Drink Responsibly

Three cats share my house and my life. My cat is named Buddy Boy Beignet (he is a Katrina rescue, hence the Beignet). I let my dog Toby also rescue two cats, although not from Katrina (he is a rescue himself and has the biggest heart of almost anyone or anything I have ever known). One of Toby's cats is named Lizzie Beth (who is so naughty my Brother calls her Lizzie Borden). The other cat is named Mia Sarah.

Beignet is a perfect cat. He is never naughty. He is sweet and playful and always up for a cuddle, never scratches the furniture, plays sweetly with the other animals, and rarely misbehaves. His only remotely naughty behavior is that he likes to turn the simple household chores of changing the sheets and/or making the bed into a challenging game.

Lizzie Beth and Mia Sarah, on the other hand, are the cutest feline terrorists you are every likely to meet.
They scratch the furniture,

have

have ruined a blind by turning it into a kitty hammock,

lay belly up in the middle of the floor and then act indignant when you trip over them,

inexplicably get muddy paw prints halfway up the wall,

bully each other and Beignet and Toby, get on furniture where they know they don't belong. . . .

But worst of all?  They LOVE to play drinking games.

Lizzie's drinking game goes like this. She wants to have a taste of whatever is in your glass. She is not discriminating. It can be water, or a soda, or wine, or a beer, or a milkshake, or milk or . . . . However, she realizes that lapping up a puddle is easier then drinking from a glass. So if you are not paying close attention to your glass, she will simply knock your beverage over so she can lap up the ensuing mess.

Mia Sarah's drinking game is less messy but more insidious. She is a dipper. She sticks her paw in your drink and then licks the beverage off of her paw. Dip, lick, dip, lick, dip, lick.  This means that if you ever leave a drink unattended at my house, upon returning to it, you should just pour it out and start afresh. For in your absence it is highly likely that a paw has been inserted into your beverage in order to provide Mia a taste.

There has been a lot of debate in America in recent years about racial profiling and what a terrorist looks like. The two biggest acts of terrorism committed against my country in my lifetime were committed by persons of different races, different ethnicities, different religions and different nationalities.  For me the debate is ludicrous.  I know that terrorism knows no single, race, religion, gender, ethnicity, nationality or national origin. 

And there is little need for debate or profiling in me house.   We know what the face of terrorism looks like:

No, I am a postive person. YOU are like Santa Claus on Prozac, at Disneyland, Getting Laid

A few weeks ago I was walking with Toby around Liberty Park (before it was closed due to the oil spill).  He did his business and I bent over to bag it up so I could dispose of it in an appropriate receptacle.  Realizing my ample booty might block the path, I stepped off to the side to accomplish the task.  An older gentleman walked past, smiled and said in a rich, Slavic accent, "You nice lady!"  I thought he was thanking me for stepping out of his way, but as he passed by he went on to say:  "Your dog hurt to jump, you buy ramp.  You nice lady!"  I realized he must have seen me unloading my seemingly suddenly geriatric dog from my vehicle with the new ramp I'd bought to make getting in and out of the car easier for him. 

Then last evening it came to me as I was cutting strips of carpet runner to line the wooden stairs that Toby now has trouble climbing, slipping on his way up or down.  I AM a nice lady!

Let Us Make a Joyful Noise

I've been enjoying immensely the cracking good new BBC America reality series, The Choir.  The first series features Gareth Malone, choirmaster, trying to start a choir at a high school in a blue collar community that has never had a school choir, and then getting them ready in a few short months to compete in the Choir Olympics in China.  The back stories of the students are often as compelling as the story of the choir. 

Gareth is infectious with his absolute passion for music and choirs and the role they play in bringing people out of themselves, in helping them find self-confidence through self-expression, and in the unifying power music has to bring people and communities together through song.  It brings to my own experiences with choirs; our church youth group going into nursing homes and singing at Christmas time and having the residents join in the singing; the timeless melodies and familiar lyrics joining strangers previously separated by generations, now united by song.

