Our Wiggler

It was the day of his physical exam. Mr. Wiggles was being cross-examined and would accompany me to the clinic for his annual health assessment. There was no time, however, to collect the customary samples. The one-hour 'window' for the liquid sample, with an all-day window for the solid material, created a complicated arrangement. His cousins would be visiting then. There would no time at that early hour of the morning.

It had been nearly 3 years since a fluid sample had been taken from our Mr. Wiggles. It was early in the winter of 2013 when he had been refusing food, a habit we had never experienced before with our animals. Was there an underlying problem waiting to be detected? Dogs always ate no matter what. Why hadn't he? Answers were never found but he resumed eating again and gaining, too. Later, into his second year, in 2014, an underlying egg-sized lump exhibition took over, becoming the daily focus in our life, appearing and disappearing, without cause. This thing never wavered in its ability to rock our world, each day. Eventually it was resolved with a happy ending in 2015. Today, nothing extraordinary was expected from Mr. Wiggle's annual exam.

We entered the clinic and walked towards the scale for his customary weigh-in. ... Serious weight gain or loss could signal an underlying problem with any animal. It provided one piece of the overall health picture. Weighing a large animal at home was possible if you were Hercules. But we weren't concerned. We would simply wait till next time. Mr. Wiggles was 69 pounds. (He was 78 last year, at this time.) He hadn't had breakfast that day making for a fasting sample when his blood was taken that morning. In other years, he would have had breakfast before going. But the doctor said it did not matter. The staff checked the scale making sure it had been set correctly. Our Mr.Wiggles was now a perfect 5, with 0 being too thin and 10 being overweight. The doctor was pleased. No need for further reduction, she remarked.

A blood vial was taken and this year's necessary vaccines given. Today, these 'protectors' of animal diseases are given every two or three years, depending upon the vaccine. The rabies shot is every three years now and is law. There is no cure, for man or beast. If infected and untreated, a painfully slow death results! In these modern, online times, a new timetable for vaccines allows for a more moderate approach to the inoculation schedule of the past. 

 

Immunity is now coming into play, finally. Could we stretch the limits of immunity, a bit more? Shots are now administered every 2 to 3 years, instead of every year. Momsey was hoping for the changes. Thank goodness reason has prevailed. But now a new blood test to detect lyme disease is becoming routine. This new debilitating scourge on both animal and human alike is a risk factor of life here in Canada. Warmer temperatures in winter have helped the tick migrate and survive here. Medication for both lyme disease and the ever present heartworm disease are routine drugs and given as required. Oh, My. When does it end? I hope the list does not get any longer!

Our little wiggler, as he is now known, was too young for any health problems. That we knew. The results of his blood tests were perfect, as was hoped for and expected. My daughter-in-law's new name for him in light of his new-found weight loss made comical sense. Though he had always wiggled to the absurd, he had now taken this maneuver to a new level. His sister, Sally, was obsessive about running and fetching. Though diet was always a priority for both pups, wiggling was now a new facet of the daily exercise ritual for our youngest. Its benefits were now just beginning to surface in a new light. 

 

Engaged in a perpetual dance with the people he loves and meets during the day, with an attached 'gift', in his mouth, our happy little guy wiggled intensely, without pause. He never stopped. The more you spoke, the more intense the wiggling. He was happy to see you and did not want you to leave.

And as I pondered his dramatic weigh-in day, that day, at the clinic, I slowly began to realize our precious Mr. Wiggles, would always be healthy. He was always moving, his characteristic 'electrifying' performances, a constant in his life, each and every day. He would now be known as - The Wiggler - a mantle he would carry well into old age. Now, if only I could follow his lead. Then, my life would be perfect.

Bumper Cars: The Beginning of Driver Ed.

Visits to the Toronto National Exhibition each summer brought out the exciting spirit of adventure for our three boys. New things and new experiences awaited them there. But the most anticipated event was their foray into driver education, their first lesson 'behind the wheel' in the ride called, bumper cars!

