That Hobbit Lady

I can never remember how these things get started, but a short while ago I found myself on E-Bay looking for this Memory card game from when I was a kid. Now, Memory has been around for ages, with all kinds of images on the cards, but I recalled one very specific set, and was in fact able to find it on E-bay. Not only did I find it, I bid on it and won! So now I have this Memory card set from 1966, and these images bring back such memories.

I mentioned last time that I’ve been in a very nostalgic mood, didn’t I?

I thought the acquisition of the Memory game would be my big excitement on the nostalgia front, but I was wrong! Again, don’t know exactly how this got started (though probably from thinking about playing Memory with my sister and cousins and next door neighbors) but I soon started thinking about some dolls I had when I was a kid. Well…E-bay is right there, so I look them up, and lo and behold! There they are!

Apparently these dolls are called “Whimsies” and were only produced in 1960 and 1961. The one doll that was most beloved to me was Trixie the Pixie, though I never knew that was her name, because to me she has always been Tessie. I don’t know where the name Tessie came from, but that was her name.

Some of these dolls are now going for $100 and $200, if they are in good condition, but I found someone selling a Trixie the Pixie in “not such good condition,” (“well-loved” is the euphenism, I believe) and the price was extremely reasonable. More importantly, though, seeing this picture of the doll, I actually had to wonder…could this be my EXACT doll? Could this BE Tessie?

The way I remember it, my sister, cousins, neighbors and I went through a time when we used to play in our garage quite a bit, since there was an old piano in there, some lawn chairs and maybe an old couch. We kept our dolls there, with their clothes and carriages and such, and sort of thought of the garage as our “Clubhouse.” That was where the dolls stayed. That was where Tessie stayed.

Only one day, suddenly…no dolls. They were all gone. Tessie and all of them. I never did find out what happened. A logical explanation is that my Dad got tired of us kids making a mess of his garage and threw everything out. I don’t know if that’s what happened, but if it is, I’m sure it’s not because he was being mean, it was probably just because we had made such a mess and never cleaned it up, and we were probably told repeatedly to put our toys away or else, and we never did. And being an auto mechanic by trade, Dad probably just needed his garage back! To him, these dolls would not have looked like anything special. Talking to my Mom recently, she remembers them as “ugly” and “peculiar looking,” and if it was my Dad who got rid of them, I’m sure they didn’t look any more appealing to him.

That may or may not have happened. Another explanation, one which my kid-mind could not fathom at the time: perhaps they were stolen? Perhaps the garage door was left open and some other kids in the neighborhood (or some bad teenagers?) saw them and stole them? Oh, I hope not!

But there is a third possibility. I don’t know if someone said something like this to me, or if it was simply my own overactive imagination trying to make sense of the disappearing dolls, but somehow I got the idea in my head that wild animals must have come into the garage in the middle of the night and dragged the dolls away. Perhaps wild dogs. Perhaps wolves.

Oh, that was the worst scenario of all! And I cried and cried! I can only remember a handful of times in my life when I’ve cried buckets of unending tears, and this was one of them, and possibly the first. (Though this may have happened around the same time that a well-meaning relative offered me one crisp dollar bill in exchange for my collection of 100 shiny pennies, and I cried and cried, feeling I had been utterly GIPPED! And by a family member, no less!)

There are several incidents in my life which stand out as entirely unfair and deeply sad, and the mysterious disappearance of Tessie and the rest of the Whimsie dolls is right up there on the top of the list. To this day, I have always thought of this as one of the open-ended traumas of my childhood. (The penny-gipping being another, and my parents not allowing me to go to a Grassroots concert when I was in 6th grade also right up there on the top of the list.)

But here’s the wonderful thing about being an adult in the age of technology: You can find just about anything you seek on the internet, and if you’re willing to pay for it, you can get it.

So I bid on the Tessie doll, starting at about $16.00, and going all the way up to $24.00. There was a small bidding war with one other customer for a few hours, but in the end, I did not even have to put out the whole $24.00. I got Tessie for $20.50 (and $12.00 shipping.)

She arrived yesterday, looking precisely as I remember, though perhaps a wee bit smaller. (Remember, I was seven or eight the last time I saw her. She hasn’t changed much, but I have.) It seems to me there is something familiar about the stain on the front of her dress. And the sparse matted hair on the back of her head is exactly the way I remember it. I’m not entirely convinced this is the exact same Whimsie doll I had as a kid, but I would not be at all surprised if someone could prove to me that she is.

One thing is different though. This Tessie that arrived USPS yesterday is missing an earlobe, apparently chewed off by some animal with teeth. That pack of wolves? Is that, in fact, how they dragged her from the garage all those years ago?

Has my Tessie been raised by wolves ever since? Funny…she does not seem at all wild, she simply seems content to be home. I gave her a sponge bath, cleaned her eyes and the corners of her mouth with Q-tips, and washed her outfit in Woolite. Unfortunately, the outfit still looks extremely ratty. (Well, how would your clothes look if you’d been wearing the same dress for 53 years?)

I searched though my “hope chest” of a few items I’ve kept from when my kids were babies, and found this nice little soft pajama set and put her in that. All clean and comfy, she seems happy to stay home and enjoy the house with Squee while I am away. At some time in the future I may visit yard sales and look for little socks or shoes, and dresses and other clothes in size 0-3 months, so she can enjoy feeling pretty.

