Day One Hundred Ninety One

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

I love Halloween, not because I'm into dark and scary, but because it makes kids of all ages super happy and excited. My kids and grandkids and all of the extended loved ones are coming over this afternoon to get ready for Trick-or-Treating. That makes me super happy and excited!

The "fur kids" here know something's up. It all started with crazy things outside - like inflatable stuff swaying and lights glowing. That has unnerved Jack. Inside, ghosts and more lights have discombobulated the cats. When everything came out, Dash hid for the entire day. His First Halloween. Since then, he has gotten used to the stuff. Wait until he sees what we do for Christmas!

Don't worry, guys - I have a
Christmas bin as well

Dash seems to know today is a big deal. He keeps doing a side-swipe past me as I sit at the table working on the computer. At first it was just a slight feeling - like a fly landing on me. Then it built to a full-fledged kaboom bump which means, "Oh, did I bump you? Well now that you're paying attention, I want to go outside! Now!"

So, I got up with the express purpose of letting the cats out. However, I made the mistake of noticing a few things: the dogs hadn't eaten breakfast yet; the decorations outside needed to be plugged in, especially the one draped across the entry (in case delivery guys appear) and I needed to give Andy his to-do list for today. I am easily distracted and feel like a pinball sometimes zooming from one thing to the next.

When the cat is deflated, it becomes
a slip-n-slide in front of the entry!

Twenty minutes later, I noticed all five cats sitting patiently by the back door; five pairs of eyes focused on me! I felt awful, but they quickly forgave me when I finally opened the door to freedom. Little do they know their freedom will be short-lived.

Because I love them and don't want to lose one of them, they will be locked up in the front bedroom twice today. First when the little munchkins and the big kids in charge of them arrive to get ready for Trick-or-Treating. Then again, when the neighborhood kids come around. If one of my precious kitties got out I would have to be institutionalized.

Me, if I lost one of my cats!

Well, have a safe and happy Halloween! Remember to keep those kitties safe, especially the black cats! And keep the doggies away from the candy!

Day One Hundred Ninety

Happy Halloween Eve

Halloween is one day away! I think I'm ready. Everybody is convening here tomorrow afternoon to get dressed for Trick-or-Treating! I can't wait! I'm gonna make my popcorn mix with butterscotch chips, M&M's, Reese's Pieces and candy corn. It looks great but tastes even better!

I am not one to put costumes on my fur kids. First of all, they get too excited with all the activity. To add costumes would only bring more confusion and chaos. I know, I know - costumes can be adorable. I'm shooting for calm - not cute.

I don't know how or when,
but I will get you for this!

What he said!

I took the Grands shopping yesterday for some last minute (what other kind are there) costume elements. Little Man needed pirate stuff; Sweet Girl is going as Wednesday Addams. Shopping started out rough, since the whole world operates on "last minute" time. However, we were successful beyond my wildest dreams!

When we got back to the house, of course everything had to be tried on and modeled. It was happy chaos. It doesn't take much, however, to get everyone riled up. Jack and Rooney are sort of used to craziness by now. I mean, Jack never even flinched when Sweet Girl tripped over him while carrying Dash. He went flying off to safety, but Jack never even seemed to notice. That could have ended very badly. Whew.

The cats, however, were another matter. They were particularly curious about everything! They had to sniff, poke, swat, taste and dive on such wonders as a play sword, new (leather) shoes, clothes and wigs! Fortunately, nothing got carted off. A few things ended up on the floor, but no serious damage.

I know I'm "preaching to the choir" but if you have a black cat, or take care of a feral one, please, please, please protect them this weekend. Black cats are targets during Halloween time, and they need help in keeping them safe. When Fancy was still "out there" I would lure him into the garage and keep him safe in there through the night. He never objected. They know when someone cares.

Day One Hundred Eighty Nine

Burying the Lede

In case you happen to be unfamiliar with this phrase, in journalism, it means to present a story with the least important information first; followed by the most important info buried somewhere in the story. An example would be: "It is a bright, sunny day, here in NYC, with little chance of rain. The World Series will go on as scheduled. Alien Killer Cats are taking over the planet!  Don't forget to bring your foam fingers if you're attending the game."

Burying the lede.

Believe it or not, it is from an old Norse word, "leden" which means disgusting. So, in essence, one is burying the gross and disgusting and easing it in.

