Category Archives: Editorial

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A Normal Dog

I told Jim I just wanted one puppy in my life so I could have one “normal” dog. Zoe is far from normal. When Zoe was six weeks and already spayed (hello! that’s too young) we endured the application process and picked her but she was already taken so we looked at a male Bernese mix.

The next morning we got a call that the potential adopters passed on our Zoe (then named Camilla) and had the flea-ridden, worm-infested puff ball we named Zoe – Greek for Life – jumping out of the cardboard carrier onto my lap. Whenever she errs, my husband says “We should have gotten the dumb one!”

I must say she’s always been a traveler and loves the car. Pops her head up on an off-ramp or traffic light and sleeps all the time on the road.

We did have to take her hips out. She’s still cow-hocked as she’ll always be but can lose a Retriever around a tree in an instant. Just ask folks back home, they call her Swivelhips.

She can also kill a mouse and if she was paying attention this morning could have gotten her first squirrel, three feet away and grooming himself. He wanted to leave a pretty corpse! But I let her attentions go elsewhere so she only saw said squirrel when he was at least 15′ up the tree.

What is a normal dog? Ours loves people and other dogs, and cats, but will kill a mouse or squirrel. She loves her favorite toy. Anyone can reach into her food bowl and give or take food and she’s OK with it. I would trust her with anyone.

Does she like us? She follows and herds me because I’m the walk lady and food wench. My husband is the fun guy. I like to think that the shelter didn’t kill her, she lived to find people who care for her, and that we’re all luckier in the process. Here’s to a No Kill Nation, Dee

Dog Whisperer

That’s what I’m called here but I can’t hold a candle to Caesar. My first dog and I arrived at the shelter in 1991 together. I was giving a gift to my family’s Collie who had recently died. Yes, I arranged for her death and sent her owners (my brother and youngest sister) out with her, sent my mother to pay the bill and I went back and collected her bed and toys then brought everyone together.

Unfortunately I’ve had to do that alone and help others do so over the years. Before Caesar came on the scene, I was running at and leaping over my abused and scared dog who I got after she was at the shelter for a year and hated men and children and they talked once, yes once, about putting her down. She was my girl and I’d spent a year with her, even with me in a neck brace, sitting in her enclosure.

She was home with me the next day. She’d been abused by a deputy sheriff and was wary of any man in uniform or even in a baseball cap. Whenever I walked toward her she jumped up as if I was going to kick her. None of that for me. First I started walking over her, then running and jumping over her and all she did was roll her eyes and ask “what is this crazy woman doing?”

We were together for ten years. She bled out and I rushed her to the vet and held her and she fought it every step of the way as I knew she would. Her ashes are in her favorite park and all the neighbors bought the city a tree in her memory. It has a better view than my homes there ever did.

The next time we got a pup at six weeks, adopted from a shelter in Texas. She was a mess, coccidia and hookworms and I had to get a vet to give her sub-q fluids three days in, after she vomited all over the car.

Then she was diagnosed with the worst hip dysplasia our vet had ever seen so I researched for weeks then had her hips taken out at six and nine months and she had to grow her own from cartilage, which she did and she’ll be nine early next year.

I told my husband I’ll still adopt strays but no more puppies. Then I met Charlie yesterday, a water spaniel pup, and told Jim OK when Zoe goes peacefully, I have the wherewithal to raise another shelter pup. I can do the training and eight walks per day. I have the food thing down and don’t have to cook for our Zoe.

Caesar is the master of “the walk.” I do the walk, and have a loose leather leash in my hand with a bag attached to the handle, in case I have to take care of her business.

I do hope that his storied career has been beneficial to others. I’ve worked with shelter dogs and spayed and neutered over 2,000 feral cats and created volunteer projects and worked with volunteers for over 20 years. Teaching dog owners to be responsible is an invaluable asset for all of us.

What is he going to do after Dog Whisperer? I can only hope that he’s not going to try herding cats, feral or otherwise! Dee

Half-Staff

I’m watching big military planes go by and jets soaring in the air and wondering what the heck is going on. Then I look out and the flag is at half-staff and have to look it up.

Of course I thought it was to honor the dead on 9.11. No, it’s Patriot’s Day.
I have to look it up every time. Usually it’s for a local soldier we lost in Afghanistan.

Perhaps I should now look into the threat level because there are seven jet streams and two cargo planes that have flown right by as I was writing. Who knows these days?

