seen Francis for days. I guess she's on walk-about.

All Your Daily Vegetables in One Serving

2010-10-12T17:08:00.000-07:00

Dang. This isn't a cooking blog, I promise. But several have asked about this soup, too, and not only was it easy it was delicious. It was in the Kroger recipe book in case it looks familiar. Enjoy...

White Bean Soup with Vegetables
1 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion, minced
clove garlic, minced
2 med. carrots, chopped
2 stalks celery chopped
1 med. Yukon Gold potato, chopped
1 med. zucchini, diced
3-4 sprigs parsley, minced
1/4 tsp. fresh rosemary AND thyme (or 1/8th each dried)
6 cups chicken or vegetable broth
2 1/2 cups white beans soaked and cooked (or 2 cans organic white beans)
1 T. unsalted butter
Fresh ground black pepper and salt, to taste

Heat a medium Dutch oven or stockpot over med. high heat. Add olive oil and then add the onion, garlic, carrot, celery and potato. Saute until vegetables are tender. Stir in parsley, rosemary and thyme. Then add zucchini, stock and beans. Cook 25-30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Puree with an immersion blender until smooth. Stir in butter and season with salt and pepper. Cook an additional 5 minutes. Freezes nicely if you have left-overs.
Serves 4

This Skull's for You

2010-10-11T14:50:00.001-07:00

Someone asked to see the buffalo skull so here it is:

Excy and I love Native American stuff. Nine years ago he saw a skull in a magazine that was exquisitely painted by an Indian artist. He thought he'd like to do that. I assured him that was fine, but I didn't want dead animals on my walls, and it'd have to go down in the studio.

He is extremely difficult to surprise with presents. One of those irritating people who always correctly guess what the gift is. So a year after this conversation, I looked up some ads in the back of Western Horseman and found a buffalo skull and had it sent to the p's so he wouldn't even see the box (good thing, as it was HUGE). When he saw it wrapped under the tree, he thought it contained horse blankets, since he had mentioned those, too. I got him this time. He was very surprised when he unwrapped this gift! As you can see, it still isn't decorated, but for Halloween I string lights inside, which makes it look slightly demonic.

For all you soup-lovers, here is the recipe for the Roasted Squash and Apple Soup -- enjoy! I am making White Bean and Carrot soup this afternoon...

Roasted Squash and Apple Soup -- serves six
1T. unsalted butter, melted
1T. olive oil
1 med. yellow onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic (or two spoonfuls of minced garlic from a jar)
1 lb. butternut squash peeled and cubed one inch pieces (I used two)
2 granny smith apples peeled and cubed (if making garnish, reserve half an apple)
1 mcintosh or gala (sweet) apple peeled and cubed
1T. rosemary, chopped
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t pepper
4 c. chicken broth or vegetable stock
1 sprig thyme plus more for garnish
cream or milk

Heat oven to 425 degrees. In a large bowl toss together the onion, garlic, squash, apples, rosemary, salt and pepper with the butter and oil. Spread out onto a rimmed baking sheet and cook 30 minutes, turning or rotating after 15 min. so veggies cook evenly. They should be brown and soft. Scrape veggies into a soup pot, and if any have carmelized and stuck to the sheet, add some broth or stock to scrape it up and into the pot.

Add remaining stock or broth and sprig of thyme and simmer partially covered for 10 min. Remove thyme sprig and use your immersion blender (LOVE THIS), or puree in a blender. (If using blender, go out and buy a immersion blender to save yourself a lot of trouble. Okay, for now, if using a blender, let the soup cool and do in batches making sure the blender isn't too full). Soup needs to be smooth.

Reheat and taste and then add cream or milk and more broth to desired consistency and season to taste. I always end up adding more Ms Dash salt and pepper

If serving for a party or just wanting it to look pretty -- For garnish: saute some apple chunks in butter until brown and tender. Spoon in the center of each bowl and finish with a spig of thyme.

What I Did Today

2010-10-10T15:32:00.000-07:00

I made roasted apple-butternut squash for our supper. I will post or email the soup recipe to anyone who wants it.

I made a Sour cream bundt cake, and put a lemon glaze on it. If anyone wants the recipe I will be happy to post it or email it.

