Good Luck, Mr. President!

This president was elected. The outcome was not favoured by many. In fact, it was outright indignation. How could that have happened, they wondered?

I watched from the sidelines, an observer from another country, whose 25 year free trade pact with the president's country, was nullified recently and a new one put in place. I thought why not? I'd do it, too, if I felt my citizens deserved better. But I am not a politician, just a former teacher, a wife, mother, grandmother, pet owner and friend. I blog, too, but that is the result of being a mom and being encouraged to write by a young'un. I saw the folly of some things back then and still do. We must realize money has its limits. Spending should, too. Fostering things we think we need is better then owning them, outright.

The midterms juggled the status quo. (I wonder why there are such complex elections every two years? Why not just do it all - every four?) Anyway, it has been a volatile time since Mr. President was voted into power, by Republicans, some of whom were probably Democrats and Independents masquerading as Republicans, deep down inside. Voting is always by secret ballot, anyway. We can change our minds inside the voting booth, in an instant. That is called democracy or just being brilliant.

The business of voting is our business and both a privilege and a right. . ... In Canada, at the beginning of the last century, women were not persons and could not vote. Terrible! People from many countries have died, trying for voting rights. Thank goodness times changed. We should be exercising that privilege each and every time elections are held. Our voice matters.

Mr. 'Art of the Deal' President, is implementing what he promised. Most of Hollywood seems to hate him. Their voices and opinions do not matter. Anger has a habit of turning on its 'owner'. He is not presidential, some have said. Might be a good thing. The drain the swamp motto he has espoused is ringing true. The anger is everywhere but why are his employees being attacked? They need a job just like everyone else. He resonates with those who have been ignored by previous leaders who were focused on other things. Leave office and get a book deal worth millions. Is that why some try for the highest in the land? To get a good table at a restaurant, too?

It's always about money. In government, raising taxes helps some programs while topping up salaries and the benefit packages of those voted into office by us, their employer. Is government a cumbersome make work project designed to give power to those who could never achieve it anywhere else? It certainly feeds the ego and the bank balance.

Is Mr. President trying to level the playing field? Isn't that the purpose of government? Take home pay is everything!! Nothing matters more to any of us. Quality of life is tied to it. Reducing silly regulations that can add layer upon costly layer of fees to any start-ups makes the hope of employment for all more arduous. Taxes and tariffs, those burdensome costly barriers to the gross national product only serve to muddle the marketplace. Be reasonable. Someone has to pay. You want free? Take it from the lottery tickets. Lots of dollars there. It's all about money, anyway. 

 

Stop picking on corporations without which jobs would not exist. Try operating a company, large or small, for one day! Lessons will be learned! Then there is immigration. We are all immigrants, it would seem. My parents came to Canada and became citizens of this country. There is a process that must be respected and followed. Otherwise, we have chaos, instability and crime. 

The world is noticing the United States, maybe for the first time, ever. Action creates the climate for change. But sometimes, no one is listening. When anger sets in, words are not pretty. Quality of Life does matter! Just ask the millions who are being ignored. It is not nice. The president was music to their ears but not to others, I know. The radical new leader just wants to protect his country, inside and out. At times, I cringe, "Why did you have to say that!"

Resistance, obstruction go nowhere. Discussion and resolution do! Let us not be distracted. Maybe other countries are failing, too. Don't be surprised. No one is immune. corruption exists, in all shapes and sizes. Address it. Then let's stop pretending it does not exist because it does - everywhere. The United States is a great country. Every world needs an anchor. Good Luck, Mr. President!

He Simply Wouldn't Budge!

Regardless of what I said or did, he simply wouldn't budge. He was motionless. Our Mr. Wiggles had his sights on someone else. There was a stranger in the house. Though his other master was present, he knew only one 'man' could save us if trouble broke out - our precious Mr. Wiggles.

We were thinking of changing our heating system. The invited stranger had come calling to advise us. By the time this man had entered our garage, our Wiggler knew something was up. He was ready, just in case. By now, it was too late to get our dog outside with his boisterous sister, Sally, the 10 year old sprint star, formerly of the cirque du soleil and last year's 'professional' patient. Promising him treats, if he would leave, did nothing to get him to go. He had a job to do. Nothing could deter him from that.

He stood there, watching this non-family member enter his domain, our house. Mr. Wiggles was an immovable rock, a watch dog like no other, a sentinel on guard like those soldiers guarding the Royal family at Buckingham Palace. Nothing would distract him from the task at hand. I motioned him to move. 'No way'! I implored him to follow his sister. 'No thanks', he seemed to say. His usual boisterous, loving, in-your-face persona, so expected when others came calling, was gone. This 'intruder' was different, a person whose sole reason for visiting us was business, not social. 

As my husband opened the door, Mr. Wiggles stood beside his 'dad' not jumping, barking or whining as was custom. The act of growling had not entered his thinking. He was the FBI, the CIA, on four furry legs. In the nearly 50 years of pet ownership of retrievers, - the first one, an abandoned three-month-old female - 

I had never seen anything like it. This out-of-this-world behaviour of a male adult dog was a first for me! Ever! He said nothing, refused to move while doing absolutely nothing. He was a statue, unlike any 'living' statue I had ever seen.  I continued to watch and watch. Whatever was happening to our dog, it was new to 'John', but not to me. I had seen this before on a few other occasions. Describing Mr. Wiggles' unique style did not do it justice. Seeing was believing, as the saying goes. It surprised me that first time, as it still did today. How could our excitable, happy-go-lucky, in constant motion, carrying a soft teddy for all to admire or take Mr. Wiggles just stand there, staring at this stranger, without no 'chorus'. 

The magic wand of silence had anointed this excitable 75 pound, 5-year-old gentle canine soul. Nothing could move our Wiggler to join his sister, outside, where the queen of noise waited for him. He just waited, silently, and with a resolve, never ever before seen. His eyes were on this man, a nice man, who had entered our house as an invited guest. At a later date, our oldest son was a witness to this shocking behaviour. Like us, he was in disbelief, having never seen it from our wiggler. 

As the heating guy left, our Wiggler moved a bit, keeping this man in his line of vision. Can't be too careful, he was thinking. Not all people are created the same, he knew. When the door closed Mr. Wiggles resumed his normal excitable state of mind, teddy in mouth, tail wagging non-stop, once again. He was back to normal. I doubt my husband ever will be. Our precious human-like pup, carried on as if nothing had happened. But we both knew something had.

The 'Invisible' Cost on the Invoice

The machine cost over $50,000. Only his trained trusted employee could use it. With three stumps that needed to be removed, on our property, from formerly majestic trees, felled from an earlier ice storm, this employee went about the task of destroying the root system of these pine trees. It was an amazing feat of skill.

Was I watching trickery going on before me? Were these professionals going to add some chemicals into the those randomly drilled holes which would finally find their way down into the root system for their destruction? Would the stump then be set on fire? I did not want chemicals here, especially since we had a well. What about the smoke? My husband had hired this well respected company to do the deed. No chemicals were used. The machine had done its job: churning the wooden root system to a pulp, becoming part of the landscape, over time. All was well in my world.

This cute brand new red machine, a mini excavator with a drill bit attachment, did a job no man could do. Working smarter not harder is today's mantra. Slowly shredding the tree stump into tiny pieces seemed so easy. The stumps had been left there for the past 2 years after the trees fell. Only bits and pieces of wooden stump would remain. Everything looked great as they left after 4 hours of work. The bill was paid. Such good value for what I had seen. In any job, what is left is usually what we see not what was there. Unimaginable talent!

The marketplace demands value from the inventory being sold. Even the young child, after a long day at nursery school, is different, but healthy and safe. Hours of 'labour' went into his care throughout the day, though no proof 'it' ever happened. We just know. 'Labour' is never seen, only understood. The elaborate meal with its abundance of desserts and cake can only be imagined in their entirety. Many times, I have said to my husband,”I wouldn't make that at twice the price”. I have gardened, pulled weeds for its preparation, over many hours, laboured over many days then planted the seeds of tomorrow only to see my labour go to waste because of poor sunlight, soil, maintenance and watering, too. But I keep on trying.

Any holiday or celebration has at its core - food. Always expected and then devoured, in no time, yet laboured over for many hours and days, beforehand. The 'chef' is thanked then dessert, having been made then frozen for this occasion, is offered. In the marketplace, this food skill can be a six figure career. Yet this same time and effort can be applied to the construction of furniture or even outdoor landscaping whose glory can last a lifetime. Cooking can be so unappreciated; its time driven preparations, so misunderstood and overwhelming. 

In the reality show, Say Yes, To the Dress clients are shown gowns, conforming to their bridal vision for that special day. What is usually presented are beautifully artistically designed costumes, a testament to the skillful execution of the dressmaker/designer who created these exquisite masterpieces. The bride is queen for the day; her dress, a one of kind, a priceless stamp to the skillful labour that occurred months, maybe years, before! Beautifully embellished with beads, pearls, crystals or lace, in many styles, with numerous fabric choices, the wedding dress is paraded for all to see. The imagination woefully competes with the showroom of wedding elegance. 