We still have to do something about her hair, though. When she lived in the garage, I remember that one of our “toys” was an old brown wig we would sometimes put on her head, and she would look very glamorous. But I don’t think I want to do anything like that with her now. I think I’ll just gently wash her pink hair with Dawn (as suggested on this Whimsies website) and carefully brush it out, and maybe braid it up again. Her hair was never her strong point. Her charm has always been in her impish expression.

My Mom called her “ugly” and “peculiar looking,” and to some degree that is true, when you consider the pretty baby dolls some children like to play with. Not me. Besides the Whimsies, my other favorite “dolls” were TROLLS. (I had the troll clubhouse carrying case, and would often create outfits for them from the tiniest bits of fabric.)

So maybe I was somewhat of a peculiar kid. I don’t know, and at this point, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Tessie is home, and one gaping hole in my childhood has been satisfactorily closed up. Now my only concern is keeping those wild wolves from getting into our house and dragging her off again. But that shouldn’t be to hard, since we have an alarm system, and I doubt the wolves know the code.

Right now I have about 500 pictures in my phone. I kid you not. I went through them recently and right off the top was able to remove about 40 or 50, but there are still tons more that have to go. For instance, I often take pictures of my lunchtime salads and text them to Mary, and she in turn sends me pictures of her beautifully photographed vegan dinners. I have plans to someday showcase Mary’s healthy meals (still trying to work out the details on that project) but my ordinary pictures of my ordinary salads have little value beyond the moment. When I have more time, I’ll delete them.

Having a camera phone and the ability to take pictures at a moment’s notice, even of the most mundane things, is such a blessing. Remember, it was not that long ago we were buying film, taking 12 or 24 shots, bringing them to the store be be developed, and actually paying for prints, only to find out that half of what we paid for was blurry, or somebody’s eyes were closed, or their head was cut off. (Well, not literally cut off, I mean their head did not appear in the photograph, but you understand what I mean, right?) We’ve come such a long way, and it really is a great thing to be able to document the ordinary as well as the extraordinary moments in life. Only, I have to remember what my Uncle Chet told me years and years ago when I was a teenager and had my first “real” camera: only about one or two of every hundred pictures you take will be worth keeping.

Here then, are just a few of what I feel are the “worth keeping” photos from the 400-500 or so currently in my camera phone:

Near campus—in fact, across a very narrow street just opposite the mammoth football stadium—there’s this little diner called Rama Jama where on a summer afternoon from 2-6pm you can get hotdogs for a buck each. It’s a good place for some cheap junk food, but the real attraction is just sitting in this old building and looking at all the sports memorobilia—hundreds and hundreds of photos and posters, many of them signed, jerseys, footballs, and even the shoe that kicked a winning field goal. As you can see, there are even references to Alabama football on the ceiling! It’s a fun place steeped in history, and a summer hot dog (or two…) at Rama Jama is the perfect way to get ready for the upcoming football season (less than two weeks away now!!)

When I turned the page on my calendar recently I was greeted by this fine fellow, jauntily carrying a stick as he prances through the grass. What a great cat! He looks so happy, and so full of self-confidence (as any self-respecting cat should be.) I loved looking at him for the whole month of June, and was sad when I had to turn the page for July, so before I did that, I snapped this picture so I could always remember him.

Speaking of cats, I recently spent a Saturday reorganizing all my music CD’s, and as you can see here, Squee helped. Well….no, actually, he just got up on the table to be in the way.

The organization process was a complete success, and I now have every CD alphabetized on one shelf, or in several binders on the shelf (behind Squee). The point is, it’s all alphabetized, so if I take care to put things back where they belong, I should always be able to find any CD I’m looking for in a matter of moments. Of course, I’ve done this alphabetical thing at least a couple of times before in the last few years, so obviously though I might be very good at creating order out of chaos, I’m not really very good at maintaining that order.

But it always feels good to get some aspect of my life in order. Our next big project (and we’ve already decided we’re going to do it on Martin Luther King weekend, because it’s going to take at least three days) is putting Russ’ comic book collection in order. I’ll keep you updated on that one when it happens!

I’ve been on kind of a nostalgia kick lately (more on that next time, after a couple of Ebay purchases make their way to my front door), but in the meantime, here’s an image of a poster I had hanging in my room when I was in college. Don’t know why I find this so picture so appealing. I guess I just love the colors, and the quirkiness of it all. Well, I loved the color and quirk when I was in college, and I still do, and now in addition, it has that nostalgic appeal. I love finding things I used to love, and discovering that I do indeed still love them. Some things never change, and sometimes, that’s a good thing.

With Russ’ mom recently passing, we’ve had several opportunities to peruse some of the old family photos. There are many gems, and I’m presenting just a couple of them here. Photography is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? To capture a moment in time, a smile…In a small way, it makes you feel that all times are NOW. A picture, a song, a voice, a smell, a taste of some special food… Hey, maybe it’s just because I’m getting older, and thus more sentimental, but I really love these reminders that our lives are so rich and full, never the same from moment to moment, and so many of those moments can be exceptional, and so worthy of remembrance.

Another thing I really love about these old baby pictures is when you’re able to look at a picture of someone as a child and see the person you know in the features of that child. Russ obviously no longer looks anything like the child in these picture, and yet…the child in these pictures is so obviously him. Again, it’s such a reminder that some things never change, and it’s a delight to be reminded that no matter how old we get, somehow the child we were is still always somewhere inside us.

