It Bears Repeating.

Ha! Did you think this entry would be about Keillor? No, I am so sorry to disappoint you. What bears repeating in this entry is "Ponderisms," an old forwarded email that has been around the block more than once. My parents sent this to me a couple of days ago. Some of the witticisms are quite insightful. I wanted to share them and my thoughts with you.

Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

This reminds me of something I heard once: Don't sweat the petty stuff and everything is petty. I tend to look at things too seriously. Especially here lately. We need to take the time to find the joy and beauty in every day. Sometimes we might have to dig a little deep and strain our eyes to find it, but it is there.

Some people are like slinkies. Not really good for anything but you can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs.

Hello, kiddo! She has this little quip as a bumper sticker on her car. She also tumbles a lot. On a more serious note, everyone is important. Everyone has feelings that should be taken into consideration. Sounds like the Golden Rule, doesn't it?

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.

Health and a healthy lifestyle is vitally (*giggles at pun*) important. However, I have seen some people take it far too seriously and then lose the joy in living. (See witticism #1)

Have you noticed since everyone has a camcorder these days no one talks about seeing UFOs like they used to?

Frisbees! My brother was some frisbee champ, let me tell ya. When he was 14 or 15 he competed in some sort of frisbee thing and took 2nd place. Now, even frisbee is competitive. Dogs vie for top honors and others play golf with them. My Dad was the master of angles when it came to tossing a frisbee at me. Back then, frisbee was fun. What happened?

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

Lately, Kiddo has been reminding me to breathe and to make those breaths deep. Sort of reminds me of one of the Karate Kid movies. I think the second one. "When you feel out of focus, Daniel-san, always go back to essential of life." "What? Praying?" "No, breathing. Take deep breath in da nose, out da mouf. Breathe in...breathe out....There. How feel now?" Man, I watch too many movies. My head is full of this worthless stuff.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

Boo, yeah. I figure most people are doing the best they can the majority of the time. We may disagree with the choices people make, but just how productive is criticism?

In the 60's, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

Are you on Prozac? Well gimme some! Everything seems weird to me right now.

Who was the first person to say, "See that chicken there? I'm gonna eat the next thing that comes outta its butt."

For you, kiddo! She doesn't eat much meat but will get protein from eggs. Actually, I included this one because it made me laugh out loud. No other reason. Sometimes just laughing out loud is the best thing a person can do.

Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but don't point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?

Adults don't do this, but little kids do. You know, the half-sized humans who haven't been criticized to the point of self-consciousness. They haven't been laughed at enough to make them nervous about their appearance in public. They are who they are. Adults could learn from this.

If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that Acme crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?

Why do we do things the hard way? Why must we swim upstream, fight the powers that be, and/or go around our elbows to get to our thumbs? The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Perhaps we should figure out where we want to go and then consider the shortest, easiest way to get there before we set foot on the path.

If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?

Just for fun. Did you think the word in your head? Now say it out loud and smile.

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

I love seeing Bat Dogs! (Another whimsical movie quote) People are funny like that, too. I think it is all about having choices. When you blow in the dog's face, has the dog told you it would like to be blown upon? No. You forced the poor canine into the situation. Now then - roll down a car window and he has a choice: to be blown or not to be blown. That is what makes him happy. It makes people happy, too. The knowledge that one has options helps to foster a feeling of freedom rather than the sensation of being trapped. Please don't take this feeling of freedom too far, of course - there should be limits.

Does pushing the elevator button more than once make it arrive faster?

Nope. So why not take that time to relax, breathe, and reflect? Sometimes, being caught by the train is a good thing. It affords the opportunity to do that very thing. We hurry too much. We can't enjoy the scenery if we are rushing by at a mad pace. Life - a full life - should be about enjoying the scenery while making the journey.

I Built a Bear!

Kiddo and I went into Build-a-Bear today. We looked at all of the animals available for stuffing and personalizing. She kept telling me I 'had' to do one. I wasn't so sure, until I saw a light tan velvety little fellow. As I stood there looking at him, I realized he had a name. From there a whole personna was developed, and even this blog entry began to take shape!

Before I tell you any more about the bear, I must tell you that Shannon also built one. It is not a bear, however. It is a flamingo! It is hilarious looking. She put a fairy costume and a long blonde wig on it. After careful consideration, it was decided her name would be Flow B. Mingo.