 

As they hear the price, the brides of 'Yes' do not flinch. They understand the total cost. Cutting the fabric, sewing the parts, in a meticulous laid out plan, while accommodating the unique characteristics and properties of the fabric chosen, is paramount and a testament to the artistry(labour) of the dressmaker extraordinaire. Chiffon is sewn differently than silk. Brocade or lace, still again. The labour used in creating these elaborate gowns is never seen, only imagined. 

 

Labor is the invisible 'majority' partner to the materials used in anything, it's cost greater than imagined. Let us revere those whose experience and multi-faceted talents make it possible for us to afford what we want when we want it. Our lives are richer because of them.

When Fast is Too Slow

I had entered McDonald's for breakfast. Our nephew from the west was visiting. A treat was in order. Breakfast was always what I did. But not today. I had a coupon for the Two Can Dine breakfast deal. The added treat would come later. Oatmeal raisin cookies would be purchased. I loved them so and made them often for others who did too. I was in happy land albeit knowing the ingredients might not be exactly organic or free of excessive sugar. Today I would buy more than the four oatmeal cookies that were on display. Our nephew was visiting. Treats were in order!

I asked the young employee for a dozen of the delicious cookies, cheaper by the dozen, I was told, the yummy dessert that would come in handy, later that day. I was excited at the prospect of having one as soon as they were baked and ready to go. Did they have any raisin oatmeal cookies left, I asked. Yes, she said, but remarked that it would take 2 minutes to bake them. Could I wait? I looked at her in shock, laughing at the suggestion that I might not be able to wait 2 minutes. (Nearly 40 years ago, while in hard labour, I waited minutes, at the intersection, for the light to change before I drove home. My doctor had failed me) "Are you kidding me?" Waiting 2 minutes was too long for us mere mortals for the baking of these yummy oatmeal raisin cookies, now no longer available, to my utter dismay. But many thought 2 minutes was too long to wait, she responded. What world was I inhabiting? Fast was now too slow?

Waiting, it seems, was now no longer possible in today's modern disposable world. I wondered where this thinking was taking us. Were we humans slowly becoming obsolete? Were the drones and robots we were inventing now going to replace us, in more ways than we could ever imagine? Fast tracking education could not be classified this way. It was a slow building upon previous years of learning.

Working with children is not a quick process. It is painstakingly slow but methodical and sometimes, a random process. What then? If 2 minutes is too slow, then what? If time and our devices rule us, what about the children? What about the children? They have their own internal random clock to follow. They need much more than 2 minutes, in most cases. It takes time, a lot of time, to assist these early humans called children, in developing physically, emotionally and intellectually.

In baking or cooking terms 2 minutes is nothing. Yet many felt otherwise where cookies were concerned. Imagine that! I guess the drive-thru phenomenon is setting the bar too high, making us feel that combo meals, sandwiches and beverages, through in this new 'window of opportunity', is now the new time line. Passing the window to pick up our food is quick, a no big deal event. But at home, it takes 2 minutes simply to remove food from the refrigerator to 'cook' or assemble into sandwiches or salads.

Re-heating leftovers takes more time than visiting the drive-thru. Do we stop cooking?Then there is the cleanup, another time consuming event. Reading a book takes hours. Even the eating of an apple takes more than 2 minutes. Chewing is an important and necessary step in our daily nutrition program. Slow and steady wins the race, the fairy tale goes. But our lives are not fairy tales. They are real and important and everything in them takes time, much time, though we can improve there for sure. But 2 minutes? A hiccup or sneeze takes more than that.

At the beginning of the last century everything took time, even days to do. Nothing was found in convenient pouches, mixes. Freezing was a burgeoning field of preservation. Refrigeration was too. At times it was a dangerous breakthrough. We are very fortunate to have such modern conveniences called appliances encompassing all the features of modern living. Everything we could possibly want or need is available at the flick of a switch or touch, it would seem.

Waiting 2 minutes for cookies to bake should not be an encumbrance. It is a reminder that someone  is doing us a favour by making them and baking them. We are simply paying for the 'privilege' of this luxury dessert in this rare event. The apples will have to wait. I simply do not have the time!

'Painting' Potatoes

The excitement was palpable as my Phillips Air Fryer inspired a new way of frying. 'Painting' delicious root vegetables was now my new standard in creating incredibly tasting home fries and french fries. Had a discovery been made?

The potatoes had been soaking in water to remove as much starch as possible. A clean towel was used to dry them out. A tiny bit of oil was hand tossed onto them in readiness for the spice mix that would soon follow. (Too much oil would simply slide into the bottom basket) Spices helped the oil adhere to the potatoes for more incredible taste and texture. Into the air fryer went the potatoes, for 10 minutes, at low temperatures, for slow 'cooking' while I attended to other things. ...(High heat releases this thing called acrylamide, a cancer causing chemical, generally found in grains, starches, and processed foods when high heat is applied. Medium to low heat cooking is always followed by the Momsey.Stir frying seems to be the exception to this rule)

After the first round of air frying, the potatoes were emptied into a bowl where a mix of spices: paprika, smoked paprika,- (tastes like bacon) onion powder, turmeric, onion powder, sea salt and pepper were coated onto the potatoes then tossed like a salad. Spices helped the oil remain on the diced, sliced or cut potatoes. The cooking continued for another ten minutes, at a slightly higher temperature. Brushing oil onto the shaken potatoes began this newest step of 'painting' the potatoes for added flavour, taste and that 'golden' touch. Presentation is everything where food is concerned. Shaking the fryer basket moved potatoes around thus allowing for the 'painting' to continue.

Using low smoke oil on fried food can pose a health hazard. On high heat, low smoke oil degrades and harmful chemicals are released into the food being fried and maybe into the air we breathe. Olive oil should not be used with high heat. It is a delicate oil that should be added directly to foods, especially salads and sauces -(after cooking has finished.) I follow this directive always after accidentally watching a Saturday morning show, years ago, and learning something significant about oils. The hosts on this popular cottage/country episode were cowboys who explained the 'differences' of the oils being presented and telling the audience the importance of using the correct oil for cooking purposes. Using the wrong oil for cooking would harm us. It all made sense. I was impressed.

Brushing more oil onto the potatoes helps in the browning process while adding tremendous flavour. Fat in food is about flavour as well as satisfying our appetite. Though fat is a more concentrated 'nutrient', overall calorie count can be greatly reduced because of fat's satiety value in the food with more valuable nutrients being absorbed, more efficiently, also. (A, D, K, and E) The more nourished we are the less food we eat. 

Eating more carbs has never been the answer to weight control. (Day old potatoes perform like resistance starch, I have learned.) Yeah potatoes. I use red or yellow preferring to use organic whenever possible.'Painting' vegetables for air frying reduces cooking time and calories when deep fat fried foods are craved. Even cauliflower can be 'fried' in a myriad of delicious ways using the air fryer. Toss with oil first then 'bake' for a few minutes. Toss onto flavoured bread crumbs while pressing the coating gently onto the vegetable. Deep fried' breaded cauliflower is done. Continue 'frying' till golden. Eggplant, zucchini, mushrooms, parsnips, onions, sweet potatoes can be air fried. They become a junk food replacement.

Let today's modern appliances and the altered food pyramid help us stay true to form where diets are concerned. Food is medicine. We all know that to be true. Now we can add herbs to that ever growing list of air fried foods, made better. Brushing oil onto vegetables being air fried keeps them out of the deep fryer while making them healthier in a shorter span of time. A little bit of oil, 'strategically applied', is all it takes to make life's choices more delicious. “Do you need fries with that?”

The Food Pyramid Finale

There is paleo, vegan, vegetarian and (gluten-free). I look at all of it and wonder why not indulge in all, once or twice a week. Has the food pyramid been consulted? Decades ago, a nutrition body determined how often and what food should be eaten for a healthy long life. The food pyramid came into being.

History has a vivid story to tell as well. Our predisposition to meat occurred 500,000 years ago: our genetic affinity to carbs, 2 million. Gluten-free is not a grain but a classification of grain, devoid of the 'modern' gluten that mimics our thyroid hormone. Gluten-free identifies other grains that are missing the 'protein' responsible for our ill health. Are we going to blame Mother Nature for growing the wrong thing? Blame us for tinkering with wheat to perhaps speed up the growing process before harvest. (And just prior, to it) There is a price to pay and we're paying for it! Chemicals abound in our food supply, but to a lesser extent in the NON-GMO, organic world. And we're in a hurry, too. (Even two minutes is too long!)

Protein is necessary for health and weight loss. Its contribution to immunity and the creation of strength and new cells cannot be underestimated. 'It' and fiber are found in foods such as green peas. Whoever thinks of green peas, anyway. I love tossing it in with cubed rutabaga or butternut squash or both with added melted butter, just a smidgen, then oil, lightly draped over the mixture. Such a cute mix! Oh, Yum! If eating dried legumes is nefarious with the Plant Paradox author/cardiologist then where do we go? Are a consensus of healthy offerings becoming suspicious now? Let our pressure cooker do the 'walking.'

Dried foods such as beans have been touted, historically, as a means for long term health. It has kept people alive. But the lectin doctor says be careful. Oh where is that Italian rum cake. I need it now. I will have it! ... Eating my radishes, homemade noodles, salmon, egg or hot pepper sandwiches on sourdough. Such a delight. Oops! Those are the good carbs. Sourdough is fermented bread that devours it's gluten and sugar ingredients making them digestible in the gut. Food must be digestible to be digested. 