I repotted this aloe vera today. It was given to me by a master-gardener friend who died a few years ago. It has out-grown two pots so far. Since it is easily breakable I put it in a BIG pot so it can grow there for a long time, but since it outgrew the first pot that was much bigger than it was last summer, I'll be interested to see how it goes. The friend was dear to me, and I want to nurture the plant a long time.

I mixed up another batch of a home remedy to keep the coons (and other critters) out of my plants. The stuff works like a charm! In two quarts of water, add one tablespoon cayenne pepper, one chopped yellow onion, and one chopped jalapeno pepper. Boil 20 minutes then cool. Strain and pour in a spray bottle. Use every three days or whenever it rains.

Tomorrow I will work on some halloween decorations. I'll post the results.

Revelations Challenge

2010-10-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the Proust Questionnaire in Vanity Fair, I have compiled some Q&A's -- how you answer them changes from day to day, but on this day, here are my answers...I challenge you to take the quiz on your blog...

Quickly name a unique item you have in your house.
A buffalo skull over the mantle.
What are two of your favorite names?
Elwood. Lenny.
What do you consider a necessary luxury?
Pedicures.
What car would you like to drive?A real Woody.
What is your favorite color and has it changed over the years?
Blue. No. Just the shades.
What quality do you most admire in a man?
The ability to make me laugh. And the ability to pick up the check.
In a woman? Loyality. Humor.
What is something you long for?
Z Chocolat from France.
If money were no object what would you buy yourself?
A new wardrobe.
What charity would you donate a million dollars to? Animal charities.
What book have you just finished reading?
Olive Kitteridge.
Name one book that made an impact and why? To Kill a Mockingbird. It's held up so well over the years and it brings racisim and bigotry to a level every person can understand.
Name one liquid always in your refrigerator? Orange Juice.
Name one food item always in your refrigerator? Cottage cheese.
What could you eat everyday:
An avacado.
Everyday I drink: Tea.
TV guilty pleasure: 'The Real Housewives...' (all but the Atlanta wives).
TV show I don't miss: 'Burn Notice'. 'The Closer'.
Name a favorite fictional character from a book:
Elizabeth Bennet.
From a movie:
Elwood P Dodd ('Harvey'). Lisa ('Rear Window').
What phrase or motto do I overuse: This to shall pass. No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
I own a lot of: Greeting and note cards.
I collect: Animal Fetishes.
I try to avoid: Negative people. Traffic.
One thing I know: Life is what you make it.
Everyday I: Read.
The last time I wrote a note or letter and mailed it was:
Yesterday (I mail at least 3 a week).
Dog or cat? Meow.

There is Superstition...

2010-10-07T12:32:00.000-07:00

I was going to make love to Excy last night, but I couldn't find my Power Balance bracelet.
Geez.

Of course, you've ordered your PB bracelet by now, right??

The PB bracelets have taken the sports world by storm, and athletes believe they keep them in optimal physical shape and improve their overall performance. Many world champs won't compete without them. I understand baseball players -- they've always been a superstitious lot -- but Shaquille O'Neal, surfer Andy Irons, formula one winner Rubens Barrichello, soccer player Cristiano Ronaldo, among others?

The bracelet is touted as "reacting positively with your body's natural energy field." The company that sells them didn't exist three years ago and today has sold more than 2.5 million worldwide in the past 18 months, at between $30 to $50 a pop.

The thing is, they don't work. It's all psychosomatic. There is no scientific evidence these bracelets do anything. A clinical researcher and chairperson of the American Board of Sport Psychology says "Between 15% and 30% of any population or group will have what's known as high-range hypnotic susceptibility, which makes them inclined to look for outside answers, search for improvement and be vulvernable to those giving them simple answers to what they're striving for."

Lots of people think the placebo effect is fine. After all, if wearing the thing makes you feel you perform well or better, who cares? But let's not go overboard.

House Work Is Wonderful - well, let's not go that far...

2010-10-04T16:42:00.000-07:00

I was interested to read an article about mindfully cleaning. Not just tackling housework, but purposefully and thoroughly giving yourself up to the task at hand. OKKKaaaayyyyyyy........So I have been slowly and Zen-fully (for lack of a better term) putting myself into my household tasks. After all, one spends so much time repeatedly cleaning and doing laundry, finding a way to turn it into meditative practice can help your peace of mind.

