"We're Doomed"

As we spoke outside, surrounded by her lush garden, my daughter's (alias daughter-in-law) tomato plants and other herbal entities were flourishing while others had not. Too many in a pot, not enough rain this past summer, cold temperatures or something else? I asked her what she thought. Why was this happening? Even she did not know. Oh my, I remarked. ... If you do not know, we're doomed.

From the time I first met this winsome young lady, as a university grad, I knew there was something brilliant, wise, glamorous and special about her. She stood apart from everyone I knew or had ever known. We bonded immediately, if not sooner. After a few months of her dating my son, I asked her to marry me. We laughed. My intentions were made clear. I wanted her in my life!

Over their 9 year marriage, this incredible young woman, one of three such dynamos I belong to, has shown remarkable qualities of courage, patience and stamina. Kindness is second nature to her. She is now a most sought after French Immersion elementary school teacher, with a masters degree, on maternity leave.

Her 20 month-old miracle arrived last year after a very challenging journey, lasting years. He is a bundle of boundless energy and love, teaching all who dare to learn from this little professor, the miracle of miracles. He is continually doing, thinking and being, in love with life. His parents are teachers of the most incredible funny kind. The world does not have enough funny in it. I am in awe of them.

Mom took an extra long maternity leave. The love of her life finally debuted. Each day, this remarkable mom sets up different centers of learning. While sitting in his car seat, recently, the door to the truck was left open. We see a toddler human holding a book, turning the pages with complete abandon while smiling and glancing at the people surveying him. He acknowledges his people then smiles. He knows stuff. He just does.

My 'daughter' thinks about everyone while worrying less about herself. Even when under the weather, she carries her burden with grace and aplomb. How does she do it? . ....'Molly' dresses as if meeting with professionals. A day at the beach seems like a photo shoot to her. Every occasion is treated special. Where did you get that, I seem to ask more frequently. She buys deals at unlikely places and looks like a million dollars in the process.

Our first meeting was timeless. A brief introduction turned into a 2-hour visit which ended with me saying, “I think I'd better go now. My son won't tolerate this much longer." This was not a play date for mom.

My 'daughter' makes glamour look easy as she embarks on her mission to re-invent learning. She could be a Vogue magazine model in pyjamas while looking glamorous. She works hard to enhance her students' learning. She's a gem. She possesses wisdom beyond her years and smiles whenever we meet. She endeavours to help at every opportunity and makes me feel like I'm doing the right thing - at all times.

One day, as she was leaving for home, I commented on her heavy bag. It seemed more than she should be carrying. I threatened to tell her mom. “But you are my mom” she replied. What more can I say?

In a Moment of Horror!

Emerson, the former rescue 'pup', had arrived late that afternoon for his nearly two week hiatus with his cousins and me.. I was happy to see him, always am. After a brief but intense play session outside as a new hockey player on staff, pushing the 'egg puck' here and there, the unimaginable happened. It was an ambush like no other. Mr. Wiggles was pounced upon by his diminutive cousin in a shocking moment of horror.

The blood curdling scream by our Wiggler was like nothing I'd heard before. He was being attacked, pulled off the stairs, as we were about to enter the house. (We had done this trip many times before). My Wiggler offered no resistance or retaliation, thankfully. Had he done so, the outcome could have been worse; he, the yellow retriever, at 77 pounds, Emerson, the beagle, at 33.

I grabbed our Wiggler, separating both dogs. I hadn't been able to reach Emerson. He had been too fast for me to grab. His lightening quick action had almost thrown me off the stairs. Not bad for an ol'e bag such as moi.

Indoors, I checked our Mr. Wiggles for signs of the brazen attack. Nothing. The next morning, I noticed diluted circular blood stains on a freshly washed sheet used to cover the dog beds when 'company' visited. Probably from his gums, I surmised. Nothing to worry about. His mouth seemed clear anyway. Hadn't he been grabbed by his neck while offering no resistance?  Where was this blood originating?

Our Mr. Wiggles was an innocent never expecting 'others' to submit to him. Just wanted to play, never biting, growling or fighting. I was puzzled by it all. Blood but no wounds. Hmm. Later that morning, I noticed yet another blood spot, next to the trio, in an irregular, jagged much larger circle. What was I missing? What was wrong with me? Another more thorough exam of Wiggler's lower body, near his front legs, revealed the shocking truth of the previous evening's unexpected sustained attack. Wiggler's chest wall had been punctured, exposing a hole within the cavity, surrounded by concentric red circles. The call was made and a emergency run followed.

Hearing the the word 'major' to describe the surgical event performed on our sweet boy, Mr. Wiggles, the next morning, rocked my world. I had been fooled.The magnitude of this surgery was now my new reality. Two violent minutes of 'combat', two nights before, had torn open Mr. Wiggles' chest wall! Dead tissue was removed with healthy tissue stitched into place. Sutures and staples, back to back! Two weeks of recovery ensued, leash walking only, painkillers, as needed and antibiotics, till done.

An especially guarded watch on our powerful 'innocent' little Emerson was now in play. His parents would know, eventually. They had been away for 6 days when the truth was told. Sadly, I could no longer care for their baby. I now had one of my own to protect!

As I pondered the attack, one important fact rang true. There was no blame game here only the evil spirit that lay hidden, dormant,  deep inside 'my' 33 pound rescue. Emerson had been left intact from the beginning- nearly three years now. When scrolling down a website page, one evening, years earlier, his dad made him ours. Shared custody resulted.

Modern thinking has made early neutering a mistake for some dogs. The procedure is now being given a review. Leaving the reproductive system  intact to mature longer made sense to me. But I worried about changes beyond that 'window of opportunity'. Two earlier indoor dog attacks, within the last two years, still vicious and unexpected in their nature, were reminders that biology is always the master. 'It' never left. This latest attack had been the worst. A line had been crossed that could not be ignored.

Soon, Emerson will be spayed. It's as non starter. His dad made that decision, in a heartbeat, 2 days after the news. I'm glad. Having puppy here makes my heart sing. His care is the best, a service beyond compare. I will look froward to the altered ego of an animal that had been, from the start, thrown into chaos because no one dared to care or understand him. He's home now with a future full of sunshine, promise and frisbees!

An Encore 'Purr'formance

The love in my life died in February of this year. She was my 'just a cat', a term often used to describe cats as life's greatest annoyances and mistakes. (This blog is being repeated from that earlier time.) Her daily perilous drop in weight, then, from her evil hyperthyroid disease coupled with issues of internal bleeding - gums and bladder,- dramatic loss of precious fatty tissue and potassium while losing valuable body temperature made my decision an 'easy' one. Her doctor's look, that painful morning, ended any optimism I had.