No one will let me be a participant these retirement days, so I strive (not willingly) to take my seat on the sidelines. What they don’t know is here I can be even more dangerous because I’ve the time to see more! Even while cooking I make sure I have an eye on the world. Dee

Cooking Firsts

Yes, it was an EZ Bake Oven that cooked with a 120 watt light bulb. I made their pretzel mix and had goo all over my hands and had no clue I could fool their stupid mix and just add more flour! Now I make dough every week and compensate for humidity. I even have a magnetic hygrometer mounted on the frig (check online for cigar supplies, they’re about $12, it’s a Caliber III) and add water until it’s right. I got it to keep me from electrocuting myself when we lived in the Rockies and it was usually under 20% humidity.

Back in the day, we didn’t cook by our mother’s side. We had our own kiddie kitchen (in the basement) and EZ Bake Oven. I did make a chocolate cake in it that turned out well but probably only used it a few times.

I prefer today’s method where the parent actually teaches a child to cook at the child’s pace so that when he/she goes to college or sets off for a first job, they know how to feed themselves, frugally and without fast food.

That was what I was trying to volunteer for last week when I was dismissed for knowing the boss’ email and about their need for volunteers and was demanded to explain myself and why my cell phone area code is from out of state. I’m a cook, trying to install community gardens in schools in poor neighborhoods so these kids can have their own culinary firsts; first fruit or vegetable; growing things; and eating fresh and healthy foods. Mine is a nefarious quest, to be sure. The boss probably runs the local fast food joint!

A couple of years ago I was tasked to make a packaged blueberry muffin mix at my in-laws for Thanksgiving weekend. My young nephew volunteered to help. I taught him how to fold, telling him it was a batter and not a battering ram and to fold as not to crush the fresh blueberries. They weren’t fresh, it was a mix, but he got the point instantly. Here this summer, he made pizza dough. I love seeing his  cooking “firsts.”

For years my sister and I tried to surprise Mom with sweet rolls and breakfast in bed. She always knew what we were doing and came out to eat our creations, usually refrigerated orange-glazed and cinnamon rolls. We were allowed to turn on the oven but not to use a knife, luckily because back then it would have been an awful knife that was dull and could really have hurt us.

Let me tell you about my second first date. My first date I was sixteen and this boy, 18, was cute and very popular. He went out with me twice then took spring break and slept with a cheerleader he saw for the next two years. Let’s just say she probably knew what my parents were worried about when they made me be home by ten.

After I spent a year in college, the first week home he called and asked me out again. We went to a fish place and as I loved salmon I ordered a salmon steak. Skin and bones and I had no way to negotiate it delicately. So I decided to learn. Oh, we almost married several years later but I called it off. Luckily as now I have Prince Charming, nearly ten years since our wedding day….

But I digress. To make a salmon steak easy to eat, as the French would do, put a raw salmon steak squarely in front of you with the spine at the top. Using a sharp fish knife or boning knife, cut down around the bones all the way to the bottom on both insides.

Remove the frame and discard. Lay the piece of salmon skin side down on your board and using your boning knife parallel to the board take off the skin. Make sure there are no pin bones remaining. If so, take your needle nose pliers, yes the ones in your secret kitchen drawer not those in the garage, and take them out. Rinse the fish to make sure there are no bones or scales.

Dry it, place each piece so that they fit together in a circle (oval) and wrap the skinny pieces around. Secure with 2 toothpicks. Season, grill or bake. Of course, remove the toothpicks before serving.

I like to season first with olive oil, salt and pepper, and one of my favorite preparations is just slathering one side with whole grain mustard and baking it or cooking it on a closed grill just ’til done, about eight minutes for medium rare.

This is what I would do if the fillets in the fish case look old and the salmon steaks are fresh. And while there will never be a third first date with Anonymous, if the Prince and I go to dinner and I’m faced with a salmon steak, I know exactly where the bones are and how to eat it… delicately. Ask your butcher about knife sharpening. Get good knives – they’ll last a lifetime. As Jacques Pepin would say, Happy Cooking! Dee

Charlie

is 11 weeks old, a Water Spaniel. Cute as a button. Our nine year-old dog was very cool with him, sniffed and then spent the rest of her time sniffing grass and peeing to make her mark.

