What You Pay For

OK, first a bit of explanation. Sound is very important to me. My vision is horrible. Even with glasses, I now struggle to read. My Kindle with text I can enlarge is essential. And things I used to do easily, such as cross-stitch, can now only be accomplished if I use additional magnification. But my hearing is excellent. I was in my 30s before I realized it wasn't a good idea to answer Yes to the question, "I often hear voices others don't," on certain information forms because it was a way of identifying people with mental illness, not people like me with exceptional hearing. I love listening to music as I work. My Amazon cloud is chock full of all sorts of music, from Chris Isaak singing "Ring of Fire" to Rachmaninoff, from Manilow to Chopin (actually, not such a stretch there, but I'll save that for another post on modern composers ripping off the old farts), and from Abba to Stile Antico.

Now when I bought my previous computer--good Lord, that was 12 years ago!--I got a really nifty five-speaker set as a freebie to go with some upgrades I had purchased. I loved that set of speakers! And so over the past few weeks, I've grown concerned that the volume kept decreasing and the sound would waver in and out. I checked every line. Even took every plug out and replugged it back in several times. I checked every cord to make sure a cat hadn't been snacking on it. Nothing helped. So I wasn't terribly shocked when the whole thing just quit earlier today. Bummer!

And there are some things that can be done on a computer with no sound, but lots of things such as my World of Warcraft and, of course, my music, absolutely must have the speakers. So off to Best Buy I went. Having checked out the options on-line, I pretty much knew what I wanted. Another five-piece set that was going to cost me about $100. Well, you know, $99.99 before taxes. A very nice young man met me just inside the door and directed me to the speakers area when I informed him of the purpose of my visit. I was just reaching for the set I had reviewed when he pointed out a smaller set just next to it. Only 3 speakers--two small tower units and the subwoofer thingy on the floor--by a company called Insignia. And only $70. "This," he said, "is the set I have and it's really great. The sound is fantastic." Hey, I thought, why not? Fewer cords to have to mess with. Just plug in a couple of things and away I go. And if the store geek says they're good, why not save $30?

So I brought my little box home and in about 3 minutes I had everything set up. I waited not so patiently as my computer took its good old time booting back up. And then I brought up my Cloud and started up a song. It randomly selected Queen's "Princes of the Universe." YE GADS!! WHAT HAVE I DONE???

That store gremlin must have blown out his eardrums playing his iPod too loudly. No amount of tweaking the treble or stifling the bass makes it sound any better. Even the dogs came over to look at the offending sounds emanating out of the new speakers! Seriously, how bad does something have to sound before the DOGS start complaining about it??

I've sat her for the last 45 minutes trying to decide what to do. I hate taking things back. I hate the hassle that comes with having to pack something up, driving all the way back to the store, filling out the paperwork, explaining why I don't want it because I'm such a sound snob, and getting what I really wanted all along. My own fault, I have to admit. You do get what you pay for, and I tried to get by on the cheap. When it comes to sound, money may not talk but it sure sings a lot better!

Too Plugged In??

We've all heard lately how we're too tuned in to the electronics in our lives. The cell phones, the computers, the laptops, the iPads, etc., etc. There's always something demanding our attention. Well, last night I got a real lesson in just how far I've slipped down that slope. This is an absolutely true story.

Last night around 10:00 p.m., I climbed into my bed. I was exhausted and I was really looking forward to just melting into my tempurpedic mattress (Ask me!) and falling blissfully asleep. My head hit the pillow and I glanced up at the window. Big mistake! There was a green flashing light reflecting in my bedroom window. It was right over my head. On----off----on----off.

All right, what electronic did I have in the bedroom that was causing this reflection? Surely, it was my smart phone. Darned thing! I've had it for a couple of months now and only figured out how to answer calls on it this week. That must be it. I jumped out of bed and grabbed it off the table. Hmmm. Not the smart phone. It was completely dark. No flashing lights anywhere. OK, OK, my Kindle. I was recharging it. I picked it up, turned it every direction. No flashing light. I looked back over at the window: On----off----on----off.

The TV? Nope. The projection alarm clock? No. The satellite box? The DVD player? The iPad? No, No, and no!!! Now this was really starting to get to me. Again, I looked at the window. And now the flashing was faster. On-off-on-off-on-off. Obviously, whatever this thing was needed immediate attention. I frantically looked around the room. Nothing.

All right then--it HAD to be my car. It's parked right under the bedroom. Something in or on the car must be flashing and reflecting that light. It was raining out, so I plastered my face right against the window to see down to the car.

Good Lord! Did that light just move? Yes, it did!! It's moving. It's going higher up the window. Dear Jesus, help me. Either I'm hallucinating or else some electronic device in my home has just become sentient and is making its way to me to get help.

OK, I can hear you laughing at me. It's all right. But how many of you have figured it out yet? Another scan of the bedroom yielded nothing that seemed to be moving. It must be something outside. This time, I pushed my face right up to the light in the window, hoping maybe I could track back the light source sort of the way they do in CSI.

That's when the light looked back. Having found refuge on my window from the rain storm and with his little belly against the glass, there he was. On--off--on--off. Good night, lightening bug! What can I say? I laughed myself to sleep last night.

It's A Cat's Life

As most of you know, I typically blog about my dogs despite the fact that I have 5 cats and only 3 dogs in my household. Dogs truly are a person's best friend! So what, then, is the role of a cat? Well let me tell you. A cat's responsibility is to keep us humble.

I once heard on a show about domestic animals that dogs look at a human and say, "You give me food; you give me shelter; you give me love. You must be a god." Cats, on the other hand, look at a human and say, "You give me food; you give me shelter; you give me love. I must be a god.!" I don't think there's any way to say it better.

Let me give you an example from my life with cats. Over the past week, I've walked into my kitchen a bunch of times and found coffee grounds on the counter. I've repeatedly chastized myself for being so messy every time I fix a cup of coffee. As you may have learned in an earlier post, I switched to Gevalia coffee a while back. This means that instead of using the premade K-pods in my Keurig brewer, I pack loose coffee into a My Cup filter to brew. And then I have to dump the used grounds into the trash. So there's a lot more opportunity for mess.

Still, I was just astonished that over and over again I would walk into the kitchen only to find that the last time I had apparently left it with grounds on the counter. In fact, it had become quite unnerving. I would be certain I had tidied up after myself only to come back in later to find that I hadn't tidied up at all. Obviously, the answer was that I had begun to experience some level of cognitive failure. My memory was clearly starting to go!

Until, that is, this morning. This morning, I was working away at my computer. Now I'm usually in exactly the same place most days, since I work mostly from home. But I always have my music playing. Not really loudly, but at least enthusiastically. This morning, no music. And so it was that I was able to hear tiny little rustlings coming from the kitchen. As I was in the midst of an important set of slides for my class, I didn't jump up right away to go investigate. But after a few moments, I decided I had better check it out. And there was my cat, Anna, leaning way down into the trash bin and digging away as if she were in her litter box. And to my astonishment, the purpose behind this seemed to be to dig the coffee grounds out of the trash. Her efforts this morning truly had beaten all previous results. This was due (I'm sure) to the fact that I had indulged in a second cup so there were twice as many grounds for her to dig out.

As I walked in and saw what was going on, she popped her head out of the bin with an expression that clearly read, "Busted!" Before I could do or say anything, she jumped out and took off running down the hallway. But I'm quite certain I heard that distinctive little sound all cat people will recognize as a cat giggle.

Yep, Miss Anna was doing her part to keep me humble!

Dogs, Dogs, and More Dogs!

I thought I'd use the blog today to brighten up your day with some dog photographs and videos.

This first one was taken while I was dogsitting my sister-in-law's dog, Tori, and my Mother was staying with me so I had her dog, Misty, as well. Going clockwise from the beagle-basset mix in the back, left corner, we have (1) Ceili, (2) Jack Daniels, or JD as he's called, (3) Coop, (4) Misty, and (5) Tori.

Last year, I had a section of the yard fenced in. This year, I bought us a 10' x 10' canopy. It's wonderful! We all love to go out and hang out together in the lovely warm afternoons. Get too hot, and you come under the canopy for a drink of water and a bit of rest. I can even work out there with my laptop. Life doesn't get any better than that!

And finally, what is intelligence? That is a question that has fascinated me for many, many years. I've gained some insights more into what it isn't than what it is. It isn't the same thing as a formal education. That was a faulty definition I had for a long time. And I don't even think it's the same thing for everyone. I believe a somewhat standard definition of intelligence is how well someone is able to learn. But I'm not sure about that. The ability to learn new things is certainly one component of intelligence, but it doesn't mean that an intelligent person can learn anything. It's entirely possible for a person to be capable of excelling in just one area and still be extremely intelligent.

Which brings us to what is intelligence in dogs? There are various "IQ" tests for dogs. One involves putting a cloth over the dog's head and seeing how long it takes him/her to take the cloth off. Poodles are thought to be extremely intelligent. Certainly, I would put the poodle I had growing up named Gensel's Cherie Amour among the most intelligent dogs I've ever known. She used to go look at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door right after she  got back from the groomer's. No one will ever convince me she wasn't checking out her new "do." Which, of course, requires a level of self-awareness that the image reflected in the glass is you. Astonishing!

