While I was in the shower today, I missed a call. When I recognized the number as my daughter’s school’s, I panicked, thinking the worst. (When some of us become mothers, we simultaneously receive an advanced degree in worry.)
When I collected the message, I heard the sweetest words from a woman I didn’t even know: “Thank you so much for….” She went on to say how my gift contributed to her students’ education and why.
Three days before her call, the arts department chairman responded positively to my offer of donating 64 high-quality illustration, photography, advertising, and design publications, Communication Arts. I had tried to sell them two years ago through Craigslist (ammo for scammers) and local universities, to no avail. After leafing through almost all of them during the past two years, I decided others should enjoy them too.
I sometimes feel as if I could live on thank yous. And while thank yous don’t pay for my insurances, they sure make me want to give more stuff away!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
My Haven
Have you ever noticed when you return home from vacation that animals knew you were gone, so they’ve moved in? It’s almost as if they conspired and waited for the day when the garage door would close, and they’d feel no vibrational frequency emitting from your home. With a welcoming wave of a hand and a short whistle, all the animals emerge from hiding, exposing themselves for the sheer pleasure of taking over human space. How satisfying.
Conniving little beasts.
Spiders construct new webs in the lower level. More deer lie in the backyard—the does filing their hooves and applying a fresh layer of polish, bucks now recovered from rutting season are playing a riveting game of poker. And birds have chosen to nest in your new hanging planter, the precious plant having been picked out and carelessly tossed on the ground.
Opportunists.
This type of activity happens in our home and yard. The difference is, we never go anywhere, so they conduct their presumptuous behavior right before our eyes. Years ago a friend said, “The meek shall inherit the earth,” quoting Psalm 37:11. “I think what’s meant by that is insects, small and insignificant, will eventually overcome everything.”
Scary thought, but possible.
I’ve always attracted those less fortunate and those who have lived through a lot of emotional pain. I endured much bad stuff as a child and have done almost everything, so I really can’t be judgmental. People and animals know I’m trustworthy, and some take advantage of me, but I’m forgiving to a point…after which I disappear like the wind.
The most recent less fortunate being is someone I thought was dead and consumed by coyotes. I hadn’t seen him for three weeks, nor had several neighbors. But last weekend while standing in my neighbors’ backyard talking, I noticed a pair of ears. For five minutes or more, those ears didn’t even twitch.
Finally I asked if Bette and Bob would turn around and look at what appeared to be a ceramic deer, which would be a pretty weird thing to have, given the tens of deer trotting around all the time. We all trekked down the hill, and sure enough, it wasn’t a ceramic deer.
So I ventured, “I’ll bet it’s our injured one,” referring to the young buck I call Franklin, whose hindquarters are virtually useless after being struck by a vehicle. So we chose to let resting faux-ceramic deer rest.
By the next day, the injured deer was grazing in our back forty, as I call the easement area. I walked downstairs and outside to unlatch the back gate, so he’d have access to fresh water, the hot tub, and a more expanded area to poop. And sure enough, he’s made himself at home under the large junipers. Even Shiloh the Lab knows to leave the poor guy alone, so they share space.
Aside from one very close call during rutting season, Shiloh doesn’t let deer bother him. A fawn once touched its nose to Shiloh’s, and a doe chased the dog as he fetched his ball.
Today a ringed turtledove perched in our juniper above Franklin, and a beautiful kitty with a chunk missing from its left ear is skittering around. I boiled her a chicken leg and set it outside with a bed in a wooden box. This feline, however, will remain outdoors, unlike the other two. My heart goes out to the wounded and strays, as I hope someone’s heart would go out to me in times of need.
Two years ago I wrote to my friend William, currently a contractor in Iraq: “Shiloh found two kittens in the backyard, adding to the thick web I've woven. I feel as if I have a farm, but I can't butcher any animals.”
To this he gently replied: “Those animals are not an inconvenience. They are a way for you to be reminded that your house is a home, and it is safe for friends, family, and wayward strays.
“Don't worry about the poop. They'll make up for it by licking your hand one day.
“Be safe! William”
“If one of my wayfarers licks my hand, it’ll probably be the bear. Love, Goldilocks.”
Conniving little beasts.
Spiders construct new webs in the lower level. More deer lie in the backyard—the does filing their hooves and applying a fresh layer of polish, bucks now recovered from rutting season are playing a riveting game of poker. And birds have chosen to nest in your new hanging planter, the precious plant having been picked out and carelessly tossed on the ground.
Opportunists.
This type of activity happens in our home and yard. The difference is, we never go anywhere, so they conduct their presumptuous behavior right before our eyes. Years ago a friend said, “The meek shall inherit the earth,” quoting Psalm 37:11. “I think what’s meant by that is insects, small and insignificant, will eventually overcome everything.”
Scary thought, but possible.
I’ve always attracted those less fortunate and those who have lived through a lot of emotional pain. I endured much bad stuff as a child and have done almost everything, so I really can’t be judgmental. People and animals know I’m trustworthy, and some take advantage of me, but I’m forgiving to a point…after which I disappear like the wind.
The most recent less fortunate being is someone I thought was dead and consumed by coyotes. I hadn’t seen him for three weeks, nor had several neighbors. But last weekend while standing in my neighbors’ backyard talking, I noticed a pair of ears. For five minutes or more, those ears didn’t even twitch.
Finally I asked if Bette and Bob would turn around and look at what appeared to be a ceramic deer, which would be a pretty weird thing to have, given the tens of deer trotting around all the time. We all trekked down the hill, and sure enough, it wasn’t a ceramic deer.
So I ventured, “I’ll bet it’s our injured one,” referring to the young buck I call Franklin, whose hindquarters are virtually useless after being struck by a vehicle. So we chose to let resting faux-ceramic deer rest.
By the next day, the injured deer was grazing in our back forty, as I call the easement area. I walked downstairs and outside to unlatch the back gate, so he’d have access to fresh water, the hot tub, and a more expanded area to poop. And sure enough, he’s made himself at home under the large junipers. Even Shiloh the Lab knows to leave the poor guy alone, so they share space.