Russ gets his hair cut every six weeks or so (even though I would love to see him try to grow a ponytail!), but I have trust issues when it comes to my hair. Too many times I have walked out of a salon with something that was not at all what I was hoping for, so mostly I snip at my hair with scissors in the hallway mirror, and Russ is very good at trimming the back for me (No trust issues there!) However, when I recently accompanied him to A Cut Above, while perusing the style books I found this cut that I think is super cute. Now, I don’t know if I would be able to carry this off at my age and my weight, but if I ever do actually lose all the weight I’d like to lose and somehow can get my face to look about thirty years younger (HA!) I might like to try this. Well, I’m being facetious about my face, I know that’s not happening, but I might like to try this anyway.

Right now I’m flirting with the idea of “going gray gracefully,” and my real wish is to grow out my hair and perm it, so I’m the crazy old lady with all that crazy gray hair, but I understand gray hair doesn’t always hold a perm that well. I guess when I get there I’ll have to see what my hair is like. But if my gray hair won’t look good long and curly, I think it could work with this short cut. I love this shade of red, but I think this cut would work in gray as well. Anyway, I’m not quite there yet on the gray, but someday I’ll be going there, so right now I’m just collecting ideas for when I get bold enough to finally make that decision.

Sometimes I eat healthy, and sometimes…not so much. When I’m not eating healthy, I have a biscuit for Sunday morning breakfast, but when I AM eating healthy, I like to create a little container of beans and veggies to bring with me to add to my side of pinto beans. Throw in some hot sauce and vavoom!! I can do non-traditional breakfast just as easily as the traditional. It’s all food, right?

And speaking of food, this is one of my new weekday breakfasts: a shake that usually contains a banana, some frozen fruit (right now I’ve got strawberries, or a mixture of tropical fruits), some almond milk, maybe some orange juice, and a healthy handful of kale. It’s the kale that gives this drink its beautiful green color, but does not overpower the sweet fruitiness. Kale is a wonder food, and I can’t believe I’ve only discovered it in the last year or so. I tried making kale chips, which was not that big of a success, but I’m always willing to throw kale in a juice or a shake. Next experiment in the kitchen: sauteeing kale with onions, garlic, and maybe a pinch of brown sugar.

And still speaking of food, here’s a lovely basket of peaches we picked up in Chilton County this past June, when peaches are at their peak. It’s a couple hours’ drive, so we stopped for lunch at the local Shoney’s, then picked up a bunch of fruits and veggies from a roadside stand. In addition to these lovely peaches, we also got a good selection of tomatoes, sweet potatoes and cukes. The veggies are long gone, but we’ve frozen six bags of cut-up peaches so that once every two months over the next year, we can pull some peaches out of the freezer and bake a peach cobbler. This way we have peach cobbler all year long…until next June, when we’ll make the trip to Chilton County once again, eat at Shoney’s, and stock up on more peaches!

A pretty picture of a rainy day

Okay. Here’s a major milestone in my life. For the past several…oh, decades, I would say, I’ve been a big fan of the Pilot fine point black pen. No other pen writes finer or smoother. I’m sort of a nut about pens. When I have to fill out forms, like at a doctor’s office, I always bring my own pen. And I’ve always had a Pilot black fine point on me. (Once, as I was cleaning out my purse, I counted no less than ten pens! I’m sort of obsessive about pens.) However, a sad day looms, because Pilot has stopped making this particular pen. I spent several months looking for it all over town and on the internet, only to realize it’s a thing of the past. What to do, what to do!? Well, no problem, mate! Because along comes the PaperMate InkJoy 300 0.7F. And now I am here to tell you, there is no pen in existence that writes finer or smoother than this one! I’m not kidding. This is the best pen ever.

So I guess the moral of this story is: don’t be sad when life throws you a curve ball, because who knows? There might be something better just beyond the horizon. (Hey, was that enough mixed metaphors for you?)

If you’re willing to eat corndogs, is “whole grain” really something you care about?

Springtime in Alabama, flowering trees

This past Spring Squee spent some time in the yard, soaking up the sun, and he really loved it. But then, as will happen in Spring, there were BIRDS, particularly those nasty Mockingbirds, that swoop down when they’re protecting a nest. I don’t know exactly where their nest was, but they swooped Squee a few times and the big scaredy-cat refused to go outside anymore. At this point I don’t know if he even remembers that he used to enjoy going outside. The bird feeders are in the front yard now, so there are less birds hanging about in the back, but still Squee is not interested in going outside. Just as well, because it’s the middle of Summer and freaking hot. We’ll try the yard again when the weather gets cooler.

And one more chapter in The Life of Squee: here he is looking so contented as he enjoys a nice chin-scratching. He’s such a cat, and really a very good boy. I miss Boogins, and I miss having more than one cat, but for the moment this is working for us. Squee loves being an only child, he’s adjusted quite well. We’ve determined that any behavior issues he had sprung out of sibling rivalry, so remove the sibling, no rivalry, no problem.

Last year we bought a lawn mower and edger and have been saving money by cutting our own lawn. In less than a year we broke even on the cost of the equipment, but I must admit, we don’t always do that job as often as we should. But don’t let the size of this weed make you think we are so incredibly lax in our duties This weed was the exception, not the rule, that’s why I took a picture of it. The rest of the grass was only moderately high, with some random weeds reaching up a little higher than the ankles, but this one…this one was right out of Jack and the Beanstalk! I shudder to think how tall it would have gotten if we had not finally put clipping shears to hearty stalk and hacked away until it finally came down. (“Timberrr!”)

Well, that’s it for now! Love my camera phone, and love creating this photographic panorama of a brief moment in my life. Next time, hopefully: the return of Tessie, and a Blast from the Past!