JD is certainly an intelligent dog. He's been described by the canine professional with whom I've worked as being too smart for his own good, as he's always able to figure out when he's being manipulated and turn that manipulation right back on us. Take, for example, the use of the ecollar to stop him from barking. Coop has never figured out the business of having the collar put on and associated that with feeling little tinglies when he isn't behaving nicely. But JD figured it out in only 2 sessions. So he learned if the ecollar is on, he stays quiet. But when the collar comes off, oh Lordy! He immediately begins making up for lost barking time. And JD can, quite literally, herd cats. Five of them, in fact. So I strongly suspect he could herd just about anything. There's got to be a ton of smarts behind that.

And Ceili? Well, she's an enigma. I bought a dog puzzle that requires the dog to move a series of bone-shaped plastic pieces that fit into tracks in order to obtain treats. Both Coop and JD figured the thing out within a half-hour. Ceili took one look at it, immediately smacked each of the bones with her paw, and grabbed up all the treats. Her expression was clearly, "Is that all you've got?" But in learning anything remotely practical (e.g., sitting on command), I'd rather try to train a cement block.

The latest venture into dog intelligence was an Orbee maze ball I just purchased. You put treats into the thing. The inside of it has a maze of plastic pieces. So the dog has to really work to roll the ball about in order to get the pieces of treats to come out the hole in the ball. The timing was great, as I had four dogs to test it on--JD, Ceili, Coop, and Tori (our visitor). The results:

1. Both Ceili and Tori looked at the ball, then looked at me. Then they looked at the ball. Then they looked at me. Neither of them would make any effort to touch the ball or roll the ball. Even demonstrations by me as to how it worked had no effect on either of them. They just walked away.
2. JD immediately got the concept there were goodies inside the ball. Unfortunately, he totally refused to roll the ball about to get them to come out. He was all for the direct approach--rip the ball apart and chew it viciously until it yielded up its treasures. Again, multiple attempts to demonstrate the "proper" way to get the treats had no effect on him. If he couldn't get those  treats out by savagery, then never mind.
3. Coop? Ahh, you gotta see for yourself in this video. Sorry, it was too big to include directly into the blog. What can I say? No demonstrations necessary for him. My wunderkind! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFR3x5fK9mQ 

Do You Believe?

OK, what I'm about to say right now may come as a bit of a shocker to some of you out there--I don't believe in an afterlife. Please note the emphasis on the word believe. That is, I don't believe in it in the sense of having faith that something exists even though you can't see it or hear it or touch it. I don't believe in an afterlife because I know with certainty it does exist. I believe in it the way I believe in the sun. In fact, I regularly communicate with any number of folks who have "crossed over." Its been that way ever since I was a kid. I remember the day my Mother came to tell us kids my Grandfather Gensel had passed away. We were playing in one of the bedrooms when Mom came to give us the news. My response was, "I know." When she asked how I knew, I said he'd just been there, in the bedroom, to tell me. He had told me he had to go away, but he wanted me to know that he'd always be watching out for us kids.

Mom, who came from a very fundamentalist Christian background, instructed me I was to never, ever tell anybody I had seen or talked to a dead person. So for many, many years, I didn't. It hasn't been all that long ago that I confided this to a couple of very close people, only to find they did exactly the same thing! And I don't think it was a coincidence that I chose these two people to discuss this particular "ability" with.

One of these two people (whom I won't "out" in this blog) knew my Father and his mother, my Grandmother Gensel. One of the most interesting things I learned was that neither of us had ever had any contact with either one of them after they had passed. Just nothing. Whenever I thought of either of them, there was just a cold emptiness in my mind. Not that I ever found that a bit surprising. These two individuals were like two peas in a pod. Both totally self-centered. The only people either of them ever loved was themselves.

In a rather odd twist of fate, they shared the same birthday of February 14th. That's right, Valentine's Day. And wouldn't you think that any mother whose first child had been born on that day would have said it was the greatest combination birthday and Valentine's Day gift they could have ever gotten? Not her. Oh, no sir! Her only feeling about it as I heard her say many a time was to complain about how long she'd been in labor and how she'd had to miss her own birthday because of it. Anyway, Dad was just like her. I once described to a therapist how Dad never seemed to get joy out of anything in his life. Not ever. Nothing he did or ever had seemed to give him one moment of pleasure. I absolutely cannot think of a more miserable way to live an entire life. But that's how he lived his. Plus, the man was just plain mean. He never once gave a thought to anyone else's wants or needs. The only thing of interest to him was what he wanted.

But wait, I can do better than this in describing him. Do you remember the TV show M*A*S*H? Anybody remember the character Frank Burns? Well, I have always been convinced that character was actually based in large part on my father. The only difference between Frank and my father was that Frank was married and Dad wasn't during his time as a surgeon's assistant with a MASH unit in the Korean War. Yep, that's right. Dad was there. Whoever developed that character, I am certain, knew my Dad in Korea!

Perhaps its not too surprising, then, that I don't often think about him. Which makes this morning a real exception to the rule for me. I'm not exactly sure how it all got started. I was washing dishes before going to work this morning. Since that's a pretty mindless task, I was thinking about other things, beginning with what I wanted to have to drink with my breakfast. I had settled on Chai tea. I have a Keurig brewer and keep a large variety of K-cup options on top of my refrigerator.

Then I got thinking about the few things Dad had taught me (a) on purpose and (b) that were positive influences in my life. You see, Dad taught me lots of things by accident by being the negative of the lesson such as the great joy of music, giving to charities, and trying to deal fairly with other people even if I don't know them. But the number of purposeful and positive items can be counted on the fingers of one hand--how to drive a car well, how to ride a horse, and good table manners. And so I gave a silent "Thank You!" to my Dad this morning for these things, two of which have stood me in good stead throughout my life. I think I'll let you guess which two. LOL!

And just as I had that thought, I kid you not, the box of Chai tea K-cups came flying off the fridge and onto the floor. As I had just turned to look for any other dirty dishes on the counter, I got a good look at it as it came off. I was so totally convinced a cat must have shoved it off, I got up on the step stool and picked up every box looking to find one of them hiding back there. But no. Nor could that box have just toppled off. It sits well back on the fridge. Nearly half-way back and with other boxes on either side of it. And with seven different varieties up there, the one I had just decided to have for breakfast is the one that comes whizzing off? Nope, that's just not a coincidence in my book. That was definitely Dad.

And maybe, just maybe, I told myself as I pulled out one K-cup and put the box back on the fridge, he's learning how to think of someone else for a change and was trying to be helpful. Maybe there's hope for him yet!

Ceili Days

I always feel bad for my little dog, Ceili. She is, I strongly suspect, the oldest of my dogs. Probably somewhere between 13 and 15 years old. We're not sure, as I got her as an adult. That was nearly 8 years ago, and she was no spring chicken then.

Ceili isn't the sort of dog I'd choose for myself. In fact, I didn't choose her. My other dog, JD, "picked" her. My sister found her one hot summer's day in the City Building in Clarksburg. Most likely, she had gone in through an open door in hopes of finding a cool spot. I really didn't want her. I wasn't in a good situation to take on another dog at the time. But once JD saw her, I guess it was just love at first sight. After I'd said, "No way!" JD said, "WAY!!" He used the Gandhi approach--he refused to eat, he refused to play, and all he would do is to lay at the top of the stairs looking out the side windows on the front door where he'd seen her go. After three days, I couldn't take it any more, so I told my sister I'd take her.

And I can't say we were Ceili's top pick, either. For a couple of years, she would try to escape whenever she got the chance. She made it quite clear she would much prefer a home with (a) children and/or (b) a tractor. Twice in those early years, she got loose when the neighbor across the road was working in his field. She'd run down the hill, across the road (OMG!), and just start following behind his tractor. I'm quite certain this had been a big part of her routine where ever she had lived before.

But over time, we've at least gotten used to each other. But I still feel badly for her. She doesn't play any sort of games. She won't play with any toy. She won't chew bones. Nothing the other dogs like to do. She does like to go out for walks, especially in the woods. But Lord help us she is the most annoying dog to walk I've ever seen. She thinks she has to pee every few feet to mark her territory. And when she runs out of pee?? What can I say--she improvises!

She does like to eat. That is one thing that brings great delight to her day. So every morning and every evening, I sing her little getting ready to eat song and she does a happy dance while I get it ready. I can always tell if she's not feeling well if I don't see that happy dance.

There is, however, one thing that makes her unbelievably happy. She loves days like today. Its those first warm days of Spring. Not too hot yet, but definitely not too chilly. It can't be raining or have been raining within the past 24 hours so as to make the grass wet underfoot. The sun has to be out and the earth feel warm. She loves to go spend hours outside on such days. She will lie down for a bit in the shade and then go stroll about in the sun. Sometimes she'll lay on the back porch, but usually she'll prefer to be out in the grass. Often times, she'll dig up a bit of dirt and stretch out on that.

