“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.
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