Dear Santa Paws

     I have been a really good dog.  

     I have learned to sort of not do my business in the house.

     I have shredded lots of things....that is what dogs do and I work very hard at doing it right.

     I have only rolled in the most delectable things that I have found outside, although Mom and Dad do not always agree on this.

     I try really hard to be nice to Tigger the cat.  I only bite him when it is appropriate.

     I only bark when it is necessary, morning time, afternoon time and night time.

     I have learned lots of tricks.  I can sit, but not stay very well, shake hands, lay down, roll over and stand pretty on my back legs...which I think is silly, but I still do it.

     I have done my very best to chase the Nasty Cat out of the yard. He is really mean and does not need any presents.

     Mom has brought a tree into the house and I have not yet used it for its intended purpose.... she did hang some really neat bells on the bottom of it, but I don't know why.

     I am very nice to all the humans that come into my house.  I jump on them over and over and over again to make them feel welcomed.  Plus, I make sure they leave with some white dog hair on their apparel.

     Mom told me the Christmas story, about the little baby in the manger who came to make things better for us all.  I hope he likes dogs.

     Mom said that I could write you a letter and tell you all the things I want for Christmas but I can't think of anything I really need.  I have a nice home and I love my peeps very much.  They provide just about everything I need to get through the day....food and water in my bowls and a warm lap to sit in and sometimes, Santa, I get to sleep in their bed.....all night!...that is most special!

     I guess maybe I do need something because today I got a really bad ow-wee.  I was playing fetch with my favorite red collar.  I was running as fast as I can run, to catch my red collar, but forgot to watch were I was going.  I ran right into the edge of the doorway going out of the kitchen.  It hurt really bad and I spent all day looking sad, pitiful and wrapped up in a blanket.  So, Santa, if it is not too much trouble, I would like a doorway bumper pad.

     And maybe just one more thing, Santa.  Dad has to leave soon and Mom says he will be gone for quite awhile.  I will miss him.  If you could, make sure Dad finds a place that likes dogs.....and cats.

     Thank-you in advance and Merry Christmas to you!

     Yours Most Sheddingly,

      Runtly 

     

     

      

Here We Go.......Again?

     Once upon a time, there was a wasp.  The wasp was sitting on a wooden hand rail, eating something sweet.  I do not recall exactly what it was eating, but I found it rather fascinating.  I went into the house and returned with a small amount of jelly on a spoon.  I took my finger and placed a bit of the jelly in front of the wasp.  To my delight, the wasp eagerly devoured the jelly.  I gave the wasp more jelly and again, the wasp ate it.  I continued to do this, thinking how cool it was to be feeding a wasp, until something happened.......The wasp stung me.

     If my memory serves me right, I believe that was the last time I was ever stung.  I had learned a valuable lesson.......do not test the laws of nature.  The laws of the universe were set into motion for a reason.  They keep things in order.  They do not hold within them prejudice or preference, they simply exist.  They do not care if we break them because they will continue on, as they have done since the beginning, throughout infinity

     I'm breaking one of my new year's resolutions, to stay out of stuff in the news.  With the recent rampage in California, I can't help but tip toe through the politically correct mess this country is in.  If a spade is a spade, then it should not be called a diamond, club, heart, rake or a hoe.  It's a spade.  If we play with fire, eventually we will get burned.  If we continue to think we can rationalize with folks who DO NOT share our way of life or belief systems and use all means of force to prove it, we will continue to be found holding the short end of the stick.  If we continue to cry for gun control, then by all means, throw nuts, bolts, screws, nails, galvanized pipe, pressure cookers, remote controlled cars, backpacks and a can of green beans into the mix.  If there was ever a call for confiscation of our weapons, by what means do you think they would take them?

     We know the tree by the fruit it produces.  The same is true with people, by their fruits we shall know them.  Actions speak louder than words. 

     Kevin Richardson, the guy who plays with lions, knows full well the danger he may find himself in some day.  He knows that he is testing the laws.  The late Steve Irwin, who spent and gave his life with all kinds of wildlife, also knew he was pushing the envelope on the laws of nature.  If Steve was still around today, I believe we would hear him saying, "Danger, danger, danger!"

Never The Same

     The holiday season is upon us.  That time of the year when we think it is necessary to consume more carbohydrates in thirty days than we have the entire eleven months prior.  A time when many people lose whatever was left of their grey matter and stand in line for hours, to purchase some new gadget that will lose its luster in another thirty days.   A time to bring on unnecessary stress.  A time for trees, lights and music that have been neatly tucked away in the attic, closet, garage or basement. 
     
     For most, it is a happy time of the year as they anticipate seeing friends and family that have been far away.  Or the excitement of seeing young faces filled with joy when they realize someone really did read their list.  A time of magic and wonder.

     Then, there are those who would rather fast forward to the first part of a new year, bypassing all the hubbub.  Those who have lost. Their loss comes in many forms.  It could be the loss of a loved one, through death or the fact that they just up and left.  It could be the loss of a dear friendship due to some silly misunderstanding.  It could be the loss of a job that has left them with a daunting feeling of not knowing what lies before them.  

     For whatever reason they suffer, the pieces of their hearts have been rearranged.  There are tiny gaps, or gaping holes, between the pieces that never quite fit back together.  They try to put on a happy face, but on the inside they are like the picture hanging on the wall. The picture that is just a little off kilter.  They straighten it, for outward appearances, but it does not take long for it to shift out of line.  They are like the stick of butter that has been allowed to melt on the dish and then put back into the refrigerator.  It's still butter, but it's not quite the same.

     Remember these people.  Keep their best interests in mind when it seems necessary to talk about our own good fortune.  Listen and be sincere if they feel the need to let some of their sorrow slip between the cracks and drip into the open.  Remember the reason for the season and be grateful because those who have lost are never the same.

The Ladder

     Surfing the TV channels, I ran across a show about archaeology. Since I like this subject, which is odd because history was another of my un-favorite subjects, I pushed the select button on the remote. 

     The show was about some ancient civilizations, previously unknown, that had been lost for many millennium.  It seemed to go along with a book I had read about how archaeologists had discovered remnants of the humans species, several hundreds of thousands of years old, that were anatomically correct.  Meaning, they looked pretty much the same as the rest of us do today, albeit, they were probably thinner.  This particular piece of information shreds the missing link theory because.... there is no missing link.
But, discussion about from where we descended is fodder for another day.

     These archaeologists had unearthed not only grave sites, but entire ancient cities.  These once thriving communities had dates of 4000 to 6000 B.C. and were far more sophisticated than anyone thought possible for that time period.  While doing all this excavation, the scientists had stumbled onto something they did not think was possible for this era in time.  

     The graves that they had explored told stories of the time these people had lived.  Some graves were very simple and some were extremely ornate, with many pieces of gold jewelry and other gold items.  Lo and behold!  The archaeologists had unearthed social status!  They were amazed, because they really believed that when humans lived that long ago, they all lived on an equal scale.....one for all and all for one.