There aren't too many days that fit all of Ceili's requirements. I think I've come to cherish each one as much as she does. Especially now that I see more and more gray coming onto her face and see the tremors in her legs getting worse and worse as she gets older. There are only so many Summers, baby. Only so many Springs. So we'll enjoy each one as much as we possibly can together.

Oh, Johann!

I've always been of the opinion that commercials are very much akin to a Jedi mind trick--they're effective, but only on the weak minded. I don't buy my fabric softner based on a cuddly bear or my insurance based on a cute gecko (although I love the way he dances in the Texas commercial), and I laugh every time the Yoda & Darth Maul Lipton Tea commercials come on but I still brew my own iced tea.

Of late, there has been a series of commercials for Gevalia coffee. Have you seen them? These commercials feature a young man with long, blond hair and an obviously European accent. He's absolutely gorgeous. He compares our American cup of "joe" to the Gevalia coffee, which he refers to as johann. In one commercial, he tells us that johann won't power walk with you at the mall, but he will rub your feet. In my favorite, he comes to the rescue of a young woman working in an office-standard cubicle. He tells her that johann will get her to that coveted corner office with a young assistant who looks just like him. Its a fantasy, but let's face it, its a powerful one.

What really surprises me about the Gevalia campaign is that it is so obviously targeted strictly to women! Given that men now do so much grocery shopping, either as an active couples partner or because they live alone, I find it odd they would essentially exclude half the population from their advertising. I have half been expecting to see a similar series directed at men, but so far nothing.

Its been decades since I've had Gevalia coffee. It used to be available exclusively through a mail order program where you automatically received a bag every month or so. One of the key messages in these new commercials is that Gevalia is now available in grocery stores. Heck, Starbucks did it, so I guess that makes it OK for a high-class company such as Gevalia to step down off their self-proclaimed pedastel and do likelwise. But what I found so particularly odd about these commercials is that when I found myself in the coffee aisle the other day in need of a new bag of coffe, I seriously debated getting the Gevalia. They had a nice selection of roasts available and I stood there in store carefully considering each possible selection.

Did their advertising ploy work, you ask? Did I reach for that bright, yellow bag of Gevalia? Well, see for yourself.

Yep, I had breakfast with johann this morning. What can I say? It was wonderful! Johann was all he was promised to be. The first sip made me want to take another and then another. Before I knew it, I was sitting at the breakfast table alone with an empty cup. I dashed to the kitchen. I must have more johann! I fixed a second cup and was as quickly done with it. Alone again and quite sad.

And now, you will simply have to excuse me. Because after two cups of coffee, I must burn off this ridiculous caffeine high by walking a few hours and I have got to find out if johann comes in decaf! See y'all later. Ohh, I wonder when my new hunk of an assistant arrives? Do you suppose he can type??

When You Think of It THAT Way!

I was talking to my Mom yesterday and she was telling me she had gone out that day, which doesn't happen all that often and that she had needed to fill up her fuel tank. Because she goes out so rarely, filling up her car happens very infrequently. So she was quite surprised to find that with 1/4 tank still left, the fill up had cost her over $40! Now that's nothing new to me. I drive an SUV and, while I don't drive all that much, my weekly fill ups cost me at least that much.

Once again, the price of gasoline is becoming a hot national topic. The cost of oil is broadcast daily, and nearly all of us at this point shudder as the prices goes beyond $100 per barrel. We know that before long, we'll be feeling the pain at the pump. With Spring just beginning and the fact that gas prices always rise in warm weather as people travel more, a $4 gallon of gas can only be a few days away. And who knows from there? $5 a gallon and beyond sometime this summer seems almost inevitable.

So I was thinking about this yesterday, after talking to Mom. At the time I was thinking about it, I had a cup of coffee in my hand. I love coffee. I love the diversity that single word encompasses. Some roasts are so light and the flavor so delicate, you hesitate to put even a small amount of milk into it. Others are so intense, they have to be mixed half-and-half with milk. (I'll bet you're thinking I've gone completely off topic here, don't you? Hang on a minute. I've got a point coming.) I particularly love those coffees with that rich, smoky flavor that is very near the same taste as a really good cigar. And yes, I do know what a really good cigar tastes like! But that really is getting off topic.

Because I enjoy those flavors, I really like Starbucks coffee. So I was thrilled when they recently came out with their coffee in K-cups for my Keurig single-cup coffee machine. YUM! I love to fix that first cup of the day. As its brewing, the incredible aroma fills my entire kitchen. Just the smell, alone, is enough to get you wide awake. I prepare a batch of milk foam, add a sprinkle of cinnamon (the really good stuff), and just a tiny sprinkle of sugar over that (amazing flavor, if you haven't tried it). There's just no better way to start the day.

But Starbucks coffee is expensive. Go into any of the zillion and one of their stores, and you'll pay $3.50 for a disposable cup of of their joe. $3.50! At least!!! Even the K-cups are more expensive than other brands. A tiny box of only 10 pods will cost you $10 in any grocery store. $1 per cup of home-brewed coffee. Whew!

So there I am. Sitting with my $1 coffee in hand and thinking about my Mom paying $40 for a tank of gas. Now I'm certain I'm not the only person to have ever had this epiphany. And by now, you've probably figured out where I'm going. What if our cars ran on coffee, instead of gasoline?

There are 16 cups in a gallon. Just my cheap Starbucks K-cups would figure out to be $16 per gallon. Go to the "premium" pre-brewed from a Starbucks store, and you'd be spending $28 per gallon (I figured there are 2 cups of coffee in one of their ventis). This would mean that filling up the 13 gallon tank of my SUV would run me between $208 and $364! You know what I say?


Thank God we got cheap gas, cuz we sure ain't got cheap coffee.

Things That Make Me Crazy!

Many of you probably already know this, but the strangest things drive me absolutely crazy! I'm just coming to this realization, myself. Here are two cases in point:


1. Things I don't have to do, but don't know how to do.



I get a daily email called Knitting Daily. I enjoy learning about new knitting techniques and getting a chance to see so many new patterns. I've had to come to grips with the fact that I don't need every pattern they offer. Its hard, but I am learning how to live without them all. But a recent issue had a pattern for a cardigan that I found very unique. See the photo at the left. Now two things were very apparent to me about this garment:

a. I really, really liked it and
b. I could never wear it because it would make my caboose look as big as, well, a caboose.

But I really wanted to know how those nifty tucks are made. That part of the pattern was given in the post. So I read it. Then I reread it. I read it again. Then again. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what those instructions were saying to do. Nor could I figure out how the parts I did understand could possibly result in this outcome.

In all likelihood, I'll never make this garment. But the fact that I can't figure it out, even though I don't need to know how, is driving me crazy! And that's just so stupid, even I can't believe it.

2. Things I don't need to know, but I want to know.

If I want to go to I-79 South from my house and go anywhere in Fairmont or southward, the best way for me to do that is to turn left out of my driveway and head away from Morgantown until I hit Route 19 South. There is this one stretch of road on 19 that goes up a hill and is very curvy. Its all of about 1 mile long. Just about in the middle of the hill is a dirt road that comes down from the hill to meet the road. I've been on Route 19 a bunch of times over the past two months as I've been going to get my Mom to take her to doctors' appointments. These trips are all during the weekdays. And every time I go, there is a street cleaner on that 1 mile stretch of road. Every time! One day, when I had to make the trip twice, I saw him both times. ??? Its always in the vicinity of that dirt road and its always actively cleaning. What in heaven's name could be making such a mess on that road that they have to have a street cleaner operating continuously? I swear, the next time I'm driving that way and see that machine, I'm going to wave the driver over and ask. Cuz you know what? Not knowing is driving me crazy!

Yep, no doubt about it. I'm weird.

Living Alone

I heard a piece on the Today show yesterday (http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/26184891/vp/#46652960) about how 1 out of 7 people in the U.S. today lives alone. I thought of all the people I know who live alone--my Mom, my sister, my Mom's sister, several friends, and well, ME. My Mom has said quite emphatically she doesn't plan on getting married again. I can't quite say I'd go that far, but I haven't exactly found anybody out there that I'd even give a second glance, let alone a full-scale second look! Except maybe my Mom's gerontologist. Now there's a guy I could go for if he ever gets single again.

But I did get thinking about the advantages of living alone:

1. I can sing out loud all I want and nobody says, "Oh, please stop that!"


2. I can dance around the house or exercise whenever a good song comes on and nobody thinks I've gone totally bonkers.


3. I don't have to coordinate schedules with anybody.


4. I don't have to justify to anybody why I have a closet full of sock yarn that's yet to be turned into socks!


5. Nobody questions my taste in music or wonders why my Amazon Cloud Favorites includes everything from Frank Sinatra to Kitaro. And nobody complains they can't understand a word Julie Fowlis sings, cuz its in Gaelic.


