Cooking with Dee

My husband and I are more alike than one would think. Yes, he’s a physicist, science and math geek and software consultant. I’m more sociology and psychology, lobbyist, non-profit consultant and volunteer leader.

We do agree on leadership. Train your people well. Let them do their jobs. Check in to make sure everything is OK. If not, your day will be spent running the gauntlet to allow them to accomplish the task at hand. You’re the trainer, scout, supervisor, but mostly you get obstacles out of the way so your teams can be successful.

He can buy them a beer after a tough day. With a poor non-profit we had feral cat spay/neuter clinics behind vet offices in the parking lot on a Sunday and we’d handle, back then, up to 200 per day on a monthly deal as volunteers. It was a grueling process and day and with great principles and practices which I enhanced with training and procedures for “recovery.” On my own, I trolled the front of the strip mall before we started and found the best spot.

I bought a soda and they asked what on earth was going on out back? I told them, thanked them for the soda and left. Three sentences. Strange questions answered. No request for contributions. When they asked “how many volunteers?” I knew it was in the bag. Fifteen minutes later they all came out with food and soda for everyone. Thanks, Aunt Dee. That was part of my never-known contribution for our peeps, all of them. As for me, once I touched a cat there was no soda, I only drank from the quart bottle of water I brought with me.

It was hot out there most of the time. One time there was a deluge and all our tents threatened to break. We found lawn and leaf bags and cut holes in them for our arms. Volunteers went to their cars for umbrellas and we used them to transport the cats from surgery to the waiting room at the vet clinic and found extra heaters, even hair dryers to keep the anesthetized cats warm and dry indoors. Volunteers paired, one umbrella over the cat, two volunteers. No-one died that awful day. Well, I had a school bus yellow pair of Van’s that died overnight of mildew from the flood. We all made do. Teamwork.

Let them do their jobs, do not micro-manage. I had many volunteers and could fire them at will and never had to do so but did re-arrange a few, usually at their request. They were motivated by the tasks at hand and by their leader, moi. “Go home, now, while you can get out of here! Great job! I’ll stay on ’til the last cat is picked up. Really, see you next time. Thanks so much.”

Pick the right team and let them do what they’re good at. Loosen the leash. My husband has a 16′ leash with a computer chip silk Martingale collar I bought him. He lets the dog go to the end and is on the phone all the walk. Zoe sometimes finds nasty stuff to eat and throws up on our bed (a day’s work for me) but she is a good girl and keeps me safe when he is away on business.

I keep her on a 6′ braided leather leash and don’t bring my cell on walks but spend a few moments with her outdoors and indoors meeting her/our friends. We have several Martingale collars, one will be put on immediately. She’s now in Scottish tartan, it will be Irish green for St. Paddy.

If you ever think about getting a herding dog, know that they herd. You are their cattle, goats or sheep. They will follow you everywhere, watch and stand by the door when you go to the grocery store, and sleep on your bed. Everything is “routine” once they do something and like it (taking my husband to work) so it must be done.

Our Zoe knows how to manage people, especially us. She has a different style, staring us into submission. She does make it up to us by being kind to us and others, and very complacent at home, sleepy one…. Like a child, she does not micro-manage, just lets us know what she needs. And unlike a human, she never lies. If she needs to go out, get your coat on and go.

Life and old dog Zoe have trained me well. Dee

About ten years ago my husband was in NYC for work, and I came for play. I think my younger brother and I over-used our subway passes to catch every museum in the City, including the Cloisters while my husband was at work.

My brother lives on the Upper West Side. Our hotel was a couple of blocks from Grand Central Station and his office. We arranged to meet for lunch and he was late. My husband is deathly allergic to fish but I checked the menu for him because I really wanted to go to the Oyster Bar in Grand Central. Architecture.

I checked in at the desk, have no clue what I was wearing but it probably wasn’t jeans, nor would had it have been in any way provocative. I said that my husband will be joining me in a few moments. Nudge nudge, wink, wink. There were three tables that sat two, just a few steps above the main dining room.

They sat me in the middle table, facing the room. Soon two other couples arrived. Apparently “husband” is a code word because a few moments later a lower-end “hooker” arrived with her date, then a high-end “escort” with hers. I realized that we were the show.

My husband arrived, we kissed for a peck then talked to each other and listened to conversations around us, both wearing matching wedding rings. I was insulted, yet the sociological education was right there next to us. There were differing conversations but both women facing the room, as was I, were in the same business. Keeping men happy, but our love is eternal and their dates brief and inconsequential.