That morning had begun as usual with her jump on to the floor looking for fresh water, contained in  two ceramic bowls. A bowl of the Greek yogurt that usually started her day appeared. Her habit of moving these bowls while testing the water with her paw made it a messy place, quite often. Her stainless steel bowl had been replaced with a new ceramic 'sink', an immovable heavy container. She drank often and this I knew was not good. Her night time ritual of munching on her prescribed dry food always gave me hope. But recently she took too long to eat her soft foods and it seemed to end up in her water, it seemed, hence another round of ongoing fresh cold water, otherwise known as room service. A long walk to the 'toilette' to see her dad, that sad morning, was a peaceful end to a miraculous love story. I miss terribly.

From the beginning, Tiggy had a fighting spirit. That quality made her suffering look like another challenge in her life. In the end, her tenacity was replaced by the suffering I could see. We could no longer hope for a positive outcome. Her meds had become a burden to administer. She could not swallow easily. Her cloudy water bowls gave clear evidence to that. Her body was a skeletal frame with a thin layer of skin and soft fur enveloping it. She had stamina so characteristic of my family. She'd earned the right to die. 

My life now has a chunk missing from it. After finding her 16 years earlier, on the shoulder, in -25 weather, my life would never be the same. I was about to fall in love with a snappy little girl. She had 'spoken' to me that frigidly cold morning. I looked up and there she was. I had a duty to her. 

 

How could anyone do such a thing? But the web is full of horrible people doing all sorts of despicable things to oh so innocent animals. The online world attests to the horrors of animal abuse. Our Tiggy was found, just in time. She had spoken to me half an hour before she would have died. I listened and a love story began.

Over the years, she would enter the room of our two retriever dogs only to be greeted by a cacophony of jumps and barks. Her visits seemed to say, “ I live upstairs guys. Would you like to play with me.” Not really they seemed to say. ... Occasionally, she would linger, then sneak to drink from their large water bowl, the size of a small sink, big enough in which to bathe. Was it better? Comparisons were important to her. She ran outside, one morning, then was noticed, hours later, on the kitchen balcony. I remembered thinking how beautiful this stray was until I noticed she was ours not an intruder. Upon opening the door to let her in, she ran upstairs to the place she'd called home for years. Outside was better from a safe distance, she soon realized.

In her later years, we'd meet and nap together in her room on a bunk bed. She welcomed the company. I needed her, too! She'd sleep in the crook of my knees and stay there till it was time for me to go. She liked it that way. Resting her small head near the quartz lamp, near my computer station, seemed to make her feel safe, warm and secure, too. I liked it. A magnet cover beneath her special bed helped healing. All in all, everything humanely possible that was available and made sense, was tried. Food was always number one! My 'daughter' deserved that much.

Tiggy's entry into life was a loathsome event. But she would leave it surrounded by love, all around. Someone had hated this innocent newborn, weighing a pound or two, that fateful -25 morning. Humanity was on show that day - from both sides. Thankfully, I won that debate! My precious little pea is gone but never to be forgotten. How I miss her so! My heart aches.

On Being Human

Chocolate milk in mashed potatoes? It was a busy Christmas day. New people were visiting. Too many chefs in the kitchen. The wrong container of milk was given as the hot potatoes were being mashed. Stopped, just in time. A new recipe had almost been born.

Then there was the thyroid pill for a slow thyroid condition of our female Retriever. Another female on thyroid med? This time a dog? Oh my. ... Anyway, as I held this pill for her, I walked over to the sink to fill up a glass.(But she drinks out of a bowl!) and presto into my mouth it went. I was on thyroid med, too, but my dose was much lower then hers. A quick pick me up for me, today, perhaps? I worried. Phoned poison hot line, just in case. They could not help. Then who? Drank alot of water, I was told, to flush out the mistake. Absent minded professor?

I had phoned to check on something after my sweet boy, Emerson, had just been picked up after 13 days at summer 'camp'. His master answered to the delight of eating cukes with his 'buddy', along with watermelon and a half grape. I stopped in mid-conversation. Had I heard the unthinkable? Was Emerson now in the throes of renal failure? Would he be the exception to the rule? (He was) He'd been given a half grape, accidentally, by a loving someone. An unsettling mistake that could have resulted in a health crisis did not. We were shaken. Grapes are a forbidden food for all dogs for reasons unknown. Never do it!

The forbidden list of foods for dogs is endless and includes grapes, chocolate, onions and raisins (made from grapes) to name a few. In the wild, animals will eat what they find and instinctively know what is safe, otherwise, death would come calling, often. All would become extinct and eventually there would be no animals left on earth. But in the civilized world of man - us - they eat what we give them. Into the bowl the food is poured then eaten by our trusting animal companions. If we are not paying attention they can be harmed. The rules are endless but we must know them. We are their parents, after all.

After moving the cage towards the patio doors - its new winter location - we guided Sally, our very young, precocious two-year-old retriever into her bed. We were going out for an hour or two. Upon our return, I noticed red fabric strewn about near her rigid 'babysitter'. What was that, I wondered? A fool of a pet owner had helped Sally create the newest twist on in-house fabric re-design. This cute, youthful puppy had re-threaded one curtain panel into a pile of red fluff, through the cage's metal bars using her ingenious brain. Was she learning to crochet? Doubtful! The curtain panel was gone, another victim of puppy 'play'!

The faster we engage, the greater the chance mistakes will happen. In many instances, we are speed demons. Slowing down helps us to ponder then act. Actions do have consequences, as we all know.

Keeping anti-freeze, or washing fluids, in the open, in the driveway, is very problematic. Does the  chemical fluid linger where 'nosy' pups or children wander? In any event always be thinking of consequences. Leaving a plastic ladle in an empty soup pot, while heating on low, does not a positive outcome make. After decades of making pea soup, borscht, beef barley and the iconic chicken soup in this large pot  it was ruined, now coated in liquid plastic. Mistakes do happen. Our children and pets help keep us on our toes. Learning lessons is the final outcome.

Most Delicious Breakfast Detours

Today, breakfast was served later than normal. I had been finishing a novel, something I hadn't done in years. Saturday's morning ritual would be delayed, somewhat. Newspaper or magazine articles had been my modest operandi of late, a way to learn and be entertained. My most cherished gift was a newspaper my dad brought in when I was hospitalized as a teen. Sometimes reading was far more important than eating.

My husband had left to mow the grass, that morning, a time when breakfast might have been served. It was the weekend. Schedules were relaxed. I waited for him to return but after an lengthy stay with his Mr. John Deere, I began to cook.

