Designated Eating Spot

Richard advises choosing a place in your home and always eating there. The thought is that you will be more in control of your portions and actions if you control your environment. It seems like a good idea to me, but for myself, I prefer - unless I have company - to eat while pursuing other activities. I may not be focused on what I'm eating, but I measure my portions onto my plate before I carry it to wherever I want to be. The computer. The desk. The TV.

My dogs, on the other hand, are creatures of habit, and they have specific locations in which they like to consume. At meal times, Cosmos eats in the hallway and Sunny eats in the kitchen. For snacks, though, they gladly accept their treats in the pantry and then head down the hall to their preferred spots. Cosmos in the studio corner almost behind the loom. Sunny in the bedroom. Separated by choice.

Last night, Eric was over and we went out to the movies. "W" to be exact, and it's worth seeing. But I digress.

Cosmos has been having some tummy issues as of late. Couple that with newly clean carpet along with Vennie's imminent arrival and it's a recipe for disaster. So before we left, I put the doggie barrier up in the hallway, preventing accessess to the carpeted portion of the condo. Then we all went into the kitchen for biscuits.

The boys grabbed their treats and headed off to eat them, but were confused when they were thwarted. Eric & I watched their antics with amusement. I figured that they would eventually eat in the living room and then settle down for a nice evening's nap. Not.

Upon our arrival home, the first thing I noticed was a grating sound behind the front door when I opened it. Cosmos's biscuits. Both of them located in his choice sleeping spot, still warm from guarding his treats. Eric laughed when I informed him that I guess Cosmos didn't want to eat in the living room. But we laughed harder when we found Sunny's two biscuits side by side in the hallway. He didn't want to eat out-of-position either.

We greeted the dogs, put them outside for a couple of minutes, and while they were gone, I removed the barrier. They came in and immediately checked out the hallway. Access no longer impeded, Cosmos ran for one of his biscuits, grabbed it, and carried it into the studio. "What's he doing?" Eric asked.

"Taking his biscuit someplace private to eat."

"But he only took one of them."

"He'll be back." And he was. About 5 seconds later. He returned for his second biscuit before eating the first.

In the meantime, Sunny was standing with us, looking to be pet. He's not quite as food oriented as Cosmos, and Eric commented that he hadn't carried his biscuits off. "Give him a minute," I advised him. And sure enough, as soon as Cosmos's frenzy died down, Sunny grabbed them (both at the same time), and quietly took them to the bedroom.

About 10 minutes later, both dogs came back to the front. I knew that, when I went into the bedroom, I better not walk barefoot for the crumbs. I also knew that, if Richard had seen them, he would have been proud.

* * *

The kindness of strangers does not allude me. I belong to Freecycle, a grass roots internet based organization dedicated to passing unwanted treasures from one household into another that could use them. You sign up, then offers come via e-mail. Respond, and if you're lucky, you're the chosen one to receive. Or extend an offer, and you get to meet the person who benefits from your generosity. I've done both.

Last night when we got back from W-, I scanned my e-mail. Many offers from Freecycle, but only one that caught my attention. Carpeted dog stairs with storage. So your dog has easy access into bed.

Both of my boys are old now. As a result, they suffer from a variety of medical issues, and neither of them are capable of jumping into bed on their own. I'm able to lift Cosmos up and down (he's far smaller), but Sunny is just too big for me to help. I know that he misses coming in with us. I can see him looking at us longingly when we retire for the night. Occasionally he will attempt the leap, but he's rarely successful.

Anyway, I saw the offer and sent an e-mail back immediately. "Oh my! Both of my dogs are really old (and large) and I have to lift them into bed. I would be very grateful if you might steer these in my direction!"

I didn't say anything about my own medical issues which, if you are a regular reader or a friend, you know are very severe. I regretted it, knowing that sometimes a good story might help the transaction turn out favorably. But the e-mail had already been sent and it was in the hands of the gods.

This morning I awoke to find an e-mail from "Jason," letting me know that if we were to arrange a mutually agreeable time for pick-up, the stairs now belonged to my boys! I went there this afternoon and they are installed in my bedroom.

