tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68295438267297153462024-03-14T04:21:18.381-07:00I Wonder WyeMusings on life on and off Wye MountainI Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.comBlogger319125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-59724363675385086262014-05-13T16:27:00.002-07:002014-05-13T16:27:36.430-07:00Tasty Treats<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">Those who read this blog regularly know cooking and baking are hobbies </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">and a</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> stress-reliever when I have the time to indulge in it. Last week I tested a recipe before I made it for mom on Mother's Day, and it was so delicious I think it's the best cake I have made this year. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>MANDARIN OLIVE OIL CAKE</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Serves 8</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Prep 20 min. Total time 3 hrs b/ c of cooling</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/2 c . olive oil, plus more for pan</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 1/2 c . all-purpose flour, spooned and leveled, plus more for pan</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/2 t. baking powder</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/4 t. baking soda</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/2 t. pinch a pinch of fine salt</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">3/4 c. whole milk</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">2 T. unsalted butter, melted</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 t. pure vanilla extract</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 T. finely grated mandarin zest, plus 6 T. mandarin juice (about six mandarins)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 c. granulated sugar</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">2 large eggs</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 14 c. confectioner's sugar</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">HEAT oven to 350 degrees. Brush a loaf pan with o oil and dust with flour, tapping out excess.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">WHISK together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and 1/2 t. salt in medium bowl, set aside. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, butter, vanilla, mandarin zest, and 4 T. of the mandarin juice; set aside.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">BEAT the granulated sugar and eggs in a large bowl with an electric mixer on med-high until light and fluffy -- 2 to 3 minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">REDUCE speed to low and add the flour mixture and milk mixture alternately, beginning and ending with the flour mixture and mixing well between additions. (The batter will be thin),</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">TRANSFER the batter to the prepared pan and bake until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 60 minutes (or 70). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">COOL cake in pan 30 minutes, transfer to wire rack to cool completely.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">COMBINE the confectioner's sugar, the remaining juice and the remaining pinch of salt in a small bowl. Whisk until smooth. Add a teaspoon of water or more juice is needed to loosen. Drizzle over cooled cake. Let set before serving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">There are a few things Arkansas is 'famous for,' in the food category: pink tomatoes, peaches, watermelon, and finally -- strawberries! The strawberries came out two weeks ago so I have been stocking up. When not gobbling them up whole or freezing them, I am using them any way I can. Excy loves my strawberry-rhubarb pie, but my frequent staples are shortbread and an Indian strawberry bread. If anyone is interested, I'll post these as well.</span></span><br />
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I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-18250070481838387222014-05-03T14:19:00.001-07:002014-05-03T14:19:51.820-07:00Weekend UpdateWell, she did <i>not</i> take Frodo and Charlie. After numerous email's, buying more of his meds to get them stocked up, and assuring her they are indoor-outdoors cats, great hunters, and Frodo takes his little pill easily, she canceled our meeting, and then a day later wrote to say 'her husband was concerned about giving Frodo his pill.' <i>Seriously? Lady you contacted ME.</i> I understand there are lots of cats that need homes who don't have to take a 5 mg pill, but I was still annoyed, so didn't respond (after all, what was there to say?) -- but also glad not to worry about them running off. I had assured her they were to come back to us should it not work out, but you never know what runs through a cat's head, ha...<br />
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Thanks, all, for not dropping me from your occasional reading list of blogs. Mom has been in and out of the hospital and between those dramas, their dr appts., beginning to get the house for sell, a few freelance writing and editing projects, etc., etc., the blog writing has slipped away. Mom's doing okay (for now), and the dr added two more chemo treatments, thinking we may be able 'to stay on top of it,' even though there is no cure. She has scans in two weeks. Other than that encouraging information, the biggest news is we finally, finally, forced them into getting a personal caregiver to help four hours twice a week by threatening to quit before we all fell apart. We have been struggling for 9 months and are tired of triage management -- a caregiver is going to take a <i>huge</i> load off me. It took a few meetings with a social worker, their new geriatric internist, family meetings, and my melt-down and threat to make it happen, though.<br />
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T just started last week, so this is still on a trial basis, but I think it's going to work out. Dad has turned on his charm and she 'gets' his dry humor, and mom is the kind of gracious lady who writes a thank you note after<i> receiving</i> a thank you note or a get-well card, so I think the parents will be on the best behavior and they will all get along fine. T is sweet but strong enough to insist on their having a meal or taking a stroll around the yard. She will take care of meals, laundry, housework, and errands. I am thrilled to have a pair of eyes and ears on them in the home and not to spend 3 hours cleaning out their refrigerator or throwing out pantry items from the '80s. When I found out dad's answer to their pantry moths was to put mothballs on the shelves, I decided it was the final straw. I was not moving into my old bedroom and it was just a matter of time before we were all spending the night in the hospital again.<br />
The hospital couch-into a bed was clearly designed by a misanthrope (who should be forced to sleep on it every night for a month) and it's taken me awhile to get 'back to normal' (some semblance of it, anyway). <br />
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Last Saturday we had our Wing Spur fundraiser. Unfortunately everything in the state of AR was also planned for that weekend. We were forced into the date because the ASPCA is giving 90 nonprofits a chance to win a $10,000 grant based on how much we raised and how many people showed, and they chose the date because it was the 100-year-anniversary of the first arrest of a man for abusing a horse. The grant will be taking into consideration how small or large the nonprofits are and based more on the activities planned for the day. We had six artist booths, face-painting, and a fishing tournament for the kids (complete with an awesome bass trophy that also featured a horse on it!), hotdogs and burgers and vegan fare for folks, and of course, horse tours. It was a fun day, and not as disastrous as we feared (no one was sending donations or RSVPs!). But our regulars were busy and didn't respond, so we didn't raise much, and will have to do something in the fall. And being associated with the ASPCA hurt us a bit, since we have hunters around here who apparently take umbrage with the organization. All we care about is feeding the horses, and if we can win 10,000 so be it, but they didn't see it that way and a few didn't make an appearance. If you're on FB go friend the 'Wing Spur wild horses' page and see the pictures. We will eventually have them on the web page, but honestly with everything that must be done these days it's not high on the priority list (I know; I bad).<br />
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An eagle was back fishing the pond. Maybe he will be a regular. The mama 'coons are coming up during the day to eat and take a break while the little ones sleep. The horses are loving the weather and swimming in the pond……I hope that you also enjoy the weather before the dog days kick in……..I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-86341846559037942702014-03-17T15:09:00.002-07:002014-03-17T15:09:41.633-07:00A Hundred Years Ago Today…...<i>..Sgt Pepper taught the band to play! Sorry, couldn't help myself……there is a column in our newspaper that reprints news from 100, 50, 25, and 10 years ago. I thought this article from 1914 was worth featuring both for the story and the antiquated writing…….</i><br />
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One stray, hungry mule nearly demoralized the Argenta police force last night, when about 9 o'clock it started to roam aimlessly along East Washington Avenue and the patrolman on that beat and several of his friends organized and went in force to put the mule under arrest.<br />
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A crowd quickly formed, attracted by the voices of the pursuers, and a deputy constable and several bystanders tendered their services in the chase. Although the patrolman making the arrest declares that the animal was insulted when approached by a blue coat, the mule immediately became as gentle as a lamb when the same officer brought him a large bundle of hay and a sack of corn.<br />
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Peace was declared by the mule, he signifying his intention to become a permanent boarder, by peacefully wagging his tail.<br />
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<i>Isn't that wonderful? </i><br />
