In part 3 of Dad's letter to his folks, he describes some of his adventures, including a run-in with a drunk beggar.
...
I will never be a city boy although I like it in the city. I like the excitement and above all I get a bang out of watching people and trying to imagine what kind they are. I don't like to have to constantly keep feeling of my pocket to see if my billfold is still there though.
A drunk fellow approached me on the street last Friday night and wanted some money to get coffee. I said "I wouldn't give you any money as long as you can afford to get drunk". He got angry and started threatening me. He didn't know me from Adam and he said, "you better not report for work tomorrow morning" and then walked off.
Later I ran into him again and said "hello pal". He stopped and looked at me and said, "where have I seen you before"? I told him he never had. He wanted a cigarette and I gave it to him. He was so drunk he could hardly stand up. He talked to me awhile and then asked me if I had any money and I said "sure, lots of it". He said "give me some". I wanted to know what for and he said "to buy a drink". I started laughing and said that before I would give him any money for a drink I would buy myself one. He got mad again and walked off. Things like that make a city interesting. Of course no matter what you do or say, you know it doesn't make any difference because you will never see the people around you again anyway.
Fred was just up and we decided to eat and then take a long walk into the old part of Brookline. It will be about a four or five mile walk but I enjoy them.
In your letter Dad you asked if I was coming home if inducted into the army. I cannot see any sense in doing so because of the cost. $40 for a railroad ticket is a lot of money. However if after taking my physical here and if I pass, I get two weeks furlough and might come home then. No better way of spending my money that I know of. No word from the draft board as yet.
Your loving son,
Clayton
P.S. My diploma will arrive in a few days. Guard it! Represents 5 years of my life.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Gratitude Letter, Part 2
Dad had just graduated from Iowa State College, was visiting Boston, and decided to thank his parents for his education. In part one, he enumerated the ways his parents had helped him both financially and emotionally through his five (5!) years of college. He received his Bachelor's of Science degree in Horticulture.
Part two is a snapshot of the place and time he was in - Boston in August of 1942.
...
Additional thanks are in order to you Mom for sending me such grand letters the past week. I have appreciated them more than I can ever say. I received the cigarettes and they are very welcome. It means $1.60 more that I can save.
Quite a few things have happened since the last time I wrote even though it was only a few days ago. The stevedores and another group went on strike in the terminal Monday morning tying up the entire food supply for the city of Boston and surrounding territory as far north as New Hampshire. They, the strikers, wanted $42 for a 40-hour week instead of $36 for 48 hours. They wouldn't let any trucks in to unload the produce except government agencies. Thousands of dollars of produce was out of refrigeration and was starting to spoil. The strike was settled yesterday afternoon about two o'clock for thirty days and then if nothing definite is done they will strike again. In case they do the government is likely to step in and take over.
I hope the crops in North Dakota get threshed before anything happens to them this year. I hope Dad that you manage to find storage room for all of the wheat. I would give a lot to be home now to see the waving fields of grain, the flat prairies, and just generally a good country where one can stand in his back yard and see for several miles.
...
Part three covers more of Dad's adventures in Boston, as well as his attitude towards beggars and drunks.
Part two is a snapshot of the place and time he was in - Boston in August of 1942.
...
Additional thanks are in order to you Mom for sending me such grand letters the past week. I have appreciated them more than I can ever say. I received the cigarettes and they are very welcome. It means $1.60 more that I can save.
Quite a few things have happened since the last time I wrote even though it was only a few days ago. The stevedores and another group went on strike in the terminal Monday morning tying up the entire food supply for the city of Boston and surrounding territory as far north as New Hampshire. They, the strikers, wanted $42 for a 40-hour week instead of $36 for 48 hours. They wouldn't let any trucks in to unload the produce except government agencies. Thousands of dollars of produce was out of refrigeration and was starting to spoil. The strike was settled yesterday afternoon about two o'clock for thirty days and then if nothing definite is done they will strike again. In case they do the government is likely to step in and take over.
I hope the crops in North Dakota get threshed before anything happens to them this year. I hope Dad that you manage to find storage room for all of the wheat. I would give a lot to be home now to see the waving fields of grain, the flat prairies, and just generally a good country where one can stand in his back yard and see for several miles.
...
Part three covers more of Dad's adventures in Boston, as well as his attitude towards beggars and drunks.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Gratitude Letter Part One
Although I am deeply grateful for many things in my life, I thought it might be interesting to read a letter written from my father to his parents upon graduating from college. Written in 1942, he knew there was a chance he'd have to go to war (he didn't pass the physical, so he didn't go), and was experiencing the "big city life" of Boston.
It's a long letter, so I'm going to split it into a few blog posts.
August 5, 1942
Dear Folks,
Today I received my diploma from Iowa State College. It set me to thinking and one of my thoughts was whether or not I have ever thanked the two of you for my education. It is hard to put into words the thanks that both of you deserve for all you have done for me the last five years. You have made it possible for me to get something that no matter what happens, no one can take from me. A man's education is his own and he cannot be deprived of it once he has it.
The things that both of you have gone without and which I have not known about are probably innumerable. My education cost you a tidy sum of money--approximately four thousand dollars more or less. The things that both of you could have had with that money are hard to think of. When I think of the trips, the furniture, the clothes, and all of the other things which you could have had, I can only say thanks a lot. Whereas many of my classmates in school have had to work for their education, I have merely had to write you Dad and a check was forthcoming. You stood the expense of a car for me so that I could have more additional fun. I hope that some day I can repay both of you tenfold but I don't think it possible. When I have written homesick letters, you Mom have always sent a cheerful one in return, cheering me up and realizing the world isn't such an awfully bad place. When I have had a problem that bothered me I knew that I could always turn to you Dad and get the proper solution.
Many many times Dad that you haven't known about, I have been on the verge of quitting school and Mom has talked some sense into me. Knowing how much my getting a college education meant to both of you, I just couldn't let you down. I was just a mediocre student but I felt that an education did not consist in merely knowing the assignments out of a book. I'm proud of both of you and when I was thinking of the past five years after receiving my diploma, I again realized that I have the best two parents any fellow could possibly ask for and my hope is that I have fulfilled your dreams for me. If we were only living in a more settled world I would prove to you that your faith in me has not been in vain. These next few years are going to be tough even if I do not have to go into the army, but your son is going to win out in the end. Thanks for everything, you're both just simply swell.
It's a long letter, so I'm going to split it into a few blog posts.
Dear Folks,
Today I received my diploma from Iowa State College. It set me to thinking and one of my thoughts was whether or not I have ever thanked the two of you for my education. It is hard to put into words the thanks that both of you deserve for all you have done for me the last five years. You have made it possible for me to get something that no matter what happens, no one can take from me. A man's education is his own and he cannot be deprived of it once he has it.
The things that both of you have gone without and which I have not known about are probably innumerable. My education cost you a tidy sum of money--approximately four thousand dollars more or less. The things that both of you could have had with that money are hard to think of. When I think of the trips, the furniture, the clothes, and all of the other things which you could have had, I can only say thanks a lot. Whereas many of my classmates in school have had to work for their education, I have merely had to write you Dad and a check was forthcoming. You stood the expense of a car for me so that I could have more additional fun. I hope that some day I can repay both of you tenfold but I don't think it possible. When I have written homesick letters, you Mom have always sent a cheerful one in return, cheering me up and realizing the world isn't such an awfully bad place. When I have had a problem that bothered me I knew that I could always turn to you Dad and get the proper solution.
Many many times Dad that you haven't known about, I have been on the verge of quitting school and Mom has talked some sense into me. Knowing how much my getting a college education meant to both of you, I just couldn't let you down. I was just a mediocre student but I felt that an education did not consist in merely knowing the assignments out of a book. I'm proud of both of you and when I was thinking of the past five years after receiving my diploma, I again realized that I have the best two parents any fellow could possibly ask for and my hope is that I have fulfilled your dreams for me. If we were only living in a more settled world I would prove to you that your faith in me has not been in vain. These next few years are going to be tough even if I do not have to go into the army, but your son is going to win out in the end. Thanks for everything, you're both just simply swell.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Reality of Travel
After my cruise vacation, I went on the road again for work, this time to San Francisco. Well, Burlingame, which is near the airport. I did have half a day to explore - we went to lunch at a seafood restaurant, laughed at the sea lions at the end of Pier 39, and even rode the famous cable cars of San Francisco.
The crab cakes gave me food poisoning - I was up barfing all night. And the cable cars were so crowded we couldn't see anything but the people standing next to us.
The next night I started my shift - 5 pm to 5 am. I did that two nights, then went to a 7 pm to 7 am shift. It's a good thing I had food poisoning the night before - I slept for a couple of hours during the day, even with the jack hammers, airplanes taking off, and general daytime noise.
Day 5 I awoke at 3 pm to a message that I had a ticket to Seattle on the first flight out the next day. So being a good soldier, I did as I was told, and went to Seattle, where my shift was 4 pm - 12m. Hey, at least it wasn't 12 hours anymore!
