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...
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
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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