For my part, I would like you to meet Keillor Gee Baier. (In case you can't figure it out, the pronunciation is "Key-lehr G. Bear") He is sporting a dress shirt and tie which are nicely topped off with a pinstriped vest. You see he has tortoise shell rimmed glasses, as well.






Keillor is a tribute to one of my favorite performers, Garrison Keillor. Garrison hosts the weekly radio show entitled A Prairie Home Companion. He is also a writer and comedian. Garrison is of Norweigan ancestry. He lives in Minnesota and is a "repressed Norweigan Lutheran." He writes about simpler times and can make us laugh about ourselves. I highly recommend the program. It comes on NPR every Saturday evening at 6pm.



I hope you can see some similarity between the two. Even if you can't, Keillor has come into my life at a time when I need to be reminded of simple pleasures. He will comfort me should the need arise. Those two reasons alone are good enough to have made a new friend.

The Frog Prince

He may not look like a prince to you, but let me assure you that the worn-looking, fuzzy, almost-green thing in the picture is most definitely a frog and most definitely a prince.

Froggie has obviously been around for quite some time. In fact, he is almost as old as I am. All things considered, I think Froggie looks pretty good. He is missing his crown, though. It was a piece of yellow felt cut in a spiked pattern attached to the top of his head. I thought it made him look scary.

I was a thumb-sucker as a child. Rather than a blanket or a pillow, I would get attached to one stuffed animal at a time. I remember the dog named "Old Thing" only because my mother has told me about him. The next lucky friend was a brown and white dog named BeBe. Hey, I was two years old, okay? Froggie came into my life at nearly the same time as BeBe. I think it was to Froggie's advantage. BeBe was the chosen one, so she suffered the same cruel fate as Old Thing. I'm sure you've seen much-loved stuffed animals. Their fur is rubbed off, they're floppy, dirty, and in the case of a thumb-sucker, there is usually one spot that is loved more than the others.

After BeBe came a red and white pillow-cat who didn't have fur. Well, she was a pillow! Her name was Kitty. Her ears were the most-loved spot on her, and I suppose the reason she lasted the longest was because she didn't have fur. I was eight or maybe a little older before Kitty bit the dust. Strangely enough, I don't recall who followed Kitty's reign. I wonder if there was an heir to the thumb-sucker hall of fame after Kitty.

Through it all, Froggie remained loyal and true. He is smaller than I remember, but a hazy sort of fondness ovetakes me every time I see him. This past weekend I stumbled across him as I was up in the attic cleaning out some things. The interesting thing is that Froggie showed up at a time when I needed some comfort.

Like that two year old so long ago, I carried Froggie around with me. He was with me when I took a short nap. I even carried him down the hall and to my bedroom when I went to bed. Now, he is sitting on my chair and I have come to a decision: Froggie is old and serves no real purpose, but I cannot discard him like I have other things. He serves as a reminder of simpler days, and I think all of us could benefit from this sort of token.

Unlike Kitty and BeBe who live on in my memories, Froggie stands apart by living in my adult world. I believe I need him more now than I did when I was a toddler.

Movie Review - War of the Worlds

I discuss movies with Ben. He has a great eye and a critical perspective. I don't mean critical in a negative sense. It's just that he's very observant and catches things I usually miss. Naturally, I emailed him in order to pick his brain regarding this movie.

We were in agreement about a number of things. First, War of the Worlds is good, mindless entertainment. I don't suppose that is what Steven Speilberg had in mind when he made the movie, though. I am fairly certain he wanted an "edge of the seat" suspense. To his credit, he didn't go for the "boogeyman jumps out at you" type of reaction. I can't stand that cheesy tactic. It's just..too predictable. And entirely too overused.

While I am not overly fond of blood curdling shrieks, I have to say the girl who played 'Rachel' was compelling. She was the perfect combination of blonde wide-eyed innocence coupled with wisdom beyond her years. She was my favorite character. Yes. I just said that. She was my favorite character. Move aside, Tom Cruise! But then, I really liked the little girl in "Signs", too.

Another point brought up by Ben was that as an action film, it wasn't typical in its make up. He's right.

"...where your heroes are in the thick of things from the beginning until the end, and are instrumental in defeating the bad guys. In WOTW, the main characters, not to mention everyone else, are in the dark about exactly what's going on."

Nicely put. Hence, the quote.

See? There are plenty of nice things to say about this film. Now the critique will begin in earnest. Again, Ben was extremely eloquent so I'll use his thoughts here:

I would have preferred to know where the aliens came from and why they wanted earth. I'm glad that the ending was faithful to Orwell's original story, but you'd think that the aliens would wear protective suits or something before seeing if the earth was safe for them. A lot of stuff is left unexaplained...what the red stuff is...what it does...if the aliens are trying to terraform our planet...why they're so dang hostile.

