Dog Slobber

Have you ever noticed how dog slobber doesn't desolve in dishwater? You actually have to use friction to get it off the plate. Maybe this is why dog slobber helps wounds to heal. Why doesn't someone get a gov't grant to develop a method of harvest and containment for amounts of dog slobber, to be spread on wounds? Not me, I'm busy right now. In the research stage. Now CAT slobber, on the other hand... When a dog licks you, it feels all smooth and sort of comfortable. Yeah, yeah, the dog tongue is smooth and the cat tongue is rough. I'm talking after the licking part is over. The dog slobber feels like a smooth, comfortable coating on your skin. CAT slobber, long after the licking is over, still feels sort of abrasive and itchy. Like you wanna wash it off. Well, you sort of wanna wash the dog slobber off too, but you don't really have to. If you get waylaid, and don't get to the washing immediately, and the dog slobber dries, you can forget about it. Once the cat slobber dries on you, yuck! It keeps on feeling like sandpaper on your skin and you don't forget about it. You scrub it off! I wonder why this is? In case you're grossed out by this slobber conversation, consider human slobber. FAR more bad bacteria than dog slobber. Even than cat slobber, unless the cat just finished cleaning his....derriere. I mean. If you lick someone, and you have H1N1 (for example), boom, they're infected. If they lick that same spot, or have a scratch there, or rub their eye with the hand you licked. When was the last time you were infected with a disease by dog slobber? Hm? And, don't kid yourself, you get a lotta human slobber on yourself, probably on a fairly regular basis. That stuff is germy, man! Germy! You should avoid human slobber! Have you ever realized how disease-free the Inuit were before they started kissing like us southerners do? Yeah! They rubbed noses or something. No slobber exchange, see. Once they starte exchanging slobber, boom. Infected. Flu, smallpox, all sorts of stuff. When was the last time you were infected with smallpox by dog slobber? I'm wondering if maybe we should have dogs lick all the doorknobs and computer keyboards in the area, to cleanse them. Say, before people come to the office, or several times a day at the mall. A good job for all those unemployed SPCA dogs. We could have dogs in the doctor's office, where they (the dogs, not the docs) would lick the faces of the patients. A double whammy of cure, physical cleansing and psychological comforting. What do you think? Now that I ponder it, if I licked my dog, would he get germs? If I had a cold, would he get a cold? Maybe. Unless he then licked the spot that I'd licked and cleaned up my germs with his good ol' clean dog slobber...

Someone recently advised me "He chose his life, now he must deal with it." As in the old cliche "He made his bed, now he must lie in it." But what do we do when the bed maker expresses a longing for help? My adviser suggests the fellow must deal with his life choices. My suggestion is, since the fellow has requested help, expressed a formerly hidden feeling of abandonment and desire for aid, should we not now try to give aid? Are we to forever carry on letting him lie in the bed he made? Are we to qualify our aid with conditions such as, if you get out of that bed, now I'll help you? What did Jesus do? When did he walk away from someone asking for help? Did he say to the woman at the well (who was living in an adulterous relationship)"clean up your life, then I'll help you"? No. He said, I know how you're living. It's not good. But I forgive you. I'll help you. NOW go home and clean up your situation. Did he make her feel she was worthless because she'd made wrong choices in life? No, he made her feel he cared, he would help, and she is very worthy. She went away and bragged him up. There's Tough Love, and then there's condemnation. There's giving help with a heart of superiority, and there's giving help because you love that person. Because he's important to you. We all know he's important to God, and God doesn't look at the made bed as much as he sees the condition of the heart of the bed maker. I don't know what my adviser will be doing, but as for God and me, we're going to help. Bed or no bed.

