“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain. I apologize for our delay from leaving the gate, but the system that starts the airplane is malfunctioning. We’ve sent for a new system and it should be here shortly.”
This is not how I want to start my flight. What system? Obviously, starting an airplane is not a simple matter of turning a key. How can you get another system and then immediately fly? Shouldn’t someone test it out first? What if the plane dies while we are in the air? How will we restart it? When I fly I want everyone to just tell me things are great and there is nothing to worry about.
Then there are the safety instructions. I never listen to them. My thought is that if the plane goes down, I am not going to be needing the seat cushion as a floatation device. I’ve seen photos of what’s left of airliners that crashed into the ocean. By that point you are beyond needing a flotation device. I supposed if you gently ran off a runway into water, then you might have a chance of needing the flotation device.
What I want is for someone to tell me if the noise I hear is just a normal noise or is that a bolt working loose from the wing? I hate to sit where I can even see the wings because I saw that Twilight Zone episode with William Shatner where the gremlin like thing is out there tearing off parts of the airplane.
When ever there is severe turbulence or if there is an unusually loud noise, I always look at the flight attendants. If they look like it’s nothing, then I try not to worry. But, then I worry they are just well trained not to show panic.
Obviously, since I’m writing this blog entry, my plane did not go down due to a faulty starter system. But, I still have the flight home to think about!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
My tomato tree
Every year I plant a tomato plant or two. It is as close to the garden of my youth as I think I want to get. While I love fresh from the garden corn, peas and green beans, I don't like all the work that goes into a garden. But, I do enjoy a fresh bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. So, I put out tomato plants.
This year I put out two. One of them is a normal sized tomato plant. The other one has turned into a tree. It is more than 5 1/2 feet tall and about 5 feet wide. I have four stakes holding it up. It might actually be taller, but I ran out of anything tall enough to stake it to. So, the top part is now drooping down.
I have no idea what kind of tomato plant I bought. I think it was just a regular plant that was supposed to produced normal sized tomatoes. Somehow it turned into a giant. One of my relatives who is more farm savvy than I am said it is a rouge tomato plant and that I should have pruned it back so that it spent its time growing tomatoes and not growing tall. But, I was so fascinated by its growth that I couldn't do that. So, I have a really tall tomato plant producing tomatoes that are smaller than golf balls. They still taste good though. But, it sure does take a lot of them to make a BLT.
This year I put out two. One of them is a normal sized tomato plant. The other one has turned into a tree. It is more than 5 1/2 feet tall and about 5 feet wide. I have four stakes holding it up. It might actually be taller, but I ran out of anything tall enough to stake it to. So, the top part is now drooping down.
I have no idea what kind of tomato plant I bought. I think it was just a regular plant that was supposed to produced normal sized tomatoes. Somehow it turned into a giant. One of my relatives who is more farm savvy than I am said it is a rouge tomato plant and that I should have pruned it back so that it spent its time growing tomatoes and not growing tall. But, I was so fascinated by its growth that I couldn't do that. So, I have a really tall tomato plant producing tomatoes that are smaller than golf balls. They still taste good though. But, it sure does take a lot of them to make a BLT.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Saying goodbye to an old friend
My earliest memories revolve around pets and I can’t imagine my life without multiple animals. Unfortunately, along with the joys of pet companionship, come the sorrows when an animal’s life is over so quickly. A dog is often old at 12 and while cats can live to be 20 or older, their lives still pass too quickly.
Last night we had to have Scooby euthanized. He was Curt’s 12-year-old German Shepherd. I did not know Scooby during the prime of his life, but only came to know him after arthritis and hip problems had already begun to plague him. But, Scooby’s story is one of perseverance and he lived a life far longer than anyone expected. Several years ago, everyone who knew the dog thought he only had months to live. His hips were bad, he drug his back legs. But, then he started going to dog training again, and he got a renewed vigor. He got a tracking title at age 10 and scored a more than impressive 98 out of 100 points. He also got three obedience titles during his life.
While I was told that Scooby was somewhat dog aggressive and cat aggressive in his youth, by the time I came into his life, he had mellowed into a grand old gentleman dog. He loved to sniff my cats and he never threatened them. No matter how badly his legs pained him, Scooby would still run around the yard chasing my dog Batman. Those two loved to play. Batman learned to accommodate his play for Scooby’s disabilities. If Scooby’s legs were bothering him, they both laid on the ground facing each other and played just with their front paws touching or their jaws touching.
Because Scooby had a hard time using his back legs, he couldn’t scratch his head and neck properly, so there was nothing the dog loved more than having his neck scratched.
We knew that at some point the pain management Scooby was under would fail and his legs would become worse, but every time w thought that point had been reached, Scooby would rally and start running around with renewed vigor – at least until this past week.
This past week Scooby’s back legs seemed much weaker and the medications we were giving him didn’t seem to be helping. But, we kept hoping he would rally as he had in the past. But, it was not to be. We came home from a movie late last night and discovered that the recent high temperatures and humidity combined with his inability to move his hindquarters enough had caused severe sores to develop.
We took him to an emergency vet clinic. The veterinarian said they would have to sedate him in order to gauge the extent of the dead flesh and see if it could be cut out. Then he said Scooby would need to be on heavy antibiotics and be kept indoors for weeks. But, he said that after all that, we would still have a dog whose legs were failing. While we might have been able to bring Scooby home and keep him a few more weeks, we decided that all we would be doing would be prolonging his pain. The vet said he thought euthanasia might be the best answer. So, we said ok.
Curt scratched Scooby under the chin and stayed with him the entire time. I whispered to him to go find my dog Merlin who could lead him to the pack of animals who I hope are waiting for me somewhere. There is Lucky, the rat terrier who was my childhood companion. I got him in third grade and he died my senior year in college. Big Red, one of our many farm dogs, and Skippy, a dog who came with the farm we bought. Then there was Pica, my first dog that I got as an adult. Then Hoosier and Merlin. Hopefully those dogs are letting my cats join them as there is Misty, DC, Harold, Chapin, Minolta, Points and Cleo.
Some people say that after they lose a pet, they can’t bear the thought of getting another one and going through all the pain and sorrow again in just a decade or so. But, I’ve never been that way. I mourn, that’s for sure. I still can cry thinking of Piglet, the one kitten I managed to keep alive for a month when I rescued Ginger. All of her kittens died within 48 hours except for Piglet, but one day I went in and he was just dead in the crate. Ginger had been too ill I think during her pregnancy. But, I did manage to save her and she is here living a life no abused barn cat could have probably imagined.
But, the joy of the new life that joins mine when I adopt a new pet always outweighs the eventual sorrow. When Merlin died of liver cancer before his time, I was distraught, but the joy I now share with Batman is something I would not trade, even though I know The Bat will not live nearly as long as I would like him too.
So, drink a toast to Scooby and go give your animals a hug.
Last night we had to have Scooby euthanized. He was Curt’s 12-year-old German Shepherd. I did not know Scooby during the prime of his life, but only came to know him after arthritis and hip problems had already begun to plague him. But, Scooby’s story is one of perseverance and he lived a life far longer than anyone expected. Several years ago, everyone who knew the dog thought he only had months to live. His hips were bad, he drug his back legs. But, then he started going to dog training again, and he got a renewed vigor. He got a tracking title at age 10 and scored a more than impressive 98 out of 100 points. He also got three obedience titles during his life.
While I was told that Scooby was somewhat dog aggressive and cat aggressive in his youth, by the time I came into his life, he had mellowed into a grand old gentleman dog. He loved to sniff my cats and he never threatened them. No matter how badly his legs pained him, Scooby would still run around the yard chasing my dog Batman. Those two loved to play. Batman learned to accommodate his play for Scooby’s disabilities. If Scooby’s legs were bothering him, they both laid on the ground facing each other and played just with their front paws touching or their jaws touching.
Because Scooby had a hard time using his back legs, he couldn’t scratch his head and neck properly, so there was nothing the dog loved more than having his neck scratched.
We knew that at some point the pain management Scooby was under would fail and his legs would become worse, but every time w thought that point had been reached, Scooby would rally and start running around with renewed vigor – at least until this past week.