Taking that just a little further, what about the fact that the aliens had visited our planet at least briefly many years ago in order to plant their "destroyers" under the earth? Didn't they discover at that time our planet habored certain dangers for them? Yeah, we are led to believe the aliens visited before there was any life whatsoever on the earth. Excuse my poor grammar, but I ain't studyin that. Were they that much more advanced than us that they had this technology before life was on the earth and they didn't change it? Grow? Improve? Implement protection of some sort? Filters? Or as Ben said, suits? Anything? Nah. Not believeable. Isn't Sci-fi supposed to bring an air of possibility with it?

I have one more nagging thing to report about this movie. If you have not seen it yet and plan to, I would recommend you stop reading here. I do not enjoy spoiling movies for people.

The ending was a huge disappointment. Throughout the movie we saw total carnage. Buildings were reduced to varying degrees of rubble, water supplies were spoiled, and the people looked like refugees. Well, they were refugees. They were dirty, hungry, and shell shocked. So why is it when Ray carries Rachel into the Boston neighborhood where "Mommy" is, the buildings are totally intact? For at least 3 square blocks the only evidence of the alien occupation/extermination is disabled cars. And look! What's this? Mommy, Tim, and the grandparents all open the front door to their beautiful home and they're all clean, fed, and well adjusted.

Yeah, Right.

As I told Ben: Bad move, Steven. Bad move.

Why do They do That?

The last two days of this work week were frustrating to say the least. Going into detail would serve no purpose so I guess I won't. Instead, I've decided to chronicle the icing on the cake that was my week.

My working hours are supposed to be from 7am - 4pm with an hour for lunch. On rare occasion, I take that lunch. It isn't that my boss doesn't encourage me to go. She does. She also keeps piling things on my desk as she speaks those encouraging words.

To be honest, taking an hour for lunch everyday during the summer doesn't always appeal to me. If I am in the mood to shop, have errands to run, or am meeting someone then sure! That hour is downright spiffy. Otherwise, I'd rather take 20 or 30 minutes at my desk to just...chill.
Friday I needed to go to the post office to mail the last two items from my most recent eBay sales. Because the week had been stressful, I thought treating myself to Chick-fil-a would be a good thing. It is close to the post office and I like the seasonings they use on their chicken.

It was 12:40 when I got there. The drive through was packed. Vehicles were wrapped around all 4 sides of the building. There wasn't a parking space to be had. So, I parked outside Schlotzsky's, bee-bopped across the parking lot, and sashayed into the store.

I was greeted by the din of enthusiastic children happily engaged in Chick-fil-a's indoor playspace. Oh, joy. There were 3 registers open (out of 5) and each line had around 5 people waiting in it. You-know-who chose the slowest moving line. Twice. (Yes, I line-hopped! I admit it!)

Finally, it was my turn to order. I had had plenty of time to figure out what I wanted to eat, so when the half-hearted, "May I take your order?" was issued I didn't waste any time.

"I'd like a 4-piece kid's meal with a coke to go, please."

*Pause* "Uhm...could you repeat that?"

"I said, 'I'd like a 4-piece...'"

"I got that part."

"...to go."

"What was the drink?"

"A Coke. Please."

"OhhhhhhhhhhKay." I gave her the money, she put it in the register, and then she walked away. I do not mean she walked away to bag my order. I mean, she walked away. To the sink where some guy was washing his hands. They stood there yakking at each other for 3 minutes. I saw my order in its brightly colored kid's meal bag at the head of a long line of bags that were gracing the serving line.

The girl who waited on me wandered back to me, glanced over her shoulder, and after apparently missing the fact that my order was ready said, "She's getting your order." And she walked off again. I opened my mouth and started to gesture toward the serving line where my bag was still located in "first" position. She didn't notice me. There were empty spaces on the line where some bags had been picked up and delivered. Alas, my little blue bag seemed destined to remain in its spot.

Two minutes later another girl came by. She frowned at me and said, "Is this kid's meal for you?"

Taking my bag and bidding a hasty retreat, I got back to my car, navigated through the busy parking lots, and got back on the road to work. All was right with the world. I had my yummy nuggets, a small coke (a rare treat), and those darling crisscut fries.