 

Bakeries are making organic sourdough bread. Good bread does take more than day to make, after all. There is a price to pay for 'in a hurry', I believe. Chewing on the crust of bread, especially the end slices gives our jaws a workout. Could that help with wrinkles, too?

We now have companies bringing food ingredients to our door, hoping to make meal preparation a breeze. Shopping for weekly groceries, online, might be a cheaper alternative, however. Have we come full circle? In the 50's the food pyramid was all aglow. T.V. dinners gave us time. We took those short cuts, occasionally, if at all. Microwave ovens helped make it easy. And so the inventory grew and grew. Now dining out has never been so easy, with many brand name menu items now available in the freezer section of the grocery store. Does the food pyramid even rate consideration? Is taste the only criterion for eating? Does the body have a say or is it only about food taste and appeal?

The body needs the macronutrients, protein, fat and carbohydrates in play for health. Too much protein  can place a burden on the organs responsible for its complex breakdown. Certain vitamins are fat soluble while others are water soluble. When highly processed foods are consumed on a daily basis, the body reacts, having been thrown into disarray, understandably. The liver, it seems will do all the talking as the body packs on the pounds. Enter the food pyramid. It helps in keeping us on a path to health.  Though its interpretation is subjective, it forms an important part of the discussion: what to eat, how often and how much. We must pay attention. Books have been written over the past several years highlighting our addiction to sugar, starches and the many 'triggers' in the food we eat. We ignore these facts and the food pyramid's directive at our own peril. We see its results and feel it, too.!

Be considerate of the mitochondria, telomeres and DNA of our bodies. Our gut must be healthy to eat wheat and dairy. Fruits and vegetables, the main truths in our diet, make the eating of organic wheat possible. Grass fed beef is better than animals fed the other way. Less meat perhaps? Easy access to food is not a good thing. Fruits and vegetables are generally not included, it would seem. An apple a day is a very good start. The lungs will thank you. and dogs love them. Mine do.

 

The food pyramid is our friend, a reminder that 'fries with that' is not the intended target and not in our best interests all the time. But an occasional flirt with the dark side just might just help lift our spirits until next time. (Check out (Doughnuts for Dinner-May/2013)

 

The Food Pyramid!

We are told to eat whole grains not whole wheat. The better choice might be white bread. Hardly! Reminders to eat leafy greens, berries and whole fruit for maximum nutrition still hold true, I believe. Yuck to iceberg lettuce, I imagine, too. But tomatoes, those high in lycopene 'fruits', are now suspect. Remove their seeds and peel the skin, says this cardiologist /inventor/surgeon. Lectins are hiding in there. I doubt I will. It might happen.

The cardiologist/author of the Plant Paradox who says no to some fruits and vegetables we've come to love and enjoy is not concerned about gluten, however. Moderation is the name of the game somewhere in all of this. It is our gut that needs attention. The Eat Wheat guy says a similar thing. Healing our digestive tract is the name of his nutrition game. Makes sense to me. We've fallen in love with fast food, deli take-out, instant mixes and ready made and now are paying the price.

Look to NON-GMO or organic in our diet. Toxins are present, everywhere. The wheat belly doctor/author we all know about says gluten is our problem. But not so much says the Plant Paradox guy. Gluten is not the enemy. Years of eating processed food, drinks and sugars, under different given names, have put us here. After all, the gut microbiome is king! We all need to listen.

Excessive amounts of processed foods entered our lives decades ago and for some, at a very early age. Babies and toddlers' taste for foods are influenced by mommy's directive from the very beginning. The french fry is a great distraction for teaching baby something, whatever that is. Is it necessary? Stages of development require certain foods to be introduced in a certain way. Teeth need to be present while a respect for baby's immature digestive system and future health and the prevention of allergies, should be considered, too.

It is easy to let 'others' assume the role of our daily food director. And that is exactly what happens when we visit the dining out/fast food emporium, often, for a meal time break. Bringing a newly minted child there is allowing the intrusion of ingredients into a brand new body. What does the future hold for these brand new early humans? We are told to eat raw yet some foods are better assimilated when they are gently steamed, not interfering with thyroid function. That's me! (Broccoli and cauliflower come to mind). 

Celery has not been picked on yet with its juice, a detoxifying cleansing potion-in-waiting. Our dogs get celery sticks and carrot,too. I love these oft-ignored add-ins with my homemade sandwiches. Oh, yum.The ketone diet is high in fat with restricted protein making the food bill higher. It's a good bet for health we are told. The Eat Fat, Get Thin functional medicine doctor agrees. Stay away from grains, again. Yet we are told to eat whole grains, oatmeal for breakfast. I did, as a girl. So did our sons. White bread is better? I don't think so. Some say yes. Others say no. Organic is the way, too. What about farmer's market? Are they all the same? Probably not. Then there's grass fed beef, the better choice.

In every winning short cut to a glamorous body, we are told virtually the same thing: stay away from carbs (sugar), processed food while drinking water. Now grains. But when those tricks stall our weight loss, we look to another truth. All diet truths are basically the same. Eat a variety of simple ingredients meals using organic, NON-GMO in portion controlled amounts. Eat a bit of protein. Maybe go meatless a few times a week. Better for us and the animals, too.

Eating at home dials down hunger. Dining out does not. There are 'triggers' lying in wait. Where we eat is as important as what we eat. Carbs are still the enemy in many ways but if budgetary shortfalls exist then suitable carbs are a way of feeding many. Choose wisely. Whole grain, gluten-free, NON-GMO are out there. Bulk Barn can help. Whole grains are healthy. Yet we are told by the doctors to stay away from them. I will not! A grain called buckwheat kasha built the body of a 13-week premature baby which now houses a healthy strong man - 39 years later. Which truth should I embrace?...to be continued.

Four Dogs and a Baby

I wasn't sure how it was going to unfold. It had never happened before. But the moment had arrived. Four dogs and a baby were here. An impromptu breakfast had been planned. The four 'cousins' hadn't seen one another in several months. Sally, the retriever, had been under exercise 'arrest', solitary confinement. She had to be. On a reduced strict exercise regimen, after back-to-back surgeries in 2017, the time had come for all to meet, again. The only difference now was that a new baby was on board.

Mall Cop and Ella had a new human brother, a first for them. Ella was acting like a new mom, too. With the wiggler in their midst and Sally, too, how protective would they all be? Would they share? I decided to remove all barriers, for the time being. The Wiggler, with gift in mouth, was the annoyance factor in all of this. He would not sit still and that annoyed Mall Cop and Ella, briefly. Attention was shared by all adults to all children.

The baby is now 7 months old and raring to go, hither, thither and yon. He is on the verge of crawling while flipping himself beyond his baby mandate. Everywhere he looks there is something needing investigating. The best part, right now, are the licks of these majestic beasts from 20 to 77 pounds. He is ready for them. And so we watch and watch. Ella, the mini-schnauzer, sleeps near him, just in case. We understand. Then out of the blue comes Mr. Wiggles, touting his brand of play. Here I am he seems to say, boldly. With a gate barrier there and a folded ladder nearby, there seems to be nothing to deter this frolicking canine. Mr.Wiggles is the X-factor, but a nice one. The others are quiet, minding their own, hoping for watermelon, strawberries maybe blueberries and carrot sticks. Either will do. Food is food.

Mall Cop and Ella know trouble is not afoot, only Mr. Wiggles. He does not understand the boundaries of love and play. He only knows how to work a room, especially with young children in it. They are his love targets. And they love him back with their generous smiles and gentle strokes of hand.

Breakfast is being served, buffet style, of course. My first course is my grandson. Food is not needed, only love. Baby surveys the table and his family, nearby. As a mom of three little boys, decades ago, eating for me was always last on my list. Today is no different. I am full right now, filled with the joy of seeing this magnificent baby and his playmates, all four puppies, abounding here and there. It is quiet. There is no jealousy or anger afoot. The dogs are moving about while their baby, now on the floor, is moving with focused attention to the pictures on his blanket. So much to do while the animals roam around him. Ella lies nearby just in case help is needed. Mall Cop walks about checking on Mr. Wiggles just in case his unending presence arrives, too close for comfort. Mall Cop will simply watch. But out of the kitchen comes the relentless happy-go-lucky puppy, Mr. Wiggles, looking for his baby. His newly acquired 'ear of corn' arrives with him with that squishy noise it makes for the baby to enjoy.

The baby is used to dogs, their touch, licks, barks and beautiful presence. He is at the zoo watching them all perform in their own unique style. No matter who has the baby, a puppy is not far away, protecting him from who else? Mr. Wiggles, of course. Sally, the majestic, lies under the table waiting to be called. She's fine lying there in wait. Food can happen, there, too, as a hand reaches down to offer her a special brand of fruit.

The puppies know their role when baby is near. Bodyguards abound while gentle happy Mr. Wiggles performs. He will not stop. It is his duty, his mission in life, to entertain. He rules the stage. While baby smiles, he is momentarily distracted by Mr. Wiggles. This entertainer carries his 'ear of corn', the newest toy in his arsenal of carrying things, to show baby. His parents bought it for the dog who does not stop! Baby is in his 'office' standing around watching, then turning his head to the sound he hears. Do babies even do this at 7 months? It is a peaceful, loving visit, a time that shows that animals and young children belong together, a place where respectful learning is discovered and imprinted on everyone's brain. I'm one lucky baba.