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Everybody cross your fingers and send out your best prayers/rants/and chants -- someone is interested in taking in the studio cats, Frodo and Charlie! They need a 'forever' home, so we are hoping it will happen……one hitch is Fro has to take a every-other-day Prednisone pill for his autoimmune system, and the husband is worried about that and the cost -- I bought some more, which will get them 4 months along, and it isn't expensive. Frodo takes the pills willingly since he knows breakfast is following the duty-dose. Maybe he also knows they make him a bad ass: The steroids have pumped this boy up to 20 lbs., all muscle! But still a sweetie, who wants his own person and a willing lap….I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-84528728541108900862014-03-06T20:43:00.002-08:002014-03-06T20:52:25.931-08:00On the Periphery of the Oscars<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">In 1989 I was 26 years old, and felt like I was living in an updated version of the <i>Mary Tyler</i> <i>Moore </i>show (in a good way). I had been divorced two years, loved my job, loved the condo I lived in, and life in general was good. In February I took a business trip to Los Angeles to attend a Design Show that coincided with the week of the Oscars. Being a huge movie fan, I was excited by the coincidence.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">I spent the first four nights of the week in LA at a swank hotel in the Hollywood area to be closer to my editor and 'the action' of the Design show. One of the Oscar parties was being held at the hotel and the staff was busy setting up downstairs around the pool and lobby.....they were bringing in live lions in cages (which I felt really sorry for), a full bar, flowers, catering --the whole deal, when I left for appointments. The magazine hired black Lincoln town cars to ferry us back and forth that week and I was wearing my typical 'New Yorker/East Coast' outfit of black with black sunglasses that day. By the time I was returned to the hotel early evening, crowds were standing on the sidewalks watching arrivals. The driver drove past the taped-off security line and up the circular drive to drop me off. As I stepped from the car, people actually clapped, assuming I was 'somebody famous.' It was very funny, but I didn't crack a smile and instead pretended I was 'in the industry' as I swept into the lobby. Later that night I went down to watch the festivities and was leaning against a pillar with my arms crossed, watching the mingling beautiful people and trying to catch a glimpse of a celebrity when some woman came up and asked if I was 'Security!' Since at the time I weighed 125 lbs soaking wet I wondered what she thought I could accomplish.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">After my work week I stayed on through the weekend and switched over to the Chateau Marmont. I knew the history of the hotel from 1920s Hollywood crowd on, and also admired the architecture, and had always wanted to stay there. It was well worth it. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">And there was more celebrity spotting: during 'happy hour' in the lobby the first evening, the actor </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">John Shea was giving me the eye. As he was walking towards me two little old ladies rushed up to him to chatter and get his autograph...he looked at me and smiled and shrugged as I got into the taxi for dinner. At the restaurant I saw Bob Hope sitting two tables across from ours holding court. He had his table-mates in stitches all evening. I wish I had been close enough to eavesdrop!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">As I was checking out Sunday morning I struck up a conversation with a very familiar looking man. He looked so familiar, in fact, I assumed I had seen him all week at the Design show. I was blathering away about architecture and design when it struck me suddenly I was chatting up the playwright and actor Wallace Shawn! He saw the look of panic in my eyes as I realized I did not, in fact, know him, and he smirked as he leaned towards me and whispered "It happens all the time." </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Thank heavens he had a sense of humor. </span></span>I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-63440996152208817402014-02-27T14:48:00.002-08:002014-02-27T14:51:13.854-08:00Two quick reads<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Finding little time these days for long novels, I recommend two short reads that have crossed my path. Both are first-time fictions from friends (for full disclosure) but recommended……</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Running With George</i> by Charles Lunsford is a fictional drama with elements taken from Chip's life experiences, which gives the story its flavor of authenticity. Set in sunny Florida, the book is an absorbing drama about a man who, on the cusp of 40, finds himself at odds after his husband of 20 years dies suddenly. After a long period of mourning 'Chester' begins to wake up the fact he must move forward. After taking a hard look in the mirror and not liking what he sees, he vows to begin running. A chance encounter with a runner and neighbor leads to an unexpected new life directions, with new friends and, at long last, a new love. Whether you are gay, lesbian, transgender or straight, the story of taking risks and starting over is universally relatable. It has some steamy adult content, so make sure the kiddies don't pick it up :) <i>Running With George</i> is available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Regal crest, and has a FB page.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Immaculate Conceptions</i> by S.E. Sward is another highly fictionalized drama taken from elements of real life experience. This novel follows the adventures and experiences of four young women dealing with the pleasures and pain of relationships, marriage, and the trials and tribulations of trying to have children. The four women, having difficulty conceiving, find one another through a fertility website. Though each are dramatically different with such different lives, what follows are friendships that last through many ups and downs. You may find yourself rooting for one or more than others, but you will always remain interested in the outcome of their lives. This book is now offered as a free download: </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/s-e-sward/immaculate-conceptions-a-novel/ebook/product-18961295.html" target="_blank">Immaculate Conceptions Free eBook</a></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The author hopes you will share the story with family and friends and through word of mouth, and rate and review it on Facebook, Twitter, Amazon, Lulu, GoodReads, Book Crossing, Shelfari, Tumblr and any other social networking site you may be on. </span></span>I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-49364429765426156832014-02-07T13:58:00.001-08:002014-02-07T13:58:30.583-08:00Want some Ice?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.stitcher.com/s?eid=32233914&refid=stpr">http://www.stitcher.com/s?eid=32233914&refid=stpr</a></span><br />
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Here is the link to TALES FROM THE SOUTH podcast. I am the second storyteller.<br />
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We are engulfed in another 'Ice Age' week……so far the gutters are torn, the roof may need some work, trees are down all over, with some root balls showing, and the bamboo hiding our neighbor's trailer home and dog kennels isn't looking happy. WOWZA. More snow and ice are expected today and Monday and Tuesday.<br />
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Between running to town to drive "MR and MRS 'Daisy' " to the hospital and dr appts life's just a laugh-riot. Really considering how we can afford a trip -- anywhere - but holding up a bank seems the only option. I don't think I have the energy to deal with the fall-out from that, but we shall see.<br />
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The mustangs -- normally lovers of cold weather -- are crying 'uncle' and huddling in their running shed, which is quite unusual. The wild geese have to be held at bay or they will chase off the ducks for their food. The 'coons seldom brave weather like this to come to the terrace to eat, but when they do I keep an eye out so they don't slog through the ice and snow only to be disappointed.<br />
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The other day in ONE day I made lamb stew, chicken-cheddar-tomato stew, coleslaw, and apple pie. Now all there is to do is grow fat watching TV until we can thaw out….what are your plans this weekend? At least there is <i>Downton Abb</i>e<i>y</i> and <i>Sherlock</i> on Sunday...I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-60420200912150573522014-01-15T19:03:00.001-08:002014-01-15T19:05:21.749-08:00one wedding photo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGBO2XsMqSKdjaEkdR60VwlRYhb4PhPtRrUopzwwMYeEwsbo2WzvyhZNSUU17rNpDJVZqt1Zo-4MyREMzXlVejz9sRrujfZfEXBEYBKR3r24MzllPHOKWkb5A5VjCL7R8BmhQD8lPOl47/s1600/sc00407894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGBO2XsMqSKdjaEkdR60VwlRYhb4PhPtRrUopzwwMYeEwsbo2WzvyhZNSUU17rNpDJVZqt1Zo-4MyREMzXlVejz9sRrujfZfEXBEYBKR3r24MzllPHOKWkb5A5VjCL7R8BmhQD8lPOl47/s1600/sc00407894.jpg" height="320" width="194" /></a></div>
Some of you wanted to see a pic of us, so this is on our wedding day…Excy's hair is tied behind his back -- I rather miss it long...I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-49513021275018392992014-01-12T16:30:00.001-08:002014-01-12T16:30:13.655-08:00cricket's story<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">Hi all. I am going to tell my last story (Love Off the Record), on the NPR radio show 'Tales from the South.' It will be recorded in Jan., but aired as a Valentines Day show. If you don't get it on your local NPR I can give you a link so you can watch it </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">online sometime. The story below is one I helped my dad write about their beloved cat Cricket. I</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: 12px;">I have been pretty busy between life and also taking care of my parents. Mom's first chemo was last week and it seems I am being more and more of the care-giver….take care……hope you enjoy the story…...</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She sat regally in the middle of the Oriental rug, acting for all the world as fancy as an Egyptian ‘tomb cat,’ despite outward appearances to the contrary: rather ordinary looking, gray fur, no distinctive markings or features (unless you counted a slight overbite and alarmingly large, unblinking green eyes). “But Amy,” I moaned, “You told us she was beautiful!” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh dad, she’ll grow on you,” my daughter replied. “Besides she needs a good home. She’s just a kitten and was living in the woods. My friend wanted to keep her but his wife’s allergic to cats. But he’s taken her to the vet and she’s in great shape.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Just as I was marshaling my most cogent arguments against the situation, the cat (as if she had heard quite enough), gravely rose to all four paws, languidly stretched her full but tiny length, and walked over to me. As if to say ‘put ‘er there, pal, we’ve got a deal,’ she then reached out one of her tiny front legs and spread her toes towards me as if to seal the contract. It was the feline version of the ‘high five.’ I was rendered speechless. I was also hooked. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And so she moved in, taking immediate control of the household - my wife Ruth Ann, our elderly cat, Winston, and of course, myself. I named her ‘Cricket,’ for her high chirpy voice, which she demonstrated constantly. As several weeks went by, Cricket never settled down or stopped talking. She was telling us the saga of her life story and it was apparently a saga of infinite importance. After listening to Cricket morning, noon, and night - into the wee hours of the night, and beginning at dawn - my patience was wearing thin. The next time Amy came over I told her the cat had to go. “I just cannot stand the constant chattering. “She has got to go, as much as I hate to say it,” I said. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Well,” Amy mused, “I can’t bring her to into my house, but she could be a studio cat.” I was aghast. Their studio was 200 yards from the house! “Oh no,” I shook my head. “Cricket’s a house cat. She’d never be happy relegated to the studio!” Amy tilted her head back and smiled faintly. Needless to say, Cricket stayed where she was. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A week later we discovered Cricket was ‘in the family way.’ Despite our numerous feline companions over the years, we had never been midwives. Out came the cat books, and we started reading up on what to expect. According the ‘authorities,’ 1) We needn’t worry. Cats do this all the time and know what to do. (Except a young cat may need help with the birth. Oops). And 2) Cat mothers just want privacy. A cardboard box off by itself in an out-of-the-way closet is the perfect maternity suite.