Each of our visits to the EX were for different reasons. The first visit was to scout the grounds to see what was new, in rides, products and food. The last visit was to shop for products seen over previous visits and hopefully buy at a reduced price. The second visit, however, was most important. It was a day meant for our sons, to honour them and their burgeoning independence. It was a day of rides! Anything was possible. Children grow up so quickly and in that short period of time they needed to experience the 'thrill' of decision making. It would be their day of choice from beginning to end, a taste of independence. Bumper cars would be #1 on the hit parade for them. It was hands-on escapism at its best. 

Growing up, Momsey was rarely in a car. My parents did not drive, though there was no need to, with public transportation available in Toronto. Having a picnic in High Park, a well-known Toronto landmark, was made possible because of street cars. Being in a car for the occasional trip out of the city was a rare special treat for us. I received my driver's license when I was 24, in time for the beginning of my teaching career. It was a necessity as public transportation was unavailable where I would be teaching, north of the biggest city in Canada. Though I learned to drive, I succeeded simply because I had to. Driving was a modern day necessity. I had an abysmal sense of direction then. Still do. Our children would fare better than I did and gain the necessary skills, insights, confidence and experience for their turn at the steering wheel of the future. Bumper cars would start it all.

Preliminary driver education would begin years before the official time on our sons' respective calendars. It was important that our boys learn to respect the automobile. Bumper cars would begin the process. ... Experiencing the awesome power 'behind the wheel' would, hopefully, imprint on their minds, the critical importance of driving rules, laws and leave an indelible mark that would last a lifetime. As little boys, our children listened. They valued and understood the wisdom mom and dad imparted. This window of opportunity for us would not last long, though. As time passed, this family manifesto could change, altered by unknown outside forces distracting and influencing our sons in dramatic and unimaginable ways. At least, for now, all eyes were on us - first!

Driving a car was serious business, never to be taken lightly. Enter bumper cars. At the Canadian National Exhibition being securely fastened inside the compartment of a ride was the only requirement for its enjoyment. With bumper cars, the experience was totally different. The child was in charge. These cars-in-miniature made an impact on our boys, like no other ride. It was real life driving experience for children while under close supervision.. (Height requirements needed to be met, however.) With bumper cars, simply sitting there would not make it work. The child was its master. Continual effort was required for the ride's success. A respect for the privilege of driving and speed limits began with these primitive little cars. The excitement was evident as soon as each boy entered his particular vehicle. They had entered a world of make-believe where they were in charge, that what they did inside this movable cubicle, on wheels, mattered for any successful driving outcome.

Steering among other bumper cars, while being 'patrolled' by an adult 'officer', our boys began their driving lesson. One son drove with such an intensity that it seemed he was already on a major congested highway skillfully avoiding collision after collision while another son never seemed to move beyond the 'parking lot', stuck in perpetual gridlock, with other bumper car devotees around him. The differences were startling among all drivers of the ride. Another son drove without a worry as though he was in a magical place and never wanted to leave. Time passed quickly. Getting in line again, if lineups were short, allowed more time for the boys to hone their driving skill until next time or next year. The choice to continue or stop was theirs for the making. They were slowly becoming adults and decisions needed to be made. Bumper cars was an important 'fun' first step towards our boys' driving independence. It was a look into their futures. One day, the lure of driving the real thing would arrive. The boys needed to be ready with a deep-seated respect for everything that the driving skill demanded, in the modern age of highways, toll roads and the GPS. The car was also a dangerous weapon, they were reminded. Driving was a privilege. And bumper cars had helped make it happen.

By the time our boys were 16 years of age, they were already 'seasoned' clients of the best in the business of driver education, Young Drivers of Canada. It was then, as it is today, a recognized industry leader in driver Ed. Our discounted insurance rate reflected the industry's confidence in Young Drivers'  ongoing rigorous standards for both clients and instructors alike. The cost of enrolling our boys with the best was such an easy decision for us. It was an insurance policy on human life, plain and simple.

Conversations With Mr. Wiggles and 'Mow'

Up he jumped, ever so lightly, my dear sweet Mr. Wiggles. His unexpected face-to-face meetings on the sofa were always a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of outdoor play, on the straw. (The grass had slowly disappeared, years ago. Dog play had taken its toll.)