As the worm turns

My dad used to think I was valuable. He stuck up for me when my mom wanted to spank me. he taught me important stuff like how to clean a chicken. (And I don't mean dry clean.) After the divorce, he bought me clothes my mom couldn't afford, like a leather coat. I think I was the only kid in high school with a full-length leather coat. Man, that sucker was heavy! He told me never to respond to a honked horn at the curb, but to expect the young man to come to the door for me. He held my hand leaving the theatre so I wouldn't get stolen or lost, or afraid. Dad taught me important things like, listen to what a person has to say, then do what you know is right; respect Nanna and Gramps, they're old and they love you; look to the left so you won't be blinded by the oncoming guys headlights. He also taught Suzy (the dog) to sing and Venus (the cat) to fetch a rubber sink plug. He encouraged me to eat moose tongue and pickled herring. These are important things, because to this day, I'll eat anything edible and enjoy it. Somehow Dad got me to be unafraid of everything. I camp in a tent 3 miles from anyone, near a game trail, and am not afraid. I apply for jobs in 4 provinces and am not afraid. I drive fast. I climb tall trees (I'm 50 by the way). I eat smoked eel. I enter crowded rooms and exit only slightly scathed (emotionally!). My dad told me to look in the mirror every day and tell myself, I'm a good person. That's really, really hard. What happened? For my 50th birthday, my dad sent me "free" gifts of several cards and some sheets of wrapping paper, which he rec'd upon donating to a charity. I've looked forward to my 50th birthday for 5 years. I plan to have a party with cake for some new friends and new neighbors, near the home I"ve only lived in for a year. Which is something like 3500km from my dad. He won't come to visit. I guess I'm supposed to feel good that he remembered my birthday. For which, once upon a time, he was grateful. I guess now, it's more like...disappointment? Either way, I wonder if I really deserve this.

By the way, click on the fishtank water to feed the fish.

What if you know that everything you're doing is a hiding place? You know that your life is pretty average, normal-good as opposed to normal-bad. In fact, you're fitting in pretty well with the madding crowd. Okay that's scary! You never meant to fit in. But if you get any more normal, you'll be indistinguishable from the crowd. Baaa.... You have no way of doing what you really want to be doing, and you have feelings about things that are as they are. The feelings won't change and the things don't change, so you do other things to hide from the unchangeable things. Complex, huh? So all the experts say it's not healthy to hide. What's the alternative in this situation? It's not over until the fat lady sings. (Who said that first? And who is the fat lady anyway? And how's her singing?) So she hasn't sung, and is highly unlikely to ever sing. It'll never be over. There are lots and lots of hiding places. Now you see me, now you don't............

Sometimes you think you're getting butter, but it's not all butter. Some of it is water. Sometimes you think you're getting mayonnaise, but it's not all mayonnaise. Some of it is water. My Dad thinks he's getting all margarine. Some of it is water. A lot of it is water. You paid for all butter. You paid for all mayonnaise. You didn't know you were paying for...water. The water makes the popcorn a bit soggy. The water makes the toast a bit soggy. The water was pretty expensive, too. The water didn't really lower your cholesterol, it just made things.....soggy. Don't you wish butter was butter and mayonnaise was mayonnaise? All mayonnaise? Don't you wish you could just enjoy the toast and the popcorn and things wouldn't be, even a little bit, soggy? Wouldn't it be nice, when you read the label, it didn't lie? It just said what it really is? The picture was really true, all butter, no water, pure butter, man. What you see is what you get. What you pay for is pure and real and good for ya. Your cholesterol would lower itself, just knowing that it was all real and good. And true. Not filled with....something else that was sneaked in, pretending to be butter. Then it sneakily makes you soggy. I do. I wish butter was still just butter.

2% of Persons.........

WHAT the h e dbl. hockey sticks is up with Facebook?? Wow, I hate it! I made the mistake of opening an account, hoping to get in touch with someone who has "no time to e mail". But DOES have time to...Facebook. So Facebook is a verb now?! Check the dictionary, folks. So I guess this means I'm one of the 2% of persons who isn't head-over-heels for Facebook. I was one of the 2% of persons who couldn't use dental anaesthetic! Yeh. That was a bummer. Well, this Facebook allergy; dyslexia; fear of being controlled by the Illuminati?......whatever it is that causes Facebook to NOT work for me......is it a bummer or is God protecting me? I wonder if the 2% of us should start a movement. Stop using electronic "communication" devices altogether. Stop using fad words, like "bummer" and "gross". Or whatever the latest fad words are. Stop using old words for stupid new meanings, like "facebook" as a verb. Or "text" as a verb. How about "texting"? "Texted". I've heard that one. Makes everybody sound like they use English as a second language. Oh wait, the ESL persons actually use CORRECT words in CORRECT spaces, because FAD words MAKE NO SENSE. Oops, rabbit trail there. My point is, I hate Facebook. I hate that everyone's on it. Why are they? I hate that it doesn't work for me when it works for literally BILLIONS of other people. But why should I? (Because those persons who have no time to e mail also have no time to write on paper, or call on the phone.) I hate how it has everyone in its insidious control. E mailing is too slow now! Who writes a paper letter? (Thanks for the one you sent last week, my #1 son.) Who calls? Who can spell? Who can speak correct English? Or Cantonese, even? No doubt they have text symbols in Cantonese as well. Yeah. I'm thinkin' about serious rebellion here, folks. I may just sell the ol' PC and go back to snail mail and on-phone conversation. Scary.