The following is a RANT. Don’t read it if you’re looking for something light and happy and airy. But do read it if you, like me, are feeling discouraged by modern life. Perhaps something I say here will inspire you, or make you feel better.

When I was a teenager, living at home, we had a dog named Wendy. Wendy was devoted to my mother (who fed her), and followed Mom around like a second shadow. Sometimes Mom would go into a room and close the door behind her, leaving Wendy sitting in the hall, patiently waiting for her return. Whenever I saw Wendy in the hall, looking so sad, I would reflect how fortunate it was for her that she didn’t have enough sense to realize that if only she had opposable thumbs, perhaps she could reach up and turn the doorknob and gain access to the room, reunited with her beloved caretaker.

But no, Wendy was no smarter than your average dog, (I’m assuming), and had no thought of sorrow or frustration because she was physically limited in her ability to achieve her goals. In fact, I’m quite sure Wendy never thought about having “goals.” She simply knew her Mommy was there, and then she wasn’t, so she would wait, and then Mommy would be there again. Feelings of inadequacy never entered into the equation.

I tell this little story to preface my next comment: sometimes I wish, Oh! If only I could be like Wendy, blissfully unaware of my limitations. Wouldn’t it be nice to simply live life, and do some things, and be happy with that, rather than being cognizant enough to realize that there are so many things I want to do that, for whatever reason, I am never going to be able to do.

Having “goals” is a curse, when your desires far exceed your grasp. Yes, it’s great to have dreams, but truth is, there are only so many hours in a day, and there are only so many opportunities for a basically mediocre person like myself. I can think up a ton of stuff that makes me say, “Hey! Wouldn’t it be great if…?” but far too soon my life collapses under the weight of all those “If’s.”

I have been blessed with just enough intellect and enthusiasm to WANT so many things out of life, yet not enough time, talent and money to actually achieve even a portion of what I can dream.

It’s frustrating.

I think part of the problem is that I’m getting older. When I was younger, I had “my whole life” in front of me, and time seemed limitless. Now, in my mid-fifties, reality has set in. “My whole life” is probably going to be another 25, 30 or 35 years, if I’m lucky. When you’re in your teens or twenties, that sounds like an eternity. In your fifties, you have a much more realistic view of time.

I say “realistic,” but oddly, I find myself more and more experiencing the phenomenon of time “speeding up.” Of course I know that time is not actually speeding up, but it sure does seem like it. Years pass much faster, to say nothing of months, weeks, days. Every time I turn around, it’s a weekend, and I get some stuff done, but there isn’t enough time to do everything I wanted to do. But no bother! Another weekend will be here before you know it.

Another part of the problem, I’m sure, is that I have allowed my “To Do” list to get way out of hand. I try to keep track of all the little things that have to be done by writing them down on paper so I won’t forget (pay the water bill, have the oil changed, return library books), but then there are also those BIG things that there never really seems to be enough time for: edit my book for publication, vacation in Las Vegas, take belly-dancing lessons. When do I get to do those things?

Granted, I have a couple of hobbies/projects that take up a good deal of my time. I enjoy the podcast, I enjoy posting to The Marvelous Zone, but I don’t enjoy the fact that the time needed for these projects takes away time from other things I might like to—other things like, perhaps, reading a book. (I try to read at least a chapter a night before bed, but honestly, sometimes I’m just so tired by the end of the day, either I forego reading completely, or fall asleep with the pages open.)

The day starts at 6 am, and usually ends about 11. That allows for seven hours of sleep. Where’s the eight hours we’re all told we should get? Sometimes seven hours just doesn’t do it for me! And sometimes it’s less than seven hours, because at the end of the day, there’s still dishes to wash and laundry to fold, cat box to scoop, and papers to file. Never mind reading a book! I’m just trying to stay on top of the basics!

I realized recently that when people ask me “How was your weekend?” if the weekend was good, I’ll answer, “Great! We got a lot of stuff done!” I measure success by how much gets done. I don’t really take into account whether or not I had fun, enjoyed myself, etc. Well, I often do manage to fit in a few fun, enjoyable activities between all the “Must Do’s,” but when I think about how the weekend went, the measure of success is “How Much I Got Done.”

That’s not right. But I’m not sure how to fix it. I don’t want to give up my hobbies. I ENJOY my hobbies! (If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have them as hobbies.) In fact, part of my frustration is that I don’t have time to pursue MORE hobbies! I have lost count of how many ideas for good websites I have had, never mind how many ideas for books I might write, Even now, I’m having an idea: I should take the ideas in this post and make them into a website, and call it Simplify.com, or something like that. (Never mind, that website already exists, but if I put my mind to it, I could think up something to call it!)

I wish the dishes and the laundry and the cat box would go away. Not the meals and the clothes and the cat, just all the upkeep that goes with them. I know that’s being childish. So instead, I wish I had enough money to hire someone to come in and do all those necessary things, so I would have more time to pursue my true interests. Again: childish, wishful thinking. But we all do it…right?

Before I go any further though, want to make one thing perfectly clear: Don’t think for a moment I’m trying to be one of those “Super-Women” that hold down a full time job AND do all the housework besides. Russ is a GEM. He helps with all the household chores. In fact, we’ve worked out a system these last few months where we are at last able to stay on top of the household chores. The biggies are dishes and laundry, so on odd-numbered days, I do dishes and he does laundry. On even-numbered days we switch.

