RIP, Andy

There will be lots of posts today about the passing of Andy Griffith and how much he was loved. This post is one of them. One of my proudest possessions is the entire set of DVDs of the Andy Griffith Show. Yeah, I'm a corn-pone that way. When life gets too difficult, going back to Mayberry is always refreshing. I intend to have a marathon viewing when we finally get back from Emory this fall and I have to lay low for 4 - 6 months while the new kidney kicks in.

I find myself laughing at least once every episode. And if it's not a humorous episode, I will enjoy it as well. So thanks, Andy and crew, for all the many hours of laughter you've provided this family. Many years ago I gave the 'ancient p's' (don't you watch Monty Python?) a book of the entire cast and characters, as well as a cookbook of 'Aunt Bee's' recipes, and I still use Barney's beef stew - it is excellent!

I know Griffith was a talented actor and comedian, but to me, he's just Sheriff Andrew Taylor, dad to Opie, and a sole voice of reason in the life of his sidekick deputy, Barney.

Dog Daze...

If there was ever a time I enjoyed summer after reaching adulthood, I don't remember it. I am not a person for extremes -- and the summer HADES handed out each year and then unremitting freeze of winters are not for me. Though truth be told, at least in the winter one can usually get comfortable eventually. Not so padding around in the summer, unless you spend the entire season in some air-conditioned cocoon. I'm not much for air-condition, but it's a requirement when the temps hit the triple digits.

Mostly I have kept a low profile as the temps careen off into the hundreds. I learned the hard way last summer in June that my kidney remnant doesn't respond well to an over-heated body. My tongue has been dark as a chow dog's the past two weeks, and the metallic taste in my mouth tells me my remnant can't regulate my body as it needs to. Since I have spent the last three weeks having blood work and last-minute dr. appts to get the 'all clear' for the remnant surgery and then transplant scheduled at Emory this August, I am not going to over-tax myself and get into an emergency situation before the surgeries. 

So having both our a/c units out at the same time was a crisis situation. Eventually, after two weeks, the unit in the main part if the house was fixed, mostly -- the service rep warned us we needed to pump an additional $300 into it to shore up a leak...not that it's going to happen soon after shelling out $500  -- but the other unit in our bedroom addition is FUBAR. It has been a lemon since it was installed 8 years ago, and after spending $900 two summers ago, it grates on my last nerve that it needs a new compressor. The rep admitted the manufacturer realizes this model sucks (unfortunately, not hot air into cool), and the manufacturer is willing to replace it with a $5000 unit for $1200. Which may as well be $12,000 when one doesn't have it, and they are unwilling to let it be paid out in two or three installments. At least we can sleep in the guest room until we figure out a plan, or sell something. The editing I'm working on and the horse Excy is training won't sustain that amount. The cats are confused, though, and despite the intense heat still sleep on the screen porch off the bedroom until they are forced back into the main part of the house. Cats don't do change well. I wish the Universe would leave us alone and pick on someone else so my last weeks before having to live in Atlanta for six to eight weeks would be drama-free. Now there's a concept.

Despite the horse picnic/fundraiser last Sunday occurring on the first day the temps hit 105 degrees, we all had a great time. We started at 5:30 in the afternoon to dispel some of the heat, and the constant breezes from the hills and pond made it bearable as long as you were under the pavilion or a shady tree. The two guitarists were great, the Food Truck was outstanding, and the mustangs milled among the guests so there were plenty of photo ops. About 50 folks showed up. 

The sweet stray cat who has been living on our front porch for a month and sleeping on the swing at night didn't find a home, unfortunately. But there were so many friends milling in and out of the house that weekend it seemed every time I turned a corner, Frodo would be wandering up a hallway, pleased as punch to be inside the house, despite the tremendous heat. I think the other cats were so startled to see him inside, they never hissed at him. I hope to find him a home, and if we don't he may eventually become a studio cat. But I've got enough on my plate that for now it's not a pressing concern. 