This past week Scooby’s back legs seemed much weaker and the medications we were giving him didn’t seem to be helping. But, we kept hoping he would rally as he had in the past. But, it was not to be. We came home from a movie late last night and discovered that the recent high temperatures and humidity combined with his inability to move his hindquarters enough had caused severe sores to develop.
We took him to an emergency vet clinic. The veterinarian said they would have to sedate him in order to gauge the extent of the dead flesh and see if it could be cut out. Then he said Scooby would need to be on heavy antibiotics and be kept indoors for weeks. But, he said that after all that, we would still have a dog whose legs were failing. While we might have been able to bring Scooby home and keep him a few more weeks, we decided that all we would be doing would be prolonging his pain. The vet said he thought euthanasia might be the best answer. So, we said ok.
Curt scratched Scooby under the chin and stayed with him the entire time. I whispered to him to go find my dog Merlin who could lead him to the pack of animals who I hope are waiting for me somewhere. There is Lucky, the rat terrier who was my childhood companion. I got him in third grade and he died my senior year in college. Big Red, one of our many farm dogs, and Skippy, a dog who came with the farm we bought. Then there was Pica, my first dog that I got as an adult. Then Hoosier and Merlin. Hopefully those dogs are letting my cats join them as there is Misty, DC, Harold, Chapin, Minolta, Points and Cleo.
Some people say that after they lose a pet, they can’t bear the thought of getting another one and going through all the pain and sorrow again in just a decade or so. But, I’ve never been that way. I mourn, that’s for sure. I still can cry thinking of Piglet, the one kitten I managed to keep alive for a month when I rescued Ginger. All of her kittens died within 48 hours except for Piglet, but one day I went in and he was just dead in the crate. Ginger had been too ill I think during her pregnancy. But, I did manage to save her and she is here living a life no abused barn cat could have probably imagined.
But, the joy of the new life that joins mine when I adopt a new pet always outweighs the eventual sorrow. When Merlin died of liver cancer before his time, I was distraught, but the joy I now share with Batman is something I would not trade, even though I know The Bat will not live nearly as long as I would like him too.
So, drink a toast to Scooby and go give your animals a hug.
Friday, August 3, 2007
An addiction to Crocs
I have an addiction. Like all addictions, it snuck up on me. I never saw it coming.
I’m addicted to Crocs. You’ve seen them – those plastic shoes in a rainbow of colors. They are boxy and certainly not in the category of truly attractive, but, I can’t stop buying them. I just bought my seventh pair, and what’s really bad is I only stopped at Wild Bird’s Unlimited to buy a bag of birdseed, but the store was having a sale, and Crocs were 10 percent off. How could I not look?
I have never been brand loyal and I’m certainly not the Imelda Marcos of shoes. In the past I had two pairs of tennis shoes – one nice pair and one hiking pair—cowboy boots and dress shoes in three colors – white, black and brown.
So, how did I suddenly become obsessed with owning every type of Croc there is? They are darned comfortable, that’s why. I have never been a fashion guru, so the fact that they are somewhat boxy doesn’t bother me. I enjoy walking and I do a lot of standing at conferences and shows. I want shoes that don’t hurt if I stand up in them all day and Crocs fit that bill. I am also attracted to the bright colors and the ridges inside massage my feet all day. Not to mention you can walk right through a creek and not have to worry about your shoes.
But, seriously, seven pairs? Even I can’t believe it. From now on I may have to send someone into a store first to make sure Crocs aren’t available before I walk in.
I’m addicted to Crocs. You’ve seen them – those plastic shoes in a rainbow of colors. They are boxy and certainly not in the category of truly attractive, but, I can’t stop buying them. I just bought my seventh pair, and what’s really bad is I only stopped at Wild Bird’s Unlimited to buy a bag of birdseed, but the store was having a sale, and Crocs were 10 percent off. How could I not look?
I have never been brand loyal and I’m certainly not the Imelda Marcos of shoes. In the past I had two pairs of tennis shoes – one nice pair and one hiking pair—cowboy boots and dress shoes in three colors – white, black and brown.
So, how did I suddenly become obsessed with owning every type of Croc there is? They are darned comfortable, that’s why. I have never been a fashion guru, so the fact that they are somewhat boxy doesn’t bother me. I enjoy walking and I do a lot of standing at conferences and shows. I want shoes that don’t hurt if I stand up in them all day and Crocs fit that bill. I am also attracted to the bright colors and the ridges inside massage my feet all day. Not to mention you can walk right through a creek and not have to worry about your shoes.
But, seriously, seven pairs? Even I can’t believe it. From now on I may have to send someone into a store first to make sure Crocs aren’t available before I walk in.
Friday, June 8, 2007
what? Me worry?
It’s no secret: I’m a worrier. It’s genetic, I can’t help it. I come from a long line of women worriers. Both my chiropractor and my massage therapist have commented on the mess my neck and shoulders are in. I’m pretty sure it’s the worrying. I worry with my neck and shoulders. I can feel them bunch up.
I know worrying is not good for me. I try and relax my neck and shoulders, but I seem doomed to obsess on everything.
For instance: At 1 a.m. this morning, Batman, who was in his crate, barked and whined. This is his signal he needs to go out. Batman rarely needs out at night, so, I’m immediately on the alert. Why does he need out? Before he gets to the back door, he stops by the water bowl and slurps up all the water. This makes me more anxious. Outside he runs around and around the yard and rolls on his back. Is he playing or having some kind of attack? My first thought is the spray I used to try and scare the chipmunks really was toxic and he got into it. I immediately imagine Batman dying of poisoning. Then, he runs back up to me, licks my face and says he is ready to go back in.
At 3 a.m. he barks again. This really worries me. He has only done this one other time and that was when he had diarrhea. Once more he runs all over the yard, rolls on his back, etc. I bring him in and lay on the guest bed so he can lay beside me. He is panting and seems very wiggly. I begin to wonder if I should look up the address of the 24 hour emergency vet. I go online and look up the company that made the chipmunk deterrent. The website swears it is non toxic.
I wonder if Batman will eat, so I give him some food. Yep, his appetite is just fine. I wonder if he will play, so I get out his favorite tug toy and we play tug in the living room, which wakes the old dog Scooby up, who comes in to join the fun. Batman plays just fine. A logical, sane person would now conclude that there is nothing wrong with the dog. But, I’m a worrier. I lay on the couch with Batman on the floor so I can watch him. I turn a fan on. This makes him stop panting and he goes to sleep. However, it is now 4:45 and my alarm goes off at 5:30. I decide there is really no reason to go back to sleep.
I took a really long shower and when I got out, Batman is sitting there wagging his tail and grinning. I realize that I’m pretty sure I’ve been scammed.
When I tell Curt that I actually haven’t been in bed since about 3 and that I was up before that too, he tells me I have just taught my dog that if he whines and barks and gets agitated at night, I’ll play with him. Great, now something else to worry about.
I know worrying is not good for me. I try and relax my neck and shoulders, but I seem doomed to obsess on everything.
For instance: At 1 a.m. this morning, Batman, who was in his crate, barked and whined. This is his signal he needs to go out. Batman rarely needs out at night, so, I’m immediately on the alert. Why does he need out? Before he gets to the back door, he stops by the water bowl and slurps up all the water. This makes me more anxious. Outside he runs around and around the yard and rolls on his back. Is he playing or having some kind of attack? My first thought is the spray I used to try and scare the chipmunks really was toxic and he got into it. I immediately imagine Batman dying of poisoning. Then, he runs back up to me, licks my face and says he is ready to go back in.
At 3 a.m. he barks again. This really worries me. He has only done this one other time and that was when he had diarrhea. Once more he runs all over the yard, rolls on his back, etc. I bring him in and lay on the guest bed so he can lay beside me. He is panting and seems very wiggly. I begin to wonder if I should look up the address of the 24 hour emergency vet. I go online and look up the company that made the chipmunk deterrent. The website swears it is non toxic.