And what's the point of a baby owl?

A friend sent me a photo she took of a baby owl. Cute! Man, you don't know cute 'til you see a baby owl. Owlet, technically. Isn't that even a cuter than cute name? So now I'm all hot to hike out and sneak up and try to see the owlet and his momma. If I'm really quiet, she won't swoop down and peck out my eyeballs. I know this because once before in my life I had a glimpse of owlets, way way up in a cottonwood tree. (Never mind the technical name for cottonwood.) We could quietly (QUIETLY!!) sneak up beneath the tree, actually quite far back otherwise we couldn't see far enough up due to the perspective if you grasp my meaning, and watch the momma bring snacks in for the wee ones. Then they got big enough so we could see their fuzzy heads above the messy nest. If we were patient and QUIET! . But if we got too close (and I mean, too close was like a hundred feet away, since we were not only below but back from the tree), I say, if we got TOO close, that momma owl HISSED at us! Holy crow! This loud, growly kinda deep ZZZing hiss. Her head and big yellow eyes and gigantic beak would swivel. Following us like the bizarre eyes of an ancient painting. One more step forward....SNAP!! Her beak would begin to clack and she'd puff up her feathers, begin stepping from foot to foot (we could see her sort of rocking side to side), hunch up her shoulders and holy........sugar we'd step back double quick. We knew without question Momma was just about to swoop down and peck our eyeballs out of our heads, leaving streaming, bloody holes. Oh yeah. No messin' with THOSE babies. So the next thing on my mind is, what's up with all these photos of people's babies on Facebook? Ya know, some of the sites even have the address of the nest on them, man. The town, the street name perhaps. The predators (or potential enemies) getting closet and closer to the nest, maybe at first not meaning harm, but maybe attracting other predators and next thing you know, BAM! The tree's down, the nest is violated, and those owlets (kidlets?) are snatched and gone. Too late for momma to hiss and growl now. Maybe she shoulda protected the nest better. Maybe she should have hid the nest in the forest, not hung it out on the edge of the woods, with babies in full view. Our owlets survived because we never told anyone else about them. We quietly watched them a few times a week, from a distance, and we never tried to tame them or touch them. We never taught them to think the world is a safe place for owlets to roam, or that people are safe to play with. Where are your owlets tonight?

This is not a way of life.........

Now that things are calming down a bit, I can blog a bit. You see, I've been working inside a Big Box Store. You know the ones: all the staff dress like Smerfs and behave like Stepford wives. The management is manic depressive, or maybe just depressive, and the cashiers used to be row bosses in women's prison. So, you get over these stereotypes, and try to enjoy something in the character of the staff you're compelled to work with. I use the term "work" loosely, as the cliche says. One works, one (two, or three) watches. Surreptitiously. Suspiciously. Which brings me to the crux of this blog. (crux: A tormenting or baffling problem. Hmm. Guess I should've said the crux of the job within the BBS!)

Where is the pride in work? Where is the self respect in doing well at a job? Where is the integrity in customer service? (Where is the customer service??)

Who teaches the kids to do well on the job, to be honest, to work a full day, to take fair and restful breaks? Who teaches respect for the co-worker in a higher position, and respect for the newbie in a lower position?

Who tells the staff member that customers are important? Not because of the wallets, but because they're human beings who took the time to shop here? That those purchases pay your wages?

Who cares about quality of or caring for the products?