Some Things from School I'll Never Forget

No particular order to these memories, but there are some choice things I suppose will stay with me forever:

First grade. MF sits in the row beside me in class. One afternoon during 'art,' M carefully colors each of his teeth a different color from his box of crayons as I watch, fascinated. When finished, he sighs with contentment, and flashes a wide grin, revealing a rainbow-colored mouth. I could never figure out, all through first to fifth grade, whether MF was brilliant or a complete idiot. I tend towards the latter.

Second grade: Dad drives us to school every morning (my brother is a year and a half older). This day as I exit the car, I detect an immediate breeze. I realize I've forgotten my underwear! As I am in a dress as usual, this is a problem, particularly during recess when I usually climb the monkey-bars. I sit back in the car. Dad looks at me quizzically. When I tell him what I've forgotten, to his credit, he laughs and we head back home.

Third grade. A boy throws up his lunch immediately after recess, and is forever branded with the nickname "Earp," which follows him through grade school. Today he is a writer, but unfortunately for him, I can't forget the nickname or how he came to acquire it.

Fourth grade. The school nurse asks me what's wrong, and when I tell her "I dunno, I just feel crummy," she dissolves in fits of laughter.

Fifth grade. Weeks are spent on the playground playing Lost in Space. We enact the episodes we watch that week. I am always elected to play 'Penny,' because of my long brown hair.

Eight grade. When I tell mom a boy in my class is named Ronny Hinckleheimer, she makes me swear I am not making it up (I am prone to flights of imagination). She does the same thing a few years later when I tell her about Herron Higgenbotham.

The games we played in our neighborhood were epic. It was a golden age, and the entire block was filled with a tribe of kids roughly the same age. Hide & Go Seek is played with all the seriousness of War Games.  This afternoon, I am a half-block from 'safe' and the opposing team is closing in. I jump into the back of a laundry truck making deliveries and order the startled driver when he returns from the house, to drive me down the street as I dive under a load of laundry bags. For some reason, without saying a word, he does this, delivering me right up to the designated safe point. The other kids can't figure out how I eluded capture.

What, you thought I was going to talk about school subjects?!

I Am Soooooo Special!

...Or, 'It's All About Me!"
America seems to be obsessed with the cult of celebrity, and that sense of entitlement trickles down to us 'regular folk,' who now believe in the necessity of  thousand-dollar prom dresses, million-dollar weddings, 'push' presents, full-time nannies, and 24-hr Twitter feeds. (I'm pulling in my drive! Woo, glad to be home!)....But let us not forget the STARS with capitol S T A Rs, who feed the obsession by promoting themselves relentlessly and pushing forward this disgusting phenomena.

Here are a few stories that support my statements. I ran across this little gem in the paper: Madonna "rebuffed" a too-avid Journalist fan who had the temerity and clearly (too her) bad taste to present her with a bouquet of purple hydrangeas. OMG! The cad! Plus, he called her "my princess," which - well to be honest, was, yeah, yuck - but it isn't exactly like calling her an over-the-hill, clinging B-list singer or anything...She took the hideous flowers saying, "I absolutely loathe hydrangeas," stuffing them under a table. Really, Madge? It would kill you to be gracious and accept a well-meant gift of flowers (which, by the way, are lovely, as all flowers are), and keep your friggen' opinion to yourself for a change? It's not like he's going to give you a truck-load of them afterwards. Yeah, apparently she's that kind of out of touch gal. Said Journalist gets the 'No Deed Goes Unpunished Award.' And Madonna looks like an idiot.

Unfortunately, she's not alone.

Two more stories (that were told to me) underscore just how 'important' celebrities are and why they should be allowed special dispensation just for walking among us:

Exhibit A:"Ah-nold's" ex-wife, Maria (who may get a pass because, well, she was married to Arnold, and that may have sent her around the bend)...a friend was at a popular restaurant where they were standing in line for a table. She said Maria sallied forth to the head of the line, saying they were to be seated immediately. The reservationist pointed to the back of the line, saying that the wait was 30 minutes. "Do you know who  I am??!" She sputtered. He informed her that yes, he did know, and the wait was still 30 minutes. She hastened away (dignity slightly worn?).

