tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17220062132777367902024-03-04T20:20:49.336-08:00Cool Beans and Cats<center>Random thoughts of an overwhelmed animal slave and self-published author about pets, beer, music, television or whatever bizarre thoughts are crowding her mind at the time.</center>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-67150085422253628972022-07-14T12:48:00.000-07:002022-07-14T12:48:30.814-07:00Senior Dogs - Give Them a Chance<p>From the "What have I done" files:<br /><br />It was a thought at the back of my mind. It wasn't new. It had been there for a long time. When I was in my late 20s, I lived in an apartment complex. There was an older gentleman and almost every time I saw him, he had a different dog - each one obviously elderly, limping through their daily walk while gazing at him with true adoration.<br /><br />I'm not an overly social person, but I gathered up my courage on one occasion to ask him about the dogs. "Oh, I get them through a seniors for seniors program."<br /><br />"Doesn't it hurt to lose them?" I asked, thinking of the four cats in my own apartment, whom I loved so much and couldn't bear the thought of losing.<br /><br />"I don't think about that," he answered. "I think about the fact that I give them a home that they wouldn't have otherwise at the end."<br /><br />I've never forgotten that gentlemen. He gave those dogs the greatest gift he could offer them - a home in which to finish living their lives. A person who cared for them. Companionship. Freedom from a depressing cage in a shelter. No worries of premature euthanasia due to not being adoptable or developing a treatable age-related illness. There is no greater gift.<br /><br />The young woman that asked that man about his senior dogs has grown quite a bit. I've lived through losing a spouse and a father, not to mention three dogs and seventeen cats. Each death has hit me in a different way. I've loved all of them, and each holds a special place in my heart. But I've discovered that despite the pain, the fact that my heart's capacity to love seems to expand with each new creature I let in allows me the space to grieve each in their own way.<br /><br />After the death of my first husband, I eventually fell in love again with another animal lover, who soon moved in with three cats adding to the six I already had plus a beautiful dog - a lab/shepherd mix that I fell head over heels for. I was only able to share about two and half years with this beautiful dog, but with the older gentleman from that apartment complex in mind, I swore that some day when I was older, I would pay forward what this senior dog had given me by allowing another older dog to finish her life in a home rather than a shelter or worse.<br /><br />We lost our beloved sheepdog/lab mix, Laney, last year. Just last month, my promise to pay forward the love of an aging dog came to my mind. I'm too young for seniors for seniors programs, but I started browsing the adoption pages to see if any listings sparked my interest. There I happened upon Isabella, called Bella by those who love her, an 11-year-old chocolate lab in need of rehoming. And with that, some day had arrived. <br /><br />I am keeping the promise that my thirty-something-old self made. Bella isn't the abandoned-at-a-shelter dog I imagined back then. She is a dog whose family loved her very much, but whose child had developed an asthma-inducing allergy to her. They loved the dog they had raised since she was a seven-week-old pup so that rather than send her to a shelter, they've been restricting her to just a few rooms in their house while they searched for a home where she could grow old and wouldn't be exiled to a few rooms, separated from the family she loved. Despite the difficulties that entailed, they were willing to wait for a hopefully perfect home where she could live the rest of her life. <br /><br />Their love and affection for her was apparent to us when we met them and introduced the lovely Bella to our dog, Brooklyn.<br /><br />The two dogs basically ignored each other than a perfunctory sniffing of one another, so we decided to give it a go. We welcomed Bella to our home and after a week of watching her mostly ignore our cats, we decided it would work. I know it was extremely difficult for her family to give her up, and I remain in awe of the sacrifice they were willing to make to give both their beloved dog and there cherished son a happy life.<br /><br />We have heard that their son is breathing much better without a dog in the home, and we take comfort in the belief that we have helped a young man get a healthier start in life, which is the most important thing you can give someone.<br /><br />As for Bella, I think she still misses her family, and spent the first week with us intently watching the door for her people to come and bring her home. It was kind of heartbreaking, but she is now settling into a routine in our home and finding her place. We printed copies of the <a href="https://craftycanineclub.com/adopting-a-rescue-dog-how-to-help-them-adjust-to-the-first-3-days-in-a-new-home/" target="_blank">3/3/3</a> posters that discuss timelines for allowing dogs to settle into a new home and refer to it daily so as not to become discouraged as Bella continues transitioning to our home. We have a way to go yet, but the sleeping dog at my feet gives me hope that we've done a good thing for three wonderful people and an awesome dog.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxNCpPb4k-JIONTM_PHWmUnOY6SsniMpVxb8Hj-OGq-djVRgMpyCGDYljUCD9ZqINDM89N0DsMm1v3_qnGifq-QFWYjF7aVtAP4XjOyLrPU5ddt85iGwKF8cruGOVjU5mcgb7MANnjHQ_1KlnMSlVVqRYVrROu7ppmwKtNr1B7knPNJAFefFEFKj8mw/s2633/IMG_9802a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1841" data-original-width="2633" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxNCpPb4k-JIONTM_PHWmUnOY6SsniMpVxb8Hj-OGq-djVRgMpyCGDYljUCD9ZqINDM89N0DsMm1v3_qnGifq-QFWYjF7aVtAP4XjOyLrPU5ddt85iGwKF8cruGOVjU5mcgb7MANnjHQ_1KlnMSlVVqRYVrROu7ppmwKtNr1B7knPNJAFefFEFKj8mw/s320/IMG_9802a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-33273877096610383052021-09-10T11:12:00.005-07:002021-09-10T15:21:53.036-07:00<p><b>The Shadow (Litter Box) Wars <br /></b></p><p>Warning: Contains potty/litter box humor!<b> <br /></b></p><p>Meet Shadow. He doesn't really fit in that box, but you'll never convince him of that.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfMs_SRybZ6K0FoN826qehIL5OCPCoN2u1xlBNzFP6gyVqQnF1UfKx5H9A8a3u1_xTkZbKDHRcaLB3_cWBNzwa8RPZNpb7cHCGl4PEkfcH0CJoj32tvgE4JRmKlVxDvPQ3yyvIZ4jZN-5/s2048/IMG_3525+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="2048" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfMs_SRybZ6K0FoN826qehIL5OCPCoN2u1xlBNzFP6gyVqQnF1UfKx5H9A8a3u1_xTkZbKDHRcaLB3_cWBNzwa8RPZNpb7cHCGl4PEkfcH0CJoj32tvgE4JRmKlVxDvPQ3yyvIZ4jZN-5/w320-h223/IMG_3525+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>We adopted this little guy when he was a tiny kitten in 2014 after saving his life in a town animal shelter. They were about to close up for the evening, and my husband spotted this tiny, black kitten who had somehow gotten his collar stuck in his mouth. He couldn't close his jaw and his frenzied attempts at dislodging the collar weren't working. There were no attentive workers to be found, and we had little doubt that this kitten was in trouble. Without hesitation, my hubby ran off to find someone to help the poor kitten.</p><p>When you save a life, you're responsible for it forever, right? Well, we
are in this case. We took the sweet thing home. Who could resist this? <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp8uGPiJXqtZhNiOF5BAxRIEH3w2JEftZVFs_A3argyTfrKI-jL10mC-VdFTpvhtD3XZ5I-gmJK1XM37xF5us4m1gJhHbcJAQxQNHlWAFSZhQs_tlnlEUhrNLflbY9U6diVLkVM4O5r4n/s1024/DSCN1517.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp8uGPiJXqtZhNiOF5BAxRIEH3w2JEftZVFs_A3argyTfrKI-jL10mC-VdFTpvhtD3XZ5I-gmJK1XM37xF5us4m1gJhHbcJAQxQNHlWAFSZhQs_tlnlEUhrNLflbY9U6diVLkVM4O5r4n/s320/DSCN1517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> You'd think he'd be
grateful, right? <br /></p><p>Don't get me wrong. He can be very affectionate ... when he wants to. However, his habit of stretching his glorious belly out while lying on his back in the middle of the floor is a trap. I am so often drawn in by its irresistible siren song of "Pet me đ đ ą .... pet the belly!" which has resulted in numerous "love scratches." I have learned to look the other way and give him a wide berth.</p><p>I don't mean to make it sound as though I have anything but the utmost love and adoration for my kitty. I do. He frequently sleeps on our feet at night, and his mousie play is unparalleled. My husband channels a special voice just for this cat, who frequently has outrageous requests for our shopping lists, including but not limited to a live fish, a boat, his own turtle, etc. I guess you could say he has wormed his way into our hearts. And he has a home for life.</p><p>But I digress. This is the story of a battle of wills over the litter box. Anyone who has cats, especially multiple cats, will know that they each have their own way of doing things. Nowhere is this more apparent than in their toileting habits.</p><p>After all, we have this little guy, named Loki, who apparently won't lower himself to sully his paws in the litter while he takes care of business. He does, however, manage to balance on the rim of the box with the expertise of an Olympic gymnast.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pJIw2SMiv2IkXgQLRVSSVn5CyhoTxF1LtxXYAh8uXDr9SINLYh21kyfdMWy_BnwjYEPr6hpa0wAIZU6j7sg-ouyAfpGmQNLN9mNDCNXkc4aJBLWX_andzfW-rzcKW1yakZG1OwjBp9gi/s2048/IMG_8485.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pJIw2SMiv2IkXgQLRVSSVn5CyhoTxF1LtxXYAh8uXDr9SINLYh21kyfdMWy_BnwjYEPr6hpa0wAIZU6j7sg-ouyAfpGmQNLN9mNDCNXkc4aJBLWX_andzfW-rzcKW1yakZG1OwjBp9gi/s320/IMG_8485.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--></p><p>At any rate, Shadow started out normal ( you know ... for a cat, that is). "This is your box," I said.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUVlouMQpQLUVDDzWia6OLou2_jJcAge6Ty7tI9heCAMy7hBR9nMHkF084CmbOGvFMa7X090RWN0ENEH4-7v8icklOd-nh6JLvNvawW6VY8EKDIwXrnLsPtWqjbFA2bin4sgDHisl6pME/s2048/IMG_8580.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdpbS9p3L0StVrtlUlaWaEjCwHKBZ-gSMrv5UCaem_HwIy7kkDnEriaNwJi01do8le0nVl6T_MsSubVjvt_ImiQlJAFhN5pG5kTR8ygIWy3EIjCUhjRgrF0FsA8UXVMVEV0r_qvVSIoHK/s2048/IMG_8587.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdpbS9p3L0StVrtlUlaWaEjCwHKBZ-gSMrv5UCaem_HwIy7kkDnEriaNwJi01do8le0nVl6T_MsSubVjvt_ImiQlJAFhN5pG5kTR8ygIWy3EIjCUhjRgrF0FsA8UXVMVEV0r_qvVSIoHK/s320/IMG_8587.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /> </div><br /><p>"Okay," he meowed. Things were fine for a few years. However, at some point, he began to raise his butt higher than the edge of the box and pee onto the wall behind it.</p><p>"I shall add a cover," I said, wisely knowing that this would solve our problem.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7-QkaVQRz35wfkCeA9YwhATIwpsPWIouPmkJlC_2rPTEXs7yXK68hSHGFfeHCW_INKZpFGcipG1tRgCO4ygeujmhbeLvahSMA7oLdFo-PJbPXCAX6mB-sHSiUl_KAl8D2tb4zHsDxQnE/s2048/IMG_8581.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7-QkaVQRz35wfkCeA9YwhATIwpsPWIouPmkJlC_2rPTEXs7yXK68hSHGFfeHCW_INKZpFGcipG1tRgCO4ygeujmhbeLvahSMA7oLdFo-PJbPXCAX6mB-sHSiUl_KAl8D2tb4zHsDxQnE/s320/IMG_8581.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>"I will not use it," Shadow informed me. "I need to be able to look up in order to aim my pee toward the heavens." And he proceeded to urinate outside the box, leaving rivulets of pee everywhere that took a UV light to find and tons of Urine Destroyer to clean.</p><p>"I shall provide you with a much bigger, open box," I told him.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1XzhP-Qrqp3F_FL2svpk8b_UDjnKuIkVLw15ww3MyBoqywULCnzpH44FJ2xvalgjUF7T4Zt_uZttt_1iFMN20NzjzWPbmiDmLlzqY3mfyq_gb0eZpAKpKo4UnRN0F3TMLyniPxU95mwL/s2048/IMG_8584.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1XzhP-Qrqp3F_FL2svpk8b_UDjnKuIkVLw15ww3MyBoqywULCnzpH44FJ2xvalgjUF7T4Zt_uZttt_1iFMN20NzjzWPbmiDmLlzqY3mfyq_gb0eZpAKpKo4UnRN0F3TMLyniPxU95mwL/s320/IMG_8584.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>A satisfied smile spread across my lips as Shadow immediately jumped in the new Jumbo-sized box and took care of business. However, he soon began lifting his butt higher and higher in an attempt to apparently send his urine into low earth orbit. If only the walls hadn't gotten in the way.</p><p>"I shall tape puppy pads to the wall to catch your urine," I said.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVrIkP_ukA_JcFPxgmF1ClfDGYA-Pf6AtDiYGP1sakv-p_oVQNiusGxKBPNzkXq6698rxQKQaV6A51iN9179AjKNlvwrAP69kXB3Bjgze8gRcs3-1KS0_E9azSUDeuPd941EJ76w48Ak4/s2048/IMG_8585.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVrIkP_ukA_JcFPxgmF1ClfDGYA-Pf6AtDiYGP1sakv-p_oVQNiusGxKBPNzkXq6698rxQKQaV6A51iN9179AjKNlvwrAP69kXB3Bjgze8gRcs3-1KS0_E9azSUDeuPd941EJ76w48Ak4/s320/IMG_8585.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>"And I shall deliberately urinate on an angle so as to miss your puppy pads completely," Shadow replied.</p><p>And he did.</p><p>However, I am nothing if not determined. Scanning the pages of the Chewy.com site, I finally happened on the answer to my prayers. It was a photo of an item so wonderful that I swear it was surrounded in a halo of heavenly light. A box so large and with sides that were so high that my wall-defacing kitty would never even know that I had totally thwarted his home-wrecking plans!</p><p>I immediately purchased said item and once it arrived, I presented it to Shadow with a flourish, "Your new box, my kitty lord."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1JE43FsDUr46F3uvNQ67e4Epbu3h4iOf5gJDp5bnfi7IQMOb3EmpVQA3jCn4FgQyPehetlv6HtcGqAdqGuB2NdOmpdKD2p9WLofPGAbyEyV51sXEccmCiVJ-insCjmCgCZpCpxhjeAk_/s2048/IMG_8586.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1JE43FsDUr46F3uvNQ67e4Epbu3h4iOf5gJDp5bnfi7IQMOb3EmpVQA3jCn4FgQyPehetlv6HtcGqAdqGuB2NdOmpdKD2p9WLofPGAbyEyV51sXEccmCiVJ-insCjmCgCZpCpxhjeAk_/s320/IMG_8586.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>Shadow looked at the box and then told me with utter disdain, "Yeah, I'm just gonna pee out the front."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXojOgjIqSjfFtkDdixhTi41E87_xbe-ibwZBr4ZF8ilLZGns_Fwe_CwlYel5T5ccuhBZ8x4ILeWYOZTpu4BVPsXzohAVDydIHunSZQ0bASHwqOMlrLE-c7BlkmXaBFj9kOmEqU-za4Qpm/s2048/IMG_8583.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXojOgjIqSjfFtkDdixhTi41E87_xbe-ibwZBr4ZF8ilLZGns_Fwe_CwlYel5T5ccuhBZ8x4ILeWYOZTpu4BVPsXzohAVDydIHunSZQ0bASHwqOMlrLE-c7BlkmXaBFj9kOmEqU-za4Qpm/s320/IMG_8583.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />He's lucky I love him so ...<br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-84577416872189166222016-12-06T04:41:00.000-08:002016-12-09T05:42:57.194-08:00The Danger of Tweets and MemesIt was ... many years ago. The Internet was young. An elective college music course was meeting in the evening. The night was cold and the heat in the classroom didn't work properly. The students kept their coats and scarves on and the professor, a former concert pianist, was bundled in a heavy, but very comfy-looking sweater. It was nearing the end of the semester, and a young lady stood at the front of the class, giving an oral presentation of her term paper.<br />
<br />
She cleared her throat and began, "Beethoven. A deaf composer for a deaf audience."<br />
<br />
A collective murmur of curiosity arose from the students, many of whom had started to doze off all cuddled up in their layers of winter jackets and sweaters. <br />
<br />
The professor, whose attention had probably waned due to the constant drone of amateurish recitations of facts he was intimately aware of, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the student continued her diatribe indicting Beethoven for bombarding his listeners with discordant notes that failed to coalesce into anything resembling a work of art, the musician-professor interrupted.<br />
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Clearly trying to control his temper, he asked, "Where did you get your information?"<br />
<br />
The girl appeared stunned at the brewing hostility she heard in his voice. "Um, on-on the Internet," she stuttered.<br />
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The enraged professor stood. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Just because you read it on the Internet doesn't make it true."<br />
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True story. I was in the audience/class. I can't be sure, but I think she failed.<br />
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I'd like to think that people who are growing up with technology would better understand the origin of so-called information that you find there, but sadly, that doesn't seem to be the case. This past election demonstrated that.<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">Reams of Memes</span><br />
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My Facebook page became unusable during the 2016 US election. My news feed was filled with silly ridiculous memes that stretched truths, made sarcasm read as serious news and spread outright lies. My usual relaxing and enjoyable stream of cat pictures and videos was infected by images of politicians that completely undid all of the blood pressure-lowering effects of my Internet felines.<br />
