A Dorothy Day

It is 
unusually 
blustery and 
windy 
this morning.

I'm going to 
grab my basket 
and 
go 
see 

what the wizard is up to.

We meet again, dear Citibank...

Oh Citibank!  When will you learn?  You are going up against a superhero - don't you get that yet?!   You can try to trip me up, but it won't work!  I have powers that you cannot overcome.

We have battled before - oh yes, we have.  Did you learn nothing from that encounter?  Were you not sufficiently humbled and awestruck by my incredibleness?

My special offer for 1.5 airline miles for every dollar spent was good for one year.  That year was almost up.  You were getting ready to charge me a $50 annual fee - you know you were.  That's why I was calling to cancel my card before the fee kicked in.  The whole balance was paid off and the card was no longer being used.

Your weapon of choice this time was Derek.  He was no Joe, but his amiable manner could have lulled mere mortals in to a peaceful stupor where they wouldn't have expected your duplicity.  But my defenses would not be cracked with pleasant chit-chat about the unseasonably warm weather in Nebraska that day.

I told Derek straight up - I was going to cancel my card because I didn't want to pay an annual fee and in truth, I was only using you for the extra miles.  He complimented me on my responsible use of the Citibank credit cards.  He was sorry to hear that I wanted to cancel.  Then he dispensed with the soothing platitudes and brought out the big guns.  He would sign me up to get DOUBLE miles for the next three months if I stayed on.  He would also take care of that $50 annual fee.

Derek, you sly devil.  You were on to my weakness.  I was jonesing for more miles like a crackhead for the pipe and you could smell it.

But you won't just GIVE me the $50.  Of course not.  You will mail me a form that I have to sign and mail back and THEN you will credit my account $50.  Nicely played, Citibank.  I expected such treachery.  Your tangled web of paperwork will not defeat me.

I agree to your terms.  I will await your form.  I will gleefully rack up my double miles and pay the balance off every month.  And don't think you can "forget" to send me the form.  I have the badge number of your Derek-bot and I won't hesitate to use it. 

It's been lovely to tangle with you again, dear Citibank.  Really it has.  But you and I both know  - this is not over...

my Friday lesson

My Friday night ended with me in the bedroom of three little boys singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

Jonathan, age 4, has been there before.  For at least a month the last time.  All the staff know him.  He was gone for a while, but now he's back.  It probably does not mean good things are happening in his life if he's back there again.  Poor kid. 

Mikey, also 4, got attached to me.  I never deliberately try to make this happen.  I always let the children approach me and decide how long they want to hang with me.  I don't follow them around the playroom or try to sit next to them on the couch.  I am actually quite passive.  Except when a child needs some redirection or a toddler dispute needs mediating.

Mikey needed coaxing to go take a shower.  I helped him by telling him that I'd stay outside the bathroom door while he was in there and wait for him.  The staff do the bathing and dressing. Then I did one of the worst things I could do.  I didn't keep my promise.  I completely forgot what I had said and wandered away from the door.  He came out of the shower room, glared at me and said "You didn't stay at the door!"  I apologized and told him how sorry I was that I forgot.  He grabbed my hand to try to squeeze it and pinch me because he was so mad.  I tried to get him to tell me how mad he was and I kept saying sorry.  He still seemed angry, but he let me help him put his socks on. 

He sat next to me during movie time (Toy Story 2.)  It was a rowdy night in the toddler section.  There were at least twenty children there.  Lots of staff, but it was still a bit loud.

When it was bedtime Mikey got nervous and didn't want me to leave.  I told him I'd read him a story and that's how I ended up in the room with the three boys.   It is not easy to get three 4-year-olds to wind down when they have just come from being in a noisy room with twenty other toddlers.  I read a book.  We sang songs (softly.)  I turned down the lights.  I spoke softly to them and eventually got us all down to whispers.  I was in there for an hour before they began to settle down.

When they had quieted down a bit, I tried to leave but Mikey wasn't having any of that.  He sat up and told me that if I left then he was coming with me.  He was determined and put his two feet on the floor and would not get back under his covers until I told him I would stay.