Exhibit B: A friend's car broke down in Taos, NM, and she rode to the repair shop with the driver of the tow-truck, who regaled her with stories of some of the celebrities who lived in town. He said he was waiting in line for gasoline one day, and the wait was long so he got out of his car to chat with a friend he spied in line. A car cut him off as he was preparing to pull up to the pump. He walked over to explain that the car she had cut off was his and he was next in line for gas. "Do you know who I am??!" (AGAIN WITH THIS LINE). He said he replied with something like, he didn't care if she was Queen of England, he was first, and yeah, he knew she was Julia Roberts, the movie star. Eh. Julia Roberts; she of the toothy grin and inflated ego...My opinion of both of these ladies fell a few points short after hearing these stories.

Next, from a magazine I read in a waiting room, I learned about @Humblebrag, a Twitter account dedicated to false displays of humility. I don't Tweet, so I am glad they gave three examples, which I share:
'Millionaire' reality show host Patti Stanger -- "why is it men always tell me I'm beautiful when I don't have a stitch of makeup on? So crazy!" (Having never met her, I'll still have to call bull-shit on this one, having seen her in commercials. Jus' sayen').
Bill Maher -- "Just getting to Book Review section - forgot I had a book out! Seeing it on the New York Times bestseller lists is a thrill (it is pretty funny)." Really Bill? Throwing down the bull-shit flag on this one, too.
And finally, Ashley Judd -- "Awkward: boarding a sold-out flight and hearing the flight attendant announce the in-flight movie is one of mine: Dolphin Tale." Whereas she probably hung her head and said, ah, shucks....

Least I am accused of picking only on the celebrities today, here's a story an acquaintance told on her mom, actually bragging about it and seemingly seeing nothing wrong with her mom's behavior:
Her step dad made the 'mistake' of bringing home six red roses -- for no reason -- and her mother thanked him by taunting him and complaining bitterly because there were 'only' six....not a dozen, which she deemed the only "appropriate" number...she said he never made that mistake again...I wish that meant he never gave her mom roses again, but unfortunately it meant the poor guy towed the line and she hands him his balls only for special occasions.

This post can be filed under 'Amy is hitting the venom-juice again'...sorry to be so snarky folks...been one of those days...

Close Encounters of the Critter Kind

It's been quite some time since I have given you a wild critter update of the goings-ons around the Sanctuary. It's been a fun spring.

Two wild geese settled on the pond and are raising five goslings with the help of a vigilant "Aunt," a domestic goose from the next pond. They are getting pretty big and fluttering around trying to fly. Last week an eagle perched on the tall 'woodpecker' condo and was giving them the, well, eagle eye, so to speak, and mom and pop hunkered down and circled the wagons while some raucous jays dive-bombed him until he decided to gig a frog and leave for easier pickings.

Corey (stepson who lives in an Airstream on the mustang property), brought home three ducklings and they have been quite an endeavor. They are now fairly large and have shed their yellow feathers for white ones and are finally ensconced in a duck house he built. There's a reason for being called 'bird brain.' These three stooges are getting used to the pond slowly, though they are still intimidated by it. When they are adult they'll graduate to a floating island in the middle of the pond. We hope the wild geese will kinda show them the ropes since they were bought as young 'uns from Tractor Supply.

We have suspected for some time that there has been a fox lurking about, as they tend to hide their scat and scent by going to the bathroom on top of the horse manure. It's not Francis, since she would have come up to the terrace for food by now. A 'new' fox is shy, and primarily a creature of the night. So when we pulled in the drive one night last week and a fox tore out from under the pampas grass and down the drive we were thrilled, but not surprised. I'm pretty sure it is one of Francis's kits, come to claim her mom's territory as her own, now that Francis is gone.

The bachelor beaver has come and gone after checking his property. He usually stays at his Lodge a few days and trims up the willow and then goes on down the stream where food is easier to find. We'll be so glad to have him stay the summer once the willows are grown back.

Driving up the mountain Thursday afternoon I stopped in the road to watch a doe nudge her newborn fawn across the road. The fawn was the size of a medium-sized dog and wobbly on his legs.  He was scared to cross the road and hunkered down in fear while I sat there for a few minutes until mom finally persuaded him to finish crossing the road and go into the glade. He must have just been born.