     I pushed the off button, while the experts were still scratching their heads, and began to ponder on this incredible find.  If social status was alive and well thousands of years ago, what makes modern man think they can change that?  

     I'm all about equality, to a point.  Yes, we are all born equal, so to speak.  Mostly, we have the same chances and opportunities laid out before us.  What we do with those things is what makes the difference.  We can choose to grab the bull by the horns and make the very most of what life has to offer......or we can sit on our haunches and watch the world go by without doing one single thing.

     If we choose the latter, then no amount of encouragement, money, grants, whatever, is going to make a difference in our outcome.  If we do not like where we are in our social status, or life in general,  then it is up to the individual to do something about it.  Whining about how unfair things are and expecting someone else to do something about an unfortunate plight in life, is, ludicrous.  Pouring endless amounts of energy and money into making sure everyone has "stuff" to make them feel equal, or important, is like remodeling a house and not fixing the four square foot hole in the roof.

     There are doers and there are watchers and, according to the ancient archaeological digs, there always have been.  The only thing that will change this is when people start using the grey matter between their ears to decide if they really want to do what it takes to climb the ladder..... and learn to be kind in the process.

     These incredible finds were in the lands of the Middle East......where, basically, we all came from.  Unfortunately, some whack jobs have probably blown the smithereens out of the digs so the truth cannot be passed on to the next generation.  But, before I turned the TV off, there was also mention of a drastic climate change that may have led to the demise of the old civilization.  As far as I know, they had not unearthed a 6500 B.C. Studebaker to place the blame on.

   
     


 

Encroaching Darkness

     It is very quiet this morning.  Even the 4:30 a.m. train did not seem to make as much noise as usual.  There are no stars, at least none that are visible, only clouds, left over from the last two days of rain.  It is unseasonably warm and the breeze feels soft on my face.  It tries to tell me spring is in the air, but I know better, after all, it's past the middle of November.

     I stand in the darkness and look to the south.  The cloud cover is just right to allow me to see the lights of St. Louis, Missouri reflecting on its ceiling.  This always fascinates me.  To drive there is nearly a two hour trip.  As the crow flies though, it is only about eighty miles.

     I look at the reflected light and I wonder.  I wonder if somewhere in France there is a small town that can see the lights of Paris eighty miles away.  There probably is.  I think about the recent bloodshed in the 'City of Light' and the thought leaves me with a sense of bewilderment.  What did it solve?  What did it prove?  

     My thoughts turn to reasoning.  I am a peace maker.  I do not like conflict and will go out of my way to smooth rough waters. But, in order to reason, there has to be willing parties on both sides. People whose main slogan is "Death to the Infidels" do not leave much bargaining room on the table.  There is only one way and it is their way.......period.

     Mother always said that young men make good soldiers because they are not afraid.  The ages of the extremist tells the story of impressionable minds.  Minds that have been fed propaganda of death and destruction and that anyone who does not follow their belief system needs to be destroyed.  They use fear as their most powerful weapon.  They are no different than a derelict who beats an animal into submission.  They breed hatred among themselves and their victims. 

     I think about all the thousands who have risked and lost their lives trying to get someplace where they are not afraid.  I cannot imagine what that must be like. To stand and see your child's lifeless body washed up on a foreign sandy beach because that risk was the only option available has to be indescribable heartbreak. 

    The universe works in mysterious ways.  Order comes out of chaos.  Things happen for a reason.  My hope is that the order comes soon, before the seeds of darkness that are being planted take root.  I do not know if I would stand and fight, or flee in fear. But I do know this, I don't want to find out.

Dog Years

     The time is fast approaching the end of the first year of the dog.  The tiny white puppy that graced our home last Christmas.  Much has happened since that time.

     There are times I  have to remind myself that I really wanted a dog.  Times like finding the roll of toilet paper strung from one end of the house to the other, shredded into tiny bits.  Or realizing that as we entered the house from a recent walk, he had successfully snatched a piece of dried manure, usually from a feline source, and then wants to play 'catch me if you can'.   Even the time I found the chewed up ink pen on the white comforter made me second guess my sanity at wanting a dog.

     But, as these words flow from my fingertips, I can think of far more times that this dog has brought joy, happiness and laughter into this home.  Those times outweigh his mischievous antics.

     I have even tried to convince myself that I got lots more things done before the year of the dog.  After all, it is like having a four legged toddler in the house.  A living ball of energy whom makes it necessary to know his whereabouts at all times.   I was even going to prove this point by checking on last years' business records, but I was wrong, sales are up.  In fact, I have actually accomplished more this past year than I thought possible.

     Runtly, the Jack Russel Terrier, has past his first birthday.  In dog years, compared to human years, that makes him eight years old.  I guess that figure comes from the fact than an animal physically develops so much faster than the supposed smartest species of the planet, us.  

     I think there is another reason for this gauge of longevity measurement.  Since dogs, or any animal, have no time keeping method, they do not have a clue as to what day it is......nor do they care.  Most of us have experienced one of those times when we have taken a long nap, wake up and then wonder what day it is.  I knew someone, a long time ago, that did this very thing and upon awakening, demanded to know why the sun was rising in the west......Anyway, every time Runtly wakes from a nap, of which he takes several throughout the day, it is a brand new day to him. So, if my math is correct, which it often is not, a dog year consists of 2920 days.  If the dog naps eight times a day, the dog has experienced 8 days to our one and therefore by the end of the year, the dog has lived 8 years.  That makes perfect sense to me.

     Every waking moment for Runtly is a happy one.  There are things to do, things to explore and he does not have one thing to worry about.  We should probably learn something from this.  That it is much better to be happy than to worry.  That it is much more fun to explore and play than to sit around and stew over some useless tidbit that has no real bearing on our life or maybe is not really any of our business in the first place.

     Happiness does not come from an outside source, but there are things that can take place to make us realize how easy it can be to choose being happy.  Like when I woke the other morning, looked in the mirror and thought, "Oh, great, another white hair in my eyebrow.".  Then I discovered it was a dog hair, that indeed made me happy.

Under The Cover Of Darkness

     Since I'm trying to make a new schedule for getting things done during the day, week, month, I thought getting up earlier would be a good place to start.  Adding a couple more waking hours to my day would surely allow me to get more accomplished. 

     Going outside, with a steaming cup of hot tea, before the sun rises, is one of my most favorite things to do, regardless of the weather.  I may be wasting part of the extra waking hours I gained, but for me, there is no better time to reflect and listen.

     I enjoy standing outside in the dark, but I have learned that it is a good idea to flip on the back door lights first, just in case there might be an early morning visitor on the deck.  This has proved to be a most useful tactic.  I turned the lights on the other morning and a very large raccoon was on the deck.  I stood at the door and watched him, watching me, for a few seconds. He soon decided it was time to look for an exit.  Since the gate to the deck was shut and knowing that a raccoon is an expert at climbing, I figured he would go over the top of the deck railing.  I watched in amazement as he morphed into a large flat furry fritter and slithered under the three inch space between the bottom of the railing and the deck floor.  Seeing that answered a question that has probably been asked a thousand times, "How the heck did they get in there?".  If the nose goes, the rest can follow.  