I’ve told my husband for years that after adopting a dog who was severely abused and rehabilitating her, then getting a six week old dog from a shelter only to have her hips removed and rehabilitate her, I was done with this.

Then I met Charlie this morning and all of that went out the window. While I hate to think of my next dog when the current one is a herder and under my feet at all times, I was thinking of a Portuguese Water Dog that doesn’t shed and who I won’t have to bathe every week for my husband’s allergies.

Randy (Charlie’s owner) says they’re starting Obedience this week, and Charlie’s only 11 weeks old and has those needle teeth…. Good luck!

For me, I told my husband that when our Zoe goes in peace, I am still young enough and ready to train one more pup who will take us into retirement years. Thank you, Randy and Charlie, for that epiphany.

We wish you well with your dog and in your training. Cheers! Dee

Register to Vote

NOW! Some states make it easy, some deceptively difficult so I have all my materials at hand and will stop by first thing in the morning and apply in person after trying to do so by mail and not trusting the process. This is a contentious state and they are making me sign that I don’t intend to move! Hey, if my husband is laid off or finds a better job in a new city of course we’ll move. I don’t see that happening, but what a crazy question to answer in a rust belt state.

If you’re a steelworker or work in our local breweries or paper mills, if you’re laid off will you move where you can get another job to feed your family? Heck, yeah. So why, when registering to vote, do you have to promise not to move? Because of carpetbagger politicians coming in and taking away votes from the locals. Think Kennedy, 1960 election. Think Bobby Kennedy planning for 1968 when he moved to NYC to become senator. And they were assassinated. Don’t want that.

These rules should not apply to everyday citizens who have no thoughts to move in a year or two or five or fifty. There is no enforcement. If I vote and leave five years from now how can you come after me and say I reneged on my promise?

Anyhoo, as my dear aunt would say, please register to vote. Your voice must be heard. I’m going to HQ tomorrow morning and submitting all my information so that I’ll be able to go to whatever polling place they assign me (I’m new here) and vote. Thank you, in the spirit of the classic film “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Dee

Over the River and Through the Woods

Come to think of it, we did have to go through the Woods en route via our 1/4 mile driveway.

I may complain about elements from time to time but had pretty much a great childhood. Country home, land, work, rope 20′ away to speed down to the creek. Cherry bombs and black snakes, making hay forts at the dairy down the road.

The worst one can say of it is that it allowed an eight year-old girl to have a varied and unique outdoor experience with fewer opportunities to be hurt or killed than in the wild, wild west. But that’s where I was and as a voracious reader Annie Oakley was right there with me.

Now after 40 years another person has bought our old house and is actually putting in a driveway. The dairy is shut down and so is their vineyard (for the driveway). One of “the kids” is an Olympic gold medal coach. So things go on the previously local farms.

What did I learn? I have always known some pretty good and interesting people and still keep in touch with a few from grade school, high school and college even though I moved away at age ten.

Also, my sister and I could have trimmed our weekly lawn mowing hours by a few if we put in a fence and had just a few pet goats! Ah, well, one only learns about goats later in life.

Cheers! Dee

Mom’s Cheesy Meatloaf

I have to wing this because I cook for two and have never had a recipe for this. As the climate and light change towards our first fall and winter here, I’m adapting.

1.5 # ground beef, whatever cut you like

1 tsp. each garlic and onion powder

1 tsp. Worcester sauce, one egg, salt and pepper to taste, mixed together

Bread crumbs, fresh or plain, to pull it all together.

Mix with fork or hands and add 1 cup of diced cheddar cheese. Form in a loaf pan or freeform on a baking pan. Slather with ketchup or BBQ sauce at will, optional of course. Bake for about an hour at 350 degrees.

It will be yummy as the cheese melts… I’m making it tonight because I had a failsafe in case our restaurant (recently featured on Food Network and crazy busy) was full.

So now I have 2# of ground beef and may make us a couple of burgers and a meat loaf for later. Cheers, Dee

usps.COM???

Or, why is the post office pretending to be a private company when they keep coming back to taxpayers for more money, as in rising prices of stamps, when they’re clearly obsolete. Except for my Aunt, who will not email or read or write anything on a computer.

What’s interesting about that is that she had the first-ever electric portable typewriter, a Smith-Corona 1957, that she got to go to college. I know because she gave it to me for high school graduation and I’ve lugged it around the country ever since. She was a technological whiz back then, and pre-computer I was the darling of the dorms, lending it out to other gals after I was finished writing my papers. Oh, I also wrote better papers because of my Aunt and J, because they were English teachers!