Jason was delightful. His furry girl passed at age 15; she was a rescue just as mine are. Apparently he had received quite a few responses to his offer, and was flumoxed by how sad the stories were. He had only one set of stairs to donate. Since my e-mail came back first, I was the chosen one. I promised him that when we no longer had use for them, I would send them out again for other dogs and their humans to use. Freecycle. Gotta love it.

So far, both dogs have sniffed the stairs, and Sunny has even put both of his front feet on the bottom level. Better than I had hoped for on the first day. The boys are quite suspicious, and I figured they would circle around the subject for a few.

I'm not at all worried. I think that they will be running up and down them in a couple of days. I know, though, that long after the dogs are used to what is a scary novelty to them now, I will remember where the stairs came from and will be eternally grateful.


Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 13.

The Thinker

So I was talking to my good friend Angie the other night, and of course as the discussion meandered, we got onto the topic of Richard Simmons and a recent Message of the Day that he wrote. In it, he wanted to know what "The Thinker" was thinking about?

In all honesty, this is not the first time that I heard him pose the question. It goes back - to the best of my knowledge - to about 2006. And the night that he asked the class, I went home and e-mailed him what I thought.

* * * * *

Well, I knew the answer (to your question) immediately. The guy was sitting there on a rock, head tilted down and resting on his fist. For the first 10 minutes of the job, he was admiring his own manhood. Sorry Richard, but all women know that that's just what you guys do.

After the first 10 though, he'd had enough of himself. "Oh my God!" he thought. "This job is paid by the hour so I want it to go on and on and on. But on the other hand, this position is really hurting my back. And they haven't invented Advil yet!"

Fortunately for "The Thinker", Rodin was a kind taskmaster. He allowed regular breaks and the Thinker had ample opportunity to stretch.

One day, Rodin's good friend, Leonardo Da Vinci came by. Now, Leonardo was always on the lookout for a new model, and here was one right here in Rodin's studio prime for the picking. The Thinker was stretching at the time... ironically enough, in an arched doorway. Europe is quite well known for arches you know, and not the Golden Arches, either. Up, down, up, down went Thinker's arms. Apart, together, apart, together went Thinker's legs. And so, Da Vinci's famous Vitruvian Man was born!

Rodin and Da Vinci were both very cheap, so they alternated taking turns rendering 'The Thinker' and, for a short time, shared the per diem owed. Rodin was somewhat possessive, though, so he insisted that Da Vinci add long hair to his sketch so that 'Joe Public' would not recognize that they were one-and-the-same man.

Of course, a sketch is completed much faster than a giant statue, and soon Da Vinci left both the building and his friends to their own devices. The statue took a good long time to complete... and despite the poor Thinker's regular stretching breaks, lack of Advil took it's toll. By the time the job was complete, he was hunched over, right hand clenched in the small of his back, left hand extended ahead of him to feel his way out of the building. He couldn't lift his head up enough to watch his own way.

Rodin was quite intrigued by this posture. He had already spent all his 'expendable cash' in paying Thinker's salary and also anticipated hefty medical bills (he didn't carry Worker's Comp Insurance), so he didn't want to ask Thinker back to stay while he worked on another statue. But he quickly went to work and produced a small replica of The Thinker in Pain. He called it "Achy Breaky Back."

Achy Breaky was not one of his better known works, and rightfully so. It really was schlock. And so it descended into the doldrums of artwork and eventually made it's way to the American South where it was sold to "Ma Cyrus" at a garage sale. She loved the piece - it was the only 'real art' that she had in her double-wide trailer - and, totally unaware of it's illustrious origins, she displayed it proudly on top of her TV console.

Now enter young Billy Ray Cyrus, gyrating around and thinking about country stardom. He would dance all over their trailer, imitating his favorite... Elvis... and unaware of anything else in his environment. Hips gyrating, legs kicking, he whirled around one day and knocked 'Achy Breaky Back' right off of the TV and into a million pieces!