I wonder if Batman will eat, so I give him some food. Yep, his appetite is just fine. I wonder if he will play, so I get out his favorite tug toy and we play tug in the living room, which wakes the old dog Scooby up, who comes in to join the fun. Batman plays just fine. A logical, sane person would now conclude that there is nothing wrong with the dog. But, I’m a worrier. I lay on the couch with Batman on the floor so I can watch him. I turn a fan on. This makes him stop panting and he goes to sleep. However, it is now 4:45 and my alarm goes off at 5:30. I decide there is really no reason to go back to sleep.
I took a really long shower and when I got out, Batman is sitting there wagging his tail and grinning. I realize that I’m pretty sure I’ve been scammed.
When I tell Curt that I actually haven’t been in bed since about 3 and that I was up before that too, he tells me I have just taught my dog that if he whines and barks and gets agitated at night, I’ll play with him. Great, now something else to worry about.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
The Chipmunks
So, Alvin, Theodore, Simon as well as a host of their women folk have moved into the house (well actually under it). I’ve always found chipmunks adorable, although, I am still not 100 percent sure if these are actually chipmunks or ground squirrels or if there is a difference.
Whatever they are, I think they are cute. They are also highly destructive. Last week I came home and discovered they had made a slide out of the planter my rose bush is in. They dug a huge hole and came out the bottom. It looked like it was probably fun if you were a chipmunk, but my rose bush was not appreciative. They are also living in the down spouts of the gutters, which fascinates my dog, Batman and causes him to want to destroy the downspouts to get to the critters. And, they are digging holes in the flower beds. Plus, I think they may have opened a condominium in the crawl space as I woke up on Saturday to discover Batman had managed to take up two of the floor register covers and was trying to stick his nose into opening.
In some online research I discovered they can be fairly destructive and they carry fleas. Curt wants to throw poison or gas down the holes. All I can think of is the cute little guy who likes to sit on top of my rose planter and twitch his nose at me. I can’t kill him.
There are plenty of products on the market that say they ‘encourage’ pests and rodents to move on without resorting to killing. I could also live trap them, but then I would have to find them new homes.
I made a trip to the local mega hardware store. There I found shelf upon shelf of traps, glues, poisons, etc. and a small assortment of non lethal contraptions. I bought one that I thought sounded good. It was designed for ground burrowing ‘pests’ and emitted a noise they would find ‘disturbing.’ Unfortunately, when I set it up last night, I found the noise disturbing. Somehow I thought it would be noise only the ground squirrels would hear. Instead, neighbors all around me can hear it. It is not possible to sit out on the porch in the evening enjoying a glass of wine with this blaring noise.
I also bought Critter Away. The smell is supposed to be disagreeable and if an animal tastes food sprayed with this stuff, it is supposed to taste bad. So, I sprayed it all around the holes the chipmunks had made, as well as around the downspouts and the perimeter of the house. When I went back inside, I discovered I should have made sure all the windows were closed. Whew, this stuff stinks. Batman asked to go to the backyard.
I kept looking outside to see if any chipmunks were packing their bags and exiting, but I never saw anything.
I thought about letting Batman into the crawlspace and letting him chase them a few days in a row to see if that convinces them to move. I could put Ginger, the cat, down there too. My luck, the ground squirrels would be ferocious and would scare my animals. That’s the kind of pets I have.
If anyone knows of a way to convince ground squirrels to move on that does not require killing them, let me know.
Whatever they are, I think they are cute. They are also highly destructive. Last week I came home and discovered they had made a slide out of the planter my rose bush is in. They dug a huge hole and came out the bottom. It looked like it was probably fun if you were a chipmunk, but my rose bush was not appreciative. They are also living in the down spouts of the gutters, which fascinates my dog, Batman and causes him to want to destroy the downspouts to get to the critters. And, they are digging holes in the flower beds. Plus, I think they may have opened a condominium in the crawl space as I woke up on Saturday to discover Batman had managed to take up two of the floor register covers and was trying to stick his nose into opening.
In some online research I discovered they can be fairly destructive and they carry fleas. Curt wants to throw poison or gas down the holes. All I can think of is the cute little guy who likes to sit on top of my rose planter and twitch his nose at me. I can’t kill him.
There are plenty of products on the market that say they ‘encourage’ pests and rodents to move on without resorting to killing. I could also live trap them, but then I would have to find them new homes.
I made a trip to the local mega hardware store. There I found shelf upon shelf of traps, glues, poisons, etc. and a small assortment of non lethal contraptions. I bought one that I thought sounded good. It was designed for ground burrowing ‘pests’ and emitted a noise they would find ‘disturbing.’ Unfortunately, when I set it up last night, I found the noise disturbing. Somehow I thought it would be noise only the ground squirrels would hear. Instead, neighbors all around me can hear it. It is not possible to sit out on the porch in the evening enjoying a glass of wine with this blaring noise.
I also bought Critter Away. The smell is supposed to be disagreeable and if an animal tastes food sprayed with this stuff, it is supposed to taste bad. So, I sprayed it all around the holes the chipmunks had made, as well as around the downspouts and the perimeter of the house. When I went back inside, I discovered I should have made sure all the windows were closed. Whew, this stuff stinks. Batman asked to go to the backyard.
I kept looking outside to see if any chipmunks were packing their bags and exiting, but I never saw anything.
I thought about letting Batman into the crawlspace and letting him chase them a few days in a row to see if that convinces them to move. I could put Ginger, the cat, down there too. My luck, the ground squirrels would be ferocious and would scare my animals. That’s the kind of pets I have.
If anyone knows of a way to convince ground squirrels to move on that does not require killing them, let me know.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
On the street where I live
The little girl across the street is riding her bicycle in endless circles. I think she is bored. I sit on my glider, gently rocking in the breeze. I’m watching the birds who have discovered the many feeders I put out and Batman is working his way through a pig’s foot (not the kind you buy in a pet store, but one from the butcher).
This is nothing like the street I grew up on. For one thing, we didn’t call what I lived on a street. It was a road, Mull Road to be exact, named because the family who owned most of the land along the road was named Mull. There were four houses on our road and I could only see one of them from our house, and even that one wasn’t close. My closest friend lived about 4 miles away. Town was 10 miles away and if we wanted to go to the ‘city’ that was about an hour.
I road my horse everywhere. I road him into Rockville and Marshall, around the endless country roads and to my friends’ houses. I road him fishing. I actually didn’t spend a lot of time playing with other kids. Before I had a driver’s license my mom would have had to driven me to see anyone, unless they were within horse-back riding distance. I don’t remember feeling deprived.
I spent countless lazy summer afternoons sitting in trees reading books and figuring out elaborate systems to pull food and drinks up into the tree with me. My dog was never tied up, as there wasn’t anyplace he was going to get into trouble and there were no neighbors who complained about barking. Once though, the sheriff’s department tracked down my dad while we were at the county fair to let him know our pigs were out.
Now I can count 10-15 houses from my glider. Although, at leas this is a very quiet neighborhood. I’m the only person who has figured out it is quieter and more private in the front yard as everyone else has made their hideaways in their backyards. I have the front of the street to myself.
In some ways, this is a more convenient life for sure. I can hop in the car and be at any number of stores or restaurants in a matter of minutes. If I forget something when I’m at the store, it’s no big deal, I can hop in the car and go out again. But, there are no trees to climb. In the upscale suburbs no one wants to mow around low hanging branches. All the trees are tall and straight and any low branches have been long ago hacked off. I don’t let my dog run loose. There are other dogs in the neighborhood, not to mention cars. On the road I grew up on our deaf cat laid in the middle of the road and never got run over.
I do miss the country, even though its been 25 years since I lived anyplace remotely country looking. I wish I lived there again, but sometimes now I wonder if I’ve been away from the total silence and darkness too long. I could have my horse with me, but have I become too lazy to go back to actually caring for a large animal on a daily basis. When I travel I’m used to just finding someone to take care of the dog and cats and maybe throw the fish some food. It’s harder to find someone to care for a horse. But, the thought of growing old on this street or even another one like it makes me feel somewhat ill. I’m like the little girl going in circles on her bike, but going no where.