Our hotel here was an "extended stay" motel, meaning there was a kitchen in every room, Not having a rental car, my choices for meals were 7-11 and Starbucks, both within walking distance. Oh, and a Hawaiian Grill. Working until midnight meant that I would sleep until 10 or so, which meant that most days housekeeping would pass me by due to the "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door.
I did get one day off in Seattle - spent it at the mall buying warm clothes and a coat and seeing a movie. Afterwards I spent quality time pushing coins into the washer and dryer at the hotel so I'd have clean clothes for my late-night shifts.
Did I mention what this kind of travel does to a girl's intestinal system? I'm just now getting regular again, after a week being home, working a normal shift, and eating food other than the pre-packaged crap at 7-11 and Venti Mochas from Starbucks.
Next up - Ethiopia again. Hopefully for the last time.
The crab cakes gave me food poisoning - I was up barfing all night. And the cable cars were so crowded we couldn't see anything but the people standing next to us.
The next night I started my shift - 5 pm to 5 am. I did that two nights, then went to a 7 pm to 7 am shift. It's a good thing I had food poisoning the night before - I slept for a couple of hours during the day, even with the jack hammers, airplanes taking off, and general daytime noise.
Day 5 I awoke at 3 pm to a message that I had a ticket to Seattle on the first flight out the next day. So being a good soldier, I did as I was told, and went to Seattle, where my shift was 4 pm - 12m. Hey, at least it wasn't 12 hours anymore!
Our hotel here was an "extended stay" motel, meaning there was a kitchen in every room, Not having a rental car, my choices for meals were 7-11 and Starbucks, both within walking distance. Oh, and a Hawaiian Grill. Working until midnight meant that I would sleep until 10 or so, which meant that most days housekeeping would pass me by due to the "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door.
I did get one day off in Seattle - spent it at the mall buying warm clothes and a coat and seeing a movie. Afterwards I spent quality time pushing coins into the washer and dryer at the hotel so I'd have clean clothes for my late-night shifts.
Did I mention what this kind of travel does to a girl's intestinal system? I'm just now getting regular again, after a week being home, working a normal shift, and eating food other than the pre-packaged crap at 7-11 and Venti Mochas from Starbucks.
Next up - Ethiopia again. Hopefully for the last time.
Monday, November 14, 2011
What a Tart!
Now that I'm finally back in town for a few weeks, I figured it was time to devote some time to my favorite hobby - cooking. I had a 4-day weekend, so day one I headed to Central Market, an upscale specialty grocery store about 20 minutes from my house. Starting in the produce section, I got some shitake mushrooms for some mushroom risotto, arugula, and fingerling potatoes. This store even has fresh figs, which I tried for the first time while in Barcelona a couple of weeks ago!
Rounding the corner to the meat section, I spied ground lamb and ground veal. I didn't have the first idea what I'd do with either one, but I got a pound of each (later I figured out what to do with both - homemade gyro meat).
In the dairy section I picked up some European style butter, Mascarpone cheese, Greek Yogurt, and cream. In the cheese department (yes, they have a whole department dedicated to cheese!) I got some Parmesano Reggiano, Pecorino Romano, fresh mozzarella, and Gruyere. The deli department sliced up some prosciutto and pancetta for me, and in the chocolate aisle I got lots of dark chocolate.
That night I made fingerling potatoes with garlic, parmesan, and truffle oil that I brought from Italy. The next day I tried something a little more challenging (but not much).
Giada has a recipe for a breakfast tart that I revised a bit. Instead of a 9 inch tart pan, I had an 11 inch pan, so I rolled out the (frozen) pie crust dough to fit, brushed it with egg white, and popped it in the oven for 10 minutes. As I took it out of the oven, I realized that I had missed a simple but crucial step - I forgot to prick holes in the bottom and sides so that the crust wouldn't rise up. I started over, but didn't want to take the time to wait for the pie crust dough to come to room temp, so I popped it in the microwave for 20 seconds on defrost. Now I had HOT pie crust dough! I was still able to roll it out to fit my tart pan (sort of - it wasn't the prettiest presentation ever), and this time I remembered to prick the bottom and sides with a fork.
After it cooled down, it was filled with pancetta I had fried to a crisp, Gruyere and Mascarpone cheeses, eggs, green onions, and my own addition to the recipe - arugula. I have fallen in love with the taste of arugula, especially in my Italian recipes. 18 minutes later a beautiful tart came out of the oven ready to eat. It was delicious, if I say so myself.
Day three I used the veal and lamb to make gyro meat - it's all sliced up into individual portions and in the freezer for when I crave a good Gyro with tomatoes, feta cheese, onions, and Tzaziki sauce.
Today is day four of my weekend, and I'm considering an apple tart or cookies to bring to work tomorrow, or mushroom risotto with those lovely shitakes I have in the fridge. How to choose...
Rounding the corner to the meat section, I spied ground lamb and ground veal. I didn't have the first idea what I'd do with either one, but I got a pound of each (later I figured out what to do with both - homemade gyro meat).
In the dairy section I picked up some European style butter, Mascarpone cheese, Greek Yogurt, and cream. In the cheese department (yes, they have a whole department dedicated to cheese!) I got some Parmesano Reggiano, Pecorino Romano, fresh mozzarella, and Gruyere. The deli department sliced up some prosciutto and pancetta for me, and in the chocolate aisle I got lots of dark chocolate.
That night I made fingerling potatoes with garlic, parmesan, and truffle oil that I brought from Italy. The next day I tried something a little more challenging (but not much).
Giada has a recipe for a breakfast tart that I revised a bit. Instead of a 9 inch tart pan, I had an 11 inch pan, so I rolled out the (frozen) pie crust dough to fit, brushed it with egg white, and popped it in the oven for 10 minutes. As I took it out of the oven, I realized that I had missed a simple but crucial step - I forgot to prick holes in the bottom and sides so that the crust wouldn't rise up. I started over, but didn't want to take the time to wait for the pie crust dough to come to room temp, so I popped it in the microwave for 20 seconds on defrost. Now I had HOT pie crust dough! I was still able to roll it out to fit my tart pan (sort of - it wasn't the prettiest presentation ever), and this time I remembered to prick the bottom and sides with a fork.
Day three I used the veal and lamb to make gyro meat - it's all sliced up into individual portions and in the freezer for when I crave a good Gyro with tomatoes, feta cheese, onions, and Tzaziki sauce.
Today is day four of my weekend, and I'm considering an apple tart or cookies to bring to work tomorrow, or mushroom risotto with those lovely shitakes I have in the fridge. How to choose...
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Where Would I Be?
The last ten days I've been on a wonderful vacation, exploring Spain and Italy with my friends that I've known since college. At the end of the trip, we all went our separate ways - one to the east side of the DFW metroplex, one to Denver, and me to Fort Worth.
I wonder where I would be if I had never met these women? I know I never would have moved to Texas - I followed them after they had finished college (and I had dropped out). So I never would have found a job in the airline industry, never would have traveled the world...lots of nevers.
They are both strong, mature women. One married to a wonderful man she met after a horrible marriage, the other single like me. One works for the defense industry, the other in the medical field. One tall, the other short. One blonde, one redhead. Why we became and remained friends is a mystery.
The happiest time I'll remember from our trip won't be the incredible scenery of Italy, the architecture of Barcelona, or the wine we drank. It will be the afternoon at sea that we brought the decks of cards to the Irish bar onboard ship and played all the games we played in college. One game involved slapping the cards when doubles were played, and towards the end of the evening I was a little slow (too many Guinness'), so "slap, Sandy, slap" became a phrase we repeated the rest of the trip in jest. We slid right into that comfortable, warm, place that was our friendship 31 years ago. So good to be home.
We promised at the end to meet in another 30 years - we'll all be 80 then. I sure hope we don't really wait that long this time. But if we do, we'll still be the same, and will still use our walkers to go to the Irish bar with our decks of cards. And hopefully someone will still remember the rules to the "slap" card game. And we'll laugh until we cry, and move easily into that warm, comfortable, place that is our friendship.
I wonder where I would be if I had never met these women? I know I never would have moved to Texas - I followed them after they had finished college (and I had dropped out). So I never would have found a job in the airline industry, never would have traveled the world...lots of nevers.
They are both strong, mature women. One married to a wonderful man she met after a horrible marriage, the other single like me. One works for the defense industry, the other in the medical field. One tall, the other short. One blonde, one redhead. Why we became and remained friends is a mystery.
The happiest time I'll remember from our trip won't be the incredible scenery of Italy, the architecture of Barcelona, or the wine we drank. It will be the afternoon at sea that we brought the decks of cards to the Irish bar onboard ship and played all the games we played in college. One game involved slapping the cards when doubles were played, and towards the end of the evening I was a little slow (too many Guinness'), so "slap, Sandy, slap" became a phrase we repeated the rest of the trip in jest. We slid right into that comfortable, warm, place that was our friendship 31 years ago. So good to be home.