The managers I worked with were pretty concerned and spent significant time working on creating a buddy relationship with junior staff. The junior staff spent even more significant work hours flirting and chatting and slouching along corridors, avoiding eye contact with customers but definitely making eye contact with the girl/guy staff she/he wanted to.......talk business with at the next staff meeting. Yeah right.

I'm burned about the entire situation. It makes me sick to see no positive teaching, no respect, no pride, no honesty coming down from management, trickling down the food chain to the lowliest position on staff. When you have the opportunity to teach a junior worker a correct procedure, they don't want to learn it. They just want to slouch around, get paid, go home. Don't miss the staff Xmas party.

It was literally making me ill to work within this atmosphere. I had to leave. I said thank you God, but for the grace of, there go I. May the God of the cattle on a thousand hills protect me from ever having to feed my needs by working in such a place. And I wasn't even on the staff!

The creepy thing is the way they all talk Big Box Speak. You know, the comfortable terminology that A. makes the staff feel important because they know a secret language that customers do not and B. a spade isn't called a spade. There are "tasks", not "work" or "duties". Everyone is an "associate", not a "worker" or "staff". Nearly everyone from the dog up has a title, which means nothing because not only does this titled person have no authority at all, he is seemingly too stupid or dishonest to acquire or deserve the responsibility attached to authority.

Yeah, I'm gonna stop now before my blood pressure goes any higher or my spirits any lower. It's redoubled my efforts to encourage, teach, listen, show respect, and call a spade a spade.

Vive l' small business!!

What is it about patience? I seem to have a good amount of patience with elderly folks... I don't seem to have enough patience with average age folks. Or bratty little kids. Why is that now? I have greater levels of patience with handicapped persons of any age. Unless the handicapped person is a jerk. To my way of thinking, just because you're handicapped doesn't give you jerk privileges. Or just because you're old doesn't entitle you to be a jerk. Or if you're hung-over... Yeah, I have zero patience for hung-over persons of any age! Seems like it's all about attitude. Not mine, theirs. For instance, if a person is on say, painkillers, for legitimate pain relief, then I have a greater degree of patience, because I know they're having unusual symptoms from A. the pain and B. the meds. But if the person in pain is just a whiner who doesn't do the exercises which move him toward recovery, well, I say, suck it up Suzy. Don't whine to me! I have no patience for a non-trier. The specific example that got me online about this is persons who are NOT elderly behaving as if they WERE and expecting something extra from me, because they've chosen to adopt elderly behaviorisms in a non-elderly body and mind. Can't cope with that! Minimal patience in action there. See? Attitude. I still perceive my dad as a younger man, although he perceives himself as elderly-ish, and he IS over 70. So I have to remind myself that he's legitimately old. Er. Old-er. Not OLD. (Good thing Dad doesn't read this!) Attitude. Perceptions. His, and mine. When do we begin with patience? What about persons who don't take care of their health, consequently experience ill health, and then expect increased levels of patience on my part? "Care for me, now I'm ill." Well gee. You brought it on yourself, now I have to bear the consequences? My patience falters. What about Tough Love? Is it best applied before or after? Actually, I don't know if I have the patience to discuss that at this moment. Wow. What an attitude!

For those of you who were asking........

Here are the quotes on my office wall at the moment (not in order of importance):

"A man who limits his interests limits his life." Vincent Price

"We will either find a way or make one." Hannibal (the one who crossed the mountains, not the one who eats people)

"My goal is to become the person my dog thinks I am."

"Perseverance is not about talent or time. It is about finishing." And, "perseverance doesn't come into play until a person is tired."

"Come now, let us reason together. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land, but if you resist and rebel, you will be devoured by the sword." Bible

"Language reveals the man. Speak, that I may see thee." Ben Jonson (circa 1500a.d.)

I won't add the poem, the Hagar cartoon, or the Snoopy and Woodstock, altho' these too are very, very wise words. Gotta go now. The dog is whining!

