New Years Eve

It's New Year's Eve. Here I am making chicken soup. The last two days I have been coughing and sneezing. I wash my hands often, after I sneeze and before I touch my pups. My 'collection' of tissues is mine to touch, I remind my husband. Sometimes, he has not been as meticulous when he has under the weather. We must all be careful. Others depend on it. 

At the beginning of the virus in 2020, we were told to wash hands in all ways to stop the spread. No other treatment options were available. So we washed. I had been doing since before our children were born. Makes total sense to me, especially, when your babies are all preemies. An infection can kill a preemie. 

My mom told us to wash our hands when we came home, back in the 50's. I'm glad I listened. So today I made the best medicine of all: chicken soup. I used the pressure cooker to develop better flavour and nutrient retention, a superior soup all around. Scientist say there is something in homemade chicken soup that heals us faster than normal. I'm all for that. My soup had too many parsnips. but the onions and dill, salt and pepper helped to balance the flavour. I said yuck, Next time I will be more careful. 

I had retrieved chicken wings from the freezer to begin the process yesterday. (The wings have more collagen than other parts I read). Maybe. But thighs and legs will do fine, the next time. The whole chicken will also be o.k. Use up whatever might be wasted. The half lemon was a bit much though I have used it in past without a problem. I ate some early in the soup's development. The finished product had finely chopped celery and carrots and helped to make things right. These two are a must in any casserole or soup. 

Some over the counter drugs for headaches, coughing and sneezing are sold out at our local Walmart. A troubling sign, I hope not....When in doubt, make chicken soup. It has magical things inside to make haste of bacteria and help us fall asleep. Remember that deep sleep also helps heal the body on so many levels. An unbeatable combination.

Loading the Dishwasher

A few years ago, while reading Woman's World, a most valuable tip page appeared outlining ways to save money and water when washing dishes. Our habit of rinsing dishes and washing pots and pans made this every day chore act of washing more laborious and costly in a many ways. I have followed their lead. It makes so much sense.

There was a time when some daytime shows asked the audience how to load the dishwasher. Each time we load, should make sense, economically and physically. So I began to learn. It was a busy holiday period. Our expanded family would be here. Cooking the food while the table had been set made for alot of dishes to be accommodated afterwards. Who likes washing hoards of cutlery, dishes and pots and pans?

So I began to implement this new plan according to Woman's World with a few tweaks from momsey. I looked inside the dishwasher and wondered how that mess could become clean with some mindful changes. Well, it did. As long as the water spinner arms were free to spin and disperse the liquid all over the interior, regardless of item placement, all was good, I reasoned. In the end a miracle happened.

All plates, these large items, are placed in their lower slots as indicated. Some things can only go where common sense tells you they should. Little items can go anywhere, perhaps, but why waste the space. On the top rack, small bowls and plates fit. Cutlery is next. Each item that remains is allotted a space that fits so the spinner arm can moce without interference. Look beneath the upper rack and let the arm go. If it moves unimpeded, them add more, one at a time, making sure water can be released easily. Aslong as both the upper and lower arms can move to release water, a miracle will happen.dishaes can be added. More to come..............

If Momsey Had a Podcast..

If I had one, what would I do? Reaching the greatest number of people in the shortest amount of time with insights and information. I have thought of this a few times lately. Was it time to up my game? I know what it is though I'm not tech savvy, nowhere near that standard. Soon to be a grandmother to seven, I'm learning more and this next generation is my proof.

I do not live on the net. I live in the real world where dogs need care, a 14-year-old canine needs more and little grandchildren enjoy baba's time and attention, in a different way, while mom and dad do other things. During one lively, fun, laughing session, I babysat my 4 year and his younger, one-year-old brother. Supercalifragilisticexpialidosious came to mind. So we began. I spoke this elongated monstrous word to my 4 year old. We practiced its enunciation, slowly, while breaking the word into its smaller, more manageable parts. The word from the Mary Poppin's movie came alive as we both struggled to repeat this nonsensical word. My grandson was totally engaged. Putting words into the mouths of young children is a game changer. It's a brain workout, pronouncing words not normally in use at that young age. Hearing the word for the first time was a laugh a minute for both of us.

On my podcast, my attention would focus on special education. It always has. That is my passion, my reason for being. Though I struggled in English composition and literature, as a high school student, I relish writing, thinking and writing my blog. My daughter -in-law put me in that special place. She drove me there. Having been a secondary school teacher, an award winning volunteer has helped me garner some attention where it matters: in the minds of parents and those who care about those left behind in main stream education, sort of. Letters can be scary in the mind of a special needs child. So get them out of there for the time being. As we engage in yeast dough, one of the most exciting 'courses' for a young child, he/she is expected to do: engage in  meaningful conversation. No more "See Spot Run"

For learning to happen, conversation must be relevant, engaging and fun. It is the first rung on the learning ladder for children sitting quietly as they must in the classroom. Or should they? The writing/reading stuff is paramount but arrives much later. Just ask your baby/toddler. They're talking continuously and making sense.