We promised at the end to meet in another 30 years - we'll all be 80 then. I sure hope we don't really wait that long this time. But if we do, we'll still be the same, and will still use our walkers to go to the Irish bar with our decks of cards. And hopefully someone will still remember the rules to the "slap" card game. And we'll laugh until we cry, and move easily into that warm, comfortable, place that is our friendship.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Pisa, Montecarlo, and Rome
Yesterday our cruise ship, The Norwegian Epic, stopped at the port of Livorno. From there we went to Pisa, where we spent most of our free time figuring out goofy poses in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. From there we went on to a Vineyard in Tuscany in a little town called Montecarlo (the original - according to them the French version is a copycat). There we learned how olive oil is made. Virgin means the first press, which is a good thing. Extra means gentle - close but not too close to the sea, which apparently can make the oil bitter. The key label ingredients are "cold pressed", which means the oil was created through a mechanical means (that's a good thing), and 100% olive oil. After that we got to taste 7 different wines (and by taste, I mean drink full glasses), the local olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and homemade pasta. After the pasta we had the local sun dried tomatoes soaked in olive oil (so sweet!), the olives from the trees outside (they have to soak in salt water for about 6 months before they're edible), Parma Ham, Salami, and fresh Mozzarella cheese.
The couple sitting next to me at the long farmhouse table decided to renew their vows right then and there. They brought us all to tears with their heartfelt vows of gratitude for the love they shared. Tuscany does that to you.
Today, the port of Citivecchio, which is about an hour and 20 minutes from Rome. We had to pick our sites to see, since we only had about 3 hours on our own. We hustled and went first to the Spanish steps. From there we threw our coins in the Trevi Fountain. Legend says that 1 coin is to ensure you come back to Rome. 2 coins is if you wish to marry, and 3 coins is if you wish to divorce. The first time I was in Rome I threw a coin in and it worked, so of course I did again.
After the Trevi Fountain we hurried to The Pantheon, one of my favorites. It was originally built in 26 BC, and is the oldest church in the world still in continuous use. It's also the burial place of Raphael and the first king of Italy.
On to the Piazza Navone, which is the only place in Rome you can buy Tartufo, a chocolate gelato with fresh whipped cream on top. We enjoyed watching the people for a few minutes eating our ice cream before literally running to St. Peter's square. We didn't have time to go in to the Basilica or the Vatican, but on our way in earlier the Pope was still outside giving his Wednesday blessing to the crowd, so I guess I can say I was blessed by the Pope.
Tonight, we're exhausted! Tomorrow we're doing Sorrento (a farmhouse where they'll teach us how to make mozzarella), and Pompei, the town buried by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
Monday, October 17, 2011
How Not to Howl At the Moon
We left the port of Barcelona promptly at 6:00 pm local time. No horn blowing, no confetti and streamers, no waving friends and family at the pier yelling "Bon Voyage". One moment we were still and the next we were gliding out to the sea for the start of our cruise.
After a brief exploration of the ship, we went to the Irish pub for dinner. I was thrilled to discover that Guinness is cheaper than the American beers onboard, and so had one with my chicken pot pie (which was delicious, by the way). After dinner I quickly lost $20.00 at the casino on the $1 machine. Then we wandered over to the comedy club, where a show was scheduled to start at 9:30 pm called "Howl at the Moon". It revolved around dueling pianos and requests from the audience. Every time I finished a Guinness, I'd look at my friends to see if they were ready to leave, but they would have just bought another drink, so I bought another Guinness. And another...you get the idea. At one point I was on the stage dancing to a Black Eyed Pea song I had requested.
Now, I tend to suffer from sea sickness. I wore the wrist bands that are supposed to help, and I didn't have too much trouble last night. This morning was another story. I imagine the overdose of Guinness certainly helped, but I've been feeling like I have bed spins all day today. Good thing we're still at sea.
But, it's time to dress for dinner now, and I feel halfway human. No more howling at the moon for me - maybe the Ice Bar instead? Or the Martini Bar? Hmmm....how to decide?
After a brief exploration of the ship, we went to the Irish pub for dinner. I was thrilled to discover that Guinness is cheaper than the American beers onboard, and so had one with my chicken pot pie (which was delicious, by the way). After dinner I quickly lost $20.00 at the casino on the $1 machine. Then we wandered over to the comedy club, where a show was scheduled to start at 9:30 pm called "Howl at the Moon". It revolved around dueling pianos and requests from the audience. Every time I finished a Guinness, I'd look at my friends to see if they were ready to leave, but they would have just bought another drink, so I bought another Guinness. And another...you get the idea. At one point I was on the stage dancing to a Black Eyed Pea song I had requested.
But, it's time to dress for dinner now, and I feel halfway human. No more howling at the moon for me - maybe the Ice Bar instead? Or the Martini Bar? Hmmm....how to decide?
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I Remember Now
This trip is different - it's vacation, and all I have to do is be fully present and realize how incredibly lucky and blessed I am. We arrived in Barcelona Friday afternoon, and spent all day Saturday being tourists on a double-decker bus. We experienced the salty tang in the air from the sea, the sound of many different languages, and the sight of great (although really, really, weird) architecture. I had the best cup of chocolate in my life at Escriba on La Rambla, a wide pedestrian walkway. Walking, we heard the screech of the parrots flying over our heads, the cooing of the pigeons around our feet, and the noise of the little mouth harps the street vendors were trying to sell. In La Boqueria, the biggest fresh food marketplace in Spain, we wondered at the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. Rabbits, both skinned and un-skinned were for sale, along with chickens still with the heads on, lamb, and many types of ham. Fresh fish cleaned, gutted, and fileted while you waited, along with octopus, squid, lobster, crab, and thousands of anchovies. I bought a little container of fresh fruit so that I could eat a fresh fig, which I've never had before.
I felt like crying with joy several times during the day.
Today we board a cruise ship and will cross the Mediterranean to visit Florence, Rome, Naples, and Palma. I now remember what it was like to experience travel for the first time and I feel the wonder of it all. I will never take travel for granted again.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Vanity Sizing, Mold, Lost Cat, and Cruisin'
I'm back in Texas for the winter. I came back to Texas in early September for a business trip and found my bedroom closet flooded from the condensation pipe of the brand spanking new air conditioner I had installed in late April. The pipe had clogged up, so the overflow condensation went into my bedroom closet - the only spot in the first floor of the house with carpet. I ripped the dripping carpet out, got the A/C guys out to blow out the line, and called the insurance agent since I saw mold on the wall. The first appointment I could get with them was October 7. More on this to come - I'm getting bids from contractors and trying not to bankrupt myself in the process.
When I put the carpet out on the curb for the garbage collection, I accidentally left my front door unlatched and unlocked. After I went back to Minnesota my 15 year old cat Gracie got outside and went for a walk-about.
When I got back to Texas 3 weeks later, the first thing I did was to go out to the backyard and call her name. I kept hearing a soft meow, but thought that it was coming from inside my house. After checking in there, I went back outside. I could still hear her, but where the heck was she? Up in a tree? On the roof? As I moved to the other side of the house, there she was, sitting in the tall grass, waiting for me find her. She was dreadfully skinny, but otherwise looked healthy. A little over a week later and lots of canned cat food, she's almost back to her old self!
I mentioned earlier this summer that I had been losing weight - I plateaued again, but when I got back to Texas the scale mysteriously started to move again. Since many of my work clothes were in the moldy closet I felt like I better go shopping. When I started the summer I was a solid size 14, but bought some size 12's after I lost a little weight, so I tried on the size 12 khakis at Steinmart. I looked at the tag 3 times, because they were too big. Yes, I fit into size 10 khakis. Size 10 was my goal size when I started my journey (size 18-20), because I didn't know what that looked like, only that I had never been there. Now I realize that I have a little ways to go (20 pounds before I'm in the "normal" range), but still - size 10, people! There is a term in the fashion industry called "vanity sizing", which means that I'm really closer to a size 14 but that this company wants me to buy their brand, so they label size 14s as size 10s. Their strategy obviously worked on me, because I bought 2 pair.
And to celebrate, what better way then to go on a Mediterranean cruise with your best friends? We're flying to Barcelona Thursday night to spend the weekend, then boarding the ship Sunday for 7 days in Florence, Rome, Naples, and Palma. This is the first real paid vacation I've taken in years, and I'm so freakin' excited I could spit! The best part (in my mind anyway), is that we each have our own cabin (check out the Studio Cabins on Norwegian Epic) so that we can rest, relax, and chill when we need to without getting on each other's nerves. All of our shore excursions have a food or wine theme to them, and if there's a cooking course on board, I'm there!
Friday, September 9, 2011
Slightly Bruised
I have been successful at avoiding most of the 9/11 news stories and remembrances so far. I don't want to poke an angry, open wound to see it bleed again. Still, listening to NPR on the way to work today I listened to a story about the the first official death certificate issued that awful day in New York. It was a priest, and he was said to have known everyone from a homeless person to the mayor. The Clintons went to his funeral, and he was hailed as being kind, generous, and, dare I say it? A saint.
Now in real life, he probably had his faults like anyone else, but because of the way he died, he has been elevated to a position in our minds that few people ever get to.