6. I can watch NCIS on TV 24/7 and nobody complains.


7. Nobody can say NO if I decide to adopt yet another dog or cat. Not that I plan on it, though. Five cats gets you odd looks; six gets you called The Crazy Cat Lady.


8. The big yellow Labrador retriever CAN sleep in my bed, although honestly there's not enough room for the both of us in a twin-sized bed.


9. I can use up all the hot water in a super-long shower if I want to.


10. I can have dessert for dinner if I want to!

Am I ever lonely? Maybe just every once in awhile. Maybe every now and then I think it might be nice to have someone to come home to. But those feelings don't come very often or last very long. Quite frankly, I'm the best company I know. LOL! And as I've said in posts before, there's more to be done than I can ever hope to get done.

And the dogs make it ever so much easier. Now there's an "aloneness" I could never tolerate--to be without my dogs. I can't even imagine such a horrible thing. Certainly, I plan on outliving the three I have now. But there will be new dogs to raise, no matter how many years I may have left. That lesson was definitely reinforced by a friend who's in her mid-70s who got a new pup. If she can, I can!

Nope, I don't really expect I'll ever find anyone again who'd want to put up with all the craziness around here. And as each year alone passes, I get more and more set in my ways. I doubt there's a man out there could make me stop dancing through the house every time "Shall We Dance?" plays on my Favorites. So at least for the foreseeable future, I'll eat peach cobbler for supper, go for a walk or see a movie when I darned well please, watch what I want on the TV, and just live a happy, peaceful life with those of other species who choose to call my place home.

Writing a Grant

I realize I'm not the most consistent blogger in the world, but you might have been wondering where I've been of late. Well, I'll tell you. I've been writing a grant. And I realized late yesterday how much writing a grant is like giving birth to a baby.

Many of you are aware the department for which I work at West Virginia University writes a lot of grants, but I'm not sure how many of you know it is 100% externally funded. That's right. Completely and wholly funded by grants and contracts. Some of them are 5-year grants. Some are 3-year grants. And others are year-to-year contracts. It's not a particularly stable way to have a career, but I've managed 33 years doing it so far.

There are actually a couple of different types of grant applications. In one, the government tells you what work they want done and you have to explain how you're going to do that work. But in the kind I was just working on, the government allows you to come up with ideas for projects you think they should fund. They call these field initiated projects because the concepts come from people in the field all over the country. This year, they'll fund 20 such projects out of what will likely be at least a thousand applications.

Writing a grant starts off when the seed of an idea makes its way through all the environmental barriers of reports that have to be written and quilts half done and on-line games and plants itself into your brain. At first, you don't really notice too much that the process has begun. But as you consider the idea a bit more, additional brain cells are taken over by it. The funding agency gives you the framework around which your grant application must be provided, and you begin to see in your mind's eye the information you want to include in each section.

As of yet, nothing is put down, either on paper or electronically. But that now begins to happen. New ideas for the project begin to emerge almost like arms and legs. More and more of your brain is now committed to this effort. A new paragraph comes to you while you are sleeping and you must get it down before it slips away. A conversation with a colleague gives you that essential piece of information you must include.

Oftentimes, the grant writing process is a tortorous one. You aren't particularly thrilled by the project to be done, but the area is within your department's expertise. So you write the thing, send it in, and hopefully get it. But every great once in awhile, especially when the project you're writing is one of your own ideas, you become really invested in the writing. You pour your heart and soul into the work. You want the reviewers to understand how important and meaningful you think this project will be. And so it was with this one. A project to design and build a mobile app that will allow anyone to conduct a competent evaluation of a facility's accessibility using the latest government standards. Cool, huh?

Now you reach a point of no return. You've put so much time and effort into it, that you can't turn back. As the deadline for submissions nears, you work harder and harder until you reach a fevered pitch. You must get the application completed. You've got to have it all done in time. To accomplish this, you give up your evenings, your weekends, even holidays if you must. Family and friends are virtually ignored. And certainly, minor things such as blogs go undone. As you reach the final week, this thing consumes you completely. Dishes lie in the sink for 3 days. Your dogs look at you, begging for just a short break to go outside to play and they sleep quietly at your side while you work into the wee small hours of the night.

When you've done this sort of work for as long as I have, you come to realize how important it is to provide the proper fuel to see you through. And what would that be, you ask? Are visions of lean meats and loads of fruits and vegetables dancing in your heads? Maybe those tiny little 5-hour energy drinks? Not even close! The only thing that can possibly get you through such times of stress is C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E. Massive quantities of it. Milk, dark, semi-sweet, bitter, 60% cacao, 75% cacao, even 80% cacao all have their place in helping you through the writing blocks and the endless forms that must be completed.

This particular grant was formed out of a 1lb box of Holl's chocolates (OMG, what a thing of beauty that was!) and a Boston creme pie. Couple all of this with the fact that your butt doesn't leave your chair for about 6 weeks and you've got a recipe for weight gain that would make a sumo wrestler jealous. Yep, this particular "baby" put 6 lbs on my back side.

Yesterday afternoon, I gave birth to a lovely kicking and screaming grant proposal package. The labor pains were horrible. I spent 2 1/2 hours preparing the online form required by our Office of Sponsored Programs. Not because there was that much stuff to put in or because I didn't know what I was doing. No, it took that long because their system wasn't working correctly and was taking a minimum of 10 minutes for each new page to load. And after all that time and I pushed the submit button? The system whirled around for about 20 minutes and then popped up a "Cannot Display Web Page" message. Oh crap! This meant redoing all the government forms, copying everything onto a CD, and driving it over to their office.

But its done. Its out of my hands. Ohh, they might come back with a few requested changes. But its breathing on its own now. But you don't get to raise your grant baby. No, you have to immediately give it up for adoption by the funding agency. Maybe, if you're very, very lucky, it will be amongst the chosen ones. You'll receive a notification that your project has been funded. And the work will begin in earnest to raise this child you've created.

So until that glorious day, little one, God bless. Maybe we'll meet again when you're a little older. But if not, know that you were well loved while you were with me.

LOL!

Republican or Taliban?

I have had a few posts in the past where I've singled out one of the Republican Presidential candidates to occupy a far more ignoble position--the Daily Dog Pile. Today, we have a first for my blog. Not just one person in the pile, but a large group. In fact, its the entire Republican Congressional membership that has decided to jump right in and roll around for a bit.

What's it all about, you ask? The recent hearing in Congress on separation of church and state. At issue is the fact that organizations are allowed to refuse to cover contraceptives as part of their health care package due to religious beliefs. If churches were just churches, that wouldn't be a real problem. But churches are far more than that. They're colleges and universities, they're non-profit organizations, they are lots of things are not churches. And these organizations have employees. Employees who are women and these women will not be able to receive contraceptives through their insurance plans.

At the Congressional hearing that took place this last Thursday, there were 10 individuals who testified before Congress. Not one woman was on that panel. NOT ONE! Who picked the panelists? The Republicans did. They were the group supporting the hearing and they chose the panelists to participate. Now the hearing was, ostensibly, about the separation of church and state. But the true issue was the inclusion of contraception as part of insurance packages for church-supported organizations. This issue touches deeply on the lives of women and their health, yet not one woman was allowed to testify. Shameful!

Still doesn't sound like such a big issue to you? Well, let me ask you this. What if the issue wasn't contraception. What if it was another health issue. Take cancer. There are still some churches who believe that diseases and disabilities are punishments from God. What if these churches decided they would not pay for cancer treatments for employees of their institutions such as colleges and universities because they believe cancer is God's way of telling a person they have committed some wrong in their life? Let this stand, and I'll bet there are a lot of employers from small to global corporations that are suddenly going to find religion and declare all sorts of things that aren't to be covered under their insurance plans under the veil of religious beliefs.

Ohh, and speaking of veils, let's get back to the title of this posting. The actions of the Republicans in Congress clearly indicate their belief that women should be dictated to and have no role in deciding their own fates. More than one of them this week has declared that the best contraceptive is abstinence. Ohh brother! They sure talk the talk, but darned few of them seem to be able to walk the walk. Herman Cain and Newt Gingrich are two prime examples of how abstinent Republican men are. One idiot, a major supporter of Rick Santorum, made the comment that the best contraceptive is an aspirin the woman holds between her knees.

And what does Rick Santorum, himself, have to say about it? Here it is in his own words. "I support Title X, I guess it is, and have voted for contraception and although I don't think it works, I think it's harmful to women, I think it's harmful to our society." Hey, Rick. You know what IS harmful to women? Having a dozen or so kids because they can't get birth control. That's what is harmful. We've greatly decreased the death rates for women and infants, in large part because women aren't having so many children anymore. And how is that accomplished? Here's your first big clue, it's not by holding an aspirin between your knees.

Ladies, does all of this sound to you like Republican views or Taliban views? Are we looking at a poorly-concealed attempt to instill Sharia law in the U.S. and by none other than the Republican party? Next thing you know, Republican candidates will be handing out free burkas at their fund-raising events. You know what? You boys stink. You smell just like the offal you've been rolling in. And its the biggest dog pile I've ever seen!