I reached into the bag to get one of those hot, fresh fries and felt...bag. Okay. So maybe they'd put the fried delights in sideways. I moved my hand one way, then the other. Eventually I was out-and-out rummaging. The french fries had been put into the bag upside down. Completely upside down. Why do they do that?

Cravings

We all have them. Pregnancy does not seem to be a prerequisite. I did have my share of cravings while I was carrying Pat & Kiddo, though. With Pat, I wanted sweet mixed with salty. The day I discovered the sheer heaven of grapes eaten in conjuction with Fritos was one for the record books. However, the next combination was even better: Popcorn and Snickers!

Nowadays my cravings are tame in comparison. They usually run along ethnic lines. I wonder, though. How much of what we call 'ethnic' really is ethnic? And do people of particular ehtnicities ever hunger for the cuisine of another culture? Let's dig a little deeper, here.

We refer to Taco Bell as "Mexican", but it isn't really. It runs more along the lines of west-south-western. It is California Mexican. I guess it is basically American.Taco Bell happens to be one of my regular cravings. I don't normally suffer too badly when this one crops up. Taco Bell restaurants are plentiful in this area. It is interesting to note that rarely do I ever see anyone of hispanic origin eating at Taco Bell. Cooking & running the register, yes. Eating, no. Once while submitting to a telephone survey the person asking the questions exhibited a lot of patience as I gushed about how Taco Bell is my favorite fast food restaurant. When she asked why I was so enthusiastic about eating South of the Border, I couldn't really come up with an intelligent response. "Well," I stammered, "Even though Taco Bell has basically the same kind of food, it's all different!" There was a noticeable pause before the tele-surveyor cleared her throat and said, "Let me get this straight..."

Monday night, I had a different craving. It was a very strong one, at that. My mouth was watering at the very thought of....Sesame Chicken. Off we went to a Chinese buffet. A person has to think perhaps it is authentic Chinese food. After all, the place is owned and staffed completely by Chinese nationals! While revisiting the bar for plate after plate of rice, pepper steak, sesame chicken, vegetable lo mein, and wanton soup, I realized there wasn't one Chinese person eating! I saw an African-American family. I even saw a hispanic one. But no Chinese. And we all know the fortune cookies are mass produced in New York. "Something good needs to be said." That doesn't sound like a fortune. It sounds like a liberal-minded American trying to encourage me to speak in politically correctese. Oh. And I woke up at 3am the following morning. I was starving! I guess what 'they' say about Chinese food is true!

Two for two. The Chinese will work at a Chinese restaurant, but not eat there. The hispanics will do the same when it comes to Taco Bell. Why? Are they tired of their "own" food, or is what they're serving not really Mexican and/or Chinese?

While I've been working on this entry, the scintillating aroma of manicotti has been permeating the atmosphere. That's right! It's pasta night! "Ah," you may be thinking. "That's Italian!" Really? Perhaps. Just how Italian are we when we saunter into the Olive Garden and order their soft yeasty breadsticks and "Tour of Italy?" I have a friend who lived in Italy. An American in Italy. I'm not certain if Italy spoiled him or if he spoiled Italian food for me. Everytime we do dinner somewhere and want "Italian", he reads the menu with a sneer. "Basil and marinara. Basil and marinara." I can only assume Italian food is more than basil and marinara. My chances of ever visiting Italy - Florence, Rome, Venice - any of it, are slim. Until I actually see it for myself, I will continue to think of lasagna as the perfect Italian fare. By the way, the one thing I have embraced is the fact that pizza is peasant food. No wonder it isn't my fave!

I suppose it doesn't really matter whether or not the food we desire is an authentic representation of the ethnicity ascribed to it. If we enjoy it, if it encourages social gatherings and laughter, who really cares?

Bon Appetite!

Nonstandard standard disclaimer: This entry was posted for entertainment purposes, only. It probably does not reflect the feelings and/or opinions of the owners, operators and/or posters on blogspot. In fact, this entry doesn't reflect anything other than silly thought processes put into print. Well, cyberprint. This whole entry is based solely on conjecture. There is no scientific documented evidence to support the opinions of the author. There were no polls conducted. The author has no ill will toward any ethnic group or even Americans, for that matter. If you were offended, the author sincerely apologizes and humbly asks that you go back and read the entry again with the spirit in which it was intended: Fun.

Fear Not..

Do not abandon me, readers. I have had a post running around inside my head for two days but as yet have not had the time to post it! I must get to it soon. The constant sound of foot falls in my brain is starting to get to me!!!!