Where was I that day? I was working in building next door to American Airline's headquarters. I had just arrived to work when the first plane hit. By the time the second plane hit, someone had brought in a small TV and we all saw it live. Our Help Desk was still located in the same office, and they were plugged into how many planes were missing and which specific flights had been hijacked. Security locked down the building and wouldn't let us leave because they were uncertain at the time whether the United States was the target or American Airlines.
Within days, our company worked in secret with government agencies and the future TSA to build software that would flag suspected terrorists on flights. Although it was never made public (and probably never will be), my colleagues helped stop other planes from being used as weapons of mass destruction. These people are heroes too in my mind, just like the fire fighters, police officers, and priests that died that day.
So going back and exploring those memories leaves my psyche slightly bruised. It's true what people say - the world will never be the same. But bruises fade with time, and life marches on.
Now in real life, he probably had his faults like anyone else, but because of the way he died, he has been elevated to a position in our minds that few people ever get to.
Where was I that day? I was working in building next door to American Airline's headquarters. I had just arrived to work when the first plane hit. By the time the second plane hit, someone had brought in a small TV and we all saw it live. Our Help Desk was still located in the same office, and they were plugged into how many planes were missing and which specific flights had been hijacked. Security locked down the building and wouldn't let us leave because they were uncertain at the time whether the United States was the target or American Airlines.
Within days, our company worked in secret with government agencies and the future TSA to build software that would flag suspected terrorists on flights. Although it was never made public (and probably never will be), my colleagues helped stop other planes from being used as weapons of mass destruction. These people are heroes too in my mind, just like the fire fighters, police officers, and priests that died that day.
So going back and exploring those memories leaves my psyche slightly bruised. It's true what people say - the world will never be the same. But bruises fade with time, and life marches on.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I Am No Longer Obese!
I've always had issues with my weight. When I was a child I remember a kid on the playground calling me "Fatty". Looking at pictures from that long-ago era, I wasn't fat, not even really chubby, but that one comment left a psychological scar nonetheless.
I grew up, and my weight went up every year, until I reached 224 pounds and decided to have lap-band surgery. I quickly lost about 40 pounds, and reached a plateau that I stayed at for the last 3 or 4 years. I didn't do much to help break the plateau - I've always loved food, and don't exercise. I weighed myself once when I got to my Summer Palace and had gained 6 pounds. So I put away the scale and decided to just live my life.
About 6 weeks ago, I heard Dr. Oz talk about how people on Statins for cholesterol can get muscle cramps, and how a supplement of CoQ10 can help avoid that. I had already experienced that side-effect several times, so I decided to give it a try, along with Glucosomine Chondroitin with MSM to help my achy joints.
I noticed that my pants were getting loose, and wondered if the cheap fabric in them was making them stretch out. Just in case, I weighed myself too. I had lost 10 pounds, and was only a pound away from getting out of the "obese" category! As of this morning I had lost another 6 pounds, which is freaking me out a little bit. I haven't done anything differently; my eating habits remain the same and I'm still not exercising. Maybe the supplements gave my metabolism the boost they needed to break through that nasty plateau?
To get out of the overweight category, I still have to lose another 25 pounds. Wonder if I'll see that number in my lifetime?
I grew up, and my weight went up every year, until I reached 224 pounds and decided to have lap-band surgery. I quickly lost about 40 pounds, and reached a plateau that I stayed at for the last 3 or 4 years. I didn't do much to help break the plateau - I've always loved food, and don't exercise. I weighed myself once when I got to my Summer Palace and had gained 6 pounds. So I put away the scale and decided to just live my life.
About 6 weeks ago, I heard Dr. Oz talk about how people on Statins for cholesterol can get muscle cramps, and how a supplement of CoQ10 can help avoid that. I had already experienced that side-effect several times, so I decided to give it a try, along with Glucosomine Chondroitin with MSM to help my achy joints.
I noticed that my pants were getting loose, and wondered if the cheap fabric in them was making them stretch out. Just in case, I weighed myself too. I had lost 10 pounds, and was only a pound away from getting out of the "obese" category! As of this morning I had lost another 6 pounds, which is freaking me out a little bit. I haven't done anything differently; my eating habits remain the same and I'm still not exercising. Maybe the supplements gave my metabolism the boost they needed to break through that nasty plateau?
To get out of the overweight category, I still have to lose another 25 pounds. Wonder if I'll see that number in my lifetime?
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Gifts
People keep giving me gifts lately. Sunday one of the guys that works in our campground gave me three roses that he found growing nearby. He said that his church sermon that day had been about single people and how they might be lonely, so he thought of me. Blah. I told him I was not to be felt sorry for! But I did appreciate the flowers regardless.
Today, Jack, my 84 year old neighbor knocked on my door at 4:30 and asked if I wanted to go have supper with him at the Speak Easy in town (he's 84, so 4:30 wasn't an unreasonable time to eat supper I guess). After a delicious supper of pan-fried walleye he showed me his workshop. He makes incredible bowls, vases, pens, and wine stoppers out of exotic woods from Africa, New Zealand, and even Minards. He showed me some wine stoppers he had made that day and told me to pick one. I protested of course, and he said it again, this time a little stronger. So I have a beautiful wine stopper in my purse. That, in addition to the pen set he gave me a few weeks ago. And the bread and butter pickles. And the pickled beets. And the Lemoncello and Grand Marnier.
When I got home I went for a golf cart ride. Part of the campground property is a former golf course that has been left to nature, with the exception of a mowed "walking path" that winds through the hills and prairie. Nobody I know actually walks on the walking path, but it's nice to sometimes ride the golf cart there. I braked first for a skunk. Luckily the skunk went the other direction. Then I saw a red fox in the distance leaping through the tall grass towards the woods. The maintenance guys here saw this little guy this morning and got a great photo of the fox leaping on prey. And I saw a deer too - second one in two days. These sights were also gifts.
Just as I walked in the door, another neighbor came over holding a shepherd's hook with a cardinal on top as a thank you gift. I said "thank you for what?" I had given her access to my wireless is all, so she didn't have to drive to the community building to check her e-mail. Oh, and the half a loaf of zucchini bread I gave them might have something to do with it as well.
Today, Jack, my 84 year old neighbor knocked on my door at 4:30 and asked if I wanted to go have supper with him at the Speak Easy in town (he's 84, so 4:30 wasn't an unreasonable time to eat supper I guess). After a delicious supper of pan-fried walleye he showed me his workshop. He makes incredible bowls, vases, pens, and wine stoppers out of exotic woods from Africa, New Zealand, and even Minards. He showed me some wine stoppers he had made that day and told me to pick one. I protested of course, and he said it again, this time a little stronger. So I have a beautiful wine stopper in my purse. That, in addition to the pen set he gave me a few weeks ago. And the bread and butter pickles. And the pickled beets. And the Lemoncello and Grand Marnier.
Just as I walked in the door, another neighbor came over holding a shepherd's hook with a cardinal on top as a thank you gift. I said "thank you for what?" I had given her access to my wireless is all, so she didn't have to drive to the community building to check her e-mail. Oh, and the half a loaf of zucchini bread I gave them might have something to do with it as well.
Monday, July 25, 2011
New Friends
When I moved to a new campground last August, I knew that I'd miss the friends I'd made, but thought that I might meet new ones in addition to keeping the old ones. But I had no idea what abundance was about to rain down on me.
Kelly and Pat met us our first week in the park. They immediately offered to take us out on the lake and show us the good places to go. Kelly is the Welcome Wagon of the place, riding around on his golf cart all weekend with a jug full of sunflower seeds and beer to share. Pat met him in college, and used to sneak into his dorm at night to see him.
Jack is 84 and lost his only daughter many years ago to an accident and his wife just a few years ago to a horrible disease. He has a woodshop nearby, where he makes the most incredible bowls, vases, board games, and pens. He rarely sells anything; just gives it away. When he noticed my brother entertaining with a piece of plywood placed over the firepit, he decided to build a table. It's not done yet, but from what I hear it's a thing of beauty.
Jack is also a gardener and maker of spirits. He's shared homemade Grand Marnier and Lemoncello with us on more than one occasion. The bags of rhubarb he gave me made several pints of rhubarb chutney, and the salmon he smoked himself makes my brother very happy.
Randy, Jack's best friend, is a Minnesota State Trooper, who can tell you to the day how many days there are until he retires. He drove up outside my door one night and freaked out my friend Mary, who asked, "why is there a State Trooper outside"? I looked, jumped up, and said, "oh, that's just Randy", and went outside to greet him. Jack was in the front seat. Turns out Jack was hungry so Randy picked him up and took him to get something to eat. Once Mary got over her shock she came outside and met them both.
Mary and Larry came with us from the old park. U.S. Veterans for many years, they live in Minnesota for 3 months, then go to Florida, where the warmth is better for Mary's Multiple Sclerosis. Larry loves his cigars, Mary loves her birds and chipmunks, and they truly love each other.
Leroy and Fran also live in Texas in the winter, but like me, have roots in the area. We trade food - I've given them muffins and rhubarb chutney, they've given me rhubarb pie and onions from their garden.