So I sat on the floor, aware of the minutes passing by and annoyed at the staff chatting in the hallway.  (Um...ladies?  Children trying to sleep in here!)  I was thinking to myself, "Okay, what can I do to get them to sleep faster so I can get out of here?"  And then I realized - why do I care how fast they fall asleep?  Where do I have to go?  I'll just go home, eat a late dinner and sit in front of the TV.  Why am I in such a hurry to do that?

The meaninglessness of my work life has been bothering me lately.  I like the people I work with.  I enjoy the freedom that I have and the fact that in a typical day I get to use both my left and right brain.  I am grateful that my efforts contribute to this company staying afloat and therefore seven other people get to keep their jobs. But really, what I am doing?  Helping to sell stupid crap that nobody really needs.

This volunteer thing is the best thing I do for my soul all week. 

Once I realized that, I sat there in the dark with the three boys with a much calmer mind and heart.  I rubbed Mikey's back for a while.  Then rubbed Jonathan's back.  I was no longer focused on completing a task.  I was just happy to be there with them and glad to know that my presence brought them comfort.

Study of a Sleeping Child by Václav Malý

Nobody puts Baby in a corner (or gets in the way of her morning coffee)

So this morning, I had a little encounter with an 18 to 20-year-old “I am invincible and look how fast my car can go” young man.  You know the ones I am talking about.  They speed through parking lots in their crappy Hondas; race through our neighborhoods with their Nisson POS; and hold the mistaken notion that they have complete control over their cars and all the other objects in the world around them.

It was a battle over the Starbucks' drive-thru.  The young man didn’t stand a chance.

The Starbucks was on a busy road with a small parking lot.  I entered the Starbucks' parking lot from the road – what you might call the front entrance.  He went around to enter from the back alley.  There was a minivan pulling out of a parking space in front of me, so I patiently waited.  The minivan then headed in the direction of the back alley to exit.  The young man came flying around that corner, clearly intent on cutting me off and getting to that drive-thru first.  According to my set of rules, if I am in the parking lot first, I get to go first.  I sometimes enter from the back alley, but if there is a car already in the parking lot, heading for the drive-thru, I defer to them and let them go ahead. 

So he comes whipping around the corner and he most definitely should have slowed down when he saw the minivan heading towards him.  I'm sure the minivan had to slam on its brakes.  But he didn’t slow down at all.  I saw his intention and did not hesitate.  I had a little jump on him so I refused to back down and kept going at a normal speed right into the drive-thru ahead of him.  It was close.  Very close.  We didn’t make eye contact.  I tried to act like it was oh-so casual.

What I did next is a little weird.  I felt like I had the right to gloat a little about my victory.  Maybe flip him off and say, "Ha, ha you little jerk.  I win!"

But instead I paid for his coffee.  Take that, punk!

 Dame mit Kaffeetasse (Lady with Coffee Cup) by Emile Eisman-Semenowsky

I don't know what possessed me to do it.  I might have felt slightly bad about our aggressive interaction. But only a little.  I think it was more that I was delighting in my *****Winner***** status.  I would be a benevolent dictator and buy coffee for all of the peasants.  ("Shirley Temples all around!")  Perhaps, I was trying to teach him that there are people in the world who can respond to his jerk behavior with only kindness and love.  Make him think a little about how he acts and maybe, just maybe, feel a tiny bit ashamed of himself.

Later I realized that, if he is like a typical 18-year-old male, he might not have gotten my happy-hippie peace-and-love message.  He might have thought I was trying to hit on him.  Ewwww!  That's just what the world needs - this young man's ego puffed up some more.  

"Chicks buy me coffee!  Must be the car."

Last photo is Portrait of a Young Man by Agnolo Bronzinon

An important question

Is Dr. Oz a Vulcan?

 

Has anyone ever explored this question?

 It is more noticeable when you see him on TV.  The eyebrows.  The ears.  The giant brain.

 

It just makes sense, doesn't it?