It only took six decades for me to realize this is the way the world works. It's why you have to read the fine print! It is certainly the way my children imparted information to me. And I am discovering animals have learned this technique as well.

Me (20 years ago - answering my phone at work.): Hello?
Son (16 year old version): Mom? Hello. Hey there. Is Dad with you?
Me: Dad? No, he's at his job and I am at mine. What's up?
Son: Nothin - school was fine - have band practice. Look I really need to talk to Dad. Do you have his number?
Me: Of course I have his number, but could you tell me what's going on?
Son: Oh, well, no big deal. My truck won't start and I need the number for AAA.  I'm stuck on I-Drive with the guys.
Me: So, did you run out of gas? What do you mean your truck won't start?
Son: Yea. Look. I gotta go. I accidentally ran into the back of a tourist who stopped too fast and the front of my truck fell off on I-Drive.

Me (long pause): Call your Dad; here's the number.....

Burying the Lede.

After years of thinking my family was just trying to cushion the blow so I wouldn't have a heart attack or stroke, it finally dawned on me - they were just stalling. They were giving me as little info as possible to get their problem fixed without having to suffer the consequences of me learning the gory details.

Well, lo and behold, the animals in residence have taken up the mantle. For example: They are notorious for making a ruckus to distract me from the real problem. Let's say somebody has had an accident in the dining room. They will direct me away from there and to some random thing outside or in another part of the house. Chance is the master at burying the lede. He will get all cute and snuggly and then distract me away from where he just peed on the floor. They all do it, though.

Me: What's up? You guys look guilty.
All: Us? No? Everything's fine. You ok, Finn? Chance? Yep, we're all fine. We would like to go outside, though. It's such a beautiful day. How about it? (There's a huge vomit in the dining room from when we were chasing each other after we ate. And Chance peed on the floor again. And Dash knocked over something and it broke.) But, hey, no big deal. Open the door please.

Burying the Lede.

Consequently, I trust no one or thing. I have learned there is a lede buried and I will not stop until I find it. Which is why, when somebody calls me, I know they don't just want to chat. Who does that anymore? I wait for the reason. It always surfaces. I wish people would just lead with the lede.

And, I wish my animals would take me to the site of the calamity. Like Lassie leading help to the well where Timmy just fell in, instead of making me go on the worst Treasure Hunt ever.

Heavy sigh...

Day One Hundred Eighty Eight

The Hip Bone's Connected to the Back Bone

I had an MRI yesterday. What does that have to do with "animals?" Wellll, a lot, actually. I first discovered a problem with my arm when I tried to pick up one of the cats. A searing pain shot through my arm and I had to quickly put the cat down. Okay, I dropped the cat into the pool. But they can swim so...
 

 
no harm done. It has gotten progressively worse from a slight ache to throbbing pain that makes my head hurt, too.

So, I finally decided to see an arm doctor. Seriously, there is a doctor who only does arms - from the shoulder down. Five years ago I was diagnosed with Dequervain's syndrome of the wrist. It's tendinitis with a fancy name only doctors can pronounce. They practice saying it so they sound real smart.

Anyway, he gave me a shot of something in my wrist and voila! - pain gone. I figured I would see him and hopefully get another shot of his Kickapoo Joy Juice, and walk out swinging my arm in pain free happiness. That was until I saw my pain management doctor. I swear they think up ways to keep us in pain...

I was getting ready to leave my appointment with her when I reached for my purse and pain shot through my arm. I winced. She saw it. Her diagnosis: something is wrong with my neck. I told her my neck doesn't hurt - it's my arm that's killing me. She insisted I get an MRI of my freaking spine because most arm pain is caused by something wrong with the neck.

 

I don't know what she would have wanted MRI'd if I had told her my big toe hurts. 

 

Anyway, I scheduled the stupid MRI. Now, here's where you might want to pay attention - I found a Stand Up MRI place. Well, it should be called, Sit Down MRI, but the point is you don't have to lie on a table, in a tube, with a two ton piece of equipment inches from your head! I am not "claustrophobic" I just can't stand to be confined in close spaces.

Except for the tapping and drilling sounds, which were surprisingly familiar, seeing as how my neighbors are constantly doing things that make noise, the rest was a piece of cake. I tried not to think about the magnetic waves coursing through my body. My glasses are metal so I couldn't wear them to see the tv in front of me. Just as well, cause they had it on CNN and all the bars of info going up and down and sideways make me dizzy. (I am not aging well...)