The bag of broccoli florets stared at me, as I retrieved the eggs from the fridge, that Saturday, giving me the idea to include these powerhouse gems in his morning meal. He did not need to know everything and he enjoyed vegetables, anyway. I began to lop off the tops of the broccoli then added them to the pan, slowly, as the oil slowly heated. A slight sauteing was all that was required. The eggs were added slowly and methodically agitated in the pan as they coagulated. A fashionable omelette was made. On other occasions, brussel sprouts have been an exciting addition, a side dish like no other. Cutting them in half helps the heat reach the center more quickly thus retaining the bright green coloured without overcooking.

Even cold pizza can be a new version of breakfast. Simply removing the top from a slice of the carb crusted base can be the beginnings of a new omelette with added veggies. Thinly sliced mushrooms, and mixed greens, perhaps, can add nutrient value before the day begins. Making waffles is an easy way to have a sandwich with cheese, veggies, leftover protein or seafood for that customized breakfast touch.

Making home fries for breakfast is an easy step made easier using the Phillips Air Fryer. Brushed on oil with added spice mix makes delicious happen quickly. Do more than needed and freeze the rest. Delicious, in mere minutes. I always use turmeric, the brain spice, in all my marinades and spice rubs, soups. Then there is ginger powder, paprika, garlic, salt and pepper, too, along with granulated onion.

Some foods and spices are simply irreplaceable. Should be a part of our medicinal 'cupboard' called the kitchen for every meal. Then we have cream of wheat, red river cereal and oatmeal, the cereals of my youth, and the heartiest detours of all.

P.P.P. & S!

It was that time again. The pinching, pulling, poking and stretching would begin anew. As a patient in long standing, our 10-year-old retriever would be given her 'oil change' at this 6 month mark. She is a lump factory of sorts and keeping on top of this problem keeps me on my toes.

Sally gets a mini checkup every 6 months. My idea, no one else's. She's had surgeries to remove a cancerous tumor. repair a torn ligament, remove a necrotic lymph node during 2017-18. Prior, numerous minor invasive procedures were done. Every turn in her road has resulted in changes in diet and exercise with a harness to address it all. Everything I do is now under scrutiny. And kennel care is out of the question. The trust is gone as the all mighty dollar is king!

I realized after these health events that my girl needed to be poked, pulled, pinched and stretched, in the most intimate gentle manner, daily and 'professionally', every six months. At home, my technique is different. I'm the advance guard, detecting the detectable! ( Diseases don't care!) Eyes are checked while legs are pulled any which way they must by the best in the business of animal health, her doctor, my human encyclopedia. I am so lucky to have found this gem among all others. Even the day our precious Tia, our 16 year old rescue cat, left us, the doctor gave me the look I never wanted to see or acknowledge.

Doctors of veterinary medicine are here to provide premium health care to our pets. If we do not read the charts, do not follow vaccine protocols- (some are law!) provide medications for ticks and flea protection, as required, while feeding them the best food we can afford, then who is to blame? 

 

Watch online videos of man's inhumanity to dogs and cats. The never-ending appalling evidence is there. Veterinarians are here to help us keep our canine family healthy, forever, if possible.

We visit the clinic for the poke, pull and stretch show, mid year. Lumps are Sally's specialty, it seems. Her outdoor antics, with Mr. Wiggles, are another dimension of her personality that can affect her health. Oh, my. Once upon a time her 'marathons' made others shudder. She grabbed a rock one day to tease me into submission. I simply ignored her, fearfully, hoping my indifference would 'sedate' her. It did. We traded for cookies. Her trophy is now mine to cherish.

She is a professional patient, I am reminded. She thinks otherwise, thank goodness. It is important for her to be who she is - a retriever who loves to run with a large ball in her mouth. A tennis ball is fine, too, however, but not for me. Jumping up to catch it is her game not mine. I worry about her ligaments - all of them. Nothing in life is 100% guaranteed. So I pretend she is normal in every way. She is, in so many wonderful ways.

Her personality is perfect; her blood profile, too. So what's the problem? Nothing that a whole lotta love and a visionary doctor can't fix.

Use It or Lose It, Perhaps

People in the business of retail are telling us to rid our lives of items under the guise of the “Use it or lose it” principle. Is there an ulterior motive here? With clothing, we are told to discard, if not used within a year or two, declare these self-proclaimed fashion trendsetters. It seems their clock is ticking. Ours might not be.

As a former girl, woman and now grandmother to a 17-month-old, twenty-eighth month-old and newly minted one-month old, this time worn declaration has had its day. Items are 'saved' because their use is not immediate and might be needed for a brand new generation. These past due items could very well be irreplaceable, unique and too valuable to be tossed. 

Disposal is forever. In the case of toys, their purpose will be revealed, in the future, when the next generation comes calling. But one thing is certain, products of the past are rarely available for sale in the future. Calling anything used or old devalues it making disposal a reasonable result. If we change the terminology and call these same items 'vintage' suddenly their value rises with a hefty price tag to match. There is nothing to compare when vintage clothing comes calling. Watch your language!

The other day, as I retrieved the 'saved' wooden blocks of an earlier generation, I was taken to a time, etched in my memory, of those days spent building 'cities', 'parks' 'bridges' and jungles'. (The word fulcrum might have been used in the 'balance' equation.) ... The occupants of these 'places' are now adults but those moments of the past will never be forgotten. (The young developing mind is an exciting thing to 'watch'.) 

Will my living room now become a research station for my grandchildren when these little minds come to visit? I must act. Cherished old pine blocks had been re-discovered. Their 36-year-old shapes and sizes were now waiting for this newest generation of children to imagine. Visions of real or imaginary futures would come alive. A three-tiered trolley, in pristine condition, had housed these building blocks of old. Out of sight but never out of mind.

I have beautiful dresses bought years before their 'premiere'. (Hollywood might beckon or Independent Film, too. One never knows!) Should these 'costumes' be thrown out? Never! I do not wear long dresses, evening wear or heels when caring for or caressing a sick cat, walking and exercising my large lovable dogs or their cousins. A different kind of 'uniform' is worn then. Fashion details of the '40's may return with a 'twist'. But having the 'originals', hanging in my closet, is my business, not theirs.

My building blocks were new, once upon a time, but now are termed vintage with modern stories to tell. Architecture and engineering technology are in play, relevant now, as they were then, with my future 'players', my grandchildren. Books, those time worn inventions of the past, are here, too, competing with digital tech in our modern world. 

Hands were always made to hold, mould, twist, turn, examine, create and caress - these tools for discovery learning. A hand-held gadget cannot compete in the 'physical' world of children. “Go to the couch. Read” says my toddler grandson.

Things in dismal shape, no longer wanted or needed, should always be subject to discretionary 'disposal'. Storage and closet space are premium commodities, after all. But once discarded, gone forever. So as I go about washing the wooden blocks and toys of yesteryear, I relive the magical moments when my own little boys told exciting stories, remodelled in their young minds, of events only they knew or understood. I was simply in awe.