     Tigger, the cat, is always glad to greet me in the early morning hours and I fill his bowl with his favorite dry cat food.  This way I can have a couple of minutes entirely to myself.  Tigger's bowl usually sits on top of the railing so Runtly, the dog, can't get to it. This particular morning, I set it on the floor.

      The early morning sky has been a sight to behold for the last couple of weeks.  Venus, Jupiter and Mars have been rising in the east putting on a spectacular light show.  When I look at this formation of bright glowing planets, I wonder what meaning this held for the ancient people who truly understood the importance of the celestial bodies.   

     To the north of the planetary line up is the bright twinkling star Arcturus.  It is part of the Bootes, or the Herdsman constellation.  Arcturus is the brightest star in the northern hemisphere and if I stare at it long enough, I swear that it is bouncing around in the dark sky.  Learning about the constellations has been something I have wanted to do.  Having the Google Sky Map app on my phone has made the learning process much easier.  When in doubt, whip out the phone, even though the glare from the screen gives away my position in the darkness.

     As I was looking at Arcturus and trying to wrap my head around the fact that it is 36 light years from Earth, which figures roughly to about 180 trillion miles, I heard a crunching noise.  I thought that Tigger must have had an exciting evening and worked up quite an appetite because he had already eaten when I first came outside.  I was standing at the far end of the deck, the farthest distance from the door, when I looked down.  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized Tigger was sitting at my feet.....something else was doing the crunching.

     Since the food dish was right next to the door, bolting for the door was not an option.  I shuffled my feet, the crunching continued.  I began to talk to Tigger, still more crunching.  I finally kicked one of the deck chairs,  The crunching stopped and a few seconds later, the motion light over the steps came on.  It was the neighbors' cat, who obviously likes Tigger's food better than his own.  He stopped briefly to lick whatever remaining crumbs were in his whiskers and then sauntered off down the steps.

     Being under the cover of darkness works great for those creatures who have eyes that can pierce the dark, but, from now on, the broom will accompany me in the wee hours of the morning.

     

      

    

     

The Last One

     The Voice, that lives in my head, followed me out the door as I was headed for the garage.  It had grabbed a piece of chewing gum and was noisily chomping by the time I opened the garage door. Once inside, the Voice donned a long wool trench coat and began to do the cat walk between rows of tables still covered with items from the previous weekend's garage sale.

     "Nice coat.", the Voice quipped.

     "Ummm." I answered between closed lips.  I knew what was coming.

     "And you thought this made you look taller?", the Voice asked in mocked sincerity.

     It was too early in the day to engage the Voice's wit, so I chose to ignore it.

     The garage sale had been a huge success, but there was still a lot of things left over.  Having decided that less is actually more, I vowed that once I brought all the stuff out of the house, it was not going back in.  The task that lay before me was to box up what was left and donate it.

     I was holding a large colorful serving bowl, looking at it, when the gum chomping grew louder.  The Voice was peering over my shoulder, "Get rid of it.", the Voice said between chomps.

     "But."

     "But what?"

     "But what will I put potato salad in?", I asked.

     "When was the last time you made potato salad?", the Voice asked and then made a large gulping sound as it swallowed the gum.

     "Two years ago." I answered

     "Say good bye to the dish."  The Voice wandered off, occasionally stopping to look at some other treasure I had decided to part with.

     I let out a long sigh.  One like Mother used to do, the one that always drove me crazy when she did it.  The Voice, as usual, was right, I did not need the dish or anything else that was left.

     I grabbed a cardboard box and a stack of newspapers and began packing away the bowl, plates and glasses.  The Voice had shed the coat and was busy rummaging through a box of door knobs.  After the fourth box was filled, I heard the Voice giggling.

     "What's so funny?"

     "The flower bench!", the Voice responded.  Its giggles had become full blown bursts of hysterical laughter.

     I tried to stifle a smile.  The flower bench.  The flower bench I had so painstakingly put together with the old ornate cement blocks from the front porch, that were left over after the remodel.  I had toiled long over that bench, making four stacks of two blocks each, to be filled with potting soil. Then I rimmed the top of each stack with a wooden frame and laced the stacks together with long boards, set on edge, to make a bench.  The bench was over sixteen feet long and graced the sidewalk by the front of the house.

     Our young friend, whom my daughters refer to as their brother, had offered me the use of his four-wheeler and trailer.  I thought it was a splendid idea to be able to load the trailer with household wares rather than make numerous trips back and forth to the garage.  Although I can put a forty foot long school bus in reverse and back it into a single parking space, I never mastered being able to back up an attached trailer.  Knowing this, I decided to just pull the trailer down the sidewalk until I was even with the front porch steps.  What I forgot was, the trailer tires were on the outside of the trailer and therefore wider than my intended path.  By the time the four-wheeler and I reached the front of the flower bench, the trailer tire had reached the back of the bench.  The whole thing went over like a stack of dominoes.  I had to join the Voice in the laughter, it was funny.

     When I had boxed up all I could for one day, the Voice asked me what I had learned from this experience.  "That is the last garage sale I will ever have.", I answered.

     "Besides that?".  The Voice was being serious now.

     "That I need to learn to back up a trailer."

     As I walked off, I heard the Voice let out a long sigh.


     
     

Stewed

     This morning I was talking to a bug.  It was a fly.  Actually, it was a huge ma-honkin fly that was about the size of the end of my thumb.  

     It was buzzing around the window over the kitchen sink.  I thought about getting the flyswatter and putting it out of its misery. I thought about the huge mess it was going to make on the glass.
I said to the fly, "If you would just calm down, I'll take you outside."

     The fly immediately stopped buzzing and stood perfectly still.  I looked at it, waiting for it to start its mindless frenzy, trying to get to the light beyond the glass.  It never moved.  I walked to the cabinet and retrieved a shot glass then picked up a piece of note paper laying on the counter.  The fly was still waiting.

     I placed the shot glass over the fly, slid the paper under the glass and headed to the back door.  Once outside, I lifted the glass and the fly took off, headed east.  It didn't get very far and then turned back and hovered in front of my face.  In its tiny bug voice, it said, "Ya know what's ironic?"

     "No, what?" I answered, not giving much thought to striking up a conversation with an insect.

     Still hovering and buzzing, the fly spoke again.  "Irony is getting bit by a spider while cleaning out a closet for a yard sale two days before winning the lottery and three days before dying from the spider bite."  The fly flew around my head before heading east again.  I watched until its form was lost in the distance.

     An encounter with a philosophical fly, just my luck. 

Things That Go Shut In The Night

     Having not watched a movie for a very long time, my husband and I considered renting one.  I scanned through the endless list of titles, stopping now and then to check on the subject matter.  It seemed most where ghost filled horror stories.  I wondered why this was and then it dawned on me.  Ah yes, it's October, the time for all things spooky.