What Does Matter!

She'd vomited that morning. Not a strange behaviour for dogs, but today it was food, not bile, that suddenly appeared without warning. Breakfast had not yet been served. She refused all water and food. What now, I wondered?

Giving her water through a small syringe was not a reasonable long term strategy, I knew. She needed to drink this life sustaining liquid on her own. She wasn't doing it and I didn't know why. Dehydration was now on my radar. She was a food fanatic. Not today. For her to be sick, suddenly, was not her, in her nearly 10 years of life. So off to the doctor we went. 

For two days, we visited the animal clinic trying to solve her food and water dilemma. She was becoming an enigma. An ultrasound would be needed and perhaps an IV, too. Medical procedures such as these could not be found here. Closing hours were 7:00 p.m. Maybe a cohort of medical specialists were needed. Off to the TVEH (Toronto Veterinary Emergency Hospital) we went. I was comforted in the knowledge that we were returning to her home away from home, staffed by the best in the world. An ultrasound would tell her story, perhaps a CBC and urinalysis, too. Everything necessary would be there. It had been, in the past. 

She was admitted by the same emergency doctor that had admitted her younger brother, Mr. Wiggles, a few years ago, when a grapefruit sized thing grew under his neck. Thank goodness for veterinary hospitals and their critical care teams and staff. Where would we be without them? Emergency surgery to remove an enlarged necrotic lymph node, was performed, two days later. Now, I was becoming an amateur sleuth on that subject, too. She was an exemplary patient, we were told. A new surgeon was on her case. 

It was comforting to know, however, that top specialists, with revered reputations, had been present to deal with her latest emergency. They knew. We were ever so grateful. Our family doctor, a human encyclopedia, knew these specialists from her days as a doctor-in-training. They were exemplary individuals, then and now, both personally and professionally. And we were beginning to meet them all, one by one, on a regular basis, with every visit.

Gratitude is a word that comes to mind during times like these. Gratitude for all the professionals who selected veterinary medicine as a career. I could never do it. But they did, thank goodness. Pet insurance helped. When all was said and done, few answers were found. But our girl is back, playful and crossing the line, 'cause she refused to act like a patient. She'd had a raging infection, of unknown origin, that suddenly hit. Lymph nodes became new words in my medical vocabulary, in this latest medical intrusion into our lives. Last year's medical 'parade' had undoubtedly culminated in this latest round of hurt. The lymph nodes carry waste from the body, including drug use, of which there were many last year. (No antibiotics routinely given, anymore, thankfully!)

During all of her recoveries, healing and restricted exercise regimens, the previous year, and recently, all Sally wanted to do was run, jump and fetch. Being a patient is an unknown. She does not know its meaning. Nor does she care what I think. The surgeons kept her in the dark. She's home and that's all that matters. Dogs do not know of the future. They only know of now.

In the series, Mayday, causes of air crashes are investigated. In a few instances, after eliminating every possible cause - pilot error, maintenance history, the plane's mechanical/computer history, air traffic controller communication, the checking of the cockpit and data recorders, sometimes, the investigators are left scratching their heads. What remains is generally the cause of the crash. In our girl's case, heads were definitely left scratching. They're still not sure. But sometimes, answers are not always evident. The mystery continues. I'm fine with that.

We went to the clinic today. I'd found a cyst on her face last week. Whew. With her colourful medical history, as a guide, I made the appointment. The thing was removed. Just to be sure. And a cytology done, just to be sure. The report for her emergency surgery of a few weeks ago was in my hands to be studied. Various forms of the noun necrosis were read. (I guess we're all necrotic, to some degree. Processed foods can do that). Aging is the polite word. Her doctor explained my questions and notations. Sally's hospital team had pronounced her perfect. I'm exhausted. Sally isn't. All she wants to do is run and fetch.

I'm exhausted. But she's happy, eating and drinking while being tough, loving and eager to run! Apples are her specialty and cucumbers, too. I'm always good with that! She's become more than a patient of the clinic. She's a project, I'm beginning to see. One day at a time to be sure.

Once Upon a Seed. ...

He handed me the bag of grapefruits and the 2 bunches of celery I hadn't asked for, medicine from a tree/plant. It then dawned on me that something truly remarkable had just happened: fully grown foods having begun their lives as seeds. Once upon a seed, there grew a grapefruit, then celery. Here they were, all grown up ready to eat or to be juiced.

My husband was doing what came naturally: buying simple ingredients for me to turn into yummy treats. The grocery store was near his office, if an emergency run was required. I was surrounded by former seeds, these luscious things, now, all grown up calling themselves this or that. They could be paired with other 'cell' mates: radishes, celery, grapefruits, oranges, lettuce, for an extraordinary assault on our taste, texture, visual, smell senses and, last of all, our health. It all seemed quite remarkable. Unrecognizable seeds had morphed into an adult grapefruit and celery, this time.

We were fortunate. Many people had chosen to grow food, as a career. Someone had to do it. It was not easy but someone had to. Many someones, in fact. Food keeps us alive. In their infancy, these foods began as seeds. Plant too many, the yield might not grow well. Floods, droughts and freezing spells cast doom upon the picture of a perfect harvest. Seeds planted deep within the large field or small garden needed to be done. Protecting these life saving powerhouse gems of future nutrition was not easy. Predators abound, too. They had to live, on their raw diet. They had young ones to feed, too. But first momma bear has to eat.

Digging, planting, watering and fertilizing was an art. I should know. I do not possess the skill. I am trying and will keep on trying to learn to be better. (“Good, better, best. Never let it rest until your good is better than your best.”) I have listened to the experts. I have seen their successes. The soil of the seeds need to be perfect. Knowing how is a life long skill to be learned and respected. I have watched, in sadness, the ruination of my efforts. Crop rotation is a must, too. Last year, organic corn had been my focus. I planted too close though the stalks grew tall and healthy. The ears of corn were present but the kernels were not. What happened? Where did I go wrong? The celery and grapefruit had begun their lives as seeds, too. As I moved to put one on the wrought iron shelf and the other in the fridge, I marveled at how beautiful they had become since their beginnings, months ago.

 

Having food year long is a gift. If no one bothered, where would we be? We shop at grocery stores, most of the time. What if the shelves were bare? Growing food was some else's career choice, not mine. And it was not a game to me, either. Once upon a time there were Macintosh, granny smith, red delicious. Now the selection is mind blogging, all started from seeds or seedlings. Do not get me started on how to plant trees for the apples, peaches and plums out there. The how-to-process for growing food is an encyclopedia to behold. Now imagine all the fruits and berries available and the chapters or encyclopedias required to understand all of it, then do it and succeed, year after year.

For several years we've been trying to grow raspberries, transplanted from a woman, my late mother-in-law, whose green thumb was well known. Pail after pail of raspberries she brought forth. Could the climate zone - Saskatchewan - be the deciding factor in her abundant harvest? We keep on trying, keeping rabbits away, adding top soil and sheep compost as needed, behind the 3-foot-tall movable decorative metal fences. Fertilizer, anyone? Trellises to hold them upright and the removal of weeds all help to keep them safe and healthy. Raspberries galore, one day, I hope. It's a miraculous gift.

As I look at the broccoli 'bouquet' on the counter, bought at its summer low price, I was reminded again of this superfood's origins, as a seed, once upon a time. How did it manage to get here? There were so many for sale yesterday. All perfect, large, cheap and ready to devour. (Steamed is advisable to lessen its 'grip' on my thyroid gland). It is also a superfood. As I look around the kitchen, I see apricots, a food, until a few months ago, I did not eat. I like its taste and will eat it now for a particular health reason. There many hurdles to overcome. But someone planted them, watched them grow, protected them from predators and climate havoc, then made sure all of it was readily picked, gently, on its maturation date then sent to market for us to buy.

How fortunate we are, so very fortunate. Here in this climate zone, we live in a magical kingdom where food is grown all over the place. To think, all of it was a seed, once upon a time. Wow, seems quite the magical kingdom, if you ask me.

"It's None of My Business"

I had just completed my round of grocery shopping. Nothing frozen to worry about today, on this lazy, hazy hot day of summer. Time to meander. The magazine section had been moved to a new place, near  unique kitchen ware, for those interested in these 'medieval' forms of print. That's me, of course! (I subscribe to Scientific American, Discover, have for decades.)

The digital arena plays a role, today,  but not always, with me, in my outdated, last century mode of information gathering - the magazine. For me, a magazine is a 'lightweight' information folder at a glance, no need for a screen, equipment or a source of power. Too much time on digital screens can affect our personal 'screens'- our eyes - anyway. Magazines are predictable, authors are known, unlike a web site that I might re-visit often. A power failure ends exploration. The site might not be there tomorrow or ever, maybe. A magazine says it all, in a tell-all comprehensive 'seminar', in a moment's notice, without all the parking, course costs and evening appearances. It's an instant reference guide for the Momsey.

I was hypnotized by the selection, that day, when she came of out of nowhere. The young woman smiled as she walked towards me explaining why she had gone to the mens' room. (I didn't care.) My mind was on the wall of mags; hers, on defending her behaviour, as if testifying in court. And so her story began. 