<br />
Now, I dislike engaging in the practice of telling - or being told for that matter (I am only human) - that something someone believes in isn't true, but this was ridiculous. And like I said, it was ruining my morning cat time. So, initially, I investigated each one of these outrageous claims and then posted the truth (with sources) with the original poster. The individual would usually say something like "that's a relief" and then proceed to re-post it within a few weeks. I gave up. Clearly these people would never acknowledge that they had allowed their opinion to be influenced or changed by either ultra conservative or extremely liberal websites that claimed to know the truth. <br />
<br />
However, recently, the sharing of silly memes and fake news stories has officially become dangerous. A man actually opened fire in a restaurant because people had forwarded and shared ridiculous emails/posts/tweets purporting something called "Pizzagate" - an alleged child pornography ring involving Clinton and her contacts, even though it had been widely debunked as false. Does someone need to die before we all become more conscientious about what we forward/share/post? <br />
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This is not about which candidate you supported. This is about the truth. If we are going to depend on social media for information, we need to ensure that what we are reading or sharing is true. Don't share posts from The Onion without stressing that it is sarcasm. Don't share news stories from ultra conservative or extremely liberal sources. Look for the truth that lies between.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.yahoo.com/news/us-pizzeria-attack-underscores-fake-news-dangers-191200756.html">https://www.yahoo.com/news/us-pizzeria-attack-underscores-fake-news-dangers-191200756.html</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://washingtonmonthly.com/2016/11/02/liberal-news-conservative-news-and-fake-news/">http://washingtonmonthly.com/2016/11/02/liberal-news-conservative-news-and-fake-news/</a><br />
<br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-45745501299924767972016-04-13T12:04:00.002-07:002016-04-15T05:47:51.168-07:00My New Least Favorite House Cleaning ChoreAh, paper shredder, you've earned a spot on my list. Which list? The least favorite house cleaning chore list. Topped only by rehanging the shower curtain after washing it, emptying the paper shredder now joins other tasks such as ironing, washing the walls (yes, that's a thing when you have OCD) and scrubbing grout.<br />
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Previously, paper shredding and the ominous task of emptying the basket had escaped inclusion on 'The List.' That all changed today when I got up from the computer to do another task. As I stood, I noticed two documents that I wanted to shred. Figuring I'd just slip them into the shredder on my way out of the room, I picked them up and carried them with all the reverence due a piece of paper that was about to be shredded into unrecognizable diamond-cut bits. Very casually I flipped the switch and fed the papers in. Nothing happened. Hmm. The light was on. It worked yesterday. Then I noticed that the basket was full. No. Full doesn't describe it. It looked more like it had been through a trash compactor. When I pulled the basket out, tiny pieces of confetti burst out and littered the floor.<br />
<br />
Sigh. Okay. I removed the container and went in search of a bag big enough to hold the contents. A peek in the kitchen pail told me that the half empty bag had the capacity to do the job. Oops, I have a quandary here. Is it pessimistic to say half empty when looking for such a state to accomplish a task? Was I actually being optimistic that the space in the bag would fulfill my needs? Great. Now I have a headache (and quite possibly some ADD). Anyway, back to the problem at hand. The environmentally-conscious part of me knew I had to fill the bag now because the trash goes out tonight. Just one problem. The picky compulsive in me didn't want to contaminate the shredder pail by touching it to any of the garbage already in the bag.<br />
<br />
I carefully spread the opening of the bag and held the pail over it. With the assistance of gravity and an exuberant puppy who rushed in to grab the bag as I was dumping the shreds, my kitchen ended up looking like the Canyon of Heroes after a victory parade. Knowing that attempting to sweep such a mess is an exercise in futility, I knew a vacuuming was in order. Yay! Vacuuming is actually my favorite task. The immediate gratification of seeing clean floors and carpets in the wake of my Shark animal vacuum is very pleasing.<br />
<br />
I pulled out the vacuum, which had the added benefit of causing the puppy to stop eating the paper and leave the room. Naturally, since I had the machine out, I did the whole house, however, I made the mistake of running the vacuum over the pile of shredded paper rather than using the wand for all of it. This caused the roller to continue to spit out little pieces all throughout the house. In the end, I went back over everything with the wand. Then I emptied the vacuum and changed the kitchen garbage bag, which naturally meant cleaning the pail first.<br />
<br />
That done, I returned the now-empty basked to the shredder. Once again, I fed the paper in. Nothing happened. Hmm. I peered inside the mechanism and saw an intact piece of paper sitting in between the nasty-looking teeth of the shredder. Now, I've seen enough horror movies to know that even with it switched off, the teeth would spring to life and shred my fingers if I tried to clear it. I unplugged the shredder, but knew it was still a risk. However, it was Amy vs. the machine now and I was determined to win.<br />
<br />
I amassed several household items to help with the job at hand. Tweezers failed. Scissors failed. The pen wouldn't fit in the opening. I finally found a flat-headed screw driver that was narrow enough to fit in. With much maneuvering, I finally managed to dislodge the offending piece of paper. Once again, I fed the documents into the shredder. Success!<br />
<br />
With a contented sigh, I turned to do what I had wanted to before the whole shredding incident began. My shoulders slumped as I realized that I could no longer recall what that was. Not to worry, though, I'm sure I'll wake up at 3 am and remember.Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-32982183475789186672016-04-10T06:56:00.000-07:002016-09-25T14:00:28.710-07:00Life with an Epileptic Dog<br />
It's taken me some time to write this. My beautiful Daphne went to the Rainbow Bridge on January 3, and life hasn't been the same since. I have since gotten a new puppy, whom I love dearly, but it remains to be seen if she and I will ever be as close as I was with my Daph. In some ways, I hope not. Not that I didn't love the way she looked at me and I saw that her life began and ended with me, but because Daphne was too dependent on me. She was overcome with sorrow when I wasn't around and by the time she died, she was so close to me that she was literally always at my side. In fact, it was difficult to even walk across the house without tripping over her. I'm not sure exactly why she ended up that way, but I believe her epilepsy had much to do with it.<br />
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<u>The First Seizure</u> <br />
Daphne had her first seizure a month before her fourth birthday. It was 'foodies' time - something of an event when you have seven cats and two dogs. I noticed her slinking around the dining room table, which was odd because that dog could smell food at fifty paces. So I went to see what was wrong and saw her standing there with long strands of drool hanging from her mouth. My immediate thought was that she'd eaten something harmful. I used a towel to wipe her mouth. Then to my absolute horror she fell on her side. Her mouth was wide open and she seemed to be gasping. Foolishly, I thought she was choking. There I was sweeping her throat, looking for whatever it was. Feeling nothing, I finally gave up and sat back, terrified that I was about to watch my dog die. I do realize how lucky I was that her jaw didn't close, especially given the lockjaw that usually followed her later seizures. Within a few minutes, she recovered and stood, but she growled at me when I got near. I guess she was so confused about what had happened and probably still felt loopy. I rushed her to the vet and they said it was likely a seizure. With a bottle of phenobarbital, I headed home. She had two more seizures within 24 hours, meaning she was a so-called 'cluster' dog. Through the years, we tried upping the dose and adding Zonisamide, but were never able to get any better than a cluster about once every month.<br />
<br />
<u>Our First Emergency Experience</u><br />
Then came the dreaded night. Daphne began seizing at 2am and never came out of it. Her body would still for a minute or two and then immediately begin seizing again. By the time we got her to the emergency vet, her temperature was about 108. They put her in an ice bath and administered Valium intravenously to stop the seizures. The next morning, we picked her up and took her to the specialty hospital, where she stayed for a day or two. They upped her Zonisamide to the maximum dose. Happily, she had no further episodes like that and even stopped clustering. She would still have one seizure about every month or two, but we learned to live with it (as the vet said happens to most people who have an epileptic dog). We slept with a pile of towels behind the pillows, so we could throw them under her and prevent having to change the bedding at 2 am and barricaded the stairs.<br />
<br />
<u>Six Year Veterans</u><br />
Eventually, she became very unsteady. It started with what we called 'wobbly' days as we approached the six year mark for her disease. She would stumble on the back steps to the yard and wipe out when turning corners. We place throw rugs and mats on all bare floor areas to stop her from falling.<br />
<br />
<u>Our New Hope: Keppra</u><br />
Every year we had her pheno and liver levels tested. After six years, her liver was showing signs of damage and we made the decision to try and wean her off it, while adding Keppra. The first day on the Keppra was nothing short of horrific. She couldn't take two steps without falling, even with all the mats and runners. I cried just watching her. We stopped it and then gradually gave it to her in quarter tablet increments. Finally, we had her on the Keppra and off the pheno.<br />
<br />
<u>Tragedy ... Again</u> <br />
Then tragedy struck. Just before Thanksgiving, she had another cluster - her first in a few years. Again, it was the middle of the night. The Valium suppositories we had didn't help. We skipped the local emergency vet and rushed her to the specialty hospital. She was there for several days, still having intermittent seizures. The day before Thanksgiving, against their advice, we took her home. The bills were becoming astronomical and we wanted her home for the holiday. All went well at first. Then three weeks later, it happened again. Once again, we rushed her to the hospital in the middle of the night. This time, when we took her home a few days later, we had a prescription for injectable Valium and a kit to administer it rectally. If this didn't work, I feared we would lose her. I simply couldn't afford a two to three day hospitalization every month. The specialist felt that the Pheno had probably been stopping the clusters, but said it was possible that even restarting it wouldn't stop them. Plus, her liver values had improved since stopping it, which indicated that it had been harming her liver.<br />
<br />
On January 3rd, it happened again. We administered the Valium rectally as we'd been instructed. She was still seizing. We loaded her into the car and were halfway to the specialist when she stopped. With great relief, we returned home. She spent the night vocalizing - something they do after a cluster, where they sort of howl and whine. She seemed relatively okay the next morning - clingy, but that was normal for her. She had a few short seizures, but got up quickly. However, the next morning, she had another seizure and though she regained consciousness she couldn't stand up. We brought her back to the specialist and were told that she was likely brain damaged (her pupils were no longer equally reactive). They said they could hospitalize her and try to stabilize her, but she might never walk again. Deciding to let her go was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.<br />
<br />
<u>Guilt</u><br />
I still feel so guilty. Perhaps if I'd taken her to the hospital that last time even though she stopped, we could have prevented the brain damage. On the other hand, monthly hospitalizations at a specialty hospital were too costly to be practical. I would like to look back on all the time we had together and smile, but I'm not at that point yet. The memory of those soulful, brown eyes still brings me to tears. Some day I'll get there.<br />
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<br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-83216596477242573842016-01-09T06:01:00.000-08:002016-01-09T06:59:17.916-08:00A Healthy (Weight) Dog Is a Happy Dog!Two years ago, I took my lab mix, Laney, to the vet for her annual checkup - you know, heartworm test, vaccinations, etc. The vet did his physical exam and said, "Well, I think she could afford to lose a few pounds."<br />
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My dog was fat!?! I knew she'd gotten a little more plump in the past few years - her youthful dog weight had been about 65 pounds and she was now close to 80. I was horrified. How could I do that to my treasured dog?<br />
<br />
I went home and immediately cut her food rations and increased her walk frequency. After a few months, I noticed that she'd gotten most of her figure back and she now climbed the front steps with a spring in her step that I hadn't seen since she was a puppy. My heart soared with happiness. <br />
<br />
So it was with great anticipation that I took her for her annual checkup the next year. Surely the doctor would tell me what a wonderful job I'd done. The tech weighed Laney and the vet came in. He looked at the record, then back at my dog, his face full of concern.<br />
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My heart sank. With great trepidation, I asked, "Is something wrong?"<br />
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He gave me a barely perceptible nod. "Yes. She's lost a lot of weight," he said in a grave voice.<br />
<br />
"But you told me she needed to lose weight!" I exclaimed.<br />
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He brightened considerably. "I know, but I tell lots of clients that. Nobody ever does it!"<br />
<br />
We both laughed in relief.<br />
<br />
Since then, my other epileptic dog became ill to the point where I couldn't walk her. I couldn't bear the look of disappointment on her face when I walked Laney, but not her. So I stopped walking Laney. She slowly put a few pounds back on. Additionally, I enjoy giving treats to my pets. There's nothing that makes me happier than to watch her take a treat and run to the other room as though she had just received the greatest treasure in the world. However, Laney soon started doing a strange chewing motion with her mouth even when she wasn't eating. The vet felt she was having reflux issues. I never thought my dog would have those problems. This <a href="https://community.petco.com/t5/Blog/People-Food-and-Weight-Gain-See-How-Each-Little-Treat-Adds-Up/ba-p/65352">article </a>makes so much sense. Adding treats to the recommended serving size means you're giving them too many calories each day.<br />
<br />
Keeping your pets healthy is as important as keeping them happy. <br />
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If (like me) you're not sure if your dog or cat is a good weight, check this chart out. <br />
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<br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-73578078309255071232015-10-09T10:32:00.000-07:002015-10-09T12:53:28.622-07:00A Pet Rescue Love StoryOne week ago, I lost my little Stuff Kitty. Though I am crying tears of sadness because she is gone, I can never be sad about the time we spent together.<br />
<br />
In August of 2001, I was a widow living alone. The loss of my husband was still an open wound, and most days, I simply got up, went to work, came home, ate a brief dinner and got into bed. Many people probably will read that and think that I was pathetic, but any who have lost a spouse or partner will better understand the all-encompassing effect it has on you for a long time. One day I came home and went out to fill the bird feeders only to find a tiny, dirty, sickly, little calico kitten in my yard. Her patches of white were a sooty gray, one eye was bulging and necrotic, flies buzzed around her and she was clearly undernourished. She wouldn't allow me to approach her, so I backed off and put a dish of cat food down well away from the steps. Cautiously, she neared the dish, ever vigilant and wary of any movements I made.<br />