Just a Little Joke...

My friend whose name is Ben told me this joke today. I thought it was pretty funny.

Q: How many frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?

A: We don't know. Its never been done.

Mon Dieu!

Welcome to the Jungle!

I spent two hours outside yesterday working on the yard. Mostly, I gave my flowers some much needed TLC. There were a lot of dead blooms and leaves that needed to be cleared away. I also feed them once a week and they were past due for that. The verbena is trying to make a comeback! I haven't watered them in over a week now. One pot has a single healthy plant. The other has three or 4 and is still trying to produce blooms. I continue to frustrate the plant's efforts. It just isn't healthy enough to be pretty. I am feeling more hopeful about the recovery of both pots, though. You see? It pays to have faith, hope, and patience!

My rose bush is doing well ~ sort of. It wants to bloom - there's evidence on every stem - but this morning I had to severely prune two branches due to a return of the dreaded black spot. This means I also cut two potential roses off of the bush. It's a sad, sad thing to have to do, but it is for the best in the long run. There are still six buds or pre-buds on the plant, and to be honest I'm thinking that's probably 3 too many. Fewer buds on the plant at one time makes for larger blooms.



I have a front flower bed that has varigated liriope, oxalis (shamrock!), and impatiens in it. Usually, the impatiens do very well. They like it dark and damp. The bed is north facing, which provides the necessary shade. There is little in the way of drainage so usually the soil stays moist to the point of growing moss. However, it got overly hot and dry early this summer. The impatiens is struggling. There's no need to fear, of course. I watered them well yesterday - laced with food - and I'm sure they'll do fine.

While I was weeding the impatience my perspective got skewed a little. I noticed the tall healhty stems on the plants and thought about how to a bug they would look like trees. Further, from a bug's eye view the flower bed must seem huge. It was then I noticed that the home for my impatiens was teeming with life! I saw active, moving rolly-pollies (I know! Unheard of, right?), crickets, spiders, and ants. They have their very own bustling community going. I felt like a road builder, tearing down their "trees" in the name of progress and remembered how upset I used to get when Weyerhauser would swoop down and deforest an area. I disturbed as little as possible. Soon, the impatiens will do a better job at weed control than I ever could, but I will go back to observe my own personal insect city again. It was intriguing and enlightening. There really is always something larger...and smaller...than ourselves, isn't there?

When I came in I had to laugh at myself. Andy mentioned the heat. I had to pause because while I do not mind if an unintentional pun pops out of my mouth, I cringe if I start to sound cliche'. In this instance, I really didn't have a choice. The heat really wasn't all that bad. It was the humidity!

~Happy Gardening!~

Recovered Retriever

Miraculous Mutt

Healed Hound

Glorious Golden

Dazzling Dog

Conquering Canine



Do you get the idea? Somehow, Rush has rallied. (Okay, who else was praying???) In considering why he may have taken that terrible turn a few days ago, the best thing I can come up with is he had a major drop in blood sugar.

Hey, Clay? Can dogs be hypoglycemic?

During that horrible night, Rush did not want to eat anything, but he would take in water. After trying to tempt him with all manner of doggie-goodies, Rush finally accepted a small bite of donut. Thirty minutes later, we were able to entice him with 1/2 strip of bacon.

That's when Rush started feeling better. He stayed weak the rest of the night but did eventually eat his regular supper. The next morning, he went down (and up) the stairs on his own - and even walked all the way to the fence in the daily search for his backyard buddies, "the airedales."

He's been almost normal since. 2 days have gone by and his legs no longer shake when he walks or stands. I still have to stay in the kitchen with him to encourage him to eat all of his supper, but I've been doing that for a couple of months, now.

Rush no longer possesses the ability to bark. He tries when he has to - like when the pizza delivery guy pulls in - but it comes out as a raspy, breathy, "hrrrf". And his eyes are still tired-looking. I guess what I'm trying to force myself to say is....I'm going to watch my friend very carefully. If I think for one moment he's having more bad days than good, we're going to let him rest.

For now, I plan to enjoy his presence while I've got it. I was firmly reminded the other night just how much I care for him. It is important he knows that.

A Milestone

Happy 21st Birthday, Pat!

Do not adjust the tilt of your head or your monitor. Pat is actually parallel to the floor. He has done a lot with his upper body strength in the past few years. That much is certain. How many of you could do that? I wouldn't even try. But then again, I'm old.