Aside from one very close call during rutting season, Shiloh doesn’t let deer bother him. A fawn once touched its nose to Shiloh’s, and a doe chased the dog as he fetched his ball.
Today a ringed turtledove perched in our juniper above Franklin, and a beautiful kitty with a chunk missing from its left ear is skittering around. I boiled her a chicken leg and set it outside with a bed in a wooden box. This feline, however, will remain outdoors, unlike the other two. My heart goes out to the wounded and strays, as I hope someone’s heart would go out to me in times of need.
Two years ago I wrote to my friend William, currently a contractor in Iraq: “Shiloh found two kittens in the backyard, adding to the thick web I've woven. I feel as if I have a farm, but I can't butcher any animals.”
To this he gently replied: “Those animals are not an inconvenience. They are a way for you to be reminded that your house is a home, and it is safe for friends, family, and wayward strays.
“Don't worry about the poop. They'll make up for it by licking your hand one day.
“Be safe! William”
“If one of my wayfarers licks my hand, it’ll probably be the bear. Love, Goldilocks.”
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center Isn’t for Everyone Anymore
Gee, what a shock. The catering company that has for two years provided delectable food at the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center is not renewing their contract.
Join the Nonrenewing Club.
Garden of the Gods Gourmet has worked their arts off to provide Fine Arts Center patrons with a multicultural menu at FAC restaurant Café 36, but the proposed contract, prepared, I suspect, by the relatively new FAC management, will not allow the caterer to make a profit—the probable financial direction for the center itself. How democratic.
The Fine Arts Center was led from 2003 to 2007 by risk taker Michael De Marsche, who visioned a spectacular center in Colorado Springs and instituted a fund-raising campaign to build the FAC’s new wing. The drive included our entire community and beyond and attracted a lot of new blood. Annual attendance grew from approximately 20,000 to more than 120,000, an ever-expanding audience that I’ll bet has ever decreased during the current CEO’s tenure.
Under De Marsche’s innovative management, the Fine Arts Center had monthly wine tastings called First Thursdays, tempting hors d’oeuvres, and two groups playing live music that drew hundreds to purchase memberships who otherwise wouldn’t have joined. Through these soirées, people became more aware of other programs—plays, musicals, gallery openings, guest artists, and classes—by being in the galleries and via periodic FAC communications. Subsequently, members attended these events, bringing friends and family. Too quickly, however, De Marsche left the FAC to accept the challenge of becoming executive director of the Yerevan, Armenia, Gerard L. Cafesjian Center for the Arts and Museum of Art.
October 2008 when new permanent management stepped in, word leaked out that CEO Mark Samuel Gappmayer might end the wine tastings because previous leadership had spent too much money on the new wing, and the wine tastings weren’t making the FAC any money. The Fine Arts Center is a nonprofit organization. Apparently advertising and public relations—spending money to make money—were new concepts, which could be a blessing because FAC communications lack consistency anyway.
During Gappmayer’s decision-making period soon after his arrival, I had a lovely chat with him during First Thursdays, imploring him to continue the more-than-20-year tradition of attracting people to the FAC via wine tastings. I’d even served at the gatherings 24 years earlier.
With a genuine smile and obvious concern for the FAC’s financial well-being, he said, and I paraphrase, “But look at who these wine tastings attract: middle-class people who otherwise wouldn’t be here. They’re not interested in art,” he declared, as smiling patrons socialized, gazing at and discussing the exhibit.
Middle class. What is wrong with middle class? Who, specifically, does he want supporting his Fine Arts Center? “Welcome to my center…unless you’re middle class.”
Let’s mention some of the middle-class patrons. One friend paid cash for his $1.3 million home. Many own their homes. This CEO himself purchased his house for $505,000, financing $404,000 of it. The house I built with my ex would now sell for more than $600,000. We have careers and places in society that would connote other than middle class. But why should it matter who pays to be a part of the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center?
Some things should not be spoken. I’ve always advised those new in their positions to observe for a time to learn the mechanics of an environment before making consequential decisions.
Contributing to his lack of decorum, Gappmayer had uncharitably stuck the only live music in the small gift shop’s northeast corner—three or four musicians trying to gift us with their songs in a 36-square-feet area. There was no dancing that night.
A very wealthy friend was one of Gappmayer’s few invited guests to a special midmorning presentation to discuss Gappmayer’s plans, the future, and how important their donations to the FAC would be, if they would simply write a check of four or five figures before they leave and place it right here, he suggested with his coat opened just a bit.
Yes, rather than asking everyone to contribute to our community arts center, Gappmayer chooses to eschew the middle class and confront those who are hammered by almost every nonprofit organization already.
Like the Garden of the Gods Gourmet, I suspect many former FAC’ers have not renewed their “contracts” to maintain membership. While it used to be a venue to socialize, discover, and be entertained, it now appears the community center’s culture is open only to a select club.
I see a lack of vision, a view that had started within. But don’t take it from me, take it from someone who works near him: “He’s an idiot.”
And now he could be getting hungry.
Join the Nonrenewing Club.
Garden of the Gods Gourmet has worked their arts off to provide Fine Arts Center patrons with a multicultural menu at FAC restaurant Café 36, but the proposed contract, prepared, I suspect, by the relatively new FAC management, will not allow the caterer to make a profit—the probable financial direction for the center itself. How democratic.
The Fine Arts Center was led from 2003 to 2007 by risk taker Michael De Marsche, who visioned a spectacular center in Colorado Springs and instituted a fund-raising campaign to build the FAC’s new wing. The drive included our entire community and beyond and attracted a lot of new blood. Annual attendance grew from approximately 20,000 to more than 120,000, an ever-expanding audience that I’ll bet has ever decreased during the current CEO’s tenure.
Under De Marsche’s innovative management, the Fine Arts Center had monthly wine tastings called First Thursdays, tempting hors d’oeuvres, and two groups playing live music that drew hundreds to purchase memberships who otherwise wouldn’t have joined. Through these soirées, people became more aware of other programs—plays, musicals, gallery openings, guest artists, and classes—by being in the galleries and via periodic FAC communications. Subsequently, members attended these events, bringing friends and family. Too quickly, however, De Marsche left the FAC to accept the challenge of becoming executive director of the Yerevan, Armenia, Gerard L. Cafesjian Center for the Arts and Museum of Art.