Momsey was a special needs secondary school teacher, long, long ago when dinosaurs rules the earth. Let us focus on the fun aspect of learning through conversation. The structural/academic stuff waits its turn. Remember: your child is a genius in hiding. Let us here from him/her. Podcast, here I come.

"You are important, too, nonna!."

 

We were seated nearby the table of five. Three children with two adults, their backs to us. All seemed fine till it happened.

It was November 18^th, black Friday, unbeknown to us, till the signs in the store reminded us. We had taken this day off to shop. Shopping was not a favourite pastime of mine. I shopped because of need - mostly. Dining out was always a special event so where we dined was always uppermost in my mind.

The buffet was laid out in one scrumptious row after another. Hot food, cold food, soup and dessert. I was predictable: soup, hot table then dessert: creme brulee. Keeping to a protein based meal was always my goal. (Rolls, pizza, fries served no useful dietary benefit.) Then it happened. The spitball arrived soon after I was done.

I looked at her, this young girl, whose celebratory lunch with her younger sister, older brother and grandparents had created this unsavory moment. I guess she thought the event was funny till I looked at her, waving my finger to and fro in surprise indignation. Who does that to strangers in a nice restaurant? Sadly, nonno and nonna would soon find out.

I walked over the these precious grandparents who had taken time out of their day to bring their grandchildren here. Normally they are good, she said. Yes, I responded. Normally ours were good till a bit of larceny changed everything. As grandparents, our job is to have fun and spoil our grandkids. Discipline is not our job. But today everything changed.

Nonna apologized then apologized again. She had tried to contain them as they fought near another table. She was sorry for her oldest granddaughter's behaviour. I spoke softly to remind this gentle lady that that she had done nothing wrong. The young lady had. I suggested that a lesson for another visit could include only two of her progeny, a reminder that there are consequences for public misbehaviour. She smiled. This gentle lady listened so sweetly. 

I hope her grandchildren realize what special grandparents they have.  Momsey had none who bothered. Five minutes would have been great for this lonely little girl growing up.

Leaves.Frogs.Machines

Everywhere I looked, leaves blanketed the outdoors. Over the years, we have tried to improve the operation of removing these leaves, maple and birch. Evergreen trees have their own pine needle drama. Which is better for composting? Determining the PH of the compost is a must. What do I know anyway? 

I've learned that the barometer for a healthy planet is measured in the frogs that litter mother nature's  worldwide landscape. If there are none, then we, the humans, are next for extinction. We are either the guardians or the menace of the earth. When we left the small town after many years, we ended up in the country. Frogs were everywhere. Their voices were loud and clear. I had been a city girl, too. When I saw a frog I moved it out of its way out of respect. Today, I oversee their passage to higher or hidden ground in case Mr. Wiggles is near. He is very nosy but very gentle and kind, too. 

Frogs' survival means alot to me. Stopping the lawn tractor when one is crossing ensures a safe trip. Royalty is here. Safe passage is a must. Their lives mean something. Once I noticed a 'dead' frog upon a pile of leaves. I was told he was hibernating. We moved him carefully, covered him gingerly and hoped he survived. I did not know what else to do in that moment. Predators do roam for dinner. During the nights, in our fenced yard, frogs sometimes appear. A photo op could be waiting.

Our canine soldiers are careful. These delightful creatures - all of them, actually - seem to understand their role when confronted at night with these tiny reptiles.. So sweet, so special. Now back to the leaves. I have owned a manual lawn mower, a relic of the past, for many years. It is pink and  deep turquoise and looks like new. I use it to mow newly grown grass in small areas, small areas of our dog patch. No electricity or gas just old fashioned human energy. Good for me, the planet and our pets. Now I use this modern technological wonder to mulch the leaves as they tumble down. Helps the new lawn take root while it 'hibernates' over winter. Even wet, these leaves are easily cut into tiny pieces of future compost. A lightweight tool that sastifies me and  annoys Sally, our 14-year-old. Great exercise all around.

One late and scary night, I found a frog sitting quietly upon the rigid egg shaped 'puck'. The little guy just sat there, so I took pictures. He was adorable as the larger creatures of the night - Mr.Wiggles and Sally- went about their business. I moved about, flashlight under chin, to click here and there. It was a sight I had never seen. Another photo-op of nature.