I must be! My son is 21. Twenty-one. My job is done. Actually, it has been for quite some time. I moved out of "Mom" and into "advisor" a couple of years ago. Asserting myself as "Mom" just didn't seem to work anymore. However, when I address Pat as a friend and/or a mentor, things happen. Good things. He's a good son.

I don't take credit for the way my children have turned out. I am referring to the so-called good traits, by the way. If they make a choice that I think is unwise, I most certainly do take credit for that. In guilt. But hey! This post isn't about me. It's Pat's birthday!!

Pat developed a love for music at around 14 months old. He stopped taking naps at 18 months. When he was four, he wanted to be pushed in the stroller while Shannon, barely 2, wanted to walk everywhere we went. Pat was 5 years old before he realized we were not going to give Shannon back to the place from whence she came.

(I can get away with posting this stuff because I know he doesn't read my blog! Lucky me!)

Patrick has the ability to make people laugh. He does so by pulling out random movie and television characters, followed by quoting their most amusing lines. His 'gay - thuweetie' is a real hoot! In fact, he had a bank officer convinced he was gay. I actually had to pull out pictures of Julie to prove he wasn't! The great thing is Pat does not have to rely on Carrey-esque humor all of the time. He is natually witty and quick thinking. I do remember when he was in mddle school, though. One of his teachers asked me what it was like to be the mother of the next Jim Carrey. She went on to say that Pat's humor was so well developed the other kids in the class just didn't get it and they would give him strange looks rather than laugh. The teacher, on the other hand, had to hide her face behind books so the students couldn't see her laughter. Every now and then, Pat would be assigned a teacher who appreciated who he was at the time. We considered that a blessing.

He doesn't appear to be very observant. He often has his face glued to a computer monitor or seems to be undistractingly focused on whatever task he may be tackling at the time. But don't let him fool you. He doesn't miss anything. Not a thing. Couple that with the fact that he is very astute and an excellent judge of character, and you've got a great source of knowledge just ... sitting in front of a poker table or two. Or four. Or 12.

Pat domesticated Luke. Well, as much as Luke could be. It was Pat who taught our black demon of a cat just how much fun it is to dig in sand boxes. Luke seeks out Pat for affection, attention, and a lap. Luke must be a good judge of character, too.

Sometimes I sit back and look at him when he isn't aware of it and I marvel at how he has changed and grown into the young man he is today. No, I don't agree with everything he thinks, says, or does. But I do respect him because proven himself worthy of it in many different ways.

And he gives terrific hugs.

Patrick has always done everything he needed to do, but only in his own time. Pressuring or too much encouragement would only cause him to dig in his heels and wait us out. He did that very well for a lot of years. But when he was ready to tackle riding a bicycle or getting over his fear of heights by climbing trees, he did it. And he did it alone. It was only after he had conquered the task at hand that he would come back to his parents and say, "I'm ready. Come and see what I can do." And we would be amazed and proud.

Pat is ready to move on, now. I honestly believe he can face the world head-on and be successful. He has overcome many obstacles. I have confidence in his abilities to tackle whatever life may toss at him.

Happy Birthday, Pat. Life is quite a trip. I hope you thoroughly enjoy the ride, but please never forget the way home. I love you, Son.

A Reintroduction

This is my dog, Rush

Many of the people who read this blog have met him. He's a wonderful dog. Even "cat people" like me think he's great...for a dog. Rush is a golden retriever who is gun-shy, vacuum cleaner-shy, thunder-shy, and fiercely protective of our family.

Rush sleeps at the end of the hall every night...but only after everyone has gone to bed. If I get up in the middle of the night, he follows me and settles at my feet until I go back to bed. One day, Andy left for work dressed in full motorcycle gear - back when he had a motorcycle - but he forgot something. He came back into the house not thinking anything about it. Rush thought something, though. Rush thought an intruder had come to hurt his family. He took up a posture in the middle of the hall, bared his teeth, raised his hackles, and growled at Andy.Guess who was unnerved by that? Andy slowly removed his helmet and gloves so Rush could identify him.

Isn't he a great dog?

When Pat and Shannon were much younger, Rush would play-wrestle with them. He was extremely gentle. However, when Andy was the wrestle-buddy, Rush would go at him full strength. It would exasperate Pat to no end! One day he stood up and declared, "I want Rush to play with me the way he plays with Dad!" That didn't happen until much later. By the time Pat was as large as Andy, Rush was too old to wrestle as roughly as he used to and Pat wasn't as interested in dog-wrestling as he had been when he was younger. Oh, and when Andy and one of the kids would go at it, Rush would stand close by, 90% certain it was play but not sure who to protect/defend. There was one time when, in Rush's mind, Andy got a little rough with one of the kids. He emitted a warning bark/growl. Don't make the dog choose. He'll defend the underdog.