Steve and Willy take care of the grounds and the maintenance. I taught them both how to sign up for Facebook and post in the group that I set up. They both love nature as much as I do, and when a neighbor found a snapping turtle nesting in her window box of herbs, I got them to gently relocate the turtle back to the wetlands. Turns out they relocated about 20 'snappers' that week all trying to lay their eggs near humans.
Gary is the General Manager, and a clown on the side. He taught me to juggle, and while I did very well with the scarves, I bonked my head with the bowling pins and ended my juggling career.
There is something about campground people that's universal. You don't come to a campground to isolate yourself. There's a spirit of community and joy of life that permeates the place. Oh, of course there are the difficult people too. The ones that complain when a camper moves in that doesn't look as good as theirs, or the ones that seem to make it their goal in life to cause trouble. And I still look forward to Sunday afternoons when all the weekend people have left and I can run around the place picking raspberries. But I can't imagine anywhere else I'd want to be during the summer. I'm here to stay.
Kelly and Pat met us our first week in the park. They immediately offered to take us out on the lake and show us the good places to go. Kelly is the Welcome Wagon of the place, riding around on his golf cart all weekend with a jug full of sunflower seeds and beer to share. Pat met him in college, and used to sneak into his dorm at night to see him.
Jack is 84 and lost his only daughter many years ago to an accident and his wife just a few years ago to a horrible disease. He has a woodshop nearby, where he makes the most incredible bowls, vases, board games, and pens. He rarely sells anything; just gives it away. When he noticed my brother entertaining with a piece of plywood placed over the firepit, he decided to build a table. It's not done yet, but from what I hear it's a thing of beauty.
Jack is also a gardener and maker of spirits. He's shared homemade Grand Marnier and Lemoncello with us on more than one occasion. The bags of rhubarb he gave me made several pints of rhubarb chutney, and the salmon he smoked himself makes my brother very happy.
Randy, Jack's best friend, is a Minnesota State Trooper, who can tell you to the day how many days there are until he retires. He drove up outside my door one night and freaked out my friend Mary, who asked, "why is there a State Trooper outside"? I looked, jumped up, and said, "oh, that's just Randy", and went outside to greet him. Jack was in the front seat. Turns out Jack was hungry so Randy picked him up and took him to get something to eat. Once Mary got over her shock she came outside and met them both.
Mary and Larry came with us from the old park. U.S. Veterans for many years, they live in Minnesota for 3 months, then go to Florida, where the warmth is better for Mary's Multiple Sclerosis. Larry loves his cigars, Mary loves her birds and chipmunks, and they truly love each other.
Leroy and Fran also live in Texas in the winter, but like me, have roots in the area. We trade food - I've given them muffins and rhubarb chutney, they've given me rhubarb pie and onions from their garden.
Steve and Willy take care of the grounds and the maintenance. I taught them both how to sign up for Facebook and post in the group that I set up. They both love nature as much as I do, and when a neighbor found a snapping turtle nesting in her window box of herbs, I got them to gently relocate the turtle back to the wetlands. Turns out they relocated about 20 'snappers' that week all trying to lay their eggs near humans.
Gary is the General Manager, and a clown on the side. He taught me to juggle, and while I did very well with the scarves, I bonked my head with the bowling pins and ended my juggling career.
There is something about campground people that's universal. You don't come to a campground to isolate yourself. There's a spirit of community and joy of life that permeates the place. Oh, of course there are the difficult people too. The ones that complain when a camper moves in that doesn't look as good as theirs, or the ones that seem to make it their goal in life to cause trouble. And I still look forward to Sunday afternoons when all the weekend people have left and I can run around the place picking raspberries. But I can't imagine anywhere else I'd want to be during the summer. I'm here to stay.
Little Mouse
Mouse was the runt of the litter. She fit in the pocket of my pajamas when she was a kitten, and I named her Mouse because that's exactly what she looked like - a little gray mouse.
Every one of my cats had a unique personality, and Mouse was no exception. I wondered many times if cats can get schizophrenia like people do, since she seemed to fit the profile. For most of her 13 years she lived under my bed. When I could get close enough to touch her, she cringed as if my very touch caused her pain.
It was as if she had a sign on her back that said "kick me". Some of the other cats recognized her weakness and would lay in wait when she came out for food, pouncing on her and chasing her back under the bed.
In March I noticed that she was wheezing. Her appetite still seemed good, but she was losing weight, and she wasn't a big cat to begin with. And her behavior changed - she started hanging out with me, jumping up on the couch, laying next to me, and letting me stroke her back. I put some blankets in an old laundry basket near my bed and Mouse took up residence there. Her breathing got so bad that I actually dug a grave in my backyard in preparation. But the vet gave her an antibiotic and an antihistamine, and she rallied just before I came to Minnesota for the summer.
Sadly, she continued to lose weight, and when my pet sitter took her to the vet he told me that he thought she was in renal failure. Through my tears I gave him the go-ahead to put her to sleep, knowing that it was the right thing to do for her. She was 13.
So now my house has 2 cats - Grace (Mouse's Mom) and Sam (Mouse's brother). I won't have 5 cats sleeping on or near me at night, greeting me at the door, and following me everywhere.
I've always said that when my cats are gone, so am I. Not in the literal sense - I just don't want to live in Texas anymore. The state was good to me job-wise, but I long for the 4 seasons I can enjoy in Minnesota, along with the proximity to my family.
I didn't know you well Little Mouse, but I'll miss you all the same. And I know that Sam will miss grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and holding you hostage.
Every one of my cats had a unique personality, and Mouse was no exception. I wondered many times if cats can get schizophrenia like people do, since she seemed to fit the profile. For most of her 13 years she lived under my bed. When I could get close enough to touch her, she cringed as if my very touch caused her pain.
It was as if she had a sign on her back that said "kick me". Some of the other cats recognized her weakness and would lay in wait when she came out for food, pouncing on her and chasing her back under the bed.
In March I noticed that she was wheezing. Her appetite still seemed good, but she was losing weight, and she wasn't a big cat to begin with. And her behavior changed - she started hanging out with me, jumping up on the couch, laying next to me, and letting me stroke her back. I put some blankets in an old laundry basket near my bed and Mouse took up residence there. Her breathing got so bad that I actually dug a grave in my backyard in preparation. But the vet gave her an antibiotic and an antihistamine, and she rallied just before I came to Minnesota for the summer.
Sadly, she continued to lose weight, and when my pet sitter took her to the vet he told me that he thought she was in renal failure. Through my tears I gave him the go-ahead to put her to sleep, knowing that it was the right thing to do for her. She was 13.
So now my house has 2 cats - Grace (Mouse's Mom) and Sam (Mouse's brother). I won't have 5 cats sleeping on or near me at night, greeting me at the door, and following me everywhere.
I've always said that when my cats are gone, so am I. Not in the literal sense - I just don't want to live in Texas anymore. The state was good to me job-wise, but I long for the 4 seasons I can enjoy in Minnesota, along with the proximity to my family.
I didn't know you well Little Mouse, but I'll miss you all the same. And I know that Sam will miss grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and holding you hostage.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Sleepy Shells
My four year old great-niece told me about building a sand castle this weekend and how she was sad because the shells were sleepy and floated away, only to be eaten by fish.
Here's how the conversation went:
Me: Did you build a sand castle on the beach?
Niece: It was a big castle!
Me: How many bedrooms did the castle have?
Niece: Mommy helped me build rooms for the shells, but then they fell asleep, and floated away, and a fish is going to eat them now!
Me: Well, maybe the shells bedroom is in the fish's stomach, and they just wanted to go to bed.
Niece: No, that's not right, because it's dark in a fish's stomach.
Me: But isn't it dark in your room when you sleep too?
Niece: No, I have a little light.
Me: So maybe there's a light in the fish's stomach too.
Niece: No, there's no light in a fish's stomach.
Me: How do you know? Have you ever seen inside a fish's stomach?
That ended the conversation. Either she thinks I'm really really smart since I know where shells sleep, or she'll be telling stories about her crazy Aunt for the rest of her life.
Here's how the conversation went:
Me: Did you build a sand castle on the beach?
Niece: It was a big castle!
Me: How many bedrooms did the castle have?
Niece: Mommy helped me build rooms for the shells, but then they fell asleep, and floated away, and a fish is going to eat them now!
Me: Well, maybe the shells bedroom is in the fish's stomach, and they just wanted to go to bed.
Niece: No, that's not right, because it's dark in a fish's stomach.
Me: But isn't it dark in your room when you sleep too?
Niece: No, I have a little light.
Me: So maybe there's a light in the fish's stomach too.
Niece: No, there's no light in a fish's stomach.
Me: How do you know? Have you ever seen inside a fish's stomach?
That ended the conversation. Either she thinks I'm really really smart since I know where shells sleep, or she'll be telling stories about her crazy Aunt for the rest of her life.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Sydney's Garden
Sydney and Maalea were twins, and I adopted them as soon as their Mother weaned them. They were born in my friend Karen's backyard in August of 1991. I'd never had a cat before, but still agreed to take one. Karen played on my emotions and told me that twins shouldn't be separated, so I took them both.Maalea died of cancer in 1998, and my grief-spurred energy made me dig a pond in my Texas backyard. I dug through the Texas clay and finished it in two days, collapsing from exhaustion each night. Maalea's pond is still going strong.