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We went on this way for some time. When the 9/11 terror attacks hit, I was still unable to get near her. But the attempts gave me a much needed break from the constant onslaught of news coverage. Living anywhere in close proximity to New York City at the time meant that it was all we thought about. Everyone here knew someone who was there, whether they were lost or they escaped. Many people took comfort in the embrace of loved ones as a means of regaining some feeling of security, which we had all lost that day. I had no one to reach out to so I focused on that little cat. She needed me and I needed her.<br />
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Everyone in the neighborhood had seen the little cat in their yards and the people next door to me actually thanked me for feeding her. "Oh, we're so glad you're doing that. Our girls were worried about her so we can tell them you're taking care of her."<br />
<br />
Now, I personally thought that I would want my children to see <i>me </i>being kind to a stray, not leaving it to others, but I guess that's just me. At any rate,as the weeks progressed, I was able to get closer each time. Just as I was hoping that I might be able to actually pet her, the idiot ... person next door came to my house to tell me that they had fleas in their yard and his wife said it was the kitten so he was going to put poison down. I was horrified. Forget the fact that they had a dog and a rabbit in a hutch, all of whom may have been responsible for the fleas, but how can you justify poisoning a tiny stray who was just trying to survive? I wanted to ask if they were going to tell their little girls about their new plan. I have no kind words for that family (and fortunately, I no longer live next to them), so I'll continue with the story.<br />
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I was now desperate to get this cat out of harm's way. So the next time I put food down and she let me approach while she was eating, I grabbed her. She was a whirlwind of teeth and claws. I wasn't able to get her in the house, so I ran into the garage and she flew from my arms. The large car door had windows in it and she had no depth perception. She leapt through the air, thinking she'd escape through the window. Like something out of a cartoon, she hit the window and slid down the door to the floor. She spent the next three days hiding behind my late husband's large mechanic's tool boxes.<br />
<br />
Three days later she emerged out of hunger and I grabbed her again, forcing her into a carrier. The vet fit me in and I had her tested for FIV and FeLV, vaccinated and obtained flea treatment. The tests came back negative and our fates were sealed. She would join my household (which included several other cats).<br />
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Within a month, I took her in for her spay and to have the necrotic eye removed. When I called to check up on her surgery result, the vet informed me that her heart had stopped during the operation and he had a difficult time reviving her. Though she survived, the vet told me he didn't think she'd live more than a year. She was fourteen when she passed.<br />
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The years weren't always kind to her - she suffered from chronic respiratory infections and was almost always congested. But she was also beautiful, gentle and loving. She would sit on my lap for hours and purr and knead. <br />
<br />
Though we knew she was getting frail and might not be with us in a year or two, she was gone unexpectedly. We'd been to the vet with her the evening before and he told us he was becoming concerned, but her blood work wasn't terrible and her heart sounded good. I think he was as surprised as we were when she passed away the next morning. I awoke knowing something was wrong, and I can only pray that in those last few seconds as her little body was wracked with tremors, that she felt my hand on her and knew that she was surrounded by people who loved her.<br />
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Was is worth the pain I am feeling now? Yes. Tears are streaming down my face and my heart is broken, but I will never regret giving her fourteen years. And the love she gave me in return was priceless.<br />
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<br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-75733099187985875052015-04-21T13:35:00.000-07:002015-04-21T15:06:30.552-07:00The Saga of Amy and the Bee<br />
<b>The saga of Amy and the Bee ...</b><br />
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I woke up bright and early determined to make the most of the day. The dog had had a seizure the previous night so all of the bedding needed to be washed. I grabbed an armload and went downstairs. As I was loading the washing machine, I kept imagining that I was seeing a black shadow. I shook my head to clear it. Obviously, this is just some sort of scary basement thing. Wait! There it was again. Only this time, it was buzzing.<br />
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So now that I knew it wasn't my imagination but a huge bee, I beat a strategic
(you can read that as hasty and the scream was only an attempt to scare it)
retreat and returned armed with a small phone book and a bottle of
Febreeze (give me a break - I didn't have any bug spray).<br />
<br />
However, fortune favors the brave - and also apparently those armed with a phone book and Febreeze because when I
returned, I found the bee was dazed and slowing. I put the phone book
on the floor and waited. Now, waiting for a dazed bee to climb on a small phone book is akin to watching the proverbial pot of water until it boils. Not one to waste time, I carefully started the washer and dryer while waiting. In case you were wondering, shouting "hurry up" at a bee has absolutely no effect.<br />
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It finally climbed onto the book, and I covered it with a plastic
cup and was able to relocate the bee to the projects (or outside, if you
prefer). </div>
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A short time later, my husband calls to ask how my day is going. "Fine," I tell him. "I even got the bee out of the basement." I proceeded to tell him about the whole relocation project - okay, I may have left out the part about the Febreeze, but anyway you know what his response is? He asks, "Well, what kind of bee was it?"<br />
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What am I? An entomologist? Now, if you don't have an Asperger's-like Obsessive compulsive disorder, you might not appreciate this, or you might think I'm crazy - actually I might be, but anyway where was I? Oh yeah. What kind of bee was it? His suggestion that I "hit it with a rock" so he could identify it later got the cogs and wheels of my crazy going. By the time I hung the phone up, I'd become convinced that I had just set an Africanized - killer bee loose in my neighborhood. So, I now have to go outside (cursing myself for bringing Mr. Bee out front where all the neighbors could see my madness) and find the bee ... in the grass ... I did - which probably just tells you how deeply disturbed I am - and take several photographs of him - with me walking a careful line between getting close enough to see detail, but not close enough to get stung.<br />
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I then spent the next half hour online looking at skin-crawling insect recognition sites in order to identify the bee. Thankfully, I can now say with certainty that it was a Common Eastern Bumble Bee, although let's face it, after what it put me through, this bee was far from common.<br />
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I went back outside only to realize that I could not proceed with my plan to mow the lawn because Mr. Bee was still there and I'd be damned if my whole morning's struggle was going to be for naught. So, instead I went to Home Depot and bought mulch. <br />
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There I am happily mulching away when I hear this buzzing ...Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-3719356248661916192014-10-10T05:52:00.000-07:002014-10-10T05:54:58.532-07:00How NOT to end up in a horror flickAh, October. Usually, I blog about my scary movie pics for the month. This is when my husband and I usually pick four horror movies and watch one each Friday night during the month. We are a little late picking our films this year although<a href="http://coolbeansandcats.blogspot.com/2012/10/tucker-and-dale-vs-evil.html"> Tucker and Dale vs Evil</a> is a gimme, and <i>The Corpse Bride</i> is already under our belts.<br /><br />
However, all this got me to thinking about how I can make sure that I never end up in a horror flick. I've come up with a list guidelines to follow to that end.<br /><br />
1 - <u>No scary basements</u> - Basements can be frightening, even without the threat of underground monsters and corpses. This is where normal household disasters such as floods can occur, and the ever present fear of finding some hitherto unknown giant insect only adds to their creepiness. I do confess that my own basement can be frightening. Those dark corners where you store things you never use (and let's face it that should mean you don't need to keep them) are unexplored territory. Who knows what doom awaits you when you do finally pull them out - for whatever reason.<br /><br />
At any rate, given their inherently spooky nature, it's best to minimize the risk by avoiding completely scary basements. It's much better to go for a finished basement, preferably one without those root cellar-style doors because those always seem to lead to an appearance in a slasher film complete with an eerie soundtrack and a masked villain who was abused at a summer camp.<br /><br />
2 - <u>No scary attic</u> This is only slightly less important than the basement issue. Attics are also breeding grounds for usually unseen insects, not to mention families of squirrels, raccoons and other interlopers. They are also classic places to find haunted items. They tend to have boxes that contain creepy old clothing, photos, books, and other mysterious items that might further the plot of a horror movie. It's harder to finish most attics, due to the necessity of town permits and expensive construction, so think carefully before purchasing a home with a creepy attic. For the record, crawlspaces are not much better.<br /><br />
3 - <u>No weird street names</u> Listen, when you're out shopping for a home, street names matter. Be straightforward with your realtor. Tell him or her that you do not wish to live on any streets containing the words Death, Kill, Blood, Bloody, Grave ... I could go on, but you get the picture. It's just better not to give any supernatural entities out there that might be looking for a new roosting spot any reason to think that <i>your</i> place should be <i>their</i> place. <br /><br />
Oh, and thanks to the <i>Nightmare</i> franchise, Elm Street is no longer an acceptable name. For that matter, since some otherworldly creatures like to behave in a manner contrary to our expectations, streets like Happy Place, Smile Path, and Wonderful Way should probably make it to the no-go list, as well.<br /><br />
4 - <u>No town named Sanctuary</u> Do I really need to explain this one? If there is one thing that generations of horror flicks should have taught us it is that a town named Sanctuary offers anything but. Ditto for places like Point Pleasant, Sunshine City, Happy Town, etc. As with street names, the reverse also holds true for town names. Avoid any townships that thought including words such as Devil, Slaughter, Kill, Blood, Grave, Skull or Witch in their name was a good idea. Oh, and any combination with the word 'Haven' is right out.<br /><br />
5 - <u>No creepy collections</u> (dolls, clowns/ventriloquist dummies/etc.) Even if I <i>were</i> a ventriloquist, I would have to find some spot outside of my home where I could leave the dummy.Everybody knows that someday, that doll will get up on its own and walk around stabbing people with a sharp blade (although for some reason, most of its murders will occur in silhouette). The same goes for antique dolls and clowns, which seem to be especially dangerous.<br /><br />
6 - <u>No garbage disposal</u> many a bright, cheerful, sunny day has been ruined by the impending doom of a clogged garbage disposal. If Hollywood is to be believed, it is impossible to clear one without some hapless plumber or well-meaning do-it-your-selfer losing a hand or at least a few fingers. Nope - it's far better to stick with the much safer sink strainer to dispose of food waste.<br /><br />
7 - <u>Avoid Cemetery Proximity</u> Never ... ever move or live near a cemetery. Now, in practice, I love cemeteries. I find them peaceful. I love to wander through the headstones and reflect on the lives lived by those memorialized on tombstones. However, let's face it, if Hollywood has taught us anything, it's to never live near one. First, there's a rainstorm, then some lines go down, and the next thing you know, dead people are calling you up and freaking you out. Interesting that though some of the occupants of older, historical graveyards probably never even knew what a phone was, they seem more than able to communicate via these phone lines. Death must endow our spirits with an innate supernatural knowledge of technology. <br /><br />
Several years ago, my husband and I drove by this cemetery sign. I was horrified. Perhaps the name is meant to express the hope that those interred there are enjoying an afterlife with the hosts of heaven, but I immediately thought, "My God! This will be Ground Zero for the Zombie Apocalypse!"<br /><br />
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Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-43484044711221708562014-06-01T12:43:00.001-07:002014-06-06T04:58:21.735-07:005 Kitchen Principles My Husband Doesn't Think We Need (but we do)I used to think the success of a marriage depended heavily on how well you and your partner slept together. I don't mean sex, I mean sleep. Issues such as who snores, who steals the blanket, who bends their leg up in the middle of the night resulting in their partner being kneed in the kidney (sadly in our case, it's both of us) ... you know - that kind of stuff. However, I now think kitchen etiquette may be equally or more important. We rarely fight over sleep issues, but discord in the kitchen can start a war. I confess that I have a lot of rules - ahem I mean suggestions - that facilitate cleanliness, orderliness and happiness, although my husband seems to be under the impression that these are things I brought with me when I beamed down from the mother ship.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">1 - Balanced Eggs</span> - Does anyone remember being taught in Driver's Ed to remove and tighten lug nuts opposite each other when changing a tire? I do. And for some reason, that logic and the notion of balance led to my Egg Removal System. I start by taking one of the outer eggs out. The second egg to be removed is the one opposite the now empty spot at the other end of the container. This results in a nicely balanced egg carton.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautifully Balanced</td></tr>
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My husband on the other hand, seems to thrive on the precariousness of chaos. He takes eggs haphazardly from random locations in the carton. Sometimes, he removes all of the center eggs. This isn't too bad because at least the container remains balanced. However, other times, I have picked up the carton only to have it tilt dangerously under the weight of the remaining eggs all being on one side. If I were a more suspicious person, I might even think his pattern wasn't random at all, but part of some master plan designed to make me crazy, even though he insists that 'this is the way we do it on Earth'.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is madness!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: red;">2 - FIFO vs LIFO</span> - The most important principle in my kitchen. When I first began shouting FIFO at my husband, he accused me of speaking in my alien tongue, and it took me some time to realize that I must have learned the principles of FIFO and LIFO in economics courses I took in college. Apparently, they don't teach that in standard high school educations (a glaring oversight in my humble obsessive compulsive opinion).<br />
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FIFO (First in first out) ensures that I will not have to engage in one of those horrid sessions where I end up discarding food items that somehow expired before we even bought our current home. My husband's LIFO (last in first out) system means that he will always be using our freshest ingredients, which might sound like a good thing but actually brings wastefulness to new heights. My obsessive compulsive stocking up plan directly clashes with his LIFO plan. More battles have been fought over FIFO/LIFO than I care to recount.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">3 - Manual pre-wash</span> - This brings us to Antoine. Who is Antoine, you ask? He is my dishwasher. No, I don't have a servant, it's the name I gave to the automatic dishwasher (because the perfect man would do dishes, right?) Anyway, Antoine was only named after the TV incident. Let me explain.<br />