Choosing the right machine - manual, battery operated or me - helps to keep our property tidy and the air around us healthier, too. The animals have lived in Mother Nature's garden longer than we have. Tidying up the environment we share with them requires respect. Soon, winter will be here. I am now the recent owner of a battery operated snow thrower, the shovel with a difference. Small areas, 10 inches in width, can be cleared for our 14 year old retriever just as the cold fluffy stuff falls. Shovelling the snow will be easier to perform and my senior girl and her younger brother will have an easier time winter walking, one less hazard to confront. Thrilled for the modern twist on snow removal. Happy holidays!

Queen of the Prom!

She's quite the girl, I thought, as I looked at her the other night - still Queen of the Prom! At 14 and still 'standing', her incredible journey continues. 

My son and 'daughter' visited the other night. It hadn't been planned. Worrying about Sally's recent two days, I cautioned them that her schedule was being modified. Sally needed to slow down. Too much running could cause a stumble. A fall might signal the end. In the last few years a paralytic tumble out of nowhere resulted in cause for concern. But a gentle massage of her head helped to reassure her. Love was always near. I'd help her stand to restore her ambulatory status. Off she'd go. 'Business' awaited. 

I looked at this Labrador Retriever of ours, in amazement, as she whirled around the outdoor 'dance' floor. Who is this miracle canine, anyway? Most dogs her age and size are simply not available. What had we done? Our 4 year old grandson started to run vigorously around the outdoor cage, installed for  emergency protection. Living in the country has its own danger, we thought 30 years ago.

My runner grandson is addicted to speed. So, it would seem is our retriever, even at 14, whose history of torn hind leg ligament surgeries, front leg tumor removal, and necrotic lymph node surgery, some years ago, have made our Sally a make work project. Ears are cleaned regularly, however, using gauze squares, making the job easier and more effective. Infection is no longer a threat. She chases our boy. He loves the race.  Speed was his addiction. Sally keeps up. I couldn't believe it. 

Sally is a running marvel to behold. But wait. Overdoing it at her age could cause irreparable damage to  ligaments, muscles and skeletal systems. She stops. I said so! It was time to rest. Her idol was in a hold position! She is a true athlete. Her diet regimen is king because it must be. Diet is medicine, after all. Their intermittent 'raw' diet (frozen berries for pain and inflammation) coupled with daily exercise gives them more than we expected. Healthy and athletic. That is my 14-year-old, Queen of the Prom!

Garlic is Truly King!

Garlic is the greatest of them all. Perhaps a return to home cooking, real home cooking, is an answer to thwarting the next disease to threaten us. Many people survived the virus designed in a lab. What better way to eradicate 'rival' humans! A mention of diet to keep the virus at bay was rarely mentioned if it was mentioned at all.

You will laugh at me but my thinking has always been 'outside the box', as the tired saying goes. Following trends is not my thing, never was. It is a cost that never ends and has no basis. Who are these people instructing us to buy this or that? I have never met them. I am not a trendsetter. No thank you. To be given that label is to be seen as someone with all the answers to food, design, home, furniture and colour trends. I love all colours. Shopping without bringing home anything is the best trip of all. Discovery learning is in play.

My husband is colour blind so when our next house had main colours of black and white tiles in one bathroom, I followed with white and grey to compliment the room. I painted and added simple but delicious lacy curtains, He was entitled to be comforted by colour as was I. Black in a bathroom is unheard of, I thought. But we thought of it as normal for us. The vanity was all black. It is in need of replacement now. We saw its replacement recently. It will be grey wood with black accessories. I love wood, wooden floors, wooden furniture and of course garlic, my friend for life.

The stuff in our house is decades old. But we like what we like: well made and desirable. Constantly replacing this or that might mean its purchase was made too quickly. Replacing anything is prudent when repairing has no merit. Being simple with simple clear cut tastes makes sense to us. It is financially prudent, always. When it comes to food the same policy applies. Foods from my past were simple and repeated often throughout the week. 

Garlic is #1. I love it to this day. Thank goodness. It is now considered a superfood and responsible, in part, for health stability. And, I have learned, it contains 33 sulphur compounds that fight illness and disease.

In an old episode of Bonanza, "Bitter Water", cattle were dying of Texas Fever. This disease had a 90% mortality rate. The only thing that could save these animals from this tick borne killer that destroys red blood cells, enlarges the liver was sulphur baths. Sulphur I asked? That seemed amazing. I thought of the 33 sulphur compounds in garlic. My. My. Could we now have a remedy in the kitchen that can perform astounding feats of healing the human body while strengthening it against the next 'invisible' disease? 

I have heard that previous vaccines, given to children on a prescribed schedule, be trained to adapt to new threats to the human body? Could they be redesigned to thwart the spread of new viruses to come? 

Sulphur, remember the name. It's power cannot be overlooked. I now have a new found respect for these compounds found in garlic which I have loved since childhood. Dessert does not stand a chance.