My husband would be upset because it was so hot. I had to get the subway to see my brother at a museum and was tired at the end of the day to get to our hotel and take another shower and he was jealous that I was doing what he never, ever wants to do, go to an art museum. He should have been grateful that my brother was protecting me on the streets and sidewalks of New York City. He was not.

So I asked him to lunch at the Oyster Bar. I probably wore a long skirt and a blouse or something like that. I was in my mid-40’s. Did the maitre’d think I was a Madam? No, sir, it is Madame Dee, or Aunt Dee as all the pets in the neighborhood call me. We’ve been married over 15 years and still laugh about finding ourselves in this situation.

Did you notice all the women are facing the room and the men unavailable to view? He could have lost his job if there were good smart phones back then, all for having a burger while his wife ate seafood, with matching wedding rings. Those were the days, Dee

They’re flirting. We were coming in from our walk and she stood still. I only saw a guy across the street walking by parked cars. Come on, let’s go and get you breakfast. No. There’s a dog between the parked cars.

Two weeks after 9/11 Americans were allowed back into our country. I was off on a family reunion in Europe. I sat at lunch in a chain restaurant at the bar and we all talked. Later it was just us. We talked about everything and shook hands in the parking lot and he said we may share a movie sometime as friends.

Next night he called me, dinner and a movie, picked me up, opened my car door and took my hand and we’ve been married over 15 years.

Mr. Y, who I do not know but my husband does, was seen by my Zoe across the street. They never saw each other again and Zoe is 98 in people years. It’s like the end of Doctor Zhivago. Mr. Y whined as they crossed paths. No, his name is not Yuri. Across the street, he whined for Zoe, who has many friends human, canine and feline.

I can think of this as her consistent friendliness to all or being near death. I choose the former and fear the latter. We can’t have kids, so she’s our girl and even at age 98 my husband would say she’s not allowed to date. Flirting is OK. To happiness and longevity, perhaps he’s an angel taking her to another place. I will not part with her easily but will let her go when she needs to do so. Dee

My dear father moved up to better jobs all his life, uprooted my mother and four kids , I’m the eldest, and gave away the dog to a farm and we would drive to the new destination every couple of years.

When we arrived he’d tell us little kids that the moving truck would be here soon, he was going to his new office to check things out, and that any box with our name on it must be un-boxed and put away before he came home that evening.

As a mature adult I am still moved around the nation and world on a whim. Now it’s my husband’s. When I get a picture framed, he says “you’re not moving, you’re nesting!” What’s wrong with having something on a wall? I’m a woman and will not live in a man cave with dark blinds overlooking the back of mailboxes and a parking lot.

As it is, he flies to work every week and returns on the weekend so I am alone with our old dog, Zoe.

Today, a pass-through is a legal entity that is recognized by a client. Ours doesn’t like the fact that they did not recommend my husband to said client so they cannot demand an excessive percentage of his hourly rate. All they are supposed to do is cut a few checks per month for pay and expenses.

He was on a plane at a very early hour for work, I know because I had to awaken the dog and walk her, then make him oatmeal (regular, not quick, with cinnamon, maple syrup, vanilla then topped with blueberries). Yum.

As my husband was on a plane I had to call the pass-through to ask two questions. How do we bill for hours, and also how do we process expenses? Their answer? You cannot do that, as he does not work for us.

My real question is if my husband has been working for this client for two weeks as a volunteer with no compensation for his work or recompense for expenses we have advanced to two large for-profit companies, or has the pass-through check-writer developed carpal tunnel syndrome?

We created a company at the insistence of the two others. Our investment was the time and effort of two consultants. Priceless. Also $25 to open a bank account, that last week went down to $15 because of bank fees. We are personally lending our corporation money to pay multiple fees and me to do compliance filings with no income whatsoever, along with our personal taxes.

What is wrong with this picture? After we met over 16 years ago he had me give up most of my volunteer responsibilities so we could marry and move anywhere. He said that “anything worth doing is worth getting paid for.” Tell that to a feral cat living out of a dumpster out back of Wal-Mart.

I donated my bean bag training cat, Snowflake The Wonder Kitty, to my volunteer team (I was asked to allow filming of my volunteer training, with Snowflake showing the lack of muscular control an anesthetized feral has, by the prestigious San Francisco SPCA.) Now Snowflake #2 looks at me as I write and the organization for which I volunteered has adopted several of my policy recommendations and this week commended me for my service on their behalf.