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A few years ago, we decided it was time to join the 21st Century and buy a digital television. We lugged the old heavy clunker off the TV stand and went to the store. Hubby's eyes glazed over in euphoria as he envisioned himself sitting on the couch watching the latest action flick that starred a marine, a firefighter, and a cop chasing an alien monster through a city in hovercrafts on a screen three times the size of our old clunker. I snapped my fingers to regain his attention and we set about selecting a big screen television. He hugged the box the whole way as we wheeled the big cart through the parking lot to the car, where we realized that the box was too big and clunky to fit in my little Saturn. So we removed the large packaging right there in the parking lot and with a lot of grunting, cursing and 'be carefuls' barely managed to fit the television in the back seat. I drove home while hubby knelt on the floor holding the TV to prevent it from falling into the seats or windows. As I struggled to navigate the mean streets without the benefit of being able to actually see anything in my rearview mirror, I heard him murmuring to the newest member of our household. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I'm telling Gladys that everything will be okay," he replied. (And he thinks <i>I'm</i> the one who's crazy?)<br />
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At any rate, since he had Gladys, I named the new dishwasher Antoine. However, though Antoine does dishes, he is not a superhero. He cannot remove stuck on food, and if no pre-wash is performed, he spits plates and utensils back out still carrying remnants of the prior evening's meal. Just last week, my husband asked if I had unloaded and rinsed off the dirty dishes in Antoine because he recalled them having a lot more residue on them. "Aha!" I attempted to use this as an opportunity to reiterate the importance of dish-scraping, but I think the message was lost in his insistence that I am insane for sneaking around behind his back to rinse and reorder the dishwasher.<br />
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Because of course there is a set pattern for loading Antoine in the most efficient manner possible. Unfortunately, I have been unable to properly convey these rules to my husband. For the most part, I simply wait for him to leave the room to reconfigure the load pattern. Never, ever disrupt a man when he is loading the dishwasher. This might discourage him and result in an even worse condition ... dishes left in the sink.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">4 - Recycling </span>On a serious note, recycling is very important to me. I am afraid that our abuse of the environment is stealing the future from the next generation.<br />
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As such, I have tried various techniques to enforce recycling in my home. I set up a composter, which I really liked until I realized that my dogs would always know that the composted material was originally food as evidenced by their tendency to eat the dirt.<br />
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I try to limit the number of paper products we use, however convincing my husband that it shouldn't take 15 paper towels to drain the grease and oil from chicken cutlets has proved to be an insurmountable obstacle.<br />
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Our town collects a lot of material in its recycling efforts, and I've tried to keep my husband updated on the latest changes, but his memory program must need updating because he keeps reverting back to Recycling version 1.0 in which only minimal amounts of material are collected. This means I actually have to REMOVE items from the garbage in order to redistribute them to the appropriate recycling container. This is not - I repeat NOT - a task that I am fond of.<br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">5
- An Easy Retrievable Inventory Plan </span>I have OCD. I admit it. I'm not
ashamed (most of the time), but that's only because few people actually
see the extent of my madness, which only becomes visible when one opens a
cabinet and sees 20 plus cans of tuna. This would be less problematic if I
were a Doomsday Prepper, but I'm not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0TrPHtzb52Mgkoq76Wk8AULzs9-8a-rJj7t5QOmR9Tih8I-TpD1jkSIJZt2QDRXE4VL_rLdsQiD29KHSMBKqIdPgI9BEL26bfrpdtWxcweph-ZT1NKTja1GWgoYXFN-UoeUXF1Rmp1m8c/s1600/Too+much+tuna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0TrPHtzb52Mgkoq76Wk8AULzs9-8a-rJj7t5QOmR9Tih8I-TpD1jkSIJZt2QDRXE4VL_rLdsQiD29KHSMBKqIdPgI9BEL26bfrpdtWxcweph-ZT1NKTja1GWgoYXFN-UoeUXF1Rmp1m8c/s1600/Too+much+tuna.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My madness revealed</td></tr>
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<br />
Now, in keeping with my FIFO
standard, the cans are stacked in order of best by date, but that's
still a whole lot of tuna. (On a side note, I have resisted the temptation to further organize them by brand name, unlike my aging CD collection, which is still stored in Genre/Artist/Date of release order.)<br />
<br />
And that's just one example. I
currently have 31 rolls of paper towels and 42 rolls of toilet paper, yet
somehow I managed to run out of tissues at the height of allergy
season. And that's because of improper Inventory Storage. My husband
believes that if you're able to close the freezer/cabinet door or the
shelf doesn't collapse under the weight of its massive supplies then
all is well. However, as you can see, not only does this violate my FIFO principle, but it makes it very difficult to tell when you are running low on something. Now, my husband believes this wasn't a problem because we have enough toilet paper to see us through the decade and that can be used in a pinch as a substitute, but TP is a poor substitute for tissues, especially when your trees are dropping enough pollen to make your car seem as though it is glowing with nuclear waste.<br />
<br />
The quest for an easy inventory management system continues.<br />
<br />
I suppose some people will read this and conclude that I am either insane or an alien as my husband insists, but I believe order in the kitchen to be one of the keys to personal happiness and marital bliss. <br />
<br />Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-85122437543485736512013-12-15T04:51:00.000-08:002013-12-15T04:51:06.053-08:00The Christmas Chronicles - Christmas with CatsSeven years ago, I welcomed a Siamese mix one-year-old rescue, two Siamese kittens and a new puppy into my home. Though I'd had dogs and cats for years, I had little warning as to the absolute devastation these furry little creatures would wreak upon my home. I was regularly updating a blog for the kittens at the time. I have decided to compile all of the Christmas posts into one this year rather than have to scroll up through an archive to follow it.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;">The Christmas Chronicles</span></div>
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;"> </span> <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 1</span><br />Since
this Christmas season finds us with four new companions, one dog and
three Siamese cats, we will begin the Christmas festivities with some
test decorations.<br /><br />First, we put out the plastic poinsettias (real ones are toxic to cats). There, those look nice.<br /><br />The day passed uneventfully. I have hope! </div>
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<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 2</span><br />Wake up and pick up pieces of plastic poinsettias and reassemble plants. Re-place on shelf.<br /><br />Today's
agenda is to progress decoration process with some lights in window.
Two battery operated candles held on by suction cups are placed at top
of window. Strings of lights are detangled and plugged in to check for
outages. All systems are a go. Husband begins attaching lights to
window with more suction cups, but Benton starts chewing on light string
before it's up. Sight of the cat with entire Christmas light bulb in
mouth is alarming, to say the least. Lights are taken down and
re-packed.<br /><br />Agenda modified. Will string plastic bell garland up in bay window instead.<br /><br />Garland is up.<br /><br />Cats discover wonderful clinking sound of bell against window.<br /><br />Hourly restringing of lights necessitated.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/771382/Jack97.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/37010/Jack97.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 3 </span><br /><br />Wake up. Reassemble and re-place plastic poinsettia.<br />Restring garland in window.<br /><br />Notice completely destroyed-by-puppy slat on brand new Futon. Does not bode well for Christmas tree.<br /><br />Hide chewed sofa with blanket.<br /><br />Pull out boxes containing Christmas decorations.<br /><br />Put up artificial tree. Make quick run to pet store to buy bitter apple to spray tree and discourage chewing.<br /><br />Decorate
tree. Before decorations complete, Jack climbs 1/3 way up tree.
Remove cat from tree. Remove broken string of beads that cat got stuck
on.<br /><br />Take picture of mostly intact tree (with new living cat ornament).<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/741180/Jack103.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/818237/Jack103.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 4</span><br /><br />Awaken,
re-assemble poinsettia, restring window garland, hide chewed sofa slat
with blanket and spray tree with more bitter apple.<br /><br />Release the kittens from bedroom where they spent the night to keep tree intact.<br /><br />Slip on piece of broken beaded garland left in hall by cat.<br /><br />Throw
broken pieces away and fix garland strings on tree, leaving bottom
branches bare. Moved all ornaments to higher level on tree. Count
blessings that only Jack is messing with tree, Benton is content to play
with fallen ornaments and tree skirt.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/710394/XMTreeDay2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/794266/XMTreeDay2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/303703/Benton105.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/628821/Benton105.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 5</span><br /><br />Awaken, find plastic poinsettia intact!!<br />Restring window garland, cover chewed sofa slat with blanket, restring tree beads and rehang ornaments from the floor.<br /><br />Find
puppy chewing on hard-to-find plastic-with-attached-plastic-hook
cat-safe ornaments. Plastic hook now missing. Throw out ruined ball.
Respray bitter apple on tree.<br /><br />Find puppy chewing on another ornament after cat knocks it off tree. Throw out second ruined ornament.<br /><br />Take last picture of tree with all ornaments and Jack. Remove all plastic ball with attached plastic hook ornaments from tree.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/386356/Jack106.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/786322/Jack106.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-weight: bold;">Day 6</span></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
Awaken and find that tree has come to life.<br /><br />No,
wait, not come to life ... full of squriming cats. Benton has
discovered tree and has climbed 3/4 of the way up it. Unlike Jack, who
climbs calmly from the bottom, Benton leaps at tree from a distance and
starts to climb.<br /><br />In act of betrayal, the normally demure Stuff Kitty is under tree playing with fallen ornaments.<br /><br />Find Siamese cat tree ornament on floor missing attached hanging string. Remove all Siamese cat ornaments from tree.<br /><br />While
typing up day's entry, puppy brings what once was a knit Santa ornament
made by Mom, but is now merely chewed red and white yarn. Must now go
and remove all knitted homemade ornaments from tree.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/72280/Benton109.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/918640/Benton109.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900;">Day 7</span><br /><br />Awoke, restrung
window garland, covered chewed sofa slat with blanket, picked up all
tree ornaments and re-hung on tree, and picked up stuffing from
puppy-chewed throw pillow.<br /><br />Startled short time later by vigorous
ornament clanging from living room. Make way to room to see Benton
hanging out mid-way up the tree shaking it. Not sure of mechanical
ability that allows 7 pound cat to shake 50 pound tree, but attempt to
gently remove kitty from tree. Benton unhappy with removal attempts.
Knocks all ornaments around him off and watches as silly human tries to
catch them. Catching process a miserable failure. Retrieve broken
ornaments from floor and place on TBG (To Be Glued) pile. Scare kitty
out of tree through cunning use of piercing shriek of frustration.<br /><br />Remove
all breakable ornaments from tree. Wooden soldiers and plastic candy
canes remain. Restring broken beads. Make note in calendar book to go
to after Christmas sale to purchase new decorations for next year.<br /><br />Startled
again by sound of Christmas tree branches moving. Run in to see Benton
defy the laws of physics and scale outer edges of tree branches
vertically. Attempt to stop bead garlands from breaking and falling as
Jack dives into tree from window sill. Evil Cat Fred accompanies the
merriment by running up and down piano keys. Dogs find chewed throw
pillow again and play tug of war with it.<br /><br />Have realized there is no alcohol in house. Must rectify this situation pronto!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/2418/XmasTreeDay%204.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/673193/XmasTreeDay%204.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #009900; font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">Day 8</span><br /><br />Sad day here.<br /><br />Christmas Tree has been beheaded. Attempts at reconnecting head of said tree succeeded but with considerable disfigurements.<br /><br />Defeated,
collection of remaining ornaments, plastic candy canes and wooden
soldiers undertaken. Of wooden soldiers, five remain intact, one has
lost both arms and six are AWOL. Although desire to retreat from attack
of giant paws is understandable, desertion is never acceptable.
Remaining soldiers will be awarded Medal of Honor in recognition of
attempts to hold the Christmas Tree and stave off attacking feline army
and double arm amputee will receive Purple Heart. AWOL soldiers will be
shot (if ever located) and dishonorably discharged from Christmas army
as punishment for desertion.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/91139/XmasTreeDay6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/300680/XmasTreeDay6.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #009900; font-size: 130%;">Day 9</span><br /><br />Awakened
in middle of night by marauding kittens. Since nothing left to knock
off tree, instead removed (previously thought to be) permanently affixed
door stopper from bathroom door. Spent hours knocking it around floor.
Dogs fought in doorway, slamming stopperless-door into tile. Not
broken yet - phew! Must rectify situation post-haste.<br /><br />Took picture of post-reconstruction-after-unfortunate-decapitation-incident tree. Additional procedures appear necessary.<br /><br />AWOL soldiers not yet located.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/1600/312665/XMasTreeDay7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6991/3639/320/340813/XMasTreeDay7.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #009900; font-size: 130%;">Day 10</span><br /><br />Have lost all hope. Ornaments ... gone. Beaded garland ... broken. Tree ... destroyed. BAH HUMBUG!!<br /><br /><br /><br />The
tree sits pathetically dark in the corner of the room. Fear of
possible chewing damage and/or decapitation breakage prevents test
lighting of happy Christmas light strings. Its branches hang shamefully
bare as if the tree lacks the strength to offer any safe haven for
festive holiday decorations. The beaded garland strings are broken and
hanging down, in mournful depiction of tree's holiday shame. Its skirt
has long since been removed by vicious, spiteful beings who hide their
vindictive nature behind soft fur, long tails and misleadingly sweet
purrs. Their daily attacks remain relentless, though there is almost
nothing left for them to destroy.<br /><br />This I vow to my tree: I will return you to your glory ... as soon as I get new decorations and some energy back!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #009900;">Days 11 through 14</span></span><br />Kittens continue to climb tree. Badly twisted beads have been removed from tree.<br /><br />Bare
tree caused marauding kittens to pull down window garland and drag
through house. Battery operated candle also removed by kitten.