Memory

I downloaded this song from iTunes this week:



I am amazed that I still know all the words - what - 30 years later? I'm fascinated by the fact that there is a place in my brain where the lyrics to this song reside. There are neurons buried somewhere in that soft gray mass in my head, which have been so deeply imprinted by this song that even though I rarely access the memory, it is still there in full. A cascade of synapses fire, sleepy neural pathways awaken and these silly lyrics pour out of my mouth. I am in awe of that power.

But I am also mystified by how variable and unreliable memory can be. Beth just told me about the time that she came to visit me while I was at college in New York. I have absolutely NO memory of that. NONE. She says that she has pictures of me in my dorm room. I remember my dorm room, but don't remember Beth ever being there. She remembers that we went sightseeing together and saw the Empire State Building. If you asked me if I had ever been to the Empire State Building, I would have told you no. Even though Beth filled in some of the details of her visit, I can not conjure up a single thread of a memory about it.

So strange. So random. I suppose every memory is a miracle.

I hope when I am 96 and sitting in my nursing home chair, that I bust out this song and all the staff look at me funny. (And then probably increase my meds.)

Said a hip, hop, hippy to the hippy to hip hip a-hoppin' you don't stop rockin' to the bang bang boogie said up jump the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie-bee.

Party Pooper

Gross discussion of bodily functions below. If you can't handle it, stop reading.

QUESTION:
Should a person be worried if her (kinda loose) poop this morning was a bright red color?

ANSWER:
Not if she drank a huge glass of beet juice last night.

This happened to me this morning. When I noticed it, I started to think, "What the...." and then I remembered the beet juice.

Actually it was orange/beet juice but the orange flavor was nowhere to be found. Beets just take over everything. Like some obnoxious guest at a party who hijacks every conversation and has to be the center of attention the whole time.

I'm roasting a bunch of vegetables in the oven right now, including beets.

The beets had better not ruin the party.

A good night

It's not always crazy or difficult or heartbreaking when I volunteer. It seems that I tend to write about the times that frustrate me. Probably because it is a good way to vent those feelings.

This past Friday was a good night with an interesting group of kids. Ages ranged from 3 to 6. They all seemed rather well adjusted and relaxed. They played really well together - very few episodes of squabbling, grabbing of toys or acting out. It was nice.

I played dolls with a 5-year-old who was a great Mommy. Tucked her dolls in with blankets and then grabbed a play purse and said, "I'm going out for a while. You watch them and I'll be back in a little bit." She walked around the playroom in a very determined way, like she was really intent on getting some errands done. When she got back, I gave her the report that all of the babies were good while she was out.


The fire alarm went off in the building while we were in the playroom. A piercing, high-pitched alarm that forces you to leave because it makes you feel like your brain is going to melt. Everyone was extremely calm and all the children walked quietly out of the building with staff shepherding them along. One of the staff counted the kids twice as we headed for the door. Not one kid got freaked out by the squealing alarm and flashing lights.

They have a big plastic stroller outside, with seats for six. Six kids got strapped in and two others just held hands with us. The stroller would be used to move the children quickly if there were a real emergency. We stood outside the building for a few minutes until someone determined that it had been a false alarm and we all went back inside. I was impressed by how calm all of the children remained throughout the whole thing. I think six of them were quite disappointed that they didn't actually get to take a ride in the big, plastic stroller.

Overall, it was a good night and I had fun.

Things NOT to do while driving

1. Talk on your cell phone.

2. Text on your cell phone. (It is amazing to me that laws have to be created for this one.)

3. Stare at your digital odometer when it shows 99,999 miles because you want to see it change to 100,000 miles.

I have done #1 on rare occasions. Yes, that's right. I'll admit it. But I choose not to do it on a regular basis. No phone call is worth the distraction. If I were the preeminent emergency brain surgery expert who had to take calls from other doctors attempting to save lives - then MAYBE. Maybe I would take a call while driving.

If I ever attempted to do #2, you would be reading about the horrible crash that I would inevitably cause after making that colossally stupid decision.

I did #3. My beautiful 2001 Prius has hit 100,000. On my lunch break from work, I knew it was about to happen. I really did stare at the odometer a bit too much, drove slower than I usually do and was a potential menace on the roads. But I did see it change to 100,000!