What Makes Me Sad

The Westminster Dog Show people make me sad.

You see, I look so forward each year to the Westminster Dog Show in February. Yes, I admit it. I look forward to it for a good month before the event. To me, it is a better harbinger of Spring than the groundhog. I love to watch it even though I realize that makes me something of a shallow person. I have a dear friend who is very much "into" dogs. So it surprised me when I mentioned last year about watching the WDS that she responded by saying, "Why?? That's just a silly beauty contest!" Hmmm, I'd never actually thought about it in those terms. Yeah, it is pretty much the Miss America Pageant for dogs. Well, except that they don't have to come out dressed in skimpy bathing suits. But still, it is all about appearances and nothing to do with function. Which certainly is a big difference between dogs and humans, but that we'll save for another posting.

But I still loved the pageantry, the excitement, and the opportunity to watch what are absolutely the most gorgeous dogs in the country and even the world strut their stuff. Ohh, fair warning. MAJOR anthropomorphising is about to happen. You see, I believe that some dogs are vain and shallow just like humans and actually enjoy being out there with all eyes focused on them for their moment of fame. And I base that on a dog I used to have. A toy poodle named Cherie Amour. She was an absolutely beautiful and extremely intelligent dog. Every time we'd have her groomed, she would strut around the house for a week. That dog could have been the inspiration for Madonna's song "Vogue" because she would walk into the livingroom and, if there was a sufficient audience, she would suddenly stop and strike a pose. Plus, after each grooming, she would accompany the first person into the bathroom, wait for them to close the door, and then thoroughly examine herself in the full-length mirror. Apparently pleased with her new "do," she would lie down in front of the mirror and continue to gaze appreciatively at herself. No kidding. It was hysterical! So there you have it--my evidence that some dogs are vain.

But, unfortunately, the WDS people ruined it for me this year. How? Well, for some years, Pedigree dog food has been a major sponsor of the show. And each year, they have produced some brilliant tear-jerking commercials to expose the plight of shelter dogs. Their campaign, which I thought was tremendously effective, was "Don't pity a shelter dog. Adopt one." And I never saw the Oliver set of commercials that I didn't ball like a baby. Pedigree used these commercials to get donations for their foundation that provides major support for shelters across the country. A company that has a heart. You don't see that very much anymore and I thought it was wonderful of them to use the Westminster two-day show to do a major fund-raising campaign for their foundation.

Well, this year, the Westminster people contacted Pedigree and told them they no longer wanted them to be a sponsor. Why, in heavens name you ask, would an event turn down a major sponsor? Because the WDS people were concerned the serious nature and content of the Pedigree commercials was causing viewers to turn away. That the emotional effect was making people change the channel. Oh PUH-LEASE!! Those commercials were one of the major reasons I watched.

Wow, talk about class warfare! The hoity-toity richy Rich's didn't want any "downers" to their happy little self-loving festival. Can't you just see them all looking down their sophisticated noses at those mutts in the commercials and saying, "Who let them in? Oh Jeeves, please remove the rubbish from the room." Talk about shallow. Man, that totally takes the cake. You won't let a worthy cause solicit funding because its just too, too sad for your viewers.

So I didn't watch. I wanted to, but I didn't. Honestly, I felt like a drug addict with my fingers twitching on the remote. I so wanted to push the buttons and get my "It's really almost Spring doggy fix." But I resisted. And I'm glad I did. My tiny little part of a larger protest that was borne on the Internet and the social media platforms this past weekend. I posted a message on the Westminster Dog Show Facebook page and was surprised at how many responses it got. I also posted on the Pedigree Facebook page.

In the end, congratulations to Malachy the Pekingese. But a major thumbs down to all the totally clueless people at Westminster who got nothing but bad press this weekend for a totally boneheaded move. Yep, they're in the Daily Dog Pile for sure!

The Rapture is Real!

The other day, I read an article on CNN that was without a doubt the worst piece of supposed journalism I have ever seen. I wanted very much to put in a link to this piece, but I searched their site and the general web for over an hour and could not come up with the story again. Is that even possible?? I used every word I could think of for the search. The story was about honey bees, so you'd think that would have been a good place to start. Even better than that, it was about how the honey bee decline has impacted the economy. That should have been plenty to put that story right back on my screen. But no such luck.

So I guess I'll just have to summarize it for you. The gist of the story was that the decline of the honey bee population due to mysterious causes is not, in fact, impacting the economy. Is that what you call a non story? Essentially, the author was trying to tell us there's no reason for panic over the honey bee problem. Why, you ask? Well, because according to this author, two reasons. First, bee keepers have been able to keep the number of hives consistent. And second, because lots of crops are pollinated by wind and don't even need honey bees.

OK, I'm pausing here for just a moment so you can go back and reread those last two sentences. Go on, do it. I've seriously wondered if the story wasn't pulled by CNN. For what was a very minor story tucked away at the bottom of a lesser category heading at the bottom of their page, the responses to this story were many and incredulous. And many of them were from obviously far more learned people than the author of the article. Had this author submitted his/her article to me in my research class, I would have given them a failing grade. There were statements of "fact" that were completely unsubstantiated by any source. There was no way this was a well-researched article. It was pure and simple propaganda. But from whom? For the life of me, I couldn't figure out who would profit by trying to paint such a ridiculous coat of whitewash over what is a serious problem.

So have I given you enough time by now to have figured out the major flaws in each of the author's two main points? First, of course, the number of hives is not indicative of the number of bees. Bee colonists are maintaining approximately the same number of hives by breaking existing hives apart into two colonies. And while the number of bees within each of the two new and smaller colonies will increase, we can't say the number of bees is anywhere near what it used to be. And on the other point, PUH-LEASE. It is true that some crops pollinate by wind. But many others do not and absolutely must have bees in order to produce fruit. I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly willing to replace almonds in my morning cereal or the blueberries in my fruit crisp with corn.

Let's face it, people. This planet is in serious trouble. The honey bees are dying. Or at least we think they are. You see, one of the great problems in even figuring out what is going on with them is that there aren't dead bee bodies just bunching up in the hives for autopsy. Apparently, I ought not to have snickered at that whole Rapture idea. It seems to be quite true--just no humans have been found worthy. Big surprise there.

One of the reasons this particular article caught my attention in the first place was that it was the last in a triad of articles I had read in the past week. The first one was about bumble bees. In that article, a real live researcher had noted that we've lost more bumble bee species than anyone even knows. That's right. Not just bees, but entire species just gone off the face of the planet and not over great stretches of time, but in the past few years. The other article had been about the white-nose syndrome in bats and that there is great fear it will be far worse this year than ever before.

What, you haven't heard about that one? So bats aren't everyone's "thing." I get it. But I also recognize that they, like the honey bee, are an essential part of our environment. In fact, both bats and frogs are facing the same problem. Each has become prey to a fungal infection that is killing them in great numbers. You see, it used to be that while such fungal infections existed in the past, they were never able to get a sufficient grip on an organism to kill them because they, themselves, got killed off every winter. Cold weather would wipe them out and they'd have to start all over again the next Spring. Not so anymore. Two conditions have changed that mean these infections can continue to flourish year-round. First, the winters aren't as cold as they used to be. (Global warming, anyone?) And second, these fungi have become more cold tolerent.

The end result is that bat and frog populations are decreasing at an absolutely alarming rate. Bees, and bats, and frogs, oh my! Yeah, we're all going to be laughing when we're up to our butts in bugs. These animals aren't just isolated and unimportant things we consider more as fodder for horror flicks. They are bell weathers of our environment. What's affecting them now can and will affect us directly and indirectly in years to come. Declining polar bears is a problem. Drastically declining numbers of bees, bats, and frogs is a nightmare and one we'd better start figuring out how to prevent right now before its too late. These animals are facing plagues that threaten their very existence.

Its time we stop caring about just the cutsy animals and start caring about every living species. As of right now, we're losing this battle. And unfortunately, the species who is doing the most damage isn't the one being systematically removed from the equation. Its all those species that can't fight back. I know this is going to sound incredibly harsh and it is. But I very much wish the next plague to hit the planet would strike the creature most responsible for the earth's woes. A massive decline in the human population that would make the Black Death results trivial by comparison is, in my opinion, the only chance this poor old earth has of surviving maybe even just the next 100 years. 'Tain't funny, is it?

God and Quilts

Today in Morgantown, WV was one of those few winter days I truly enjoy. We've come through enough of February now that, although the air was quite chilly, the sun was warm. I took a bit of a break late this afternoon and took the smaller dogs out and let them run around the yard.

Ceili hunted moles. Didn't catch any, though. And JD just dug holes. They weren't about anything in particular. He just likes making them. I sat in a lawn chair with my back to the sun and thoroughly enjoyed the feel of it on my shoulders. And I could turn my head and feel it on my face. It was wonderful.

I was looking up the wooded hillside. I could literally feel the earth getting ready for Spring. There is an energy buried just under last year's leaves. Almost, it said. Almost. Soon the first new shoots will start to come up. All across that hillside, the May flowers are gathering up the life force out of the ground and preparing to cover the hill in broad, dark green leaves and a single flower. At least until the morning when some signal from the plant tells the deer they are ripe and I awaken to find nothing but a hillside of foot high stalks. It always looks so silly.