     We have been waiting, sometimes impatiently, for this month to arrive.  October is the month of Runtly's birth.  The small, tiny, runt of the litter, that I worried would not get enough nourishment due to the fact he was only about half the size of his six other siblings. 

     Runtly, the Jack Russel Terrier (aka terrorist).  The fast as a speeding bullet, white streak of lightening, who rips through the house at breakneck speeds.  The four legged living steel ball from a pinball machine that boings off of any stationery object.  The dog, with one floppy ear, who now stands taller than his mother.  The "Jumpin' Jack Flash" of the canine world who can leap five feet, straight into the air, with little effort.  The animal who can give the "What?" look when he is found on top of the chest of drawers, the top of the spiral staircase, the stack of boxes in the basement, the kitchen island. The relentless fetching machine, that we used to keep track of how many times he would bring back an object.  The animal who sheds so profusely that there is nothing left that is sacred to the hair of the dog.  The earmuff stealing, catch me if you can, critter who seems to think I need more exercise.  The animated shredding machine who has discovered toilet paper tastes so much better after it has been pulled off the roll and strung through the house.  The "I can sit in your seat before you do", as you are descending into the chair, ball of perpetual motion.

     Runtly will be one year old this month and we were foolish enough to think he would begin to calm down.  We do not see this happening any time soon and have been assured that even at ten years of age, this breed will still be going strong.

     It has been eight years since Mother passed away.  Since that time, I have delved deep into research of the after life.  One of the things I have found to be a common thread in my studies is, there is no sense of time, as we observe it, on the other side of the veil. This seems to give our dearly departed a unique view of past, present and future happenings. 

     One of the many experiences we have had, since Mother passed, was with the toilet seat lid.  My husband has spent his entire life surrounded by members of the opposite sex.  He learned early on, the dire consequences for leaving the toilet seat up, but, he never shut the lid to the seat.  No one in this household ever did.

     On several occasions, in the wee hours of the night, we would find the seat lid down.  We would discuss this toilet phenomenon and finally decided it was Mother's way of showing us she still had a sense of humor.  

     I have since come to the conclusion it was a sign.  Perhaps even an omen of things to come because the toilet bowl has become Runtly's favorite place to drop whatever toy happens to be toy-of-the-day.  This is usually some object that sinks.  I have found him hanging over the edge, peering into the bowl with his head cocked to one side, pondering the most ideal way to retrieve it.

     Things that go shut in the night now apply to all hours of the day.  

The Sausage Angel

     Every morning it is the same ritual.  Egg sandwiches for breakfast.  I fix my husband a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich and I have bacon on mine.

     The sausage is round patties that I cook up in advance, then heat them in the skillet.  While the eggs cook, I cut the sausages in half because two round patties do not fit well on a slice of bread.  I place two of the halves, round side out in the upper corners of the bread.  Then the other two halves are placed rounded side in on the rest of the exposed bread.  This makes a somewhat angel shape, thus the name, a sausage angel.

     The next ingredient is the cheese.  It is a large round slice of cheese that I also cut in half, one for each sandwich.  I have discovered that to use a whole slice usually ends up with a lot of melted cheese dripping out of the bottom of the sandwich.  I take this half slice of cheese and break the outside corners off of it, this leaves the half looking like an odd shaped triangle of cheese.

     I take the two small corners and place them on the top edge of the sausage angel's wings.  While I preform this, I say to myself, this is the armor of God, faith and truth.  I then place the triangle piece of cheese over the rest of the sausage, pointy side up, the breastplate of righteousness.  The angel and my husband are now ready to face whatever the day may bring to them.

     The recent news has been filled with yet another tragedy.  Many young lives snuffed out, seemingly, way before their time.  A senseless act of desperation brought about by a troubled mind.
There is much outrage and calls for more gun control.  There is talk about certain religious groups being targeted for their faith, in a land where their faith has reigned supreme. 

     We live in a society that pushes our youth into things beyond their scope of understanding.  We push them to make decisions about their future before they are teens.  We enter them in beauty contests when they are hardly out of diapers.  We make sure they are in every sport available and spend countless hours on the road or sitting in the stands, cheering them on.  We sign them up for dance, gymnastics, wrestling and a plethora of other activities and work two jobs to pay for it.  We want to keep them busy, so we cater to their needs.  We want them to be well rounded in numerous subjects.  We want them to be successful.  We tell them they are special, and they are, but.......

     While we are doing all this, we are forgetting something.  We have forgotten that we are all in this scheme of life together.  We are spending too much time focusing on individualism instead of community.  We are letting precious lives slip through the cracks because we have the mind set that being the 'top dog' is the only way to be.  We are not taking the time to take that kid who is odd, smelly, has head lice, comes from a poor, messed up family, under our wings and letting them know they are special too.  We are not telling them that they have a purpose, that they are just as much a child of God as the next person is.

     We all have a guardian angel, but they cannot interfere with free will.  It is written that we know not when we entertain angels, so with that in mind, we should be watchful of the way we treat others.  Just one small act of kindness can make a huge impact on someone's life.......maybe even fixing them a sausage angel.

      

         

     

     

Pay Backs

     Tigger, the cat, is a lover, not a fighter.  He enjoys most all other cats that venture into the yard.  This makes for quiet nights, but also has opened the door for the arrival of an unwanted feline visitor.

     We refer to this feline as the Nasty Cat.  He has rightfully earned this name because he is nasty and mean.  Runtly, the JRT, has encountered this cats' meanness and all one has to say is, "Is that Nasty Cat out there?" and he goes into a four legged, jumping, barking frenzy.......as long as he is on the deck.  When Runtly is outside and comes face to face with this snarling menace, he has learned, the hard way.....do not turn your back to the cat.

     I love animals.....all animals......especially cats....but I do not need another cat.  I do not want another cat.  So, the other evening I walked out and discovered Nasty Cat lounging on the pool deck, looking as if he owned the joint.  I stepped back inside and grabbed the BB gun, pumped it up and took aim.  I really never expected to hit him, as I haven't hit anything yet that I've aimed at, but it seemed I landed one lone BB on his hind quarters.  Nasty Cat took off like a streak of lightening.  Good, I thought, now maybe he will stay gone.

     Since I am in to all kinds of things most folks would consider out of the realm of normalcy, I want to tell you about my crystals.  I purchased these crystals that consist of amethyst, quartz crystal, calcite, aventurine, rose quartz and sodalite to revitalize my drinking water.  For those who are doing the big eye roll about now, this really does work.  I place the crystals in the bottom of a glass pitcher, fill it with clean filtered water and let it sit overnight.
There have been many people ask, "Why are there rocks in this pitcher?" and I launch into an explanation... until their eyes begin to glaze over.

     Anyway, it is important to rejuvenate the crystals at least once a month.  Since there was a recent lunar eclipse, I thought that would be the perfect setting for crystal rejuvenation.  I placed the crystals in a glass dish and set them on a platform that is attached to the outside of the deck and left them there overnight.