 

She'd entered the male restroom because the other one was occupied. She was almost apologetic when I stopped her, mid-sentence. Her self-recrimination was unexpected. For whatever the reason, her explanation about why she had entered the men's room was absolutely none of my business, I told her again. I had enough in my life, keeping me busy without having to judge this woman on hers. I was not aware of the washrooms off to the side, one of which she had just vacated. She was guilty on all counts, according to her. "Please stop", I said. Whatever she was doing was none of my business!

As a mom of 3 'former' teen boys, two of whom are now 'newborn' dads and husbands, I'd followed a similar code of behaviour. I was a 'leave me alone' mom back then, I told her. Our teen sons' daily lives of full-time school, part-time work, time-off, financial prudence, and relationships was theirs to manage unless it became an unintentional disruption to my life, my husband's and pets'. I was prepared to interfere, make a fool of myself, if need be. (Humour is so missing in our lives.) This would be an opportunity for lawful interference. Both sides had equal rights but only mine mattered, in the final analysis. (They could move.) If a problem could not be handled by its 'owner', 'help' was on her way, expeditiously.

Practicing the art of independence and wise decision making was what life was all about for our children. That was the understanding and we all played a part. It was our legal right till it was not. Mom was just a 'blink of an eye' away, they knew. My leave me alone policy meant exactly that. Leave me alone and get on with life. Everyone had roles to play. I had enough to do, manage and plan. And so did they, I remarked to this mother of three.

The woman listened to my comical rant. Why undertake three 'careers' that paid nothing, I said? I had enough to do as a wife, mother, teacher/volunteer, pet owner. We both giggled. She understood how silly it was to explain to a complete stranger her reasons for anything. No crime had been committed. If there had, I would have acted, without hesitation. But there was none. I had enough extraneous material, floating around in my head, occupying too much space, as it was. No need to add to it with other 'none of your business' stuff, I said. She hadn't thought of it in quite that way. She had three sons, too. Staying out of the business of running their lives made all the sense in the world. It was a career without end or compensation. They needed to figure it all out, on their own, while 'common sense and caring' lived 'nearby' - at no extra cost.We slowly parted ways. Enjoying one another's company is the definition of socializing. In a grocery store, dialogue does happen. 

 

Grocery shopping today was an unexpected meeting of two busy moms going about their day, minding their own business, meeting accidentally, when one thought it was her duty to 'explain'. A comment of parent's rights and obligations made headlines, that morning, we realized our duty to our children was finished. It was now our turn. We mattered. No need to explain. Just enjoy the day. Shall we dance? Now, how do we explain that?

Where's the Glass?

Glass is slowly disappearing from the grocery store. Plastic is now reigning proudly, in its place. Many food products are now in BPA-free plastic, as though that substitute is an equitable fair trade with its predecessor, glass. No benefits are bestowed upon us with this current substitution. Even styrofoam takeout containers poses their own unique health hazards. Oh, my.

Mayonnaise and ketchup were in glass, once upon a time. Relish and pickles still are for some companies. Will that soon end, too? ... The other day as I attempted to empty a 685 ml. plastic jar of organic unsweetened applesauce, (formerly in smooth clear glass) I was appalled to see an intricate pattern stamped on the inside of this plastic jar. The bottom of this plastic container, was a raised curve, reducing the space inside where product should have been. I could not clean out the contents of this plastic container regardless of what I did. A spatula did not work. Water poured into the 'jar' helped to dislodge a bit more of the applesauce - not all - which was then poured onto the food being given to our dogs. (They eat apples daily) Some applesauce still remained because the interior intricate plastic 'wall' design made it impossible to remove the last remnants of the apple sauce. A great plastic gimmick for the company! Buying the applesauce more often helps their bottom line, not ours. Sneaky and simply intolerable!

Health must always be our #1 priority. ... Plastic and its creators simply don't care. When food is pasteurized in plastic, how do those varying high heat processes affect the 'cooked' food we then eat? Something called EA - estrogenic activity - found in the chemicals, in plastic, is impacting on us in ways, never imagined. I understand plastic's use in 'wrapping' toothpaste, ointments, and other medicinal products. For tablets, too. Delivering these 'medicinal' products in those plastic instances might be reasonable. These items are not 'food' and are being used for very short periods of time.

There are stressors of plastic called light, heat, microwave cooking, dishwasher use, that imbue inert plastic with properties that degrade it when used with food. It then follows that our health is being affected. Are we slowly becoming guinea pigs, again, in this 21st century? Are we being 'manipulated' by 'those in the know' that plastic is a safe switch? Perhaps we now need a chemistry degree or at least a very good chemistry textbook or wikipedia to elucidate us on the properties and perils of modern plastic with our food.

As I shopped for baby food, the other day, the product line seemed lost in plastic pouches and small plastic containers. Organic in plastic? How does that work? Is the world of plastics a good thing for babies, these very early humans whose building blocks - DNA, mitochondria and telomeres - are slowly beginning to assemble into the adult human he/she will become one day? An adult is fully formed. A baby is not! Our children are being exposed earlier and more often to 'plastic' in their diet. I do not recall eating anything out of plastic when I was a child.

Naivety is not my strong suit. Skepticism is. Seeing BPA-free on the bottom of plastic is not a free pass, either. Who decided what's in the best interest of my bottom line - my health? I have seen a recycled glass stamp on the bottom of some kitchen glass items, for sale, used for food. Exactly, where did the 'original' glass begin? I shudder to think. My mind runs rampant. It is all over the place. Has the increased use of plastic occurred because the difference in transportation costs between lighter weight plastic and its heavier 'cousin'- glass - too great a 'burden' to place on the consumer? What exactly is this greater burden, anyway? Plastic is a cheaper alternative, of course.

“You're not the boss of me”, a powerful message, oft repeated by children, discovering the power of words, should be our message, too, to those in the business of food. Maybe we should be saying the same thing and acting in accordance with our buying beliefs. We are an online educated society eating foods that might have been sprayed with a myriad of pesticides and are now processed in plastic jars, bottles or pouches. Food mixes, including additives, flavour enhancers, and preservatives, alongside real ingredients are present, too. 

 

Innocuous words, found on the side panel, seem to indicate that they belong there with the real food ingredients described. Once upon a time there were few lab. created flavours. Now, I have read, there are over 400. How'd that happen? Then we have plastic. The ambush never ends!

Glass preserving jars are available during the summer for the processing of Mother Nature's bounty. A trip to grocery and hardware stores or Walmart, reveals the truth. It is glass we expect for canning not plastic. Even paint and varnish are housed in metal containers. There must be a reason, I imagine. 

 

But here in food land where human health should be #1, glass is not the preferred choice for food companies. Plastic is. Why? What is the rational? When does human health matter for a company's bottom line? I guess it matters when we tell them so - at the checkout!

The Kindest One of All...

As he looked up at me, his pink nose, a constant reminder of the gentle soul he is,  reminded me just how lucky we were to have him. This 5 year old, 70 pound yellow retriever of ours had spent most of the morning rocking our world while entertaining his 4-month-old cousin with his special brand of canine exuberance. He was the kindest Lab of all. ...

My 'daughter', now a devoted mom on maternity leave, had arrived with her baby, my beautiful grandson. (I cannot bring myself to calling her my daughter-in-law. Who invented that term, anyway? Sounds like we're outcasts, set up to fail.) Anne wonders if a trip to town might be of interest to me. She is always so thoughtful, so sweet. I remarked that it might be easier for her to come here to relax, a bit of a change of pace, for her, maybe. My car was in repair, she knew. The zoo was open and baby loved to watch, laugh and learn. (An ulterior motive was underfoot.)

Yesterday, my car's front passenger tire blew, having been sliced by a 'vintage' spring mechanism underneath. An 'explosive' sound had me wondering what was happening until I saw the blown front tire. The noise was unlike any I had ever heard coming from beneath a car. How had it happened? Thank goodness, the tire had not blown apart on the road with other drivers nearby. Another 'subtle' reminder of gratitude.

Today's visit was warm and fuzzy, in stark contrast to yesterday's scary tire mishap. My newest grandson watches Mr.Wiggles as he twists, turns, and jumps onto the throw-covered sofa. As Sally, his retriever sister, barks to all, this diminutive human, newly born, begins to laugh, like nothing I have ever heard, coming from a baby. It is a guttural laugh, from deep within his tiny human body. Doggy noises are new to him. He smiles. We smile. Some say babies do not laugh or smile at this age, too young to know or understand. It's just gas. Who started that rumour? This one laughed, no mistake about it. We heard it. We saw it. So did dad, last week. The myth is officially dispelled.

Mr. Wiggles is serious about his role today. With Reggie, the rhino, in his mouth, he goes about his duty to enthrall baby, while wiggling to the absurd. Some dogs can break these 'signals' of mental health: their tails. His incessant 'banter' makes us wonder, will he stop to rest?'. But that never happens. ... He drops Reggie as he begins to anoint his happy baby human cousin with his special brand of immunity. His licking touches the head and face of this cute little bundle. Baby squints, in readiness for the next 'touch'. Baby relaxes. This is the land of make believe where animals rule and we wait for engagement. This is what Momsey calls an enriched environment. Everything interaction counts in the animal kingdom. Mr. Wiggles jumps on the sofa, interrupts mom, licks her, baby and wiggles away, again. Sally barks at all the fuss. Baby laughs again and again. Mommy holds on tight as her son writhes to be released from her gentle grip. Slow and steady here we come.