October 2008 when new permanent management stepped in, word leaked out that CEO Mark Samuel Gappmayer might end the wine tastings because previous leadership had spent too much money on the new wing, and the wine tastings weren’t making the FAC any money. The Fine Arts Center is a nonprofit organization. Apparently advertising and public relations—spending money to make money—were new concepts, which could be a blessing because FAC communications lack consistency anyway.
During Gappmayer’s decision-making period soon after his arrival, I had a lovely chat with him during First Thursdays, imploring him to continue the more-than-20-year tradition of attracting people to the FAC via wine tastings. I’d even served at the gatherings 24 years earlier.
With a genuine smile and obvious concern for the FAC’s financial well-being, he said, and I paraphrase, “But look at who these wine tastings attract: middle-class people who otherwise wouldn’t be here. They’re not interested in art,” he declared, as smiling patrons socialized, gazing at and discussing the exhibit.
Middle class. What is wrong with middle class? Who, specifically, does he want supporting his Fine Arts Center? “Welcome to my center…unless you’re middle class.”
Let’s mention some of the middle-class patrons. One friend paid cash for his $1.3 million home. Many own their homes. This CEO himself purchased his house for $505,000, financing $404,000 of it. The house I built with my ex would now sell for more than $600,000. We have careers and places in society that would connote other than middle class. But why should it matter who pays to be a part of the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center?
Some things should not be spoken. I’ve always advised those new in their positions to observe for a time to learn the mechanics of an environment before making consequential decisions.
Contributing to his lack of decorum, Gappmayer had uncharitably stuck the only live music in the small gift shop’s northeast corner—three or four musicians trying to gift us with their songs in a 36-square-feet area. There was no dancing that night.
A very wealthy friend was one of Gappmayer’s few invited guests to a special midmorning presentation to discuss Gappmayer’s plans, the future, and how important their donations to the FAC would be, if they would simply write a check of four or five figures before they leave and place it right here, he suggested with his coat opened just a bit.
Yes, rather than asking everyone to contribute to our community arts center, Gappmayer chooses to eschew the middle class and confront those who are hammered by almost every nonprofit organization already.
Like the Garden of the Gods Gourmet, I suspect many former FAC’ers have not renewed their “contracts” to maintain membership. While it used to be a venue to socialize, discover, and be entertained, it now appears the community center’s culture is open only to a select club.
I see a lack of vision, a view that had started within. But don’t take it from me, take it from someone who works near him: “He’s an idiot.”
And now he could be getting hungry.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Whoops!
To my Internet gal pal: I just accidentally hit Report spam when deleting your last message. Hope that doesn't mess up the system.
My gal pal: No, well, let me know if you get this, then we will know if you spammed me or not.
Back to her: No problem receiving, so your message didn't get spamacized (sort of like circumcision but meatier).
My gal pal: No, well, let me know if you get this, then we will know if you spammed me or not.
Back to her: No problem receiving, so your message didn't get spamacized (sort of like circumcision but meatier).
To Sell or Give Away: That Is the Question
Seems that whenever I'd like to sell something, I end up giving it to someone for free anyway as an act of compassion. I suspect if I asked for money I'd feel guilty, so I remain demure, if you can imagine that.
Nevertheless, I thought I'd test my luck on eBay. Some people make a living buying stuff inexpensively or emptying their closets, then arousing a little action around the thing. Some gal with several kids once sold some Pokemon cards for about a thousand bucks because her story was so funny.
Wonder what I have that could give someone a rise.
Auction ends Wednesday before 10 a.m. MDT.
Vintage Hippie Bell-bottom Jeans
Take time to read my jeans' description. It's worth the ride.
Nevertheless, I thought I'd test my luck on eBay. Some people make a living buying stuff inexpensively or emptying their closets, then arousing a little action around the thing. Some gal with several kids once sold some Pokemon cards for about a thousand bucks because her story was so funny.Wonder what I have that could give someone a rise.
Auction ends Wednesday before 10 a.m. MDT.
Vintage Hippie Bell-bottom Jeans
Take time to read my jeans' description. It's worth the ride.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Presents and George’s Prickles
When I walk around my house, I see an abundance of wonderful gifts my friends have shared with me throughout the years. Hand-crafted ceramics from Kat and Sue. My first teddy bear from Kathy. Gifts from friends’ travels, housewarming presents, and etiquette gifts offered when coming over for dinner or a party.
My soul friend has traveled around the world a few times and has brought back a multitude of cool things: a hand-painted, long-beaked bird created from a gourd, two caramel-colored Indian elephants all decked out for stomping, a marble box with side holes to allow the scent of good-smelling things placed inside to flow through, a Kama Sutra device that serenades while in use, and a wood giraffe from Africa to join my giraffe collection.
My best guy friend Ray used to buy me gorgeous earrings. With artist’s eyes, he’d select jewelry fit for royalty, and now he shares his gifts with his bride (the artist on this column’s right, Redfish Artwork).
A handsome neighbor, Jim, brought me a percussion instrument from Australia, since I’m a musician and can’t keep a beat. Plus, on another venture, he found an exquisite glass wine stopper in New Zealand and presented it to me for all the wine bottles I should stop.
My hiking bud Bob, also a world traveler, always brings me earrings from faraway lands. He’s been to Australia enough times (five) to be aboriginal. The earrings from there are usually made from shells, wood, or other natural materials, such as an ostrich egg shell and echidna spines, but none of marsupial gonads—too heavy. His numerous givings, and misgivings (a hopping appendage from Amsterdam), are displayed about my home and ears.
But the prickliest gift anyone has ever given me was a pair of cacti. My high-school friend, George, came to visit me at college, and as he walked into my room (see previous post), he said, “It’s polite to bring a gift when you come and visit someone,” and handed me two cute, little saguaro cacti, two and three inches tall.