The use it, lose it or keep it policy is ours to make. Let us not be fooled. We understand the implication. Ignore those invisible and unreliable trendsetters who think they know better than we do. 'Cause they don't!

The Duct Cleaning Narrative

We had never done it, nor did we think we had to. Most people hadn't thought of it so why bother now? The thought of strangers, mostly men, walking through my house while 'checking on' the heating vents being cleaned had me thinking, in a most unseemly way,”Could they be casing the joint for future access? Such silliness.

Duct cleaning service had arrived a few weeks after the installation of a smaller state-of-the-art electric furnace, a more efficient user of electricity and with it, an outside heat pump. (“Living better electrically” is a lie started in the 60's, when this form of energy was cheap and in plentiful supply). Other heating choices had been considered then dismissed. Too risky, in my opinion. It had been over 30 years since we moved in. The original heating system had been a few years old then so it was time. With electricity costs sky high, a new one would be more efficient, smaller and less costly to operate.We were satisfied.

I had began to move objects and furniture out of the way of the floor vents. With a large hose moving about, throughout the house, I wanted my efforts to make things easier for the technicians. I covered this and that in case dust and other flight bound objects might land creating for me a cleaning nightmare later. Dusting is so time consuming. I am very particular how I do it. No cleaning company would do. Then there was the seeming intrusion into our lives. Some items were personal, not for eyes of a stranger.

The day had arrived. I was uneasy. With two dogs afoot, the noise and annoyance factor shot up ten fold. But at least security was here. Two men alighted from their nearly new mega van. A conversation began with my husband. He remained till I felt comfortable. A son once remarked, many years ago, that I would be fine anywhere men congregated. I understood what he meant. Surrounded by males all my life, then being the mom to three sons, set the standard for me, a Green Beret code of parenting. But as these gentlemen entered the house, I knew we were in good hands. Mr. Wiggles and Sally, his energetic 10 year old canine sister greeted them with enthusiasm and calm - while ensconced within their respective leashes. With all ceremonial introductions completed, I could now relax knowing my canine concerns had been lifted. My 'team' had decided. These 'suspicious' characters had met their criteria. All was good.

The trail of wide flexible hoses, threaded throughout our house, gave clear evidence that a massive cleaning operation was underway. I asked questions as this newest twist on housecleaning began. How often should this be done? Why are you using these lengthy finger-like metal projectiles inside the vent? My learning curve had expanded. ... Every two-three years, to help loosen any dust or debris adhering to the inside of the duct work. Each vent had a magnetic cover to keep the dust of that particular room contained as the hose managed to pull the particulates from an adjacent space. It all made sense to me.

As these gentlemen moved about, they never forgot to take off their boots. I had wondered about that step. Walking throughout my house without removing shoes would sound the death knell for future visits. Who knew what horrible things lie in wait beneath these warrior boots? But my fears were groundless as each technician removed footwear with each re-entry. The appointment lasted under 4-5 hours, I think, made painless because of their professionalism, caring and respectful manner. The dogs had been acclimated to the company otherwise alot of noise would have resulted during this time. It was as though friends were visiting. Freshly made orange juice was offered. It was a hot day after all and they deserved it.

So here I am totally satisfied and comforted by the excellent job done, with pictures to show before and after, inside our floors. Our 'house' was not the dirtiest. Thinking that a long gravel driveway, the dust and dirt of country living, along side 'fireplace' heat might be the culprits in our internal dusty malaise, I was surprised to learn it was none of those. Our pets and the fur they wore were most at fault. Well, now I understood. The invoice would go to them. Made sense to me.

Mr. "MyPillow"

The idea came to me as I watched this latest tv intrusion for MyPillow. Funny how this innocuous sleeping thing can pivot us towards our healthy futures. And so I waited for it to be over, but with an interest and intensity never before felt as the newest twist on MyPillow, the Roll and Go Anywhere began to unfold. Was this history in the making?

The inventor of MyPillow appeared in his latest commercial extolling the virtues of a smaller pillow for children. He was the well known pillow man, the man responsible for better sleep but now encouraging children down this healthy path. In this latest clip, he was engaging with children, all playing with and throwing around smaller versions of 'his pillow', the new Roll-and-GoAnywhere version. A mountain of these smaller pillows were being used as giant lego-like blocks, the iconic toy of the past, to build walls or mountains outside, in a colourful landscape as the youngsters ran and jumped about. It was then he announced that the children could keep as many pillows as they could carry. They were aglow with excitement. Away they went! Later, in a scene reminiscent of so many taking place in the family van, the very young actors could be seen sleeping on their pillows while in vehicles being driven by their parents. Was a good habit, the foundation of future health, in the making? I began to wonder.

Up to this moment I was watching a new commercial, Best Day Ever for MyPillow. A few months ago, the inventor, Mr. Lindell, had been a guest on the hit show, Life, Levin and Liberty, telling the host, Mark Levin and his audience, his life of drug abuse as a young man. He had hit bottom. I was shocked. Here was a man who had pulled himself out of the deepest of despair to become the household name and face of MyPillow, the gold standard of all. (I was already tired of seeing his commercials, a seeming never ending reality show). But I was impressed with this man's rise to fame and health from a common abyss. He was now being featured on a well-known talk show. I could not believe my senses!

Last year, on Tucker Carlson Tonight, the host had met with a gaggle of high-tech industry giants to discuss the rise in depression and teen suicide. What were they talking about? These men of industry were concerned business men as well as fathers. Teens' hand held devices were holding court over them. Sleep was in serious jeopardy. Important calls or texts were too important to miss. Depression was on the rise. Society's wake-up call had arrived. Then I watched the Roll and GoAnywhere commercial and it all made sense.

A minimum of 7-8 hours of deep restorative sleep is required for healing the mind and body. Without sufficient sleep, brain's executive function, among other things, is greatly affected in a multitude of ways. Could this newest MyPillow phenomenon, the RollandGoAnywhere, be the antidote for sleep deprivation, beginning in childhood, where parental power has its greatest influence on children? Good habits begin somewhere! If children are shown the importance of sleep during critical phases of their development, then perhaps sleep's significance will be honoured and maintained throughout life. Yes, I thought!

If the overuse and dependency of modern media, places our teens at risk, then we, as their parents, must get to them first, in childhood. Could the simple pillow be a clinical first step? The animal kingdom needs sleep to survive. But try getting a small child to bed for his customary daily nap or nighttime ritual and see the resistance. Maybe the inventor of My Pillow, who's been in our peripheral line of vision, since the beginning, might be on to something. Introducing children to a 'device' that makes them happy, has play value, anywhere, while encouraging sleep, could be the turning point in a health crisis that has no end. 