 

Do Not Feed Wildlife

 

Do not feed the birds white bread. Certain death will follow, the article cautions. What are they talking about, I wondered? As I read this provocative column from our local newspaper, I was shocked to learn the horrific truth of our stupidity. Are we ever going to learn? Are we ever going to stop?

Canada geese and other birds are falling prey to a dreaded disease called angel wing syndrome arising from eating white bread in this modern world. White bread is not a great snack at the best of times. In a post written years earlier, I wrote about the industry responsible for baking our bread. Once upon a time, in the 50's, it took a day or more to produce a loaf of white bread. Now it is ready for sale in mere hours. Additives, preservatives and other softening agents have been added for that perfect loaf of bread. Animals' diets do not include processed white bread. It probably should not be in our diet either but at least we have choice.

Birds with the tell tale white wings are earmarked for death. They simply can't fly. It is what they do to live. In fully mature birds the condition is irreversible. Unable to fly, these victims of processed white bread are now prey to coyotes, foxes and other predators able to catch them. 'They are sitting 'ducks'! Unable to source their food and carry it away, these ill birds are doomed to die a painful death - starvation - as their own species ostracizes them in the process. Sending these birds to an animal sanctuary is an option but takes time and money, commodities always in short supply.

I kept reading. Whenever we have food to give to the outdoor, it was bananas, watermelon and other like minded food. Animals deserve the best of what we eat - healthy food sourced by 'mom' of nature herself. Throwing away junk food harms precious wild life who will eat whatever is lying around. Starvation has no standard. And neither do we, it would seem!

They Had No Idea

We were waiting at the red light when they appeared out of nowhere. I looked up and came face to face with the faces of those beautiful, gentle creatures destined to become dinner.

One cow was black with an 'invisible' body, hidden inside the long metal container of the truck; another, an exquisite beige coat outlined in black was a striking looking animal. I knew where they were going. Sadly, I was complicit in this story. As I looked further inside the interior of this massive truck, I could see many more victims, looking at me with their peaceful faces. I cried as I thought of them all day long. 

Many times, I have seen these large container trucks, adorned with open air 'windows' allowing the animals inside to breathe during transport. (They mustn't die before their appointed time.) I had never been this close to the stars of the summer barbecue. The meat from these animals are irreverently smoked, seared, braised or stewed till tender. Charbroiled is the name of this high heat game. I'm sure these precious animals were tender to the touch long before their eventual demise. 

Food shows seem to show little respect for these animals who have given their lives in the name of charbroiled steaks, barbecue ribs or chicken. Sauces are created to decorate these meats for that super sweet taste. We protest animal cruelty as we eat our steaks and burgers. Plant based 'meat' never looked so good.

The internet did not exist when I was a little girl. The topic of meat never came up. We bought some, cooked it then ate it. The process repeated itself, week to week, when my parents could afford meat. I was never much of a meat eater, anyway. Thankfully. 

My love affair with homemade noodles, sauerkraut, garlic, onions, salads, tomato sauces and my all time favourite - buckwheat kasha - carried me into the future. The latter was a middle of the week dinner as was borscht. I did not connect the dots then. Meat was different from live animals, I thought as a little girl. At one point, I wondered how people on television shows could fit into such small spaces in our black and white t.v.. Weren't these people tired after the 11:00 p.m news? I have since grown up. I'm not a little girl though at times, I'm happy to be one. It's simpler that way.

Those beautiful cows standing in those death trucks were not aware of their impending fate. Everything seemed fine. I looked at them and thought how wonderful it is when I hear the words, vegan or vegetarian. These are the enlightened folks who realize the health benefits of eating foods that do not bleed! The times are a changing and I'm working on it!

Conversations With Explanations!

Really? What did you say? I was surprised by the question. Here was mom asking her one-year-old genius if he wanted to play with the eyeballs. ... Naturally, I was very curious. But there was a reason she was asking. I knew this woman. Nothing was ever left to chance. So I sat there waiting to learn. 

The next day, I was asked to return. Our son and his wife are moving. They have been packing, taking stuff to storage or placing boxes into the cube in their driveway, painting and repairing. Staging will come next. They are being advised, every step of the way, in this modern world of real estate. The better the product shows, the greater the exposure might be. The real estate market place tells the truth. Our opinion is usually over inflated.

So here I am watching the four-year-old and one-year-old. I'm not sure if I am in their pay grade, however. "Does water with sand, in the combo sand/water box, need to be mixed till there is a flood?" Just ask the four year old, Oscar. He says yes. Something about a house, two or three garages and a massive pond. I just don't get it. But I write it down. I must write it down. I am a front row witness to on-the-spot learning. 