Batteries found but remain alarmed at failure to locate bulb. All
window decorations removed.<br /><br />Two AWOL soldiers have been located and are awaiting trial.<br /><br />New unbreakable ornaments await placement on tree scheduled for Christmas Eve.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas Eve</span></span> <span style="font-size: 100%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
âTwas the morning âfore Christmas<br />I awoke and I stared<br />At the little furry faces<br />That thought that I cared</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That they were quite hungry<br />So I got out of bed<br />Went into the backroom<br />So they could be fed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
As I entered the room<br />Shuffling my feet<br />I saw the cat smile<br />His joy was complete<br /><br />Heâd found the bag<br />in which I hid some toys<br />some mousies and teasers<br />for my cat girls and boys<br /> <br />He stood atop a chair<br />So that he could reach<br />The bookshelf Iâd used<br />To hide the toys out of reach<br /> <br />As I reached for the dishes<br />There arose such a clatter<br />He grabbed the bag and ran<br />Like a freaking mad hatter<br /> <br />Through the hall and each room<br />He pulled his bag<br />With Jack close behind<br />Chasing the toys Benton dragged<br /> <br />The others soon heard<br />And the chase was begun<br />Cats running to and fro<br />With the dogs looking on<br /> <br />The tree shook and shivered<br />As the cats ran around<br />Wrapping the toy strings<br />âround the tree base on the ground<br /> <br />Quick as could be<br />I tried to pull the bag free<br />But that my dear friends<br />Just wasnât to be<br /> <br />The bag was all twisted<br />And tied in a knot<br />So I crawled âneath the tree<br />And I cursed quite a lot<br /> <br />Now listen my kitties<br />You listen to me<br />Stay the **** away<br />From my poor Christmas tree!!!</div>
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Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-66492259993272344902013-09-13T11:22:00.000-07:002013-09-14T12:23:18.523-07:00October Movies<p>Well, October is fast approaching, so my husband and I selected our October movies. You see, once a week throughout October, we watch a horror flick to celebrate Halloween. Now, the movie I want to watch most every Halloween is an old Melissa Sue Anderson movie called <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082745/?ref_=nm_knf_t3">Midnight Offerings</a>. This would be absolutely awesome to watch on Halloween. I confess that the first time I saw the movie, I was baby-sitting for the church curate's baby (Episcopalian) in a nineteenth century home's attic, surrounded by old spinning wheels and other artifacts. It was a suitably spooky environment in which to watch a horror movie. Oh yeah, and I had just received a scary prank call so I was primed. I don't remember much about the movie, except that Melissa Sue Anderson (Vivian) was a bad witch and another girl from school named Robin (played by Mary Beth McDonough) didn't know that she was a witch (I think it was passed from the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter or something like that). But Vivian did. And she didn't like Robin. Ah well, it's a moot point because the movie doesn't seem to be available anymore.</p>
<p>So I will concentrate on movies that I can see. The envelope please ...</p>
<p><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096073/?ref_=sr_1">The Seventh Sign</a></b></p>
<p>I'm really psyched to see this one again. I haven't seen it more than twenty years. From memory it's about a pregnant woman who finds out that the birth of her child will start the Apocalypse. I remember her working with a Jewish scholar and consulting other religious officials to see if she was reading the signs properly. This led to one of my most favorite movie lines ever. She asks a priest how he can be sure that his beliefs are correct. I don't recall most of his answer, but I do remember him giving her a look of mock horror and saying, "What if only the Hari Krishnas have it right?" For some reason, that line just cracks me up.</p>
<p><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120791/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Practical Magic</a></b></p>
<p>Okay, what's sad is that the thing I remember the most is that when the previews were on television, they played a clip that wasn't in the movie. I mean the scene was, but the way Sandra Bullock delivered the line in the screen version was different from the way it had been on the commercials. I know, it means nothing, I just find it odd that I noticed and that it stuck in my mind all the years. Unless I'm wrong. But I don't think so. Anyway, it's a good classic Halloween movie: witches, horror, dead things ... perfect!</p>
<p><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104511/?ref_=sr_1">Innocent Blood</a></b></p>
<p>Well, this is hubby's choice. I've never seen it. But hey, at least it's vampires. I was afraid he'd pick Dawn of the Dead, The Blob or C.H.U.D, that's Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers in case you don't know. Sadly, I have seen C.H.U.D.- in the theater no less, but we will speak of that no more. Right, back to vampires. I like 'em. Okay, not them per se as I'd definitely stake one if it was in front of me, but as a movie subject, they're pretty good. I'll state right off the bat that I've never seen or read any of the Twilight series - it just didn't strike my fancy, but I love Buffy and Angel and absolutely ADORE the lore that Ann Rice set up for her vampires. In fact, devouring the words of Lestat and Queen of the Damned are among my more cherished reading memories. Anyway, I'm looking forward to it.</P>
<p><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1465522/?ref_=sr_1">Tucker and Dale vs. Evil</a></b></p>
<p>Actually, we just watched this movie last year, but it's so good that we've picked it for a second year. Hillbillies, college students, horror, LOTS of humor and ... Alan Tudyk and Tyler Labine. Very cool. I wrote a <a href="http://coolbeansandcats.blogspot.com/2012/10/tucker-and-dale-vs-evil.html">review </a>for it last year so I won't repeat it, but I just looked at it to put the link in and realized that I had wanted to watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0963194/?ref_=sr_5">Repo: The Genetic Opera</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0079844/?ref_=sr_1">Salem's Lot</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0365748/?ref_=sr_1">Shaun of the Dead</a> this year. Now I feel like Jimmy Kimmel with Matt Damon - sorry, we ran out of time!</p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-4018940334186686952013-08-08T07:55:00.001-07:002013-08-09T04:59:33.358-07:00Thanking The Rescuers and Rehabilitators<p>Life is hard and Nature can be cruel, but there are people - complete strangers who do their best to help us when we find ourselves in tough situations. I'm talking about the stray dog or cat that shows up on your property looking so pathetic that your heart nearly splits in two at the sight. And then there are the wild animals. Who hasn't gone into the backyard and found an injured or stunned bird? I believe that what you do in those circumstances really defines you as a person.</p>
<p>I used to volunteer with a cat rescue group. I'm not looking for a pat on the back. My contribution was limited to cleaning cages, feeding and helping out at adopt-a-thons. Not nearly as much as others do, but at the same time, probably more than most. At any rate, one day a broken little calico showed up on my backdoor step. She was a runt - filthy, covered in fleas, and had a necrotic eye that bulged and attracted flies. She wasn't going to win any kitty beauty contests, that was for sure, but she broke my heart. I started feeding her and looked forward to finding her waiting in the bushes outside my kitchen when I got home from work each night, even though she wouldn't let me near her. I talked to the rescue group I worked with and the lady in charge seemed hesitant to take on a feral kitty like this. I was disheartened, but determined to keep leaving food out so my little girl didn't starve to death.</p>
<p>When the neighbors found out I was feeding her, the wife told me, "Oh good. My children were asking what we could do for her so I can tell them you're taking care of her." Yeah, I thought. You're welcome. These people wouldn't lift a finger to help a stray, but didn't want to look bad in front of their kids. Whatever. Then about two months later, the husband knocked on my door and told me that they were tired of the cat being in their yard and were going to put poison down if I didn't stop feeding her.</p>
<p>I became desperate to get her in my house before they could harm her. She was letting me get a little closer each day and after another few days, I was able to grab her. I put her in the garage and eventually, got her to the vet. Since the rescue group was reticent, she joined my household shortly after that. As with many grateful rescues, she turned out to be one of the sweetest kitties I ever had. She sleeps next to me every night and sits on my lap while I write. (Eventually, I had to stop working with the group as my personal cat count was increasing at an alarming rate.) Part of me wanted to tell the neighbors' children what their parents were really about, but I never did. Things like that never work out well. I figure the kids will either figure it out eventually or end up just like their parents, in which case they wouldn't care anyway.</p>
<p>Once the vet got her problems sorted out, her inner beauty really shone through.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJd2n_uhe1fEqQCQwEWHnFc7qAnz2zLEqqXMDD3bsXHWx8oLGNF2Lz1tQT4t4livL6Vp9QdXPLXv_sUlLz2fih9wf9Zj2fJ5mljH3hJChbXRTKpmtjLoVepfEw2-ywPFR4yk9b21DJTbTo/s1600/P1010027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJd2n_uhe1fEqQCQwEWHnFc7qAnz2zLEqqXMDD3bsXHWx8oLGNF2Lz1tQT4t4livL6Vp9QdXPLXv_sUlLz2fih9wf9Zj2fJ5mljH3hJChbXRTKpmtjLoVepfEw2-ywPFR4yk9b21DJTbTo/s320/P1010027.JPG" /></a></div></p>
<p>The point of that story is not to gain kudos for myself. As I said, others do far more than I ever have or will. The point was to show that there are people in the world who will help when you find yourself in one of those situations. And beyond the cat/dog rescue are the wildlife rehabilitators. I think it's far easier for many people to turn their back on a bird or an opossum or other wildlife that's in need by saying, "Well, that's Nature." But not everyone can. A few weeks ago, my husband came home from work and found a baby bird in the gutter. The bird was so young that we couldn't tell what it was, but we knew we had to do something. The poor thing was nowhere near old enough to fly. It just sat there looking terrified, the remains of its destroyed nest laying next to it by the curb.</P>
<p>We made several calls and found the <a href="http://www.volunteersforwildlife.org/">Volunteers for Wildlife</a> at the Bailey Arboretum in New York. What a wonderful group of people! They took the baby (it was a mourning dove) and gave us a case number. We left a donation - I can't believe anyone wouldn't - and were able to email them a few days later for an update. It's been a little more than a month, and we've received several answers to our emails indicating that the bird is now eating on its own and currently being acclimated to the outdoors. When it is, they will release it into the wild.</p>
<p>Check out this <a href="http://instagram.com/p/bm08ewCdDh/#">picture </a>they took of it when it was still a baby.</p>
<p>So, now I say thank you to all of you rescuers and rehabilitators. A pale sentiment in the face of all you do, but how can I ever thank you enough for taking the time to care? Whether it's wildlife or a dog or cat in need, it's not just the animals you are helping. Every lost soul like my husband and me who see injured or orphaned wildlife and simply cannot turn away are beholden to you for the care you provide. This thank you is to all of the rescue groups and wildlife rehabilitators out there. We must say thank you because the animals you care for cannot.</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-43675802765138491422013-05-26T04:07:00.001-07:002013-05-29T17:11:34.548-07:00Going Viral in the pre-digital age!<p>Wow, try to find the answer to the question "when did the digital age officially begin" and you'll get all sorts of answers. The best I found was this one on Ask.com:<br />
<font color="red"><br />When Did the Information Age Begin?<br />
Answer: Though there is no exact starting date for the Information Age, the term has been used extensively since the late 1980's and has continued on into the 21st century. The Information Age is also sometimes called the Computer Age.<br /><br /></font> Having lived through those years and studied computer science waaaaay back when, I can tell you that the only expression I'd heard back in the 80s was the Information Age. And when I recall studying IBM 370 mainframe Assembler using keypunch cards, I have a real hard time thinking of back then as being in the same era with today. I personally tend to think of the digital age as not beginning until the late 90s - when most everyone finally owned or had access to cell phones/PCs, etc. Anyway, the reason I'm thinking about that now is that I've been thinking about things that "go viral" and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/15_minutes_of_fame">Andy Warhol</a>'s prediction that "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes." Nostradamus could only dream of making a prediction that was so accurate. Post a YouTube video of a spectacular fall or a cute child singing a song or tweet something incredibly insightful or humorous and you have your fifteen minutes. Hell, I saw a tweet that consisted entirely of the word meow hit double digits in retweets. Inevitably, I came around to wondering if something of mine would ever go viral. And all of that reminded me of something that happened in the mid to late-80s.</p>
<p>Life back then must seem pretty primitive to young people today. I had no cell phone, some of our televisions did not have remote controls, and I'd just gotten my first ATM card. I was young, strapped for cash, and lived in an "apartment" with only a toaster oven for cooking and a bathroom sink to do dishes in. In my youthful naivete, I loved it. Then again, we were easily impressed back then. I mean I thought it was great that people no longer had rotary phones, especially after I learned that in some places, the emergency help number was 999! That just seemed cruel to me. I could imagine being hacked apart by a serial killer while waiting for the dial to return so I could dial the second and third nines. Do you have any idea how long it took to dial 999 on an actual dial? </P>
<p>Anyway, my first apartment may have been a bit crude, but I did have cable (although MTV was about the only thing I watched because they actually aired only videos at the time), Nintendo, lots of albums (gasp), CDs and a VCR.</p>
<p>Now, when I was very young, my parents would watch The Rockford Files, and I always thought the fact that he had an answering machine was so cool. Nobody I knew had one - not that I got out much at that age, but it seemed like something out of a science fiction story (give me a break, I was young). Naturally, now that I had my own place, I needed an answering machine. Initially, my boyfriend and I made the typical boring messages, but I soon craved more creativity so I combined two things I liked: music (Black Sabbath) and comedy (Monty Python and the Holy Grail) to make a message that was more my style. I recorded part of the Bridge of Death scene (keep in mind, with the primitive tools available, that meant sitting at a non-distorting distance from the small television speaker with a tape recorder). I only wanted the questions, so I had to play with it quite a bit until I was able to string the dialogue together in a somewhat continuous flow (What is your name? What is your quest? and What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?). I then added my own message using what I hoped was a creepy voice to say "Please leave your name and number at the tone" while the storm at the beginning to the Black Sabbath album played in the background.</P>
<p>Pretty amateurish given what can be done today, but we liked it. And apparently so did other people. Within a few weeks, the machine started receiving hangups. In fact, eventually we would come home to find the machine full almost every day, though we had no idea why. One day, I answered the phone and the surprised person on the other end of the line said, "Oh, sorry, I didn't want to talk to you. I was told to call this number and listen to the message!" At least I finally knew why the machine was filling up. Don't forget that back then, phone service was more expensive. You only had unlimited calling within your area code. I lived in a border town between counties, meaning I had to pay long distance to call friends a few blocks away, so it's actually pretty impressive that we got so many calls. I can't help but wonder if it had been a video on YouTube that got that popular how many views it would have garnered? And like viral videos, I got some hate messages, as well. One caller had mistakenly dialed the number while trying to reach a business and left a scathing "that's no way to talk to customers and do business" message!</p>
<p>So, now that I think about it, things aren't that much different today. The means we use to accomplish tasks has changed, but the overall way in which people seek entertainment hasn't really changed that much. But if Andy Warhol was right, I guess I already had my "fifteen minutes."</p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-17477497238227188462013-05-15T10:58:00.000-07:002013-05-25T05:02:19.697-07:00The Slipcover Incident<p>I am writing this blog entry with the blurry vision of a slightly concussed person, so bear with me. I will start by revealing that this is my first ever experience with a slipcover.</p>
<p>I have dogs. And cats. Lots of cats. So my sofa count should come as no surprise - I'm on either my sixth or my seventh, but like my vision, it's all a blur. It was finally time for the old couch to give up the ghost. The dogs had eaten most of the stuffing which left the material loose and hanging in tatters. The back and sides of the sofa looked like they were fringed, thanks to the cats completely shredding them while 'doing their nails', which are now nice and sharp. Trust me. I know from firsthand experience. Anyway, as I looked at the sorry state of my home furnishings, I decided that the best way to achieve harmony with my furbabies (given that I'm hopelessly outnumbered) is to try to stop problems, annoyances and damage before they happen. Hey, it sounded like a good plan when I came up with it...</P>
<p>Hence, the slipcover. Now, the specs for said item insisted it would fit sofas from 74 to 96 inches. Mine is 83, so I thought 'cool, that'll work.' I covered the new couch with blankets and sheets while I eagerly awaited the arrival of the cover that would protect my new furniture from my marauding housemates. </p>
<p>Finally, the box showed up on my doorstep. A choir of angels burst into song and I even think I saw an aura of golden light surrounding it. I pulled it inside and ripped it open, desperate to get at my new sofa's savior. Once freed of its packaging, I flipped the cover around several times before I saw the little stickers that read front, back, etc. I followed the labels and soon had my beautiful new furniture covered up. Except that there was this weird puckered section I had to sit on. Out came the instructions from the box - I'm terrible about reading instructions, guides, etc. before I make an attempt to use/install/apply anything new. Plus, who'd have thought you'd need instructions to put a slipcover on? Anyway, according to the instructions, I'm supposed to tuck the elastic strip behind the couch's cushions. Now, the slip cover seemed to fit fine until I attempted to do this. Actually, it still fit, but two broken fingernails and one aching back later, I'd only barely managed to tuck the strip under the top lip of the cushions. No way in hell was I going to be able to get it all the way under them so I left it as it was.</p>