I never understood people who get emotionally attached to cars. A car should just be basic transportation. It gets you from one place to another. That's it.

But I have to say that I love my Prius. I love its dark green color. I love its compactness. I love how quiet it is when it runs only on battery power. If anything happened to it, I would be sad. I'd have to grieve for a while. And I'd miss it. I hope it lasts another 100,000 miles.

The most popular girl in the room - unfortunately

I volunteered this past Friday and Saturday nights.

I have decided to make up fake names for the kids when I talk about them. It's easier than saying the 5-year-old, the 3-year-old. To protect their privacy, the names that I make up won't even be close to the children's real names. Also, I will not describe them physically or say very much about why they are there.

Max Liebermann: Kleinkinderschule (Bewaarschool) in Amsterdam, 1880

On Friday I spent time with Linda, a very quiet 5-year-old girl. She gradually opened up and near the end of the night told me a little about her mother and her older brother. Then she asked when I would come back. I told her it wouldn't be for many days because next week I'll be out of town.

I usually don't go on Saturdays, but I decided to go because I was thinking about Linda and the fact that I wouldn't be able to go back for while. When I got to the playroom, Linda was in a another room getting a shower so I started to read books with a cheerful 3-year-old named Joy. Actually, it was more like Joy reading books to me. She would turn the pages and chatter happily about whatever was pictured in the book.

Then a 5-year-old named Jennifer comes into the playroom after her shower. Jennifer is looking lost and crying for her mother. She must have arrived today, because she was not there last night. I ask her if she wants to read books with us. She says yes and sits on my lap. She is still crying and I listen to her while she tells me that she wants her mommy. I hug her and try to comfort her as best I can.

Linda shows up after her shower and sits down next to me. I have Linda and Jennifer each pick out a book. We read. Jennifer cries and says she wants her mommy. I continue to hold her and try to comfort her. Linda gets a sad look on her face and whispers something about her mommy under her breath. I ask Linda, "Do you miss your mommy too?" She nods her head solemnly and a tear rolls down her face. With crying Jennifer in my lap, I reach over and put my arm around Linda and tell her, "I know you miss your mommy." Linda doesn't go into full blown crying and I can see that a little bit of attention from me makes her feel better. Joy is still happily reading to herself near us.

We leave the playroom to have a snack in the kitchen. After snack time, everyone sits on the floor in the living room for singing time. The singing starts but Jennifer, still crying, leaves the floor and crawls onto the end of the couch. I'm sitting in the middle of the couch. I am hoping one of the staff will go to her. I'm only here a couple of hours a week. Wouldn't it be better for the person who is going to be spending the whole night with Jennifer to go and comfort her? Give this frightened child a chance to bond with someone other than the lone volunteer who is going to leave in an hour?


All through singing time, Jennifer is on one end of the couch, alone and crying. I'm staying on my side of the couch - waiting, waiting, waiting. Hoping a staff will reach out to her. Singing ends and they start the movie. None of the staff go near Jennifer. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I move over to Jennifer, take her in my lap and hold her while she cries. When the movie starts, Joy comes near me and also starts to say she misses her mommy. Joy sits to my right and alternates between happily watching the movie and saying she wants her mommy. Linda comes over and sits to my left. I try to smile at her and talk to her during the movie so she doesn't feel left out. She smiles back.

At one point during the movie I have crying Jennifer on my lap, Joy snuggling on my right, Linda sitting quietly on my left and a 3-year-old comes over and leans against my legs while watching the movie. I am a kid magnet.

The night has a painful ending. Joy, Linda and Jennifer all want me to read them a book in their rooms. Luckily, Linda and Jennifer are in the same room. I go to their room and start to read. Joy is screaming because she wants me in her room. I finish the book and say goodnight to Linda and Jennifer. Linda smiles at me. Jennifer continues to cry.

I go into Joy's room and she stops screaming. I read a book to her and her sister. I hear Jennifer start to cry loudly in the other room. After I finish the book I try to say goodnight to Joy and her sister and leave. I really want to go see how Jennifer is doing. But Joy starts to scream again when I try to leave. So I stay in Joy's room and sit by her bed while she falls asleep.