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We began feeling more secure. As weeks went by and the blessed event drew near, we prepared further. A box was made ready with several changes of towels nearby. Scissors, potions, lotions, cotton swabs, and any number of items we imagined might be needed were ready. We continued to read until we were reasonably sure our crash course in Obstetrics had made us fairly confident, but we wrote down the emergency vet number just in case. At last Cricket began acting nervous one day, pacing the house, poking into closets, going up and down stairs, and in general acting like something was about to happen, and soon. I told my Ruth Ann we would be proud grandparents by morning and should retire for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wrong! The prospective mother was having none of it! She wanted her midwife in constant attendance, and her birthing box in the middle of the living room. Ruth Ann managed to take the box downstairs to a somewhat quieter location, with Cricket following closely at her heels. Not long after, she hopped into the box and began the birthing process. After an hour, Cricket had delivered three fine kittens, and had done all the things she was not supposed to know how to do, so the midwife finally retired for the night. Imagine our surprise when the next morning we peeked into the box and discovered <i>five</i> healthy looking kittens. They were all cleaned up, nursing well, and seemed to have the requisite number of appendages. Cricket looked tired but seemed very pleased with herself.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For three weeks we didn’t see much of the little mother. We checked the box and kittens frequently, but Cricket seemed to have everything under control. Once or twice a day, a very tired Cricket drug her way upstairs to the kitchen and her food bowl, after which she came in the living room and flopped down with us for some much-deserved rest. It wouldn’t be long, however, before she’d hear cries from downstairs and off she’d go for another feeding. After three more weeks of this, the kittens were almost ready to be weaned.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Since the 1970’s, we have fed raccoons nightly on the upper deck. When they appear in the evening we bring out the day-old bread and rolls we buy for them. Generations of mama ‘coons have indoctrinated their kittens to this ritual. Apparently, Cricket had been registering all this with interest. One morning we went down to inspect the kittens, and found that sometime in the night Cricket had come up to the kitchen and jumped on the counter, grabbed a large plastic bag of rolls, and dragged them down the stairs and into the box as if to say “Okay kids it’s time! You’re on your own!” We then decided it was time to introduce the tribe to ‘real’ kitten food.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A year later, Cricket was sole cat (Winston had died after a long full life). We went on our annual trip to Florida for a month. We felt bad about leaving Cricket alone in the house so long, but had daily caretakers checking on her. When we got home, though, Cricket was fit to be tied with us. We were used to cats expressing their displeasure at our absence when we returned from trips, but Cricket was determined to bring our ‘penance’ to a new level! She watched us dump our suitcase on the bed and go outside for another load. Once back inside the house, she commanded our attention with her meows, and then as we watched, she stalked down the hall, jumped on the bed, and looking directly into our shocked faces, proceeded to pee on our luggage. All we could do was laugh. We can also state that without a doubt, we have never been owned by a nicer cat.</span></div>
I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-34151789207701521892013-12-27T14:33:00.004-08:002013-12-27T14:33:58.866-08:00Love, Off the Record<div style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This essay was published in this month's new <b><i>CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL</i></b>: <i><b>the power of dating</b></i> book. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">I hope you and yours had a </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">wonderful</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> holiday; best wishes for the New Year!! </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By 1989, I had been happily divorced two years, having weathered a few semi-relationships that failed to get off the ground for various reasons, and several disastrous first dates. The closest I had come to a serious boyfriend was an architect who lived in New York. Since I lived in Virginia and worked in D.C. at the time, the distance between us was perfect. But this relationship also fizzled out. I was fine with that. I was happy with my work and enjoyed hanging out with friends, my family, and my cat.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I was unprepared for an encounter with destiny when my editor-in-chief tossed a project on my desk with the command to “interview this person.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As the associate editor of an architecture magazine, I was responsible for writing features on new projects, news developments, and products. This particular design project, soon to open in Austin, TX, was a combination piano/pool hall. <i>Not many of those around</i>, I hazarded to guess. Eric’s Pool Hall, as it was called, was executed with whimsy and flair, and I looked forward to talking to the imaginative and witty architect responsible. I picked up the telephone.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Usually, when an editor from an architecture magazine is on the line, explaining the nature of the call, you can hear the excitement in their voice when they find out they are about to be published. The first words out of this guy’s mouth, however, sounded like a sneer. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’d ya do? Pick that out of the round file?” he replied flatly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Feeling chastened and not a little awkward and offended, I quickly replied with as much starch in my voice as I could muster that I could tell he wasn’t interested, thanked him for his time, and hung up. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I sat there wondering what to tell my editor, the phone rang. It was Mr. Surly Guy, all apologetic and charming. He explained he had been caught up short; he had tried to retrieve the project slides a year ago and had been told the art department had ‘lost’ them, and he had been annoyed. As he made his apologies I couldn’t help but note how warm and masculine his voice sounded over the telephone. We agreed to set up a phone interview the following day.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Typically my interviews are a mix of handwritten notes and a tape recorder used as a backup and safety measure. As I had hoped, the interview was a lot of fun -- more so than usual, in fact. As I replayed the tape, I was struck by the realization there was about a 50-50 spread of business and all <i>ha-ha-ha </i>personal information flying back and forth. We had gotten pretty flirty. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Over the next two weeks while I worked on the piece and chose slides for the layout, I was always pleasantly excited when I had a reason to call him up to confirm a fact or ask about a detail. I couldn’t deny I called him more than I usually did a designer when writing up a project. Finally the article was finished. I was satisfied with it, knowing he would also be pleased with the result. A bit regretfully, I called for the last time to thank him for his time and input, and let him know when the feature would be published. I made sure to get his address to send a complimentary copy.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The following day the phone rang. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hey, kid. I just missed talking to you,” he said. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As much as I enjoyed it, too, it was obvious I couldn’t have a personal conversation at work. The next thing I knew he had my home phone, and it became a habit for him to call around 10 at night. Both of us were night-owls, and we’d stay on the line for an hour at a time. The nightly routine was one I looked forward to.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After four weeks, he began broaching the subject of meeting in person. I brushed it off each time. He lived in Maryland, more than an hour away from D.C., but truthfully, I was enjoying my new telephone buddy and didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I was afraid the bubble might burst if he was short, fat, or bald. Enjoying my flirt fantasy, I continued to put him off. After a few more weeks he finally he told me was driving down that Saturday to take me to lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I can’t, I have to work,” I quickly countered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You have to eat; I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon,” he said in a voice that broached no further argument.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After brief descriptions <i>“I’m tall and dark-haired,” “I’m tall with auburn hair,”</i> we hung up for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That Saturday as the noon hour approached, I was nervous as I reluctantly sat on a bench in the lobby awaiting my fate for the next hour. (Or so I thought). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Soon a <i>very</i> tall, good-looking, slender man with shoulder-length wavy hair pushed through the entry doors. My heart did an actual flip-flop as these thoughts bubbled in my head: <i>Shit! I don’t want to get married again!</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Many years later as we were having lunch with a friend, she asked us how we had met. As I told her this story with my now-husband listening beside me, I laughed, since I had never told him my first reaction to our meeting.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You don’t know the whole story,” he said with a chuckle.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Apparently, when we hung up after my initial interview request, he had called my boss.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s the matter, Don? Am I slipping? You or a senior editor have always reviewed my work before, and today I just got a call from some associate editor.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You want to meet this girl,” my editor-in-chief replied. “Don’t you have a restaurant you designed up there somewhere? You should take her to lunch.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What?! I’ve never had to take my editor out to <i>lunch</i> before!” now-hubby protested.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You aren’t <i>listening </i>to me!” my editor replied, “You need to <i>meet</i> this girl.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Don Canty. My crusty old editor-in-chief. A romantic, and I never knew it. How I wish I had learned the whole story before he had died. I would have written him to thank him for steering me into a relationship with the love of my life and into a very happy marriage, now in it’s 23rd year.</span></div>