Rabbi Sherre Hirsch, author of We Plan, God Laughs says if your space is clear, you function better and your mind is open. Every week before Sabbath, she says observant Jews clean their house in preparation of Passover. Talk about getting your house in order.

I know I function better in a clean environment. Truthfully I'd prefer not to clean it myself, but I have learned through the years I do a better job than someone I've hired. I guess it's a matter of caring about it more.

A Zen proverb encourages you to find meaning and enlightenment in everyday tasks by chanting: before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. (I think my chant would be Thank God I don't have to chop wood, carry water. But I get the idea).

The endless repetition of housework mimics the endless cycle of life itself. Don't get me wrong: I will never pick vacuuming over going to a movie with friends. And my favorite part of housework is when it's finished and the house is clean and feels cozier to me - but I prefer cleanliness and order to chaos and dust. As long as I have to do it, I may as well do it gratefully and mindfully.

But if someone wants to help me iron, I will really be grateful.

Viva la Barbie

2010-10-01T17:11:00.000-07:00

I was born in 1958. Barbie was introduced to the world by Mattel in 1959. Although her extreme beauty and fantastic proportions introduced girls early on to the insecurity of setting standards of beauty no girl could possibly achieve growing up, Barbie became an immediate sensation. My Barbie dolls from the '60s and '70s aren't worthy as collector's items - they have been far too active, having lived lives full of adventure. My Barbies lived hard, surviving as many adventures as the Perils of Pauline. Their hair being shorn is the least of their problems, though I noticed every single one has a bad haircut. They've been run over, kidnapped, drowned, dragged behind runaway horses, buried in avalanches, shot out of rockets; one poor girl parachuted from the sky into an active volcano.

Ken was always just her sidekick. Too effeminate to be taken seriously as a boyfriend, my girls were always attracted to G.I. Joe; real men, who managed to rescue her from pygmies or a failed space-station, or would be her covert-op during one of her many spy adventures. (I was spy-obsessed, never missing an episode of I SPY, Get Smart, The Avengers, Man from U.N.C.L.E., or a James Bond movie. I loved playing a spy, and resuscitated an old brief case of dad's for my attache case full of the latest weaponry).

If Barbie were life-size, she would be 5'6" and weigh 110 pounds. So far so good. However, her measurements would be 39-18-33. Yikes. I'm 5'8" -- the last time I weighed 110 lbs I was 33 years old. My waist was 18 only when I was 15 yrs old. But, I choose to focus on the positives of emulating Barbie. She was my one-and-only 'adult' doll, and taught me that using your head (as long as it didn't pop out of your neck for a quick replacement), along with feminine wiles, could be a powerful combination. (All you feminists can recoil in horror now).

My Barbie was always as smart as a rocket scientist (hey, a girl can dream). And even though she was a tomboy like me, she sported a fabulous wardrobe. (In fact, Barbie has 20 million dresses, many by big-name designers, making Mattel the world's largest fashion manufacturer). Some of my favorite clothes were handmade by my grand moms, though.

Barbie began her many careers as a model, but by the '60s she had become an astronaut, a flight attendant (this seems quite a come-down from astronaut), travel agency owner, doctor. Rock star, TV personality, Olympic finalist, and in '86, an astronaut again. What I liked best about Barbie was the effortless way she incorporated the fantasies and dreams of her owners, who had far more varied professions for her than that. (Equestrian high jumper, anyone?)

Barbie has always had fabulous homes -- penthouses, vacation homes, 'dream' houses. She has owned a Ferrari (cherry red), Corvette (pink), Jeep (white, I think), as well as other cars, and a Vespa.

Her best friend is Midge (always hated that name), she remains close with her little sister, Skipper, and she's always been an animal lover. She's had five horses, a poodle, afghan hound, two puppies, a cat, and a parrot. She even befriended a giraffe while on a safari in 1989.

Barbie remains ageless, 18 forever, unlike her many admirers. My childish dreams where she was the heroine and catalyst of many fantasies helped shape my dreams. Maybe certain feminists disagree, but I say long live Barbie. She was always a fun girlfriend. And despite her voluptuous proportions, she looks healthier than those slightly anemic-looking Bratz dolls, who remind me uncomfortably of the big sad-eyed children in the pictures that were so popular in the '70s.