But today was just about the promise of what is to come. Can you imagine what it must have been like for humans thousands of years ago on a day like today? Is it any wonder they developed a spiritual attachment to the earth? The mother goddess. What any Dan Brown fan would refer to as the divine female. Focus, for just a minute, on the word divine. And thinking these thoughts somehow released that inner bit of what is called "pagan" in me. Except that it isn't, of course.

Have you ever made something that took you a long time to make? For example, I'm working right now on a quilt. I've very nearly finished piecing the top. It's taken me a number of hours to do and will take a few more before its finished. And once the top is done, I need to do the actual quilting. Hmmm, by hand or machine? But I semi-digress.

Anyway, think about something you've made in your lifetime that has taken you a long time to do. Something that when it was done, you looked at it and knew that it was good. Did it not feel to you as if a piece of you, some part of your life, was in that thing? So I always figured God had to feel exactly the same way when the earth had cooled enough out of the hot molten mass of the universe and life had begun its inexorable journey toward producing the multitude of forms upon it today. And although I don't think of the Bible as being a literal history, I believe the author of Genesis understood this feeling all too well when he said, "And God saw that it was good."

Surely, God must have felt he had put some part of himself into the earth. Maybe just a teensy weensy bit, but a bit nonetheless. Putting it into mathematical terms, we have God=Divine; Earth=God; Therefore, Earth=Divine.

One of the reasons I've always said I knew God exists is from quilting. I always find greens to be the hardest color of all to coordinate. You might get three green fabrics that look good together, but a fourth? That's tough. One of the greens always clashes. But look across any hillside in Spring. There are literally thousands of shades of green. And do any two of them clash? NOPE. You've got to figure there's some super intelligence at work that can make that happen! Which will probably be the first question I'll ask God when I meet him. "How'd you do that?"

So the next time you're out and about, look around you. Look for the divine in the everyday. Its there, you know. You just have to be aware of it. Some other time, we'll get into the divinity within ourselves. Can you handle it? LOL.

Laying an Egg

I've mentioned before about watching the Shephardstown Eagle Cam. http://www.outdoorchannel.com/Conservation/EagleCam.aspx And I have been checking in this year. Watching Belle with her new man, Ben. Ben's a young bird. Belle has a few years on her (uhmm, does that make her an eagle cougar?). Anyway, we're all waiting for the first egg of the season to be laid, and its made me think a bit about the art of egg laying.

First, you have to have the place just right. Earlier in the year, the pair renovated their nest. They tossed out leaves and other debris that had been deposited since last year. They gathered sticks and arranged them into the nest's guard rails. Those will be essential as the young one begins to grow so they don't go toppling out of the nest. Arrangement of those sticks is often a point of contention. I thought Belle was going to whack Ben over the head with one the other day when he wouldn't put it where she wanted it.

Eagles are big birds and their weight could crush an egg. So they make an egg cup in the new, soft material they've put in the nest. That way, the egg is cushioned and they nestle in on top of it without having the full brunt of their weight on it. Plus, I'm sure the soft material helps keep the egg warm.

Have you ever seen an eagle's egg? Its weird. There's almost a light emanating from it, as if you can actually see the life force. They often appear to me as a light bulb in the nest.

Laying one can't be as simple as it first seems. Think about it for a minute. There has to be some control over when it gets released. Otherwise, Belle could be flying around or going after a fish and plop, there it goes like a giant bomb. Since that doesn't happen (at least as far as we know), she must have some control over when it arrives. But probably not a whole lot. Its in there and its got to come out. I could compare this to another biological function we're all familiar with, but I won't. :)

So Belle is spending a considerable amount of time in the nest lately. She arranges and re-arranges the fluff. She sits down in it to test it out. She stands over by the edge of the nest checking it out and obviously waiting for the big moment.

I sure hope Ben turns out to be as good a father as Liberty was. He's been bringing food to the nest and helping with the housekeeping. But I'm pretty sure this first time eagle daddy hasn't a clue about what its going to be like to have a hungry little eaglet mouth that has to be fed and fed and fed and fed.

I'm just glad these guys have a relatively safe place here in West Virginia they can have at least pretty good odds of raising a family. Some of the problems we've seen over the last year are likely due to loss of habitat. What a shame if we allow "progress" to deprive these magnificent animals of the last few places they can live in the lower 48 states!

So Much to Do. So Little Time.

I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again--if I were to retire today and then live to be 100, I'd never be able to use all the fabrics and yarns and cross-stitch kits and needlepoint I've already got in this house. Let alone those I'm sure I'll buy in the future.

I knit. I crochet. I just got the stuff to learn how to nook and I've tried it, but its a lot harder than they made it look on-line. But I'm sure with some more practice... I do cross-stitch, even though I now need a good magnifier so I can see the holes in the fabric. I sort of do needlepoint (not very good at that one). I quilt.

I've got a closet full of fabric. My walk-in closet contains two large bins and a giant duffle bag full of yarn and there's more in the attic! I've got plans and patterns for a quilt that illustrates the annual cycle of a maple tree and another one that's a Sunbonnet Sue. I've got a whole bunch of circa 30s fabrics set aside just for that one. I've got enough sock yarn to make a pair for every day of the month and then some. And yarn that I've targeted for sweaters and scarves, but a bunch of it I have no idea what I want to make with it. The giant duffle bag contains yarn for an afghan I want to knit that is modeled after one I saw on the Turner Classic Movie channel this summer.

I've saved cross-stitch patterns for decades because, some day, I want to make it. I have needlepoint tapestries that would take me months to do if that's all I did. I've got books on how to customize sweaters, how to make sweaters men want to wear (even though I don't have the man to wear them), and an almost endless number of patterns for hats, scarves, socks, afghans, and more.

Right now, I have a piece of cross-stitch started that I want to give to a friend. I've got a snood about three-quarters of the way done. Not sure what a snood is? Sort of a cross between a cowl and a hood. I have a pair of socks with one sock nearly done that uses a new heel design. I have two other socks done. No, they don't match. I hope to finish up their mates some time in my life. And I have a quilt top that's (maybe) half-way done stuck up on my living room wall.

Good Lord! I must be totally insane. But one thing's for sure--I'm never bored! LOL.

Hey Mrs. Elliott!

Whom, you may ask, is Mrs. Elliott? She was my junior high home economics teacher. I've often wondered if she had any idea or even cared how much she affected me in my life. And not, I'm afraid to say, in a positive way.

This was back in the day when all girls had to take home economics. You wouldn't believe how badly I wanted to take shop class so as not to have to be in that woman's class, but it just wasn't allowed. Honestly, I don't remember if I had her for two years of home ec., or if it just seemed like two years.

Cooking classes with her weren't bad. Although I don't think I could say I learned anything from her. My Mom was a far better cook and taught me lots more than Mrs. Elliott could even imagine. But I cannot convey to you how I dreaded walking into that classroom to find the sewing machines rolled up out of their cabinets and ready for us to use.

You see, while we all diligently sewed away on some inane and totally useless project she had selected for us, Mrs. Elliott used to walk around the room. Like the lioness who picks out the most vulnerable looking gazelle, Mrs. Elliott would quietly step up behind the girl she had spotted as the most focused on her work. She would bend over so as to be close to her ear. And then she would scream, "Don't you DARE break that needle!"

This spawn of Satan would then chuckle to herself as she walked away from the quivering blob of adolescence she left in her wake. Evil, I tell you. Pure evil! And because my eyesight always meant I had my nose stuck into the machinery to try to make sure I wasn't sewing my fingers, I was the butt of her evilness on many an occasion.

I always wondered if Mrs. Elliott ever heard of a conditioned response. Probably not. I never took her for the reading sort. You know, Pavlov's dogs. You ring a bell, then feed the dog. After a very few days, the dog starts to drool as soon as the little bell rings. The exact same thing works in humans. And it works just as well if the outcome is punishing as if its rewarding.

And so it was that I would begin to shake and sweat and get a nervous stomach just looking at a sewing machine. Let one start to run anywhere near me, and I would almost faint. I always wanted to like to sew. I enjoy so many other needle arts I really wanted to sew. I've made quilts, but I always pieced and quilted them by hand just so I didn't have to get near a sewing machine.

Years ago, I started watching Eleanor Burns on Quilt-In-A-Day. I was so envious of how quickly she could whip out a quilt top on her machine. Heck, she can even talk and sew at the same time. Genius! Not being able to quickly do up a quilt never stopped me from buying fabrics, though. Lord, no. I've got a whole closet full of fabric. There's a bumper sticker that reads, "The one with the most fabric at the end wins." Apparently, I think I'm in that competition.

I even went out and bought a sewing machine. Yep, I sure did. Years ago. A Husqvarna Viking. A fine sewing machine. And then I put it in the back bedroom and have looked at it every day since. I've even taken it in every year for its annual cleaning. And then put it right back in its place of honor in the back bedroom.