I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-60016235268474845882013-11-30T14:35:00.002-08:002013-11-30T14:35:24.709-08:00I Flip for You<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">this is an essay I </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">recently</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> submitted for a contest </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">about</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> meeting my </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">first</span><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> 'kid,' I adopted as an adult...</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was 21 and living more than 1400 miles from home when I decided to adopt a cat. I had always lived with cats growing up, and was wildly lonely for their companionship. Arriving at the Humane Society on a mild winter’s day I was led by an attendant down a cinderblock hallway into the cattery. Then she left, closing the door behind her, and I was the only person in the room. Two banks of cages were stacked from floor to almost-ceiling on either side of the room, like kitty-condos. The animals were separated by sexual orientation.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Motivated by the fact males were five dollars cheaper to adopt than females, and money was tight, I stepped over to the boy’s side of the room. As I began peering inside cages I grew disappointed. There wasn’t much movement. Most dozed in tight fur-balls; others gazed into the distance, morose and avoiding eye contact. Some appeared so miserable I feared they were ill. My heart sank as I wondered if this had been a good idea, after all. I grew more depressed thinking about the fate of most of these sweet innocents. I tried talking gently to them and put my hands on the wire cages so they could smell my scent. None seemed interested.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">By contrast the female side of the room was a beehive of activity. Some slept, but many others paced their compartments, watching their neighbors with interest. Kittens played as mother cats dozed nearby. As I continued to glance across the room one small cat in particular caught my eye. She stared at me fixedly. When I stared back she appeared to smile. She had the longest, curliest whiskers I’ve ever seen, and as we held each other’s gaze she seemed to beam like the Cheshire cat in the Alice in Wonderland book. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And then she began to do something I never thought I would ever see a cat do -- something that confounds me to this day and causes people to shake their heads in wonder and skepticism when I tell them this story -- she started performing backflips against the door of her cage.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I’ve said, I’ve lived with cats all my life, and I know they are quite acrobatic. But this was a new one on me. I hadn’t even seen kittens perform this feat. Entranced, I walked over until I stood before the cage, which was about five feet off the floor. After about four flips the cat stopped her performance, and we sized each other up. The sign on her cage said she was 12 weeks old and had come alone to the shelter. It didn’t say how long she had been there or what the circumstances had been. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now she sat quietly, an alert, seemingly pleased expression on her face. She was gorgeous -- I couldn’t believe anyone could give her up. One side of her face was orange and the other black, separated by a blaze of white down her nose. Huge green eyes stared into mine with a bemused expression. She was a tortoiseshell and her long, fine hair was a swirl of black, tan, orange, and brown. Aside from the nose blaze, the only white on her was a ruff of thick hair around her neck, white ‘gloves’ on her front paws, and ‘gogo’ boots on her hind legs. She appeared to have some Maine Coon in her, too, with her thick wicked hair and tufts of hair between her toe pads. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We must have stared at one another several minutes before I realized the other cats around us, formally so active and vocal, had grown very quiet. There must have been 40 cats in that room, and there wasn’t a sound.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Feeling a touch apprehensive at the prospect of opening the cage, I hesitated. There was no telling what this cat would do! I introduced myself and asked if she would like to get out. She stretched in response and looked expectantly at the door. The room remained uncharacteristically quiet. I felt I wasn’t the only one holding my breath; the little cat, on the other hand, seemed utterly unconcerned. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once on the floor, after a cursory sniff of my clothes and shoes, she immediately began exploring her surrounds. She had obviously been curious about her fellow in-mates. I watched as she walked from cage to cage. After several minutes as she continued her exploration, ignoring me completely, I scooped her back in my arms. “Okay kitty. You need to go back in the cage. I’ve got a decision to make,” I said, placing her back inside the container. She replied by giving me a look of utter horror and betrayal, as if I had backed out of an agreement long since made. Then she started meowing. Loudly.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> As soon as she began to cry, all the other cats joined in. The room was suddenly such a cacophony of strident howls, I was afraid the shelter workers would run in and haul me away, convinced I was torturing a cat. “Okay, Okay! I’m sorry,” I said, hastily re-opening the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The instant I took her in my arms again all cries stopped instantly. I was stunned. And then she snuggled into my sweater and placed her soft furry face against my cheek. Both front paws wrapped around my neck in an embrace. We had found each other.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">GoGo was my best friend for 17 years. We moved across the country twice and weathered six shorter moves, as well as marriage, divorce, re-marriage, and my chronic illness and subsequent 14 surgeries. That memorable adoption day was the beginning of a remarkable friendship I cherish and continue to miss to this day.</span></div>
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I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-19550927458566666702013-11-25T13:42:00.000-08:002013-11-25T13:42:12.441-08:00Thanks--givingSince my last post --and all within 8 weeks -- after experiencing both parents diagnosed with cancer, wrecking a 2-day-old new car after the newly installed hand controls malfunctioned -- a car I still don't have back from the shop after 4 weeks and that is supposed to take two more weeks, incidentally -- tests for pain to determine whether or not the transplant was injured (it wasn't), a 1200 deposit not credited to my checking account, resulting in over-draft fees all week that had me tearing my hair out, two friends who died within a week, and not to mention 'mundane' concerns, such as financing a 1000 loan every month for the sanctuary to keep the mustang band intact -- I was beginning to lose it.<br />
<br />
Believe me when I tell you you did <b>not </b>want to hear from me. Even <b>I</b> didn't want to hear from me. I alternated between wanting to burrow under the covers and wish sundown would hurry up so I could go back to bed, and selling my worldly goods on Ebay and loading up the cats and driving off into the sunset.<br />
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I'd be a bad daughter to leave now, as tempting as it is to consider. Or a wimp. Since I'm neither, I have had to wait until my innate positive attitude adjustment finally re-surfaced and I have begun to regain equilibrium again. No one's living an easy life these days (who I know, anyway). When suckiness piles on and you consider a name change to 'Job,' and wonder WTF the Universe has in mind, where do you go? What do you do?<br />
<br />
I am focusing for the moment on simple pleasures of the <i>now</i>. Sometimes it feels like all I can process anyway. Cups of hot, properly brewed tea. A good book. Conversations with close friends. Dark chocolate. Cats. Exercise. Good food. Movies. (Yeah, escapism is definitely necessary).<br />
<br />
This roller coaster will eventually flatten and the ride will ease up. And I'm tired of spending energy railing and grabbing for the rail bars in a panic. It's time to regain control over my actions and direct my energy to what positive emotions and pursuits I can.<br />
<br />
Here are some wonderful things that have happened we have or are rejoicing in: Three sets of partners are now married in civil ceremonies ranging from New Mexico, New York, and Vermont, with receptions to honor those commitments here at home; I won another essay to be published in December; all the animals are doing well; and I am hosting a baby shower for a young mom-to-be who became pregnant with twins on her first round of IVF...<br />
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Best wishes to everyone for a holiday of Thanksgiving, wherever you are and wherever you are on your journey. I look forward to watching the Macy's parade, as I do annually, LOL. With a lump in my throat. Blessings…….I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-2509531868218756262013-09-24T15:35:00.000-07:002013-09-24T15:35:05.301-07:00LIFE. The four-letter wordI seem to have been in a mental fugue state the last part of this summer. I think it's slowly lifting. A dear friend once noted this seems to coincide with my August birthday; not so much a cause for celebration, as a date with 'payment upon demand' notices, underlining just what I haven't gotten around to that I thought would surely have been addressed by now...Not that I mind getting older. I'm rather pleased about that.<br />
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I am regaining ground on the health-front. Getting the monthly infusions in the home state is a huge relief. The side-effects of the transplant that were the most unpleasant, to say the least, are easing, and a recent trip back east to NIH* last week proved to be a positive one (those pesky brain and spine tumors are behaving themselves).<br />
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The head of urology at NIH has become somewhat of a friend over the years. Since he was responsible for the loss of my right kidney in 2009 (it sucks to be a pioneer and a guinea pig for science at times), he was more than amenable when I asked if he would consider making a donation to my nonprofit kidney account, since I am going to be paying for these expensive transplant drugs for the rest of my life. Maybe he actually will.<br />
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Since June we have been trying to figure out how to save the sanctuary land and the mustangs (our partner decided she wanted to sell out, so we are scrambling to find ways to can buy her out and keep the horses together on the land they are used to -- all of which involves putting the house on the market -- something we planned to do anyway, just not under the gun like this). We have suffered through one real-estate company and agent, and are about to go through the trial of finding another to re-list the house. We are working through bank loans. Not sure any of this will work, or work in time, anyway. I am finding there is a reason so many jokes disparage bankers, lawyers, and agents...apologies to readers of any of these professions. I am willing to listen.<br />
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Both parents have had significant medial dramas this summer -- the kinds that will continue...now I am firmly a bonafide member of the dreaded 'sandwich' generation (seriously, could we not have made up a better name? Plain stupid. But the people instigating the title are stressed and tired; I get it). I am lucky beyond measure they are both still in my life, and there isn't much I wouldn't do for them. I just wish there were more I could do that would make a difference. And that they wouldn't resist the things that would be make every-day things/life easier. This flip-flopping of traditional roles is as wearisome and tedious and predictable as everyone has talked and written about.<br />