I’ve always had a green thumb, so I was crushed when one of the little fellas dried up. But the sole survivor moved with me to 10 locations in two states and kept on growing. So here’s my cactus, Aquarius, named after my friend’s astrological sign. He's at least 31 years old.
But I’m still trying to figure out why dear George chose to give me a succulent with a thick, fleshy stem that grows spines, not leaves, and is shaped like a phallus.
My soul friend has traveled around the world a few times and has brought back a multitude of cool things: a hand-painted, long-beaked bird created from a gourd, two caramel-colored Indian elephants all decked out for stomping, a marble box with side holes to allow the scent of good-smelling things placed inside to flow through, a Kama Sutra device that serenades while in use, and a wood giraffe from Africa to join my giraffe collection.
My best guy friend Ray used to buy me gorgeous earrings. With artist’s eyes, he’d select jewelry fit for royalty, and now he shares his gifts with his bride (the artist on this column’s right, Redfish Artwork).
A handsome neighbor, Jim, brought me a percussion instrument from Australia, since I’m a musician and can’t keep a beat. Plus, on another venture, he found an exquisite glass wine stopper in New Zealand and presented it to me for all the wine bottles I should stop.
My hiking bud Bob, also a world traveler, always brings me earrings from faraway lands. He’s been to Australia enough times (five) to be aboriginal. The earrings from there are usually made from shells, wood, or other natural materials, such as an ostrich egg shell and echidna spines, but none of marsupial gonads—too heavy. His numerous givings, and misgivings (a hopping appendage from Amsterdam), are displayed about my home and ears.
But the prickliest gift anyone has ever given me was a pair of cacti. My high-school friend, George, came to visit me at college, and as he walked into my room (see previous post), he said, “It’s polite to bring a gift when you come and visit someone,” and handed me two cute, little saguaro cacti, two and three inches tall.I’ve always had a green thumb, so I was crushed when one of the little fellas dried up. But the sole survivor moved with me to 10 locations in two states and kept on growing. So here’s my cactus, Aquarius, named after my friend’s astrological sign. He's at least 31 years old.
But I’m still trying to figure out why dear George chose to give me a succulent with a thick, fleshy stem that grows spines, not leaves, and is shaped like a phallus.
What to Wear to a Frat Party
In my second year of college, there weren’t enough dorms to house all UW–Eau Claire students who wanted to live on campus, so the university worked a deal with a nearby Ramada Inn to accommodate several students, two to a room. So began my memorable nine months at the Ramada.
I gave myself a lot of exercise that year. Ramada was quite a distance from campus, and the Board of Education administration building where I worked was even farther away. I chose to use my Motobécane more than my geometric form (Opel sportwagon), so I became thin.
Marcia, my roommate, an English major with a theater minor, was a stitch, literally. She was a seamstress. She and I would come home to the motel from class, sit, and talk in those ubiquitous ’70s green vinyl arm chairs next to the usual motel round table beneath the typical wall mirror. She liked having the TV’s picture on while wearing headphones, listening to music. She’d puff a cigarette, sip on Diet Pepsi, and occasionally fire up and inhale smoke from her one-hit bong. Then she’d just grin and try to think, all pink-faced and squinty-eyed, giggling her high feminine giggle.
Marcia had a way of making me feel wanted, no, needed as her leader. She’d ask me childlike questions, appearing inquisitive, holding her breath awaiting my sage advice. “How do you think I’ll be as an English teacher?” Or, “Do you think green or pink ribbon would look good on this character’s little armor skirt?” I still don’t know if her questions were genuine, but I ate it up, even if I did roll my eyes.
During the first couple months I knew her, Marcia discovered she was attractive. She had long, sort of wavy, dark blonde hair she loved to brush while listening to Eric Clapton sing. “And brushes her long blonde hair. And then she asks me, ‘Do I look alright?’ And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight.’”
Staring into the mirror, never taking her eyes off herself, she would talk to me for an hour, stroking her hair, smoking her bong, uttering sweet nothings in her soft, breathy, high voice.
I remember taking her to frat parties, walking with her, but always following so I could watch the swarm of guys turn and watch Marcia wiggle. She had a body guys loved: perfect breasts, not-too-thin waist, and wider hips. And though I could have felt insecure, given all the attention she garnered and receiving none myself, I got a kick out of it, because later I would tell her what the guys did, and she ate it up. I crack up thinking of those days.
At one frat party, the guys lit the room with black lights, probably so we couldn’t see how disgusting the place was. Marcia had worn a semisheer blouse that probably had ruffles on it, just to slather her soft, sweet femininity all over the house. When she stopped and turned around to ask me where I wanted to go next, I saw her bra all aglow in the black lights almost as if it were protruding past her blouse.
“Look down,” I gasped at Marcia. “You can see right through your blouse with these black lights!”
As much as she liked to flaunt what God gave her, she started giggling embarrassingly and pulled me aside. “What should I do?” she breathed in her cute, spacey way.
“Enjoy the attention.” I suggested. And she did.
I gave myself a lot of exercise that year. Ramada was quite a distance from campus, and the Board of Education administration building where I worked was even farther away. I chose to use my Motobécane more than my geometric form (Opel sportwagon), so I became thin.
Marcia, my roommate, an English major with a theater minor, was a stitch, literally. She was a seamstress. She and I would come home to the motel from class, sit, and talk in those ubiquitous ’70s green vinyl arm chairs next to the usual motel round table beneath the typical wall mirror. She liked having the TV’s picture on while wearing headphones, listening to music. She’d puff a cigarette, sip on Diet Pepsi, and occasionally fire up and inhale smoke from her one-hit bong. Then she’d just grin and try to think, all pink-faced and squinty-eyed, giggling her high feminine giggle.
Marcia had a way of making me feel wanted, no, needed as her leader. She’d ask me childlike questions, appearing inquisitive, holding her breath awaiting my sage advice. “How do you think I’ll be as an English teacher?” Or, “Do you think green or pink ribbon would look good on this character’s little armor skirt?” I still don’t know if her questions were genuine, but I ate it up, even if I did roll my eyes.