Sydney died Tuesday at the very advanced age of 19 3/4 years old. My last trip home I knew he was failing - he stayed in one place for long periods of time, wasn't eating, and seemed out of it at times. My last night there I picked him up and brought him to bed with me, where he stayed all night. In the morning I hugged him and kissed him and told him how much I loved him. He purred loudly, and finally had enough - he jumped down and went looking for food. I knew in my heart that I was saying goodbye to him then.
Again, my grief led to a burst of energy. This time I dug a garden around a chokecherry tree near my Summer Palace. It's planted with shades of blue and purple, with pops of orange. Although the sign in the garden says "Sandy's Summer Palace", it's really Sydney's Garden.
Rest in peace sweet boy. Every time I look at your garden I'll smile, knowing you'd approve of the catmint I put in one corner for you.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Tunisian Bellhop
We disembarked the aircraft in a fog, with little sleep on the transatlantic flight DFW to Frankfurt, and a 7-hour time change to contend with. Luckily, our hotel was connected to the airport terminal, so after Immigrations and Customs we collected our bags and walked over. As we entered the cavernous, sun-filled lobby of the Sheraton, a man in a bellhop uniform practically ran towards us, shouting how happy he was to see us. He immediately took my bags from me (however, not my traveling companion's) and ushered us to the reception desk.
As we were being checked in, he continued to circle me, exclaiming how much he liked me.
"I'm so glad you're not blonde", he said. "I don't like blondes." He moved right in front of my face as if to study it further, and then told the reception clerk to put my colleague in a room far away from me so that he could come up and flirt with me. My colleague, also female, is blonde. Alas, it just wasn't her day.
As the reception clerk checking me in rolled her eyes, she confessed to me that the bellhop was her father, and that her mother was the clerk two positions down. I could tell that she had seen this little performance before.
I heard a Scottish or Irish accent in the man, so asked him if he was Celtic. He kept circling me, hooting how much he loved me. He finally said no, "I'm Tunisian - I'm Arab". Wherever he learned his English, his instructor was definitely Scottish.
He took us to our rooms (he didn't get his wish - our rooms were next to each other), and I laughed the whole way. I tipped him $5 and shooed him out the door after he told us how to get downtown on the train.
I never saw him again, but he certainly made the start of my trip to Frankfurt more interesting!
As we were being checked in, he continued to circle me, exclaiming how much he liked me.
"I'm so glad you're not blonde", he said. "I don't like blondes." He moved right in front of my face as if to study it further, and then told the reception clerk to put my colleague in a room far away from me so that he could come up and flirt with me. My colleague, also female, is blonde. Alas, it just wasn't her day.
As the reception clerk checking me in rolled her eyes, she confessed to me that the bellhop was her father, and that her mother was the clerk two positions down. I could tell that she had seen this little performance before.
I heard a Scottish or Irish accent in the man, so asked him if he was Celtic. He kept circling me, hooting how much he loved me. He finally said no, "I'm Tunisian - I'm Arab". Wherever he learned his English, his instructor was definitely Scottish.
He took us to our rooms (he didn't get his wish - our rooms were next to each other), and I laughed the whole way. I tipped him $5 and shooed him out the door after he told us how to get downtown on the train.
I never saw him again, but he certainly made the start of my trip to Frankfurt more interesting!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Vigil for a Sick Cat
Mouse was the runt of the litter, and was seemingly born with a sign on her back that said "kick me". She lived under my bed for the first 10 years, then moved upstairs the last 2. She seemed to like me, sidling up to me occasionally, but cringing when I tried to pet her. I finally realized last year that she was deaf, which explains a lot about her behavior. She is constantly being startled, not hearing when other cats (or humans) approach.
A couple of weeks ago she developed a cough and started sneezing. I did my research on the internet, which said that either she was dying of an incurable disease or she had a cold. Not having a lot of cash on hand, I haven't taken her to the vet. I feel a lot of guilt about that, but it's been a bad year for me - lots of plumbing bills, medical bills, and the economy has left me a bit strapped.
Mouse started hanging out with me - she'd jump up on the couch and sleep next to me, allowing me to pet her, first time in her thirteen years of life. One night as I jumped into bed, she actually climbed under the covers and snuggled next to my chest, falling asleep until I had to turn over. Now I knew she was sick - this was strange behavior for her.
I put a laundry basket full of clean laundry on the bench at the end of my bed, and Mouse claimed it for her own. I eventually needed to rewash the sheets in the basket, so fixed up a nice spare basket with a blanket and a towel for her very own.
When I went to Ethiopia I really didn't know if she'd be alive when I got home. She was, but now she was wheezing and sounded awful. She was still eating though, and as affectionate as ever.
Two days after I got home, her breathing became much worse, and she struggled to get oxygen even while sleeping. When I opened the can of cat foot, she didn't come running like she normally does. I even brought the food bowl to her basket to try and encourage her to eat, but she just turned her head.
All Monday I checked on her every 15 minutes or so, sometimes laying at the foot of the bed with my hand on her back, willing her to get better or to be free of her pain. I went to the backyard, found a nice shady spot, and dug a grave for her. I said my goodbyes, and thought that when I woke up the next morning she'd be gone.
But just the opposite happened. The next morning, when I reached in her basket to pet her, I could tell her breathing was better, and she didn't have the smell of sickness on her. She leaped out of her basket and sat in front of her food bowl as if it was just a normal day.
I fed her twice Tuesday, and twice today. She is still living in the laundry basket at the foot of my bed, but seems to be better. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? I'll still wake up tomorrow morning expecting to bury my littlest one, but miracles do happen...
A couple of weeks ago she developed a cough and started sneezing. I did my research on the internet, which said that either she was dying of an incurable disease or she had a cold. Not having a lot of cash on hand, I haven't taken her to the vet. I feel a lot of guilt about that, but it's been a bad year for me - lots of plumbing bills, medical bills, and the economy has left me a bit strapped.
Mouse started hanging out with me - she'd jump up on the couch and sleep next to me, allowing me to pet her, first time in her thirteen years of life. One night as I jumped into bed, she actually climbed under the covers and snuggled next to my chest, falling asleep until I had to turn over. Now I knew she was sick - this was strange behavior for her.
I put a laundry basket full of clean laundry on the bench at the end of my bed, and Mouse claimed it for her own. I eventually needed to rewash the sheets in the basket, so fixed up a nice spare basket with a blanket and a towel for her very own.
When I went to Ethiopia I really didn't know if she'd be alive when I got home. She was, but now she was wheezing and sounded awful. She was still eating though, and as affectionate as ever.
Two days after I got home, her breathing became much worse, and she struggled to get oxygen even while sleeping. When I opened the can of cat foot, she didn't come running like she normally does. I even brought the food bowl to her basket to try and encourage her to eat, but she just turned her head.
All Monday I checked on her every 15 minutes or so, sometimes laying at the foot of the bed with my hand on her back, willing her to get better or to be free of her pain. I went to the backyard, found a nice shady spot, and dug a grave for her. I said my goodbyes, and thought that when I woke up the next morning she'd be gone.
But just the opposite happened. The next morning, when I reached in her basket to pet her, I could tell her breathing was better, and she didn't have the smell of sickness on her. She leaped out of her basket and sat in front of her food bowl as if it was just a normal day.
I fed her twice Tuesday, and twice today. She is still living in the laundry basket at the foot of my bed, but seems to be better. Who knows what tomorrow may bring? I'll still wake up tomorrow morning expecting to bury my littlest one, but miracles do happen...
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Injera, Tej, and Giggles
In my last post, I told you a little about the traditional meal we enjoyed while in Addis Ababa. Being a foodie, I thought it deserved a little more attention.
There are no tables in the restaurant; only small rattan tables the size of an end table back home. The chairs are wooden, straight-backed, and low to the ground. There are carpets spread everywhere on the wood floor, and the air is full of the scent of frankincense, used in the Ethiopian coffee ritual. If you're Catholic, you know what that smells like, because it's the same incense used on high holy days.
The middle of the restaurant is dominated by a semi-circular stage, and 4 musicians are playing traditional instruments. I can't remember what they are called, but they sound like a guitar, violin, drums, and flute.
It's fasting season, what we call Lent, so there is a fasting (vegetarian) and a non-fasting buffet. We go to the buffet area, where an attendant squirts soap on our right hand, and pours water over our hand into a basin. Remember, only the right hand is used for eating, so that's the only one that gets washed.
The injera is rolled up, and there are different colors. We take a plate, and unroll a couple of sheets of injera to cover the bottom of the plate. This will serve as our serving platter. A third roll will serve as our fork and spoon. Then we choose from several pots of what can only be called stew or pureed food, both vegetarian and non. Some of the choices included spinach, green beans, lentils, chickpeas, lamb, and chicken. Each choice is puddled onto the injera until you have 8 or 10 little circles of food on your plate.