Since we’ve started doing this, the sink is almost always clear of dirty dishes and the chair in the bedroom is (relatively) clear of clothes that need to be hung up and put away. Sometimes there is not as much laundry as dishes, so on those days, the “laundry person” vacuums, or scrubs the toilets. All in all, this is working out quite well.

But getting back to my bellyaching….wouldn’t it be great if there was all the time in the world for all the things we WANT to do, with no concerns about those nasty “Must Do’s”? I keep thinking it would be wonderful, but then I also think that if somehow that were to happen, I’m not even so sure any more that I would know exactly what it is that I want to do. I’ve gotten so use to measuring success by how much stuff gets done, that if I wasn’t actually knocking items off a “To Do” list, I don’t know if I would consider myself successful.

In part, I blame the internet. When I think this through, I realize my life would be a lot simpler if I didn’t have the internet. How did we ever get by without it? How did we ever get by without cell phones? Without remote controls? We did, but now when we think of those times, they seem so…primitive. So…underprivileged.

The computer was supposed to reduce paper accumulation, but as everyone knows, having a computer with an accompanying printer means we use MORE paper than ever before. Email was supposed to make corresponding so much easier, but as everyone knows, checking and responding to emails is a lot more time consuming and challenging than we had it back in the days of writing letters. We’re overwhelmed with information.

Information OVERLOAD.

Remember the commercial where the guy is at his computer and hears “You have now reached the end of the internet”? Why is it funny? Because there IS NO END to the internet. It goes on and on and on and on, and there is no end to what you might research and see on the internet.

Well, that might be fine for people whose brains function only slightly higher than the average family dog, but if you have a lot of interests, and a lot of curiosity, there is no end to what you can look up online. And that term about “surfing” the internet…well, how appropriate is that? One thing leads to another, which leads to another, which leads to another. Sometimes I can’t even remember where I started, but all of the sudden I’m somewhere completely different.

And I’ve found that one of the ironies of the internet is that though it gives you the opportunity to connect with people who have like interests, you will no doubt be overwhelmed by those opportunities. In our case, we do a podcast about Dark Shadows, and have met many great fans of the show. We have also run into many great websites about the show. We wish we had the time to visit all these fans and all these sites, but the reality is that because we are so busy producing our own podcast (and also busy adding to our other websites, and washing dishes and folding laundry, and scooping the cat box and getting the oil changed, not to mention spending eight hours a day at our paying jobs—now there’s a good chunk of time!) we don’t have anywhere near enough time to really get to peruse all the Dark Shadows sites we would like to.

If there was no internet, we would not have a podcast, or websites. We would not have Netflix, that keeps sending us great movies to watch. There would be no research to do on the best exercises or vegetarian recipes, or cat toys, and there would certainly be no email to answer. Without the internet, there would be no need for a printer, so there would be less paper in the house. With less paper in the house, there would be less time needed for filing.

And without the internet, there would be no need to clean out your email inbox. Last night, I took some time to clean out my email. I was going along, deleting one page at a time, page after page after page, and then somehow my finger slipped, I guess, and the next thing I knew, it was gone. It was ALL gone. All the personal emails I wanted to keep…GONE. Any important information I might have been saving…GONE.

For a moment, it disturbed me. I felt a terrible loss. But then suddenly I realized….the world was still spinning, and I was still alive. And not only that, but I was alive with an EMPTY INBOX! This is something I probably never would have done on my own, or if I had, it would have taken hours and hours. I almost feel like the hand of God reached down and caused my fingers to slip, so I could be done with this inbox all at once, and realize it was not the end of the world.

I was given the gift of time. And in some sense, I’ve been given a clean slate. Now, I can keep an eye on this inbox on a daily basis, and not let it get so full again. In fact, what I probably should do is to identify all those places that are sending me junkmail (the stuff I was TRYING to get rid of) and make arrangements to STOP that junkmail.

Sure, that will be time consuming. You see where this is going? It goes round and round, it never ends. How did I let myself get on this carousel? And how can I get off? Well, I guess I just have to start where I am.

And I guess I’ll have to reign in my expectations and get real with myself: I don’t have time to create and manage any more websites. I may never do Pysanki eggs again. I don’t have time each day to go to the gym, and floss, and soak my feet, and use the Neti Pot, and the body brush, and deep-condition my hair, and play the violin, and start an herb garden, and learn another language, and write a novel, and crotchet a scarf for winter, and learn to bellydance. At least not until I can afford to retire. Or, until I win the lottery. Whichever comes first.

But I know me. Even if I did win the lottery, and suddenly had so many extra hours in the day, I would quickly find a way to fill them, so that my “To Do” list might change in regard to the type of items on the list, but that list would only get longer and longer. And at the end of each day, I would still be judging my success by how many items I was able to cross off that list.

Sigh…I think I need a complete personality overhaul.

This past week Russ and I ate dinner at Schlotzsky’s three nights in a row. Yep! But here’s the great part: we only spent about $11 for both of us to eat dinner for three nights! Schlotzsky’s is having a “Week of Coupons,” and the first three were really great. Here’s what we got:

On Monday, the coupon was “Buy a drink and a soda, and get a free sandwich,” so for $3.50 we shared an overstuffed sandwich and a bag of baked chips, and a large soda. Well, Russ mostly drank the soda, I only took a few sips. It was Dr. Pepper or something like that, and it was not very good. (Bleah!!)

On Tuesday, the coupon was “Buy a 44 oz. drink and get a free personal pizza.” The large drink was $2.00, and we used two coupons, so the total was $4.00, but we each got our own pizza and our own drink. Russ said the pizza was filling enough to be a meal. I did not eat the crust, since I had just made the decision to go back on “No flour, no sugar,” but the toppings of chicken, cheese and jalapenos were enough for me!