Seeking the Beauty in Imperfection

2010-09-27T16:09:00.000-07:00

I had this in my head to write about for days and then I saw an article written up in Whole Living magazine, which used to be called body+soul. I suppose in these times, the aesthetic is a timely one...

Even before I knew there was a name for it, I've preferred my things a little wabi-sabi. Wabi-sabi is the Japanese term for things a little off-kilter. It's a way of seeing beauty in the simple, the transient, the imperfect and the modest. Not in shabby or dirty things, but perhaps seeing it in a beautiful burnished bowl that is a bit misshapen or has a subtle crack in it. We mix our contemporary pieces with family antiques that show their age and wear. Our silver curios are apt to be dulled. I don't mind a beautiful piece that's slightly dinged. Perfection in life isn't real or possible. To me, things are more interesting when you aren't striving to achieve perfection but allow for life's imperfections. I think Leonard Cohen had a line in a song about not minding a crack, that was how light shone through, but I'm paraphrasing.

One reason I quit writing for design magazines was because I hated writing up McMansions. It was difficult to write with glowing enthusiasm about big obnoxious houses with cheap building materials you knew wouldn't wear well, with rooms obviously staged and seldom used by the inhabitants. You could almost see the velvet rope strung across the threshold to keep the kids off-limits. One white elephant gave pride-of-place to a vast collection of Franklin Mint items -- those pricy reproductions. Why not invest in real artwork, not a reproduction of Merlin's wand?

Once I complimented an interviewee on her vast and charming display of framed ancestors scattered among her library shelves. She shrugged and said she didn't know any of them; her interior designer had gone to a flea market and then framed interesting photos. The leather-bound books were chosen to compliment the colors in the room. Brrrrrrr.

I guess we all have stories about people who chose their artwork like the rock star in Hannah and Her Sisters, who wanted "a picture to go with the couch in his living room." It's hard not to see them as philistines.

It's so much more interesting to write up a house that has been thoughtfully and personally decorated -- rather, a home, not a house -- where every piece is selected personally, and the artwork is chosen for a reason, definitely not just for its color or how it enhances a room.

The Real Burning Bed

2010-09-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

A dear friend confided to me -- thirty years after the fact -- that her long-time steady BF all through high school and into their 20s had been physically abusive, finally getting to the point he actually attempted to choke her to death. Her 'crime' was dancing with a group of their friends at a wedding party. She was saved by his room mate unexpectedly returning home, and she ran into the night, walking several miles home until being picked up by a Good Samaritan who turned out to be a counselor who sat in the car for hours and persuaded her she could not return to her BF no matter what remorse he showed later. She never did. He did go on to marry -- and no doubt abuse -- his wife before dying young.

Another friend from high school told me she had been raped at a party by a 'BMOC.' She told him to stop and he refused, telling her afterwards he "didn't believe her," "she got what she wanted," and "no one would believe her."

Yet another confided she was sexually abused as a teen by the adult manager of the store she worked in through her school years. He told her that her job and benefits were at risk if she told anyone, and he would tell everyone she was a "slut."

During my college years, I saw crazed behavior at a frat party that was getting into scary territory to the point my intuition screamed for me to get out. During a blind date that turned very sour, I was able to bluff my way out of danger by being deliberately calm and doing things I knew would turn a narcissist off; in the other circumstance, someone literally stepped in and stopped the frenzied pack mentality.

I knew girls in college who hadn't been so lucky.

Unfortunately, misogyny and abuse abounds, and I know more stories from young women through the years. What every girl shared from these incidents was the fact they were young, sexually inexperienced, and naive - and preyed upon by loathsome teens and men. They were impressionable and made to feel embarrassed and culpable - like it had been their fault the abuse occurred in the first place.

I know for a fact two who have really never gotten over it. They stuffed it inside, tried to forget about it, or it was the catalyst for some wild behavior they now regret. One woman has never gotten close enough to another man to enjoy a long-time relationship, let alone get married.

I know this kind of abuse occurs every day. I am thankful it is being exposed more and more, and as people are educated to the dark horrors of this behavior, more laws and help is offered to innocent women, children, animals, and yes, men, who are ensnared in an insidious web of domestic abuse.

If you suspect anyone of living with this horror, reach out and offer your help. You may be saving a life, or a lifetime of a bad memory or regret. Many are so emotionally downtrodden they're no longer aware they don't have to live that way.