A friend is raising a baby raccoon that I want to see, but he came down with distemper. We are hoping he'll pull through. We have pretty much stopped feeding the ones here, but for one female that just insists she's part of the household and won't go away, so we will feed 'Sad Girl,' a can a night. As soon as we open the door she knows to run into the back yard to get her food. She was brought up by her mom a few generations ago and is very tame.

That's all the critter news to report...the mustangs are all doing great. The drought has wreaked havoc on the pasture, though, so we are forced to buy hay and alfalfa cubes, which isn't great for our meager budget. We are hoping for some rain! If y'all have any, send it on down our way.

Micro-Messages

I read an interesting article awhile back about micro-messages, a term coined in 1973. MM are two thousand to four thousand subtle, non-verbal signals that we send every day, which are automatic and almost invisible. Or hardly detectable, anyway. Nods, sighs, shrugs, grins, grimaces, eye rolls, doodling, eyes drifting, finger tapping or snapping, head whipping...all these are MM, which are either positive or negative.

Micro messages can be praised, supported, judged, goaded, adored, dismissed or ignored.

A micro-perp is what you'd call someone who exploits their power, like bosses who look at their email while you are talking to them. Or who gaze at their computer instead of being engaged in the conversation. Or doctors who ignore you and speak directly to your spouse. Or clerks who are polite but never look you in the eye. A final example of a micro-perp would be a friend who begins an apology by saying, "If that hurt your feelings..."

A micro-victim is simply the person on the receiving end. The student who, after never being called upon, stops raising his hand in class. A junior executive whose ideas are dismissed with a wave of a hand and a "we've tried that before," or  "anything else?" A woman who answers the door to a salesman asking if the lady of the house is at home. Words don't convey the essence of what we mean like micro-messages do. They make our feelings and messages crystal clear.

Roots of the micro-message are assumptions we make about our place in the world, our position in the social hierarchy, certain beliefs about individuals and groups -- pre-conceived notions about race, gender, ethnicity -- all filters - someone with hard-wired beliefs will support his way of thinking. Thus, my filters can distort your performance.

Most students learn by 2nd or 3rd grade if they are deemed dull or bright. Those perceived as dull begin to meet those 'expectations' of themselves. If someone you are talking to becomes inattentive, you'll grow angry, or frustrated, nervous, you might ramble or feel invisible, or you might be polite but cool towards them. You may sense what's going on and still be duped and end up faltering in conversation. It takes skill to keep someone engaged, just as it is a skill to be an active listener.

Some people intuitively confer micro-affirmations by engaging people, ignoring race or ethnicity, and bringing out the best in people, eliciting trust and loyalty.

Insensitivities result from an imbalance of power between two people. Everyone has been on both sides of this equation. Micro-inequities apply to everyone. Playing favorites, forgetting someone's name repeatedly, not paying attention, not remaining focused on someone's presentation...are examples of this.

A leader can change the entire tone of a room just through micro-messages such as facial expression, neutral comments, eye contact, active listening, etc. Silences can be loaded.

In short, micro-messages get to the DNA of culture change without saying a word. I'm thinking a lot of this is how we communicate with babies and animals. Any thoughts?