Wednesday, the coupon was “Buy a drink and chips and get a Pick Two.” That means you get a half serving of two different foods. Russ chose the half sandwich, and I chose the half salad (Turkey Avocado Cobb) which was big enough to be considered a full serving as far as I’m concerned. This time, I did not mess around with sharing his Dr. Pepper, I just brought some ice water with me. Total cost for this meal was once again around $3.50.

So! We had a very successful week of coupon use, and not a lot of dirty dishes at home. The coupon today is “Buy a meal and get a free Cinnabon,” but since I’m not doing sugar, this one doesn’t interest me. Tomorrow is something else that is not appealing either, so we’re done with Schlotzsky’s for the moment.

I was proud of myself for having a pizza and not eating the crust. Looking forward to getting back on track with my eating habits. It was great to be able to do that and STILL EAT OUT! I’m encouraged to look at all the local restaurants and try to figure out the best course of action, so that I can still “have my cake and eat it too,” so to speak—at least, still enjoy eating out, without having to succumb to unhealthy choices.

Today is the first day of Summer, and that’s good news.

Not because I love Summer. Actually, Summer is my least favorite season. Having spent so much of my life in the South, it’s already hot enough, thank you very much. Don’t really need to belabor the issue any further. No, the best thing about the first day of Summer is that it’s the longest day of the year. Because what happens after the longest day of the year? That’s right! The days start getting shorter again!

When the days get shorter, that means Autumn is on the way, and Autumn is absolutely my favorite time of the year. Besides the excellent weather and changing/falling leaves, there’s football, and holidays leading right up to Christmas. Oh yeah! And my birthday, and Russ’ birthday, let’s not forget those!

As much as I love having all this daylight (sometimes it’s light outside till way past eight o’clock!), I’m really looking forward to the shorter days. I don’t know why, but I love it when I get out of work and dusk is already falling, and as we’re driving home, the streetlights are coming on, and that restaurant with the mid-century modern angle to the roof turns on an orange neon light, and everything is getting quiet, and now just seems like the perfect time to go home and cocoon in your comfy house.

In Autumn we eat soup. We drink lots and lots of hot tea. The smells are cinnamon and apples and nutmeg. The colors are orange and cranberry and deep rich browns and purples. We wear sweaters, and big wooly socks. And boots. I would much rather wear boots than sandals.

So from this point on, I’ll be looking forward to the days getting shorter. I’ll look forward to the shortest day of the year, just around Christmas…but then, the days will start getting longer again. In January, maybe it will snow. And after that, I may finally be ready once again for the days to lengthen, and for the air to warm, and I may actually look forward to putting away the thermal longjohns, and start looking for the bright green buds on the naked trees.

But for right now…yea, Summer! Now that we’ve reached the pinnacle, we can once again begin that slow, easy and delightful downhill journey into a wonderful Autumn filled with all its usual seasonal magic.

Last time I wrote about my experiences with the newborn kitten and mentioned how this gave me an idea. A brainstorm, really, an epiphany. I said it would probably have to be a “When I win the lottery” kind of undertaking, not something easy start up unless you have a lot of money, as well as a lot of time. So I’ll present this idea now as a “Someday/Maybe” wish for the future.

If I won the lottery (or somehow came into a ton of money so that I didn’t have the work and had tons of time as well as tons of money), I would like to develop a charity to help people get their pets fixed.

I’ve known for a long time (and indeed everyone knows, if they just take the time to think about it), that there are far too many unwanted animals in the world, and a lot of them cannot be adequately cared for. Far too many are left at shelters simply because their guardians could not afford to keep them, or someone moved in with an allergy, or developed an allergy, or the new apartment will not allow pets. There are too many reasons why people abandon their pets, and not all of them are really good reasons. It’s a shame these things happen, and these things will no doubt go on happening, and there’s probably nothing that can be done to stop the problem completely, but there is one thing every responsible pet owner CAN do.

Spay or neuter.

At least this way, the population of unwanted animals will be kept under control. Because every time you spay or neuter, not only are you preventing a litter of unwanted puppies or kittens, but you are preventing countless future litters of unwanted puppies and kittens. (I recently heard that a single mom and dad cat can lead to up to 450,000 more cats over the course of seven years, if none of the offspring and their offspring are ever spayed or neutered. Yikes!!) This is the sort of thing that can easily be “nipped in the bud” (if you’ll excuse the expression.) A little action now will go a long way into the future.

So…why do people not spay and neuter their pets? Probably lots of reasons, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they #1 reason who people don’t spay and neuter is because they feel it just costs too much and they think they cannot afford it. To my way of thinking, if you can’t afford the cost of spay or neuter, then you cannot afford to keep a pet. It should be that simple, but it’s not. The truth is that there is and there always will be plenty of people who can’t afford to keep pets, but will keep them anyway.

That’s something I can’t change. But I would love to be able to change this: to give the “I can’t afford it” people no excuse to not have their pet spayed or neutered. Of course there are plenty of places in every community that will do the job at a discounted rate or for free for people who truly cannot afford it. But my idea is to take this one step further.

Think for a moment if you will about the child sponsorship charities such as Save the Children or Compassion International, where people send a certain amount of money per month to help support a needy child, usually in some underdeveloped country. When you sign up for this charity program, a lot of times they will ask if you want to sponsor a boy or a girl, and you can even pick which country your sponsored child is from. Then that child will send you letters and pictures, etc., so you feel like you have a relationship with someone that you are truly helping. It’s a very immediate and concrete demonstration of exactly how your donation is helping one specific person in the world.