Does anyone really care about our national parks? Does anyone think when they chuck crap out the window of the car? Will anyone sign my petition, if I send it to the prime minister? (Of Canada, I mean. Okay, I know the British PM will get more action, but we have to start at the bottom of the totem pole.) This new petition proposes the BANNNING (and if necessary, the transport) OF DISPOSABLE DIAPERS IN NATIONAL PARKS. What happens is, when persons with infants come to park gates, they are required to surrender all disposable diapers in their possession. If they have no cloth diapers on hand, the park ranger will exchange a portion of the disposables for an appropriate amount of cloth nappies, depending on the expected length of stay within said park. When leaving the park, infants may return the dirty cloth diapers for cleansing or composting, depending on the severity of condition. Of the nappies, not the babies. If possible (in accordance with the distance of transport) the previously deposited disposables will be returned. No disposable diapers will be available for sale anywhere within park boundaries. Cloth diapers will be offered for sale at reasonable prices, as well as diaper exchange services, where infants may exchange soiled nappies for clean. Infants and related caregivers residing within the park as citizens will be required to use only cloth diapers as well. (Unless they are potty trained.) Park employees will receive significantly discounted fees at the diaper exchange service. Not only will this procedure clean up extremely vile and potentially dangerous (to man and beast) littered diapers, it will decrease by tons the amount dumped (excuse the pun) in ...dumpsters. And landfills. Employment will be created via the formation of diaper exchange services. Diaper rash will significantly decrease, while ducks and jellyfish will have the opportunity to NOT fill their guts with plastic bits and silica pellets. When the petition is published, please add your name to the list of supporters.

Just Do It

Dear friends, I am about to give you a garden tip of paramount importance! (Is that a double invective?) For 2009, whether you enjoy eating them or not, PLANT PARSNIPS. Last week, here on the Cold Windy Water, I pried out a huge parsnip from the icy bed. Today, I harvested the entire crop, because the poor things were trying to reproduce! (After all, they're in bed.) Let me impress upon your garden psyche a most indelible imprint: The wonderfully satisfactory swelling of emotion as one pulls a fresh, eatable product from one's own garden in April.... I have found no match in my personal historical archive of gardening emotions. (Notice the word "archive" has the word "chive" within? Mmm...) As I mentioned to my daughter, the feeling is akin to the sprouting of Spring radishes, the uprooting and munching of same, except the Parsnip Pleasure is measurably more marvellous. And upon that most excellent phraseful of alliteration, I leave you for today. Plant Parsnips and be Pleasantly Uplifted. Next April.

Hidy ho, neighbors! A quick note to thank those of you who responded to my last post. Much appreciated, at least now I know someone's reading the blog. Here are a few notes for the day:

What an exciting and blessed morning so far! Drove to the shore to see....not the water and ice of yesterday, nor the open water of the last time I walked there. The entire sphere, the entire surface of the bowl as far as we could see, was ice. Ice, ice, ice, white, bluish, greenish, and pink. Slabs, chunks, piles, tabletops. Even the open pond-like areas were frozen over enough to support the new snow. The sun is warm enough to let me sit on the deck in my housecoat (thanks, Mom), to melt the new snow and get it running across the road (thanks, God), and to make me take off my winter coat while walking. Yippee! But the wind of the last three days drove ice in from Labrador or the arctic waters, or Iceland! Who knows where, but there it is. The ocean never fails to surprise, attract, and interest.

Another great thing that happened: A parcel in the mail from Dear Brother. That in itself was a YAY for me moment. The best part occurred when I cut open the top. Out flowed a familiar, warm scent of Brother's room and Brother's shirts. It was like receiving a hug in the mail. It made my day.

Last night I got a phone call from a friend just out of hospital, this morning from another friend on the other side of Canada just to keep in touch and ask for prayer. Dear neighbors and friends, let this be an encouragement to us all. When you think of someone, send a note. Write a letter. E mail. Call. Drop a postcard. Stick in a flower or leaf from home, or from where you're travelling. Drop a bit of your cologne on the paper. Believe me, the person on the receiving end will be so pleased! You may have no idea how that gesture will touch the recipient.

Have a great day..........................Kate

I have a question for you all. There have been 35 hits on my blog profile, which I have deliberately kept to a very bare minimum. There are no comments or reactions on any of my blogs. What's that all about? What draws 35 people to look at a profile of the writer, but not comment on the writing?

Comments and reactions are welcome, expected, and anticipated. If no comments are forthcoming, the writer does become somewhat discouraged.

Comments regarding what you would like to read on the blog are also welcome.