I write this because my Aunt and J sent me a book the other day, about a house on the grounds of a hallowed institution where my family lived and worked. One of my tasks was to put up our guests, lecturers and performers, at this house, and one woman managed it for many years.

This house was always an issue for me, and so was the caretaker, but I really respected her and we’d have a tiff then reconcile. She is gone now but her daughter has written a book about her time at the Wensley House.

A thank-you note I wrote decades ago is in it so my Aunt and J bought it, and had the author sign it to me. Apparently I was identified as my father’s wife, instead of eldest daughter. That was what the inscription was about.

Yesterday I received an open package from the USPS with nothing in it but a cardboard sleeve. Leave it to Government to take something personal, an inscribed book with my name published in it, and make it into a regulatory nightmare.

If it’s a photo it will be destroyed for security reasons. If it is merchandise under $25 it will be destroyed. Maybe in the next few months this book will find its way to the Distribution Center where it will meet 54 million friends who’ve lost their way due to USPS error.

Then, months later, I might receive it in the mail. But only after I fill out and mail back a form from USPS to and from in regular mail. I’m supposed to take a picture of the merchandise that I never received. And the $25 rule is a given, if it says $24.99 on the back of the book, it will be destroyed.

How about a recap? Family bought me a book and cared enough to have it signed by the author. They spent $2.96 to send it by our US Postal Service (.com) and they lost it. Now if it’s not worth $25 to them, they’ll destroy it or wait 3-4 months to find it and send it back to me.

The gifter’s USPS guy is great and so is Rick, who I talked with at our end. But this is ridiculous. Any business worth its salt would be finding the lost item and getting it to me. Not the Federal Government. They hem and haw about what it’s worth and all these rules and forms. Out in the real world, you get the job done, or apologize and make things right. No way that’s gonna happen.

I pay all my bills online and send email, blog and four times a year I check into Facebook. Ever wonder why usps.COM is underwater? Dee

Angels

We haven’t been to a movie in at least a year, and used to go to one every weekend. That was our first date, Hearts In Atlantis, followed by a Mexican meal and a lifetime of laughing and holding hands and standing on a beach by the Pacific Ocean with him standing behind me and placing his chin on my head. I was the perfect chin-rest and that’s what I tell people when they ask why he married me.

Of late we have Netflix and now, Amazon Prime. We’ve been checking out the amazing Holly Hunter and Laura San Giacomo et al in Saving Grace.

Holly Hunter’s Grace Hanadarko has a troubled past and an angel has come to help. She also has her best friend, played by San Giacomo, plus loads of other folks and issues I won’t get into.

It got me to thinking, do I have angels? Not real angels, human beings who are always there for me. Most women are here for everyone else, not themselves. Forget the rich NY and LA women who spend all day between botox and tanning and getting their hair and nails done.

Real women may have a husband or boyfriend who treats them like a queen and I do. Queen, no. Partner, yes.

But do I have angels? Dead or alive, people who comfort me when I’m down and get me through the rough times? I think, yes. It would be great if one was Eleanor Roosevelt or Abraham Lincoln but think not.

I’m thinking of a few angels. People who’ve stayed with me for years no matter what happens to either of us.

Today I talked to the daughter of a woman I admired for years and who’s 30 year-old photo came to light and I had it matted and framed. It’s a photo of the creek where I grew up and learned a lot. Why did I have to call her daughter? There are forces at work that we don’t realize and I told her when I find out why I have this photo and why it means so much to me, I’ll send it or will it to your children.

These days, everything is muddled. Something always tells me whether to stay or go, what to do with my life. Are we coming or going, life or death? I don’t know. Perhaps one of my human angels can guide the way.

Now I try to volunteer and am turned away before they know anything about me because my cell phone’s area code is from another city. I know, they still may be working on a 386 PC. I’m working off a six year-old MacBook with more memory. Plus other features but if I told you…

Do I have an angel? Always. Has it been seen or envisioned? No. Not yet and perhaps never but I found my husband and our sweet dog and sometimes everything clicks and life is good.

Some folks call it womens’ intuition. Some call it fate. Perhaps my husband is my angel. When those tumblers fall into place it is destiny. Do I have an angel? You bet. Dee