And I watch feeling thankful for my high school choir teacher, Andrea Lyman, who made our school choir open to all.  She shared Gareth's passion for the power of music and performance and community.  Our school's show choir was competitive, but she encouraged me to try out.  And even though I didn't make that choir (I have a range of about five notes and have been known to render people sterile with my singing), the period of thinking I MIGHT be good enough to make it was worth it.  I;m sure that is why she encouraged all members of the choir to try out for the show choir.  She wanted each of us to believe we just MIGHT be good enough to make it, to believe in ourselves.  Teachers like Mrs. Lyman and like Gareth understand that teaching is as much about building the character and confidence of their students as it is about conveying information on a particular subject matter.
                                                                                      

The Choir is drawing inevitable comparison to the cultural phenomenon that is Glee.  I LOVE Glee for its often poignant stories, for Jane Lynch, for it sometimes awesome 80s pop songs, and for the chance to hear Kristen Chenoweth sing.  I LOATHE Glee for its often ludicrous stories, for its contrived musical-dance numbers, and for its sometimes awful 80s pop songs.  So on Glee?  I am a solid meh.

But I am not at all meh about The Choir.  If you haven't already, CHEQUE IT OUT!  Wednesday evenings on BBC America.  And if you don't have BBC America, are you MENTAL?!

She Dresses Like A Super Hero With No Budget

b

No adventures in bicycling today.  I had a medical appointment 15 miles across the valley, and I wasn't up for biking the almost 30 mile round trip.  Plus, I am less than fast on my bike - we are both built for comfort, not speed - and it would have taken me all day to ride there and back.  So I scooted instead.

I ride my scooter in the far right lane, referred to by police officers as the number one lane, but known colloquially as  the "slow lane."  I prefer scooting in this lane because I ride at the speed limit and vehicles in the other lanes are inevitably going faster than that.  The problem with the this lane is that it is fraught with obstacles:  animals entering the road, general road debris, vehicles creeping along looking for unfamiliar addresses, vehicles stopped to load or unload passengers, sprinklers overshooting the lawn into the roadway
 . . . . 

As I scoot along, moving around obstacles or sometimes switching lanes to avoid them, I find myself feeling like I am my Avatar, JRo, in Mario  Kart. 

Objects in the roadway become the dreaded turtle shells.   Animals entering my view become the interminable owls.  Other vehicles are now perceived as competitors.  I scan the road for speedy mushrooms or mystery boxes to help me to victory.  And of course, in both worlds, I avoid thunderstorms. 

All of this is just a figment of my imagination you say?  S'Okay.  Figment and I are old friends!

So go ahead pigeons. Laugh it up. I'm getting in my car now and the last time I checked, we had no deal!

Last week I mentioned a family of quail traipsing through a wedding I was performing. A few weeks before, a family of quail ran through the bike lane as I was headed to work, pulling a hundred pounds of dog and trailer behind me. I had to come to a complete stop to avoid them, which I don't like to do because it takes a lot for my bone on bone, arthritic knees to get me and Toby and the trolley started again from a complete standstill. This weekend, I was riding home from a movie and two quail ran in front of me. They did that panicky thing where they stopped, darted one direction, then the next, in an apparent attempt to decide which course of action was best to avoid collision (or maybe in a parody of the classic "serpentine! serpentine!" scene from the original The Inlaws). I again had to come to a complete stop to avoid running over quail. Additionally, my parents live in a neighborhood (750 miles from me) so full of quail that the street is aptly named Quail Run Drive. When we visit, Toby considers it his job to keep the backyard free of quail and other feathered and furry visitors. I am now wondering if this regular appearance of quail in my life, especially as I live in a very urban environment, is some sort of message to me from the Universe. If it is, I'm missing the point.  But it does bring to mind George Constanza. Because last time I checked, the quail and I? We have NO DEAL!