While I am sitting with Joy, Jennifer has escalated to screaming in the next room. I feel horrible that I can't be in both rooms at once and that I have abandoned Jennifer, who was so fragile and vulnerable all night. I hear them take Jennifer out of that room and into another. Eventually, Joy falls asleep and Jennifer quiets down.

I leave.

A heartbreaking night.

Fra Angelico

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake!

The plan is in place.

Cupcakes have been baked and frosted.

Mr. Roger's Day at the Circus DVD has been ordered.
My smiling muscles have been assigned a rigorous training regimen.

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake
has begun.

No, that is not me. She looks pretty enthusiastic though, doesn't she?

I have become tired of hearing myself complain about the movies that they show to the youngsters at the place where I volunteer. If I am not going to try to do anything about it, then I should shut my mouth.

So, what to do?

One of the reasons I haven't said anything to the staff about it is because I have never felt quite comfortable with them. Never felt like they even wanted me there. I have been going there once or twice a week since March and none of them have ever asked me my name. I usually come in, smile and say hello to the staff people who are there and then look around to see what the kids are doing. When I first started to volunteer I was completely surprised that none of them said anything to me about what I should do or how things work. I thought that if they saw a new face, someone would acknowledge my newness and try to fill me in. Nope. Nothing.

But of course I need to take responsibility for not being more assertive myself. I could have introduced myself to any of them and told them I was new and asked for direction. I felt intimidated and awkward. The vibe was so weird. Maybe I am too sensitive, but I really got the feeling that they could care less that I was there. Sometimes when I said hello they barely grunted at me. To this day, I still haven't figured out if there is one lead staff person on duty.

I am also aware that no one appreciates a person coming into their workplace and telling them how to run things. Especially if that person is only around a few hours a week.

So I go in and play with the kids. I have no problem sitting down on the floor with a bunch of two- to six-year-olds and interacting. Play just naturally happens with them. It is their sole purpose in life and it flows out and around and between and through them as easily as breathing. I'll try to engage with some of them and let them decide if they want to allow me into their play world. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. If not, I can sit back and wait for other chances to interact. Some nights I end up reading and playing with many kids at different times. Sometimes only one or two.

Kou-Kou by Georgios Iakovidis

I was talking with someone about my experiences there. She works for an organization that helps troubled teens so she knows a little about the child and foster care system in this area. She pointed out that there must be a lack of leadership there and that the staff are probably under-appreciated and don't feel like they have clear direction. In a challenging social services job like that, it is easy to become unmotivated and apathetic if you don't feel genuinely supported by your management.

It made me realize what I have to do.

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake went into effect at 1800 hours on Wednesday, July 15, 2009.

Here is the plan:

1. I have to get over my shyness and feeling awkward and start to be more engaging and friendly with the staff. I have to initiate conversations and ask them questions and start calling them by name. I have to get past my anxiety about making small talk and just do it.

2. I will show them that I appreciate them. I baked cupcakes. I frosted them with chocolate frosting and colorful sprinkles. I brought them with me on Wednesday and gave them to one of the staff. She said thank you and I heard her tell some other staff that I had brought them in.

3. I will give them genuine compliments that acknowledge their strengths. I will ask them how the day has been going and sympathize with how hard it must be sometimes.

The goal of all this is to make them feel more comfortable with me and make me more comfortable with them. Then it will be easier to approach one of them with a suggestion or concern. Hopefully I can bring up my concerns about the scary movies in such a way that they will not feel attacked and will be open to listening.

I can also bring in the Mr Rogers Day at the Circus DVD and suggest we watch it some night. If that goes over well, I can bring in more.


If I can't get through to them and there continues to be ridiculously inappropriate movies shown to these fragile youngsters, I will be forced to change the battle plan.

We'll have to resort to

Operation Ballistic Chicken
....and nobody wants that to happen.

Google & Grasshoppers

I've got a little thing at the bottom of the blog that shows traffic to the blog. It displays the location of people who view the blog and sometimes it shows that they found the blog by doing a Google search.