So here’s what I propose: I want to start a charity that follows a similar pattern, but it will be for keeping the pet population under control. People who sign up to donate will be paying for a spay or neuter of one specific animal. They can choose cat or dog, they may even be able to choose what state or city that animal is from. And in return for their donation, they will get a picture of the pet that they helped, so that they can always look at that picture and say, “This animal has a happier life, and is not contributing to pet overpopulation, and it’s ALL BECAUSE OF ME.” An immediate and concrete demonstration of exactly how your donation is helping.

On the other side of this equation, this organization would somehow work with vets and animal clinics that provide spay and neuter services in order to find those pet-owners who are in need of financial assistance.

As for the pet owner, in exchange for receiving the benefit of financial assistance, all they need to do is provide a picture of their pet, the pet’s name, and perhaps a brief history or description of the pet’s life (“Fluffy is four months old and was adopted at the local animal shelter. She lives with a family with two children and loves to chase balls of crumpled up wrapping paper across the living room floor.”)

See, the real problem with all this is working out the details—how to get the donors and the owners matched up, how to find the vets and clinics providing the actual service, and how to make the payments.

Being a sort of cynical person, I am also on guard against potential fraud. How do you guarantee that there really IS a Fluffy, and that she really did get spayed? How do you make sure the clinic isn’t just telling you they provided these services for non-existent animals, and then pocketing the money?

I haven’t worked out the details yet, but you get the main idea: no one should ever again be able to say “I can’t afford to get my pet fixed,” because this organization (and I haven’t yet figured out a snappy name for it) will always be available to everyone who needs it.

I think there would probably be plenty of pet-lovers out there as well, who would be more than happy to donate a certain amount of money to know that they made a specific dent in pet overpopulation. If I knew there was such a charity, and I could feel secure that my money was actually going to help a particular cat or dog, and if I could get a picture of that specific animal that I helped, I would be more than willing to help. If paying for one spay and one neuter could prevent even a fraction of the estimated 450,000 unwanted animals in the world, I think that would be money well spent.

I feel like I have the germ of a good idea here, but working out the particulars seems nightmarish. Administration of such a charity would be a full-time job! A sort of “matchmaking” service for pets—but in reverse! I think the way to start would be to do this on a very local level at first, see how it goes, then look at expanding over time.

So that’s the beginning of what I think is a good idea. Still needs a bit of fleshing out. If anyone has any further ideas on how to accomplish something this ambitious, please let me know!

Last Wednesday, while Russ was visitng his mom in the hospital, I drove home alone and found a kitten on my front lawn. Barely even a kitten, the little thing could not have been any more than 48 hours old—palm-sized, eyes closed and the stubble of the umbilical cord still attached. It was “mewing” to beat the band, which was the only way I recognized it as a feline, not a rodent. Very small… and very upsetting.

Upsetting, because I had no idea what to do. First, I called Mary, remembering that Slayer came to them at a very young age (though not this young, to be sure!) and she gave some good advice about goat’s milk and feeding with an eyedropper. I looked on my computer, and learned that warmth was essential. It was a pleasant day, so I left the kitten on the lawn for 30 minutes or so, hoping mama would return to pick up her baby, but that didn’t happen. Eventually I got a box and towels and set up a safe haven for the little guy while I ran off to the nearest pet store for something to feed him.

That evening, and that night (2am and 5am) I fed the kitten warm formula from an eyedropper, and in the morning, I called several local pet organizations, hoping someone would have a litter where a surrogate mother might take this one in as her own. Not only did I find no litter, but I discovered that one place had completely closed down, and the Humane Society is all volunteer, so you can leave a phone message and they’ll call you back in 24-48 hours—not very helpful at the moment. Also, the ASPCA Shelter is currently under renovations, so they’re not accepting animals at this time.

What to do? I was advised to start calling local vets. The first was busy, but to my amazement, the second said they were already bottle feeding a two week old kitten, so sure, bring this one over! I was so relieved and packed up the little guy for the journey.

The lady at the vet was so nice, and showed me the two week old kitten, who was ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE, and it amazed me to no end that as little as 10 to 14 days could turn this little runt from something resembling a field mouse to a full-fledged feline. She took my name and number and said she would call me if anyone decided to adopt the little guy. (I think I may have given her the impression I would love to keep him, but I just couldn’t take care of him, and I went on and on, etc. etc…)

Well, I left him there, glad all had turned out well. But a couple of hours later I got a call from the vet’s office, telling me that they had given him fluids and done everything they could, but “he didn’t make it,” and “he was just probably too young.”

Totally bummed out by this news. I even went so far as to wonder if this “nice vet’s office” had simply taken one look at the little guy and said, “Eh. More trouble than he’s worth. Let’s just give him the shot.” Because when I had left him he was still “mewing” to beat the band.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized the odds were against him from the start. I read online that even among healthy kittens that have every advantage, 10-30% will die. This one was definitely too young to be separated from his mother. And why had the mother left him, anyway? It struck me that maybe she had a large litter, and while moving them, instinctively knew he wasn’t going to make it and left him behind, so there would be more food for the ones who did have a fighting chance.

There are cats at the end of our street. I don’t know if they’re feral, or simply somebody’s outdoor cats. I think they must belong to someone, because they always look so clean and healthy. If they’re feral, someone is at least feeding them well. One of these must be the mother. But I have not yet seen any evidence of a litter. I’m going to keep my eyes open during the next few weeks.