Random Acts of Kindness

2010-09-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

If you're wondering how to be of help to someone who has had a death in the family...

maybe you can be a point person -- writing emails, and calling people, so they don't have to discuss the same story over and over...maybe you can pick up stationery for notes or even help write the notes...I wrote an obit column for a magazine, so I have written 7 obits for friends over the years so their family didn't have that to deal with.

Think of how you would feel someone could be useful to you -- then you will have your answer of how you can help. Think outside the box. It also could be as simple as a bouquet of flowers or a plant they can keep to remind them of the beauty of life and how it continues, or a really great bag of coffee or chocolates to pamper them a bit, nice massage oil or bath salts, or something unique to you or your friend you share between each other.

Don't write or tell someone 'if there's anything I can do, please let me know.' That is well-meaning, but frankly, it's pretty useless. It's not up to the person to tell you -- even the closest of friends can hesitate to ask for something. Asking for things is difficult.

If you are afraid of writing for fear of saying something wrong, simply write how sorry you are for their loss, and how they are in your thoughts and/or prayers, and that you'll call and email soon to see what you can do - and for them to be thinking of how you can help.

Remember, nothing's more important than knowing their loved one was important to others. Hearing how their loved one had a positive impact or recalling a funny story or piece of advice is something they will treasure, and keep or remember.

What's painful is when they can't mention their loved one. People fear bringing up their name or memory will be painful and they try not to mention them, but what can make them sadder is having people not mention the huge void in their life. They crave talking about their loved one, and want to keep their memories alive as time goes by.

There are many ways to create 'living legacies' -- donate in their name to a charity or something they were invested in or loved. Plant a tree. Or just live in a way that honors their life or way of living. You don't have to go "Newman's Own" big -- you could change a habit for the better and tell the family how their loved one inspired you to make the change. Or tell them you had a medical test because of their experience.

Any act of consideration and kindness is appreciated and makes the world a little kinder than before...we are all connected.

Helping Out

2010-09-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

Caretaking, particularly when it's long-term, can be tiring. But it's important to take time off for yourself to recharge. It's trite but true that if you're worn down, you won't be any good for your patient. That's where family and friends come in. Some suggestions and ways to show your support:

Volunteer an hour or so of your time and sit with the patient while the caregiver gets out for a walk, a massage, or trip to the salon, or movie. It's important for them to get out of the house and into the 'real world' to feel grounded.

Drop off a meal. Be sure to call ahead to discuss any dietary restrictons. After surgery, most patients don't have their appetite or taste buds back to normal, so simple meals of soups, fruit salads, etc. are great. It's not necessary to cook - there are plenty of catered options and ready-made meals to pick up at the store. Don't forget one of my most important rules--use disposable containers or containers you don't want returned, and make sure to tell them that. As great as it is to have meals given to us, we now have a bench full of pots, pans, and containers to return, which is just another thing that now needs to be done. I know I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth but still, avoid this problem and you'll doubly appreciated.

Running errands while you're already out and about is easy for you and helpful for them. Tell them when you have to run to the grocery or drugstore, or post office or cleaners, and see what you can pick up...

Drop off some books or magazines. Or a plant or flowers -- nice to see some natural beauty.

Walk the dog, vaccume the rug, rake their leaves, take the kids for ice-cream...you get the idea...

part two-if there is a death

The Show One Loves to Hate (Or, My Guilty Pleasure)

2010-09-15T16:02:00.001-07:00

In case you don't read Vanity Fair, with apologizes to those who do, I am going to reprint something James Wolcott wrote about The Real Housewives of New Jersey. He wrote about all the NJ shows - including the upcoming Boardwalk Empire (dang, I wish we got HBO). His column is hysterical -- I recommend it highly for the laughs.

Excy has been dismayed by my attraction to the Real Housewives series, with the exceptions of Atlanta (too ghetto) and DC (too boring). I've struggled to explain it. Frankly, it's difficult to justify loving trash when you know the glitter and tin-foil is cheap and a time-suck, and there are so many worthwhile things I could/should be doing otherwise -- or at least watching or reading...But it occupies my attention, and like a bad drug, I am hooked and keep going back for a fix every week. And I relish the lameness. I've even reasoned that if this is my biggest vice, I'm doing okay. Whatever, Amy.