Ma Cyrus was pretty upset. Actually, she was VERY upset. In her most fervent tone, she screamed at Billy Ray "You broke my Achy Breaky Back! You break my "Achy Breaky Heart!!!!" And that's how Rodin spawned a cheap 90's song-and-dance act and now you know the REST of the story!

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 13.

Dear Mr. Obama

Dear President-Elect Obama,

It was with pride that I cast my vote for you last Tuesday. I was moved by your acceptance speech and our country’s reaction to it. But I almost never cry, and held my emotions in check during your appearance.

However, I read something about you yesterday that immediately brought me to tears and I continue to be wracked with emotion. You are going to change the administration’s policy about stem cell research upon taking office? BLESS YOU!

Mr. Obama, I would have bought into your ideals and passion even if the state of health care had never been put on the table. But I was amazed during your campaign speeches that you really understood what it is to have insurance, only to still be left wanting for medical care and be financially devastated by what you do receive.

There was a time in my life that I thought I would amount to something. But as my body betrayed me and my health failed, I ended up on permanent disability and irrelevant. I am desperate to achieve a level of normality in my life and have participated in medical protocols over the past five years in the hope that I would become well enough to go back to work. At this point, age and lack of progress has probably rendered me permanently incapacitated, but for whatever reason, I still go on. Maybe there’s a small degree of hope deep within my psychological make-up.

I have never written a letter to a President of the United States before, probably never will again, and do not expect a response to this communiqué. I know that you are desperately busy and will become more so as time goes on. I also understand that there are issues far more pressing to a greater number of Americans than the status of health care in this country. But I thank you for your understanding, and am eternally grateful for your belief that something fundamental has got to change.

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 12.

Nine

On Sunday, I had the joy of attending Ian's 9th birthday party.

We started out at the AMC Woodland Hills movies, where I believe about 15 of us viewed Madagascar 2. For what it is, it is not a bad movie. Bearable. For those of you without children, however, I would advise to steer clear.




After the movie was over, we head down to U-Wink for snacks,




a restaurant that, according to Eric, was developed by the same people that brought us all Chuck E Cheese. Shame on them - lol!

U-Wink is known for computer terminals on the tables themselves. Instead of ordering your meal through a waiter or waitress, you place it on line. Then hope that the waiter brings you what you ordered.

Eric & I split a Black & White Hummus platter. (no picture, sorry) It was ok. I lived. But I also feel really good about not taking in an extra 500 to 750 calories worth of sugar distributed via dessert - aka empty calories - at a time when I am struggling with weight.

I can hardly believe that Ian is 9! In one year, he will leave single-digit ages behind him forever. He is an amazing boy - smart, kind, compassionate, beautiful - and I expect that he will do great things in this world. How lucky am I to be related to such a child?

---

Even in his old age, Cosmos remains quite interested in the news and politics. I am learning how to upload video to Youtube now; I hope to bring the animated version of his TV watching to you in the near future.


Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 11.

How Smart is Your Right Foot?

My thanks to Adele, who sent this to me:



HOW SMART IS YOUR RIGHT FOOT?


You have to try this , it takes 2 seconds. I could not believe this!!! It is from an orthopedic surgeon............

This will boggle your mind and you will keep you trying over and over again to see if you can outsmart your foot, but, you can't.

It's pre-programmed in your brain!

1.Without anyone watching you (they will think you are GOOFY......) and while sitting at your desk in front of your computer, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles.


2. Now, while doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction.

I told you so!!! And there's nothing you can do about it! You and I both know how stupid it is, but before the day is done you are going to try it again, if you've not already done so.

Forward this blog post to your friends and frustrate them too!

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 10.

Canine Wine

I know, you probably think this post is yet another Cosmos and Sunny story. But in fact, it's not. It's about Kate and Spencer. And a way that you can help rescue animals.

I have a friend who I haven't seen for many years, although we periodically check in by e-mail. She believes in rescue dogs just like me, and seven years ago adopted a pair of Pit Bull mixes. She loves her dogs and has never regretted bringing them into her home.

She is also involved with the Humane Society. And so she was on the board when it paired up with a local (California) winery to release a special vintage to benefit homeless animals. Canine Wines was developed and released, month by month, bottle by bottle. Cheryl e-mailed me about this some time ago; her furballs were scheduled to be featured on a future label.