Babies learn how to treat these civilized dog and cat creatures, who inhabit our daily lives, while mom and dad are present, showing them how. Respect is the name of the game in these daily animal moments. Mr. Wiggles is such a kind retriever. But we worry about his tail. He does not, however. It is possible to sprain a tail that wags too much, I have discovered. Oh my. He just keeps on marching and wiggling like an energizer bunny. But he is a dog. He loves that baby who watches him with such intrigue. 'Winston' is so amused. He's at the circus where animals abound and entertainment happens. Our wiggler lies down now.

He is exhausted, having performed, to the extreme, for his baby. He looks up at me while asking, "Can I stop, now?” "Yes, my sweet boy.Your actions were much appreciated, but you must slow down. Do not overdo it. This little baby boy will be a baby for a long long time. There will be many more moments for Winston to learn all about you and his other animal cousins."... Animals bestow upon us courage, companionship, immunity and reasons to be. Quite the gifts, if you ask me.

'It's a 'Wonderful' Life'

Everywhere I looked, there it was. It never mattered how often I washed, swept, raked, vacuumed, shampooed or dusted, or filled holes made by 'them', dirt was a part of living - inside and outside. Dirt was a constant, a gentle reminder of life. Pristine environments did not exist here, only dirt of the nicest kind.

Kitchen floors are the easiest to clean. Seeing the results of them makes my jobs in that room seem more enjoyable. Have I discovered a way to measure my worth as a labourer? Hard to tell. Cleaning can be exhilarating, a before and after way of telling me the changes that have taken place because of time, effort and thought. Washing patio glass panels is another gratifying feat of labour. With spray bottle in hand and cloth in the other, all 'forensic' evidence of puppy nose prints disappear, making the out doors seem much closer. I repeat the process tomorrow.

We now have straw in our lives, strewn everywhere, where grass once grew, an ongoing task to keep the fenced area for our dogs 'fresh' with this clean blanket of warmth, protection and cleanliness. As these layers of 'insulation' or 'carpet' begin to decompose, slowly, the ground beneath, mother nature's turf, becomes visible, a gentle reminder that more bales are needed. With April showers comes mud then May flowers. Summer is just around the corner and with it dust, perhaps, rain, then mud, again. Living in the country poses its own unique footprint.

Dogs invaded our heart and home, decades ago. Along with these precious animal moments came dirt. One morning stands out. As I parked the car, late that morning, I noticed Mother Nature's soil, a few yards away, a bewildering sight, encompassing a huge area of the lawn near the fenced area of play. The scene seemed quite bizarre. Dirt bathed this doggy grassy area as though an excavator had visited, without consent, to dig a massive hole for a new basement, depositing dirt in random fashion - everywhere! ... But we did not need a new basement, I knew. Alas, the excavator in question was our sweet 100 pound, yellow male retriever, Sam. He had dug a deep, wide circle until he found whatever it was he had been looking for. Upon closer inspection, the results of his overwhelming nuisance behaviour was made clear. He'd found nothing other than the excitement of digging until he ran out of steam and purpose. A pipe leading to the house was evidence of his mission.

Our precocious pup had laid bare a part of the main 'septic' pipe leading from our house to the tank. Had anything ruptured? Did I need a plumber? Oh my. An examination of the site revealed that all was intact, just exposed, in a most shocking way. One hour later, after returning all dirt to its rightful place, life resumed, cautiously. I checked the paws of our maladjusted pup, the canine excavator. Digging was in his genome, I knew. But this was ridiculous, to me, not to him. The evidence of his misdeed could not be hidden. He was covered from head to paw in dirt on his golden blanket of fur. The layer of soil told a clever story of a busy boy, left on his own, to pursue 'play' in his unique retriever 'style', while I ran errands. Dirt lay deeply embedded within his delicate 'instruments of play', and on his beautiful 'pink' face. His sister was clean, being only a witness to the event, while pleading the '5^th'!

Years into the future, another mess, a 'wet' one, greeted me, one morning, as I entered the den where four dogs had been sleeping. ... (Cotton towels placed on top of broadloom made cleaning a snap in this room. (Removing the dirty 'covers', checking for spots, perhaps vacuum beneath and all is well in my dirt-filled world). On this particular morning, however, the dirt trail took on new meaning as a widespread puppy 'mess' assailed my senses, as I walked downstairs. ... My Mr.Wiggles was a newly 'minted' adult, then, living vicariously outside his temporary home, from birth, - his cage - when the massive event took place.

A story of helplessness and unease had greeted me that early morning. He'd waited for help to arrive. Running towards several 'exits' had served only to spread his DNA. When I arrived, Mr. Wiggles had been sitting motionless, in the farthest corner of his cage, staring at me, in complete bewilderment. “What should I have done”, he seemed to ask. Nothing my sweet boy. Absolutely nothing. One hour later, all was well in puppy world. A second load of laundry was underway. A 'smell check' of 16 feet and paws - told an incredible story of strength and resolve.

Nary a drop of DNA 'dirt' was found on the feet of four furry creatures. They'd managed to stay clean during a stressful event of one of their own. Its meaning had not been lost on me. Be prepared and grateful for life's little reminders.Things can always get worse.

Four Men and a Puppy

His initial arrival was fraught with uncertainty, he might have believed. But once he imprinted on our hearts and minds, in the provocative ways he did, he was ours forever. Babysitting the newest jewel in a family of furries is now a family affair. His shenanigans are a testament to his desire to show the world that he has arrived.

Emerson, the beagle mix puppy, was thrust into the hands of many, soon after arriving. But these people cared. A business trip by his travelling salesman, 'dad' forced the rest of us to conform to some sort of random structure to allow for all things a puppy needs: exercise, food and a place of warmth, structure and safety. This puppy has many faces. As a tiny erupting volcano, he was unsure of his surroundings, uneasy about the things in it but sure about the care he was receiving. He slowly began to trust. His initial timidity was a concern, but unrelenting hugs, tender touches, and whispering soft voices and instruction began to take effect on this lonely little soul.

Mall Cop and Ella's dad takes 'our' Emerson on walks, with his cousins, during day time business hours, in the neighbourhood. Pets on board is a company perk. Another brother occasionally fills in, the home of rescue cat sisters, a place of last resort, whenever no one else can. This brother works from home. 'Top dog' is these brothers' dad and co-owner of the eternally rambunctious Mr. Wiggles and Sally, his sister, who through the magic of simply being present, is able to give the gift of time and security under his laptop computer desk, hoping little Emerson finds peace and serenity there. He's our IT pup.

The magic of dog treats, carrot and celery sticks, compatible foods for a raw diet, entices Emerson, luring him into the house when he occasionally runs outside, unnoticed. Grasping the seriousness of his situation causes his caregivers to chase him. He stops, looks, while listening to the words of those near, as he happily runs back into the house. Cookies await! In the evening, back at home, whenever a movie marathon begins, Emerson is nestled in the lap of his dad, who had simply scrolled down, one day, to see what the animal world had to offer. (A pet rescue was always on his mind). There were endless lists of pictures of lonely, homeless and abused animals needing families. Now there is one less creature crouching alone in the corner, frightened by his own shadow, having been mistreated or abandoned by others.

Emerson gleefully accompanies his grandpa wherever he goes. His needs require round the clock care. Being ours makes him special. In his miniature world he can handle it all, from Mall Cop, Ella, Sally to Mr. Wiggles. In his dad's world, he is number one; in mine, one of many. He is learning to follow the rules, to share, surrounded by many male humans who love animals. His species raised our three boys. Now it is our turn to return the favour. It takes a village, sometimes two. What really matters for Emerson is the love and respect that surrounds him every day. He is my beautiful ray of sunshine.

He is magically transforming himself into the majestic dog he is. He sits eagerly as his meal is prepared in the kitchen. He is learning to wait patiently, seated for the food to arrive. He knows I'm a good 'cook'. Occasionally, he 'talks back' remembering that growls or bites to his cousins or me lands him in 'cage jail' for a few minutes. He is learning fast. His lovable demeanour makes him a wonderful companion, even as he attempts to 'devour' the neck of Mr. Wiggles, outside during running play. “Where's the soccer ball”?, I ask. In haste, our retriever wiggler runs to get this large distraction, enticing Emerson to grasp one end. Failure to comply is met with words of warning and a spray bottle in hand. No more neck surgery, please. The puppy knows. A clap of my hands 'overhead' stops everything as I attempt to teach Emerson, one more thing. He is listening well.

Emerson is no longer afraid of strange things. I'm here to protect him. He knows. “She can be trusted”. She only wants the best for me, the little boy who loves life and everything in it. He carries his pillow bed, here and there. It is his version of a quilt to help him see that this new world is his now, a nice place to be, after all.

My Radish Years!

I could not believe my eyes. Here, in the book I was reading, the innocuous, rarely spoken about vegetable of my youth was now a dietary super star, in its own right. I had been in a love affair with radishes all my life. Little did I know of these powerhouse gems' affect on human health. I was excited once again. (I get excited over the silliest things).