NJ debuted in 2009 and was an immediate success. These girls don't play. These drama queens/big spenders live in Franklin Heights, NJ, which is apparently the mecca of big-hair, skin-tight leggings, anything animal print, and bat-wing eyeliner. You must wear flash, and sport false-tipped square nails, like the Orange County crowd. Your 'girls' (called bubbies here) must be hiked-up and over-the-top, and if you're lacking in that dept., you must have augmentation. (However, if yours are real, you must tout this fact loudly to all). I'll go into the home decor after re-printing Wolcott here:

Barbarians at The Shore (0ct. 2010)
...Residing in the palatial estates of Franklin Heights, NJ, these housewives with no housework but high-maintenance requirements take luxury living to its hideous extreme. 'Money doesn't talk, it swears,' Bob Dylan famously sang, and the money here screeches. The message of The Real Housewives is assuring to snobs and voyeurs: All the expenditure in the world can't buy you a genuine ounce of class. A recent episode featured a baby christening which may have been the most horrific since the multiple-homicide christening that climaxed The Godfather, this one staged on the scale of a royal wedding or a Steve Schwartzman Bar Mitzvah. At the after-party (christenings have after parties?) a young, ivory-wigged woman dolled up as Marie Antoinette served sushi * -- the perfect image for the Versailles excess and vanity of America's McAristocracy; we got so much money to blow** on ourselves we can hire Marie Antoinette as a serving wench!***** But where the lack of class makes its greatest cymbal crash is in the staged Dynasty cat-fights between rival divas. Danielle Staub (who is like a Witches of Eastwick co-sister to Mercedes Ruhl's jealousy-crazed wife in Married to the Mob).*** Season one thrilled the YouTube nation with Teresa Guidice's ****She-Hulk table flip, and season two graced us with the profane projectile cursing of Kim G., who tore off her disguise as a Lady of Leisure Who Lunches to go full-metal viper, calling Danielle "Franken-square tits" and telling Jacqueline, who was holding her baby at the time, that Danielle could go "f-ing scratch my ass." I grew up next to a military base, and I never heard the sort of language that makes for spirited repartee among these gentry. With its choreographed showdowns and f-bomb brio, The Real...NJ suggests a Quentin Tarantino film flying like a bat out of hell from the day spa....allowing audiences to spend quality time with the demonically possessed...

I don't watch Jersey Shore, (I can't bring myself to sink that low -- you can't avoid 'The Situation' or 'Snooky,' but God, I try)...but I have seen The Sopranos, Married to the Mob, Good Fellas, and the Godfather movies, and it seems they hit every cliche with the NJ girls. Excy's off the hook for awhile (he doesn't stay in the room but it's hard not to listen to the hysteria and caustic voices), until season three. I know he's hoping my interest will wane but like a train wreck, I know I will want to look. Oh, and their 'decorating' prowness? These ladies - I use the term very loosely -- reside in a world where everything is so eye-poppingly over the top and lurid it's as if John Waters sneaked in their house overnight for some interior desecration...

*on the tiers of her dress, no less
** this couple filed bankruptcy for $11 million in debt 2 weeks later
***really giving her too much credit -- she dresses and acts like walking the streets is her profession
****a gorilla is more evolved
*****and those dresses Theresa tricked her little girls out in (that were custom-designed and no doubt horrifically expensive) were beyond repulsive Bo-Beep type numbers...I expected to see the hats and staffs...

thought for the day

2010-09-07T20:51:00.000-07:00

It's Ripley's, I tell ya...

2010-09-07T17:20:00.000-07:00

Gentle readers if you get the heebee- jeebies just thinking about blood-sucking bugs, avert your eyes quickly and move on to another post. The tale I tell here is so horrific and bizarre, I swear it's Ripley's weird...

Five days ago, driving Excy to town to yet another dr appt for blood work, I noticed two ticks on the dash (the smallest ones). That night while undressing for bed, he found four on him and I picked off two (in places believe me, you don't want ticks, not that you want them anyway).

Excy had been complaining earlier that week that he kept finding ticks on him and all he did was walk around the circular driveway. And one day he found one, and hadn't even been outside. The cats never go outside. We suspected Corey was bringing them in from his outside errands, despite going straight to the shower when he came in.