Mom needs to see this. I ask several questions of this 4-year-old master creator. He continues to tell me more as the intensity of his focus continues. It's about the water and tracks in the mud, all needing a big or massive pond. He moves the heavy duty truck creating a road for the tracks that appear. I do not understand fully. But my job is to ask not to explain.

I write and write. My new tablet, a gift, is not here. I'm sorry but I'm from the generation that uses pen and paper. (That'll suffice for the time being, thank you.)  I'm in a hurry. The child does not wait. Leave him alone. The scientist inside of him is working fervently.

The mind of a child works very quickly. I can't keep up. (Do your best, I remind myself). I'm not a stenographer, however, just a grandmother or baba to him and his younger brother. He is putting more tracks in the sand box, having added lots of water everywhere. Where is Oscar going with this? Do I have enough paper? Do I have enough time? Can I write fast enough? Mom needs to know. 

Their level of expertise is compelling. Stay out of their way.  I am slowing them down if I don't. The intellect is taking flight. My only job is to ask the questions, not give the answers. My answers are irrelevant, pointless, of no value, anyway, in this moment of creative story telling in the valley of water, sand and mud. ... I hurry along. These two surpass my pay grade. Dad, where are you? I need your guidance here! 

In this moment of reflection, I see my provocative young grandsons immersed in creating, living in the moment. Who said that child's play is not important? It is the pinnacle of learning, a place to see, hear and experience what the child is doing, up close and personal. 

Experiences of childhood are built, one step at a time, moments scaffolded one upon another, reflecting higher order thinking at its best. It is to see the human mind at work. I'm one lucky girl in the front row  seat of the future.

"Your Patience is Duly Noted"

 

As I prepared their morning meal, now lunch time, I declared to those precious four-legged love bugs, “Your patience is duly noted”. Their food was finally ready. I was apologetic.

The other day, I remarked to my husband the patience and generosity of heart that dogs have over humans. They spend their whole lives playing the waiting games: waiting to be taken outside, waiting to be walked or exercised, waiting to be fed, begging for treats. They should never have to wait to be petted, stroked or simply hugged. These should be automatic. Their presence humanizes us all.

Sometimes, the service we provide to our pets is delayed, not forgotten. In my case, our Mr.Wiggles, the magnificent yellow 80 pound lab just stands there, staring at me, his tail in a slow-go-round motion, hoping to jar the sleepy neurons in my brain to attention. “I'm hungry, already. Where's my food, please?” I apologize as I rush to meet their needs.

Forgotten apples are a criminal offense, destined to remind me that this special treat is their life. Once  established, the ritual remains, entrenched in their hearts and minds, forever. You repeat this healthy daily habit for life. It is that simple.

The return to normalcy in over 2 years has given rise to the return of dogs to shelters. Don't need them anymore. Really. It is a cruel gesture and an easy one to make. They have no voice. But they make us human. They are not an inanimate object subject to the whims of anyone. Books have been written detailing their commitment to their human race. They are devoted to us. How can we do this to them?

Two years in a row, we were homeless, during the summer, in northern Ontario, Canada in the early 70's. Couldn't afford the steep prices of summer abodes so we left hoping to reconnect when teaching began in the fall. At no time did the thought of returning our two retrievers be considered. We were homeless together. Camping became a way of life back then. Today, it would be reservations while our 'kids' stayed with family.

Every family with a dog has the same problem with other families with pets. What to do with them when work or vacation interferes with their care. The internet has opened up vistas of care choices from which to choose. There is no excuse. These beautiful 'people' deserve better. Exchanging babysitting always works. Connecting with others can be the miracle you are looking for. Dogs are precious, kind and oh, so patient.

I must go now. Snack time is here. Their patience with me is beginning to wane. "I'm coming!"

Sally, The Great!

 

She will soon be 14 years old, an incredible feat for a Labrador retriever who has endured cancer surgery, double hind leg surgery along with necrotic lymph node removal all since 2017. There is more. But I can't remember. She is the poster child for perfect patient, perfect pet. The arduous protocols of redressing, weekly, her 'cancerous' leg over many weeks coined her the term 'make work project'.

Our 'Sally' has been dealt a blow to her freedom loving days yet remains the head of her class in endurance. She maintains her status in the 'group'. Yes, she controls me as she monitors the 'halls' of the den waiting for the evening snack to appear: her addiction to apples honed over many years by me. (Teeth are my concern. But now healthy lungs have been added to the list). Her companion attests to that. She stands, glaring at me, as if to say,”What is taking you so long?” “Get on with it so I can rest and go to sleep” Finally, I acquiesce. I'm tired, too, watching her surveilling me as if to catch me in a crime, the crime of not moving fast enough for her.  Yet I'm her willing pawn.