Every once in a while someone gets to the blog by doing a search involving grasshoppers.

Below is the funniest search I've seen so far. It might be hard to read, but if you click on the picture, you'll see it better.


And in case you can't read it, someone from the UK searched for

"how to keep a grasshopper a live when you sister has bit half of his leg of."

My previous post

I have been feeling quite bad about my last post. It feels mean-spirited. I don't like to think of myself that way. I want to think that I am kind and compassionate.

I didn't mean to be mean. It's not that I dislike people. People scare me. Sometimes I don't have the energy or confidence or something that I need to interact with others.

I could use the magic of my computer to delete the entire post. Pretend it never existed and erase all evidence of my misanthropic tendencies.

But I have to face the truth about myself. Sometimes it's a struggle to be kind and open to the world around me. I try, but I need to accept that I can't always do it.

But I'll keep trying.

The Bodhisattva of Infinite Compassion and Mercy,
Avolokitesvara Bodhisattva, in Chinese called Guanyin.

Sister, can you spare a dime?

NO! Now leave me alone!

That is the short version of this story. Here's the longer one.

I pull into a gas station. As I walk over the the automatic payment machine, I catch a glimpse of a woman standing at the side of the mini-mart. I pick up a lot of information with one glance. She is standing with crutches and a cast on one foot. She looks slightly disheveled with messy hair and the deeply tanned skin that comes from spending a lot of time outdoors (and not because she's been surfing.) The lines are deep and her skin has a roughness to it. My instant conclusion was that she was homeless or had some sort of drug or alcohol problem.

She says, "Ma'am, do you have a dollar?" She is about thirty feet away. I try to ignore her as I put my money in the payment machine. "Ma'am?" I walk to my car which is positioned behind the pump. She can't see me and I can't see her. "Ma'am?" I start to pump and I'm getting really pissed off that she won't stop trying to get my attention. (I was like a little kid who thinks that if she puts a blanket over her head, she has disappeared. She can't see me. Why is she still hassling me?)

I sometimes give handouts to people on the street. It is completely dependent on my mood, how they ask, and whether I have any money. But as a general rule, I try not to do it. It's better to give money to homeless shelters, work programs like the Salvation Army or substance abuse treatment centers. I also think I'm a popular target for it. I must have a nice face or something. There were men pumping gas around me and she wasn't calling out to any of them.

I was pumping my gas and she kept going. "Ma'am?" (Pause) "Excuse me, Ma'am?" At one point, I almost gave in. I was going to walk over there in a huff and hand her a dollar with an annoyed look on my face. Then I thought, "But that is not how you are supposed to give. If you are going to give, you should do it with a generous heart and a spirit of openness. Not because someone has irritated you and you feel bullied into it."

I was not in the mood to deal with people. Sometimes... not always, but sometimes... when I am out in the world, I feel too fragile for even the simplest interaction. I'm usually good at faking my way through things, but sometimes I just don't have the energy. I try to keep my head down, do what I have to do and then get home where I feel safe and no one will bother me. Her continuing stream of "Ma'am? Ma'am?" felt like an intrusion and genuinely unsettled me.

As I filled my tank, I was feeling a lot of distress about this and I truly struggled with it. What was the right thing to do?

And a part of my brain thought, "Hey, if you really want it that bad, lady, you can hobble your sorry ass over here and ask for it. Slacker." (Clearly that is the evil side of my brain.)

I continued to ignore her. Pumped my gas. And left. As I walked around my car to get in, she was still going...."Ma'am? Excuse me, Ma'am!" When I left, I felt like a piece of crap and I was sure the bad karma was going to get me somehow. I probably deserved it.

I drove away and thought about it for a while. And it came to me. I know what I should have done. I should have acknowledged her and told her I'm sorry, but no, I won't give you a dollar. I should have treated her with some basic human decency, even if I didn't give her what she wanted. I should have done that in spite of my irritation and anxiety.

I just couldn't do it today. Maybe next time.



And I know what she should have done. She should have shut the hell up after about the 11th time she said "Ma'am" and didn't get a response. (There's that evil side again.)