     When I retrieved said glass dish the next morning, I noticed there was some liquid in it.  Nothing else seemed to be wet and I did not think it had rained nor was the dew heavy enough to make that much moisture in the dish.  Foolishly, I lifted the glass to my nose.  Sure enough, Nasty Cat had christened my crystals with urine.  I think I could hear him hissing a nasty giggle, from the mound of dead grass in the garden, that he has taken as his throne.

     I have scrubbed them and boiled them and even though the stench is gone, I can not make myself put them back into the pitcher.  I guess I will purchase a new set and use these for their other intended purposes.

     From now on, the BB gun will only be aimed at beer cans.

Second Chances

     "You never get a second chance to make a first impression."

     The jury is still out on who should be credited with this ounce of wit.

     The above quote, whomever it belongs to, may be true in some cases.  Situations like a job interview need a good first impression or a door to door salesman.  If some dignitary shows up at my place and finds me poking a dead possum out of a not-so-live trap, (a story for another day), they may certainly have cause to make a wrong impression, but they would need to hear the whole story first.  In that case, I would have a second chance.

     Second chances come in many forms.  Finding a new job after being laid off would feel like a second chance.  Getting over a serious illness is like being given a second chance.  Working to mend a rocky road in a relationship is a second chance.  

     One of the last conversations I had with my friend ended abruptly and I thought that was odd.  I called them back a few days later and knowing they were having some major health issues going on, I asked the usual question of how they were feeling.

     "I'm in hospice."

     What followed was a long awkward amount of silence.   When I finally found my voice, I said, "I don't know what to say."

     My friend replied, "Nobody does."

     The rest of our conversation was filled with idiotic small talk about things that did not matter and then we said goodbye.  It was our last goodbye.

     Our Western culture has a strange aversion to death and dying.  It's like the pink elephant in the room, everyone knows it's there, but no one wants to talk about it.  This needs to change.  It is like the guy I saw at the gas station the other day with a tee shirt that read, "statistics show that 10 out of 10 people will die".  How true.

     I was given a second chance, and I missed it.  All the research done over the past eight years, all the books read and testimonials listened to about what happens during and after death stayed still in the back of my mind.  I did not tell my friend to not be afraid.  I kept silent the knowledge that this was a transition, not an end.  I did not give them the encouragement of knowing that the Angels of Light would be there, waiting, to take them home.  I missed the chance to explain that this world we live in is just a mere shadow of what lies beyond the veil and the Light, that would beckon them, would open up into more beauty and love than they could ever imagine.

     Watch for the second chances and try so very hard not to miss them.


     


     





      

        

Deliver Me From.....The Kitchen!

     There is a hint of Autumn in the air.  The cooler nights have sent the signal to the trees that it is time for their green leaves to turn to gold and red.  It is a beautiful time of the year.  The thing I do not understand about this shift in the seasons is why does it make people want to run to the kitchen and cook?

     I had fallen under this spell and came across a new recipe that sounded quite tasty, relatively inexpensive and better yet, easy. That alone should have been my first red flag.

     My husband's mother used to fix corned beef and cabbage....in a crock pot.....in the garage......there was a reason for that.  Although I am not a connoisseur of cooked cabbage, I do love a good Reuben sandwich with corned beef, sourkrout and swiss cheese.  The recipe I had stumbled upon was for a Reuben roll, and looked much like one of those ice cream and cake rolls that come in a box.

     The ingredients were simple, another red flag, and called for pizza crust, that comes in a can like biscuits,  deli corned beef, sourkrout, shredded swiss cheese and thousand island dressing. Five things.  I'm thinking life is good and I can do this!

    When I was a kid, my brother-in-law, who grew up in the largest metropolis close to this small rural proximity, used to tease me about how they had to pipe the sunlight into our area.  He thought we lived way out in the sticks.  As I was gathering the above mentioned ingredients, I thought of him, because finding shredded swiss cheese was not an option.  I did find a couple of packages of sliced swiss and figured I could shred it myself.  The Voice, who lives in my head, was standing on the sidelines shouting, "Easy?", but I paid it no mind.

     Being a whopping ten miles from home, I had all the ingredients except for the corned beef and I did not think it was odd that the store I'm was in did not have it.  No problem, I tell myself, I will grab some when I get home.   That didn't happen either.

     Two days later, I made another ten mile trip from home in search of the elusive deli corned beef.  The nice girl behind the deli counter smiled as she told me they did not carry it.  As I walked off, a thought came to mind that maybe, just maybe, I could find it in the canned meat section.  I hurried down the aisle, and there it was, a can of corned beef!  It was not exactly the amount I needed but I was thrilled to find it.  I could finally make the Ruben roll! Then I saw the price......$5.45.

     I stared at that can of meat for a really long time before deciding that if I did not buy it, I had a bunch of swiss cheese that would not get used for anything.  

     Preparing the Rueben roll went like most things I attempt, as the kitchen looked like a tornado had gone through it.  When I fired up the food processor to shred the cheese, Runtly shot out of the room like a white bullet and hid behind a chair in the living room.  The Voice was back there too, but it was giggling.

     The end result was good, but the next time I have a craving for a Rueben sandwhich, it will be cheaper and more fun to go out and order one. 

     

     


     

          

     

All of the Above

     The conversation went something like this:  
School Principle:  Mrs. Murphy, we have a problem.
Mother:  Oh, what is it?
School Principle:  Ruth got one of the highest scores ever on the SAT test.
Mother:  We do have a problem.

     I remember well, taking that test.  Especially when it came to the math section.  I would scrawl out equations on scrap paper, usually having no idea what I was doing, and if the answer looked anything remotely close to the answers to choose from, that was the answer I picked.  If there was ever a choice of  'all of the above', I took that one, hands down.

     Parenting is a lot like taking a test.  

     It is always amusing to watch brand new parents.  They know better than anyone on the planet how to take care of their child.  It always makes me wonder how the rest of us ever made it this far.

     A lot of parents start out with the mind set that they will do things much differently than their parents did, they will do it much better.  They read articles on how to do this, or how to do that.  They are told things like, never lay a baby on its back when sleeping.  Now, they must never lay a baby on its tummy...it is truly amazing my children survived their first year.

     Parenting is a lot of give and little take.  It is a job with no pay, but huge benefits.  It is filled with tremendous joy and much weeping.  Parenting can make one feel like pulling out their hair one moment, and being filled with pride the next.

     As the children grow and come to the realization that they are not actually physically connected to their parents, they begin to explore life on their own.  This has been going on for centuries, and will continue to do so.  As they branch out, they go through many trials and errors and as parents, we watch and learn right along with them.

     Many times, parents go through times of feeling like complete failures.  This too, is normal.  There comes a time when most children feel like their parents do not know anything.  During this period, the word gratitude is not in their vocabulary.  Young children rarely see their parents as real people or understand that Mom and Dad really do have a life.  If in doubt on this, dance down the aisle of Wal-Mart and watch them scatter like rats leaving a sinking ship.  Sometimes a child must reach many years into adulthood before they realize their parents had a purpose beyond parenting.