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To counter all the stress I am turning more and more into myself. On the days I am lucky enough to spend at home, most days exercise, reading, and writing comprise the majority of the day. And at night after chores we settle down to a classic movie taped off TCM. Yes, it's a rut. After living through what we have and dealing with what we are, a rut sounds pretty good right now. There's a lot to be said for fantasy, and I am working on some fiction, something new to me, since my forte has always been non-fiction and personal essay. A few more essays have or are about to be published, and I am writing a memoir of sorts. What will be done, if anything, with any of that is anyone's guess,. But I find it necessary and cathartic.<br />
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This is also the time of year much of the wild-life move on. The beaver took off months ago, looking for more willowy green pastures (or murky-blue watery ones). He will be back to trim the shoots around the pond back this spring. The geese are busy taking the goslings out on practice runs and practicing take-offs and landings on the pond. The domestic ducks are getting upset they will be left behind. Somehow this summer another domestic duck showed up on the pond. Since they can't fly, we guess someone dumped him, much like they dump their dogs and cats on the mountain for someone else to take responsibility. I wish our three ducks were nicer to him, but they insist on making him feel an interloper, even though he's clearly here for the duration.<br />
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The fox family has gone. The six baby 'coons are almost as big as their momma now. Their rough-housing on the skylight and gamboling on the terrace has become a thing of the past as they press on with more mature 'coon responsibilities, such as digging up the plants and gouging holes in the screen. Excy's favorite is a bold little guy who tries to enter the house when the door opens and likes to hang upside down on the screen or eye-level so he can fully beg to best advantage. I keep reminding Excy no new owner will be as enamored of 'coon pets and it won't be fair to them or the 'coons to let them continue to sponge off us. (Though if people move out here they had better like the country -- and wild -- life). My philosophy has been that once the 'coons are older than three months and mom isn't nursing, I cut off the gravy train so they can get used to no more hand-outs while it's still pleasant and the young ones can be totally self-sufficient before the cold months set in.<br />
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The cabin is finally finished but for re-daubing the exterior and landscaping, and although it's furnished, I will slowly be furnishing it and fixing it up nice enough for short-term rental. It's an awesome spot and people have told me they want to stay in it and gaze over the pond and watch the horses roam. I hope we don't have to sell it off and start all over again. It's taken a long time to see these things settle and fall into place.<br />
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*flying to National airport in DC (I can't call it Reagan Nat'l; it was difficult enough living there thorough the Reagan years. Seems we left just when things were getting interesting with Clinton moving in the WH), the day of the Navy yard shooting was interesting, to say the least. We also were at NIH the week after 9/11. Seeing tragedies up close compounds the horror.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-4658333816208323162013-08-21T20:58:00.001-07:002013-08-21T20:58:17.797-07:00HATS OFF!<b>Update:</b> The 17th was the first anniversary of the kidney transplant. "Golden Champ" is working fine. I wanted to host a cook-out to celebrate with a few of the people who went out of their way to support us, but Cathy was out of town. Can't have a proper celebration without my donor! So we post-phoned until the fall. It will be cooler by then anyway. And Monday was the first infusion I had in Little Rock....it will be a real blessing to us not to have to be on the road five days for a 2-hr appointment. When they saw us get up extra-early, the cats assumed we were hitting the road. They seemed happy the suitcase didn't come out and we returned that afternoon......<br />
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<b>FROM</b> the day we're born to the day we die we wear many hats as our lives unfold. They change constantly. Some we wear a short while and discard. Others we wear forever (sibling, parent, son or daughter, spouse, friend...)<br />
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Some are placed on our heads through actions and circumstances. Some we seek out or wish for. Others can wear us down, drain our energy, or take up too much time. They feel heavy, weigh us down, and can be a real burden. Others are light as a feather, and worn proudly.<br />
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Why are we given some hats and not others? Why do we select the ones we do? Some hats fit like a glove; others are so ill-fitting we can't wait to tear it off our head.<br />
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Are you wearing any hats you particularly like?<br />
Or is there one you can't wait to have lifted off your head?<br />
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Here's hoping a stiff, strong wind blows that one away and soon...I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-82458809248538993812013-07-31T15:51:00.001-07:002013-07-31T15:51:30.529-07:00Low-to-No Cash Withdrawal and DepositI've noticed I'll do everything I can not to spend the <i>cash</i> I've squirreled away for my 'rainy' day or for 'mad' money. Something about seeing that cold hard cash -- 20s, 50s, the occasional 100 dollar bill -- keeps it 'hands off.' When I <i>do</i> rifle through the stash, the low bills are the first to go.<br />
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Whereas I make the occasional dip into checking and even savings when things come up -- I had the pleasure of replacing the clothes dryer and the vacuum cleaner just the other week, for instance -- my cash box remains largely untouched. (Should you be looking for it, it's a small wooden box with the brass engraving 'I Love You Amy' that came from Excy with long-ago eaten chocolates inside).<br />
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Perhaps I should consign myself to become one of those 'ole Pioneer types who preferred to stash their cash in the mattress rather than in banks and investments. (I'd save money that way, apparently. In the bed-frame, I mean).<br />
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After I began to write about this, I read of this very phenomenon a few weeks ago in <i>Real Simple</i>. There was an '09 study prefaced where people in an experiment tended to hang onto larger bills than the 5s, 10s and 20s.<br />
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When people receive a substantial note they subconsciously realize that once they start using it, it will go away quickly. Spending smaller amounts on impulse items like candy or a Starbucks beverage, was much easier. Since I don't have the money to invest in gold or bitcoms (which sounded pretty useless from the get-go), I guess I'll stick to my system and hope for the best.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-12646511673153630562013-06-30T16:36:00.001-07:002013-07-01T15:39:23.875-07:00Civility Matters<i>Civility is based on recognizing the difference between the words </i>different<i> and </i>diversity<i>. Civility does not stand in the way of truth and moral development, but rather </i>is a precondition for them<i>. Civility is important because it allows disagreement to take place without violence and regularizes conflict disagreement to take place without violence. It regularizes conflict so that it can be </i>productive<i>. -- </i>John A. Hall,<i> The Importance of Being Civil: The Struggle for Political Decency</i><br />
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When I was growing up, my parents taught us not to discuss politics or religion with strangers or at social functions -- the gist of their advice being the two topics were 'hot' and likely to cause unnecessary contention.<br />
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As an adult, I don't necessarily find either subjects off limits, along with other things like race relations or public policies, but other than discussions with friends and family* I rarely do bring them up, though, because I don't care for the mean-spiritness and pettiness that is increasingly the norm when someone disagrees.<br />
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I am not a regular user of the social media. While I do use FB, I seldom am active, and rarely update my profile, post comments, or share photos. But I like to read how friends are doing and learn about upcoming events. It's handy. But I also find it dismaying to learn how nasty some people can get, disparaging the President or when they have a political bone to pick. There can be lots of carping and baiting.<br />
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Tragedies aren't hours old before someone places blame for a nutters shooting or bombing on the President or the political party they don't belong to, or aliens, or ((insert here)). If someone ventures a different opinion I have seen them mocked, or the recipient of nasty comments.<br />
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Clean debate that enables opposing partners to voice different opinions are increasingly rare, and arguments quickly go south, devolving into rants and seemingly petty and personal remarks. I still can't forget an email a friend sent during the Presidential election...Obama's face morphed into that of a lowland gorilla. She wrote that she "wasn't a racist, she just thought the images were interesting." Say What?? And Jane Fonda will forever be reviled and branded as a traitor for touring Vietnam during the war and for that stupid pose...despite the fact she has apologized for "being used" and for being a "apolitical naive 20-something." It seems people will forever drum up hate towards her and keep forwarding email that keeps her mistake spewing to the forefront of everyone's consciousness. It will stain her forever.<br />
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I don't mean we should all join hands and sing <i>Kumbaya</i>, or shut up and stifle ourselves when confronting an opposing POV. Just keep it civil, people. I want reasoned arguments conducted in a civil manner. Parroting lines heard from some TV pundit who you believe has no real weight when you can't substantiate your own opinions, supported by fact. That doesn't hold water. Showing respect and allowing the person to articulate their dissenting opinion without interruption is only fair. Raising your voice and repeating the same things over and over again is not. It's highly annoying as well.<br />
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Staying respectful and positive, and curious about why they feel the way they do is a mature reaction more likely to gain respect. It's an apt way to make your point than baiting someone and using disdainful ridicule. You seldom change someone's mind or they yours, but learning <i>why</i> they feel the way they do is the closest you'll come to making headway.<br />