Adventures in Babycycling

Today's bicycle commuting adventure comes to you courtesy of an unidentified child who shared the bike lane with me on my way to work, along with a woman I presumed to be his mother.  He was riding along ahead of me but behind her, most the time working the insouciant, hands free maneuver so familiar to me from my own youth.  His riding seemed so joyous and fun, and I remembered this technique as being so easy, so I decided to try hands free riding myself.  My short-lived, wobbly attempt made me reconsider relearning this skill whilst riding in a lane where a mishap would place me in the path of oncoming vehicles. It would appear my balance is not what it was as a twelve year old athlete.  I'll try it out at the park instead where I only risk being run over by the less lethal dog walkers, roller-skaters, joggers, or fellow cyclists.

Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude

I put my geriatric dog Toby on Rimadyl recently, to try to provide pain relief for his arthritis.  I've heard that it can have serious side effects, including death, but my vet assured me such side effects were rare and most dogs tolerate it just fine.  Nevertheless, I carefully read the packaging materials regarding all possible side effects.  The materials warned to look for signs of vomiting, blood in the stool, changes in appetite, or depression.  Hard to know what depression would look like on Toby.  He is such a joyful creature.

But I did take this hole he ate in the wall as a change in appetite.

Rimadyl discontinued.  We're going to try the glucosamine and laser treatments instead.

Someday We'll Find It, The Rainbow Connection. The Lovers, the Dreamers and Me

Earlier today I was riding my bike to the theater to see Despicable Me. I was running late because I hung around the house too long doing important things like playing Mario Kart and emptying the dishwasher. As I rode past an older woman walking an elderly dog, she asked if I could stop and help her. I was frustrated because I was already late, but I stopped to see what she needed. She explained that she was visiting her son and had taken her dog out for a walk and now couldn't find her way back. She forget to bring her phone. I offered her the use of mine, but she didn't know his phone number. She couldn't remember the address. The temperature was almost triple digits, heat was radiating up from the asphalt street and concrete sidewalks, and the dog was panting heavily and beginning to show signs of distress. I was blazingly hot and I'm sure the woman was as well.

She kept telling me what she thought the address was and then telling me where she thought they had been on their walk but those two things were miles apart and as she hadn't been gone long, it was unlikely he lived where she said she thought he did. We finally sorted out what she thought his address was. She was on the right street, just a few blocks away. So I pointed her in the right direction and rode rapidly away, now trying to make up even more time, hot and frustrated with the delay, and telling myself I'd done all I could to help her.

Yet as I rode past the address she gave, I decided to stop and make sure it was the right one. I asked the man who answered my knock if his mother was visiting. It seemed unlikely as he was Asian and she was caucasian but of course families come in all varieties. He said his mother wasn't visiting and he didn't have anyone staying with him and I realized the woman was walking to the wrong address and still would have no idea where she was supposed to be.
So I turned around thinking that at least I could ride home, get my car and some water for her and her dog, and drive them around looking at all the possible combinations of addresses she thought were correct until she recognized his place. When I rode back past her, I stopped and told her that I'd checked the address on my way by and it was wrong. I asked if her son was listed with directory services and she said she thought he was. So I looked up his address on my phone (which I hadn't thought to do initially). She had transposed the last two digits and the house was only a few houses away from the first address she had given me. I went along beside her to make sure she got safely back to her son's house. As we walked we exchanged the usually social pleasantries and she repeatedly thanked me for my help and blessed me for my kindness.

After the encounter, I left feeling like the day was a little brighter and the world was a slightly better place. It had nothing to do with my helping her. If anything I felt ashamed that I hadn't cheerfully done more to help her to begin with. I performed a wedding ceremony last night and part of my ceremony talks about doing things for each other in a spirit of joy and love, not of duty and sacrifice and those words kept coming to mind. Why had I been so annoyed to be stopped to help someone in need? Nothing that important about missing a movie that would show five more times that day and seven times the next day. Instead of seeing the movie as scheduled I met Nancy from Bellevue, Washington who will always be part of my memories and therefore a part of me and I'm sure Reddirtgirl from Salt Lake City, Utah will always be part of her. And I was feeling happy and positive because I had experienced one of those countless, fleeting human connections that enrich our lives, or communities, our world.

Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley!

Today Toby came to work with me which means I towed his trolley behind my bike. We stopped on the park on the way so we could do a lap and get him his exercise. As I was getting ready to load him back into it, a woman walking by, stopped and peered into the empty trailer, and exclaimed: "You you forgot your babies!" I pointed to Toby standing beside me, to which she exclaimed, "It's for the dog? How nice!"

Yesterday on the commute home, I shared the bike lane with awesome ice cream bicycles. Today, I shared the the bike lane with this awesome double tall bike.

As he rode past and turned left, the rider of this bike noticed Toby in the trolley and exclaimed: "Cool, man! It's for a dog!" Later someone shouted out of a car as they passed us, "You've got to be kidding me!" Clearly Toby has become the goodwill ambassador for the 300 East bicycle lane.

Bicycle! Bicycle! Bicycle! I Want To Ride My Bicycle!

I ride my bicycle to work most days, trying to lose weight and be environmentally friendly. I pass a house a few blocks up on my route and a man is almost always out in the morning with a young boy and we always exchange neighborly "hello"s or "good morning"s, often with a wave to the boy. They are usually on the porch, but today the man was doing some gardening and was close to the fence when I rode by. We engaged in our normal exchange and then he said "I love that bike." "Thanks," I yelled behind me because I had already ridden past. This brief exchange made my day a little brighter. Plus? My bike IS awesome!

Then on the ride home, I rode in the bike lane along with several ice cream bikes. Who knew such a thing existed! I was thinking of starting a bicycle rickshaw as a second source of income (need to keep that travel fund full), but a ice cream bicycle would be so much more fun!

How Do Quail Celebrate the Fourth of July?

Performed a wedding this morning at Memory Grove. A family of quail traipsed on through the ceremony. No harm, no foul, I thought. I'm sure we have interrupted some of their rituals at some point.

Went to the movies with friends (How to Train Your Dragon). At the ticket counter two tweens asked for tickets to Kick Ass. Ticket Dude: "That's rated R. I'll need to see some ID, please." Tween: "Man! Why does this always happen to us?!"

Riding my bike home from the movies, I passed a lemonade stand. Stopped and bought a tall, cold one. Seemed like a Fourth of July thing to do.

Tonight? Barbecue and fireworks of course, What else would you do on the Fourth of July?

Dark Side of the Mandolin

There is another item active on my bucket list. I want to play the mandolin in a Pink Floyd cover band. I've made a "to do" list of necessary steps to achieve this goal. Again, the list of quite manageable (in number):

1. Learn to play the mandolin

2. Learn the Pink Floyd catalog on the mandolin.

3. Form a Pink Floyd cover band.

I have yet to accomplish ANY of these steps, but I am making progress on step 1. I do OWN three mandolins and I have taken FIVE mandolin lessons.

I could use some help with number 3. Anyone interested in being a member of a Pink Floyd cover band featuring lead mandolin?

Judge Dread and the Roller Derby

After seeing Drew Barrymore's directorial debut, Whip It, I added professional roller derby to my bucket list. You know, that list of things you want to do before you die. The dream is renewed every time my local roller derby teams laps my dog and me at the park as we plod along on our arthritic joints and they fly by on their skates. I assumed they were the roller derby team based on stereotypes. They all wear tank tops with names like "Stiletto Stealth" on the back, most sport tattoos, the style of their skates, etc. Also, I've seen some of the ladies getting out of a car with a "roller derby girl" sticker. (Clearly law school was worth the time and money as it has instilled in me amazing powers of deductive and inductive reasoning.)

In order to make my dream a reality, I mapped out what I would need to do to accomplish this goal. The list is quite small: Get new knees, lose more weight, learn to skate, get an awesome roller derby name, make the team . . . . So far I have achieved one of the necessary steps: awesome roller derby name . . . JUDGE DREAD! I'm working on the new knees and the losing of the weight. So really I just need to then learn to skate and make the team. My goal is practically realized!