     A book I finished recently made a profound statement.  It said that we choose the life we live before making an entrance into the material world we call life on earth.  We choose what we want to do, what we want to accomplish and we choose the parents we want to raise us.   With that in mind, as parents, we must keep on fighting the good fight and remember too, we chose to do this....even though there are times we wonder, what in the world were we thinking.

     Their is no golden handbook, or written test to take, when it comes to raising children.  But, if there was and the multiple choice answers look like: 
A. Love
B. Failure
C. Can't do this anymore
D. Endless joy
E.  All of the above

Choose E.

Where's The Love?

     The article left me with a heavy heart.  I've pondered upon it for a couple of days.  There was another article in today's paper that touched on what I was feeling.  I did not read it, just the first line confirmed what had been on my mind.

     It was the story about the clerk who has gone to jail for not issuing marriage licenses to gay couples.  Since she works in a government position, that is part of her job.  She feels it is against her religious beliefs for gay couples to marry and therefore refused to issue the license.  This act put her in contempt of court and landed her in the pokey.

     The part that saddened me was all her followers and supporters rallying under the banner of Christendom.  They chanted slogans and pointed condemning fingers at those responsible for making laws that were not acceptable, according to their interpretation of God's word.

     To be a Christian is to be a follower of Christ.  To be a follower of Christ is to spend the rest of however many days are allotted to one's life trying to become more Christ-like.  To be more Christ-like takes a whole lot of love and kindness and patience.....God would probably list patience first.

     Jesus made no mention of homosexuality, therefore, a person striving to be like him probably should not either.  Jesus said to follow the laws of our man made government.  If a person is in a government position of employment and does not like to follow the law, then quit that job and go find something else to do.  Jesus said that we should not judge because by doing so, we bring judgement on ourselves.  Jesus said that while we are finding fault with someone else, we should take a look at ourselves.  Jesus said we should be like little children, innocent and trusting.

     He said things like, love our neighbor as ourselves.  He said to heap loads of kindness on our enemies.  He said to turn the other cheek.  He told stories so as to give us a picture of helping people whom others would pass by.  

     Jesus said the kingdom of Heaven was within us.....each and everyone of us.  Walking with God is an individual journey for us all. 

     Until the churches come together under a banner of the love of the Christ, there will always be division.  If they are sending out a message of hate and fear, then they are no different than those who take the lives of people who will not bow to their beliefs.  Who was Jesus the most frustrated with while on this earth?......The religious leaders.

     There needs to be a shift in our thinking and that shift needs to lean towards love.  Love is a powerful force.  If we would use more of it, we would see the glory of God.

     

     

A Note From The Dog

     Hi!  My name is Runtly.  I am a nine month old Jack Russell Terrier.  I'm very, very fast and I jump really high.  I like to climb on things too, the higher the better.  Sometimes my climbing makes Mom nervous, especially when I hang off the high step on the spiral staircase.  She does not understand that I can see out the window over the kitchen sink that way.

     Mostly, I'm all white with a little bit of brown color on my head and one ear.  I like the brown color and when I get the chance, I dive head first into a fresh pile of cat doo.  It matches perfectly and looks great smeared all down my side, plus, it has the most delightful smell.  At least I think it smells good.  Mom and Dad seem to have a different opinion and always end up giving me a bath.  But, if I can dive really hard, I can grind it in my collar, that way the odor has a lingering effect.

     This week has been so exciting!  For several days in a row, Dad has come home early and fired up the fast and loud water hose.  He has cleaned and cleaned and I have helped and helped.  He cleaned the deck and I had the best time biting at the water.  He even cleaned the sidewalks and it was the most wonderful way to get wet!  So much more fun than taking a bath.  By the way, Mom says we have the cleanest sidewalks in town.  I don't know if that really matters, but it sure was fun.

     I like to bark too, especially when I am outside on the deck.  I really don't need a reason to bark, I just bark because it is a new day.  Sometimes I have heard a weird barking noise.  I never knew what was making it, but Mom always says it was a squirrel.  Then the best thing ever happened!  While I was sitting on the deck, a squirrel climbed on top of the pergola and started barking!  Oh! It was so exciting!  It would bark, then I would bark, then it would bark, then I would bark.  Mom finally took me inside, but she said at least now I know where the weird barking comes from.  Tigger, the cat, really wanted to catch the squirrel, but I didn't get to stay out long enough to see if that happened.

     I LOVE Tigger!  He is so soft and furry and I like to bite his legs and tail.  Mom says that is why Tigger doesn't play much with me anymore, because I bite.  Tigger helped Dad too, this week. Everything Dad has cleaned, Tigger has barfed on it the next day. Tigger is so cool!

     Since I'm always in a hurry, I can't sit still for very long.  Mom says I have attention defi..............SQUIRREL!

A Note From The Cat

     Since Mom does not think she has anything blog worthy floating around in her head, I told her I would gladly fill in for her.  She looked at me kind of funny, mumbled something and said, "go for it."  Mom's head has been screwed on backwards lately.

     I am probably the most low maintenance pet in a one hundred mile radius.  I stay outside and hardly ever leave the yard.  Since Mom has a flower garden with a pond, that is my personal jungle and there really is no better place to be.  I show up at my food bowl promptly at 7:00 in the morning and 5:00 in the evening, during the good seasons.

     We in the feline world have seasons too.  There is bird season and frog season, these are the good ones.  Then there is mouse season.  During mouse season I add two more feeding times to the schedule.  This helps me to fatten up and get ready for the long sleeps season.  Of all the seasons, frog season is my favorite.

     I have heard that the humans enjoy frog legs and I can attest to the fact that they are delicious.  I have a hankering for tree frog legs as they have a naturally sweet flavor.  I always make sure I leave the upper part for my human family, but I do not think they share my love of frog delicacies .  Since I do eat the best part, I always try, at least three times a week, to leave them a fully intact regular frog on the welcome mat.  I know they appreciate this act of doing my part to take care of the family.

     Speaking of family, I'm quite perplexed by the newest member.  The dog.  The folks call him Runtly.  I refer to him as Pain In My Rumply.  He is very odd.  Just last night, while I was lounging in the yard, I watched him while Dad used a very loud water hose to wash off the deck.  I guess P.I.M.R. thought he needed to help and spent the entire time biting at the water.  P.I.M.R. has many sharp biting teeth.  He helped Dad wash every spindle on the deck, all 73 of them....yes, cats can count.  As far as I'm concerned, all he succeeded in doing was to get sopping wet.  What a goof ball.  He gets so excited over the simplest of things.  Mom bought him a flea collar once and you would have thought it was Christmas.  Fleas, how rude.

     I am also very passive and enjoy most all neighboring cats that wander into the yard.  Mom does not understand this, but I'm all about peace and love. 

     I miss my lap time with Mom since the dog has been here.  We always had morning lap time before he arrived.  Mom has kind hands and when she pets me it makes me slobber.  It's just so relaxing!  Maybe when it gets closer to mouse season and I stop shedding, we can get back to a morning routine.  I would like that, I would like that very much.