This is sort of what it was like
only I sat the whole time

When we got home, almost as if he knew something different had happened to me, Jack gave me the once-over. Fancy was curious as well. They are the two who would miss me the most I think...

Because I needed to take the pressure off my sore arm, and I tend to lean on it when I sit in my chair, Andy and I switched places last night to watch TV. I sat in his usual spot on the couch and he got the big, comfy chair. Jack immediately jumped up next to me, put his head on my lap and went into a deep sleep. Rooney was verklempt because she had no room to sit with her Dad. She kept bringing him toys and leaving them at his feet like offerings, to gain favor. Her world was turned upside down simply because we weren't in our assigned seats.

Why don't you sit here all the time, Mum?

Miss Rooney is used to being
the Princess here

I have no idea what the MRI will reveal. I'm not having surgery, so I will just go ahead and have the arm doctor do his thing. If he goes into a rendition of "Dem Bones" I will know it's a physicianal conspiracy!

Day One Hundred Eighty Seven

Yaps and Booms

There is a small (anything less than one hundred pounds is considered "small" to me) dog yapping nearby. I want to rip my ears off. We have had yappers living here in the past - several of them to be precise. We are now enjoying barkless dogs. No, we didn't have their "bark" removed - as in de-barking - they just don't.

Don't get me wrong. Bullmastiffs make lots of sounds: snoring, snorting, huffing, woofing, farting, mummering - but, thankfully, yapping isn't one of them. Yapping to me is the equivalent of nails on a blackboard or a baby's cry. After a few minutes, it loses its appeal.

I am a quiet-loving person. My children are not. For twenty plus years we lived with constant noise. Our son could have been a Foley artist. In case you are unfamiliar with that profession, they are folks whose talent in life is to make sound effects - with any and every thing.

 

He made noise constantly - awake and asleep. Even while he ate, he hummed approval throughout the meal. I remember eating out with friends once, and someone turned to me and said, "Do you hear that?" I gave a puzzled look and asked, "What?"  Apparently I had blocked it out the way one does white noise.

Our daughter - sweet, beautiful, peace loving, sprite of the planet - was into Pantera. In case you are not with it - they are a heavy metal band - whose "music" sounds like the soundtrack to Dante's Seventh Circle of Hell. It made no sense because, if you look at her life, the sounds surrounding her should be harps and angelic voices raised in song. Go figure.

Even my husband is a mystery to me. He loves music. When we first met, he would give me pop-quizzes on soundtracks and artists - yea - romantic, right? Anyway, he claims to listen to Classic Rock. However, every single time I get into his car and forget to brace myself - I am nearly blown through the moon roof by Gansta Rap on full volume!!!! 

When he first got his vehicle, and I was unfamiliar with the controls, I drove it up over a curb and almost crashed into the guardhouse as I tried desperately to find the volume control. I was also sheepishly trying to mime to bystanders through the closed window that I was not responsible for the cacophony coming from the bowels of the car. Now, I have to repeat absolutely everything I say to him but he refuses to acknowledge he has gone deaf from playing music at full volume for 50+ years!

I am ordering this for his car...

I prefer silence - or music from the 70's - like James Taylor, Leonard Cohen, CSNY, etc. I also like mountain music and went through a hammered dulcimer phase. Okay, so occasionally I love me some Slip Knot. But, silence is best.

And if you believe I listen to this, I have some
Florida swampland to sell...

Perhaps it's the reason I love cats. If there were five dogs here, and I don't care what breed, there would be noise. With that many cats, there may be some hissing, or an occasional unexplained crash, but there is no yapping!

Not a peep!

In addition to the yapping dog, there has been a mysterious intermittent booming going on in the neighborhood. It sounds like something large being dropped - like a hydraulic drill - every few minutes. Curiosity (and near insanity) got the best of me and I went looking for the source.

Slowly cruising up the street was a huge truck with a guy following behind, distributing new garbage cans in the neighborhood. The "boom" occurred each time the guy pulled an industrial sized can from the truck and let it drop to the ground. Each home received two of these cans. There are 90 homes in our development which means there were 180 ka-booms. I counted.