<p>It lasted one day. Not only was it pulled off the back by the dogs' frantic attempts to get out through the window to kill ... I mean lick the mailman, but one had taken her bone onto the couch and drooled everywhere. Good thing I left those little back/front labels on! I put it in the washing machine, more than a little sad at having to wash it after only one day. When it came out of the dryer, it smelled like mountain rain, at least that's what the label on my fabric softener says - frankly, I've been to the mountains and don't remember them smelling like that especially when wet, but I digress. I laid it out and looked for the labels. You know what happens to things that are applied with an adhesive backing in the wash? They move. Now I'm no expert, but though the labels were still on, I'm fairly certain that they no longer accurately marked the back and front of the cover. After a great battle, I had the slipcover in place - more or less. Once again, I tried to tuck the strip behind the cushions. And once again, I failed.</P>
<p>New plan, put the sheet and blanket back on over the slipcover. Sure I had to wash the sheet or blanket or both several times a week, but it beat struggling with the damned slipcover. That worked until the dogs went off in another of their nobody's-allowed-to-walk-on-my-street frenzies. They pulled the sheet and blanket off, leaving my precious cover exposed and vulnerable. They then got muddy paw prints all over everything.</p>
<p>With a heavy heart, I removed the slipcover for washing again. Once clean, I realized that I no longer care to even try to tuck it down. I got it remotely close to appearing to be lined up and covered it with the sheet and blanket again. It may not look great, but it took a whole lot less time than fighting to tuck it. Then I looked down and saw that I had to retie the strips that hold the sides and front and back down. Personally, I no longer cared if it looked nice and neat, but a hanging strip of cloth like that is an invitation for a cat or dog to go to town on it, so I bent over and knotted the strips. And as I stood, I banged my head on the window ledge. Hard. Thus the blurry vision and budding headache.</p>
<p>Remind me again what those furry little monsters do for me? Oh yeah. The news says having pets can lower your blood pressure. Really? because I'm thinking I could have pinned the meter a few minutes ago when I realized that I spent a ton of money on what is now nothing more than a blanket rack. I closed my eyes and repeated my centering mantra: it's a good thing I love them, it's a good thing I love them, it's a good thing I love them ...</p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-16369225325874670942013-04-18T13:25:00.000-07:002013-08-08T14:11:04.780-07:00My 20 year Love/Hate relationship with Video Games<p>I am a gamer. Have been for many years. So is my current husband. I am convinced that gamers need to marry other gamers in order to have successful relationships. I am also certain that our Golden Years will find us side-by-side playing the latest games. (I remain convinced that by that time, some Gen X-er will have invented a prosthetic device that will allow us to continue to feed our gaming addiction despite the fact that our hands will have been rendered all but useless from the RSIs we've been collecting through the years from using keyboards, phones, etc.) I role-played in a friend's basement for the better part of fifteen years, and naturally, I play video games at home. I love them. I also hate them. I recall great triumphs as well as absolute misery in my gaming. I've been reflecting on some of those games the past few days.</p>
<p><u>In the beginning ...</u></p>
<p>Well, I don't want to date myself, but computers in the home were pretty uncommon when I first started gaming. I recall when I was very young that a Pong game somehow made it into our home. How exciting it was to hit a ball back and forth at a speed that rivaled growing grass. No wait ... I think the grass grew faster than this game played. If I recall correctly, it would speed up with time, but how we ever thought that was challenging and/or entertaining remains a mystery.</p>
<p>Now, we had open campus in high school. That meant we could go to the local stores when we had a free period. That in turn meant pumping quarters into Centipede, Pacman and Galaga machines. If I could have all those quarters back and have invested them in an IRA or something, I'd be a happy (and prepared for retirement) woman. Oh well.</p>
<p>Then came Nintendo. *smiles wistfully* I spent hours helping Mario save a princess, guiding Link through Hyrule, and jumping over barrels in Donkey Kong. Fun.</P>
<p>I believe the next game system we had was Sega. I thought the game that came with it was called Sewer Rat, but I can only find it referenced as Sewer Shark. It looks like the same game because I do recall being called dogmeat. That was an awesome game. I remember getting home and immediately firing up the Sega (and to this day, I can't think of the word without hearing the creepy "Sega" soundbyte that accompanied the warmup). With the next generation of Sega came my Sonic the Hedgehog obsession. It was so bad that I bought a handheld game that played it for my first husband when he was in the hospital. Looking back, that was silly because he only ever played car games like Twisted Metal. What can I say? I was young, stupid and obsessed!</p>
<p>Then I got my first PC. While most of my time on the PC was spent writing programs for school, I was (not surprisingly) immediately drawn to PC gaming. I believe the first game I got was a Laura Bow mystery - The Dagger of Amon Ra to be specific. This was a DOS-based game that loaded from 3.5 inch floppies. Looking at the graphics and play offered by current games, it may seem difficult to understand how anyone found those enjoyable, but I had a lot of fun playing that one. </p>
<p>My next obsession was Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail. I was a huge Monty Python fan so clearly, I had to play this game. Somewhere mid-game, I found the Tetris-like mini game. At that point, I believe I stopped playing the main game and stuck to spending hours piling up falling plague victims trying to make complete lines. The game itself was fun, but the falling victims kept crying out "I'm not dead yet" in such an annoying manner that my first husband (and a couple of the neighbors in our apartment building) alternated between pleading, begging, and threats to get me to shut the game off. I have to admit that they were correct about the sound effects. Even I would get annoyed and at least turn the volume off.</p>
<p>About this time, Spycraft: The Great Game came out. At that time, the only novels I was reading were Cold War spy thrillers, so this game was a no-brainer. However, mid-way through the game, I found the Mahjong mini-game. As with the great Monty Python Tetris incident, I became obsessed with this one. In fact, to this day, I keep a simple Mahjong game on my PC and play at least one game daily although I have no idea how the actual real-life tile game is played.</p>
<p>Phantasmagoria. I can't remember at what point I started playing it, but it was the only game I played until I had finished it. Now that I remember playing it, though, I recall feeling isolated and alone in that world, especially when compared with how it feels to play the MMORPGs of today. Of course, some of the desolation I feel when I think about it might be related to the dark nature of the game. Despite that, I still played the second game, A Puzzle of Flesh, even though it evoked the same dark feelings. The older, more wise version of me can't figure out why. My life was dark enough - although maybe that's what attracted me to it.</P>
<p>At some point during my PC gaming, I had discovered Castle and I loved it. You had to build castles, manage resources and engage in diplomacy with other leaders. I recommended it to a friend whose husband became so obsessed with the game that I took to calling him Napolean (hey, he was short and had obsessive world domination aspirations - I thought it fit, although my friend was less than pleased with the name).</p>
<p>Then there was the great Ripper disappointment. This only slightly rivaled the Great Wooly Mammoth disappointment. I can't recall the channel (probably Discovery), but they spammed every cable channel with advertisements in the late '90s (I think) about unearthing a wooly mammoth. All my friends and I waited for the special with bated breath. It ended up being so bad (and again, I can't recall why, but everyone felt the same way) that we have referred to it as the Great Wooly Mammoth Disappointment ever since. But I digress. Back to Ripper. I received the game as a gift and was enjoying playing it, but one of the play discs had a problem, and I was never able to finish it (very frustrating for someone with OCD). I put the game down in frustration. I did try to purchase another at some point, but I couldn't find a copy back then.</p>
<p><u>An insurmountable addiction and my descent into madness: Civilization II, III, IV ...</u></p>
<p>And then came Civilization. This is my longest running addiction, even topping smoking (which I thankfully quit eleven years ago). I had never played the first Civ version, but I was given the second by a 'friend' who was convinced I would enjoy it. Enjoy? I became completely obsessed. Wait, did I say friend? I believe I meant 'addiction enabler.' I've played Civ II, Civ III and am currently still playing Civ IV. I bought Civ V, but I did not find it nearly as enjoyable as Civ IV, which I immediately went back to. I have notebooks detailing my city names, plans for each city, and so on.</p>
<p>Civilization is also a game for which some of the funniest videos have been made. This video makes me laugh because my husband hates going for a cultural victory. He's something of a warmonger when it comes to Civ. Also, anyone who has ever played and had a WTF moment regarding a combat loss will appreciate it: <a href="http://youtu.be/EUg3vJewyP0">Hitler Plays Civilization IV</a>. The <a href="http://youtu.be/yPRWukepMiQ">CivAnon</a> videos are very funny, and even though I didn't like Civ V, I can appreciate <a href="http://youtu.be/uRBlDx85nz0">Edna's</a> enthusiasm. I usually name my leader 'Somebody' so the game will announce 'Somebody has joined the Game' and 'Somebody built the Pyramids.' It's the poor man's cure for low self-esteem.<p>
<p>As much as I loved Civ, though, certain aspects of the game can be maddening. For instance, early in a game when I only had ships that could travel along the coast, I was minding my own business working on my culture because my island nation was too far from other land for my ships to reach. Suddenly, along comes another of the same type of limited travel ship from one of the computer player's civilization. This led to me crying foul (words) at my monitor. I also tend to engage in shouting matches with my PC when a lowly group of archers and spearmen mysteriously defeat my army of marines and infantry. But none of that has ever stopped me from playing, although I confess to having gone back a few turns via my saved games in order to properly decimate the offending nation.</p>
<p>Other games I enjoyed during that time were Getaway, Grand Theft Auto, Metal Gear Solid and Loaded. Loaded was probably my favorite of these. I just loved mindlessly blowing away everyone and everything in my path (oops, score one for those who think video games desensitize people to violence). In fact, hubby and I have gone on Bonnie and Clyde style two-person rampages in this one. Fun for the whole family!</p>
<p><u>The Modern Era of my Gaming Addiction</u></p>
<p>When my second husband came along, he brought with him his love for RPG PC games. Despite all of my role-playing, it was the first time I'd played the D&D games. He introduced me to Baldur's Gate, Throne of Bhaal, Tales of the Sword Coast, Icewind Dale, Neverwinter Nights, etc., and they became my new obsession. (It's okay because I got him back by introducing him to Civ!) Two of my worst gaming moments came during this period of time. The first was when I played hookey from my programming job to play Icewind Dale. It's the only time I ever missed an obligation to instead play a game, and it remains one of my greatest sources of shame. The second came when my husband arrived home from work and asked what was wrong - I may have been throwing things and providing some other visual clues as to my displeasure. "Kobolds," I told him. "The &%*# kobolds keep killing my party and I can't get out of the mine," (or something to that effect). At any rate, my husband/hero logged in to my game and rescued my party from the mine. I should note that this was the last time I had to ask for his help. Unlike him, I finished them all (thank you OCD). I soon surpassed his abilities in playing the RPGs, and I'll never forget the joy during one (I think it was Shadows of Amn) when I was having difficulty defeating a dragon until my Wand of Wonder (better not write about that out of context!) randomly petrified the dragon, and my group was able to saunter past at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, I never liked Neverwinter Nights II and stopped playing them at that point. I have since bought a compilation that plays on Vista, but it appears that sadly, those games' time is past. It wasn't as much fun as I remember, probably due to my playing more modern MMORPGs.</p>
<p>Occasionally, in my gaming life, I've experienced what I'll call 'disruptions' to my behavior. This was particularly true during this period in my life when the majority of my communication with my husband was accomplished via dialogue from the game. Anyone who had played these games will recognize them: "I'm getting a bit sleepy", "Don't touch me, I'm super important" (not really one you want to use with your partner), "So I kicked him in the head till he was dead" (that one is very difficult to fit into normal conversation), "If none are better", etc.</p>
<p>Then I was introduced to World of Warcraft by 'friends'. "Here," they said like the man with the creepy van offering candy to a child, "Try this." And like a drug-pusher handing out 'samples' of crack, Blizzard provided a 10-day free trial. (I have <i>got</i> to find new friends!) Sadly, as with my prior gaming addictions, I spent far too much time playing this game. However, after a time, I became disenchanted with the overall attitude of the community. As with the Internet as a whole, players find it far too easy to be rude, mean and even cruel to the other faceless (faceless other than that all important avatar, that is) players they meet. Everyone seems to forget that there is another living person sitting at the other end. The limitations on my ignore list size prevented me from enjoying the game and the later expansions seemed to take away from the Azeroth experience for me. The game seemed to be little more than a daily grind, and eventually I just stopped playing. One thing that did always make me laugh as a programmer was the fact that all the kids playing thought the game had been created for them. Little did they know that there is an entire generation of now middle-aged people who were raised on gaming and like to use their skills to create entertainment for themselves and their peers. In fact, I met plenty of players who were quite a bit older than I was. You could usually tell because they were kinder and more helpful than the others. I went back to it once but quickly remembered why I had quit.</P>
<p>Now that I was done with that phase, I again looked for more PC games and found Virtual Villagers. It may seem like a silly and simplistic game compared with others I've played, but I found them quite enjoyable. The worst thing about that game is the incredibly annoying sound bytes you hear when you pick up the characters, especially the children, whose least annoying sound is a laugh that's nearly impossible to recreate (I've tried) and whose worst is the annoying, high-pitched way they say 'hey' when you try to put them to a task. Once I realized I couldn't make them work (somewhat annoying early in the game), I tried to deposit them in shark-infested waters thinking that would provide at least some entertainment. To my disappointment, the adults were able to out-swim the sharks and the children just ended up back on dry land. However, by far the best part was that I could tab back and forth between the game and Word. When I hit a snag in the writing of my books, I checked on my villagers. There was one sad occurrence where I forgot to pause the game (it continues running if you don't) and forgot about the game for a few months. When I logged back on, all that was left of my villagers were a bunch of skeletons and an elderly couple that was nearly dead of starvation. I felt like some kind of mass murderer and stopped playing it for a while, although I've just downloaded another one and started playing it again (unfortunately the graphics get screwed up in Windows 8 if I tab away, which is limiting my play time), as well as the word games I've always loved: Scrabble, Text Twist and Super Letter Linker.</p>
<p>Then I found Plants vs. Zombies. Fun! I love this little game, especially the bowling and whack-a-zombie puzzles. I've just realized that I have yet to install that on my new PC (here's hoping it will work in Windows 8) and will have to start all over again. Darn. :P The best part was that I experienced few life-interrupting effects from this one apart from walking around the house saying, "Brains."</p>
<p> Oh and I can't post this without mentioning <a href="http://www.flashbynight.com/drench/">Drench</a>, a simple flash game that I just love to play. </p>
<p>I did start playing Guild Wars II, but by that time, I was too involved in writing my own books to spend much time with it. Any time I did logon, I always felt I should be writing instead, which I am ... with the exception of the fact that I am still in the middle of two different Civ IV campaigns. I told you it's my longest running addiction. I just can't seem to stop. Maybe I should go to a CivAnon meeting ...</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-82849106946759947432013-04-03T13:08:00.000-07:002013-04-18T04:58:56.427-07:00Pay it Forward - a new letter writing campaign<p>Bear with me while I share the story that led to my campaign. Many years ago when I was still in college, I was required to take a senior seminar, the only requirement of which was that it had to be outside your major area of study. For me, that meant no math or computer science. I had transferred to the school as a senior and didn't have four years' worth of experience with the faculty or student rumors, so I didn't know anything about the seminars. I selected "The Politics of Revolution" because I thought it sounded interesting. I was to learn later, that most seniors tried to get into classes that were known to be easy or taught by lenient professors, but I didn't know any better.</p>
<p>I took my form to the registrar's office and the clerk shook her head. Apparently, the seminars - which were a graduation requirement - filled up quickly. "Which professor?" she asked. I answered and she said, "Oh, yeah, that one'll be open." Now, that should have been a warning, right? What can I say? I was naive.</p>
<p>There were 30 students on the first day of class. How am I so sure of that number? Because the professor made a point of counting aloud. He handed out a fairly demanding syllabus. 90-110 pages of reading for each class, one 10 page critical analysis of A Brave New World, and a 15-20 page thesis on a guerrilla group. The professor gave two grades per class (one before the break and another after). He made sure every student was asked two questions per class. Papers were due at 5:30 (the start of class). He took off five points for each minute it was late. Additionally, if your paper was only half of the required page count, your grade started at 50.</p>