Then, a friend asked me to join her in an on-line class where you learn each month to make two quilt blocks. I agreed. After all, I can hand sew two blocks in a month, right? But one of the patterns for the first month was clearly one that could not be done by hand. Too many layers of cloth to get through. Then I thought, NO. I will do these on my machine or I will not do them at all. I made up one of the blocks. I did it. I actually did it.

My hands shook a bit at first. I was nervous for awhile. But I didn't hurl. I didn't pass out. I didn't even break ONE needle! I got over all that fear. And I really liked that block.

And so, heady with the success of that block, I grabbed some fabric out of my stash. Its a set of woodsy prints with a large block print, plaids, bears, acorns, moose, small prints, pine boughs, and more. The colors are fairly dark and muted, so this won't be a bright, cheery quilt. But in one weekend I've gotten 12 blocks done.

Whooo hooo! First, Thank You Cindy for getting me to take the on-line course. And a big nah, nah, nah, to you Mrs. Elliott, where ever you are you nasty, evil woman. I can use a sewing machine. I can make things on a sewing machine. So stuff it, you old bag! Your curse is broken.

A Tale of Hair

OK, fair warning. I'm about to do something I promised myself I wouldn't do with this blog--complain about something that just has to do with me, me, me.

I had my hair cut today. Big deal, right? First, let me tell what I usually do when I have my hair cut.

To begin with, I don't usually go until that day when I wake up, walk into my bathroom, and scare the living bejeezus out of myself as I walk by the bathroom mirror. At least 98% of the time when I go to a stylist, I walk in and say, "Do what you want. I don't care." And I don't. Understand, please, that because I have to remove my glasses while they're working on my hair, I can't really tell a thing about how its going to look when they're done. As I said, I really don't care. As proof of that, let me say that at least 95% of that 98%, they take off the cape, I put on my glasses, look into the big mirror, and say, "Looks nice. Thanks!" Then I leave my tip, pay my bill, and skippy skip happily out the door.

But none of this was the case today.

Its been awhile since I've had my hair cut. Sort of. I got totally unnerved about a month ago when my bangs kept falling into my eyes. At which point I grabbed up my sewing shears and whacked them off. Not a good job, by any means, but practical. By now, they had grown out long enough they were once again hanging into my eyes, and they desperately needed a professional to get them straightened back out.

Overall, my hair had grown below my shoulders. It was long enough I could pull it back into a ponytail. It looked good. I mean, really pretty good. I would look in the mirror and say, "Hey, I like that! I actually look pretty good here."

So what possessed me to have it cut? I have no idea. No wait, that's not true. What possessed me was an email I found in my inbox at 7:15 this morning. It was from my Mary Kay lady. The email led me to a Mary Kay website where I was able to load in a photo of myself and then virtually try out a variety of make-up looks and hairstyles.

What I ended up with surprised me. It looked hip. It looked modern. And the "after" photo promised me I could look just like that. What else was I going to do? I reached for the phone and called my hair stylist. And as if all the stars were aligned just for me, she had an appointment available late this afternoon.

We all know today was atypical, because this was one of those remaining 2% of times where I knew what I wanted. Not just sort of wanted or kind of wanted, but wanted. I had the photo. Now in all fairness to the stylist, I did not show her the photo. And maybe that was a huge mistake, but I don't think so. Please allow me to explain. The virtual look was considerably shorter than what my hair length would accommodate and I wanted to keep all of my length.

That was actually the first instruction I gave her. "I want to keep all this length." My other instructions were that it was to part on the right (instead of my typical middle part), sweep over to the side, and frame my face. Seems pretty simple and straight-forward, n'est pas?

She's pulling out sections in the back and I think she's just contemplating the outcome when she makes her first snip. And with that, I knew I was doomed. Hair's a funny thing. It seems dead, but it actually has its own sensations. You just know how much has been cut off. And it was a lot. At that point, you can't say, "Hey, too much. Put some of that back right now!" Nope, you are stuck. And so, on she cut.

The end product? Chin length (there goes the length). Parted in the middle (not on the right). Bangs across the front(not swept to the side). And its curled in a bob around my face. I look like a bowling ball. Have you ever seen a bowling ball that looked hip and modern? I'm willing to wager not. Ohh, and those bangs I needed a "pro" to fix? They look as if they've been cut on the deck of an Italian cruise ship!

There's only one answer to this. One thing, and one thing only that can make this better--C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E. Massive quantities of chocolate.

Nature is a Real Mother!

Over the past several years, I have delighted in watching the live cam of a bald eagle's nest in Shephardstown, WV. If you've never watched, here's the address: http://www.outdoorchannel.com/Conservation/EagleCam.aspx

The view is fantastic. And each year, there has been the incredible miracle of life as the mated pair Liberty and Belle have shown up in the middle of winter, made necessary repairs on their nest, produced an egg, and spent days sitting on it through all kinds of horrible weather until out hatched a baby eaglet. And then the real work would begin of constantly finding food to feed the baby and sitting on and/or watching over the baby until it was old enough to fly off and start life on its own. Its absolutely grueling work.

Well, at least that's how its gone until last year. First, there were two eggs produced that harsh snowstorms destroyed. Hey, beaks are good for lots of things, but shoveling snow isn't one of them. A third egg was laid on Valentine's Day. And despite continued hard weather, this one survived. A totally cute baby hatched out.

But there wasn't to be a happy ending last summer. Just a few weeks after the baby eagle hatched, a young female eagle was seen hanging out around the nest. Then the male eagle, Liberty, disappeared for a few days and was seen flying around with the new gal. He eventually came back to the nest, but so did the intruder female. And Liberty (or Lib as he was more frequently referred to in the discussion forums) was no longer feeding the eaglet. Left on her own, Belle could not both feed the eaglet and defend it.

Never a particularly strong baby, the eaglet suffered from lack of food. Finally, the intruder female killed the baby and threw it out of the nest. Everyone I knew who had been monitoring the nest was devastated. It was a horrible ending to what had previously been such a wonderful and life-affirming experience. So that was it. The adults abandoned the nest. I quit watching and bided my time for the new season to begin.

And so it was that yesterday I tuned in again. It had taken me a few days to convince myself that I really wanted to watch again, knowing that another disaster was always a possibility. I knew I was a bit late checking in, so I wasn't terribly surprised to find the nest had been refurbished and was ready to go. What I wasn't prepared for was the chatter on the discussion forums. For now, instead of Lib and Belle, they were referring to Belle and Shep. I did a search of the forums. It took a bit of time to find the references, but there they were--Liberty had been found dead early last summer near the nest. The cause was unknown.

And its possible this situation could get even worse. Belle is coming to the nest and she has her new mate. But there is still a young female who is coming around and being a real nuisance. I keep thinking about all those people who watch "reality" TV. Those people have absolutely no clue what reality is.

A Broken Heart

I've read my share of romance stories by Jane Austen and the Brontes, so I'm familiar with the concept of a broken heart and the possibility that such an affliction could result in death. I'd never taken it very seriously, however. I mean, really??

But today I was driving home when I heard on the news that Joe Paterno had died. The official cause of death was lung cancer. But you and I both know he really died of a broken heart, don't we? Shunned by all he had held so dear, what was there left to live for?

I never met the man, but I don't think you had to have met him to know he was a proud, proud man. And he certainly had a right to be. His career had broken so many records. How sad that he couldn't have retired and then passed from this disease that undoubtedly was eating away at him still proud at all he had accomplished. But that was all taken away from him.

Do I think he messed up? Yeah, I do. I think he made a mistake in that he had could have followed up better on the information he reported to his school's administrators. And if he didn't get a satisfactory answer from them, he had the power and the moral obligation to go to the authorities and tell them he thought something wasn't right. But I also think he was a man of his word. If he said he was going to do something, then he did it. And people like that, especially from his generation, tend to assume that if someone tells them a thing will be done, then it will be. And he trusted people who told him they'd check into the matter and that it had properly been addressed.

Instead, those with the real responsibility tried to sweep the evil under the rug. But evil like that can't be so easily quieted. And when it reared up again, it swept up with it everyone in the vicinity, and that included Joe Paterno. It crushed him and it killed him. His heart not just broken, but shattered. He could not go on.

So who's in the dog pile today? Those Penn State officials who fired him. Those to whom he had reported the information about the abuse who did not pursue it certainly should have been fired. But Joe was just the last link in the "Off with their heads" bloodletting.

Do you know who's not in the dog pile? The students of Penn State. Not the ones who responded with rioting, although I certainly understand the cause of their overflowing emotion. But those students who rallied and protested and who went to Paterno's home to show their support. They were the only people who stood by the man who had brought such glory to their institution for many years. How often it seems to me that the young people are the ones with the courage to see the truth of a situation and try to rectify a problem. But they have little power. And those with the power tell them to go away and behave themselves.

I'd like to say Rest in Peace, Joe. But I don't think that's going to be your final fate. I honestly don't expect that even death will bring you the solace you deserve.