As a little girl, I loved radishes. I cannot remember a time when they were not a special and delicious part of my diet. I was this strange person, in love with radishes. Desserts were not as enticing to me, as were those red round vegetables that graced my plate especially when I ate sandwiches.

To extricate us from our ills, we rely upon medications, at times, and vaccines to protect us from terrible life-threatening diseases. In my childhood, vaccines were given for measles, chicken pox, diphtheria and mumps, to name a few. Now we have a plethora of injections for all manner of ills affecting us. Radishes, those tiny bulbous root vegetables of my youth, had been dietary super stars, all along. What a stroke of luck.

Food is medicine, we hear time and time again. The drug commercials tell us other 'truths', however. We need drugs to stay healthy yet the contraindication of these 'clinical researched' trials begs us to stop and think. Is this group think? Maybe, we need to eat better and try new foods to upgrade the status of our health. Food is less profitable but more accessible. Who should we trust? Maybe we should trust radishes and apples, both superstars in our  health.

There is a salad called the Waldorf salad that uses diced apples, celery, sliced grapes and toasted walnuts mixed with a mayonnaise dressing. It is an American classic, first introduced in the 1800's. Perhaps a more modern version of it could include radishes. I think I'm going to make it the next time salads are requested from me. What is the harm? No one needs to know. The more ingredients in a salad the greater our exposure to increased health benefits overall. Yum. I can hardly wait!

Radishes were a complimentary part of my lunches and family picnics, as a child. Loved the crunch, to be sure. Some habits never change. Salmon salad was a winner in my lunches then, too, as were egg salad and plain ham and lettuce sandwiches. There was simply nothing like my sandwiches. I reveled in the sheer delight of radishes and sandwiches, together, like beer and hotdogs, at a baseball game. (I don't drink beer.) Even, today, radishes are side by side with my tuna, egg or ham salad sandwiches. When they're absent, something is missing.

Who knew the red skins of these red root vegetables were also powerful antidotes to cancer and other ills, a way of keeping the arteries and veins open, free flowing, preventing plaque formation in the blood. ... According to Anthony Williams, the medical medium, radishes are the gold stars in our diet.  So are their green tops. Who knew? My love affair with these round red vegetables began in childhood and has never stopped. The skins destroy cancer cells in their embryonic state. Radishes bestow a myriad of health benefits upon us that are ludicrous to ignore.

The produce aisle is a colourful state of mind and body. It is impossible to walk by and not notice these medicinal displays. A healthy body awaits with undervalued radishes at the top. Whenever I make potato salad, radish roses adorn its surface. Using a small sharp paring knife, I slowly follow the curved sides of the radish peeling down to its base, without removing the skins. Generally, 4-5 separate slits are made. The 'flower' is then placed into cold water, overnight, so that the slivers of red and white, curl away from the center portion, thus revealing a beautiful rose, each time. Using celery, thin stems can be made then placed beneath the 'rose' atop the potato salad. When many are made, a bouquet results, giving any meal that professional finishing touch.

Radishes have been a mainstay in my diet, forever. Since every other fruit or vegetable have received top billing over the years, it's now radish's turn in the spotlight. My life is complete.

Salad 'Trifle'

As my 'daughter' hurried to fill the plastic large cup with food, before their departure, I was left wondering. Was she creating the first ever salad trifle*? ... ( *normally a dessert made with alternating layers of cake, custard, jello, fruit, whipped cream, displayed, colorfully, inside a deep sided glass container. Oh Yum.)  

I had made three salads for the house warming that morning. Our middle son had requested bean and potato salad to compliment the vast array of 'vegetation' he would be offering for his weekend long social event. Some meats would be barbecued. But not all invitees ate meat. The world is a changing place. The food pyramid is losing ground, thankfully, in many ways. Carbs, regardless of origin, are no longer #1. (They seem to get in the way). ... Fresh fruit and vegetables, the so-called plant foods, now center stage, were being offered. No time to get hungry today. How the produce was beckoning. For the two nursing moms, the selections were great for milk production. Rich, nutrient dense foods abounded: romaine, watermelon, red grapes, lots of onions as were other fan favorites: hot dog, chicken patty and sausage, on the barbecue, with lightly toasted bun. Just one, I know!

'Milly' filled her plate with veggies and the salads. Suddenly it was feeding time for her three month old baby, my grandchild. Could I refill her plate? Soon it would be time to go. As Milly nursed, her plate was full again. She wanted what was best for her and baby. Salads always fit the bill. Bean, potato and macaroni salad were always her favourites, oh so yummy, she remarked.

The bean salad had diced orange and red bell peppers and thinly sliced vidalia onions. The bean combo included organic canned chickpeas, red kidney beans, black beans and a mix of other beans in an oil, maple syrup, lime juice/lemon juice and white vinegar dressing. Everything was organic and all beans were rinsed several times before being mixed together. (Those lectins must be washed away according to the respected high profile lectin doctor. I think he's right. Those insidious things impact on our health). Salt and pepper were added, as needed, to augment flavour and taste. Everyone enjoyed it all.

Next came the potato salad. This year organic potatoes were used. (I place eggs - if being used - on top of potatoes, at the beginning, to cook. Saves time and one less pot to clean.) The skins of suitable sized potatoes were cooked, with skins on, to reduce becoming water logged with that mushy taste after they were cooled, peeled, then diced into evenly sized pieces. Adding herbs to the mixture: dill, chives, finely chopped green onions- (all of the 'stalk') adds greatly to overall flavour. Finely grated carrot, along side finely diced bell peppers - colours of your choosing - makes potato salad a main dish rather than a side one. The dressing of mayonnaise with added turmeric, dry or 'wet' mustard, onion powder, salt and pepper, white vinegar or apple cider vinegar, a dollop of oil helps personalize overall taste and add health benefits. Sliced radishes, chopped dill weed, parsley and chives, 'collaborated' to decorate this delicious summer salad. Why make plain salads when the addition of other vegetables, herbs and spices can turn any salad into a main course.

Then there was the macaroni pasta, NON-GMO, (made in Italy). I cooked it al dente, drained away the water, then added the finely diced green onions, bell peppers and celery to the mix. The dressing was similar to the one used for my potato salad with added paprika and turmeric to give the macaroni salad that reddish hue with added health benefits. Salt and pepper were sprinkled to enhance flavour. (Vinegar helps in keeping bacteria at bay, though all salads should be refrigerated ASAP, after serving.)

As she was preparing to leave, Milly thought of her trip home. Time to refill her 'plate'. She was a nursing mom to a three-month-old, who was growing quickly, minute by minute, and depended upon her to give him everything he needed now! She began filling a large plastic 'beer' cup with the salads she loved to eat. Potato went in first, then the bean then finally the macaroni, on top. It was a delicious mix of food as the loose dressing of the bean salad dripped down onto the 'heavier' potato salad. 

Milly had made the first ever salad trifle, I thought, her special 'fast food combo'. As they left, she knew her meal was just a fork full away for baby and her. Grandma and mommy knew best.

'Early' Moms' Journeys

It was a new normal for these women, a new breed, who instinctively knew and understood the benefits of breastfeeding their young. Two had newborns while another had a one-year-old. In the midst of fathers and grandparents, they nursed, talked and laughed, intermittently, while the offspring, they had co-produced, ate the food of excellence. Everything seemed so natural at the birthday party celebration of one of the new dads.

Was this the new look of the modern age of parenting? The idea of formula had never entered the minds of these brilliant young women, one a French Immersion teacher, another president of her own music company while still another was a naturopathic doctor who had travelled to another country for her medical internship. Their pregnancies had progressed well. The births, though painful and long term, in some cases, had been a family affair with dads, up close and personal, attended by the midwives, carefully chosen. It was an experience vastly different from mine of the last century. Ouch!

The three young women had gathered in the living room for feeding time. It was an ongoing ritual, performed every few hours or every few minutes, everyday. The babies' health and lives depended upon it. It was, after all, the best food in the world, a custom-made brew produced strictly for each baby by the incredible mom machine feeding them. The human body is a miraculous machine. There is simply nothing like it, anywhere.

These new moms had attended all workshops and midwife appointments. Whenever problems developed in the routine of caring for baby, these women asked for help. They knew what they were doing and why. All had taken maternity leave from busy careers. I was a grandmother to two of these babies. It was an exciting time for all.

These modern moms were focused and unmoved with a strict adherence to keeping their newborns ahead of the growth charts, with impenetrable immunity, along the way. With dogs and cats in their midst, their babies' asthma risk was low. (Pet ownership bestows health benefits upon children we are now learning). Whatever these women ate, so would their babies, indirectly. Eating out was a rare occurrence, too soon to 'imprint' on the 'mouths' of these early perfect humans. They understood.

Decades ago, as a first time mom, grains were the building blocks for my baby. I could tolerate little else. Funny, though. The lectin doctor, the wheat belly doctor and grain brain doctor might have frowned on my forced selections during that bygone era. But my food choices were clear. My body directed the  aberrant 'eating' performance. These 'unapproved' foods provided the only respite from the morning sickness that ran rampant, every moment, every day, all day. 