Three days later, Corey and I found and killed TEN in the car as I drove us to my nephew's BD party and back. By this time, I was pretty friggen' wigged out. If you want me to lose it, just close me in a closet with ticks. I can handle snakes, spiders, and even scorpions better than ticks...So that evening, Corey drove his truck to Wal-mart to pick up a 'bug bomb' for the car. We set it up overnight. The next morning Excy vacuumed out the car, noting he didn't find any dead (or alive for that matter) ticks as he did so...but when he came inside 30 minutes later -- we picked FORTY off his clothes and after he stripped down...

yeah...you read that right...FORTY...

turns out our driveway is infested...

did you scream yet??

I know you're at least thanking the lord it isn't your drive...

I haven't wanted to step foot outside since, but yesterday we had to drive back to town for another dr appt. When we got home, Excy found just one after our now-daily 'tick check,' but I had four on my feet and ankles...at least they are on the floorboard, as we didn't see any in the car while we were in it...

So he sprayed it down again inside, and we have been spraying the drive...I think we have ticks because of the 'coons, and because Francis (the fox) has taken to sleeping underneath the car where it's cool.....

Ah...The hazards of the country.........yikes......

Friends in Need...

2010-09-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

The past week I have read no less than two articles about friendship. Which is ironic, because I have been having a lot of inner back-and-forth about how to handle a relationship with an old friend that has grown uncomfortably confining.

One article says that people change their friends every seven years, and most of our friendships are matters of convenience and proximity - such as becoming friends with the parents that attend your kid's soccer games, or in your workplace -- when you become friendly because you're in similar circumstances and share common interests. I think the term was neighbor friends actually, or something like that.

We've all had those kinds of friendships. I hazard to guess most of our 'friendships' ARE these friendships of convenience, at whatever phase in your life you are in. And when you move on, chances are most of those friendships don't last. One job I had that lasted 12 years resulted in fast friendships, but years later, only four of us are still friends, and of those four, only two of us keep in close contact, and that's pretty good, I guess. The other job I had seven years yielded good friends while I worked there who I adore, and seldom ever see. But when we talk, we seem to pick up where we left off pretty easily. With email, it's easy not to actually see one another and keep in touch.

When should you cut someone loose? Or do you never? As a person who avoids conflict and confrontation until it is absolutely essential, I'm guilty more of just... fading away until the other person gets the idea or gets bored with never getting phone calls or email returned. As I grow older I find myself less and less tolerant of the 'roles' that once defined a relationship. If a friend isn't willing to share a little give and take -- if I find myself a constant sounding board where it's always about them, I am less inclined to continue to be their counselor or Rock.

During these awful months dealing with Excy's surgery and medical issues, and imminent inevitability of having to move, I've found myself more and more impatient with a long-time friend who never seems to have much time and energy to talk unless the conversation quickly steers to her situation, which, granted, is in crisis, but to be truthful, isn't as much a crisis as ours. Also to be truthful, for the past ten years, she always seems to be in one crisis or another. I feel I am having friendship/caregiver fatigue/ burn-out and am reaching the point I have nothing left to give. I think if some situation, or some person, has you feeling sapped of energy and snarky, there's a good reason to pull back and asking yourself if it's a friendship that has finally run its course.

But with old friends, maybe it's more apt to hang in there and take a breather and see what the future holds. Any relationship has its ebbs and flows, and maintaining them can occasionally mean hanging tough. I don't give up on people easily. I guess that's why my Chinese zodiac sign is the dog -- loyal to a fault. I wouldn't want to be responsible for ending a friendship because I'm feeling more fragile these days. I think I'll listen to my inner voice, though, and take a breather from emotional vampires, no matter how long we've been friends.

Wall of Shame

2010-08-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

Mary Bale, a British woman, caught on video putting a cat in a trash can, who could not believe she received death threats: "It's just a cat at the end of the day."

I'd like to put her in a trash can. Stupid cow.

a blip in the screen...

2010-08-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

Excy started to go downhill on Tuesday and we ended up in the ER and the hospital over the weekend. He had another procedure to get his heart regulated this morning and finally we are back at home. He has more dr and tests to look forward to tomorrow, so although I have a post prepared, I am too busy, wired, and tired to finish it just now. I will get back on-track later this week...thanks to all for your kind thoughts.