Sleep is a critical element of the human condition. Perhaps we should be taking heed of pillow's curative value, this miracle medical 'device', in the lives of children. Maybe, the Roll and GoAnywhere could be the start of something monumental, a great beginning in the right direction.

Our Innocent Little Snuggler

The other day, as I got comfortable on the sofa, Emerson, our 2 year old rescue beagle hound, jumped next to me for a visit. He seemed lost in thought as he lay down for his customary snuggle.

Caring for this latest addition to our animal family was the beginning of another assignment from our 'living specialist' son. I've always been available for this misunderstood pup who'd been returned twice before we got him, forever. Too much energy on his part; too little patience, on theirs, I guess. Maybe some of us need more because we give more. Makes sense to me.

As time passed Emerson seemed to fit right in. He belonged here, he was telling me, even part time. He was less anxious around food, now, knowing he'd receive his share immediately, just as Mr. Wiggles and Sally would, too. When apple slices, certain in season berries and cucumber time arrives, Emerson is right there, down on all four paws, waiting to show me he knew the rules of puppy etiquette. I was the one to deliver the goods, he knew and trusted.

I'm sitting on the sofa when he jumps up to greet me. In no time, he's become an appendage, leaning against me then sliding down onto my lap, paws and snout in tandem. He's looking around calmly as he begins to fall asleep. Is it his size that makes him do this or had he simply fallen in love with me, finally? At other times, Emerson simply jumps next to me, then leans in as if to tell a secret he wants no one else to know. But I knew, he assumed.

He is a listener, a doer, a sweet boy, through and through. It was time-out, a period to relax and meditate. Exercise was done - for now. The Wiggler and his sister were napping. It was Emerson's turn to follow. And so he did. He moves about, from here to there, always testing this spot and that for that quiet place to sleep. 

 

Night time takes him to his cage, that 4-star hotel room with 'black out' curtains, for the deepest of sleep possible. His comfort is my concern. Gentleness is his right. The door is left open. In the meantime, he sleeps near those he trusts. He may snuggle with me. It's another safe place to be. He knows he's welcome, here next to me, anytime. We talk, up close and cuddle. He needs this emotional touch but so do I. We all do. Though some may deny its importance, its significance can never be underestimated or overlooked. The power of touch. Life depends upon it!

His high energy persona has tapped into an emotional well - his and mine - catapulting him onto my lap again, where he begins to explain, in great detail, why he ran and pulled on Mr. Wiggle's neck instead of the malleable silicone soccer ball, nearby. Reminders of suitable play are repeated, again and again, outside, with a wooden rake, nearby, to make ground noise for getting his attention. He stops.“Where's your ball', I ask? He runs to get one, knowing repeat offenders are still loved here. 

While running with Mr. Wiggles, things get out of hand. I clap again, call his name, as he rules his rousing kingdom. I do it again then move closer. He stops and looks upward, knowing he needs to listen. He sits. Discipline is just a clap and 'carry' away. We move indoors.

Emerson yearns for affection when in the arms of another. His recent ear infection told a painful story. He never complains. 'They' never do! His actions spoke volumes about his condition as he hit the ground, in racing car motion, rubbing his head to address the inescapable pain. He trusts us, knowing all would be fine, soon. The standard is very high in the house of puppies. Healing, running and jumping were immediately restored. I love him dearly.

He cherishes those moments on the sofa, on my lap, behind my back and everywhere on the floor. In his bed, in their beds or on grandpa's feet he naps.When playtime is done, cuddles and snuggles are arm's length away with this little canine gem with a heart of gold. Lucky for me his dad scrolled down one day and found him, a reminder of Mr. Wiggles,  waiting for us. 'Cause our world was waiting for him!

They Called You 'Jimmy'

I saw what he did to you, that cowardly 'lion'! I read your story. It was a sad and shocking tale like so many out there. There's no shortage of horrific animal abuse stories. They happen all the time when people lose control of their own lives then decide to inflict pain on others of the innocent and vulnerable kind. It's pay back time for these evil doers.

We're all affected when abuse comes calling. Some victims are not so lucky. You were, sweet boy. Seeing your body duct taped, innocent eyes peering out into space, made me shed tears. Duct tape is strong, meant to hold anything together. It's meant for DIY projects - not you, an innoccnt creature! How could he do this? But we know many do. It's so easy when no one is looking. The rest of us could never ever do it. It is beyond belief. Perhaps a lifetime of  personal abuse or few 'regulating' boundaries, then progressing to this, helped your particular chain of horror unfold. Your rescue was the highlight of my day. The police investigated your case. The felon was soon found, living nearby.

Your legs had been duct taped, preventing you from walking; your snout, too, to stop you from barking, drinking and breathing, perhaps. Sickening, horrific! At your advanced age, anything goes. It does for all of us. You are a senior statesman, after all. It was a cold blooded act of brutality! 

 

Time was not on your side. Then it happened. A vigilant police officer found you - 12 hours later - in the ditch where you had been thrown, tossed from the perpetrator's car - the other accomplice!

The animal hospital welcomed you. They all do. Saving lives is their business. The staff named you Jimmy. The police preserved any evidence to solve your heinous crime: the abduction and torture of an innocent! There were fingerprints on the duct tape used to incapacitate you, Jimmy. What a sweet name you were given. 

 

I know a man named Jimmy and he's as sweet as you are. The medical team worried about a possible concussion but it seemed you had none. Your body took a lot of abuse, I could see. Your facial profile reminded me of 'our' sweet boy, Emerson, our rescue pup, a gentle soul whose purpose in life is simply to run, eat, play and give kisses. Is that what you do, too? You looked so sweet, my boy.

"Finding your momma, was not easy. So she found you! The news spread until others heard of your story. She made the mistake of letting you out without a leash, she said. We've all done that. We're not perfect. But you are! You keep us in line while making us better versions of ourselves, daily. A nice man paid your vet bill. Your mom was unable. The costs of a criminal act should not be born by the innocent. Others should help pay. 

 

The doctors probably discounted your bill. That gesture happened to us, when I found our kitten,Tiggy, dying by the side of the road in -25 winter temp. For 16 years she told us us her story. She died in February this year. Oh how I miss her still! Deep holes in our hearts remain when you guys leave us. We never forget the mark you leave behind -ever!

The video of your recovery was a comfort to all who saw it. Your mom was holding you, wishing all of this had never happened. Now others know of you. Those in your neighborhood will be watching, now, just in case. The 'village' knows no bounds. We are a loving species. But there will always be those who do harm. The rest of us do not. We simply care, protect and love. That is all!

You were kidnapped - 5 minutes after being let out. Then 12 hours later, you were found with a suspected concussion, malnutrition, dehydration, wrapped in duct tape used to fix things. I hope you knew you would be found and had not suffered too much. 