This is nothing like the street I grew up on. For one thing, we didn’t call what I lived on a street. It was a road, Mull Road to be exact, named because the family who owned most of the land along the road was named Mull. There were four houses on our road and I could only see one of them from our house, and even that one wasn’t close. My closest friend lived about 4 miles away. Town was 10 miles away and if we wanted to go to the ‘city’ that was about an hour.
I road my horse everywhere. I road him into Rockville and Marshall, around the endless country roads and to my friends’ houses. I road him fishing. I actually didn’t spend a lot of time playing with other kids. Before I had a driver’s license my mom would have had to driven me to see anyone, unless they were within horse-back riding distance. I don’t remember feeling deprived.
I spent countless lazy summer afternoons sitting in trees reading books and figuring out elaborate systems to pull food and drinks up into the tree with me. My dog was never tied up, as there wasn’t anyplace he was going to get into trouble and there were no neighbors who complained about barking. Once though, the sheriff’s department tracked down my dad while we were at the county fair to let him know our pigs were out.
Now I can count 10-15 houses from my glider. Although, at leas this is a very quiet neighborhood. I’m the only person who has figured out it is quieter and more private in the front yard as everyone else has made their hideaways in their backyards. I have the front of the street to myself.
In some ways, this is a more convenient life for sure. I can hop in the car and be at any number of stores or restaurants in a matter of minutes. If I forget something when I’m at the store, it’s no big deal, I can hop in the car and go out again. But, there are no trees to climb. In the upscale suburbs no one wants to mow around low hanging branches. All the trees are tall and straight and any low branches have been long ago hacked off. I don’t let my dog run loose. There are other dogs in the neighborhood, not to mention cars. On the road I grew up on our deaf cat laid in the middle of the road and never got run over.
I do miss the country, even though its been 25 years since I lived anyplace remotely country looking. I wish I lived there again, but sometimes now I wonder if I’ve been away from the total silence and darkness too long. I could have my horse with me, but have I become too lazy to go back to actually caring for a large animal on a daily basis. When I travel I’m used to just finding someone to take care of the dog and cats and maybe throw the fish some food. It’s harder to find someone to care for a horse. But, the thought of growing old on this street or even another one like it makes me feel somewhat ill. I’m like the little girl going in circles on her bike, but going no where.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Can you have too many T-shirts?
I know my mother is right now trying to figure out how to post a comment to this blog as she wants to say, “YES you can have TOO many T-shirts.” Mom is always teasing me about my T-shirts.
I admit it, I’m a T-shirt accumulator. Wherever I go I get a T-shirt, although not just any T-shirt. I look and look and try and find just the right one to fit my pesonality and the feelings I have about the places I am visiting. I also have an addiction to cafépress.com, where you can get T-shirts (and anything else it seems) with numerous sayings. I love T-shirts with interesting sayings. I have one that shows a rabbit sitting at a school desk looking at a paper with a big F on it. The shirt says “Stop Animal Testing.” I have more dog, cat and horse T-shirts than I can count, including “I’d rather be riding,” and one with Gandhi’s portrait that says, “You can judge a society by the way it treats its animals.” When I took Batman to his first dog show, I was wearing a bright neon green T-shirt with Dog Power on it.
Last weekend I moved all my T-shirts from their winter storage to their summer home in the drawers of my dresser. It occurred to me as I made trip after trip that I might now have enough T-shirts to wear a different one every day for the entire summer. I even have some that have shrunk beyond all wearing (or maybe I just kept growing), but I can’t give them up. Like the one from my freshman year in college when I joined a sorority. I have one that says “Scoop Swaim” that I got as a gift from the staff of a newspaper I worked at one summer while I was in college. There are T-shirts from the Alamo, Baltimore, St. Augustine, San Francisco, Charleston, S.C., and numerous other locations and tourist spots. I have a T-shirt that is 15 years old from Les Miserables, as well as one that is 20 years old from Evita. I just bought my third T-shirts from Cats, as the other two were getting faded. I have every single T-shirt that from Parke County, Ind., the greatest place on Earth. (and I have most of the sweatshirts).
I love my T-shirts. I wish I could wear them to work. Perhaps there are other T-shirt addicts out there who are afraid to discuss their addiction. I say, embrace it and go buy another shirt. I’ll bet I can find one on cafepress.com about blogging. Hum, better go look.
I admit it, I’m a T-shirt accumulator. Wherever I go I get a T-shirt, although not just any T-shirt. I look and look and try and find just the right one to fit my pesonality and the feelings I have about the places I am visiting. I also have an addiction to cafépress.com, where you can get T-shirts (and anything else it seems) with numerous sayings. I love T-shirts with interesting sayings. I have one that shows a rabbit sitting at a school desk looking at a paper with a big F on it. The shirt says “Stop Animal Testing.” I have more dog, cat and horse T-shirts than I can count, including “I’d rather be riding,” and one with Gandhi’s portrait that says, “You can judge a society by the way it treats its animals.” When I took Batman to his first dog show, I was wearing a bright neon green T-shirt with Dog Power on it.
Last weekend I moved all my T-shirts from their winter storage to their summer home in the drawers of my dresser. It occurred to me as I made trip after trip that I might now have enough T-shirts to wear a different one every day for the entire summer. I even have some that have shrunk beyond all wearing (or maybe I just kept growing), but I can’t give them up. Like the one from my freshman year in college when I joined a sorority. I have one that says “Scoop Swaim” that I got as a gift from the staff of a newspaper I worked at one summer while I was in college. There are T-shirts from the Alamo, Baltimore, St. Augustine, San Francisco, Charleston, S.C., and numerous other locations and tourist spots. I have a T-shirt that is 15 years old from Les Miserables, as well as one that is 20 years old from Evita. I just bought my third T-shirts from Cats, as the other two were getting faded. I have every single T-shirt that from Parke County, Ind., the greatest place on Earth. (and I have most of the sweatshirts).
I love my T-shirts. I wish I could wear them to work. Perhaps there are other T-shirt addicts out there who are afraid to discuss their addiction. I say, embrace it and go buy another shirt. I’ll bet I can find one on cafepress.com about blogging. Hum, better go look.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Going back to work so I can rest
I’ve been on vacation for a week and a half and my body is ready to go back to work where it can rest.
These past 10 days I’ve put in two flower gardens, went to work on my mom’s flower garden for Mother’s Day, did yoga, got a bunch of stuff sorted to take to an auction and rode my horse. Having a desk job as an editor for 21 years means I’m not in the best physical shape for hard physical labor. The flower gardens especially were a lot of work. Hopefully, now I can come home in the evenings and relax in my new glider and watch all the bees, butterflies and birds my flowers should attract. I just spent an hour rearranging all the bird feeders so I could see them all from the glider. Someone better show up and start eating or I’m going to be very disappointed.
I made one of the flower gardens a wildlife habitat, or at least as much of a habitat as I can make in the midst of a housing development. We have a big magnolia tree in the front yard with lots of branches. I planted all around it with shade-loving plants and hung two bird feeders, two suet feeders, a feeder for peanut butter, a hummingbird feeder and one hanging bird bath. Another bird bath is off to the side.
The other flower garden is by the driveway and is full of hostas, daylilies and irises. It is also home to a butterfly bush and a plant that is just for humming birds. I forget what it’s called, but it has nice bell shaped flowers. This flower garden also has a small pottery birdbath that I’ve had for five years and have just been waiting for a home for it. See, it does pay to be a pack rat!
I’ve had a hard time sorting things to take to the auction for that very reason. I keep thinking I might need these things some day! But, something has to go. I have more boxes of stuff than will fit in the storage barn and for some reason, Curt actually thinks you are supposed to park a vehicle in the garage rather than fill it with antiques and collectibles and just plain neat stuff. Hopefully, the stuff I’m taking to the auction will at least pay for the new glider, the new porch furniture I want to get (I should say the new Old porch furniture I want to get) and all the plants, mulch, decorative fencing and all those new bird feeders. Not to mention I’m off to a big antique show this coming weekend and will probably find more things I need to buy.