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*There's one in every family. (Hopefully just one, anyway). I can't have a dissenting discussion with the person in our family because they just don't argue fairly. They bait, refuse to listen, talk over you, don't let you speak without interruption, and spout facts they glean from articles that support their view while refusing to read material holding dissenting opinion. It's ridiculous.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-24007595946925346922013-06-06T15:23:00.003-07:002013-06-06T15:23:59.010-07:00A Kinky WeekendThe two-night fundraiser this past weekend was a success. Everyone had fun, Kinky enjoyed his stay, he performed in high Kinster form, and the show and silent auction (horse-themed local art, of course), and auction of several of his 'Man in Black' tequila bottles brought in more money for Wing Spur than we have made in previous years, which is not only exciting but allows us to pay off the hay bills and order vaccinations as well as buy a new battery for the tractor. Woo-hoo!<br />
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Excy picked up Kinky from the airport Friday and they raced over to a local news station for an interview. The show that night was at one of the tonier theaters and he sang and told stories for 2 hours with breaks to meet folks and sign "anything but bad legislation." Even at half-occupancy it was a good crowd. Afterwards the guys went to a popular 'joint' made famous by President Clinton and the late Levon Helm to talk politics while I went home to 'put my buns in bed,' as his song goes. Saturday the thunderstorms came through again, so we didn't get to bring him out to visit the sanctuary and we were thankful we decided against having the second venue in Harrison, a town a few hours away. With the floods and torrential downpour I'm not sure we would have made it. Kinky fretted as it was that "maybe he'd be singing to 20 people," it was raining so hard, but White Water Tavern pulled in a good crowd, and everyone was more than willing to buy tequila shots and sing along with him.<br />
<br />
Kinky was friendly and outgoing and gracious to everyone. He has the politician's genius of remembering names. People brought in old albums, books, hats, guitars made from his old cigar boxes, you name it -- he signed it, even the tequila bottles people bought. It was hard to think he was tired from his "Bi-Polar Tour," where he performed 36 shows in 35 days around Europe.<br />
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After Saturday's show I was a passenger in the car that drove him around, so ended up having dinner after the show. It was fun to learn about his life, his 60-dog sanctuary in Kerrville called 'utopia,' and his serious consideration of running for Governor of Texas, this time not as an independent but a Democrat. His close friend Willie Nelson pledges to assist with the campaign, and he's asked us to help, too. He's invited us to dinner when we are in Texas seeing our second grand daughter, who was born Saturday -- two weeks early! She was born in 19 minutes! Mom and baby are doing fine. All in all, a great time, and one we are glad to have pulled off, and that is over.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-54607564646759052592013-05-13T14:01:00.001-07:002013-05-13T14:09:35.076-07:00Finding Our Happy PlaceWhen the third person in 10 days asked me if I had quit blogging, I knew it was time to get back here. I don't know why I expected life to get easier after the transplant. Wishful thinking. Of course in certain respects it has--after all, I'm still here and breathing--but there have also been ER visits and hospital trips, 'down time' emotionally and physically, and other fall-outs with family issues and attendant life dramas.<br />
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In just one day, for example, we learned our majority-share partner in the Sanctuary property is forcing the sale of the land. Just two short hours later, my dad fell and had a concussion, and my Aunt from FL died unexpectedly. <i>That </i>was a day! Dad's better now, though falling where he has had two previous brain surgeries means a slower than expected recovery.<br />
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Our partner's lawyer suggested in one conversation we "sell the mustangs." Wow. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask a (supposedly) learned attorney what definition of the word 'sanctuary' he didn't understand. But I held my tongue so not to antagonize the man. You'd have been proud.<br />
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Obviously, the welfare of the mustangs are our utmost concern. So if there's a possibility we can buy the land and buy the partner out we will. We have been planning to sell this house and build a smaller 'retirement' house anyway. But now there is a crucial time-frame, with mortgages and loans involved. And my long dread and loathing of banks is intensifying. Adding to the stress we are in the midst of plans for a May 31 and June 1 fundraiser we need to pack both theaters for. <a href="http://www.kinkyfriedman.com/">Kinky Friedman</a> will be performing for the benefit, fresh off his European tour.*<br />
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I am also negotiating with Emory to have my drug infusions done locally. We can't continue to drive 10 1/2 hours to Atlanta every month--a costly and time-consuming endeavor.<br />
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So blogging has clearly fallen off the charts a bit, although I have missed it, and missed catching up with all your news. I intend to get back into the swing of things, and I'm pretty sure it'll help my attitude.<br />
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There's a tree in our backyard that makes me smile every time I see it. I meant to take a picture of it and then it rained several days and the knob where the 'nose' is began to grow a shoot...on the bark of this tree is an honest-to-god happy face: eyes, nose, and curved smile. Now the knob that was the 'nose' has a branch that has diluted the effect. But the tree's happy face reminds me to keep on keeping on; keep shining. We only have today and no promises are made--so live in the now--and the<i> now</i> is all we should deal with. How successful we are and how we choose to manage our life is up to us.<br />
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My best wishes to all of you to keep 'shining through.'<br />
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* P.S. I will keep you up-to-date on the fundraiser. And post pics of Kinky's visit. We have a great poster out (<a href="http://www.wingspur.org/">wing spur.org</a>). Kinky's manager sent a few pics, and we photoshopped two of them with two of ours. One has Kinky singing his heart out -- head thrown back, eyes closed -- sharing the mic with one of the mustangs, who also has her head back, eyes closed, and lips curled back (sniffing the wind, but it looks like they're singing a duet). The other has Kinky striding across the lawn, arms thrown up in the air, and the mustangs are lined up to the side, all looking his way.....I pray the fundraiser is as successful as the posters have come out!<br />
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<i>All donations to the nonprofit sanctuary go 100% towards the horses's feed and medicine and vet bills. </i>I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-69132519188139076482013-02-18T14:06:00.002-08:002013-02-18T14:10:23.707-08:00One Day At a TimeHi. I'm Amy. I'm a recipe-holic.<br />
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Seriously, is there a 12-step program for recipe addiction? It has gotten seriously out of hand over the years. It started out innocuously enough, when I was first starting out on my own, accumulating cookbooks. But over the last decade I have been drawn more and more to cutting and tearing recipes out of magazines rather than looking them up in books and on the internet.<br />
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The single three-ring binder I used to glue these in became full to overflowing, and overflow eventually took up one entire row of the cookbook shelves in the kitchen. For several holidays I hinted -- and then outright implored -- Excy to make a present of buying and assembling more binders for me until I finally threatened I would <i>not</i> be doing anymore cooking until things were under control. That got his attention.<br />
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This Christmas I was given two more three-ring binders with lovely water-painted covers, colored sections, and a 500 pack of paper with the holes already in each sheet, plus a package of six glue sticks -- of which I ran out of before the task was complete! It took an entire week to cull through what I had accumulated, put them in categories with some semblance of order, glue them on paper, and insert them in the proper binder category. I'm in heaven feeling so organized. But even when I was in the middle of the project and cursing all the recipes I was wading through, I still managed to tear out more as I was reading monthly magazines. Now at least I have a proper section for them, even if I doubt I can make all the recipes I already have in one life-time. But my usual MO is to keep new ones out until I try them and then if they make the grade, glue them in the proper book. I think having three three-ring binders will hold me for awhile. One binder is sectioned 'misc,' 'drinks' 'appetizers' and 'soups/stews.' The second book is for 'salads,' 'vegetables,' 'fish, 'chicken,' and 'red meat.' The third is entirely for 'dessert.'<br />
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I made this recipe for a Valentine dinner party and it was a tremendous hit. Despite all the steps, it is not difficult, and well worth it for the delicious factor. Please note it must be made a day ahead and refrigerated overnight.<br />
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<b><i>Clementine Pots de Creme</i></b><br />
2 3/4 heavy cream, divided<br />
Zest of two clementines, finely grated, divided<br />
1/2 lb semisweet chocolate chips<br />
6 large egg yolks<br />
1/3 cup plus 2 Tb sugar, divided<br />
1/2 cup whole milk (I used half&half because I had it on hand)<br />
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In a large heavy-bottomed pan, heat 2 1/4 cups cream over med heat until warm to the touch (just a few minutes should do it). Add the grated zest of one of the clementines and the chocolate chips. Remove from heat and let steep 20 minutes, stirring a few times.<br />
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Preheat oven to 300 degrees. In a large bowl, whisk the egg yolks with 1/3 cup of sugar and milk. Set six 6 oz ramekins in a large baking pan.<br />
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Return the chocolate mixture to stove top and warm over low heat, whisking until chocolate is smooth and warm. Set a coarse strainer over the bowl with the yolk mixture and pour the chocolate mixture through, pressing on the zest. Whisk well to thoroughly combine.<br />
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Pour into ramekins. Add very hot water to baking pan until it reaches halfway up the side of the ramekins. Cover pan loosely with tin foil and bake until pots de creme are set around the edges but jiggly in centers, 40-50 minutes or so. Transfer the ramekins to a rack to cool completely, then cover and refrigerate overnight.<br />
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Before serving, In a large bowl, whip remaining 1/2 cup cream to soft peaks and slowly add 2 Tb sugar and whip lightly to incorporate (don't do it too hard or it can turn grainy). Place a dollop of the whipped cream on each pot de creme and garnish with remaining clementine zest (or thin strips).<br />
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Serve and enjoy!<br />
Active time: 20 min.<br />
Total time: 1 1/4 hrs plus chilling overnight<br />
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<br />I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-16755607569448434082013-01-17T12:32:00.001-08:002013-01-17T12:35:40.549-08:00You Can't Be Too Careful......is Lenny's motto.<br />
