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?

A Taste for Life

There's a monologue at the end of Tennessee Williams' "The Glass Menagerie" that I have always loved. I was required to memorize this piece of the play by Mr. Sweeney in Junior English class. In this monologue, the main character, Tom, is explaining how he left his family and set out on his own but how he would suddenly be reminded of his sister by colored glass such as one might see in the window of a perfume shop.

And so it was with me this evening that as I was preparing something to eat, I was reminded of some people who have influenced my life. Specifically, my Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary. Uncle Tom is/was my father's brother (Dad's crossed, so you decide if its past or present tense). And, of course, Aunt Mary has been his wife for more than 50 years.

When I was young, they lived in West Virginia. I always used to love to visit their house. First of all, it was a chance to play with my three cousins. I always had a lot of fun playing with them. But beyond that, I always loved my Aunt and Uncle. I've known people whom I thought were more in love they were, but never two people more dedicated to being in love. Does that make sense?? And it was always very obvious they loved their children. Actually, in the pursuit of accuracy, Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom had four children, all girls. Its just that their youngest daughter was born after I was away at college so I've never had the opportunity to know her as well as her three older sisters.

There was always such wonderful things at their house. For one thing, there was music. They had a piano and Uncle Tom could play. I was totally envious of his girls for having that luxury in the house! More than anything else, I always wanted to learn to play but wasn't allowed. Long story, that, and not the point of this posting. Suffice it to say it took me until I was in my 50s to get that chance.

And my Aunt and Uncle were always trying some new hobby. I remember when they bought a loom and learned to weave. And my Uncle learned batiking and made chessboards that way. They were very pretty! Uncle Tom is very knowledgeable about biology and he made going on hikes very interesting. And once he took us looking for fossils.

But what I remember most were the different foods we got to try. They always seemed to have something new to be tasted when we came. It might be a cheese, or a tea. Sometimes they had homemade root beer or ginger beer. Always something new and interesting.

I can't tell you whether my love of trying new foods is because of those childhood experiences or if its something genetic I inherited from my Dad's side. But where ever it comes from, I love to try new foods. All kinds of food. As I tell my nephews, you'll miss out on things you never knew you'd love if you don't try everything. Like Sweetbreads. Man, do I love sweetbreads. No, not like pumpkin bread. It isn't even actually bread. Look it up, if you don't know what they are.

Heck, I'd even give Thai candy another try, even though the first two times were the worst things I've ever tasted in my life (even including the fried grasshoppers). LOL!! Let me just say that its pretty near impossible to get the taste of spiced peach pits out of your mouth.

Anyway, I'm guessing that my Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom have little to no idea of the influence they've had on my life. And not just trying different foods, but also the importance of having hobbies and leisure activities. I ordered a set of knooking needles this week and can't wait for them to arrive! Its something new to be learned and enjoyed.

So Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom, THANK YOU!! You've both taught me a great deal that has made my life far more pleasant and interesting than I think it otherwise would have been. Excuse me now, I have to go practice my piano lesson for the week. :)

A Life Lesson

If you know me at all well, you know that I don't make connections between things very well. Whether its because the pieces of information come from different fields or are just separated from each other by time, I've never been good at "connecting the dots." Geez, even my 10-year old nephew has noticed this about me. So this evening's revelations came only because they happened simulateously.

A friend of mine is going through a rough patch as one of her dog's is very sick. I had gotten an email from her earlier giving me an update on his condition, and unfortunately there just wasn't any good news in it. In the email I sent back to her, I made a statement that it just never seems to be easy, this living with animals.

Later, I was doing a bit of cleaning up around because the cleaning lady is coming in the morning and no, that's not as incongruous as it might sound at first. Anyway, since my brain wasn't particularly involved in the cleaning process, I started to think.

I remembered when Doc and Shorty, two cats who have since crossed over, gave JD a pot holder when he was just a pup. Not understanding this was merely the latest attempt by the the cats to do him in, he ate the darned thing. Now since he hid what was left of the pot holder under the mat in his crate, we didn't find it for several days. During that time, he threw up and wouldn't poop. He finally had to have surgery to remove the pot holder bits that had gotten stuck in his gut. In the surgery, they split him from top to bottom to clean out his intestines. Fortunately, he got better.

And I remembered when I first got Coop what bad shape he was in with a shattered hip that took two medications to help with the pain, multiple infections requiring several antibiotics, and parasites so bad I could tell you things that would give you nightmares. It took months before he was well enough to have surgery on his hip. The first month, every time I took him to the vet they would tell me they still weren't sure if he'd make it or not. And then later, he developed an acute cataract that required surgery.

I was pondering how these illnesses had allowed me to form bonds with these animals that are incredibly strong, even years later. In both cases, we formed a connection based on trust that came directly from the care I gave. As I'm thinking about this, a commercial came on for a movie with Sandra Bullock and Tom Hanks called, "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." I haven't seen the movie, but I've seen reviews and know the story is about a young boy whose father dies during the terrorist attacks of 9/11. One of the quotes from the trailer has struck me every time I've heard the movie advertised--"If things were easy to find, they wouldn't be worth finding."

Like I said, I don't connect things together very easily. It was hearing that phrase while thinking about what I've gained from the struggles with my dogs that I began to generalize along the lines of that quote. I hated going through my own rough patches. They were agonizing and nerve wracking, not to mention expensive. But from them I gained companions and friendships that nourish me every day and make my life now worthwhile.