These past 10 days I’ve put in two flower gardens, went to work on my mom’s flower garden for Mother’s Day, did yoga, got a bunch of stuff sorted to take to an auction and rode my horse. Having a desk job as an editor for 21 years means I’m not in the best physical shape for hard physical labor. The flower gardens especially were a lot of work. Hopefully, now I can come home in the evenings and relax in my new glider and watch all the bees, butterflies and birds my flowers should attract. I just spent an hour rearranging all the bird feeders so I could see them all from the glider. Someone better show up and start eating or I’m going to be very disappointed.
I made one of the flower gardens a wildlife habitat, or at least as much of a habitat as I can make in the midst of a housing development. We have a big magnolia tree in the front yard with lots of branches. I planted all around it with shade-loving plants and hung two bird feeders, two suet feeders, a feeder for peanut butter, a hummingbird feeder and one hanging bird bath. Another bird bath is off to the side.
The other flower garden is by the driveway and is full of hostas, daylilies and irises. It is also home to a butterfly bush and a plant that is just for humming birds. I forget what it’s called, but it has nice bell shaped flowers. This flower garden also has a small pottery birdbath that I’ve had for five years and have just been waiting for a home for it. See, it does pay to be a pack rat!
I’ve had a hard time sorting things to take to the auction for that very reason. I keep thinking I might need these things some day! But, something has to go. I have more boxes of stuff than will fit in the storage barn and for some reason, Curt actually thinks you are supposed to park a vehicle in the garage rather than fill it with antiques and collectibles and just plain neat stuff. Hopefully, the stuff I’m taking to the auction will at least pay for the new glider, the new porch furniture I want to get (I should say the new Old porch furniture I want to get) and all the plants, mulch, decorative fencing and all those new bird feeders. Not to mention I’m off to a big antique show this coming weekend and will probably find more things I need to buy.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Always listen to your mother
When I was growing up, Mom was always telling me to stand up straight and not slouch. She said if I didn’t my posture would be a mess. Why don’t we listen to our parents? I was thinking about this as I endured another hour of Movement Specialist Yoga. One of my shoulders is lower than the other one. My shoulders also slope forward. I could hear Mom’s voice in my ear saying, “see you should have listened.”
Now, I’m trying to fix 40+ years of bad posture and a job that keeps me at a computer all day (and because I’m addicted to the computer, I’m sitting at it a lot more than my job even requires). Sigh.
But, everyone assures me that Yoga will be the answer. I will be more flexible. I will learn to sit on the Yoga ball and roll up and down the wall with it. I’m amazed though at how flexible people can become. If I only became a quarter as flexible as my Movement Specialist, then I would be doing great.
The Movement Specialist does crack me up. She is always asking me if I can ‘feel’ this or that muscle group. Feel it? Damn, I didn’t even know there was a muscle there and suddenly I’m stretching it. Of course I feel it.
Now, I’m trying to fix 40+ years of bad posture and a job that keeps me at a computer all day (and because I’m addicted to the computer, I’m sitting at it a lot more than my job even requires). Sigh.
But, everyone assures me that Yoga will be the answer. I will be more flexible. I will learn to sit on the Yoga ball and roll up and down the wall with it. I’m amazed though at how flexible people can become. If I only became a quarter as flexible as my Movement Specialist, then I would be doing great.
The Movement Specialist does crack me up. She is always asking me if I can ‘feel’ this or that muscle group. Feel it? Damn, I didn’t even know there was a muscle there and suddenly I’m stretching it. Of course I feel it.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
How healthy can I afford to be?
I’m beginning to wonder how healthy I can afford to be.
Currently I have a wellness counselor, a chiropractor, a massage therapist and a movement specialist all working to try and make me the best I can be. It all started in January when I went to the doctor and discovered I weighed more than I’ve ever weighed, my blood sugar is steadily creeping upward, my cholesterol is high and my blood pressure could be better. Not to mention my right arm and neck were a mess because after I moved I hadn’t taken the time to find a new chiropractor.
Prior to meeting Curt I probably would have just continued my old lifestyle, which would have been to be totally depressed by the above information, but do nothing about it. However, now I’ve found someone to go canoeing with, and hiking, and someone to hopefully grow old with. So, it seemed I had better begin working on all this or I might not be around to grow old.
I found a chiropractor to work on my back, which is pretty much a mess (well really it’s my neck that’s a mess). She had a massage therapist affiliated with the office so I started going to her to help with the neck mess. I began looking at what I ate. I needed something low in carbs (carbs often become sugar in the blood), low in cholesterol and low in sodium. That seemed to leave water. While I knew I would loose a lot of weight if I just drank water, it seemed an unhealthy choice. I was lamenting my lack of food choices in an email to my extended family. My Aunt Nancy emailed back and said I should talk to the wellness counselor she worked with. I had no idea such professions existed. I was skeptical at first that someone called a wellness counselor could really help me, but I trust my Aunt Nancy.
It turned out to be a good decision. I’ve learned things about greens and grains that I didn’t know and I’m learning about the glycemic index, which in terms of food with carbs is much more important than the actual carb count. I don’t have to give up pasta or rice, but I did change the kind of pastas and rices I eat. No more fast cooking stuff. And I look for whole grain pastas and breads. Plus, the wellness counselor keeps me accountable, but mainly she is my cheerleader, and believe me, everyone needs a cheerleader. I have now tried Kasha and Quinoa, two grains I never heard of before, but which I can now say I enjoy.
Of course buying food that is better for you can be more expensive. It costs 2 to 3 times more to buy food at the health food store than it does at the regular grocery. I realize my meat, grains and veggies are probably much better for me from the health food store, but I am not a money tree. My wellness counselor and I are going shopping and we will figure out what really needs to come from the health food store and what can come from the cheaper grocery.
Then of course I just added the movement specialist, which you can read more about in the post entitled Yoga and Me.
After reviewing my bank account, I have come to the conclusion that all this wellness can’t go on forever, but hopefully, it can go on for the next few months until I can get a better handle on how to be more flexible and eat more healthful food.
I told my wellness counselor this is a lot like getting new carpet in one room of the house. You get the new carpet, then realize you need a new couch and some new paint in that room, then you realize that one room is wonderful, but the rest of the house looks like crap. So, the new carpet leads to redoing an entire house.
But, it is all going to be worth it as yesterday for the first time someone said the magic words, “Connie, are you losing weight?”
Currently I have a wellness counselor, a chiropractor, a massage therapist and a movement specialist all working to try and make me the best I can be. It all started in January when I went to the doctor and discovered I weighed more than I’ve ever weighed, my blood sugar is steadily creeping upward, my cholesterol is high and my blood pressure could be better. Not to mention my right arm and neck were a mess because after I moved I hadn’t taken the time to find a new chiropractor.
Prior to meeting Curt I probably would have just continued my old lifestyle, which would have been to be totally depressed by the above information, but do nothing about it. However, now I’ve found someone to go canoeing with, and hiking, and someone to hopefully grow old with. So, it seemed I had better begin working on all this or I might not be around to grow old.
I found a chiropractor to work on my back, which is pretty much a mess (well really it’s my neck that’s a mess). She had a massage therapist affiliated with the office so I started going to her to help with the neck mess. I began looking at what I ate. I needed something low in carbs (carbs often become sugar in the blood), low in cholesterol and low in sodium. That seemed to leave water. While I knew I would loose a lot of weight if I just drank water, it seemed an unhealthy choice. I was lamenting my lack of food choices in an email to my extended family. My Aunt Nancy emailed back and said I should talk to the wellness counselor she worked with. I had no idea such professions existed. I was skeptical at first that someone called a wellness counselor could really help me, but I trust my Aunt Nancy.
It turned out to be a good decision. I’ve learned things about greens and grains that I didn’t know and I’m learning about the glycemic index, which in terms of food with carbs is much more important than the actual carb count. I don’t have to give up pasta or rice, but I did change the kind of pastas and rices I eat. No more fast cooking stuff. And I look for whole grain pastas and breads. Plus, the wellness counselor keeps me accountable, but mainly she is my cheerleader, and believe me, everyone needs a cheerleader. I have now tried Kasha and Quinoa, two grains I never heard of before, but which I can now say I enjoy.