Well, the future is now. Kate and Spencer adorn bottles of 2006 Santa Barbara Syrah wine. Cheryl says:

I am happy to announce that my “kids”, Kate & Spencer are featured on a recent release from Canine Wines which is available to purchase on the Canine Wines web site. I can personally vouch that the wines are very tasty AND your purchase supports animal rescue organizations.

As we approach the holidays, consider the gift of wine that will surely be the topic of discussion at your gathering - not only because of the great taste but because of the inspirational stories behind the dog(s) on the label – all dogs featured are rescued dogs.

If you enjoy wine or plan to give some as a gift this year, I urge you to consider this line so that homeless pets can benefit too. You can designate your choice of rescue organizations although I know that Kate & Spencer would appreciate you choosing the donation from your purchase to go to the Humane Society of Stanislaus County (HSSC); they will use the contributions to help animals in California's Central Valley.

But if you should choose to buy, no matter where you designate your contribution, lives will be saved.

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 9.

Monster In the Closet

When we're little, we often think that there are monsters lurking in the dark, ready to carry us off. They live in the shadows, under the bed, in the closet. They are most known for coming out at night, after our parents turn out the lights. Whether we really believe they are there, or if it's a ruse to stay up just a little later I don't know. In all honestly, I don't remember if I ever believed in the monsters. It's been too long.

On the other hand, I have age and wisdom behind me now, and I know that the monster in the closet exists. It does not take the form that most children imagine, but it is there all the same. It resides in my hall closet. Since I'd addressed my bedroom and studio closets as well as the floors and carpets in those rooms, it was time to do battle at the next location.

Behold, the monster in the closet!
I have a philosophy about closets that serves me well. That is, the closet is not full until, when forced closed, the door pops back open again. At that point, the issue must be addressed.

My hall closet is particularly susceptible to this philosophy. Centrally located, it is immense. Shelves line one wall and rods the other two. There is a ton of floor space too. It's where I store roving and fleeces, assorted junk, a cedar trunk full of old Persian rugs, dogie barriers, and assorted *crap* . In the past, I've stored bicycles and tricycles, picnic supplies and fiber dying pots (still in there); medical supplies and clothing, files and computers, and even dog beds. It all fit at the same time. Such is the power of my closet.

In all honesty, under normal circumstances, it would not have been time to do anything about it yet. After all, the door still closed with ease, and since I didn't use anything in there on a regular basis, why bother? It was easier to ignore the rumblings in the monster's belly. But enter Vennie into the picture.

She's coming. She's coming next week. And she will be here for close to a whole week. YIPPEE!

Last time she visited, she lived in my bedroom. The whole Fab 4 were here then; Beth in the studio aka "Beth's Room", Claudia in the living room. Me and my dogs in my room. And Vennie located on her mattress at the foot of my bed.

But this time is different. Because she will be here by herself, the chaos that rules during mass visits is not appropriate. Vennie will stay in the studio. And her luggage and clothing will be easily accessible in the hall closet. (The studio closet houses a number of large pieces of weaving equipment, rendering it useless for guests.) That system worked really well the last time Beth was here on her own. But of course, that meant that I had some work ahead of me.

So I entered the closet and stuff started being tossed outside. Cosmos was fearful of the fracas , but when I stepped outside for a breather, the monster stopped making noise too. He stepped up to investigate what had been regurgitated so far. A mixture of Goodwill donations and trash. Heavy on the donations.

And then, sooner than I would have anticipated, the monster was tamed.

I must keep it subdued for the next couple of weeks. I don't want to have to deal with this again. Better to move forth and conquer other issues like scrubbing out Vennie's bathtub, and maybe cooking-and-freezing some easy meals for us for after she arrives.

It's quiet in the hallway now. Nothing amiss. Nothing rumbling just beneath my level of awareness emanating from the closet. But I am not secure in this state of affairs.

For I know how it works. I know what's going to happen. When Vennie goes back home, the monster will be hungry, and far be it from me not to feed it.

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 8.