She was a driven little girl. Outside, one morning, at the tender age of two with that gleeful look of hers, she held a huge paper weight, spanning more than the width of her tiny mouth, daring me to try. I won that round. With a tree directly behind her and a high fence on all sides, she could have lost all her teeth and been knocked unconscious had a sudden retreat ensued. I just stood there calmly praising her beauty and smarts while offering her a treasure trove of cookies as trade. She took the bait; I took the 'hostage', while happily thanking her. At this ripe old age of more, she gives hope to the future. 

Pity has no place here. Dogs do not know its meaning. Serves no useful purpose, anyway. Others have it worse. Where there is life there is always hope, always, while a sense of humour goes along way towards healing. The other day I tripped and fell. During a previous event, while rushing to a crisis in the yard, I had tripped down one stair and hit concrete, again. How lucky I was. It hurt. But so what. Others still have it worse. 

Decades ago I was diagnosed with osteoporosis, given Fosamax. After two months, its use was stopped. Pain had enveloped my body.  I could do nothing. It took a year to rid my body of the pain caused by this 'prescribed' drug. Now who's right? I chose to remodel my bones. Strength always equals health. (Open the door for men, ladies.) My body must be stronger in the throes of tripping here and there. My daughter-in-law called me a stunt woman. I laughed. What else could it be? My 'girl' and I are quite the pair. ...Others still have it worse!

In Times of Trouble

We were talking about his business trip, day 4 of 5, when the conversation turned to the weather app he was hoping to install. Northern Ontario, Canada can be a difficult place to be on winter roads. As we spoke he digressed to another moment in time where lives mattered and little was available for help. Cell phone service had not been an option on this isolated stretch of a narrow two-lane northern stretch of highway.

We'd been travelling on a desolate stretch of road in late March, many years ago. An unexpected Spring snow storm greeted us making driving treacherous. Suddenly, we came upon a long lineup of stranded cars on the side of the highway, many stuck in the ditch. There was no shoulder. Signs indicated that nothing - no food or gas - was available for at least a hundred kilometers. Terror held these motorists and us in its grip. We stopped to help. But how, I wondered?  

Earlier that day, we had bought two cases of water for the trip north. My husband, a man of steel, possessing unheard of directional and driving skills, knew what we had to do. I began to distribute the water to the stranded motorists, waiting in their cars, precipitously, on the narrow two lane road. We were worried. Icy roads, with transport trucks as constant companions, made the circumstance a possible life and death issue. The posted speed was 80 klm. We had to get help. Tow trucks and the provincial police would be here soon, we assured everyone. The water, I hoped, would hydrate and keep these travellers able to cope with the events that would be unfolding that day.

Staying inside the vehicles was the safest place to be. Throughout this ordeal, my husband had  remarked that the name Florence Nightingale was being used by those waiting for help as I handed out water. I could not remember the trip nor the exact details of it but felt circumspect and humbled by it all. It was a tumultuous time. What I did was very little yet to be called Florence Nightingale was most humbling. 

Being on that road that fateful day in March was the result of a husband's driving skill and desire for travel. .. (I would be content to just be home with my Labrador puppies.). My sense of direction is abysmal. In earlier times, when we camped, as a family, one son would 'escort' me to the camp store or  'facilities'. On that snowy dangerous day long, long ago, fate intervened reminding us to be ready. Others may need us as we pass through.

 

"Have Fun in Second Place"

The race was over. He had won. He hoped he would 'cause he was better and had had a head start on us. Dad and grandpa had planned it that way.

We had arrived with the super food of the summer at the house of our son and 'daughter', living nearby. Strawberries hit the spot anytime, especially now in June's wondrous heat. We had been up early with plans to shop early at two places then home. I had so much to do. Don't we all? The visit was ending when it happened: the race to the corner.

Our racing competitor, our happy-go-lucky, enthusiastic, 'driven' four-year-old grandson, had recently broken his wrist while playing outside. He had landed on his hand, seriously injuring it. He was unable to play sports for a month so had to adapt and avoid strenuous activity. Then came the idea. Our grandson was on his tricycle with dad behind him directing the race. 'Alex' steered with precision while pedaling speedily along the side walk, smiling at his competitors on the road next to him. Grandpa and his sidekick, grandma, smiled back at this precious child who belonged to them. Rules were followed as the Chevy Avalanche sped to 15 klm. The race was on!

We drove respectively and respectfully down the road as our enthusiastic grandson, on his three wheeler, smiled at his competition. He is an avid and accomplished cyclist but doctor's orders prevented him from demonstrating his prowess for now, broken wrist and all. Dad was so proud.

The street was quiet that morning.  Well under the speed limit, grandpa drove. The little guy, an aficionado of all things big, fast and classic was excited to be racing against the biggest truck of all. And it all belonged to his grandpa!

"Have fun in second place" declared our grandson, happily, as we drove away from this sweet encounter on the corner. He was a delight; the words, beyond his years. And he was ours!