Of course buying food that is better for you can be more expensive. It costs 2 to 3 times more to buy food at the health food store than it does at the regular grocery. I realize my meat, grains and veggies are probably much better for me from the health food store, but I am not a money tree. My wellness counselor and I are going shopping and we will figure out what really needs to come from the health food store and what can come from the cheaper grocery.
Then of course I just added the movement specialist, which you can read more about in the post entitled Yoga and Me.
After reviewing my bank account, I have come to the conclusion that all this wellness can’t go on forever, but hopefully, it can go on for the next few months until I can get a better handle on how to be more flexible and eat more healthful food.
I told my wellness counselor this is a lot like getting new carpet in one room of the house. You get the new carpet, then realize you need a new couch and some new paint in that room, then you realize that one room is wonderful, but the rest of the house looks like crap. So, the new carpet leads to redoing an entire house.
But, it is all going to be worth it as yesterday for the first time someone said the magic words, “Connie, are you losing weight?”
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Saying goodbye to my house
I sold my house yesterday. It was a bittersweet event. I bought the house in 1994. I was in the midst of a divorce. So, I ended up doing the three things rated most stressful for Americans all at the same time: Divorce, buying a house and moving. Why draw the stress out I say! I just did it all at once.
It was great having a house that was mine. I got the mortgage all on my own. No one could tell me whether I could have a dog or not. On the other hand, when something broke, I couldn’t call the landlord and say, “hey can you fix the plumbing?” I discovered I’m a lousy carpenter. If you own an old house (and this one was built in the 1880s), it helps if you can at least hammer a nail. So, for me the house turned into a constant battle and I discovered I wasn’t very happy living alone. It was a very small town. I didn’t know anyone there, I didn’t really have any close friends. Sometimes I relished my independence and aloneness and other days I despaired. I spent endless summer afternoons and evenings curled up in the porch swing reading a book. I also sat on the floor crying when I came home from a business trip, found out the back door had blown open during sub zero weather and the pipes had frozen and burst in the basement causing a shower of water to gush and subsequently freeze all over everything in the basement. Thank heavens I had heeded my brother Andy’s advice and installed a shut off valve. Prior to that, to shut off the water to the house you needed an 8ft pole and the ability to move a man hole cover in the front yard.
The house is in a very small town, but it had a grocery store, a liquor store, a small restaurant and a place that delivered pizza. What more could a person need? The liquor store did not carry wine when I moved to town, but they started carrying it for me. I would walk down with my dogs and the liquor store owner would invite them in for a beef jerky. The dogs probably could have gone down and picked up the wine themselves, they loved that jerky. I almost always walked the five blocks to the grocery store and I would carry a canvas tote for my groceries, but I could never convince the grocery store owner that I didn’t need the plastic bags and the whole point of the canvas bag was to conserve. She always insisted on bagging everything in plastic and then carefully putting it in the canvas tote.
My cat Ananka wandered in off the street when I lived in that house and I adopted my dog Sparkles when I lived there. There were some great parties had there also.
But, one day a relative became ill and I moved into the relative’s house and I never went back to my house. (It’s a long and complicated story). I put my house on the market. That was six years ago. It didn’t sell the first time I had it on the market, or the second or third. Between attempts to sell it, I rented it out. If I thought I was a lousy carpenter, I was even worse at being a landlord. You need to be tough, be constantly on patrol of the property, and have the ability to get mean with renters. I was of the opinion that if I treated people fairly and gave them their own space, etc., they would treat my property nicely. I was wrong – four times. It turns out I’m a horrible judge of character. One man I let move in with one dog, ended up having a kennel with 12 dogs in a tiny back yard. It cost several thousand dollars to clean up the yard after he moved out. Another renter ignored the six page renter’s contract that said “DO NOT PAINT” the original woodwork or fixtures and painted the black slate fireplace mantel and surround purple along with purple paint for the oak window seat.
So, the house became a burden. I couldn’t sell it, I couldn’t get renters that didn’t cause headaches. Then one day, one of my employees said she was getting a divorce and was my house still for sale? It seems fated now to be the first home of strong women in the midst of divorce. So, I feel better knowing who is buying it, but still sad that I didn’t do more with it. At least I am no longer worried about what the renters are doing.
It was great having a house that was mine. I got the mortgage all on my own. No one could tell me whether I could have a dog or not. On the other hand, when something broke, I couldn’t call the landlord and say, “hey can you fix the plumbing?” I discovered I’m a lousy carpenter. If you own an old house (and this one was built in the 1880s), it helps if you can at least hammer a nail. So, for me the house turned into a constant battle and I discovered I wasn’t very happy living alone. It was a very small town. I didn’t know anyone there, I didn’t really have any close friends. Sometimes I relished my independence and aloneness and other days I despaired. I spent endless summer afternoons and evenings curled up in the porch swing reading a book. I also sat on the floor crying when I came home from a business trip, found out the back door had blown open during sub zero weather and the pipes had frozen and burst in the basement causing a shower of water to gush and subsequently freeze all over everything in the basement. Thank heavens I had heeded my brother Andy’s advice and installed a shut off valve. Prior to that, to shut off the water to the house you needed an 8ft pole and the ability to move a man hole cover in the front yard.
The house is in a very small town, but it had a grocery store, a liquor store, a small restaurant and a place that delivered pizza. What more could a person need? The liquor store did not carry wine when I moved to town, but they started carrying it for me. I would walk down with my dogs and the liquor store owner would invite them in for a beef jerky. The dogs probably could have gone down and picked up the wine themselves, they loved that jerky. I almost always walked the five blocks to the grocery store and I would carry a canvas tote for my groceries, but I could never convince the grocery store owner that I didn’t need the plastic bags and the whole point of the canvas bag was to conserve. She always insisted on bagging everything in plastic and then carefully putting it in the canvas tote.
My cat Ananka wandered in off the street when I lived in that house and I adopted my dog Sparkles when I lived there. There were some great parties had there also.
But, one day a relative became ill and I moved into the relative’s house and I never went back to my house. (It’s a long and complicated story). I put my house on the market. That was six years ago. It didn’t sell the first time I had it on the market, or the second or third. Between attempts to sell it, I rented it out. If I thought I was a lousy carpenter, I was even worse at being a landlord. You need to be tough, be constantly on patrol of the property, and have the ability to get mean with renters. I was of the opinion that if I treated people fairly and gave them their own space, etc., they would treat my property nicely. I was wrong – four times. It turns out I’m a horrible judge of character. One man I let move in with one dog, ended up having a kennel with 12 dogs in a tiny back yard. It cost several thousand dollars to clean up the yard after he moved out. Another renter ignored the six page renter’s contract that said “DO NOT PAINT” the original woodwork or fixtures and painted the black slate fireplace mantel and surround purple along with purple paint for the oak window seat.
So, the house became a burden. I couldn’t sell it, I couldn’t get renters that didn’t cause headaches. Then one day, one of my employees said she was getting a divorce and was my house still for sale? It seems fated now to be the first home of strong women in the midst of divorce. So, I feel better knowing who is buying it, but still sad that I didn’t do more with it. At least I am no longer worried about what the renters are doing.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Yoga and Me
I went to my first yoga session yesterday. I didn’t even know I was going to yoga. My chiropractor recommended going to the “movement specialist” who works out of their office. My neck is a mess. The chiropractor thought the movement specialist could help.
“Have you ever done yoga,” the nice lady said. ‘
“Um, no,” I stammered as I noticed her shoes were off and there were mats on the floor. I suddenly wondered if my feet might smell really bad if I had to take my shoes off. Also, the room was really small and I have personal space issues. But, I committed myself earlier this year to trying to improve my mind, body and health. So, I took my shoes off and just hoped I didn’t have the first stinky feet she had ever smelled. It is hard to focus though on being calm and relaxed if you are trying to smell your feet.
I’m the first to admit I’m a serious type A personality. I’m uptight, stressed, you name it. I’m a mess. After an hour of yoga I discovered I’m also about as limber as a brick. I feel absolutely certain that I used to be young and limber and somehow now I’m older, fatter, and far less limber. It did not help that the yoga instructor appeared to be older than I am and she could bend better than Gumby.