In the meantime, every time I come home from work, I look at the spot on the lawn where I found the little kittle, and get a stab of melancholy. Yet, I can’t help thinking this was not just a random occurrence. Call it a mid-life crisis, but lately I’ve been feeling like I’m too wrapped up in my own life, wondering what I can do to make a difference in my world. Blogs and podcasts are fun, but they’re simply entertainment, a diversion. I’ve been looking for something that touches my heart, a cause I can get excited about, a way to truly make someone’s life truly better.

No, we are not adopting a new cat. But I have at least decided to start donating to the Humane Society, and if I can figure out where to find the time, I would not be averse to volunteering. Of course, there is a danger in volunteering. Well, two dangers, actually. One: I would have to be convinced that there is no way whatsoever I would bring home fleas or any terrible cat diseases to Squee. Secondly, the reason Squee is a member of our family at all is because Mary volunteered at Cats Exclusive and fell in love with the little kittle then known as “Zorro.” (By the way, here is a recent picture of Squee as the great outdoors adventurer. With the weather getting warmer, we’ve been letting him out in the yard now and then, and he loves it!)

As much as I love cats, I don’t want any more at this time. That day may come, when I’m old and gray, but right now, Russ and I are in agreement on this. But I still would love to help the animal community in some way. That having been said, I’ve had another idea, a big idea about something to do in the future when I have more time and money (in fact, this might be a “When I win the lottery” type of idea) but I’ve said enough already for one post, so I’ll get back to this at a later date.

The main point I’m making here is that I believe God in His wisdom orchestrated the events I’m relaying here, and that one of the purposes of it all was to help break me out of this self-contained bubble I’ve been in for far too long. I’m no Mother Theresa, never will be, but I know I can do more than I do. Maybe it’s time to start trying.

And oh yes—I’ve got this firm image in my head that when I die and go to Heaven and am surrounded by all my beloved pets that have gone on before me, among all the furry, smiling faces, will be one more beautiful black cat to whom I’ll say “I’m so sorry…but I don’t believe I knew you.” And this cat will say (because it’s my belief that on the other side, if animals can’t actually “talk,” they will at least be able to communicate with us in some way), this cat will say, “Yes, you did know me. You tried to help me when I was the tiniest newborn. I was not meant for that world, but came directly here, but I have not forgotten you, and the way you tried your best to take care of me. My mother abandoned me, but you cared about me and tried to find me the help I needed. And for that, I belong to you always.”

This scene is strong in my mind. It may be because I recently read a brief review about this book, Heaven is for Real, written by a boy, with his father (and with help from a “real writer”) about his experiences when he died on the operating table and went to heaven and met, among his other dead relatives, a miscarried little sister he never even knew he had. That story sent chills up my spine and reminded me that Heaven is real, and I’m going there someday, and when I do, there are many people I’ll meet again. And animals, too, of course. And it’s a happy thought.

Only now, when I think about it, I didn’t read this book review until AFTER the incident with the little kittle. So that is actually NOT what put the idea in my head that I’ll meet this kitty again.

Maybe the idea is just in my head because it’s true.

Recently spent a week in Florida with my family, and will write more about that later, when I have more that 10 minutes to sit down at the computer doing something that isn’t related to the podcast, forum or blog. But for right now, I feel compelled to share this recipe for the most delicious and easy to prepare chocolate chip cookies in the world. Just got back from the inlaws, where Marianne served us these homemade cookies, and I couldn’t stop eating them.

If you are in the mood for chocolate chip cookies that you can’t stop eating, try this:

1 package yellow cake mix
1/2 cup oil
2 tablespoons water
2 eggs
1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350, drop on cookie sheet (her recipe doesn’t say, but with a half cup of oil, I’m guessing “ungreased” would be fine), and bake for 10-12 minutes.

Haven’t tried baking these yet. Scared to actually have these in the house. Will not do any good for my diet. I’m thinking to try some modifications, like switching out half the oil with applesauce. Or maybe using carrot cake mix and raisins! How about chocolate cake mix with walnuts and/or macademia nuts? You could go nuts with this recipe!

Doing the Dark Shadows podcast really gives me the opportunity to re-connect with my past, and one of the 60’s phenomenon we keep running into is the Cowsills. When I was a pre-teen, I was nuts about the Cowsills. Well, you can see why—there’s lots of cute boys in the band! I don’t know who I was crazier about—the Cowsills, the Monkees, or Bobby Sherman! Actually, there was room in my heart for all of them. And I think I did my fair share towards keeping Tiger Beat magazine in circulation.

As for the Cowsills, I recently had the opportunity to watch a documentary about them on Showtime, and it was a real eye-opener. As a kid, of course I thought they were the perfect family and I would have loved nothing more than to be a part of that family, or to at least be BFF with Susie Cowsill. Watching the documentary I discovered that it was not all rosy for these kids growing up. They’ve had their fair share of heartache and difficulties. But many members of the family are still going strong, still making music.

I’ve been listening to some of their music these last few weeks, and some of it is quite good! Just for the record, I believe that this song, We Can Fly, is absolutely the HAPPIEST song every recorded. Take a listen. If this doesn’t have you smiling, nothing will.

While checking the Weather Channel online earlier today, I saw that our local forecast called for both a Freeze Warning and a Fire Weather Warning, and I thought….how odd! To have both at the same time. And it reminded me of that Robert Frost poem I learned in high school:

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Two powerful forces, and some great poetry.