During the first couple months I knew her, Marcia discovered she was attractive. She had long, sort of wavy, dark blonde hair she loved to brush while listening to Eric Clapton sing. “And brushes her long blonde hair. And then she asks me, ‘Do I look alright?’ And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight.’”
Staring into the mirror, never taking her eyes off herself, she would talk to me for an hour, stroking her hair, smoking her bong, uttering sweet nothings in her soft, breathy, high voice.
I remember taking her to frat parties, walking with her, but always following so I could watch the swarm of guys turn and watch Marcia wiggle. She had a body guys loved: perfect breasts, not-too-thin waist, and wider hips. And though I could have felt insecure, given all the attention she garnered and receiving none myself, I got a kick out of it, because later I would tell her what the guys did, and she ate it up. I crack up thinking of those days.
At one frat party, the guys lit the room with black lights, probably so we couldn’t see how disgusting the place was. Marcia had worn a semisheer blouse that probably had ruffles on it, just to slather her soft, sweet femininity all over the house. When she stopped and turned around to ask me where I wanted to go next, I saw her bra all aglow in the black lights almost as if it were protruding past her blouse.
“Look down,” I gasped at Marcia. “You can see right through your blouse with these black lights!”
As much as she liked to flaunt what God gave her, she started giggling embarrassingly and pulled me aside. “What should I do?” she breathed in her cute, spacey way.
“Enjoy the attention.” I suggested. And she did.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Fresh Meat: Dog Lovers Continue
From a passionate friend whom I have known since 1987:
You have surely heard my speech about feeding dogs. They are carnivorous and should NOT have ANY GRAIN at all.
I prefer raw meat that has the nutrients for dogs—raw bones—nothing cooked.
I think vegetables and fruits are okay if they like them. [Auntie: I’ve read that when coyotes and wolves kill their prey, they dive into the stomach first, because their prey is herbivorous. Shiloh loves most fruits and veggies, not to include bananas.]
No vaccinations after the first ones. [Auntie: see www.avma.org/issues/vaccination/default.asp.]
No fertilizer on the grass, and if you can, filter their water.
Let’s see: Are those all of my words of wisdom?
Don’t allow them to walk on fertilized parks and yards. They absorb those chemicals into their pads.
I don’t think invisible fence collars are good for them. [Auntie: though I’ve become a big fan of bark collars the neighbors use!]
All of this goes for cats too.
Anyway, I wish more people would take the time to find out what they should be doing with those precious animals who have no say in life but to rely on what we choose to do for them. I was devastated when my close friend and neighbor lost two golden retrievers to cancer—within a year, and they were 3 years apart in age and not related. Pretty much tells me something he was doing was wrong.
I also put in a home radon emitter to ensure radon wasn’t the problem. So far we have not had any issues with our dogs since changing all of this.
The American Veterinary Medical Association even agrees that they don’t need vaccinations every year. I told our Humane Society that I would be happy to license them every year but that I would not do the shots. They told me that if I got a letter from a vet, they would agree to that. They know it is not good for them.
I would love everyone to have this information, because I went for years going merrily along not knowing that I was doing harm to those precious creatures. I am very passionate about this and am so thrilled that you will help me pass on the message.
I get my food from a lady named Kathy Stabler and am more than willing to share her number. She delivers it to the house and makes very little profit on it.
Carmen, who used to own a pet store on Eighth Street (by the Cheyenne Mountain Library, Colorado Springs, and sold meat for dogs), spent years researching and has been kind enough to share her knowledge. She even went to the effort to have blood work done on one of her pets (cost her more than $300) to prove to the Humane Society that her animals did not need any further vaccinations. She is an amazing person too, and if you need her information, let me know. —Carol
You have surely heard my speech about feeding dogs. They are carnivorous and should NOT have ANY GRAIN at all.
I prefer raw meat that has the nutrients for dogs—raw bones—nothing cooked.I think vegetables and fruits are okay if they like them. [Auntie: I’ve read that when coyotes and wolves kill their prey, they dive into the stomach first, because their prey is herbivorous. Shiloh loves most fruits and veggies, not to include bananas.]
No vaccinations after the first ones. [Auntie: see www.avma.org/issues/vaccination/default.asp.]
No fertilizer on the grass, and if you can, filter their water.
Let’s see: Are those all of my words of wisdom?
Don’t allow them to walk on fertilized parks and yards. They absorb those chemicals into their pads.
I don’t think invisible fence collars are good for them. [Auntie: though I’ve become a big fan of bark collars the neighbors use!]
All of this goes for cats too.
Anyway, I wish more people would take the time to find out what they should be doing with those precious animals who have no say in life but to rely on what we choose to do for them. I was devastated when my close friend and neighbor lost two golden retrievers to cancer—within a year, and they were 3 years apart in age and not related. Pretty much tells me something he was doing was wrong.
I also put in a home radon emitter to ensure radon wasn’t the problem. So far we have not had any issues with our dogs since changing all of this.
The American Veterinary Medical Association even agrees that they don’t need vaccinations every year. I told our Humane Society that I would be happy to license them every year but that I would not do the shots. They told me that if I got a letter from a vet, they would agree to that. They know it is not good for them.
I would love everyone to have this information, because I went for years going merrily along not knowing that I was doing harm to those precious creatures. I am very passionate about this and am so thrilled that you will help me pass on the message.
I get my food from a lady named Kathy Stabler and am more than willing to share her number. She delivers it to the house and makes very little profit on it.
Carmen, who used to own a pet store on Eighth Street (by the Cheyenne Mountain Library, Colorado Springs, and sold meat for dogs), spent years researching and has been kind enough to share her knowledge. She even went to the effort to have blood work done on one of her pets (cost her more than $300) to prove to the Humane Society that her animals did not need any further vaccinations. She is an amazing person too, and if you need her information, let me know. —Carol
Dog-related Questions and Answers
Donskiman commented via e-mail to my last post, and I’d like to share answers to his questions.
Dear Auntie,
I didn't see anything in there about your taking Shiloh to the vet for his various problems. My dogs have had ear infections, and the medicine from the vet clears them up in a couple of weeks at the most.