I threw myself into the session with as positive of an attitude as I could muster. After all, on Sunday, I discovered I could not mount my horse without a mounting block. My legs do not bend enough to get one leg in the stirrup and then have enough limber left to swing the other leg over Cisco’s back. So, it’s either become more limber, get a shorter horse or never, ever get off during a ride.
The yoga instructor was great. She did her best not to make me feel like a complete and utter failure. She told me everyone is different, at “our age” no one is as limber as they once were unless they have been working on it, etc. I’m thinking, “yeah, I’m old, fat, and move like a brick.” I can tell I need to work on my inner being.
At the end she asked me to lay on the floor and she covered my eyes with some kind of warm, sage smelling thing. She covered me with a blanket and told me to practice breathing (where was she at the dog show a few weeks ago when I kept forgetting to breath). I was supposed to push my air to my various limbs. I was supposed to clear my mind. I was still worried about my stinky feet and how the hell I was ever going to get my butt back up off the floor. Like I said, my inner being still has a long way to go.
But, I’m going back. Maybe I can work up from a brick to a piece of at least clay.
And if you see me and you notice I’m hunching my shoulders up to my ears and I look tense and I’m not breathing, please calmly say, “breath Connie, breath.”
“Have you ever done yoga,” the nice lady said. ‘
“Um, no,” I stammered as I noticed her shoes were off and there were mats on the floor. I suddenly wondered if my feet might smell really bad if I had to take my shoes off. Also, the room was really small and I have personal space issues. But, I committed myself earlier this year to trying to improve my mind, body and health. So, I took my shoes off and just hoped I didn’t have the first stinky feet she had ever smelled. It is hard to focus though on being calm and relaxed if you are trying to smell your feet.
I’m the first to admit I’m a serious type A personality. I’m uptight, stressed, you name it. I’m a mess. After an hour of yoga I discovered I’m also about as limber as a brick. I feel absolutely certain that I used to be young and limber and somehow now I’m older, fatter, and far less limber. It did not help that the yoga instructor appeared to be older than I am and she could bend better than Gumby.
I threw myself into the session with as positive of an attitude as I could muster. After all, on Sunday, I discovered I could not mount my horse without a mounting block. My legs do not bend enough to get one leg in the stirrup and then have enough limber left to swing the other leg over Cisco’s back. So, it’s either become more limber, get a shorter horse or never, ever get off during a ride.
The yoga instructor was great. She did her best not to make me feel like a complete and utter failure. She told me everyone is different, at “our age” no one is as limber as they once were unless they have been working on it, etc. I’m thinking, “yeah, I’m old, fat, and move like a brick.” I can tell I need to work on my inner being.
At the end she asked me to lay on the floor and she covered my eyes with some kind of warm, sage smelling thing. She covered me with a blanket and told me to practice breathing (where was she at the dog show a few weeks ago when I kept forgetting to breath). I was supposed to push my air to my various limbs. I was supposed to clear my mind. I was still worried about my stinky feet and how the hell I was ever going to get my butt back up off the floor. Like I said, my inner being still has a long way to go.
But, I’m going back. Maybe I can work up from a brick to a piece of at least clay.
And if you see me and you notice I’m hunching my shoulders up to my ears and I look tense and I’m not breathing, please calmly say, “breath Connie, breath.”
Sunday, April 29, 2007
ah, the aroma of a horse
I called a friend on Saturday and told him I had horse manure on my boots, there was hay in my hair and I was covered in loose horse hair. "You've got to be ecstatic," was his reply. And I was. I grew up on a farm and though its been 25 years since I last lived there, I still most identify with the farm life and I miss it. I am happiest if I can be in the barn, even if it is cleaning stalls.
After almost six months of being separated from Cisco, my horse, I moved him to a new home on Saturday. While, it will never be the same as owning my own place in the country, economically, this is the best I can do at this time. He is now close enough for me to visit more often and I think we are going to love the place.
Unfortunately, we moved in on a day when everyone on the place was getting ready for their first horse show of the season. After hours of activity, everyone loaded up on horse trailers and was gone. Cisco and I, plus the other boarded horses, were left alone. So, for a while it was my own place.
After several hours of just letting Cisco get used to the new place, I saddled him up and we took a short ride. It was sunny, 72 degrees and a breeze, what more could a person ask for?
Connie
After almost six months of being separated from Cisco, my horse, I moved him to a new home on Saturday. While, it will never be the same as owning my own place in the country, economically, this is the best I can do at this time. He is now close enough for me to visit more often and I think we are going to love the place.
Unfortunately, we moved in on a day when everyone on the place was getting ready for their first horse show of the season. After hours of activity, everyone loaded up on horse trailers and was gone. Cisco and I, plus the other boarded horses, were left alone. So, for a while it was my own place.
After several hours of just letting Cisco get used to the new place, I saddled him up and we took a short ride. It was sunny, 72 degrees and a breeze, what more could a person ask for?
Connie
Friday, April 27, 2007
Feeding a raw diet to dogs
If you had told me a year ago that I would find myself up to my wrists in bloody chicken backs, I would have told you, you were crazy. I don't do raw chicken. It's slimy and you can get sick. So, what do I do? I fall in love with a man who feeds his dogs raw chicken. I didn't even know people fed their dogs raw food. I thought everyone went to the grocery store and bought a bag of dog food. But, it turns out feeding a raw diet is something quite a few people do, especially people who do a lot of dog sports.
Once Batman found out there was an option of raw chicken on the menu, he never looked back at dry food. I have learned a lot about raw diets, but can't claim to be an expert. To read more, see my friend Laura's Canines in Action website in my links list. I do know you have to feed raw bones, not cooked. Cooked bones can splinter. Also, you have to give the dogs some vegetables to mimic the food they would have found in the intestines of an herbivore. We make something we call Veggi Goo. It is actually something I should probably eat. We take Collard Greens, Kale, parsley, carrots and lettuce and mix it into liquid in a blender and put a generous dollop on the dog's feed each day.
People often ask me know about Batman's coat. How do I get him so shiny? How do I get him so soft? It's the raw diet. It also makes his teeth nice and white (crunching the chicken bones) and it strengthens his jaws. Feeding raw also helps eliminate a lot of odor problems with dog waste and there is less to clean up in the yard. For those who don't want to mess with raw chicken, there are raw diets that come in a package. Laura has a lot about the Bravo diet on her website.
I do have to admit that the first time I stuck my hand into a thawing mass of raw chicken backs I gagged. And, if Curt leaves them out thawing too long, the smell is awful. I did insist on a few changes. The raw chicken can only be in one spot in the kitchen and absolutely nothing else ever goes in that area. Before I moved in, I discovered Curt would sit other food or dishes on the same counter as the raw chicken. Ick. Now, all surfaces must be wiped down with antibacterial, bleach wipes too when raw chicken is moved in and out. I also wear latex gloves when I bag up the chicken. We buy in bulk frozen, so we have to thaw it and then repackage it in freezer bags.
Batman, who is a little guy at 35 pounds, eats one chicken back a day. (OK and sometimes he might get treats). My dog sport friends say he is still a little on the heavy side, but I like him the way he is just fine. I have tried getting treats with fewer calories though. Although Batman says they aren't as good.
So, if you haven't tried a raw diet for your dog (or cat) you might consider it. It is very good for dogs with allergy problems.
Connie
Once Batman found out there was an option of raw chicken on the menu, he never looked back at dry food. I have learned a lot about raw diets, but can't claim to be an expert. To read more, see my friend Laura's Canines in Action website in my links list. I do know you have to feed raw bones, not cooked. Cooked bones can splinter. Also, you have to give the dogs some vegetables to mimic the food they would have found in the intestines of an herbivore. We make something we call Veggi Goo. It is actually something I should probably eat. We take Collard Greens, Kale, parsley, carrots and lettuce and mix it into liquid in a blender and put a generous dollop on the dog's feed each day.