 

It was cold that night when the officer found you in the ditch. You are a senior, a member of a very special  loving group. You know the rules. He did not! And that did not stop him from trying to harm you. You had wandered off when he grabbed you for nefarious reasons. He lived nearby and was charged.

I'm happy your story ended so well. The web has shown us all that tyranny exists everywhere.  Enjoy your life, sweet boy. You have certainly earned that right.

Imprinting Baby's Palate

Teaching our children to be discriminating people begins from the moment of birth. Under careful scrutiny we begin the painstaking task of introducing our newborn to 'first' foods, the determinants of his future health, a canvas upon which core strength, behaviour and intellect depend. I have seen the miracles unfold. My grandsons, aged one and two, are exhibits A.

Development of taste, texture and smell begins in the kitchen. Mom is the conductor. Introducing baby to pureed, sliced or diced carrots, peas, apples, bananas, beets, broccoli, and other 'interesting' foods, during this phase sensitive period, governs baby's dietary future. Health is the result. Processed foods and 'introductory' grains are not welcome. Their presence is suspect, certainly now. Feeding baby is a serious matter! Their palates are being imprinted, as love and wisdom guide their moms. 

Protecting our children from sugar's path of destruction begins with first foods. Breast milk begins the process with these focused modern moms, a president, a doctor and French immersion teacher. They are supported by the 'village', this vast network of family. A recent program on arsenic in organics mentioned the high percentage of this chemical in baby's first foods: rice cereal. Eating 'first' cereals can be problematic in other ways, too, I am learning. Fruits and vegetables are the royal pair.

Sugar masquerading under other names but disguised as ingredients is not new. We are ingesting it at an alarming rate. We know of sugar's almighty power to aid and abet illness. These modern moms know too. No sugar, dairy or gluten. Setting the health trajectory for their children has begun. Cereals are missing. When cereal are included, it seems, the nutrient density of 13 vitamins is less potent while cereal's 'anti-nutrients' begin their metabolic interference, too. Oh, my! Baby's digestive system is too delicate and new to play this dietary game. (But I love my buckwheat kasha and cornmeal, nonetheless. Let's wait and see. That combo helped my preemie thrive and survive)!

In my generation - generations ago - the internet did not exist and today's authors had not been born for 'those' books to be published. Back then, I bought every book I could find on the premature infant. “Born Too Soon” was #1, in my library. We learned from books and nurses, too. Nutrition was not a topic under discussion just the next vaccine on the schedule of doses to be given. How times have changed.

Advancements in the information highway, today, have given these modern moms the tools they need to evaluate this early food game, the most important game of all. My grandsons eat the foods we hear about, pureed or not, cooked or raw, depending. Teeth are important tools to be managed wisely. Oranges, kiwis, cooked beets, broccoli, sweet potatoes, strawberries and avocados, to name a few, are daily menu options. On the top of the list is the banana, a fruit high in magnesium. Both boys love this sweet, 'natural' food made by Mother Nature. It is not food like. It is food!

Core strength is present in my grandbabies. Skin elasticity, high level thinking (executive function) and attention skills, early language development and an understanding of 'be careful', 'hot- danger' and “Read me a book on the couch”mark the learning curve of these little humans. Real food and loving human interaction did this.

As I enter the kitchen, our youngest - at one- is feeding himself. Blueberries, strawberries, kiwis and thinly sliced peeled cucumber are today's favourites. Soon mom gives him portioned avocado, directly from the 'shell'. He devours it like candy. No fries with that. Just the delicious morsels of a food widely acclaimed for its nutrient and healthy fat value. Was that a filling afternoon snack or was it dinner. Hard to tell. Whatever it was, it will be repeated in a few hours with other super foods. And no fries with that either.

The 7th Anniversary of Me

It is the 7^th anniversary of the Momsey blog. Who knew? March 12 marked the day. On February 12, my oh so precious Tiggy passed away and a new way of living began. I knew she was just a cat but she was my 'just a cat', having been discarded, like so much garbage, at the beginning of her very precious life, in minus 25 degree temperatures, by the side of the road - 16 years ago. ...

Tiggy had become larger than my life. Her needs had become highly specialized, more important than mine ever could be. She was in control. I was simply room service of the highest degree. I'd hoped that she might be the exception to the rule and live forever but I was wrong. I miss her terribly.

Over the years, I have written many blogs. Encouraging me to write was my very young editor, soon-to-be mom of two, (daughter-in-law) who meant what she said. and it was said often.  Cut and paste became her signature lesson. I wrote the steps as she dictated them during a few hours over six months. quite the achievement, nonetheless. The world needed to hear from me, she often said. Some have said that blogger has died. Maybe it has. Have I become irrelevant, redundant or just plain boring? Maybe. 

 

Writing has given me the courage to touch the world around me and see beyond my everyday life, a life full of doing, loving and caring. My editor-daughter-in-law, (I now have 3 dynamic women to call daughter) now 25, a musical dynamo and head of her own company, thought my ideas had merit; my writing style, unique. And so I write. Maybe my online presence is coming to an end.  Time will tell.

It seems troubling times are afoot in the country that saved the world over a 100 hundred years ago and twenty years later. He is not perfect, that man who rules that great country called America. The world is watching. Governments seem intent on rewriting how our lives are lived. You are simply an agency comprised of people instructed to govern to make it all work, fairly and safely. We put you there in something called an election. We are the employer not you. Fulfill your mandate. It is your job. Who gives you permission to take leave? Shame on you. The money pit called taxes, never ends. It has now moved into government house.

We are an addicted society, addicted to 'processed' foods, to the small and large screens of our television, computers and other hand held devices, fast paced momentum and spending. There are no diets just eating simply. We know what we're doing and not doing. Are we becoming strangers to mother nature and sleep? Our apps do all the 'walking'. Relationships matter. It is about being human. Being able to size up the other person takes experience you acquire up close and personal. 'In person' is EVERYTHING not just part of the moment or a cute phrase. Special education needs attention yesterday! I put myself out there to help our littlest soldier but no one acknowledged the simple truth: children need stimulation more than curriculum! I was a special needs teacher, once upon at time.

Animals matter in so many ways we are just learning. It is about mental, emotional and physical health. It is about wealth, too. Money spent online or at the mall cannot be used for our pets. Animals keep us grounded in this fast paced world and force us outside where we need to be. They make us think outside the box. Reality seems to evade us but animals remind us that we are human. And so are they!

The other day, I remarked to my husband, an entrepreneurial insurance guy, that we'd gone further than most pet owners with our 'foolishness' for our 'just a cat' in keeping her and her thyroid healthy. He retorted, “We did for her what she did for us”. Oh my. I was caught off balance and brought to tears. My life with her was a match made in heaven and on earth. I knew it from the start. She simply made me worthy and more human my just a cat..