So here's to those tough times. They serve to teach us how to appreciate good times and good friends. The tougher the situation is, the more we learn to cherish life. Its the struggles we see through to the other side that make every day after that worth living.

A Lab is a Wonderful Thing!

Most, if not all, of you know that I have three dogs. And I love each one of them in very different ways. That's because each of them is a unique individual. Not that this is news to anybody who has ever had dogs. Every dog I've had in my life has been special in some way.

And that big guy in the photo with me is Coop, the newest canine addition to the family. Yes, he's a yellow lab. Or mostly so, at any rate. Except that his retrieving gene is totally defective.

I used to think that Labrador Retrievers just had good PR. No dog, I thought, could ever live up to all the hype you hear about labs. WRONG!! Coop is an amazing dog. He's silly and he's playful, but he can be incredibly serious if he perceives something is wrong. He's an amazing judge of character. I'll take his opinion of someone I've just met before I'll take my own. He knows. Somehow, he just knows. Like the time he walked right up to this kid on the rail trail. The young fellow was as Goth as they come. The black eye liner and nail polish. The spiked hair. The clothes. And he was just standing looking out from one of the bridges on the trail. Coop walked up to him and laid his big head against him. I was quite surprised. This was pretty early after I'd gotten him, and he'd never done anything like that before. This kid turned around, knelt down, cupped his hands under Coop's head, and then just melted into him. Coop just sat very quietly with his head resting on the boy's shoulder. When the young man looked up, there were tears running down his face. Then he said, "This is sure a nice dog you have." I asked him if he was OK. He gave me a little smile and said, "I am now. Thanks." Then he got up and walked away. I have no idea what was troubling him that day, and I would have walked right on by him, but Coop sensed someone who needed his help and he gave it.

Coop is very intelligent. Most evenings, I watch TV in my bedroom. And Coop knows its OK for him to come up on my bed and stretch out while we watch. But after the dogs have gone out for the last time, as we're walking back into the bedroom I always say to him, "Time for you to go to your own bed." And by golly, he walks right over and hops up onto his own bed for the night. I didn't teach him that. He simply understood it the first time I ever said it. Try to tell my other dogs that and they just totally ignore me and jump onto my bed anyway. But not Coop.

And daggone, but he is a handsome dog!

But he has this other sort of weird characteristic. He will suddenly select some object and become very attached to it. Like a kid with a security blanket. This weekend, I was cleaning out my walk-in closet. While I was working on organizing some yarn, he walked into the closet and came out with a sweat shirt. It was an inexpensive one I had bought over a year ago when I told myself I was going to start working out again at the WVU Recreation Center (oh yeah, like I kept THAT resolution). But I didn't go, and so the sweat shirt had remained all rolled up with a paper wrapper around its middle, just as it was when I bought it.

Coop walked all over the house carrying that thing in his mouth. I knew I could make him give it up if I really wanted to, but somehow I just didn't have the heart. Sometimes he would lie down and cuddle it between his legs; other times, he would use it as a pillow. He would get into one of his silly moods and start flinging it all over the place.

It finally popped out of its wrapper and then he and JD had a big tug of war with it. So now there are rips and bite marks all over it. And Coop is still dragging it around with him and occasionally flinging it over his shoulder.

So who's in the dog pile today for turning a perfectly good, new, unused sweat shirt into a dog toy? Me, I suppose. But sometimes, you just have to say, "Oh what the heck" and enjoy the moment rather than be serious and rational. Especially when you look into those big brown eyes and know you've made a lab happy. There's really no better feeling in the whole world!

Kermit Was Right!

You know the song--It's Not Easy Being Green. Well, Kermit was right. I'm not a particularly "green" person. I drive an SUV, even though its often just me going down the road. But then, it does have to hold Coop, too. Every week when I go to the grocery store, I always feel so guilty coming out with 8-10 blue plastic bags. Even though I do use them to throw out cat litter scoopings (ewwww).

I did replace all the regular bulbs in my house with those energy-efficient, curley-q types. And I have made it more of a point to turn off the light when I leave a room after I heard Donald Trump explain that he does this because he recognizes electricity comes from coal which is mined by people doing a very nasty and dangerous job. So he figured it was his duty to make sure every bit of it went to a good use. And while that's the only intelligent thing I ever heard come out of that man's mouth, it did cause me to change my own behavior in that regard.

So here I am, a not so green person. I made a minor New Year's resolution to try and do better. So when I spotted a new product at the store last week, I decided to give it a try. What, you ask? Toilet paper made of recycled paper. I always thought it was a disgusting waste of forests to make toilet paper, so this seemed a great alternative.

Maybe, just maybe, I should have considered the fact it was a generic product. But I didn't. I picked up a 4-pack and, being that I was out, I put it to immediate use. How well did it work? This week when I went to the store, one of the first things I did was to head back to the paper aisle and pick up a 4-pack of good, old Charmin. The extra soft kind. And my next purchase? A new tube of Preparation H. OK, how many of you just went, "TMI!!"

I haven't figured out what the heck to do with the recycled paper stuff. Maybe I can save it until next Halloween and TP a neighbor's house. I thought about setting it out in the spring to see if any of the birds want it for nesting material, but (a) I think the babies need something softer and (b) it probably would turn into paper mache after the first rain.

And so for being the crappy product of the week (sorry for that pun), toilet paper made from recycled paper is today's dog pile!