Once we returned to our eating area, we were served Tej, a honey wine which really packs a punch. It tastes like a wine cooler on steroids. It's served in a glass shaped like an old-fashioned lab beaker; round on the bottom, and a small opening on the top. To drink, you hold it between your index and middle finger and try not to spill it all over you. It doesn't help that the Ethiopian girls next to you giggle every time you take a drink.
Now onto the food. Using only your right hand, a small piece of the injera (think pancake) is torn off the spare roll and is used to grab one or more chunks of the stews on the plate. It's all put in your mouth in one bite and washed down by the Tej. Needless to say, your right hand gets quite messy. The napkin you're given is not used for the hand however, only to wipe your mouth when necessary. In between bites, the right hand is kept cupped upwards in your lap. The spinach was my favorite.
Ah, the dancing has started. There is a story behind the dances, but they all seem to have something to do with boy meets girl, girl spurns boy, boy chases girl, happy ever after, etc. Except for the one with the umbrellas - I'm not sure what that one meant.
I can now understand the enthusiam people have when they talk of Ethiopian food. I thought Ethiopian food meant tough, stringy, chicken and lamb, which is all I ever seem to eat there. If you go, I recommend sticking to the fasting menu.
There are no tables in the restaurant; only small rattan tables the size of an end table back home. The chairs are wooden, straight-backed, and low to the ground. There are carpets spread everywhere on the wood floor, and the air is full of the scent of frankincense, used in the Ethiopian coffee ritual. If you're Catholic, you know what that smells like, because it's the same incense used on high holy days.
The middle of the restaurant is dominated by a semi-circular stage, and 4 musicians are playing traditional instruments. I can't remember what they are called, but they sound like a guitar, violin, drums, and flute.
It's fasting season, what we call Lent, so there is a fasting (vegetarian) and a non-fasting buffet. We go to the buffet area, where an attendant squirts soap on our right hand, and pours water over our hand into a basin. Remember, only the right hand is used for eating, so that's the only one that gets washed.
The injera is rolled up, and there are different colors. We take a plate, and unroll a couple of sheets of injera to cover the bottom of the plate. This will serve as our serving platter. A third roll will serve as our fork and spoon. Then we choose from several pots of what can only be called stew or pureed food, both vegetarian and non. Some of the choices included spinach, green beans, lentils, chickpeas, lamb, and chicken. Each choice is puddled onto the injera until you have 8 or 10 little circles of food on your plate.
Once we returned to our eating area, we were served Tej, a honey wine which really packs a punch. It tastes like a wine cooler on steroids. It's served in a glass shaped like an old-fashioned lab beaker; round on the bottom, and a small opening on the top. To drink, you hold it between your index and middle finger and try not to spill it all over you. It doesn't help that the Ethiopian girls next to you giggle every time you take a drink.
Now onto the food. Using only your right hand, a small piece of the injera (think pancake) is torn off the spare roll and is used to grab one or more chunks of the stews on the plate. It's all put in your mouth in one bite and washed down by the Tej. Needless to say, your right hand gets quite messy. The napkin you're given is not used for the hand however, only to wipe your mouth when necessary. In between bites, the right hand is kept cupped upwards in your lap. The spinach was my favorite.
Ah, the dancing has started. There is a story behind the dances, but they all seem to have something to do with boy meets girl, girl spurns boy, boy chases girl, happy ever after, etc. Except for the one with the umbrellas - I'm not sure what that one meant.
I can now understand the enthusiam people have when they talk of Ethiopian food. I thought Ethiopian food meant tough, stringy, chicken and lamb, which is all I ever seem to eat there. If you go, I recommend sticking to the fasting menu.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Toilet Paper Gratitude, or Four Days On the Road, One Night in a Bed
My latest adventures started Sunday, with a trip to the airport. I was flying Dallas Fort Worth to Cincinnati to Washington, DC. After a night in a hotel there, I'd head for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia Monday. Boarding started, and just as I was about to hear the satisfying beep of the gate reader, the pilot came out to the gate and said "stop boarding, we have a problem". Within a few minutes, the delay was such that there was no way I was going to be able to make my 30 minute connection in Cincinnati, so after a phone call to Delta, they got me rebooked on the AA nonstop flight the next morning. I got to go home and spend another night with my cats.Knowing that my flight was leaving at 7 a.m., I went to bed around 8. And was wide awake at midnight. I tossed and turned, and when the alarm went off at 3:45 a.m., I was actually grateful. To make it slightly worse, it was the night that the clocks "spring" forward, so there went another hour of sleep.
The flight to Dulles airport was uneventful, and I made the Ethiopian Airlines flight to Addis with plenty of time to spare. Thirteen hours in the air, and try as I might, no sleep for me. Just when I thought I might doze off, there was a tap on my shoulder.
"Canape, ma'am?"
I looked up at the flight attendant, and said, "when is this flight landing?"
"About 7 hours, ma'am", he said.
I politely declined more food, and rolled over. I still couldn't sleep, and now I was pissed off because the flight attendant wanted me to sit up and eat. So I sat up and played games on my iPad the rest of the flight.
We landed an hour late, made it through Immigration and Customs, and headed to the hotel for a shower. We somehow showered, changed, and applied makeup in twenty minutes - my personal best. The bus that was supposed to pick us up never showed, so we took a taxi to the office. Of course with the office being on the airport grounds, they had to drop us off at a security office about a half mile from the actual building. After getting permission to come in, we walked. And walked.
We made it to the office, and what was supposed to be a two-hour meeting turned into six. At this office, the bathrooms are cleaned often, but the toilet paper is stocked once. When the one roll is gone, it's gone for the day. I really missed my own office building, where the toilet paper magically appears when it's close to being gone.
Back at the hotel, we debriefed for two hours (and I must admit, had a couple of beers), then I hit the wall. I had been awake for 36 hours, so I went to bed without supper.
The next day, I got up at 5 hoping to catch up on some e-mail. We caught the bus this time, and worked until 6:30 p.m., when we were taken out to dinner at a traditional Ethiopian restaurant. There, we learned about injera, a pancake-like bread, which is used to form the bottom of the plate. After a hand-washing ceremony where only the right hand is washed, we chose several stew-like dishes to ladle onto the injera. Extra injera is taken to eat the food with. There are no utensils - you tear the injera using only your right hand, and use it to scoop up bits of the other food.
Music and dancing ensued, and then the bus showed up to take us to the airport. A fifteen hour flight later, we landed in Washington again, still with no sleep. Delta messed up again, this time to my advantage - they rebooked me on a nonstop flight home. So instead of getting home around 5, I walked in my door before 2.
A short power nap later (5 hours), I awoke and watched TV. For 2 hours. I hit the wall again, and slept until 6 this morning.
This is exactly how not to travel if you can help it.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Adventures in Cooking
For some reason, I wanted nothing to do with cooking when I was a kid. Maybe it was because my Mother was known as the neighborhood gourmet and I didn't like the competition. Anyway, I missed out on valuable lessons from her. A couple I remember, like adding cream cheese to mashed potatoes to make them smoother, and using a pastry blender to break up hamburger while it's frying. 
The last couple of years, I've started teaching myself the basics, and this week it was all about learning how to make fresh pasta. I got a small tabletop pasta machine, a ravioli maker, and a drying rack and went to it. Last weekend it was learning how to make the dough, kneading the dough, and using the pasta machine to make spaghetti and fettucine.
The last couple of years, I've started teaching myself the basics, and this week it was all about learning how to make fresh pasta. I got a small tabletop pasta machine, a ravioli maker, and a drying rack and went to it. Last weekend it was learning how to make the dough, kneading the dough, and using the pasta machine to make spaghetti and fettucine. This week, I tackled ravioli. The pasta dough is exactly the same, and I still had to roll the pasta out nice and thin using the pasta machine. The fun part was deciding what to stuff the raviolis with. I couldn't decide, so basically used leftovers. Italian sausage, spinach, mushrooms, olives, and garlic all went into the mix.
And, because my company is starting a health challenge tomorrow, where we get points for eating fruits and veggies everyday, I decided to also make a nice green bean salad to take me through the week. The grocery store didn't have fennel, so I substituted jicama, and I forgot to buy almonds, so I substituted walnuts. The pickled red onions are to die for!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sweetheart's Day
I've been hostile towards Valentine's Day since I went into puberty and realized how hard it was to get a guy to like me.
Earlier this week, I noticed a house on my block was for sale. Cecil and his wife bought the house when it was brand new in 1961, and raised their children there. Fifty years of happy memories. One of his kids loved this neighborhood so much he bought my house many years before I arrived on the scene, and started raising his kids across the street from their grandparents. I found handwritten letters in the attic that might have belonged to his kids, professing their undying devotion to a girl in the 5th grade.
Two years ago, after a long illness, Cecil's wife died. Cecil lost weight and became a little confused, but we always saw him on his daily walks down the street. He loved to visit with the neighbors on his walks, and the new families that moved into the neighborhood looked out for him.
One day, my neighbor told me that Cecil had moved into a nursing home. He was lost after the death of his wife, and his dementia had become bad enough that he couldn't take care of himself.