In the seven plus years of the Momsey blog, I have become more courageous than ever. Seven years ago, a teenager saw in me something I did not know was there. We saved each other. Animals are kinder and smarter then we know. When illness strikes, they remind me of resilience while living in the moment. Animals have no time for pity. They live to run, eat that apple or cucumber. Though some have said that blogger has died, time will tell. Good bye my precious Tia. I loved you more than forever. I will miss you always. A eulogy to my precious  little Tiggy.

"Good Bye, Sweet Precious"

The love in my life has died. She was my 'just a cat'. Her daily perilous drop in weight, in recent weeks, from her evil hyperthyroid disease, coupled with issues of internal bleeding - gums and bladder - dramatic loss of critical fatty tissue and potassium while losing valuable body temperature made my decision an 'easy' one. Her doctor's look ended any optimism I might have had.

The morning began as usual with her jump on to the floor looking for fresh water, in her two ceramic bowls. Her habit of moving these troughs, in miniature, while testing the water with her tiny paw made it a messy place, daily. In her carpeted room, decorative place mats adorned her eating area. Her stainless steel bowl had been replaced with a newly bought ceramic 'sink', a heavy container that was  virtually immovable. A dipping bowl of Greek yogurt began her morning ritual most mornings.

She drank often while making her water 'cloudy'. This was not good, I knew. Why now, though? During nighttime, she would munch on her prescribed dry food which always gave me hope. But she took too long to eat her soft foods. These tender morsels ended up in her water, hence another round of ongoing fresh cold water, otherwise known as room service. A long walk to the 'toilette' to see her dad, that day, was her final visit, a peaceful end on a journey punctuated with a mother's love. I miss my enigmatic kitty. She had been a loving addition to our family.

From the beginning, Tiggy had a fighting spirit. But that quality could mask her suffering, too. In the end, her tenacity had worn out its welcome. Her suffering was now up close and personal. We could no longer hope for life. Her meds had become a burden to administer as she could not swallow easily. Her cloudy water bowls gave clear evidence of that. Her body was a fraction of its former self, a skeletal frame 'adorned' with a thin layer of skin. She had stamina so characteristic of my family. She finally earned the right to die.

My life has a large chunk missing from it now. After finding her - 16 years earlier - on the shoulder in -25 weather, my life would never be the same. I was about to fall into love with a snappy little girl. She had 'spoken' to me that frigidly cold morning. As I drove by I looked down and there she was, a screaming lump of 'dirty snow' grasping at life and breath. Shock enveloped me. I now had a life long duty to this furry bundle from the road. How could anyone do such a thing? But the planet is full of horrible people doing all sorts of despicable things to oh so innocent animals of every kind. The online world attests to the horrors of animal abuse. Our Tiggy was found, just in time, half an hour before her death. I saw and listened. A real love story began.

Over the years, she would enter the room of our two retrievers only to be greeted by a cacophony of jumps and barks. Her visits seemed to say, “ I live upstairs guys. Would you like to play with me?” Not really they would reply. ... Upon entering, she would linger, on occasion, then sneak a drink from their large water bowl, the size of a small sink, big enough in which to bathe - for her. Was their well water better, she mused? 

 

Comparisons were important to her. She ran outside, one morning, then was noticed hours later on the kitchen balcony. I remembered thinking how beautiful this 'stray' was until I noticed it up close. It looked alot like ours! I opened the doors to let her in while watching this blur run past me, upstairs, to the place she'd called home for many years. Outside was better, from a safe distance, she now realized. In that moment, I knew she was mine.

In her golden years, we'd meet and nap together in her room on a bunk bed. She welcomed the company. I did, too! She'd sleep in the crook of my knees and stay there till it was time for me to go. She liked it that way. Resting her small head near the Himalayan floor salt lamp made her feel safe and secure, too. An outstretched paw and gentle head always told me she was near. A magnet cover beneath her special bed helped in her comfort and healing. All in all, everything humanely possible and available, that made sense, was tried. We all deserve that.

Her entry into life was a loathsome event. But she would leave it surrounded by love - from all corners! Someone hated this innocent beautiful newborn, weighing less than two pounds, that fateful morning. Both sides of humanity were on display, vividly, that day. My side won that debate and a wonderful life was lived and loved. Vivid memories and a lasting heartache now remain.

The Yummy All-Purpose Salad

They'd arrived for lunch. They would make it, their way. Much of what they were eating for the next few weeks was raw produce, a family affair. Even their son, my 22 month old grandson, loves his bananas and clementines, the healthy footprint of his future. Children will always follow mommy and daddy's lead, like no other!

Salad is the main attraction, always has been. It is a cacophony of health benefits, vitamins, minerals and probiotics. No leaky gut here. Processed food is the culprit which leads to problems with gluten intolerance, so one doctor says, and other allergens to health. Pay attention the the medical medium. He has the gift of food and health. Others are talking, too. Lucy, my editor and daughter-in-law, is expecting baby #2. As always, since the day I met this former teen, diet has been a priority, in all meals, in all ways. Salads have always been her addiction. Now both mommy and daddy have this affliction.

The young couple began, in earnest, to make lunch: a sea of produce: a large volume of organic lettuces, baby romaines, thinly sliced tomatoes to chunky pieces of cucumbers. Onions were not entered into in this maze of produce this time. The bowl I use for making pizza dough or pastry was used to mix the ingredients. It was huge. As Lucy gathered the produce together, her husband, my son, made the delicious dressing containing avocados, both of which were mashed to begin the dressing with added spices: parsley flakes, onion powder, olive oil and lemon juice. Quite the 'meal' and quite the hit of health benefits. I was hooked. No vinegar according to the Medical medium.The salad reminded me of the classic caesar. My My! What a transformation!

Momsey does not always follow the dietary rules. She does like desserts but chooses wisely and homemade. Coleslaw is my addiction, a salad of grated cabbage and other enhancers. I have loved it from the beginning and make it many different ways, now, to suit the main meal. The latest discovery is a dressing with lime and lemon juice with olive oil. Salt, pepper, dried onion flakes help bring the flavour alive. Overnight helps to develop flavour for that in restaurant taste. I am in love, again!

Salads are a very important food group. The Miracle Medium knows this. The words 'never' and 'organic' do not seem to be in his vocabulary. Vegetables and fruits are. Better to eat them any old way than not at all. And if certain protein foods are loved but 'disagreeable' internally, then it behooves us to fix the problem. Life is too short to ignore digestive issues. Health is at stake. The Miracle Medium has opened my eyes to my beloved radishes, this cancer killer in bright red. I wrote about him last year. But other things matter, too. Celery juice seems to be tops in every way. Our Mr. Wiggles, Sally and Emerson will have some too, very soon. Juicing is easy and takes the work out of eating to retrieve valuable nutrients deep inside the produce we should be eating daily.