Speaking of underdogs, when we brought home Luke, that's exactly what he was. Luke was about 3 weeks old when we brought him home from a roadside ditch. The other two cats were not very happy about this little black ball that could disappear on the couch. No, really. If he curled up on the couch, we couldn't see him and would spend several minutes searching and calling for Luke! Anyway, Nikki, the dominant cat, took to hugging walls and hissing and spitting every time Luke came her way. It was friggin hilarious. Nikki had made Merckx's (pronounced "mercks") life miserable by forcing her to take second place, but ole Nick couldn't handle a teeny fuzz ball! Merckx, on the other hand, was much wiser. She was the the old lady of the pack and as such had been around the block a few times. Whenever Luke would rush at her to play, Merckx would simply clothesline him. I kid you not. She would throw up an arm and put that honery boy to ground every time.

Luke had no one to turn to except Rush. Rush became Luke's littermate, daddy, and friend. They would sleep together, Luke curled up between Rush's paws. When Luke wanted to cat fight, Rush would literally let Luke win! Luke would tear the ever-livin mess out of Rush and Rush would take it! Until Luke got older. Rush is just a really good dog like that. He even lets Luke eat out of his bowl with him at the same time, allowing Luke to dip his head into the bowl to get a bite, then patiently waits for Luke to back off before taking a bite for himself.

I know most of you have heard these Rush stories before. Tonight, I have an overwhelming need to put them into "print"...into the air out there...because Rush...is not going to be with us much longer. The best we can figure, he is 14 or 15 years old and it is becoming evident ...painfully evident...that Rush is tired. Too tired. I have my doubts as to whether he will last the week.

Consider this entry a tribute. A eulogy. A sign of respect for a terrific dog and friend. I love you, Rush-puppy. I have never had a dog like you ~ and can not imagine ever again finding one nearly as noble and magnificent.

Summertime Activities

On June 15th I posted an entry about flowers. Most of them are doing well, as you can see from the picture. Yes, that is an actual image! You may want to question why I chose to post "rebel verbena" when I have beautiful roses. Well, *deep breath* I'll tell you: I've killed the verbena.

I know the directions said verbena is a low-water plant. But there is just something in me that sees a droopy plant and thinks, "Water it!" It has been so bloody hot it seemed logical to me that the verbena was too dry and therefore needed more water than a person would normally use for the plant.

Let's be real, here! My gorgeous trailing impatiens plant does that. It wilts. Pitifully. I water it and boing! It comes back! That particular plant has grown so much I fear I'll have to repot it within the next couple of weeks.

I still have hope for the verbena. If we don't hold on to hope, we have nothing else to hold on to, do we? I've snipped and cut back the little plants. Anything that looked like it might die has been severed. Any attempt at producing flowers has been nipped in the bud. There are some remaining green leaves and stems. There is some new growth.

I think it all comes down to not liking the fact that America is a "throw away" society. As long as I see green somewhere in those two flower pots, I'm going to keep the verbena and staunchly refuse to replace them, which has been suggested.

Am I stubborn? You betcha. It is my opinion that this type of stubbornness is the kind to keep.

"Maybe I'll Just Punch Him or Something"

Andy Roddick is both gracious and funny. When his post-match interview started, the first thing he said was, "No, I really don't feel like talking right now. I feel like having a beer." That was the first of many quotable statements. After awhile, the interviewer asked Roddick how to beat Federer. Andy quipped, "I don't know so maybe I'll just punch him or something." Now, don't get your feathers ruffled. Roddick said that after being very gracious and acknowledging Federer's near-perfect play and skillful, complete game. Andy Roddick is many things, which makes me like him. Please add "good sport" to the list.

During the match I wondered about Roger Federer. His game - beautiful to watch - is just what Andy said: complete and near-perfect. We tend to forget that Federer is a tender 23 years of age. He plays like someone with more age & experience. This fact made me ask myself a question. "Can he keep this up year after year or will he get bored, lazy, and too confident?" The question was answered at match point when Roger caved in to tears. I am sure some of those tears were just a release of the stoic lack of emotion Roger displays on the court throughout a tournament. The rest, though, were most likely relief, amazement, and thankfulness.