Three days ago, a "for sale" sign appeared on the front lawn of Cecil's house.
Today, Valentine's Day, I saw Cecil leave his house, and walk with his cane slowly down the street, just like he used to do. I didn't see a car, but someone must have dropped him off. Maybe he wanted to be in the home where he spent so many years with his sweetheart, and remember the Valentine's Days they spent together. Perhaps he was remembering when this neighborhood was the newest subdivision in Fort Worth, far beyond the city boundaries, where people used to hunt squirrels because they existed in the thousands, and couples came, bright eyed with the promise of the children to come.
Maybe he came to say goodbye, on this, the day where we celebrate love. Goodbye to the laughter of children playing in the street. Goodbye to his greatest love, his wife. Goodbye to the neighbors that would race over with casseroles anytime something bad happened.
Goodbye, Cecil. I'll miss you.
Earlier this week, I noticed a house on my block was for sale. Cecil and his wife bought the house when it was brand new in 1961, and raised their children there. Fifty years of happy memories. One of his kids loved this neighborhood so much he bought my house many years before I arrived on the scene, and started raising his kids across the street from their grandparents. I found handwritten letters in the attic that might have belonged to his kids, professing their undying devotion to a girl in the 5th grade.
Two years ago, after a long illness, Cecil's wife died. Cecil lost weight and became a little confused, but we always saw him on his daily walks down the street. He loved to visit with the neighbors on his walks, and the new families that moved into the neighborhood looked out for him.
One day, my neighbor told me that Cecil had moved into a nursing home. He was lost after the death of his wife, and his dementia had become bad enough that he couldn't take care of himself.
Three days ago, a "for sale" sign appeared on the front lawn of Cecil's house.
Today, Valentine's Day, I saw Cecil leave his house, and walk with his cane slowly down the street, just like he used to do. I didn't see a car, but someone must have dropped him off. Maybe he wanted to be in the home where he spent so many years with his sweetheart, and remember the Valentine's Days they spent together. Perhaps he was remembering when this neighborhood was the newest subdivision in Fort Worth, far beyond the city boundaries, where people used to hunt squirrels because they existed in the thousands, and couples came, bright eyed with the promise of the children to come.
Maybe he came to say goodbye, on this, the day where we celebrate love. Goodbye to the laughter of children playing in the street. Goodbye to his greatest love, his wife. Goodbye to the neighbors that would race over with casseroles anytime something bad happened.
Goodbye, Cecil. I'll miss you.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
You Did a Great Job!
Come on...if you think about it, don't you just hate this phrase? It's overused, and half the time it's not meant anyway. I always grimace when a leader tells a crowd of 20 people, "you did a great job", when you know that that moron sitting in the corner didn't do a thing all year except surf the internet and call in sick.
So, my resolution is this. If I ever say that phrase, I'm going to say it privately, to one person at a time, and be specific. "You were able to make a really difficult concept easy to understand in that meeting - good job!", or "I really admire how you're able to grab the crowd's attention and get them on your side so quickly".
Walking out today with my boss, as we reached the parking lot, he said, "oh by the way, great job today". I said thank you very much (I had already given him specific feedback earlier on why I thought he did a good job) and continued the walk to my car.
"There's only one or two little things...well, we can talk about it some other time", he said.
Nice. Now I'm going to spend every waking moment obsessing about why my boss hates my guts and thinks I'm worthless, and wants to take a shotgun and kill me...yeah okay, I'm a little sensitive.
Or the time that I represented others at a customer meeting, when no one else could go, and sent detailed meeting notes to the people responsible, including suggestions on what needed to be done. I heard lots of "good job" after that.
Months later, these same people I sent the notes to acted as if their heads were on fire because they found out from the customer that they needed to do the very same thing I had communicated previously. I pulled out my written, detailed instructions, and reminded them that they knew about the deadlines since November, and wasn't that the reason I went in the meeting in the first place? The feedback to me was that my e-mail was too long, and if it had been in an official document it would have been read.
REALLY????
If you want to give negative feedback, feel free, but don't tell me I did a good job first. Which is it - good or bad?
Or, better yet, tell me why you thought I did a good job. Then when you tell me what I did wrong I can know that 90% of what I did was really good and only 10% might be improved.
Message to all bosses out there - hear me. What had been a very positive, productive day was ruined for me because of insensitive comments. "You did a good job" should not be a phrase that is thrown around like "have a good day". It should mean something concrete, specific, and worthwhile. Otherwise don't bother.
Thank you, and have a great day.
So, my resolution is this. If I ever say that phrase, I'm going to say it privately, to one person at a time, and be specific. "You were able to make a really difficult concept easy to understand in that meeting - good job!", or "I really admire how you're able to grab the crowd's attention and get them on your side so quickly".
Walking out today with my boss, as we reached the parking lot, he said, "oh by the way, great job today". I said thank you very much (I had already given him specific feedback earlier on why I thought he did a good job) and continued the walk to my car.
"There's only one or two little things...well, we can talk about it some other time", he said.
Nice. Now I'm going to spend every waking moment obsessing about why my boss hates my guts and thinks I'm worthless, and wants to take a shotgun and kill me...yeah okay, I'm a little sensitive.
Or the time that I represented others at a customer meeting, when no one else could go, and sent detailed meeting notes to the people responsible, including suggestions on what needed to be done. I heard lots of "good job" after that.
Months later, these same people I sent the notes to acted as if their heads were on fire because they found out from the customer that they needed to do the very same thing I had communicated previously. I pulled out my written, detailed instructions, and reminded them that they knew about the deadlines since November, and wasn't that the reason I went in the meeting in the first place? The feedback to me was that my e-mail was too long, and if it had been in an official document it would have been read.
REALLY????
If you want to give negative feedback, feel free, but don't tell me I did a good job first. Which is it - good or bad?
Or, better yet, tell me why you thought I did a good job. Then when you tell me what I did wrong I can know that 90% of what I did was really good and only 10% might be improved.
Message to all bosses out there - hear me. What had been a very positive, productive day was ruined for me because of insensitive comments. "You did a good job" should not be a phrase that is thrown around like "have a good day". It should mean something concrete, specific, and worthwhile. Otherwise don't bother.
Thank you, and have a great day.
Monday, January 31, 2011
It's Not Over 'Til It's Over
I really thought that turning the big 5-0 would entail a big party, surrounded by friends, partying until the sun came up. Instead, I spent the day in Ethiopia, working from sun up to sun down and beyond (I think I was awake about 46 hours, counting the 12 hours in the office plus flight time back to the U.S.).
But I have discovered that the big 5-0 is more than just a day - it's worth celebrating for a full year. As my two best friends from college reminded me, we had always promised to celebrate the big occasion together by going on a big trip.
But how? And where? Napa? A cozy house by the lake?
Nah.
I asked one friend "if she could go anywhere in the world, where would she go"? She said Spain and Italy, then changed the subject to a trip more reasonable. "A cruise would be nice", she said, "but I'm not sure we could stand each other if we had to share a cabin".
My other friend loves photography - nothing pleases her more than capturing the perfect view.
Me? I travel for work all the time, so my idea of a vacation is to go somewhere, unpack, and enjoy the company. I'm just as happy drinking a beer and playing scrabble with my friends as anything else.
So being the travel afficionado I am, I went to work to see what I could possibly find that would please all of us. Here's what I found.
Norwegian Cruise Line's newest ship, the Epic, has cabins specifially designed for solo travelers. And the last sailing in October departs from Barcelona (Spain), and goes to three very photographic sites in Italy (Florence, Rome, and Naples). Hello - could there be anything better?
My friends immediately jumped at it, and we are now booked for the October 16th sailing. In SEPARATE CABINS! We are all over the moon about it, and I haven't been this excited about a trip in, well, forever.
Now I just have to figure out where the money's coming from....hmmmm.....
But I have discovered that the big 5-0 is more than just a day - it's worth celebrating for a full year. As my two best friends from college reminded me, we had always promised to celebrate the big occasion together by going on a big trip.
But how? And where? Napa? A cozy house by the lake?
Nah.
I asked one friend "if she could go anywhere in the world, where would she go"? She said Spain and Italy, then changed the subject to a trip more reasonable. "A cruise would be nice", she said, "but I'm not sure we could stand each other if we had to share a cabin".
My other friend loves photography - nothing pleases her more than capturing the perfect view.
Me? I travel for work all the time, so my idea of a vacation is to go somewhere, unpack, and enjoy the company. I'm just as happy drinking a beer and playing scrabble with my friends as anything else.
So being the travel afficionado I am, I went to work to see what I could possibly find that would please all of us. Here's what I found.
Norwegian Cruise Line's newest ship, the Epic, has cabins specifially designed for solo travelers. And the last sailing in October departs from Barcelona (Spain), and goes to three very photographic sites in Italy (Florence, Rome, and Naples). Hello - could there be anything better?
My friends immediately jumped at it, and we are now booked for the October 16th sailing. In SEPARATE CABINS! We are all over the moon about it, and I haven't been this excited about a trip in, well, forever.
Now I just have to figure out where the money's coming from....hmmmm.....
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