     My paws are getting tired now, so I need to take a nap.  Cats sleep about 17 hours a day.  That is what makes us so handsome, we know how to chill out.

        

Trash Talk

     The newspaper had a lot of trash in it.  Sometimes that seems to be the norm, but this was real trash, aka, garbage.  

     On the other side of the earth, people were rioting in the streets because their government had shut down the landfill and the trash was piling high in the streets.  They were mad as fire and wanted something done about the situation.  I felt their pain.  A couple of weeks ago, the new driver for our trash pick up missed our house.  

     I kept trying to figure out if there had been some sort of holiday that I had missed out on, that would throw the pick up schedule off.  I checked the calendar and discovered no new holiday had been created, at least not one that would warrant a day off for the collectors of garbage.  These collectors are a dedicated bunch and rarely get many holidays.   I decided not to worry about it.  The new trash receptacles are very large and since this household of two does not create a lot of trash in a week, it would be OK.

     The next week rolled around and still no trash truck in sight.  I began to panic.  Not quite like the people on the other side of the earth, but there was no way we could go another seven days.  I jumped in the car and instantly turned into the little old lady running down the garbage truck.  When I caught up with him and explained my plight, he smiled and assured me he had just picked it up.  I thanked him and sheepishly returned to our dwelling, sure enough, I had just missed him.

     The other trash talk was about people who make a living, or part time income, dumpster diving.  They said it was not a job for the weak of heart, or for anyone who had a germ phobia.  I had to agree because I knew what two weeks worth of trash smelled like.  

     These people talked about all the treasures that others throw out.  They would gather things like TVs, VCRs and other electronic throw aways and either repair them for resale or scrap them for recyclable metals, even gold.  Some of the people gathered food that was thrown out because it was a day over the expiration date, and rarely had to buy groceries.  What's for supper?Dumpster Caesar Salad! 

     Recently, having made the decision to downsize, I had a garage sale.  As I strategically placed years of accumulated items on the tables, I began to wonder if I had some kind of syndrome that has yet to be named.  It seemed I had two of everything that I thought, at the time of purchase, must have been really special.  At one point in my life I had an attachment to fish.....and dishes.  Not just fish and dishes, but fish shaped dishes.  There, on the table, set  my beautiful cobalt blue, fish shaped, plastic dishes.  I had three sizes and two of each size.  Next to them were the brightly rainbow colored plastic fish shaped trays......I had four of them.

     Having come to the realization that it is nearly impossible to get rid of thirty plus years of stuff at one time, there will have to be another garage sale.  Having also come to the conclusion that not everything will sell, I foresee Dumpster Caesar Salad in a cobalt blue, fish shaped, plastic dish.

The Dawning

     In the early morning hours, that point of darkness just before dawn, the heavens were filled with an infinite number of stars. They stood out crisp and clear in a black cloudless sky.  The very same stars that all the generations before us have gazed upon, hoped upon, wished upon.  

     I wondered about some of the constellations, their names and their meanings.  Something pulled at my heart strings.  All these years and I can only name a couple of the star designs.  Such a waste.  Spending years scurrying around, being busy, running the rat race and never taking the time to know more than the Big and Little Dipper. 

     This made me remember a story.  Satan was talking to a man and told him he would give the man all the ground he could cover by the end of the day.  Satan waved his hand out towards a vast landscape and smiled.  The man began to run.  He ran all day, covering miles and miles of ground.  While he ran, he thought of all the wonderful things he would have.  He would be wealthy, he would be proud, he would be admired by many people, he would be like a king.

     As the sun was setting, the man was making his way back to where Satan stood waiting.  By this time, the man could barely walk, but he struggled forward, thinking of all the good fortune that would soon be his.  Satan smiled at the man.  The man took one more step to reach his starting point and fell over dead.  Satan looked down at the dead man and said, "And there you have it, all the ground you can cover by the end of the day."

     The last bloom on the orchid is laying on the floor.  It is almost symbolic, an ending.  But, with every ending, there is a new beginning.  I look out the window, the sun is rising on a new day, as it has done since the dawn of creation and as it will continue to do until the end of time.  Shall I use this foolish measurement of time to think about yesterday?  What earthly good does that do? 

     We can only take with us the things we did, not what we accumulated.  We can live out our wildest dreams or we can cower in fear and self doubt.

    Let us not be our biggest obstacle.

Red Collar Affair

     Runtly, the ever so entertaining, fast as lightening, Jack Russell Terrier is approaching ten months of age.  This has in no way, shape or form, slowed him down.  But, I must remind myself, on occasion, he is still a puppy.  On the other hand, someone said their's was ten years old and had not slowed down yet.  

     This speeding white bullet has more toys than should be allowed by law.  He doesn't really play with all of them except when they are all picked up and put in the toy bowl.  In Runtly's mind, the toy bowl must always remain empty.

     When returning from the local big box store, with an arm load of filled plastic bags, he is as excited as a child.  He knows there is a fairly good chance there  may be something in one of those bags for him.  He does not care what it is, as long as it is in a box or bubble pack, its good.  His last 'gift' was a flea collar and he was as jubilant over it as he would have been if it was a bag of treats.  By the way, flea collars do not work well unless they can be placed at each end of the dog, but that is another story for another day.

     Of all the toys that Runtly has at his disposal, his most favorite play thing is not a toy.  It is a collar.  This bright red, woven nylon collar came with Runtly when he arrived last Christmas.  After the first few times of bathing him, I noticed that the collar was leaving a pink ring around his neck.  Thinking that a male dog should not have pink stained fur, I purchased a new, black collar.  

     Runtly has an attachment to this red collar that goes beyond explanation.  The red collar is always in one of two stages, either dripping wet with dog slobbers, or stiff as a board.  It is his constant companion.  It is the first thing he looks for in the morning and when he finds it, the ritual begins.  After his "oh, I'm so happy to see you" greeting with the collar he carries it to where ever I am standing, usually at the stove, and drops it between my feet.  It is then my dutiful duty to kick the collar across the floor.  

     Runtly chases after the collar and brings it back to do this all over again....and again....and again.  If I fail to kick the collar, he picks it up and places it on top of my foot, just in case I had not noticed it was there.  For Runtly, this is a non-stop game, as long as someone kicks or throws it, he will gleefully chase it down.

     When my husband returns at the end of the day, he will ask Runtly where the collar is.  This dog knows exactly where he left it and comes back prancing with the collar hanging out of his mouth.  Since he is so very happy that someone is going to throw the red collar for him, he plays with it himself for a short while.  He will throw it up in the air and catch it and on a couple of occasions, has even ring tossed his own tail.

     We have learned that, if we are not in the mood to play, one must not mention the word 'collar' out loud.  We have taken to spelling it and I think Runtly is beginning to figure out what we are talking about.

     This dog has changed our lives.  He has brought much laughter into the walls of this home.  Runtly is certainly a red collar affair. Just don't ask me how the potty training is going.

Cecil & Carl

     The following story has many facts, truths, half truths and assumptions or assumations.....which really isn't a word, but I like the way it sounds.