Make that salad. It is a life insurance policy on your health. Use nuts for protein, mixed with fruit.Toss it onto the mountain of produce. Dress just before needed. Choose to eat it every day. Your life depends on it.

Gluten-Free Chiffon Cake!

The gluten-free syndrome is real. It may well be the result of our digestive systems time immersed in processed food too often, perhaps in a toxic environment, too. Funny how glucose-fructose is eerily included in some of these so-called healthy foods labelled 'natural', homemade with no preservatives or colours added. Upon closer inspection, the truth is revealed!

The other day I made a gluten free chiffon cake without a recipe.... (Gluten interferes with thyroid's function - my daily problem)... I'd always loved the taste and texture of this unusually light cake, no butter or milk included. This time I concocted the recipe while researching the cake's unique properties. Though sugar is a must in this sweet confection, I move its position into the egg white department to strengthen the whites, around 8-10, as they billowed into a mound of leaven heaven. No fat permitted, here. Lemon juice is included to replace cream of tarter to help stabilize the whites. ('Anna', the Canadian pastry chef, said to do this).

The glistening stiff whites were moved to another bowl as the yolks were beaten in the 'clean' bowl just vacated. A few tablespoons of sugar, to lighten the yolk batter and strengthen its structure and give more taste came next. (Salt lessens the amount of sugar required in a recipe, I have discovered). Vanilla extract is added, too. A few tablespoons of grape seed oil is added to the yolk mixture for moisture, tenderness and taste. (Fat is important as it aids in the absorption of Vitamins A, D, K, E. Nutrition can happen anywhere).

After a few minutes of beating the yolk mixture to the desired stage, the flour mixture was added slowly. Water was added, too. I used some all-purpose gluten-free mix along with brown rice flour and millet to make the 1 cup of sifted 'flour' needed to make the cake. I did not use baking powder. I was experimenting. Thought I'd wait and see what happens.The beaten egg whites are then folded in to the yolk/oil mixture  and poured into an ungreased tube pan in a 350 degree oven for about an hour. Turn pan upside down to cool to help lengthen the strands of protein in the cake. Remove when cooled. Serve with organic whipping cream, fruit or chocolate ganache icing.

(The other day I used potato starch to make a cobbler topping. Big mistake! Never again. Crumbled too much with little flavour. A crunchy apple would have been a better choice.) Potato starch was substituted for wheat flour in a brownie recipe, found recently in a copy of Woman's World from 2018. I could not believe the results. Neither could my guests.

Remaking recipes to reflect current health status does not take courage. It simply requires the will to do. What are cookbooks but a collection of recipes someone concocted, revised, over and over again, till the results were acceptable? Letting others create gluten free products/mixes is silly. Let's do it ourselves. Once we understand the behavioural properties of ingredients or mixes is the beginning of homemade experimentation. Sometimes, we are successful, sometimes, not. What do we have to lose? Never be afraid to bake without a recipe. Just a have plan in mind.

The sponge/ chiffon cake is my go to cake, with its minimal sugar. There's no point to dessert unless it is low in sugar and high in other benefits. Excessive amounts of sugar sounds the death knell for any dessert for me. Because sugar is not a requirement to a healthy diet, only to dessert, its use must be curtailed. I use Canadian maple syrup known for its 57 health benefits to add sweetness wherever possible. Sugar, if invented today, might be classed as a poison, I read, many years ago. I use it sparingly and never in my teas: green, white, oolong, rooibos, lemongrass and others.

Personalize the mixes you make and the recipes you create. This unknown path just might surprise you. I know I have been, many many times. My daughter-in-law would happily agree.

A Different Kind of New Year

It is the beginning of a new year, with promises to eat better, be healthier, save more money. Sounds reasonable. But for me, it is always about that but also about being more mindful of our precious pets. Without these furry, loving motivators, nothing matters. They help keep us human!

I missed out on December. Had no time, no inclination or thoughts. My brain was on sabbatical while my audience was busy with other plans. Momsey is not on Facebook, Snapchat, nor Instagram. Never was. I do not need the distraction or intrusion. We must be aware. Too many know our business as it is. I learned how to cut and paste, once upon a time, when my time was better spent caring for an aging pet, with travelling, kept to a minimum. My editor was pregnant and was preparing for the event. She is a wonderful mom, now expecting baby #2. Being productive most days is important. Time stands still for no one.

This year I am planning to eat more pickled hot peppers. Yum! Discovered an easy and quick way to pickle them and NON-GMO, too! The timing is right for this yummy addiction of my childhood. Pickled hot peppers were faves in the sandwiches I made for school. Radishes, too. Am I weird or what? Sugar did not matter. I've pickled them often since before the holidays. My life is complete.

I must begin writing that book based upon my special education exploits and experiences. I am a trained teacher, after all. Then there will be the double degrees, simultaneously done, on my schedule, in a format that makes sense to me. I will decide and be declined. That's a given!That's O.K. That will not be me. It will be 'them'. We waste time following academic rules when maybe they were meant to be reading material only, a guideline to observations, conclusions while sparking creativity.

Tiggy, my loathe-to be-held cat, is dying. She was thrust into life, brutally - 16 years ago - on a -25 winter's day. It was a brutal way to die, I wrote in May, 2012. She is going to die peacefully, with dignity and love, surrounding her. That was our decision - hers and ours. She is weak but strong, still able to enter and exit her litter box. Our girl is an enigma. Loves to engage, in her special way, even now. Still eating/drinking. Her hyperthyroid disease is winning while old age helps it along. I love her so. Tears of sadness, in my alone time, suddenly appear, as if to remind me how much I will miss her. She has been such a large chunk of my life teaching me more than I dared thought. I will miss her so.

How does anyone decide it is O.K. to leave a tiny, brand new animal - a kitten - on the side of a winter's road to die. If you are listening, she did not die. I found her, just in time, 25 minutes before her death and gave her the life you would not and could never have imagined! And through it all, we have loved her, watched over her, even in the wee hours of the morning as she tip toes across the keyboard of the computer in the room she shared with her human brother. He was never amused, especially at that hour. Tiggy is one happy ending story.

I have read that intense workouts do not help. Steady motion, throughout the day, is the goal. Get rid of those foods that are not made of simple and real ingredients. Stay with Non-GMO or organic. Eat only the foods that matter. Your body will tell you when to stop. That can include cake, too, if it is homemade. Create your own recipes. Many someones did, in the cookbooks we buy. Our bodies deserve so much respect. We only have one. Never miss a minute. Time is the most precious commodity we have. But health matters more. Let us not forget! Happy New Year.