<p>I am a literal-minded geek, so I loved it. I knew exactly what I had to do to get a good grade. I was kind of tired of students failing the required work and asking if they could write an extra-credit paper to make up points. How is that fair to a student who actually studied and did all of the required work on time?</P>
<p>At any rate, I did the best work of my academic career in that class. I was proud of my thesis, and it won a writing award for being the best senior thesis that semester. The night he handed back the papers, I was leaving the building to go home when I was stopped by other students. I should point out that there were only 14 of the original 30 left by that point, the others having dropped the class weeks before. These students were getting together to write a letter of complaint about the professor. I had received an awesome grade and wanted no part of their rebellion.</P>
<p>I went home but the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed that they were complaining. So I sat down and wrote a glowing letter to the deans about him and the awesome experience I had in his class. I wrote that his class was a credit to the school and a shining example of quality education. I never knew what happened with that letter (except that the professor is still teaching there), but it opened the experience of writing positive letters to me. And I liked it.</P>
<p>Most people only write letters of complaint. I hate doing that. First of all, everyone has had a bad day at one time or another and not responded well to a difficult situation. That silly letter you write could be held against someone receiving a raise or a promotion. I don't like that kind of karma. Don't get me wrong, there are situations in which it is warranted - if you were cheated of money or services, or someone was cruel or hurtful beyond just having a poor stress response. Generally speaking, however, I avoid complaint letters.</P>
<p>Instead, I write glowing letters of thanks and recommendation. I wrote one to a financial institution after their representative spent hours helping me transfer 401K money around and explaining my options, etc. To my surprise, a few weeks later, I received a call from the representative's supervisor telling me that the employee would be recognized at the company's annual meeting because of my letter. I felt awesome and all I was getting was a thank you! Imagine how good the gentleman who helped me was feeling!</p>
<p>Karmically speaking, I suppose I was paid back when a few years later, a client wrote a letter of thanks to my employer for my help in fixing some long-standing programming problems they had been having. And I was right - it did feel really good to have someone write a nice letter about me.</P>
<p>Anyway, writing letters of thanks has become a thing for me. To date, I've received four or five responses from companies, thanking me for taking the time and noting that the employee would be recognized or have a positive note added to their employment record. And it's much easier these days - for a lot of companies you can submit them on-line. No stamps, envelopes or mail boxes involved! If you want to do something nice for a deserving stranger, I highly recommend this.</p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-68267813341041981222013-03-07T10:48:00.000-08:002013-03-29T03:54:42.604-07:00Crazy Cat Lady - Life with mulitple pets<p>Life as a companion to multiple pets can be rewarding. It can also be challenging, expensive and exhausting, especially as they age.</p>
<p>In the beginning I had only one. A year later it was two. My first husband rescued two more at different times and we lived happily with four kitties for years. Then my husband died. At that point the cats became the focus of my home life. Not because I was pathetic, but because they were my family. They were a connection to the man I had lost. They were my reason to get out of bed in the morning. And they carried me through the years of grief until I met my wonderful second husband. In fact, the day he and I set the date to get married, the last of the original four died - the first one we'd gotten, the Siamese that was my fur soul mate. Coincidence? I think not. I think he knew I was settled once again after being widowed and he could finally rest. </P>
<p>At any rate, my new hubby is also an animal lover and together we have a Yours, Mine and Ours situation. What should I have done? Made him get rid of some of his pets? Why would I do that? First of all, I'm an animal lover, so that was never an option. Second, I wasn't about to get rid of any of mine so why should he? Finally, one of the things about him that I found the most attractive was that he was also an animal lover.</p>
<p>Now, I love each and every one of them, but they are all aging now and their care has become more of a burden than I ever imagined - an epileptic dog, a senile 20-year old cat that cries pitifully at walls all day and night, another with chronic colon issues, a cat that gets respiratory infections every three months, a cat that required a $4000 surgery after a urinary tract blockage and is now on a special diet, another cat with terrible gum disease that we are having difficulty managing ... the list goes on.</p>
<p>The reason I am pointing these things out is that there are several situations that I (and probably many, many other multiple pet companions) would like to address:</p>
<p><li>Yes, they are my family. Telling me to simply get rid of them when the going gets tough is not an option. Don't suggest it. It makes my want to stick a fork in your eye.</li></p>
<p><li>No, I don't want to adopt the stray you found. Please understand that I am doing all that I can for the pets I have. It would not be responsible for me to take on another and you trying to guilt me into taking care of your situation is unfair. What about you? You don't have any pets. I'm doing my part, can you say the same?</li></p>
<p><li>Don't invite me to your home and then offer me your cat because you just had a baby and you don't want the kitty anymore. You would be surprised how many times this happens and it really pisses me off. Am I supposed to think that you are a great parent when you do that? Quite the contrary, if you can't keep a fifteen-year commitment to a cat, what are you going to do when your kid gets in trouble ... or gets sick or the going gets tough? Parenting is about responsibility, not abandonment. (Note that I am NOT talking about when a child has allergies, just when the parents don't want to be bothered anymore.)</li></p>
<p><li>Similarly, that puppy you got when you first got married has grown into a dog (not sure why this surprised you). I really don't want to hear about how you don't want him anymore because he's too much work. That is the same dog that would gladly lay his life down for you, your spouse and your children. In fact, I don't think you're worthy of him ... but he's a dog and he does. In fact, you are his life. If you spent as much time trying to earn that honor as you do complaining about him, you'd see how much he enriches your life.</li></p>
<p><li>Don't give me a hard time when I say I need to leave an event to feed my pets/let the dogs out (Yeah, it was me)/give the dog her epilepsy medicine/etc. As I've said, they are my family. Not only is it heartbreaking to see my dog having a seizure, it's potentially dangerous. Last year, she had a cluster episode that she couldn't come out of and required a two-day stay in the ICU. I will not remember your party fondly if I return home to find my furbaby dead.</li></p>
<p>I am of the firm opinion that the cats are the cause of crazy cat lady syndrome, not the result. You love them so you get a lot (cat lady), realizing too late that they are destroying your sanity (crazy cat lady)! Even though having this many animals is driving me batty, I still love them and will honor the commitment I made to them when I agreed to love them and care for them just as I did for my first husband when he was ill. I will never have this many again, but I will not turn my back on those I have. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to live with myself in the future.</P>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-68373445891569503212013-02-15T04:51:00.000-08:002013-03-12T11:57:50.057-07:00Choosing a Book to Read - Kicking it Old School<p>I never thought that something as innocuous as writing a book review could cause such dissension. Yet, in these days of anonymous Internet posts, everything seems capable of causing controversy. I don't write reviews anymore. I once reviewed a movie that I didn't like and got down-voted by (I assume) fans of the flick. Seriously? The review stated exactly what my issues with it were. That's what a review should do because negatives for one viewer might be positives for another. Therefore, the review wasn't unhelpful, it just wasn't to their taste. Silly. Down-votes should be reserved for inanely-written blurbs that don't provide any useful information at all. The button does say, 'was this review helpful to you' not 'do you agree with the review'.</p>
<p>But I digress. I am really bothered by all of the contentious discussions out there regarding reviews. Yes, some authors have family and friends write glowing reviews for their book. So what? Do you honestly think that doesn't happen with traditionally published books? But none of that matters anyway because personally, my decision to read or not read a book isn't based on reviews and never has been.</p>
<p>How we did it in the 'Olden Days'</p>
<p>I'd like to say that I'm talking about something that occurred a long time ago in a galaxy far away, but I'm not. You see, in the not too distant past, few people had computers and Internet access. We found books to read the old-fashioned way - we went to the bookstore. We would start by going to the section of our interest: fiction, romance, fantasy, etc. This is actually one thing that bothers me about on-line bookstores because they should be better than the old book stores, but they're not. I put certain keywords in as a search, but rarely find that the results match the query. Usually the first few books do, but it quickly turns into what appears to be a list of books that match the overall genre without regard to the specific keywords. My personal feeling is that it has more to do with sales rank than my search criterion. I find that disappointing. Sometimes I want to find that off the beaten path book that just hasn't been discovered yet.</p>
<p>Anyway, back to the old book store. Once we made it to the section in which we wished to look, we scanned the shelves. I would usually go in alpha or reverse alpha-order. Since you usually only had a view of the spine, it was the title that gave you your first clue - or the author's name, but usually it was the title. You also had a nice analog view of the book's length. If I wasn't in the mood for an epic read, I'd avoid the fat ones, likewise if I was looking for something with more 'meat' in it so to speak, I'd skip the thin ones. Ah, there are days when I long to just browse an image of book spines, in alphabetic order, even when I'm searching for books for my e-reader.</p>
<p>Once you found something that caught your eye, you pulled the book out. Now you got to see the cover. Personally, cover art rarely influenced me one way or the other. After all, the handsome warrior and beautiful princess on the cover most times didn't even match the physical descriptions of the characters in the book. I either liked the cover or didn't, but the only time it influenced my decision was if say it depicted a time period about which I had little interest. For example, if the title hadn't indicated that the book was about World War II, but the cover art did and I didn't want to read about that, I would probably have re-shelved it.</P>
<p>At this point, I would turn the book over and read the description. This was the main deciding factor. If I liked the description, chances are I would buy the book, pending the outcome of the page and a half test. I say page and a half, because that is the minimum I would read before making a decision. If I couldn't get past that, it went back on the shelf. If I did, I'd usually read another couple of pages before deciding if I was interested and the author's style fit my taste.</p>
<p>And that was that. Decision made.</p>
<p>What's that? What about reviews? I didn't have any newspaper or magazine subscriptions, so I rarely read any book reviews. And here's the kicker. Can you guess what the only kind of reviews you would see about the book in the book store were? That's right - the good ones. Funny thing, publishers don't print crappy reviews on the cover or in the front matter of a book. What's even worse is that you would see something like "... the best in its class!" You know what the ellipsis stood for? The missing words. Why was it shortened? Because who would read the book if they saw that it said, "If horrible, gratuitous violence and unimaginative plots was a genre, this book would be the best in its class!" Yes, that's an exaggeration, but it was done. Does this sound familiar? Isn't it what people complain about with book reviews, especially on Amazon - that you see 'bogus' positive reviews?</p>
<p>I'm not saying you should ignore reviews. I like having access to them when I'm book shopping (although I confess that I prefer opinions found on GoodReads and book blogs to those on the on-line book seller sites), but my point is that the most important deciding factor back then is still available: read the first few pages of the book. The on-line booksellers offer that feature for exactly that reason. If you're basing your decision on whether to buy something on some anonymous person's review rather than the work itself, you're doing yourself a disservice. Nobody knows your taste better than you.</p>Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-17663073734322511052013-02-06T04:27:00.001-08:002013-02-06T09:52:50.869-08:00The Unusual Personal Ad - Life with Multiple Pets<p>So ... I had this bizarre dream in which I found this partial personal ad on my computer screen:<br />
MCH seeks M/F HS. Duties include heavy petting, play sessions w&w/o toys, and general needs servicing. Knowledge of proper massage techniques and a proven desire to please required.</p>
<p>OMG! I thought in my sleep. Was I having some crazy erotic dream and if so what the hell do those abbreviations mean??</p>
<p>As my sleep self sat staring at the words on the screen, several cats came in, jumped onto my chair only to leap away in surprise when they realized that I was sitting there (I <i>knew</i> I looked like furniture to them), it hit me. My cats were writing a personal ad. Apparently, I must not be properly attending to all off their ever-increasing demands.</p>
<p>I woke up with a start thinking, "Are they freaking kidding me?" I spend a good portion of my day scooping litter boxes, petting bellies, doling out meds, dishing out foodies, dangling string and other cat toys, and alternately picking up/putting on the floor a kitty who has hit the Pounce treats one too many times to maintain her girlish, feline figure. Alas, it seems I will never be human enough to satisfy all of their insatiable needs. The ten minute ordeal I have to go through to extricate myself from under the blankets and the two dogs and at least four or five kitties who simply must sleep right on my legs means nothing to them. And when I return to the bed, I find the nice warm spot I left is no longer available, as several cats have moved over to absorb my heat.</P>
<p>At any rate, I believe I've managed to decipher their code. Multi-cat household seeks Male/Female human slave. I'm still not sure why it needed to worded as an erotic ad, though. Heavy petting = petting them for hours - way beyond the limits of your endurance. And play sessions with and without toys? Well, sure, we have cat teasers - but that whole without toys thing is code for allowing them free range to scratch you. General needs? That means divvying up several different brands and flavors of cat food so everyone gets a little of each - even though they'll repeatedly switch dishes just to make sure you haven't short-changed them or to eat the best flavor before the others get to it. It also means periodically rearranging the furniture to give them new vantage points from which to view the room. Proper massage techniques? I guess they are tired of having to move their little kitty heads around to ensure that I am scratching the appropriate side of their neck or whatever, even though (I kid you not) I once read the section of a massage techniques book that dealt with cat massage! Then we have a proven desire to please. Silly me. I thought that spending more money on pet food than human food each week meant something. And that being on a first name, you-get-a-discount-for-having-so-many-pets basis with the vet was proof of my caring. And what about filling my house with cat trees, scratching posts (which have done nothing to save my couch, by the way), boxes, mats in front of all the heat vents and baskets by the windows to make for optimal sun bathing?</p>
<p>Sigh. I can't even stay mad at them. Benton, my beautiful seal point Siamese lies next to me as soon as I recline on the sofa or the bed. Simone comes to sleep on my legs and then settles in between hubby and me when I move her so I can roll over. Stuff Kitty always sleeps directly on my left. Always. And Darius sleeps above the pillows, purring like mad if you so much as look at him. Shy Jack will even jump up to receive belly rubs once we are both lying down. Fred curls up in a ball next to us, the other kitties, the dogs ... wherever there's room. The others are in and out throughout the night. I never wake up lonely, that's for sure.</p>
<p>The dream ended with me deleting their little ad because the truth is that I wouldn't give up our relationship for anything.</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-12014412608349000512013-01-03T04:31:00.001-08:002013-02-12T05:08:05.120-08:00My Moment of Clarity - Gay Marriage<p>My New Year's Resolution? More tolerance. About everything. I only see happiness coming of accepting the fact that the vast number of different lifestyles out there don't threaten my way of life, they enrich it. Humans are so very different from one another. It's what makes us so wonderful. If there were no differences between us, life would be pretty boring.</p>
<p>Moments of clarity are wonderful things, usually (in my opinion) brought about by empathy. Nothing brings something home faster than experiencing it yourself. For instance, a legislator who opposes increased funding for a certain medical condition until a beloved member of his or her family is affected, and they then become a huge advocate for researching the disease. That's not hypocrisy, it's personal growth. We're humans. We grow, we're supposed to learn and we've all had moments like this, whether it was about something small, such as not understanding why someone listens to a type of music you dislike until you hear a song from that genre that you really enjoy, or something momentous, such as a prejudice against an ethnic group until you find friendship or love from a member of that group. I can only think the One Million Moms is going to turn into Nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine moms (good thing they don't really have that many members - that's a mouthful) the day one member's child comes home and announces that they're gay. Statistically speaking, it's going to happen.</p>
<p>This is about my moment of clarity regarding gay marriage. Now, for the most part, I was raised without prejudice. My parents didn't care if someone was black, white, gay, straight, poor, rich ... whatever. So when my mother told us that a close family member had announced that he was gay, we shrugged and said, "Okay."</p>
<p>If I am perfectly honest, I don't think I understood what that really meant when I was younger. Once my relative came out, I did start to worry about things that affect the gay community, most especially prejudice, but really didn't give it much thought beyond that. He is a wonderful person, as is his partner, and nobody in the family made any judgments.</p>