Random

My favorite frame shop in Providence.

Gee, I wonder why.

Lullabies in Crazy-Land

Volunteered on Friday. Seven kids, five staff and me.

Movie time!

The featured movie of the night was Quest for Camelot - a lovely tale with lots of sword fighting, monsters, dragons, scary bad guys and the heroine's father getting killed. Yippee!

I had a 3-year-old boy on my lap and a 5-year-old girl snuggling next to me. The boy was one of those kids who keeps a barrage of questions coming throughout the movie. I love that. Shows he is curious and paying attention. Sometimes kids like that get shushed for talking. I'm glad it didn't happen this night. I liked answering his questions.

The heroine's name is Kayley (I'm sure that Kayley was a really popular girl's name during the Middle Ages.) The knights are meeting and the bad guy starts a big fight where they all draw their swords. Afterwards, the Kayley's father lies motionless on the ground.

Boy: Is he dead?

Me: No he's just hurt. (And I get away with this lie because they don't show another clear image of his dead body.)

The bad guy has kidnapped Kayley and her mother and has turned some of the villagers into horrible monsters. Kayley gets away, but is chased by two monsters.

Boy: Are they gonna catch her?

Me: No, she'll be okay. She's strong and smart.

Boy: Will she do this? [Makes a punching motion with his hand.]

Me: [Hesitating] Um...maybe....only if she has to. Keep watching...she'll be okay.

Above is a clip from the movie. A lovely song sung by the mother as the monsters chase Kayley.

Kayley runs into the Forbidden Forest but the monsters keep following. Then we see the Damsel in Distress theme brought to a whole new level. This female character is so incredibly helpless, that she has to get saved from the monsters by a BLIND GUY. An exceptionally talented blind guy, but C'MON! (We don't watch the whole movie, so I don't get see if the heroine does anything remotely useful later on.)


They flash over to the bad guys who have Kayley's mother.

Girl: What are they doing with her mother?

Me: They are just bringing her with them. Kayley will save her mother...keep watching.

As usual we shut the move off in the middle (before the happy ending where everyone is safe and the bad guys are gone) and send the kids to bed.

Sweet dreams kids!

One lucky dog

Driving home from work, I see a loose dog on the sidewalk. No collar. Big, young, male Pit Bull. Not neutered. He's heading for a VERY busy road. Not a highway, but three lanes in each direction with a speed limit of 45 mph which means everyone goes at least 50 mph.

I pull over and get out of the car to see if he is friendly. He's not interested in coming to me. I see at least three other cars slowly following him too. He is keeping on the sidewalk, but heading right for the busy road. I drive up ahead of him and pull my car partway into a driveway to block the sidewalk. I grab some bread from the Indian food I just bought to see if he will accept a treat. (Do dogs consider naan a treat?)

He wants nothing to do with me or the treats and even though I try very hard to get him moving in the other direction AWAY from the busy road, he keeps right on going.

This is the busy street - Miramar Road.

He gets to the busy road and luckily sticks to the sidewalk. At this point there are at least seven other people following and trying to stop him. The dog doesn't belong to any of them. They are all just trying to help.

He stops near my car and two guys get out of their cars and get very close to him on the sidewalk. One says he has called Animal Control three times already, but they are busy. The dog is stopped and letting us within three feet of him, but he has no collar. We can't grab him. What could we possibly grab on to? We can tell the dog is scared and we don't know if he will act aggressively.

No one has a leash. I have one in MY car, but it's at the shop being fixed and I'm driving the loaner from the mechanic. Damn!

I take my belt off and start to give it to one of the guys who is already standing close to the dog. I'm afraid if I try to move close to him, he'll get spooked. I wanted one of the guys to try to get the belt around him. But before that can happen, more people who are trying to help, walk toward the dog and he gets spooked and gets moving again.

Then he bolts out into the street. Another woman and I follow him out in the street to try to get traffic to stop. I only go out into the first three lanes where I can see there is only one car coming and it's going slow. The other woman continues into the far three lanes where many cars are coming fast. Some guardian angels were working overtime tonight because both the dog and the woman avoided being hit by cars.