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Most of you know I have numerous cat companions to round out the myriad wild critters and wild mustangs living on the property and Sanctuary. Lenny was adopted after his stray mom and siblings were found 'forever' homes and Len was left behind. It was just a matter of time before I told Excy that Lenny <i>had</i> a home, and it was with us. He was named after the character 'Lenny' on the original <i>Law&Order</i>, whose quips we had always enjoyed. We have never given animals Christian names, but for some reason, it seemed appropriate to me, and it fits his personality.<br />
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Lenny is the most spoiled cat in our household (that's saying something), and a <i>real</i> 'mama's boy.' He, unfortunately, would also ride 'the short bus.' Lenny's<i> special. </i>But he's also, well, special. He talks -- a lot -- and his constant chattering and then real conversations with us always lifts my spirits. He is good natured. When he wants attention -- and also 'butt beats' (patting his behind is quite the fetish of his, and a bit embarrassing when he also insists on it from close friends he trusts who visit the house), he will do 'Lenny rolls,' unprompted, but also on command: rolling on the floor from side to side...I will tell him he's on a 'Lenny roll' when he surpasses four side-by-sides. His record so far has been <b>20</b> in a row.<br />
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For all his sociability with us, however, he is quite the introvert. Most cats prefer a quiet life of routine and stability, and Len is no exception. He dislikes strangers in his home, loud noises, door bells, sudden moves...the list goes on. But there is more to introversion and extroversion than quiet people and loud people. Psychobiology decides how we interact with others - and the key is in our central nervous systems. According to <i>Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking</i>, introverts have a much higher and active nervous system, and extroverts have a high threshold for stimulation.<br />
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A few years ago, for almost a week, Lenny went from being my best little pal to freaking out when I walked into the room -- to the point he was afraid to sleep with me, sleep on the bed, or be near me, and when Excy held him and walked up to me in an attempt to show him it was 'just mama,' he leapt from Excy's arms, drawing blood. It tore me up, especially because my other 'mama's boy,' had died a few days before, and I was grieving and also wondering if he somehow made a connection with Scat's death in that pea brain of his.<br />
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It took me four days to figure out what I had done, and then it slowly occurred to me I had used a fly swatter close to him as he was gazing unawares out a window. By the fifth day of Lenny's meltdown, as I was on the phone to our vet, tearfully consulting on how to bring Lenny around and discussing forms of 'kitty Xanax,' Lenny walked into the library and seemed a bit sheepish, said he was sorry, and presented his butt to me to be 'beaten.'<br />
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It was fortunately been quite a few years since Lenny has been traumatized by me, but last Friday he has decided to be terrified of my new shoes. I bought a pair of Oxfords and love them. Not being able to walk easily, their almost one-inch heel is slightly higher than what I am used to wearing, and I clomp around in them more than usual. My making more noise than usual has been enough to send 'Leonard' (sorry, he has a dozen nick-names, like every cat in the house), over the edge.<br />
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I am hoping in time he will get over it, as I am not giving up the Oxfords. We shall see.<br />
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In the meantime, I'm doubling up the dose of homeopathic remedies I put in their water.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-47769410756800776252013-01-08T15:57:00.003-08:002013-01-08T19:26:59.006-08:00We Was Skunked!! *<i>*more fun than proper grammar...</i><br />
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We had a severe ice and snowstorm that began Christmas day, leaving us without power for 22 hours, beginning at 2 a.m. the 26th...it took four days to plow out the drive and use the 4 WD to get to my parents, who stayed here until their power was turned back on. By Monday, New Year's Eve, they were back in their house, and we were tired, but getting ready to leave for Emory in ATL the next day for my drs appts...<br />
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Around 5 p.m., Excy was outside doing chores and noticed as he reached the front porch we had a visitor. He texted me to <i>carefully</i> crack the front door and see the skunk on the porch nosing around for food we keep out for the stray cats...the poor thing was super cold and his tail was encrusted with ice. Raccoons had cleaned out the bowl of cat food, so I threw out some more, but the skunk didn't appear interested...I shut the door. When it was safe, Excy made his way inside.<br />
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Around 10 p.m. we heard a knock on the front door but no one was around. I peeked out the window and saw the skunk on the front stoop...dude wanted<i> inside!</i><br />
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I was inside my closet 30 minutes later getting my clothes ready for the trip when my boy kitty, Lenny, started sniffing the heating vent...and then I heard it -- two (at least) skunks going at it: either fighten' or fucken' under the house -- and then <i>POOF!</i> A bomb of eu Pepe la Pew enveloped the entire house -- and Excy yelled to come to the front -- the skunks had bombed the <i>entire perimeter</i> of the house! Two Lampe bergers and several candles didn't take care of the smell.<br />
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Guess they were pissed off we didn't let them inside.<br />
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The next day we took off in our rolling Pole Cat-mobile, trying to ignore the fact everything, including the suitcase and our clothes, smelled <i>really really </i>strong...<br />
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We got home last night. Fortunately, things have finally aired out.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-37248546681508736352012-12-12T17:13:00.000-08:002012-12-12T17:13:07.992-08:00what's a kidney between friends? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.arkansaslife.com/editions/digital/?pageIndex=50">http://www.arkansaslife.com/editions/digital/?pageIndex=50</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Here is a link to an article a local magazine wrote up on Cat and me. There is also a newspaper article out, but this is my favorite because it has our banter in it...enjoy...</span>I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-43649735910682659372012-11-20T18:48:00.022-08:002012-11-20T19:04:12.197-08:00I Am a BitchThe night before I went into the hospital Excy and I were in the communal dining room of the Mason House, a transplant patient house, having a take-out Italian meal with our friend Karen, who had flown in that afternoon to sit with Excy through the first surgery. We were trying to play catch-up, and also decompress from the stress of the last several weeks, as much as one can, anyway, while awaiting major surgery.<br />
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Karen flew in from upstate New York, where she and her husband had retired after a lifetime in Washington, DC. We met when she was my first boss at the magazine, and have grown close as sisters in the ensuing thirty-one years. She and Dan had bought and renovated an old house, making it into a wellness center where she offered her massage services and taught yoga. Yeah, she's awesome.<br />
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The first surgery was the scariest and most difficult one, and she had called and volunteered to be with Excy so he wouldn't be alone while waiting, which is the type of incredibly generous person she is. Anyway, we hadn't seen one another in five years, and because she had spent a few years getting licensed and the house/center in shape, we hadn't spent much time on the phone, either, so it was a rare and precious visit. She was flying home the evening of the surgery, and I knew I wouldn't be in great shape for more visiting <i>that</i> day.<br />
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We were engrossed in conversation, and I was savoring my few precious hours with her (as much as I could, frankly, considering how chaotic and freaked out my state of mind was), when I noticed a woman circling in on our corner table (I purposely chose one away from the mainstream). The woman was hovering, like people do when they mean to pounce into the conversation. <i>Here comes trouble</i> I thought, attempting to convey through body language that this was a <i>private</i> conversation and I didn't really care to make 'new friends' at the moment. People with no filter, however, are often oblivious to visual clues, though, and she continued to bull-doze over.<br />
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'HI! I'M XXX! ARE YOU HERE FOR A TRANSPLANT? <b>GREAT!</b> WHAT KIND?"<br />
XXX didn't have an 'inside voice.' Seeing as how MH was available only to transplant patients and their companions, this question was just an opening gambit. And because I was the only one at the table with bandages on her arms and a cane propped against the table, it was an easy guess.<br />
Sigh. Amy. Freak Magnet.<br />
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"Um. Yeah...hi...I'm here with my husband and friend. Who just flew in from New York...we haven't seen each other in years and I go in tomorrow...we are just catching up over dinner..." (She obviously couldn't relate to the obvious).<br />
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"<i>Well</i>. I had a kidney transplant almost a year ago, and am with my parents for a checkup." She then plopped a photo album I hadn't noticed on the table, pushing aside a salad plate. I glanced beseechingly towards her parents, who pretended not to notice, no doubt relieved XXX had found new targets and allowing them a respite. "See? My hair was <i>this</i> color, and it has grown in to <i>this </i>color now...here I am in recovery, and here is a photo of my donor, who had been killed in a motorcycle accident..." She went on and on...<br />
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I tried to be interested. I tried to tell her this wasn't my first rodeo and she didn't need to delve into the details. My voice sounded flat and oddly familiar, and I realized I sounded like the boss in the movie <i>Office Space</i>; the drone who keeps asking in a bleak voice whether or not our hero had "seen the memo..."<br />
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Finally I had an epiphany. I didn't have to sit and let this windbag suck our evening away. I didn't have to smile and nod and pretend to listen to her rattle on with her life story and the fact she's writing a book about the experience. I wasn't obligated to be her captive audience. I'd never see her again. What did I care?<br />
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I hopped up. "Good luck to you. Come on, Karen, I need to go to the room." Karen and Excy, unfailingly polite, looked taken aback, but recovered quickly, and Karen followed me down the hall. Excy used the break to gather up the dishes and gently bring the soliloquy to a close.<br />