Is the vomiting usually related to drinking fast? My dogs do that occasionally, so I limit their intake after a walk or run, or I'll let them drink only a little at a time, but several times. It keeps air bubbles from forming.
What kind of dry food do you feed him? I thought my dogs were getting a good quality food and found out differently from a Web site that rates all kinds of dog food. Foods like Science Diet and Iams are actually near the bottom.
Where did you get the idea to feed him all that other stuff? Raw poultry can have a fat content that may not be the best, and chicken is usually cooked extensively to remove it. Turkey especially can make dogs sick—even when cooked. Have you tried eliminating things until he stops puking?
Dear Donskiman,
Due to excessive personal health-care costs (four surgical procedures in seven months that consumed 50 percent of my income), vet visits are few, while visits to Home Remedies are frequent. People have sought my counsel for my healing abilities, so I always start within, unless it’s a dire event, such as the one Shiloh experienced in July 2008 (and cost $600+).
Shiloh did have his lemon-sized tumor aspirated March 9, but I didn’t have the funds to get x-rays or teeth cleaned, which would have cost about $400. Something might be obstructing his throat and intestines. The doctor said nothing about his ear infection, so she either didn’t notice, or I’m sufficiently cleansing the big guy’s “aurifices.”
I believe you are right on post-water-gulping regurgitation. This week when I didn’t allow him to drink until his panting slowed, he did not upchuck. Your formula of several well-spaced sips is perfect. Occasionally in the morning if he doesn’t eat at his regular time, he’ll vomit mustard-colored mucus. He always has fresh water available and is unable to graze on feline excrement, so I haven’t determined the cause of these prebreakfast barfing bouts.
I agree with you regarding dry dog food brands. Science Diet and Iams have made both of my dogs ill. The first thing my daughter and I do when shopping for dry dog food is read the ingredients. If the first component is corn or wheat or anything but meat, not by-products, we do not buy it. Purina One, large breed and sensitive stomach, have worked well for both Shiloh and his cats. Please share with us the Web site that rates dog food.
My idea for feeding him raw food comes from the book by Kymythy Schultze published by Hay House that I cited at the end of my last post, plus a video produced by dog breeders and trainers, the pet food store that used to be by the Cheyenne Mountain library branch, and other sources. I sometimes have queasiness seeing and touching meat, so a completely raw diet isn’t good for me!
Whenever I deal with meat, I thoroughly rinse it (except ground beef, which he usually eats) and bleach all surfaces that might have been affected.
Because of the bacteria poultry carries, I ensure I have a separate plastic disposal bag open, pour canola oil on my meat cutting board, am extremely careful not to touch handles or other surfaces after touching meat, slice off and dispose of fat, then bleach clean the area. Time consuming, so infrequently done.
When making Shiloh’s chicken soup that he generously shares with his feline brothers and me, I retain the fat, unless excessive.
I haven’t tried turkey, but for the first time I bought some ground bird last week. I shall give it to the fox and magpies.
And yes, I have tried the process of elimination with the goal of puke cessation. By adding more broth and fewer solids to his food, then feeding him a little more later, I believe I’ve seen some improvement.
As my friend says, “Your dog’s bulimic.”
You are welcome to borrow my book!
Dear Auntie,
I didn't see anything in there about your taking Shiloh to the vet for his various problems. My dogs have had ear infections, and the medicine from the vet clears them up in a couple of weeks at the most.
Is the vomiting usually related to drinking fast? My dogs do that occasionally, so I limit their intake after a walk or run, or I'll let them drink only a little at a time, but several times. It keeps air bubbles from forming.
What kind of dry food do you feed him? I thought my dogs were getting a good quality food and found out differently from a Web site that rates all kinds of dog food. Foods like Science Diet and Iams are actually near the bottom.
Where did you get the idea to feed him all that other stuff? Raw poultry can have a fat content that may not be the best, and chicken is usually cooked extensively to remove it. Turkey especially can make dogs sick—even when cooked. Have you tried eliminating things until he stops puking?
Dear Donskiman,Due to excessive personal health-care costs (four surgical procedures in seven months that consumed 50 percent of my income), vet visits are few, while visits to Home Remedies are frequent. People have sought my counsel for my healing abilities, so I always start within, unless it’s a dire event, such as the one Shiloh experienced in July 2008 (and cost $600+).
Shiloh did have his lemon-sized tumor aspirated March 9, but I didn’t have the funds to get x-rays or teeth cleaned, which would have cost about $400. Something might be obstructing his throat and intestines. The doctor said nothing about his ear infection, so she either didn’t notice, or I’m sufficiently cleansing the big guy’s “aurifices.”
I believe you are right on post-water-gulping regurgitation. This week when I didn’t allow him to drink until his panting slowed, he did not upchuck. Your formula of several well-spaced sips is perfect. Occasionally in the morning if he doesn’t eat at his regular time, he’ll vomit mustard-colored mucus. He always has fresh water available and is unable to graze on feline excrement, so I haven’t determined the cause of these prebreakfast barfing bouts.
I agree with you regarding dry dog food brands. Science Diet and Iams have made both of my dogs ill. The first thing my daughter and I do when shopping for dry dog food is read the ingredients. If the first component is corn or wheat or anything but meat, not by-products, we do not buy it. Purina One, large breed and sensitive stomach, have worked well for both Shiloh and his cats. Please share with us the Web site that rates dog food.
My idea for feeding him raw food comes from the book by Kymythy Schultze published by Hay House that I cited at the end of my last post, plus a video produced by dog breeders and trainers, the pet food store that used to be by the Cheyenne Mountain library branch, and other sources. I sometimes have queasiness seeing and touching meat, so a completely raw diet isn’t good for me!
Whenever I deal with meat, I thoroughly rinse it (except ground beef, which he usually eats) and bleach all surfaces that might have been affected.
Because of the bacteria poultry carries, I ensure I have a separate plastic disposal bag open, pour canola oil on my meat cutting board, am extremely careful not to touch handles or other surfaces after touching meat, slice off and dispose of fat, then bleach clean the area. Time consuming, so infrequently done.