The dog then bolts back over to the same side of the street where he started. At this point, some people start to give up. One by one, the men drive away and it is now just me and two other women. What's that about? Are men impatient? Pragmatic? Quitters?!

I see a taco shop and stop in to ask them if I can buy a little bit of meat to use to entice the dog. They gave me a little cup of carne asada. I'm still driving and the other two women are on foot. I go around the block once and then stop to talk to the women. I give them the carne asada, since they are walking and might be more likely to run into the dog.

I then drive slowly around the huge block five times looking in every parking lot and sidewalk. I also drive into the gated entrance of the Marine Corps Air Station Miramar and ask the spiffy looking young Marine if he has seen a black and white dog. He said no and I was bummed that he didn't call me Ma'am. (Top Gun fans will remember that this base at Miramar is where they sent Maverick and Goose for their Top Gun training.)

I wish this story had a happy ending but it doesn't. We couldn't find the dog again. I had spent about an hour looking. I left (quitter!) and the two other women were still there trying to find them.

But wasn't it great that so many people were trying to help?

Lesson #1 - Keep a collar on your dog, even if he is just in your yard or house. How the heck can anyone catch him for you if he doesn't have a collar on?

Lesson #2 - We should all carry bags of ground beef or liver in our cars at all times. You'll eventually get used to the smell.

Lesson #3 - For goodness sake, just neuter or spay your freaking dogs. Neutered males are "less likely to roam, fight, demonstrate aggressiveness, or display hyperactive behavior" according to 50 Simple Ways to Pamper Your Dog by Arden Moore. Eighty percent of dogs struck by vehicles are unaltered males. See this link.

Lesson #4 - Women try harder than men. Or women are more patient than men. Something like that. I haven't decided yet what this lesson should be.

at the aquarium

Nieces in a bubble


My favorite picture from today

A spider's day

A spider


running from two crazy hoes


trying to save her egg sac.

And how was your day?

Where vegetables go to die

My refrigerator


And I had such high hopes for these when I bought them.


I was going to make a crunchy salad and add some marinated tofu.



I think the red pepper might still be okay. And there is some broccoli that seems to be hanging in there.





UPDATE:
All was not lost. I ate some of the broccoli last night and had the red peppers in an omelet this morning.

UPDATE 2:
The day after I ate the vegetables, I had what we will politely call some intestinal disturbance. I blame the vegetables. They were getting revenge on me - either for letting their vegetable comrades die an ignoble death, or because I ate them with no joy and gratitude, only begrudging obligation.



Got this picture from a funny post.

Science Saturday

Do you know what makes the steam come out of an iron?

No?

Neither do I.

My iron stopped working a couple of weeks ago. The steam stopped coming out. Instead it oozed water all over my clean clothes with an occasional pathetic gasp of sizzling.

My first response was to give it some time. Maybe it's just going through something. If I let it sit there for a bit and give it some space, it will work out whatever issues it is struggling with. This tactic almost worked. I was nearly able to finish the pair of pants I had been working on. One bottom part of the pants leg to go and it started spitting out water again.

So then I did what every good American consumer does - I went out and bought another iron. This one has Smart Grip AND a self cleaning feature. Ooooooh - fancy.

But I kept wondering what could make an iron break? How many moving parts could there possibly be to wear out or malfunction?

I decided to try and find out. I used the time-tested scientific method called - Rip It Apart and Look At Stuff.

A couple of screwdrivers and a wrench and here's what you get. So what did I discover?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.



There were no obviously broken or corroded parts or disconnected wires and that is the limit of my mechanical detective skills. If it doesn't LOOK broken, my scientific exploration ends. I considered plugging it in while it was in its disassembled state to see what would happen. But my common sense and rapidly fading interest in this project stopped me from going that far.

But the good news is now that I've ripped it into slightly smaller chunks, it will only take 6 million years to fully decompose in the landfill instead of the normal 10 million.

Here is a man who tried to go for one year without throwing anything out.

365 Days of Trash

Nothing to say so you get to look at bugs

Same one from Tuesday night. He was still there the next morning, so I had to take more pictures.