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Yeah. I can be a bitch. But I am unrepentant. I've earned the right over the years, so it doesn't bother me much.<br />
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<br />I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-40715305912394749332012-11-13T18:02:00.001-08:002012-11-13T18:02:47.803-08:00The Reading RoomI like an eclectic reading list, and aside from a month post-surgery where I couldn't concentrate on anything longer and more taxing than a magazine article, I've been devouring books at a rate of one every two days. Some are sticking in my mind more than others and I thought I'd recommend them.<br />
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On top of 'bucket list' things to do before shuffling off this mortal coil, if I actually made a bucket list that is, is to go on an African safari (sans guns, of course). Two books I loved that detailed this life and how guides live and interact with the wild animals around them have only served to whet my appetite. <i>Don't Run Don't Look Behind</i> <i>You</i> is hilarious and hard to put down. The guide writes of just starting out, learning to be a guide (think being thrown into the deep end of a pool with no instruction how to swim), and is now teaching in Africa on how to be a guide. Often funny and, on occasion, sad, particularly for people like me who can't stand to see an animal suffer, is the occasional story of animal abuse or endangerment. Fortunately, it doesn't occur in the book often.<br />
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<i>The Elephant Whisperer</i>, by the founder of the World Organization and former safari lodge owner Lawrence Anthony, is excellent and totally absorbing. He wrote two other books, one about saving animals in the Bagdad zoo, and another that is coming out about rhinos. Think those are actually called <i>The</i> <i>Bagdad Zoo</i>, and <i>The Last Rhino. </i>You may know his name because when he died of a sudden heart attack this spring, his rescued elephant herd walked more than 12 miles out of the bush to hang around his house for two days and pay their respects. They showed up within hours of his death, and his family was baffled as to how they just 'knew.' Go to YouTube or Google him.<br />
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<i>The Few</i>, by Alex Kershaw, is the true account of seven American pilots who snuck into Canada and then sailed to England under false identities to fight with the RAF (Royal Air Force) against the Nazis in the Battle of Britain, a year before America was drawn into WWII. Eventually there were almost 30 Americans flying with the RAF. But of these seven, only one survived and returned to America. And their American citizenship, which had been revoked, wasn't reinstated until the '80s, which was crummy. They would have been jailed had they been caught while leaving America to fly for the RAF. Most of them saw the writing on the wall as far as war went, but they also were aviation obsessed and just wanted to fly the fast planes.<br />
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You might like to read the newest <i>Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Positive</i>. It has some great stories. My essay on living with vHL is on page 335. If you aren't up to buying the book, read it at the bookshop!<br />
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One book that is on the <i>NY Times</i> list and getting tons of publicity, is<i> Gone, Girl</i>. I really enjoyed it --right up until the final chapter, and then it really bombed. I cannot believe the editors didn't mind the huge gaping holes in the plot that made it fall short for me. If anyone has read it please let me know whether you had a problem with the ending as well.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-3346933103591742592012-10-30T16:38:00.001-07:002012-10-30T16:39:56.271-07:00She's B-A-A-A-K...I'm grateful to return to this blog to discover you haven't give up and abandoned me.<br />
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Having considered waiting until my favorite holiday - Halloween - to post, I decided just finally hearing from me may be shocking enough. And if I've learned much of anything these days, it is that when I finally summon the energy and willpower to actually DO something - anything - I'd better follow through with it, because the energy will pass quickly, and all too soon I'll be back lounging in bed dozing or reading a book.<br />
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I have missed you, can't believe it's been so long, and I intend to visit you all. As you no doubt surmised, the surgeries were more hellish than anticipated, and the recovery has been as challenging. Back-to-back surgeries coupled with the deficits from 14 previous surgeries, really took a toll. We had to stay in the hospital three weeks, and the patient-transplant house on campus a month, not being able to flee for home until the end of September. We commute back and forth every week or two. We are hoping this ends by the first of the year and I can do the labs and monthly infusion here. It has been grueling experience, and I have literally been unable to do anything but the bare minimum. Last week I began feeling I am finally turning a corner and making progress. Out of the wheelchair, almost off the walker and back on a cane. Hope to drive in a week or two. Getting a handle on some of the worst side-effects. The good news is the new kidney has been wonderful. It works so well I call it 'Golden Champ,' because from the first hour it worked like a champion and when I was in the hospital whenever asked, I would say it was 'golden.' Other transplant patients named theirs 'Leroy' or 'Junior,' but I wanted to honor Cathy's gift to me. And the other great news is Cathy sailed through with flying colors and no complications.<br />
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Now that I am feeling almost human, I'm eager to return to the land of the living, and look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your thoughts and well wishes, and patience. Peace.I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6829543826729715346.post-42330332613088497942012-07-29T17:36:00.000-07:002012-07-29T17:42:51.625-07:00The Wild LifeWe got home Friday night from the pre-op meeting. It's a 10 hr drive from Emory, with several parts of the freeway in Alabama and Tennessee under construction with delays and narrowed one-lanes shared with 18-wheelers, so it's a bit stressful. I am grateful for a week at home, soaking up Sanctuary and kitty karma, and intend to do a bit of energy work, meditation exercises, have a little fun, and do a lot of resting. I have a birthday this week, but don't have any plans other than relaxing at home and asking Excy to grill a filet -- I seldom eat red meat but once or twice a year, I crave a good steak. This afternoon a good friend and I had a lovely brunch and went to the movie <i>Darling Companion</i>, which is wonderful -- how can you go wrong with a cast of Diane Keaton, Kevin Kline, Sam Shepard and Dianne Weist, anyway, but the movie itself was great...<i>with</i> a good ending (I'm all about comedy and good endings these days).<br />
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The cats were so relieved to see us again, though they are wary because the suitcases aren't being put up. Lenny in particular was so happy to see us but also so unhappy, he still growls and purrs at the same time. I keep telling them we will be gone about 6 weeks and it'll be harder on me than them, but so far they aren't convinced. I am a bit concerned that while we are away the stray we have come to love, 'Frodo,' will wander off, despite Corey moving back into the house while we're gone. I am hoping we can figure out a way to keep Frodo with us but for now he doesn't have his shots and hasn't been tested for the kitty AIDS, and we don't have time to try to integrate him into the house anyway. Besides, Frodo now has a 'girlfriend,' I'm calling 'Cow Kitty,' for now, since she is black and white with spots like a Holstein cow, and a little black mustache on her white face....arresting, and Fro is smitten, letting her eat from his bowl at the same time he does.<br />
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We had a few wildlife incidents of interest I thought I'd write about as well.<br />
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Those of you who have read the blog for a long time know about Nubbins -- the raccoon that had been like a pet -- so named because instead of ears, he had little nubs...a genetic thing, since they weren't maimed or anything. I always had a soft spot for Nubs. When I was feeding the others, they wouldn't let him up for food, so I purposely fed him and shooed the others off. Soon they realized Nubbins was a meal ticket, and they began to treat him with more deference and respect. One night more than a year ago, I looked out the terrace and to my horror, Nubs was standing there with a <i>huge bloody </i>gash on his side. I could almost see bone. My friend Sharon, the 'coon whisperer, had told me once coons have an amazing ability to heal and seeing them up getting food again usually meant they were on the mend, so I was heartened. But other than one other night, we never saw Nubbins again, and I feared the worse.<br />
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He was by then an old, overweight coon and I thought his time had come. We hadn't been feeding any 'coons for some time, but one, Sad Girl, had come up as a baby with her mom and as a young adult, she just didn't get the memo, or at least refused to read it if she had. Every blasted night she sat on the terrace wall and stared at the house for hours. I finally relented when I noticed that she was nursing and began feeding her. Every night I'd tell her to bring up her babies, and one evening, she brought three about 6-week old coons up to the sliding glass door. Friday when I saw a coon on the terrace after we unpacked I assumed it was she and grabbed for the dog food... and gasped as Nubbins ran up and <i>flung</i> himself against the screen door. I ran outside. He was as happy to see me as I was him. And he looked great -- sleek and fit. If there was a 'grecian formula for coons,' I'd swear he used it. He actually looked younger. But it was definitely Nubbins. No one was as friendly.That night he feasted on left-over chicken thighs and grapes.<br />
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The other thing that's funny is also kinda sad. Our neighbor across the street had a white goose that decided he wanted to be 'adopted' by a family of wild geese and their three goslings that were born and raised on our pond. They had two others, but I guess he didn't care for them. The domestic goose can't fly. His wings are clipped -- not sure who did it or why...The wild ones are practicing flying, with short take-offs around the pond and outings of greater and greater distance. Saturday the white goose would not stop honking and we noticed the wild geese weren't around...later that afternoon some other wild geese landed but kept their distance from the domestic one and vice-versa...eventually the white goose's honking picked up in intensity and he waddled towards the pond as fast as he could, and shortly after the wild family made their aquatic landings...the white goose raced up to them and in their language really gave them a piece of his mind...it will be a sad day when he's left all alone...we are hoping he will begin to make friends with the three domestic ducks Corey bought and has raised from babies. So far, they are all keeping their distance.<br />
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We are off again on Sunday, and I will eventually feel well enough to write from Atlanta. Y'all be well...I Wonder Wyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15711651118123762132noreply@blogger.com9