Oh, and the "kid" joining me at the window was not one of my giant watch dogs. They were sound asleep. No, it was a cat. No sound was made.

Tomorrow I will write about how the possible addition of drones to the parcel delivery system in this country will quite possibly get me to rethink my position on the banning of assault weapons. Between lawn mowers, leaf blowers, power washers, trucks, cars, dogs - on the ground - I can promise you, if there are buzzing things flying around in the sky, I will take matters into my own hands.

Anybody know where I can get a machine gun? Just kidding. No, seriously - how about a surface to air missile?? Ha ha ha - little old lady humor here!  psst - if you have a lead, call me...

Day One Hundred Eighty Six

Aging Parents - Lessons Learned

Andy and I are morphing into peculiar old people. He loves his dogs; I love my cats, yet we seem to make it all work. We are (embarrassingly) better parents to our four legged children than we were to our human ones. For example, we let our four legged kids learn from their mistakes. Our human ones were "saved" by us before mistakes could happen.

Before my actual children knew how to swim, they wore every conceivable apparatus to prevent them from drowning. Just throwing them into the water was, in my opinion, tantamount to murder. So there they were, slathered in sun screen, wearing ear plugs, nose plugs, goggles, water wings, an inner tube and flippers. They could not walk or talk, let alone swim. Miraculously, our son learned how to swim - probably at a pool party, unsupervised and unencumbered by safety equipment.

Despite our precautions, our daughter nearly drowned one day while we were on vacation and not paying attention. She was underwater right next to my husband!  Thankfully, her brother saw this and brought it to our attention. From then on her trust in us went down the tubes and she taught herself to swim, thank you very much.

As for the four legged children, well, we hope they don't fall into the pool. But if they do, we're ready with a towel and sympathy. I do not feel the need for a tranquilizer after the fact.

We used to run our human children to the doctor if they farted. At one point, their pediatrician said to me, "Mrs. Matchett, why don't you pray for them every day, and trust they will be okay." I shook my head as though he was the smartest human on Earth. What I wanted to do was take him by the lapels of his lab coat and yell, "You idiot! I do nothing but pray for these kids!" That did not seem prudent. Anyway, they survived childhood, but I still worry when they fart...

My attitude with my four legged kids is a bit more laissez-faire. I still worry, but not over every little thing. For example, Eli has a large patch of fur missing. The old me would have him in for every conceivable test, only to learn he licked it down from stress. Now, I figure, hey, if you want to lick all your fur off, who am I to stop you? I will simply clean up your hairballs.

Similarly, Jack licks his feet. No, Jack rips the pads off his feet. Stupid, right? He knows he shouldn't so he will go somewhere to do it surreptitiously. My thoughts? If you are so stupid as to render yourself crippled from licking your pads off, then I guess you'll just have to suffer the consequences - sore feet. Oh, when he gets really manic about it, I give him Benadryl.

Now, there are those getting ready to dial Animal Control, to report us for abuse. Let me set your minds at ease. We are very responsible pet owners. I will submit my vet bills as proof. We are just at the stage in life we should have been thirty five years ago. We would have saved a lot in doctor bills, therapy and anxiety meds, if we had just been a little less stressed and a lot more "let's wait and see."

Although, there was the time we tried that with our son who insisted his arm was broken. We both told him to "shake it off." His arm was broken. NEVER again did I let him out of my sight!

Day One Hundred Eighty Five

Got Faith

Did you read or hear the story about the little girl and her horse? Well, this isn't your average little girl, and certainly isn't your average horse tale. You see, for five years, this little girl dreamed she would get a brood mare (mommy horse) who would give birth to a foal who would grow up to be a winning race horse.

The little girl was not to be denied. She convinced her loving, (push-over) father to buy a mare. Since they did not live on a farm, they had to board the horse which can be very expensive. They bred the mare to an average sire. Average, as in not champion stock.

Sure enough, the mare gave birth to a foal. He was tiny but was "loved big." The little girl insisted he was going to be a race horse. And she named him MJB Got Faith. The MJB stands for the initials of the kids in her family.

Anyway, after training, the little horse was entered in a race. MJB Got Faith was so slow he barely even qualified to compete -- but then, miraculously, won his first race. Then his second race. Then his third and his fourth, qualifying him for the state championship held recently in Columbus, Ohio. Then this little horse, who was the dream of a little girl, won an Ohio Sire Stakes championship. The prize - $100,000.