Beefs and bouquets. Don't be a chicken.

Unwelcome Guest

I have said "Goodbye" to Winter
Half a dozen times or so,
But I guess she didn't hear me,
For she doesn't seem to go.
She lingers on the doorstep,
Puts a foot upon the ground,
And when I think she's leaving us
She merely turns around,
And reaches for the knocker-
And opens up the door-
And brings the same old shiver that
She gave us all before.

Nobody seems to like her;
No one begs of her to stay,
But they really can't prevent it
If she will not go away.
You'd think she'd have some manners;
You'd think she'd be a sport,
And when she wasn't wanted here
She'd cut her visit short.
Oh! Winter, you're so tiresome,
There isn't any doubt,
You'd better move along now,
You've worn your welcome out!

by Nan Terrill Reed, written 1926

The time has arrived to begin the garden orders. My suggestion is, if you can afford it, order two more of each. (This is my philosophy with adding spice to the soup as well.) If you think one will be yummy, three will be perfect. Five might be too many....... RESIST! Resist, I say, ordering from the Spring Garden catalogue! I have known several people in several provinces who have had several disappointments. Except for the one plant which my friend's mother was so disgusted with, she chucked it as far as she could. Of course, that's the one that grew. Perhaps less care is better than more? Keep in mind to order bulbs from Vesey's in Prince Edward Island this spring, and ask for the order to be put on the Blue Lake Vacation Bible School order. 50% of the price is donated to the camp, which then sponsors kids who otherwise can't afford to go to camp. That's my plug for the day. If you can't afford two more of everything, buy seeds and start 'em in the see-through salad containers from Wendy's. Yep. Dandy little micro-climates these are. Poke a few air cracks in the lid. Remember, bottom heat usually works best for most seeds, until their heads poke out of the soil. Ack! Open the lid on really sunny days! That's my enviro-hint for the day. Use Damp-Off. It stinks, but it's worth it. Many are the seedlings I've lost because I thought I need not worry about this plague. Even in the dry air of Alberta! Hard to believe, I know. Don't start your tomatoes too early, and give them lots of light. That's my slow-down caution for today. For all you kindred spirits on PEI, take heart! This too shall pass, said the lion as he swallowed the mouse. Bye for now........

Thought for the day:

"Language reveals the man. Speak that I may see thee."

Ben Jonson, writer from the 16th century

Sleep Well. ????

Ahhh....at last. Perfect sleeping conditions. Nice and cool. Cozy warm blankets. Dark, quiet. Peaceful doggie stretched at the foot, purring cat curled at the head. Husband SILENT! A rare occurance. Click off the bedside light,repeat aahhhh..... Wait a minute. What's that noise? Like, breeeeathe sniff, breeeathe sniff. As the cat purrs decrease, breeeathe sniff decibel levels increase. Poke the cat, volume increase on the purrs. Aahhh.... Purrrrrr, purrrr, purrrr. Purr......pur......pu..... Shit. Poke the cat. Purr volume increase. Breeeathe, sniff...jerk jerk. Whine whimper. It's the bloody dog! Snoring, twitching, and whimpering! Boot the dog ever so gently from beneath the blankets. Silence. Except for purrrr purrrrr purrrr. Aaahhh....one begins to doze. Nice and dark, peaceful. Purrr, purr.....raaaasssp. Purr purr raaaassspp. Aaagh! The bloody cat is snoring! Poke poke! (Aggressive poking going on now.) Purrr purrr purrr. Dozing. Lovely.... Suddenly, up perks Cat! Purr goes off, energetic rising up of Cat, unnecessarily heavy stomping across inert human (albeit AWAKE) form, loud thumping to the floor and noisy chomping of kibble ensuing from the kitchen below. Sigh. Aw well. Nice and cool and dark and quie....... Gghhhllllaaarrrrrgggg.......zzzzzeeeeewwww! Sssnneeerrrrgggllegggg......fffnnneeeeuwwwww. Bloody husband. Where are the earplugs?

Common Sense?