I like Roger, too. The prospect of watching these two young men for the next several years gives tennis fans much to look forward to. Roddick is correct, though. Commentators have often mentioned the "rivalry" between Roger and Andy. Roddick is quick to correct them, however. The continued match ups between these two men will not really become a rivalry until Roddick beats Federer a few times. Is it possible? I like to think so.

Stats. I'm pleased with how they turned out. For the gentlemen, I ended the fortnight with a .732, with a .701 on the ladies' side. For the entire tournament, the averaged turned out to be a respectable .717. Show me the money!

As a side note: I am upset with NBC right now.. Why is a repeat of the Davenport/Williams final being broadcast when the mixed doubles is going on live right now on centre court? In my humble yet overstated opinion, that is just plain stupid.

A look to the future: The US Open starts 29 August in good ole New York. Woot!

Entertaining Commercials

I don't even know for which company the ad was placed. All I caught was the last line:

"Why can't technology
be as simple as the box it comes in?"

Now that's entertainment!

Men's Final?

Well I was right. The ladies' final went 3 sets. I just chose the wrong winner! Yeah, yeah...
I'm still predicting Federer for tomorrow. The man is sheer, fluid beauty on the grass. Roddick has come a long way to be sure, but not far enough, I fear.

When all is said and done, I will run my final stats and post them here. Oh, I guess I should give big Props to Johnny Mac! I hope he wins wins wins! And after several years of listening to Mary Carillo, I still don't care for her, much. *shrug* I guess it is up to individual tastes. Mary isn't my flavor!

I have one major concern: When Wimbledon is over, about what will I post between then and the US Open??

An Oversight?

I have been reticent to choose a winner in the ladies' final today. Apparently, Venus feels she has something to prove. Lindsay believes she has at least one more championship in her just waiting to manifest itself. Both women are tough mentally & physically.

It is my opinion the champion will be determined by whose 'day' it is. If Venus doesn't spray backhands all over the court (watch for Davenport to test that), and if Lindsay can paint the lines in that lovely way of hers, we could be in for a long slug-fest.

Sadly, most Wimbledon finals end up playing out like the majority of football's Super Bowls. They turn out to be a rout. Hopefully today won't turn out that way. This year's Super Bowl was interesting, so why shouldn't it follow that the ladies' final at Wimbledon would be the same?

Oh. I still haven't chosen a winner, have I?

*sigh* At this point, I will go with the player I like best: Lindsay Davenport. In three sets.

Good News and Bad News

The bad news is it has rained all afternoon in England and they have now officially ended play for the day.
The good news is I'll be able to watch more tennis tomorrow than I anticipated.
The bad news is Roddick or Johansson will not be as fresh as Federer going into Sunday's final.
The good news is I've picked Federer to win.
The bad news is we won't know who is in the gentlemen's final until sometime tomorrow.
The good news is it is raining in England~which brings me back to point #2...I'll be able to watch more tennis tomorrow than I anticipated.
The bad news is I won't be going to the grocery store on Saturday until much later than usual.
The good news is nobody will starve.
All in all, the good news is pretty darned good.
And the bad news isn't all that terrible.

Another day in the life of The Championships at Wimbledon.

Blushing is Attractive, Right?

Silly me. The Davenport/Mauresmo match started up at 8:00 our time. Lindsay took it, 6-4. It happened so quickly, I missed it! So..I guess this is an official retraction of my previous post. Being wrong from time to time develops character...but I think I'm enough of a character already, don't you?

It Just Isn't Fair!!!

Having mentioned several times that I am watching the live scores from Wimbledon via 'net access, I must take moment to say...It just isn't fair! Amelie Mauresmo and Lindsay Davenport have to finish their semi-final match from yesterday. Tomorrow one of those ladies will be pitted against Venus Williams in the final. The fact that Mauresmo/Davenport will not finish their match until much later today - after the men have their day on the court - gives Venus an unfair advantage.

But the injustice goes much deeper than that. Imagine my surprise... chagrin... and then pure outrage at seeing Mauresmo on the court right now in the Ladies' Doubles Quarterfinals! What kind of idiot decided Mauresmo should play in a full-length doubles match before finishing her match with Lindsay? Granted, Amelie will be fully warmed up and won't need any real practice time. I'm also quite sure she will be given enough time to eat and digest. I just can't help but wonder about what may happen to Mauresmo's game if she loses the double's match. Or wins, for that matter.

Somebody ought to do something.