 

 

 

Those of you who know me won't be surprised that I sobbed through the whole story this morning on CBS Sunday Morning. I cried because I understand that little girl's love for her horse. No - thing on this planet smells as good to me as a horse. I even loved the smell of horse poop. I make no apologies. If you have ever loved a horse, you understand.

 

I remember when we researched Poco's lineage - this horse that was bred to breed - and then discarded when the market for Premarin pills fell apart due to its serious and sometimes deadly side effects. (They have since re-purposed it into a cream form for women going through menopause.) Sorry, but that's the bottom line and, yes, I am bitter. I'm angry because, once again, an animal suffers for human pleasure. (Pardon me while I compose myself...heavy sigh.)

 

Anyway, weren't we surprised to learn she came from a long line of famous Quarter Horses. If you are familiar with Quarter Horses, you will recognize the name, Poco Lena. And Doc. Yes, the world is full of beauty discarded.

 

But the story of this little girl and her little horse is wonderful! It is something to celebrate. Because anytime faith is rewarded, we should all rejoice! A little girl who had faith, Got Faith in return. Oh, and did I mention, half of the prize money has been donated to charity? I guess you could call that spreading the faith.

Day One Hundred Eighty Four

Double, Bubble, Toil and Trouble

The "kids" have finally gotten used to the Halloween decorations. It only took a week or two. Jack has stopped thinking the big cat outside the front door is a demon. It also appears as though dogs walking the neighborhood have stopped running past the house in a panic. Since Halloween is almost here, they won't have to put up with hanging, flying, scary things much longer. I, however, will be very sad to see Halloween pass. Next stop, Thanksgiving - then Christmas!

We are definitely putting the Christmas tree on the back porch again this year. If you're a true Floridian I guess you refer to that space as a "lanai." It's a porch, people. And this year's tree will be the old fake one. I'm tired of sweeping up needles. Plus, the cats are tempted to "mark" a real tree. And I doubt we would ever be able to get tree-obsessed Dash out of it.

I love the smell of pine, but when you are from a northern climate, where real pine trees live, the ones we get here are a poor comparison. I remember our first Christmas in Florida - thirty years ago. I had my hopes destroyed over a normal (for me) Thanksgiving, during which I had to stick my head in the freezer to breathe cold air. Somehow it just doesn't seem right to have the a/c on during a turkey dinner with all the fixins'. So when Christmas rolled around, I was determined to make it as traditional as I remembered. We went looking for a real tree.

Boy, did they see us coming. Nobody told us the"firs" they sell here are not actual pine trees. They might look like pine trees, but they aren't. We bought one, decorated it, then woke up the next morning to nothing but a tree skeleton, with its "needles" on the floor around it. Oh, and we also noticed the green paint which was used to disguise the fact it wasn't a real pine tree.

I was not going to be outdone by Christmas in Florida. So, the following year, we went in search of a tree to cut ourselves. We were in our new home, with high ceilings, so I wanted a huge tree. Oh, we found one alright. That sucker came right to the ceiling. The problem (well, there were several) the base we had for it was too small. Andy convinced me it would be fine. It was not. After climbing a ladder to get it decorated, we admired our handiwork then started putting boxes away. Our son yelled, "The tree's falling!" so I sent our daughter out to tell her father. His response, "It'll be fine."  It wasn't, and fall it did. If one of the kids had been under it, we would still be picking pine needles out of them.

That damn tree fell a few more times before I took matters into my own hands. While the kids were at school and Andy was at work, I removed all the decorations and dragged the thing into the front yard where I performed surgery on it - removing about four feet from the bottom. When I brought it back in, it was considerably shorter and much more manageable. When Andy got home, he just stared at the tree and said, "What did you do? You're crazy." Never again did we cut our own tree, and I think we settled for artificial ones after that.

Not me, but this is what the end
result of my pruning looked like.

That was until last year when I succumbed to nostalgia. I wanted to smell pine again, and candles and room spray just weren't cutting it. What a mess. I was never so glad to get rid of a tree in my life. I have sworn off real trees - that is - until I pass them and the smell grabs me again. No! I will not be weak! I will fight this demon for all I'm worth!! But they smell sooo good.....
To be continued...