<p>A few years later, my first husband passed away. It is very difficult to describe the despair that overtakes you in that situation. My entire life had collapsed. My reason to get out of bed in the morning seemed to have evaporated. Life consisted of going to work and spending my evenings eating a tiny meal while perched at the edge of my coffee table. I didn't read. I didn't watch television. I stopped playing the piano. Nothing seemed to mean anything anymore.</p>
<p>At the time, I was working as a medical assistant and about two months after my husband's passing, I went to work and called in the first patient of the day. It was a woman named Mary who usually came in with her partner, Anne (not their real names). Anne and Mary were an extraordinary couple. They treated each other with more respect than almost any other couple we saw in the office. We knew them by name and they knew ours. We talked about the pets they doted on, the home improvement projects they were working on, and the vacations they took.</p>
<p>On this day, Mary followed me into the exam room, and I noticed that she was alone. "Oh, where's Anne?" I asked. Mary burst into tears, telling me that Anne had passed away suddenly a month earlier. I told Mary that my husband had also passed away. We immediately hugged, sobbing on each other's shoulders. We were two women who had each loved deeply and were now desperately trying to trudge up the downward slope that life had become. Things that had seemed easy before now required an enormous effort. The fact that her partner had been a woman while mine was a man made absolutely no difference. We were simply two people who had loved and lost. My moment of clarity had come, though I wouldn't recognize it for that until years later.</p>
<p>That time came when the hoopla arose surrounding gay marriage. All I could think about was Anne and Mary, two people who were more married to my thinking than most heterosexual couples. The respect with which they treated one another should have been an example for all couples. What Anne had offered Mary from their relationship was comfort, strength, dignity, and most of all, compassion. If that's not the definition of what should exist in a marriage, I don't know what is. After truly giving of themselves to one another, why shouldn't they be granted the protection that marriage offers? As human beings, they only wanted what everyone else does: to protect those they love - with things such as insurance and inheritance rights.</p>
<p>I am very proud that my state has legalized same-sex marriage. Personally, I think that marriage also offers stability in relationships. Isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't society want that for all of its members? It doesn't (nor should it) have any effect on me whether the married couple next door is gay or straight. Quite frankly, it's none of my business.</p>
<p>As a society, we seem to have gone astray. Instead of recognizing the good that comes from two people being in love, too many are concerned only with defining what is acceptable behavior for others. What is the true purpose of marriage? If it is only to procreate, than does that invalidate the marriage rights of those couples who marry but don't have children, whether by choice, inability or tragically through loss? And what of couples who marry after their child-bearing years have passed? To me is seems that trying to define marriage as anything other than a binding relationship between two people for their mutual benefit will lead to all sorts of murky water. As for gay couples adopting children - why not? Would we prefer children to remain in the foster care system than be adopted by a gay couple? As any person who grew up experiencing any kind of abuse will tell you, one or two same-sex loving parents beats an abusive straight couple any day. Same-sex couples are just as capable of providing a loving, secure environment for children as heterosexual couples.</p>
<p>I know not everyone will agree with me. That's okay because I am <i>tolerant</i> of your right to disagree. Just remember that I'm not asking everyone to <i>be</i> in a gay marriage, just to give every couple the opportunity to marry and provide for their significant other.</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-37738409123475321602012-12-14T08:48:00.000-08:002012-12-14T08:48:27.537-08:00Writer ... or schizophrenic?<p>After yet another sleepless night, I begin my day by pondering the question: am I a writer or am I perhaps schizophrenic? I daresay I am not alone in asking this question. I'm quite certain that most authors experience similar worries. When you spend your day creating an alternate world, it's difficult not to question your sanity at some point.</p>
<p>I begin my research by looking up my potential mental illness. From <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page">Wikipedia</a>'s entry on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizophrenia">schizophrenia: </a>"Common symptoms include auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, or disorganized speech and thinking ..." Hmm, I will look at these issues one by one and see if I can answer my question.</p>
<p><u>Auditory hallucinations.</u> Put a big fat check mark in this column. One of the things keeping me up at night is the voices of my characters, both beloved and not. A few nights ago, I had a warrior from the fantasy novel I'm currently writing telling me in no uncertain terms that he was displeased with how I had written his handling of a certain situation. He felt that my description of his actions made him seem incompetent (I did tell him that I thought 'incompetent' was a rather harsh word to use, but he was fairly adamant about it). At any rate, he wouldn't shut up - which is fairly odd for him as he's not usually that loquacious, and I finally had to get out of bed at 4:30 am to rewrite the scene in order to gain his approval and get some sleep. Of course, the fact that our little argument took place in a strange language that I invented may seem odd, but what could I do? The guy doesn't speak English!</p>
<p>He's not the only character to interrupt my sleep cycle. Another has now taken to telling me that she wants more lines. Sometimes, I imagine it's what a producer on a movie set must feel like - you have all these competing personalities and you're trying to make them all happy so the production (book in this case) goes smoothly.</p>
<p>And if those two weren't enough, among my chatty characters are also two obnoxious cats and a gentle puppy. You should hear some of the things those cats say. It's downright disturbing.</p>
<p><u>Paranoid or bizarre delusions.</u> Well, I'm split on this (it's okay for me to say that, I already ruled out a dissociative identity disorder), so I'll give myself a check mark in both the have and don't have columns for this one. I don't consider myself particularly paranoid (although my overworked paper shredder might disagree), but bizarre delusions? I write fantasy novels. Of course I have bizarre delusions. The entire world is a figment of my imagination ... or is it? Wait. Am I the only one that heard evil laughter just now? Anyway, when you spend almost every waking hour working out the details of an imaginary world in your head, it's difficult not to get lost in it at times. This is true even if it's not a fantasy world because I have many of the same issues when I work on modern, take-place-in-this-world novels. Every activity you become involved in during the day raises the inevitable questions: how would character X react to this? How would it work in his/her world? Would this even exist/happen in his/her world? Why or why not? Then your imagination starts answering those questions and off you go into bizarre delusion land.</p>
<p>One good thing about my bizarre delusions? I'm never alone. My peeps go everywhere with me. Of course, there is a downside to that - some of those fantasy realm people are not fond of automobiles. They amount of screaming and gasping coming from them in my mind if I fail to brake more than 100 yards before a traffic light is just alarming, and don't get me started on their reactions to computers, television, telephones and other technology. </p>
<p><u>Disorganized speech and thinking.</u> Check mark in the have column, but it's not my fault. I blame the bizarre delusions. Okay, that did sound a little crazy, I admit, but you see it's only my reactions to those writing-induced delusions that may cause others to perceive me as having the aforementioned symptoms. I've found myself walking down the aisle of a store having a conversation and then re-having it multiple times in a (hopefully) better-worded fashion in an attempt to remember it so I can write it down once I'm home. I usually only realize that I'm doing this aloud when people start hurriedly looking the other way or grabbing the hands of small children and running. I think I shall start walking around with an earpiece in so people will assume that I'm on the phone, rather than insane.</p>
<p>I have to say that having examined the symptoms and my behavior, I'm not sure an outsider would be able to positively conclude that I am, in fact, not schizophrenic. I mean I spend hours a day lost in an imaginary world, speaking an imaginary language and talking to imaginary people. It doesn't sound sane, does it? It's a good thing I know the truth: I'm just a writer who spends hours in front of a keyboard writing fictional stories for entertainment purposes ... or am I actually a fictional character that some author somewhere is writing about as she attempts to delve into her psyche looking for the answers to her own existence and blogging about it. Oh dear, I may have to look into the whole dissociative disorder thing again.</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-17509480633128136442012-12-10T05:12:00.000-08:002012-12-10T05:12:12.320-08:00Christmas Movies<p>Well, December is here and it's time to pick our Christmas movies. No, I'm talking about It's a Wonderful Life or A Christmas Carol. I'm talking about either off-beat movies or those that have a Christmas backdrop that you just have to watch every December.</p>
<p>For my husband and me, there are two staples. His is Love Actually. Mine is The Ref. (Can you tell who the romantic in our relationship is?) I suppose my choice says more about my dysfunctional childhood than anything else. I mean being held hostage on Christmas? Fighting with your family? Being insulted by relatives? It's the embodiment of my childhood Christmases. And even if you had a more normal family life, holiday stress is something to which everyone can relate. The movie takes it to the nth degree and adds that touch of humor you need in order to laugh at it and move on with the day! At any rate, it's an incredibly funny and enjoyable movie with some great lines ('Your husband ain't dead, lady, he's hiding' is one of my favorites). Denis Leary, Kevin Spacey and Judy Davis are awesome, as is the rest of the supporting cast. This is a movie that reminds us all that families suck (just kidding) - reminds us all that the holidays can be stressful even if there isn't an armed robber holding you hostage in your own home. But beyond that storyline, it also serves as a reminder that the holidays can herald the end of arguments and new beginnings.</p>
<p>Unlike my choice, hubby chooses a movie about romance and pursuing love. What can I say - I got lucky, he got stuck with me! Love Actually follows several different story lines which intersect in some way - sometimes only because the characters know those in the other storylines, not because they actually interact. It examines the relationships of single people, married people, cheaters, widowers, young people, dreamers and those who put duty to family before their own desires. There's pretty much something for everyone in it. Hugh Grant is excellent as the prime minister (loved seeing him dance behind closed doors) and Bill Nighy as the aging rocker whose behavior is predictably inappropriate is simply awesome (favorite line: 'Don't buy drugs, kids, become a pop star and they'll give them to you free'). I also enjoyed the Colin Firth and LĂșcia Moniz storyline about two people who fall in love without speaking the other's language. Their subtitled similar-yet different conversations were very well-written. I don't mean to leave any of the other plot lines out, there are just too many stars to name in this one to name them all in a short blog post.</p>
<p>Now, we need two more movies to round out the month's selections. My other choice was Elf. I am not generally a fan of this type of SNL style humor, but I do like this movie - not for its standard 'Christmas spirit conquers all' message, but for its portrayal of a simplistic man whose unshakable faith in Santa and Christmas lead to all sorts of merriment (the Angry elf scene being one of my favorites in this one).</p>
<p>As for a fourth movie the jury is still out. If I had a third choice, it might be Friday After Next (for some reason it really makes me laugh), but it's hubby's choice because I've already selected my two. If there was a movie about an Alien cowboy Santa that had been deputized and was hunting down crooks who steal Christmas gifts and included lots of sleigh-chasing-car scenes he might pick that, but I suspect his second choice will be The Last Holiday. We absolutely love Queen Latifah and this movie has everything a holiday movie could ask for: romance, character redemption, happy endings and so much more.</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-56038041058713657112012-11-27T06:53:00.001-08:002012-12-01T04:58:56.683-08:00Wreck the Halls, Christmas with Cats<p>Every year, as the Christmas season approaches, to make sure that I don't let my guard down, I revisit the horror that was December 2006 for me. Okay, horror isn't quite the right word, but let's just say that it wasn't the Norman Rockwell Christmas of my dreams.</p>
<p>After losing my precious, cat soul-mate Siamese the prior February, I'd decided that I couldn't live without at least one Siamese in my life, so I got two kittens, one seal point named Benton and his blue point brother, Jack. Add to that the puppy we'd gotten that year (having also lost a beautiful, loyal, awesome dog in January) and you have the makings of quite a cute Christmas card ... or so I thought. Like most deluded kitten and puppy owners, I looked forward to the holiday season with my playful little furballs.</P>
<p>I suppose in the eighteen years since I'd adopted my first Siamese, I'd forgotten about all of the mischief he used to get into, not the least of which was removing an alarmingly large amount of wallpaper from the walls of a rented apartment, eating an entire slipper, making off with a pet iguana, trashing the apartment so thoroughly that I thought I'd been robbed, and completely biting through the Christmas tree lights extension cord. It is due to this selective amnesia that the extent of kitten mischief my new meezers engaged in actually took me by surprise. Then there was Daphne, the new puppy who was so destructive that we took to calling her The Daphinator.</p>
<p> While I had dreamed of a warm, festive holiday season, what actually followed was an angst-filled month of destruction and home-wrecking (by the animals), and newly emerging neuroses and alcohol consumption (by me) - all of which was documented in the kittens' blog. Pardon the writing, this is an unedited blog and I was, after all, having a nervous breakdown (and quite possibly drunk) when I wrote most of it.</P>
<p>Scroll to the bottom to begin reading: <font size=+2><a href="http://bentonandjack.blogspot.com/2006_12_01_archive.html">Benton and Jack's Christmas Blog</a></font></p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722006213277736790.post-55266979614645262912012-11-24T05:14:00.000-08:002012-12-01T04:59:24.335-08:00In My Mind, I'm Still Twenty-five<p>In my mind, I'm still twenty-five. In reality, I'm not. How old am I? Well, a lady never tells, but let's just say that twenty-five is pretty far back in the rearview mirror. Anyway, with the exception of those times when I spend hours searching for my car keys only to find they have been inexplicably placed in the refrigerator, I feel as fit and alert as I did back then. In fact, that attitude hasn't changed in years (and people much older than me have expressed similar sentiments), so I have no reason to think I'll ever "feel my age" - mentally anyway.</p>
<p>This should be a good thing, right? I mean, who doesn't smile at the thought that when they're forty, fifty or even seventy, they'll still feel capable of living a full life, doing everything they used to. I suppose that's true, but ... (there's always a but, isn't there?) the problem comes when you fail to acknowledge that this "I can do anything I used to" feeling is all in your head.</p>
<p>Just yesterday, I saw a television commercial advertising an upcoming ice dancing show. The ad showed a skater doing a beautiful split as she leapt gracefully through the air. (Are you starting to see the problem here?) Naturally, I immediately pictured myself performing such a move right there in my living room. And so I did. Now, the real flaw in my thinking here was the thought that I was <i>ever</i> capable of performing such a move. I mean, sure, I went skating when I was a kid. I even managed to remain upright through most of it. However, I can think of no instance when both of my feet left the surface of the rink that wasn't the result of an unfortunate meeting of my backside and the ice. Also, the whole leaping thing aside, I cannot recall ever having been able to (intentionally) do a split.</p>
<p>This incident is only slightly reminiscent of my last cartwheel attempt only three years ago - which was successful by the way - but then, I was actually able to do cartwheels when I was younger. The only reason I did it recently was to make sure that the supposedly healed elbow I had broken was in fact still capable of holding me up in an inverted position. Now, why I needed to know that remains a mystery and the possible outcome if it had failed (that is, landing on my head) was potentially dangerous - so much so that my current older self spent a bit of time chastising that stupid but-I'm-still-twenty-five mindset of mine.</p>
<p>Other notable stupid things I've done in the name of independence and a can-do attitude include attempting to remove old kitchen cabinets by myself (those are much heavier when they land on your foot than you think they'll be), doing yoga in an un-airconditioned house after mowing the lawn on a 100 degree plus day (why is that floor moving up so fast?) and - this one happened when I was still young - attempting a high kick while wearing the tight jeans of a skinny young woman (let's just say that the stitching of said tight jeans did not allow for such a separation of the legs and be thankful that I was in front of a soft bed to fall on).</p>
<p>As for yesterday, I'm pleased to report that my ill-advised leap did not result in any lasting injury, nor were there any cameras around, so I won't end up on YouTube. However, the mere attempt introduced me to muscles I don't recall having - and they weren't happy. I'm now trying to convince my silly mind that there are perhaps things I should no longer try, no matter how cool they look when I picture myself doing them.</p>
<p>PS - I may finally be learning because shortly after the leaping incident, <a href="http://www.ellentv.com/">The Ellen Show</a> had Madonna and her dancers on and I managed to refrain from attempting to do any of the moves they performed! Of course, that might have been due to the still sore muscles in my legs. Today will no doubt find me once again trying to play Dance Central (I still can't figure out why my <a href="http://www.xbox.com/en-US/KINECT">Kinect </a>doesn't recognize when I am flipping it off!).</p>
Amy Difarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10414155339288588447noreply@blogger.com0