Wiggler's DentalWorks

Our sweet Mr. Wiggles had dental surgery two weeks ago. He sailed through the event with a minimum of discomfort though painkillers were administered, as needed, from the beginning. Once upon a time antibiotics were standard protocols. Not any more. Their inclusion, whenever surgery was performed, was part of the deal. Thank goodness this routine has been stopped.

The morning after the surgery, he seemed unmoved by what had happened. I read the instructions for care over and over again. Nothing was left to chance. Only water, air and softened food could touch his lips the instructions read. Got it. I guess the ambush of a manual 1950's lawn  mower was out. I stopped immediately when I realized he was not amused by me moving this very simple machine, the prototype of all those that followed. I was trying to keep the grassy area looking pristine. Either I stopped or he would attack. Stressing his dental sutures near the back of his mouth by his antics on the tire was not a good idea. So we left.

He panted from time to time, exposing his dental work from few days ago. I did not look to see. I was not interested in seeing what was missing, inside. With the long Victoria weekend looming in 3 days, I booked a visit with his dental doctor to make sure all was well inside his mouth. Two years ago on this appointment date, this doctor saved Mr. Wiggles' life. It was then his platelet count of 14 was discovered during the unremarkable annual exam. That day would prove to be anything but unremarkable. Nothing seemed untoward until this routine blood test revealed the shocking truth. His then 3-year rabies shot was expiring the following day. That one fact alone saved his life.  A higher power had moved me to make that life-saving appointment

From that moment on, I did not trust myself to know or see all that lay hidden beneath my sweet  9-year-old puppy. They are all treasures, you know. More human than we are, I believe. He was dying that long weekend in 2020, pandemic style, yet everything seemed fine until... "You don't know what you don't know". Today's appointment went well. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health and me, too. In three days, the long weekend would be over and if something were to develop during that time its severity would be lessened knowing he had been seen by a professional -not me. I could relax till next week.

During healing and recovery, Mr. Wiggles tried to play with his sister. No play 'biting' allowed. Sutures, you know! His sweeping of the ground outside made the chewing of long grass or dandelions easy 'prey' for this lover of all things green. Stop it, I would say as I moved him gently along. The weed eater was next on his hit list, I reminded myself. By day 4 of week #1, he was drinking water again. Much had been included in his softened food but still I worried about those kidneys, nonetheless.

Company could not visit during the 14 day period as our Mr. Wiggles would excite himself while carrying something from his inventory. Carrying was not allowed. I was elated that he was bouncing back so quickly. Weeks earlier I had cried, momentarily, when I looked at him, one afternoon, knowing he would be 'ambushed' soon. I felt guilty but then recovered knowing it was in his best interests and dogs recover well. 

Diet has always been a top priority in our family - for man and beast. The body can heal itself I know and believe it to be true. My 2 cup food processor helps prepare his raw fruit for his current temporary dietary dilemma. No apple slices, cukes or berries till this is over but the Cuisinart changed it all. Processed and delicious would happen. 

The scent not the sight would keep him happy as his elder sister ate those slices. Yum. He understood. Soon all would be revealed to this precious pup. And it did.

The Sinister Cost of Sugar

Research had now tabled the cost of sugar to our nation's health in the billions, a shocking truth about us and the food industry. It would seem hunger is not the point, any more. It is about cravings, this addiction to non-stop eating.

The 'app' can now aid and abet in this day long pursuit, the instant gratification of eating anything we want. The click is quicker than quick. Our preoccupation with food, as we satisfy our cravings or desires in an instant is pointless. Hunger simply doesn't matter much anymore.

It was decades ago when Focus, a British magazine, revealed, in full size diagrams, the insidious journey of an ingredient found in many processed foods: glucose-fructose. It was harming our liver. In another shocking truth the insidious disease - cirrhosis of the liver - had revealed itself in a child as young as ten! The sugar was found in many processed drinks for these developing humans.

A processed carbohydrate laden diet is unhealthy. Food companies have placed sugar, in all its forms, wherever they deem it prudent, exciting us to eat, non-stop. (The bottom line is at stake for them.) But what about our health and financial bottom lines? 

Simple ingredients in processed foods do not need sugar. I expect sugar in pop, the few times I decide to have it with a burger or pizza slice. It is a measured response that never gets finished. Down the drain it goes or I keep the bottle capped for the next round of a special treat. The drink is not part of the food pyramid, a directive that shows us what foods matter and the daily attention they must command. I only drink orange Brio, that mimics Orange Crush from my bygone era. Sugar cane is the sweetener here not glucose-fructose, the cheaper, insidious additive used by commercial enterprises.