 

My body could tolerate few foods. Red river cereal, cream of wheat, oatmeal, corn meal and buckwheat kasha with onions and butter, for brief windows of time, stood on guard. Then my world would come crashing down, again. How could my fetus survive this daily onslaught of 'violence'. Would nutrition eve nhave  a part tot play? I worried non-stop about my pregnancy's viability. I hoped for a miracle. It came when he survived his 3-month early birth and arrived home one month ahead of his original due date. Food made all of that happen, a food called mother's milk. It helped save his life! The doctors were relieved that 'we' had even bothered. It was 1979. His diet outside the womb was better than what he had received inside it. At 3-pound 2 ounce, the doctors had been impressed with his gestational weight.

My grandsons are tall and solid, for their ages, incredible students of their environment. They smile frequently, focus on the objects of their desire, expect to be moved to new spaces while watching, with a careful eye, what people are saying and doing. Eye-hand co-ordination is a top notch skill set. Both babies are in the know. They approve of everything. While the three month old 'talks' and smiles, he watches all and moves his head to the beat of all that happens around him. The older baby, my one-year-old grandson, performs with abandon, loves to dance, snap his fingers and interact with the sounds of life around him. He is patient and kind with the animals, in his midst, as the licks of affection envelope his face. He feeds himself with foods with a dynamic nutrient 'footprint'. No french fries for this boy - yet! Mother's milk is now a secondary tiered food, a side dish with other powerful munchies his mom provides. I am in awe of both my girls.

The 'ease of preparation' of mother's milk makes it an unbeatable, 'cheap' food for baby. Preemies depend on it, as the sugars, in this custom made elixir, help in the removal of killer pathogens from the digestive tract. Preemie milk is also top notch in other ways making it the best version of regular mother's milk in baby's life and death struggle to survive. It's an elixir like no other. 

 

Watching these new moms ready themselves for the next moment of nursing is a comfort to behold. They are reaching into their child's future and providing them with health benefits of untold proportions. For these pioneers, mother's milk is not simply a choice for their babies. It is their human right!

Chocolate Mousse, Reinvented

I'd made chocolate mousse, several times, using three different recipes, hoping to find perfection. The results were less than stellar. The bittersweet chocolate taste was overwhelming; the mousse, too stiff. Some called for beaten egg whites for that final 'thickening ' step. Raw egg was to be avoided by the very young and old, too scary for me, anytime.

I began looking at the ingredients in chocolate mousse recipes, realizing changing their 'values' could bring about a better result, a less firm product, a more enjoyable one, too, perhaps. Intense chocolate flavour was not my goal. Eggs were increased as was the whole milk, with whipped cream added last, folded in, after the 'pudding' had cooled. A few recipes call for meringue to be added at the appropriate time yet meringue is simply another word for raw egg whites.

I have always loved chocolate mousse, its texture and taste were unsurpassed. Using organic ingredients made it a safe choice, anytime. (Women 's bodies need clean ingredients to function properly since additives, processed foods lead to fat storage in our bodies). I choose organic whipping cream and milk, the best there is. (Organic whipping cream beats quicker, remains firm, longer and tastes incredible) There was one very simple recipe I recall that asks for hot milk to be added to an egg yolk with chocolate pieces, in a mug, then stirred quickly to dissolve the chocolate and 'cook' the yolk. I hadn't tried it but at the time it seemed like such an easy solution to chocolate mousse. At least the hot milk helped to cook the yolk, somewhat.

The online world is awash with many versions of chocolate mousse. Choosing chocolate with less intense flavour, 70% cacao, perhaps, will lead to a milder flavoured mousse. Any recipe I use will always be under inspection since it will become a dessert eaten by me and family. A small quantity of sugar is added. Remember to use sugar sparingly. It is an ingredient, not a food group, in 'dessert'. Its role is simply to impart flavour and provide some structure whenever necessary. Two or three cups of this sweetener in any recipe is a disaster. Use much less unless the quantity of flour and eggs matches sugar in quantity. In mousse, sugar is only 2 tablespoons, or less.

The mousse recipe called for the cooking of the 'custard', using egg yolks and whole milk, over medium indirect heat until cooked (thickened). (Strong coffee is added as it amplifies the flavour of the chocolate). The pieces of chocolate are melted then added to the hot egg mixture, allowed to cool before the whipped cream is folded into the cooled mixture. Varying your strategies is possible as the ingredients are simple; the steps, so easy.

Altering the 'number' of any recipe gives rise to a new and improved one. I am forever making changes in recipes I use. Dates, observations and changes are noted. Food is always about health. Even a cake, cookie or pie should be made with that in mind. Changing the amounts of ingredients, or even eliminating some in favour of healthier alternatives is my goal. We have only one body. Ready made processed foods should be restricted as the additives, colour enhancers, preservatives and other insidious things added into them only serves to add to our health woes.

In homemade chocolate mousse, I have a clean dessert, containing fat, protein, minerals and vitamins (dairy) and a small amount of sugar. Could that be called lunch? Chocolate mousse with its heart healthy dark chocolate and organic dairy ingredients cater to my occasional dessert must have. A small serving is all it takes to satisfy my desire for something sweet and decadent. It is is free of the massive amounts of sugars and starches that seem to plague other desserts. Few store bought creations we buy, for that end of a meal treat, are devoid of excessive sugars.

One mouthful can doom a store bought dessert for me. I threw out a small chocolate cake, the other day, because it was simply too sweet with goopy icing too much to bear. Our bodies deserve better than that. Chocolate mousse is now my safe place to be.

The Pack Leader of All

He's my go-to guy, the man who rules my doggy world. Cesar Millan, the master of all animal disguises and host of a new breed of animal reality show, Cesar 911, has captured the hearts and minds of animal lovers, everywhere.

From the beginning, Cesar Millan opened my eyes to the crazy world we have inadvertently created with our beloved pets, namely our dogs. Years ago, while introducing two new family pets to my 'kennel' abode, yet again, the barking and jumping began. I remembered Cesar's simple solution to calming agitated pets to new smells through a slightly opened door. Our two retrievers, 'Sally' and Mr. Wiggles followed suit. Company was here! The terrier and mini schnauzer, Mall Cop and his sister, Ella, their cousins, completed their respective performances with a rousing rendition of Tea for Two. Oh, my. I wish this would end. I then thought of Cesar Millan, of Dog Whisperer fame and wondered what he would do in this raucous scenario. Introducing agitated dogs, slowly, to new scents and sounds, through a door, slightly ajar, would help to calm the animals. It seemed to work. Was I the problem? Probably. 

 

Calm and assertive was always my intention, even with our sons. Order would be restored. I follow this simple step, all the time, now, but can't help but think that Cesar Milan has magical powers not present in the rest of us mere mortals. His advice always made sense to me. As I opened the patio doors a couple of inches to allow the scents to co-mingle, the four seemed to calm down so I could talk while they listened till the action began, outdoors. But I still felt there was more to Cesar's “calm and assertive” that I was not doing. I am always a student.

Cesar's advice to "not touch, speak or look at” our dog when it is in an agitated state, with other dogs or humans nearby rang true. We were inviting confrontation, perhaps giving them permission to be unruly. Me? We must never give affection or food during these rousing trials of dominance. (And they need rules, boundaries and limitations.) ... It was a green light to continue. Sound advice. Cesar was definitely the master of all.

On a visit for one of many re-dressing appointments, last year, Sally and I walked up the outside ramp, quickly, before entering the clinic. Through a window, near the entrance, I noticed an elderly canine waiting in the examining room. He turned towards the distraction, - us - as we walked towards the front door. Immediately, he began his 'song'. The 'look' was all that was needed by this majestic elderly canine to unleash his displeasure. He became unwound. His relenting, piercing bark would not end. As we entered the facility, he was still at 'it'. Had he not heard of Cesar? Could his master not control him? It was 'music' to my ears, a laughable poignant moment, courtesy of another dog, not mine. Today, the technicians, other patients and doctors, on duty, knew it was not my Sally kicking up a fuss. It was comical relief, at another's expense. I understood what the other owner must have felt. My problem 'child' was not the only one capable of unsettling the ambiance of the clinic's waiting room. I guess neither of us pack leaders had been 'calm and assertive'. Our pets had other plans. Cesar might have laughed, too, with a solution at hand, however.

On another occasion, as I was about to leave the animal clinic with my girl, I soon realized we had to walk by a giant dog, patiently seated, poised and magnificent, near her master. Would Sally walk calmly by without her usual low level in your face woof-woof directed to all who came near? She had been an outpatient, twice weekly, in the last 9 months for surgeries performed and getting mighty tired of it all. She would shake visibly with every visit, as we waited. Wondering if this calm giant 'cousin' of hers would remain quiet as we walked by, I simply walked out of the examining room, 'calm and assertive', with a stern, leash relaxed, 'Let's go girl'. The approach worked. Neither animal noticed the other as Sally and I exited the waiting room. Cesar was on my mind. Clearly I had been rehabilitated.

We must never lose sight of the qualities of good behaviour in us, our children and pets as we enter the outdoors or Mother Nature's world. For me, Cesar Millan is near as I mingle with the animals I hold dear. We can be both the distraction and the pack leader. I know that now because Cesar tells me so!

Thank you, Cesar, for  helping to make me calm and assertive.