It was always something to be dreaded and enjoyed. Up to ten hours and 200 cats, doing transport and training and managing volunteers. Emergency, taking back to surgery for new orders. Yes, I know what tapeworms look like, tiny grains of rice that wiggle. No freaking way is this cat ever going back into a trap, even for mackerel. Let’s treat him now.

Change the chart for Droncit. Back to ER (back of a SUV). They told me not to see my cats when I returned home. Strip in the garage and take a shower ASAP. Well, I had no w/d back then and pulled into a carport. I don’t think my neighbors wanted to see me naked so I was as careful as I could be and bagged my clothes and took the shower. After all, I was “Aunt Dee” so I got all the mange and ringworm cases. Not good for home.

I miss my volunteer days as I age and no-one will give me anything challenging any more. But I worked a full week for pay, usually, non-profits then volunteered on weekends and evenings. Did I say pay? Yes. I’m retired but my husband is working for free a couple thousand of miles away, because he doesn’t work there until they get a number to enter him into the system so he can be paid. Perhaps I should advise my partner in life and business to stop volunteering! Dee

Talk about a leap of faith. I took one fifteen years ago and so did my dear husband. Guess what? We’re still here. He still doesn’t like leftovers unless I make him a meat loaf sandwich. He’s physics and math, I’m writing and caring for others. A perfect pair.

The perfect pair who married us 15 years ago were similar. The Deputy Marriage Commissioner for the day called me his daughter, and his wife, my dear friend, called me so as well and signed the marriage certificate. I love their sons as brothers and their grandkids as cousins.

I did have to ask them to marry us. We asked for a meeting after dog-walking time. They’d known my husband briefly. I brought up the subject. It was Tuesday. We’d decided to elope the day before and wished to get married at noon on Saturday. I asked if the Captain (USN, Ret.) would marry us. He left us for a moment and came back and said, only if he gets to write the vows. OK, I’ll type them for you. “Mom” was an officiant.

We plan to use these vows to have a renewal with families present. They’re gone now and we plan to attend “Mom’s” interment in a sacred place alongside her husband of 56 years. Actually, her husband forever because he was the Captain, but named her the Admiral.

They made such a difference in my life. Dee

I’ve tried for years to sign up to be a volunteer near my home. It has not been successful to date, but it has. Now they have multiple sign-ins and background checks. Mine would be clean but I’m nervous about the people that would “hire” me. Simple strategy works.

I am, was born as, and and will always be a volunteer. I just don’t need to be one on a schedule. Every time I walk out my front door I am a volunteer, just helping people  and pets one at a time. A few times a year I water a favorite tree of lost pets, Jake and Wurli. I’ll do that today.

Sometimes people want to just talk to me, introduce me to their new cat or ask dog training tips. I’m called “Aunt Dee.”

Validation on paper is not needed, I have it every day even if the Delta Society won’t let my old dog into hospice because she eats frozen raw lamb. That’s why she is healthy at fourteen years old, for goodness’ sake! Cheers and consider volunteering or just going about everyday business and helping others without a paper to prove it. Dee

I was a consultant for a prominent volunteer organization, created an area of expertise I became familiar with, and created 14 projects per month, seven times what the other project managers did.

Great team leaders were trained by me and sent out into the field for daily projects, like spaying and neutering 172 feral cats. I had such great people that I rarely attended a cat facility and concentrated my efforts on ferals and rescued Greyhounds and regularly checked in on my leaders.

In the end that Cares organization was taken over by United Way and all the Project Managers were summarily fired. I will not be giving money to United Way or volunteering for them. United Way lured me to an event to have me introduce them to a prominent legislator I helped elect, then fired me on the spot, as a volunteer.

In my years here I have not been offered any volunteer opportunities to which I can match my leadership and teamwork and get my hands dirty skills. Now Cares is run by United Way. They don’t embrace people like me and I believe it is a flaw in their carefully-run system. Don’t “hire” a volunteer who is smart and a leader, that is the policy. I can’t work for free for a company that cares for no-one, or be a donor. If I’m not out there in the field I am of no use to anyone.