People often ask me know about Batman's coat. How do I get him so shiny? How do I get him so soft? It's the raw diet. It also makes his teeth nice and white (crunching the chicken bones) and it strengthens his jaws. Feeding raw also helps eliminate a lot of odor problems with dog waste and there is less to clean up in the yard. For those who don't want to mess with raw chicken, there are raw diets that come in a package. Laura has a lot about the Bravo diet on her website.
I do have to admit that the first time I stuck my hand into a thawing mass of raw chicken backs I gagged. And, if Curt leaves them out thawing too long, the smell is awful. I did insist on a few changes. The raw chicken can only be in one spot in the kitchen and absolutely nothing else ever goes in that area. Before I moved in, I discovered Curt would sit other food or dishes on the same counter as the raw chicken. Ick. Now, all surfaces must be wiped down with antibacterial, bleach wipes too when raw chicken is moved in and out. I also wear latex gloves when I bag up the chicken. We buy in bulk frozen, so we have to thaw it and then repackage it in freezer bags.
Batman, who is a little guy at 35 pounds, eats one chicken back a day. (OK and sometimes he might get treats). My dog sport friends say he is still a little on the heavy side, but I like him the way he is just fine. I have tried getting treats with fewer calories though. Although Batman says they aren't as good.
So, if you haven't tried a raw diet for your dog (or cat) you might consider it. It is very good for dogs with allergy problems.
Connie
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Who is Batman
Batman is my trusty dog sidekick. I cannot remember a time when I did not have a pet. My parents were always yelling at me because of all the strays I brought home (really mom, that kitten did follow me home). We lived in an area that was a prime dumping ground for unwanted pets. They were all the best pets I ever had, so I continue the tradition. Batman came from the Indianapolis Humane Society. He picked me. I generally go for terriers or border collie mixes. But, Batman looked so pathetic in his cage and he gave me such a hopeful look that I took him out for a walk. When I kneeled down to pet him, he jumped up, put a paw on each shoulder laid his head down by my head and sighed really loud. I had to get him.
He is my first foray into dog training. While three of my past dogs went to basic obedience, Batman and I go to regular dog training each week (twice a week even), where we practice the elements for a sport called Schutzhund. See my links or Wikipedia for information on the sport. I have never had so much fun. Batman is really smart (if I do say so myself). He is actually much better than I am at dog training. I have learned that handler error accounts for most dog mistakes. Luckily, Batman is a forgiving sort. He just wants to be with me and be doing something.
So far, it's tons of fun and he just won his first ribbon at an Companion Dog Sport Program trial. I was very proud of the little guy.
Connie
He is my first foray into dog training. While three of my past dogs went to basic obedience, Batman and I go to regular dog training each week (twice a week even), where we practice the elements for a sport called Schutzhund. See my links or Wikipedia for information on the sport. I have never had so much fun. Batman is really smart (if I do say so myself). He is actually much better than I am at dog training. I have learned that handler error accounts for most dog mistakes. Luckily, Batman is a forgiving sort. He just wants to be with me and be doing something.
So far, it's tons of fun and he just won his first ribbon at an Companion Dog Sport Program trial. I was very proud of the little guy.
Connie
Cisco
I moved in November and haven't ridden my horse, Cisco, since then. He was just far enough away that it made getting to his stable to ride difficult. This Saturday, he moves to his new home, which is much closer to me. I can't wait to see him again. The story of how I came to get him is an important one (at least to me) and one I would like to share.
My parents say my first sentence was "I want a pony." Since I got my first pony at 5, I guess I must have said that sentence a lot. Everyone told my parents that all little girls wanted a pony and I would outgrow it. But, I didn't. After I outgrew the first pony, I got another bigger, faster one. Then I got my first horse and later a second one. Then, I went to college. I had grand dreams, as most of us do. I would graduate, get a job, move to a house in the country, take my horse. But, my senior year in college reality set in. I would have to be poor for awhile. Rent places, not live in the country. So, I found a home for my beloved horse, Buck. It just didn't seem fair to have my parents care for him when I would never be around.
But, I told my self, "someday" I'll afford that farm and get a horse again. Flash forward 20 years. My Dad started not feeling well. He had all kinds of strange and changing symptoms. Three hospitals and numerous doctors failed to figure out what was going on. We finally got Dad to the Cleveland Clinic where I first learned of the Creutzfeldt Jacob Disease (CJD). One in 2.5 million people get it. That's why no one could diagnose it, plus, you can only really diagnose it with a brain biopsy. There is no cure or treatment. One of the last full sentences that my Dad ever said was, "I thought I would live a long life." He was 62 when he died. Between his first symptom and his death about 45 days had passed.
His sudden death made my brothers and I stop and reevaluate our lives. What if we didn't have much time. What would we regret not doing. My dad regretted he never got that motor home and drove all over the country antiquing. I began to think more about my horse. What if 'someday' never came? What if I never got that place in the country?
I began looking at the cost of A. buying a horse and B. boarding a horse. Boarding turned out to be within my budget. As I was trying to figure out where to come up with the money to buy a horse, I went to an auction and happened upon a box of vintage felt advertising pennants. Included in the box was a 1912 Indianapolis 500 pennant. I threw it up on eBay thinking I might get a few hundred dollars. It ended at $1,500, the same night I got a call from a friend of a friend who heard I was looking for a horse. He had one for $1,200. That was Cisco.
I'm not into horse shows or events. I just like to go out and get on Cisco and ride around the country looking at the sights. He may not be the best trained horse and I may not be the best rider, but together we have fun.
It's been almost seven years since Dad died and six and a half years since I got Cisco. I still try and live my life for today and try not to put off things for tomorrow. So many people have their dreams and for one reason or another they never fulfill them. So, stop today and ask yourself what you would most regret not doing with your life and then see if you can do it. You'll be glad you did.
Connie
My parents say my first sentence was "I want a pony." Since I got my first pony at 5, I guess I must have said that sentence a lot. Everyone told my parents that all little girls wanted a pony and I would outgrow it. But, I didn't. After I outgrew the first pony, I got another bigger, faster one. Then I got my first horse and later a second one. Then, I went to college. I had grand dreams, as most of us do. I would graduate, get a job, move to a house in the country, take my horse. But, my senior year in college reality set in. I would have to be poor for awhile. Rent places, not live in the country. So, I found a home for my beloved horse, Buck. It just didn't seem fair to have my parents care for him when I would never be around.
But, I told my self, "someday" I'll afford that farm and get a horse again. Flash forward 20 years. My Dad started not feeling well. He had all kinds of strange and changing symptoms. Three hospitals and numerous doctors failed to figure out what was going on. We finally got Dad to the Cleveland Clinic where I first learned of the Creutzfeldt Jacob Disease (CJD). One in 2.5 million people get it. That's why no one could diagnose it, plus, you can only really diagnose it with a brain biopsy. There is no cure or treatment. One of the last full sentences that my Dad ever said was, "I thought I would live a long life." He was 62 when he died. Between his first symptom and his death about 45 days had passed.
His sudden death made my brothers and I stop and reevaluate our lives. What if we didn't have much time. What would we regret not doing. My dad regretted he never got that motor home and drove all over the country antiquing. I began to think more about my horse. What if 'someday' never came? What if I never got that place in the country?
I began looking at the cost of A. buying a horse and B. boarding a horse. Boarding turned out to be within my budget. As I was trying to figure out where to come up with the money to buy a horse, I went to an auction and happened upon a box of vintage felt advertising pennants. Included in the box was a 1912 Indianapolis 500 pennant. I threw it up on eBay thinking I might get a few hundred dollars. It ended at $1,500, the same night I got a call from a friend of a friend who heard I was looking for a horse. He had one for $1,200. That was Cisco.
I'm not into horse shows or events. I just like to go out and get on Cisco and ride around the country looking at the sights. He may not be the best trained horse and I may not be the best rider, but together we have fun.
It's been almost seven years since Dad died and six and a half years since I got Cisco. I still try and live my life for today and try not to put off things for tomorrow. So many people have their dreams and for one reason or another they never fulfill them. So, stop today and ask yourself what you would most regret not doing with your life and then see if you can do it. You'll be glad you did.
Connie
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