When making Shiloh’s chicken soup that he generously shares with his feline brothers and me, I retain the fat, unless excessive.
I haven’t tried turkey, but for the first time I bought some ground bird last week. I shall give it to the fox and magpies.
And yes, I have tried the process of elimination with the goal of puke cessation. By adding more broth and fewer solids to his food, then feeding him a little more later, I believe I’ve seen some improvement.
As my friend says, “Your dog’s bulimic.”
You are welcome to borrow my book!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Pads, Ears, Weak Stomachs, and Tails
For 11 and a half years, I was blessed with a son called little Alex, a yellow Lab who was more human than canine. Bright, happy, and a quick learner, he expressed emotions beautifully. But there has to be a listening human on the receiving side, and when he needed one the most, she wasn’t there.
Throughout his life he never had a problem, so I didn’t worry much about him. But in April 2000 when he grew lethargic and could barely make it around the block, I learned he had a cancerous growth on his spleen. I still cannot discuss it or write about his final month without crying. I will just share with you that I should have seen in his warm, brown, forgiving eyes something was wrong, but I was not conscious.
For my daughter’s Christmas present in December 2003, a friend and I bought Shiloh, our yellow Lab—a gift to whom we keep giving. Maybe we just unwrapped him too soon: Shiloh has been a problem child and very costly. People need to understand prior to adopting animals, each is different, and yours may be the one that moves retirement from age 60 to age 80.
Shiloh is like a mustang, rambunctious and always creating work for me. Before he turned five, he mellowed a bit and I actually started to like him. Shortly after our relationship improved, though, tragedy came.* I nursed him slowly back to health and have done my best to accept the inevitable challenges Shiloh presents.
Cut pads. Even after he healed, Shiloh’s pads still bore deep cuts. Following our daily hikes, I wash his feet in warm water with baby shampoo.** Once dry, I occasionally rub Palmer’s Cocoa Butter in the cracks and find he heals within a couple days. Palmer’s works on almost anything [www.etbrowne.com].
Ear infections. For more than a year, Shiloh’s ears produced volumes of black cerumen, so I thought he had mites. He’d scratch himself bloody many times, even though I thought I’d sufficiently cleaned his ears the day before.
As with any health problem, I headed to my reference closet and pulled out Home Remedies. I tried warm almond oil, vitamin E oil, olive oil, mineral oil, and 10W30, all blended with garlic, then gently massaged it into his ears. Voilà! After daily applications for two weeks, it didn’t work. So I looked toward harvesting yellow dock to brew some ear tea.
Finally I discussed the matter with my friend who owned a veterinary hospital, and she said, “I have not seen one case of mites in this area (Colorado). If he has ear problems, it’s either a bacterial or yeast (fungal) infection. You’ll be able to tell by the smell.”
Armed with that knowledge, I grabbed my trusty, big French nose and stuck it into the dog’s ear. Sure enough, I never wanted to eat bread again and ascertained he could have a food allergy related to wheat or corn.
I traveled on the Net and continued my research. After trying several concoctions, here is my solution: 50–50 hydrogen peroxide and vinegar (clear or apple cider), sometimes with a tinch of isopropyl alcohol to wick away moisture.
Absorb a bit on small pieces of cotton, warmed if you’re nice, and gently massage it into poopy-doo’s ears for half a minute. Toss the old, and take two new mini cotton pieces and lovingly dig out the dirt. I also use cotton swabs under bright light with great care to thoroughly extricate each black morsel. (Bet this is making you hungry. And our next topic…)
Vomiting. I have always had a weak stomach, yet one continual problem is Shiloh’s vomiting. No matter what I feed him, he vomits at least weekly. His diet has consisted of:
• raw ground beef or muscle meat (also cooked, raw beef bones give him diarrhea)
• infrequent raw chicken backs
• frequent chicken soup with organs, veggies, and herbs
• ground alfalfa and kelp (2–3 t.)
• salmon, cod-liver, or other fish oil
• vegetables, such as carrots, lettuce, celery, broccoli
• extra vitamins C and E
• good-quality dog food
• homemade yogurt (2 T.)
• infrequent apple cider vinegar, more might help with the ear problem
For those who believe cereal-type dog food is bad and dogs should only receive raw food, I come close to that goal.*** And I don’t give him foods that dogs don’t tolerate.
His exercise schedule doesn’t follow too closely to food consumption, though his regurgitation sometimes follows drinking water after a hike. The jury’s still out on this problem, and he’s promised to cut back on deer droppings.
Before Shiloh’s time on earth is over, I believe he will save someone’s life just to make up for all the trouble.
No, wait, he already has. He brought home two kittens—that I have to take care of. Oh well, when I leave for five minutes he acts as if I’ve been gone all day. I mean really, what guy does that?
* See auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/07/tragedy.html
** See auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/11/sniff-sniff.html
*** Schultze, Kymythy R., Natural Nutrition for Dogs and Cats, 1998.
Throughout his life he never had a problem, so I didn’t worry much about him. But in April 2000 when he grew lethargic and could barely make it around the block, I learned he had a cancerous growth on his spleen. I still cannot discuss it or write about his final month without crying. I will just share with you that I should have seen in his warm, brown, forgiving eyes something was wrong, but I was not conscious.
For my daughter’s Christmas present in December 2003, a friend and I bought Shiloh, our yellow Lab—a gift to whom we keep giving. Maybe we just unwrapped him too soon: Shiloh has been a problem child and very costly. People need to understand prior to adopting animals, each is different, and yours may be the one that moves retirement from age 60 to age 80.
Shiloh is like a mustang, rambunctious and always creating work for me. Before he turned five, he mellowed a bit and I actually started to like him. Shortly after our relationship improved, though, tragedy came.* I nursed him slowly back to health and have done my best to accept the inevitable challenges Shiloh presents.
Cut pads. Even after he healed, Shiloh’s pads still bore deep cuts. Following our daily hikes, I wash his feet in warm water with baby shampoo.** Once dry, I occasionally rub Palmer’s Cocoa Butter in the cracks and find he heals within a couple days. Palmer’s works on almost anything [www.etbrowne.com].Ear infections. For more than a year, Shiloh’s ears produced volumes of black cerumen, so I thought he had mites. He’d scratch himself bloody many times, even though I thought I’d sufficiently cleaned his ears the day before.