Our one-to-one meetings on the sofa were created by this 75 pound, 3 year-old puppy. He would turn one way to talk; another, to sleep. What will we talk about today, I wondered, as I smiled at his beautiful peaceful pink face and stared into his soothing green eyes? Every night seemed so predictable. He looked at me. I looked at him. I was humbled by his presence. He was a joy to behold, a rambunctious little man with a serene, placid and stoic facial expression, at all times. “How is everything going today, my sweet?” “Not bad”. he seemed to say. “Mom, things would be so much better if you could give us  those apples we love so much, now!” I get it my dear little man. But let's talk first. How are your ears today”. 

 

Your sudden jump off the sofa the other day had me thinking. Was there a mosquito or a fly in the room? But then those pesky little insects would bother me first if they were here at all. Must be something else, I thought. Then it struck me. "Your ears could be infected." And so they were, one side only, this time. The regimen of the ear cleanser then medication, followed for a few days, seemed to clear up the problem nicely. "Good as new", I remarked as he sat next to me. "Your ears look and smell good, now".

He continues to stare at me and dad as if to pierce through our thickened membranes, otherwise known as our brains, to see if we knew there were other reasons for his prolonged stare. He wasn't always about play, we knew. He jumps off again to bring me his 'worm', another, in his 'gift' arsenal. The other day, soon after apples were given, he stood, staring at us, tail wagging, in a slow motion swath, as if something was still not quite right. I ran through my check list of things that matter to him and his sister. I looked at him, wondering what I had overlooked. 

 

Today's red delicious apples were tiny compared to the other ones and the grannie smith's of yesterday's evening snack time. Maybe, my sweet Mr. Wiggles noticed the 'discrepancy' and decided to protest, while standing in quiet desperation, as though smelling the aroma of something special wafting through the air. I watched, then agreed. Could he be asking for more? Had he been misled? Oh, dear. He knew! 

 

Off to the kitchen I went for one more red delicious, a larger one, the prized apple most often given to our sweet band of pups. The slices devoured, he rejoined me on the sofa once again, turning away, ever so softly, to sleep again.  ... 

 

The day had been busy. He looked back at me, one last time, as if the say “thanks mom for the extra bites. I needed that”. I looked at him. How did we get so lucky to be his parents? If only he would not eat twigs or the 'other' stuff. He would be absolutely perfect. But then inside the house he was.

Then there is “Mow”, our 13-year-old kitty cat. My husband says hello to her as he enters her room. “Mow”, she responds quickly. They have stories to tell. She leaves the room to walk and bump his leg. “Thanks, dad. I know many would not bother with 'just a cat', an old animal, now, with hyperthyroidism, who hisses at everyone except you and mom. It's just my personality. It's not who I am, however.” "It's been a long journey since 2014 to get me to this safe place." "I know I was not listening but you were and observing, too.” That is what spelled the difference between life and death for me." ... (In Sept. '14, Tiggy was dying, at 4 pounds. But now, at almost 9, life is good.) 

 

The plain Greek yogurt with its life enhancing probiotics has been discontinued for the time being. It served its purpose for well over a year and a half. Now she eats her special food and adores her dry brushing moments. We talk and talk about everything. I enter her room, later. I call her my bunch of cuteness. We talk as I lay on the bottom bunk. She jumps on me to say “Thanks for visiting, mom. I like standing on your hip.” "I also like resting on your legs, too. Seems like we are communicating, sort of." When you dry brush my head, neck and body, I feel the difference. I have not vomited in over 7 weeks. I guess my adrenals are benefiting as they should. Never happened before, mom. What a team.!” "You really do listen“ "I love the fresh water you give me several times a day. Thank goodness you're 'retired'.  Otherwise. .... Now you are all mine.”

The conversations I have with my animal kingdom mean everything to me. They help define me. It is a warm, cuddly place where they listen with their ears and talk with their eyes. As I pet their furry heads, necks and caress their paws, small and large, I am reminded how truly lucky I am that they are in my life. For me, a world without animals is no world at all!

'Real' Whipping Cream!