My kids/volunteers used to call out “This one has ringworm. This one has mange. Call Dee!” That they did. I caught ringworm once. They were my peeps and watched their breathing and I dealt with surgery, talked shots and vaccines, flea combing and transport and ER and volunteer training. Now I have a husband, dog and assistant, and 1/2 of a business. I want to be useful. Dee

My husband left us for a full-time gig several states away.  I talked to him from my kitchen like he had never left. Our old dog went into distress and I did talk to the vets but she was protecting me and let out a bark anytime she heard a noise outside.

She’s sleeping soundly with my husband right now. ABC (airway, breathing, circulation) are covered as is temperature, by my hand on her forehead. Hey, I didn’t take the first HSUS/Red Cross animal emergency course for nothing. Now I’ve ordered a stethoscope. My vet, who runs the practice, is still on maternity leave for a couple of weeks.

I cannot take Zoe for long walks until I can do so with arthritis for 30 years. My dear Aunt gave me a “Winnie” over the holidays, a tri-pod walker with brakes (that don’t work in cold weather) and a small downstairs basket that can hold a few groceries as long as the heavy stuff is in back. I’m testing the rolling cart now that the sidewalks are mainly clear. Sidewalks and roads are never fixed here and even my snow tires go into potential sink-holes.

He takes her out for longer walks that I’m not sure she can endure these days. He’s always on an electronic device wherever he is, a phone when he takes out Zoe. He lets her out on a 16′ leash and she eats nasty stuff then throws up on our bed. Fun, yes!

They’re sleeping now and I am writing, on an electronic device. It somehow seems that this first week of being a ways away after some time at home has affected all of us. Right now I want them to sleep. I’ll see if I have room in the next few moments. Cheers! Dee

I know the part of my husband’s brain that knows me. He knows me after nearly 17 years together but doesn’t know the rest of me. Perhaps that is a challenge to find out over our years together.

The brain works in mysterious ways. I find it through art and have designed our home, inexplicably, by color and feature. All I wanted was a Tuscan retreat for the master. Other things came to pass. My framer and I get along very well.

Dad took up painting at age 80 and died at 85, over a year ago. One walks in to our small space and sees the three oranges. One a Tuscan retreat by Dad, another Maori-inspired by Dad, and a reproduction of the first four-color wood prints ever made, from Japan, all were gifts. The four-color wood block was entitled “Invitation to a Courtesan.” I tell kids who ask about it that her little sister is delivering the mail.

Then there is the kitchen with a stack of photos and art. Hallway is the “greens,” photos I’ve taken and purchased from gifted photographers and framed. Our bedroom is supposed to be a Tuscan retreat. Years ago I went to a place that sells recycled stuff in Texas and looked at what might be a place to store china and serving dishes from Italy.

I opened up the top drawer to assure the dresser had dovetailed joints. It did. There were two signed lithographs of Tuscan origin, numbered and signed. $2 each. Forget about the furniture, I got the two immediately and a few years later spent $250 framing them.

The living room is mostly blues, greens and browns. Blue and green are my husband’s favorite colors. Again, the brain works in mysterious ways. I usually plan things but here I am finding things and a way to integrate them into our lives and it is an instinct, a heartbeat, knowing what I want, not a talent. I love framing beautiful things. Dee

Yes, that is who I am. The newspaper delivery person has not been allowed to distribute papers individually for a while. I don’t get a printed version so I don’t know details. Now, apparently said person is allowed in, and tosses the local rag, NYTimes and WSJ out of the elevator and leaves. I just go out early with the dog so see them littered all around.

I pretty much know who reads what but they are no longer printing addresses so I’ve decided to leave the newspapers wherever they land and allow fellow citizens to complain. It’s not my job. I go out of my way to help folks and their pets, for free, and if they can’t step up for themselves I cannot do anything more for them. There is a need for more voices. If one wishes to open the door to a newspaper in pajamas and has to walk a bit, so be it.

There is a lot of what I call “entitlement theory” around here. “I’m better than everyone else, I’m more successful so I’ll call and say my dog peed, clean it up.) No, I don’t do that. If I was a female Warren Buffet I’d stay in my old home and act like a normal person, not a billionaire. I’m partial to my elderly SUV but could take out an old Ford truck for hay bales.

At two years old I left home with my stuff. When my parents confronted me, with an infant, my sister, who was taking all their attention, I simply told them “I’m going to have one of my own.”

After decades we do not have children but I’m working on a science and math decoupage project for a seven year-old bright child. The “mommy gene” has been in me for a lifetime. I don’t know that I can rid myself of it. Don’t know if I want to do so. Aye, there’s the rub. Cheerio and have a wonderful day. Dee