As with any health problem, I headed to my reference closet and pulled out Home Remedies. I tried warm almond oil, vitamin E oil, olive oil, mineral oil, and 10W30, all blended with garlic, then gently massaged it into his ears. Voilà! After daily applications for two weeks, it didn’t work. So I looked toward harvesting yellow dock to brew some ear tea.Finally I discussed the matter with my friend who owned a veterinary hospital, and she said, “I have not seen one case of mites in this area (Colorado). If he has ear problems, it’s either a bacterial or yeast (fungal) infection. You’ll be able to tell by the smell.”
Armed with that knowledge, I grabbed my trusty, big French nose and stuck it into the dog’s ear. Sure enough, I never wanted to eat bread again and ascertained he could have a food allergy related to wheat or corn.
I traveled on the Net and continued my research. After trying several concoctions, here is my solution: 50–50 hydrogen peroxide and vinegar (clear or apple cider), sometimes with a tinch of isopropyl alcohol to wick away moisture.
Absorb a bit on small pieces of cotton, warmed if you’re nice, and gently massage it into poopy-doo’s ears for half a minute. Toss the old, and take two new mini cotton pieces and lovingly dig out the dirt. I also use cotton swabs under bright light with great care to thoroughly extricate each black morsel. (Bet this is making you hungry. And our next topic…)
Vomiting. I have always had a weak stomach, yet one continual problem is Shiloh’s vomiting. No matter what I feed him, he vomits at least weekly. His diet has consisted of:• raw ground beef or muscle meat (also cooked, raw beef bones give him diarrhea)
• infrequent raw chicken backs
• frequent chicken soup with organs, veggies, and herbs
• ground alfalfa and kelp (2–3 t.)
• salmon, cod-liver, or other fish oil
• vegetables, such as carrots, lettuce, celery, broccoli
• extra vitamins C and E
• good-quality dog food
• homemade yogurt (2 T.)
• infrequent apple cider vinegar, more might help with the ear problem
For those who believe cereal-type dog food is bad and dogs should only receive raw food, I come close to that goal.*** And I don’t give him foods that dogs don’t tolerate.
His exercise schedule doesn’t follow too closely to food consumption, though his regurgitation sometimes follows drinking water after a hike. The jury’s still out on this problem, and he’s promised to cut back on deer droppings.
Before Shiloh’s time on earth is over, I believe he will save someone’s life just to make up for all the trouble.
No, wait, he already has. He brought home two kittens—that I have to take care of. Oh well, when I leave for five minutes he acts as if I’ve been gone all day. I mean really, what guy does that?
* See auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/07/tragedy.html
** See auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/11/sniff-sniff.html
*** Schultze, Kymythy R., Natural Nutrition for Dogs and Cats, 1998.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Ask, Receive
Within three hours of posting my last blog, three potential travel partners stated their interest in going to France with me!One, my closest college friend, e-mailed from North Carolina saying she’d already had tentative plans to go to Europe in summer 2011. In particular, she’d planned to go to southern France, because her older daughter will be studying there!
Gee, what shall I ask for next?
I would like to earn a decent living writing, coupled with 35 percent of my income derived from editing. And so it is.
Map data © MapQuest.com, Inc., The World Book Dictionary © 2005 World Book, Inc. All rights reserved.
Screen capture: © 2003 World Book, Inc. All rights reserved.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Bon Voyage!
After seeing Julie & Julia, I started cooking with more verve, frequency, and a higher-pitched voice. I’ve borrowed books from the library, both adult and children’s, to help me start learning French and decided to venture to France. I’d also like to go back to Italy.
I’m not sure how I’ll pay for this grand explore, but I have found that whenever I think passionately about something, it happens. Some preliminary changes, aside from financial, will first need to take place.
My 17-year aviophobia needs to dissipate. I’ll elaborate on this problem in a future blog. Just know, there are 10 rational reasons why this fear exists, perhaps more. On second thought, I think I’ll take my canoe.
I’ll need to find someone whom I deeply trust to care for our Lab, two pussy cats, and home, unless I sell the house fully loaded prior to departure.
I’d like to meet some relatives online who live in France and ascertain their willingness to meet, wine, and dine with an Americanized Bergeron. From the little research I’ve done, the name was first found in Burgundy in eastern France bordering Switzerland and Italy, so it sounds as if I’m on the right track.
Since making these decisions and taking some action, I’ve been dreaming almost nightly about being in different countries and cities with different people. The more I read, the more vivid and delightful my dreams.
The last thing I need to negotiate is whom I shall go with. The person would have to be expressive, enjoy tasting wine and new cuisine, adore exploring, and be thoughtful, to include not smoking.
Any offers before “bon voyage”?
Bergeron crest, courtesy Rich Bergeron, from acadian.org
I’m not sure how I’ll pay for this grand explore, but I have found that whenever I think passionately about something, it happens. Some preliminary changes, aside from financial, will first need to take place.
My 17-year aviophobia needs to dissipate. I’ll elaborate on this problem in a future blog. Just know, there are 10 rational reasons why this fear exists, perhaps more. On second thought, I think I’ll take my canoe.
I’ll need to find someone whom I deeply trust to care for our Lab, two pussy cats, and home, unless I sell the house fully loaded prior to departure.
I’d like to meet some relatives online who live in France and ascertain their willingness to meet, wine, and dine with an Americanized Bergeron. From the little research I’ve done, the name was first found in Burgundy in eastern France bordering Switzerland and Italy, so it sounds as if I’m on the right track.
Since making these decisions and taking some action, I’ve been dreaming almost nightly about being in different countries and cities with different people. The more I read, the more vivid and delightful my dreams.The last thing I need to negotiate is whom I shall go with. The person would have to be expressive, enjoy tasting wine and new cuisine, adore exploring, and be thoughtful, to include not smoking.
Any offers before “bon voyage”?
Bergeron crest, courtesy Rich Bergeron, from acadian.org
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