     Cecil and Carl were quite a pair.  They were not young dudes, in their 50's and 60's respectively, but they did not think of themselves as old.  They always wore matching Grateful Dead tee shirts and had, for the most part, remained lost somewhere in the year of 1965.  Also, neither had cut their hair since that time.

     They could recite every Cheech & Chong script ever written.  If Carl would go out to get pizza, when he arrived back at their small, poster lined walls apartment, Cecil would have the door locked. Carl would knock on the door and Cecil would ask, "Who's there?"

     Carl always answered, "Hey man, it's me, Carl." 

     "Carl?" Cecil would reply.

     "Yeah man, it's me. Carl!  Open the door, man!"

     And every time, Cecil would say, "Carl?  Hey man, Carl's not here."  Then they would laugh like idiots.  

     Cecil and Carl were not the sharpest crayons in the box.

     One day Cecil and Carl came to the realization their pizza fund was about down to zero.  They decided to go to the beach and ponder on their situation.  As they strolled down the wet packed sand, in their souvenir Grateful Dead flip flops, on a beach in sunny southern California, they were approached by a man.

     This man was much younger than Cecil and Carl and thought of himself as a wise business person.  He knew the moment he saw this pair, he had found who he was looking for.  He introduced himself as Smoothcriminal and struck up a conversation with the motley duo.  Cecil and Carl had never met a stranger and began to tell Smoothcriminal about their plight of the pizza fund.

     Smoothcriminal listened intently and told Cecil and Carl, "Such a deal I have for you!"  Smoothcriminal went on to explain that he had a car that needed to be driven to the east coast.  His friend lived there and needed this car in a bad way.  Smoothcriminal could not take the time to drive the car that far and his friend was in the same boat.  He asked Cecil and Carl if they would be interested in doing this for him.  Smoothcriminal assured them that, if they took this job, they would have enough money in the pizza fund to last them a year.

     Cecil and Carl were elated.  Why, certainly they would do this for Smoothcriminal, because they knew Smoothcriminal was just an awesome dude.  

     Smoothcriminal handed Cecil and Carl the keys and pointed up the beach to where their chariot awaited.  Cecil and Carl high fived, wow manned, far outed and chest bumped each other all the way to the car.  It was road trip time and they could not have been happier.

     Cecil and Carl headed out on the highway, eastward bound.

     Somewhere in the great state of Illinois, Cecil and Carl got pulled over by the police because they were going 90 mph down the interstate.  Not only were they traveling far over the speed limit, neither had a valid driver's license and the car had no insurance.
In the trunk of the car, the police found 150 pounds of marijuana with a street value of $500,000.00.

     No one knew for sure if pizza was a popular prison cuisine.

     Mr. Notsosmoothcriminal went into hiding somewhere in the one of the rain forests of the great Northwest.

     The police never knew there had actually been 160 pounds of marijuana in the trunk.

     My proofreader has been on me about not writing.  She is right, I've had a lot of things going on lately.  A lot of things on my mind. I think maybe I've been riding in the back seat with Cecil and Carl.

     

     

       

     

It's A Job

     There is one job on the face of the planet that is the most rewarding and the hardest.  This job has no set hours and is sometimes 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  This job has absolutely no monetary compensation, it is completely pro bono.
This job is parenting.

     There are countless people, couples, whose longing for a child has been met with emptiness.  Then there are countless people, couples, who should have never had any children at all.

     I do not think there is anyone, who is a parent, who has not experienced frustration in raising a child.  Most parents know, or understand, that when feelings of being overwhelmed or feelings of anger emerge, it's a good time to walk away, to cool down and regain some composure.  I remember, on more than one occasion, having to go sit outside and leave a screaming child in her crib.  I'm pretty sure I cried too.

     Having a child is not like having a pet.  They can not be put on a chain in the yard.  They can not be left unattended for hours on end. They need to be loved and nurtured.  They need your attention, your guidance, your council.  They do not need to see that your cell phone, or other electronic gadget, is more important than they are.

     Child abuse is sometimes a very fine line.  Constantly yelling at and belittling a child may not fall under physical abuse, but it is certainly mental abuse.  Years of mental abuse can easily lead to physical abuse later on.  When we witness this abuse, do we speak out or turn a blind eye?  Do we pick up the phone and make the call?  The system for rescuing abused and abandoned children is broken and over burdened, do we throw one more onto the pile?

     Today, preventing an unwanted pregnancy is as easy as plopping a box of condoms or a tube of spermicide right between the box of macaroni and cheese and a bottle of dish soap.  Really, the clerk is not going to pick these items up, wave them in the air and say "Woohoo!  Looky here!".  Most of these things work 99.9% of the time and that small decimal of failure is no where close to the amount of unwanted pregnancies that occur by using nothing.

     Rewarding people monetarily for having children they do not want or cannot take care of, isn't working.  It breeds an entitlement mentality.  Someday the money tree is going to run out of leaves and then where does that leave all the little children?

     There are far worse things than giving a child up for adoption.  Making that decision, when the reality of not being able to care and provide for a child, should be awarded a medal of bravery.  If the decision is made to keep the child, then the decision to get up off your butt and be a parent needs to be made too.


     

The Dance Machine

     Once a year, in August, some friends of ours host a large get together.  The first time we were invited, I felt as though I had passed through some portal into another realm because I did not know half of the people who were in attendance.  That in itself may not be a big deal, but I could see our house from theirs and it was odd to not know so many people. 

     I was looking forward with great anticipation to this year's party.  Not just for the food and camaraderie with new friends, but for the music.  They always have either live music or a DJ and with music, there is dancing.

     Oh, how I love to dance.  

     In 2006 Antonio Banderas starred in a movie titled, "Take The Lead".  It was a true story about a dance instructor who took a bunch of troubled kids and taught them how to dance.  It changed their lives for the better.  If ever I had any regrets, one would be not learning how to dance.  My parents danced together and even sisters Lela and Blanche knew the foot work to the Swing and the Fox Trot, but somewhere in the decade that stretched between us, most of my generation lost this art.  I haven't completely given up on this dream and have a stack of VCR tapes with "easy to follow" instructions for the above mentioned moves, along with the Tango. During our first encounter with these tapes my husband said, "I don't think we're getting it.", so..... maybe somewhere down the road we can enlist the help of a professional instructor.  I can already see the look of delight on his face when I announce that I've signed us up for dance class.

     Back at the party, it wasn't long before folks were taking to the dance floor.  I had told myself I would take it easy this year, but once the music started, I could not stay in my chair.  I danced with young people, I danced with older people, I danced by myself.  A gentleman asked me to dance and half way through he said to me, "You like to lead, don't you?"  I answered, "Why yes, yes I do.", and we continued to play tug of war across the dance floor.....he did not ask me to dance again.  It did not matter to me and I continued to dance the night away.

     I am still paying for skipping the light fandango, but it was worth every sore muscle and the twinge in one hip.  

     Live like there is no tomorrow, love with all your heart and when the opportunity to dance comes along, take it.  Preferably more than once a year.