In the last few months, I have reviewed and renewed my thoughts and thinking process on whipping cream. I felt the difference. My body had spoken. I now use organic whipping cream, the single ingredient crown on many baked or fruity desserts.

Regular whipped cream used to be my decadent topping of choice, in place of icing, the high fat, refined sugar mixture, that is found on cakes, cupcakes and cookies, too. Though I still enjoy a buttercream icing, I know that whipping cream is a 'healthier' alternative on desserts. The body identifies with simple, clean ingredients. One day as I looked at the side panel of my usual carton of real whipping cream I saw the 'LIST'. "Why hadn't I read it before?" More importantly, why would I have to, I reasoned? The ingredient list rattled me to my core and I found myself thinking, “How had real whipping cream morphed into this addled food?” “When did the term real whipping cream change to include other 'approved' additives, I thought?” Had we been consulted?

Whipped cream is the finishing touch for many desserts or the main decadent ingredient, in some recipes, such as coconut cream pie, an incredibly delicious favourite of Momsey's. I now use organic whipping cream whenever whipping cream is called for because it is clean and real, from start to finish. ... In this corner we have real 35% whipping cream with additives carrageenan, mono diglycerides, cellulose gum, polysorbate 80, sodium citrate, disodium phosphate and dextrose. In the other corner we have organic 35% whipping cream with one ingredient called cream. Though costlier than regular whipping cream, organic wins the contest. A little goes along way. In some cases, we are being sold a product masquerading as real whipping cream, that 'interpretive' dance that we believe is a healthy cream, one of many different fats derived from the cow. Regular whipping cream seems to be a product with an ingredient list that defies explanation. The list dispels any notion that the cream is clean. I have learned that the additives in cream are present to help stabilize, thicken or prevent protein separation. (Does real whipping cream not perform these 'acts' as a solo performer?) ... Some additives are industries unto themselves, worth millions of dollars. The buying consumer was not consulted when these additives were included in the 'recipe' called whipping cream?

Using organic whipping cream, whipped to perfection, I noticed the differences instantly: tops, in all categories. Though some of the additives in regular whipping cream are derived from plants, their inclusion is unnecessary and perhaps pose yet another questionable layer of ill-health for us. ... The body has been telling us for years that the burden of additives, enhancers and preservatives is harming us. The seven additives, posing as ingredients, in regular whipping cream, began to tell Momsey an unsettling story! The study of two creams and their properties was now becoming an unexpected science experiment, in my kitchen. In organic whipped cream, I noticed the reality of a dense, creamier texture akin to the consistency of ice-cream, with a zinger of a taste and flavour sensation, in my first mouthful. I had found whipping cream utopia. The differences were real. Three days in the refrigerator and within the 'best before' time frame, the organic cream did not require additional re-whipping, a 'touch-up' step that was a common occurrence with the 'other' whipping cream. Organic whipped cream, this thickened elixir, was predictable, remaining firm, as I had left it, unmoved and full of flavour in the refrigerator, days later. It whipped up quicker, too.

The fear of eating whipping cream is gone. ... With new knowledge comes new decisions. Organic whipping cream is my only choice, with the same calories, those 'counters of energy', as the other whipping cream product. The difference is the absence of additives in the simple clean food ingredient 'formula' called organic whipping cream. Would next year's version of this timeless classic called regular whipping cream be reformulated again to include more modern additives designed to keep the cream o.k. well beyond its expiry date? Oh My. ...

Real ingredients are what the body requires and needs for health and longevity. The body understands these basic concepts and acts accordingly. There is no confusion here. The body understand its mandate. Somehow, third party committees are deciding the fate of an innocuous food called whipping cream. What committee has declared whipping cream real when so many other things are included in its production?

The switch to organic whipping cream was easy for Momsey. Our bodies are the only arbiters of change. Common sense should rule the food discussion? There should be one world of food, not two! ... In my first year of teaching, I bought a box of chocolate cream-filled cookies. After eating a few, I closed the bag and put it away. One year later, I found the bag and tasted its contents, cautiously. It was as though time had stood still. I promptly threw them out. It is now 2016. Change is in the air and on the grocery store shelves, everywhere. The vote is in. We have spoken!