Glade new SensaSpray! Set the dial to spritz a whiff of sense as often as needed, from every 10 seconds up to every 12 hours! How often do you need to be sensible? For example, say you're unable to break through your wife's most recent silent treatment. One spritz of Glade SensaSpray and you'll rush out for flowers and chocolates! Kids being brats? Glade SensaSpray once a day will not only cause the little dears to sensibly cease tearing each other's hair out, but they'll develop the common sensical desire to do homework plus clean their rooms. And! Mom and Dad's common sense will spring into life as they realize the benefits of a new sense of discipline.... Glade SensaSpray comes in several sweet fragrances. Piney Perfume! Develop a sense of relaxation without ever taking a break from work or getting into the (real) refreshing outdoors. Remember the prodigal son? A few snorts of Glade 'Hog Essence' sends prodigal adolescents plunging out of the pig pen and hobbling for home. Having a brain-dead day at the office? Plug in 'Caffeine Aroma' Sensaspray and see your meetings jolt into sensible solutions. If you find SensaSpray once a day isn't sensible anymore, you may safely sniff as often as you wish, just by changing the handy fragrance plug-in. **Warning: Glade is not responsible for overly sensible behavior that may be brought on by overuse of this product. Which may or may not be completely chemically induced.**

The Day After

Dear Brother,
Imagine brilliant blue like a glazed pottery bowl inverted overhead...from horizon to horizon in a perfect-seeming circle all above. Against the blue, white on white gulls wheeling and turning, calling and gossiping. Just for contrast, two fish crows as big as ravens twirl glossy black within the white dancing group, and one lone speckled adolescent gull. Looking spotty, as teens often do.

Jimmy pulling so strongly on his leash he nearly pulls me off my precarious icy way so I have to walk along the roadside, on the rough snow. One tire on the rough for traction, as Dad taught us.

Oh, the blast of arctic breeze as we pass the side streets! Oh, the soothing calm passing the windbreak of houses. Stomp, stomp, stomp to break a track in the slick frozen surface of the drift in the park gate. Then step, limp, step, limp as my feet fall through on every third step or so. One leg longer than the other. Or peg-leg. Jimmy's having an easy time of it. Not many sniffs though. Guess it was too cold out for those other wussy dogs.

Another flock rises up from its daily conference in the park. Squalling back at Jimmy for breaking it up early. Matte black dog on bright shining snow under a high blue sky.

Now Jimmy must be on a short leash, trotting along the street. No sidewalks in our little village. The short leash is compensated for by plenty of good sniffs on this block. A truck pulls far to the side as we approach the corner, now blind thanks to mountains of dirty pinkish snow thrown up by the plow.

Walking backwards, scarf held well up and tucked well in, to get a rest from the sharp wind.

By the time I wrap Jimmy's leash around the flower box, in the sunny place on the high porch of the grocery store, tears run down my cheeks and try to freeze. The sun is trapped on this wooden porch. A good place for a chair to sit and watch the comings and goings. Jimmy takes the first watch.

After the shopping, Jimmy rides home in the truck while I crazily walk home in the cold. Wind's at the back, except on the cross streets. Which there are three of. Not counting the wind across the broad, snowy park. Still, an easier walk going than coming. All the boat "bums" are lined up east of the park, awaiting open water, casting blue shadows on the clean snow.

Under the great piles of snow shovelled up on either side of the slick iced sidewalk, rose bushes rest.

Imagine what it would be like to live in a land where there is no winter. If you can.