Baby, the Rain Must Fall

I can't believe it's been two weeks since my last post, but I am not really surprised. It feels more like two years, actually. I had a post already figured out but it occurred to me you might be (if only mildly) interested in why I've been away. I have been preoccupied with two friends and their recent diagnosis and fall-out and one murder. One friend's new DIL's husband (age 33) was just diagnosed with ALS (commonly known as Lou Gerig's disease). He had been sore and unable to lift an arm above his shoulder and they suspected a pinched nerve. Super-shock. The fancy-schmancy hospital in Little Rock has been their typical responsive nurturing self (read: horrid and unhelpful), and the final straw was when he began having trouble breathing, and they proposed a dr appt two weeks away. She (the wife) and I have become friends when she called to ask if I could help, and to ask how one lives with chronic illness. We schemed to get him to a good diagnostic clinic, if they couldn't get into NIH, and they ended up at Johns Hopkins. Unfortunately there aren't any clinical trials he can participate in, but at least they didn't talk down to them and they got the latest info (which the drs here were unwilling to provide them). They were glad they went, despite the expense and hassle of travel when sick and disabled. My other friend is in his early 80s. He and his wife landed in the ER midnight Palm Sunday when he wasn't getting better from what they assumed was a bout of food poisoning. Things went south from there -- from a stomach virus, to a blockage in his large intestine, to surgery for a tumor, to pancreatic cancer, that has spread to other organs. After 10 days in the hospital, he had his first chemo treatment last Monday. They are hopeful. But I have seen four friends succumb to pancreatic cancer. Perhaps the treatments will buy him a little time. If it doesn't seem to, G is smart enough to consider 'quality vs. quantity,' and fully intends to spend his remaining days savoring his time with M, his dogs, and his pipe. Last but certainly not least, a dear friend was murdered by an ex-BF two Saturday nights ago. W and I had been friends since 1994. He wasn't supposed to cut my hair that day, but we had such a rapport when we met, he became my stylist and it evolved to friendship outside the salon. I followed him to his second and then third salon jobs. About six years ago, he became really erratic and unreliable. It got to where I never knew if he'd keep the appt or not, and it was a real hassle. So I switched to the first stylist I had used, who had just moved back from Memphis. But W and I remained friends. And Excy still went to him. I was looking forward to returning as his customer. It wasn't until he went to a treatment center and later confessed to substance-abuse problems that I realized what had been going on (naive, I know). But I was so proud of how W cleaned up and turned his life around. He became involved in his church, going so far as to take several church trips to Israel, and also regularly helped feed the homeless in the city. Unfortunately, his dark past caught up to him. His ex 'friended' him on FB, and told him he was in dire straits. W, being the sweet guy he was, invited him to crash on his couch a few nights while he got it together. The killer showed up that night with another man. They tied W up, robbed him, then placed him in his car in the garage and set it on fire. Neighbors saw the smoke and called the fire department, who found W and tried to revive him, to no avail. I think W knew something was going to happen, because somehow he managed to let his two dogs out, who ended up at the neighbors. Those dogs were his kids and were so important to him. W didn't make good choices, but no one deserves to die as W did, particularly someone who worked so hard to turn his life around. We are heart-sick. The week before he died, we ran into him at the grocery store, and being able to hug him and chat for 10 minutes feels like a gift to me now. I know I will never stop missing him. Fortunately they quickly apprehended the killers, as well as the 'fence' who took his computers and television. But it's small comfort. The one bright spot in the last two weeks was my friend M's quick fly-by visit from Maine. Although we were only able to spend 4 hours together, those hours on the screened porch were a tonic for the soul. M and I have been friends since 1979, when we lived together in an odd green house in college for a year. And one thing that also cheered me up was learning she is finally divorced and finished with the crusty old asshole she married in what I can only assume was a moment of supreme weakness and confusion. As my dear friend S says, the man is a 'complete waste of oxygen.' M has always had horrible taste in men, apart from her first (and second) husband, who is wonderful, and still a supportive friend of hers. Time will out. She finally severed communication with her horrid ex asshole, who I have never liked. I tried, but the man has no redeeming qualities. The first time we met him, the instant Excy and I got in our car after the evening, we looked at each other and just said in unison, 'uh oh...' In 7 years we got together as a couple exactly twice for two ill-fated outings. I usually sucked it up and went alone if I couldn't get M to come over here or meet me alone. In an effort to lash out at her once more, he came after me in a final text, saying I was 'gaming' the 'system' with my chronic illness. Really?? WTF? By having cancer? By being on disability and not working? What does he know, anyway? It was all so BSC, I told M I'd be hurt if it weren't so pathetic, or gave a shit what G thought anyway...but thank god she is well out of it and hopefully leaving Maine and growing closer to her first ex again...I know. Drama. Here's the icing on the cake: we leave on Thursday for a pre-op at Emory. I am hopeful that despite the impending appointment, I won't be having surgery for a few more months, at least. Now that I have caught ya'll up to speed, my next post will be more fun. That won't be much of a stretch...