Poor Paula!

Well, the news this week about Paula Deen of the Food Network fame was pretty devastating, wasn't it? Noooo, not the news she has Type II diabetes. Please, as if that weren't inevitable.

The really earth-shattering news was that (prepare yourself, now) the food she prepares on any of her multiple shows is NOT healthy. Really!? I had absolutely no idea. I mean, butter, heavy cream, cream cheese, and sour cream are all dairy. And isn't dairy good for you? Builds strong bones and all that? But no, this week we were suddenly enlightened that dishes requiring two sticks of butter and/or a pound of cream cheese are just not all that good for you. I could hardly believe my ears!!

Maybe my approach to eating isn't typical. Don't the rest of you watch Paula and then prepare her dishes of the day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day? I know that there are times watching her on TV that I spring up from my chair and shout, "I must have that right now!" and head straight to my kitchen. And to be certain I'm always prepared for whatever ingredients Paula might require, I keep no less than 4 lbs each of butter and cream cheese. No less than a gallon of heavy cream and a giant tub of sour cream in my fridge will possibly do.

OK, I'm sure by now you've figured out there's a teensy bit of irony in my statements, right? So can we all at least agree that none of us eats this sort of stuff 3 meals a day, 7 days a week? I watch the Food Network quite often. They have a pretty nice variety of shows. There are some that feature really healthy foods all the time. Do I eat only their foods? Nope.

I will admit that I have made a couple of gooey butter cakes (one of Paula's staples). And wow, are they good! So if I'm not spending my days and nights duplicating Paula's foods for consumption, then why do I watch her?

For the same reason I watch Royal Pains or NCIS or Craig Ferguson--entertainment, of course. She's fun to watch. I love her laugh; I love her Southern accent; and I love her love of family. I also respect her because she has overcome a lot in life. She was abandoned by her first husband with two small boys and no way to make a living. She has experienced mental health problems. She's not a highly educated person. Yet she took what she had which was some good family recipes and a knack for cooking and built, not just a career, but an empire on it.

She announced the fact she has Type II diabetes on the Today show on NBC, where she is regularly featured preparing some over-the-top dish that everyone on the cast drools over. And from time-to-time, the person hosting the segment will make some sort of comment about how the recipe couldn't quite fit under a health food label, hint, hint, wink, wink. But they still ewwww and ahhh over it. And they still invite her back again and again.

The problem with what Paula did was that she didn't just say she had diabetes. She said she'd had it for three years. She explained that she hadn't made the announcement earlier because she wanted to get her brain wrapped around the situation before she came out and made it public. And so now she's got it all worked out in her head and thought it was time to tell her public? Not quite that simple, I'm afraid. Turns out she's now a paid spokesperson for Novo Nordisk, a company that makes an expensive drug for diabetics. From what I could tell from her Today show interview, the purpose of the Novo Nordisk funded campaign is that having diabetes is no big deal. That you can have your cake and take your medicine, too.

The rate of diabetes in this country has been on the rise for years. There are now nearly 27 million Americans with the disease, and the incidence rate is expected to continue to climb as more and more people rocket past simple obesity into morbid obesity. While the disease is treated far more effectively today than in the past, it still has a devastating effect on the body. Potential side effects include kidney failure, blindness, and amputation.

But it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Novo Nordisk won't make money off helping people avoid getting diabetes in the first place. Ohh nooo. What's in their best interest? To make sure people continue to stuff their faces with ooey gooey fat and sugar-saturated foods, develop diabetes, and then use their drugs to manage it. And there's Paula, with a big smile on her face and her infectious laugh stirring a bowl with one hand and getting paid by Novo Nordisk with the other hand.

And for that, I put Paula Deen into the dog pile for today. But do you know who else is in there with her? Me, for one. Because I, too, continue to eat foods I know are not good for me. I continue to not exercise regularly. My weight continues to be too high. I'm fat and I'm lazy and I haven't done enough about that. So when I develop diabetes, whom am I going to blame? Paula?? No, I'll know enough to look at that woman in the mirror and hold her responsible.

Whah! Whah! Whah!

Fair warning. I'm about to rag about another Republican Presidental candidate. This time, its Newt Gingrich. And surprise, surprise, surprise, its another extra-marital affair fallout situation. Geez, guys. Does it really have a tiny yet super powerful brain of its own that simply overwhelms your better intentions and judgements?

But I digress. That's not the point of this blog. Brief recap--Newt had an affair while married to his second wife. He divorced her and married his mistress. But, hey, after that he asked God for forgiveness of his sins and apparently God was all jiggy with it. And Newt and wife numero tres have lived happily ever after. Except now Newt wants to be Pres and ex-wife #2 has come out and said Newt asked her for an "open" marriage. Gingrich denies this. But this was the big story in the news yesterday before the debate in South Carolina. And when the debate began last night, the moderator chose to make that his leading question. Tsk, tsk!

Maybe I don't agree with the moderator's choice to make that the first question of the evening. Maybe he could have saved that back for a few minutes. But would it really have made a difference when the question got asked? And did Newt really think he could get through that debate without being asked about it? Oh puh-lease.

And what was Newt's response when he was asked? Blame the "liberal" media. That's right, they're responsible for getting his ex-wife to make this statement. How? They twisted her arm? Threatened her at gun point? Offered her great riches? Really??

Do I question her timing in coming forward? Maybe a little. But she had made similar statements in a previous interview. Its only that now the issue has resurfaced during a time when Mr. Gingrich would much rather it just went away.

Guess what, Newt? It ain't gonna happen. Just like Herman Cain before you, what you do in your personal life most definitely does have a bearing on your professional ambitions. I said it before and I'll say it again. It is a matter of trust. I'll completely ignore the point about whether or not you asked for an open marriage. To me, that's irrelevant. You have admitted openly that you had an affair with your current wife while you were still married to your second wife. I think its really great and wonderful that you know in your Christian heart of hearts that God has forgiven you. That's not the issue, pal!

The issue is can we trust you? NO!! Your two ex-wifes apparently couldn't. Neither can we. It is a big deal when you make vows and break them. Not itty bitty little promises, but sacred vows. You are right, Newt, I don't expect you or anybody else to be perfect. Nor do I expect any Presidential candidate or any President, for that matter, to be a perfect human being who has never made a mistake. But this sort of thing really does matter. It speaks volumes about the kind of person you are.

The only thing I find shocking in all of this?? That the American public has such a short memory span that you ever managed to launch a viable campaign in the first place.

But please, let me go back to my main point of this blog (cuz I've already said this other stuff before). His complaint is against the liberal media. What do you mean by that, anyway, Newt? What is a "liberal" media? Media that puts information out for the public to hear and to read and to use their brains to consider and decide for themselves if it has the ring of truth or not? Is that what liberal is? Is it truly liberal to share information that can be reviewed and refuted? Then by all means, I'm for it!

Apparently, Newt wants people censored. His ex, it seems, does not have the right to say what she wants to say. If it isn't true, then he has the right to file a suit against her (bet he doesn't). But she has the right to tell her side of the story when she feels it is appropriate. And the press (liberal, conservative, or Martian) has the right to circulate it as long as they don't know its not true. And you and I have the right to hear it and see it and judge it for ourselves. I don't need Mr. Gingrich, the "conservative" media, or anybody else telling me what I can and cannot be told.

And anybody who thinks he wasn't fully prepared to give that, "How dare you!?" response regardless of when that question occurred in last night's debate is exactly the fool Newt thinks the entire American public is!

A Dream Within a Dream

I listen to public radio a lot. One of my favorite features is The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor. If you've never listened, he typically gives some historical highlights for the day, not all of them literary-based. Then he reads a poem.

Today, I was delighted when Garrison announced January 19th is Edgar Allan Poe's birthday. I have loved Poe's works since I was in junior high. I read all the scary stories. I even read his crime stories, although I didn't like them quite as much. Did you know that Poe is credited with writing the first modern detective story? And as every school child knows, "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore!' "

Garrison gave some very interesting and new (to me) info on Poe's life. To summarize, it was that much of the negative things we've always heard about Poe were the result of retribution by a contemporary author who took post-mortem revenge for a harsh book review Poe had once written of the other guy. Garrison then read a poem by Poe I hadn't heard before.

The poem was "A Dream Within a Dream." Usually, I love the way Garrison reads the daily poem. But today, I felt he somewhat missed the mark with this one. So I'm putting the poem below. And I'm also providing the link to The Writer's Almanac where you can hear the entire feature for the day (they're only a couple of minutes long).

I'm asking that you read this poem. Don't just skim through it. Really read it. Read it out loud. I don't care if you read it to another person, to your dogs, to your cats, or just to yourself. But I want you to physically hear the words. Then think about it. Digest it. Do this before you listen to Garrison Keillor read it, but here's the link: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ and make sure you go to Jan. 19, 2012.

Once you've done all this, post your comments. What does this poem say to you about your own life? Share with us. I'll bet you never expected this blog was going to include homework!

A Dream Within a Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! Can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Now I ask you, is there a dry eye in the place?