Snow Day

Looks like a good day to paint that office floor. Got the hammer, the can opener, the paint, the tape. Woohoo! I'll just trot out to the garden shed and get the roller and tray. Well, being as how it's been snowing for some time, and blowing. For some time.... on with the ski pants, the tall boots, the winter coat, and the work mitts. And away we go with the shovel. And the dog. First, shovel around the corner directly below the porch steps. Remind the dog he's not allowed on the road. Six times. Obviously it's gonna be too time consuming to shovel all the way to the shed, so plod thru 18" of snow (don't slip on the ice!) to the shed. Shovel enough snow away to get the door open. The drifts are discouraging the dog from going next door. With a few reminders. Search for the tools. Shit. Here's where one recalls that one reorganized the shed 3 months ago. No tray. No roller. Fine. Plod thru drifts, over ice, and along path to the workshop. The doorway of which has drifted in very thoroughly. Resist shovelling the entire path. Shovel only a 24" square, enabling dog and self to enter shop. No bloody tray. No bloody roller. Push against snow AND wind (against which the shovel makes a wonderful sail) (if you're in the mood for sailing at this moment), across ice, thru drifts, call dog, back into the house. Remove all clothing, now assuring self that tray and roller are in the basement. Search basement. Thoroughly. Shit. Back on with the clothes. Dog is exceedingly joyful. Master is not. Back out to the shop. Nothing. Revisit shed. Nothing. Throw down the shovel, while resisting throwing down oneself and howling. Tramp thru drifts, across ice, into the house, re-search basement while retaining snowy clothing. Stomp upstairs, wrench keys from hook, resist pleading eyes of dog, and drive (on completely iced roads thru blowing snow) to the hardware store. After sliding across the ice rink which was once a parking lot, curiously vehicle free, one notices the closed sign........ Yes. One knew a fresh stat. holiday had been invented. The ticker tape of swear words that passed thru the mind of this writer shall not be recorded. One accepts(albeit cheerlessly) that the hardware store people are having a wonderful day at home, away from irritated customers. Resist with extreme difficulty and admirable self-control the urge to pull into the liquor store. Which is likely closed anyway. After spinning the tires up the hill, plowing thru the drift at the end of the road, and observing the snow-piled entrance to the drive, this writer parks elsewhere. Plods thru the drifts and over the ice to the house, where the dog greets the writer merrily. Blithely. And the writer paints the floor with a brush. Tomorrow this writer is definitely going to the liquor store AND the hardware. So there.

Freedom

Let us go forth and enjoy some freedom in life. While taking care of business, I mean essential business, we can still have freedom. Now don't get me off on the rabbit trail of what's essential..... Here are some of the variables in life that seem to me to be creating a feeling of being trapped, and how we can get out of these traps.

Too many of us believe we must be swallowed up by our spouses to have a complete relationship with them. Not so! We can still be one in spirit while maintaining the freedom of indiviuality. We put ourselves in these boxes and allow ourselves to be FedExed to and fro, instead of living outside the box, and maintaining individual interests.

We become devoured by our jobs and careers. If only someone had trained me to know that pursuing my passion in my life's work would be freeing, fulfilling, and financially satisfying. I'm here to tell you, at any age we can change direction, moving out of the trap and into freedom.

Even little things in daily life can create a freedom feeling within. Just thinking "I choose to, I want to, or I will" rather than thinking "I have", gives a sense of freedom in and choice of our own activities.

Shall we let go of one thing that feels like a trap? One thing that just pushes us over the line into stretched-to-breaking? After all, when it's all over, will anyone remember fondly that you made the bed every day, even tho' you hated it? That you cooked, but you hated to? That you were polite every single time instead of honest?

My friend Bernice left her floor unwashed and unpolished to play with her granddaughter in the sandbox. Bernice had a job,a farm, a husband to look after. She's the one who taught me, "Who will remember when I'm dead, that I had a clean floor?" Insert your personal trap.

There's compromise, and then there are traps. There's give and take, and then there's giving in. Or giving up.

It seems like this is running on.......but do you see what I'm getting at? Be yourself, step outside the box, take a wee chance, and move toward freedom. Change something that you would change if you knew you only had a year to live, or your kid only had a year, or your spouse, or your parent, or your dog...... You know, if you had the time or the money, what thing would you change? Now, if that seems too big or impossible, change something small. If you can't think of anything, send me a comment and I'll think of something for ya!

Remember the old saying, "Stop and smell the roses"? There's one thing you can do. Join me in freedom.

Borrowed from Sheik Muslip-Uddin Sadi (circa 1300 a.d.)

"If of thy worldly goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul."

One of my very favorite wisdoms, which I practice always, with excellent result. Try it. You'll like it.

Sunny Side of the Fence

It's about saddening the heart of God. Face value versus heart value. What is "sin" anyway? How important is attitude compared to behavior? Does anyone really care anymore? What about honesty? What is that nowadays?

It seems this comment is becoming a litany of questions rather than a statement of opinion. Maybe the opinion of the day isn't so sunny. Which brings up another question...must the Sunny Side of the Fence always be sunny? Is any cloud allowed? (There's your poem for the day.)

Ciao for now!