Sugar substitutes are not equal. Natural sweeteners, such as raw honey, honey, maple sugar, coconut sugar, organic, hopefully, are the best. Use them wisely, however. Sweet is sweet, nonetheless, and should be treated accordingly. Homemade is always the best in all situations. A less than acceptable pie or cake is still worthy of eating but in moderation. Have you had a salad lately?

Our grandchildren are being raised in a way that makes real food a delicious treat. One 'son' loves homemade lemonade while chewing lemon slices while another adores oatmeal while a third revels in the eating of an orange. Their dietary footprint was established long, long ago, by mom or dad. When something sweet is given, it is wholesome and a reminder that the main stuff is just as exciting. Momentary detours from established eating patterns serves to remind these future adults that what their parents gave them as babies is the dietary footprint of their future.

Words or phrases referring to sugar in all its guises can be found everywhere. The word crunch, for instance, conjures up enticing deep fried carbs coating the chicken, meat, vegetables or fish in a luxurious fuzzy way, making them so delicious. Why? I have always wondered why some vegetables, 'healthy ' in their natural habitat, are now being dipped, breaded, dipped again then deep fried to tantalize our palate. Calories and cooking manner do matter. Cook the stems of cauliflower, puree, then add to cauliflower flowerettes for an incredible  oven baked au gratin dish. No cream needed. 

Frostings, icings, caramel sauce, dessert toppings, fillings, sprinkles and glazes used on cakes and doughnuts conjure up dessert heaven but are a hazard to our health. The over use of the same oil in deep frying is also a hazard. The rancid oil has decomposed. De-cluttering our diet keeps us healthy. Onions and garlic are my primary dietary aids and various teas: oolong, white, green rooibos with lemon. Dialing down the sugar takes us to a better place.

As parents, our primary role is to teach our children to take care of their bodies. A sugar/carb laden diet might be the path of least resistance but never let it become the dominant path. Apples, oranges and other simple foods from mother nature are the best. Be careful of sugar's mission, though. It is a hidden danger not just a sweet and delicious one. Though I enjoy my Italian rum cake, it is usually accompanied by green, white, hibiscus or oolong tea with lemon- in a mug- together or individually.This healthy drink helps to 'move' along the questionable choices I have made.

When making a 'withdrawal'  from my diet account an equally powerful 'deposit' must follow. It is my important directive for health and longevity. Making changes in our diet to augment a healthy lifestyle takes no time. As we ponder those decisions, remember the power rests with us. Time standstill for no one. And food is medicine. 

(Steamed diced rutabaga and cubed steamed potatoes with added grass fed butter. What a treat for the senses. Cold sliced homemade meat loaf in rye bread is a treat. Add homemade pickled hot banana peppers to the mix and I'm in heaven. Dessert without added sugar is a game changer. The body will thank you. 

The Chair and Mr. Wiggles

He was nervous. I could see. The appointment had been made weeks ago. We were lucky to have secured the spot so quickly. His dental procedure would happen in May. Today's visit to the veterinarian dental surgeon was a meet and greet, an introduction to the patient, our precious Mr. Wiggles. (He wiggled non-stop yet was prone to weight gain)

As we drove to the medical facility, further south than the clinic where his family doctor has practiced for decades, Mr. Wiggles began to whine, a low level siren call to stop. ("We were driving too far", he surmised.) He was uncomfortable with that. He sensed the distance was greater than it should have been. "Where were we taking him?", "What about his older sister?" We had left her at home. "Would they ever be reunited again?"

His panting began while in the lobby.The pandemic had 're-designed' this waiting room so only four chairs were present. I sat down while our precious little 88 pounder male began to pant and squirm. ("I don't know these people", he wondered.) ... Only staff were present. Few clients remained, this Friday afternoon. Consoling him made little difference. Then he 'disappeared'. He was now laying low, under me, disguised by the small chair upon which I sat. He was becoming a fraction of his former yellow retriever body - a head with no body. I looked again. How could he have moved so much and so stealthily, without me noticing? The small chair managed to hide a massive animal body that normally occupied half the sofa space at home. Strange. The anxiety he'd felt had forced him to hide, hoping no one would notice. He was almost invisible. Just a sweet head upon which to plant a kiss.

The doctor asked us in. A warm feeling enveloped both master and puppy. It felt like home. The doctor illustrated Mr. Wiggle's current dental dilemma on screen helping me to understand why. I gave her a dietary history of our Mr. Wiggles and his older sister. Food was always a priority, a healthy adjunct to the chewing of recommended toys etc. (Some manufacturers are lying!) Keeping the gums and teeth in top notch condition was never far from my mind. Silly dubious snacks were never on their menu. It was a 'raw' diet everyday.

Mr. Wiggles panted while the doctor and I attempted to lessen the 'noise' during his heartbeat check. He was nervous, after all. ... On our way home, our very quiet boy fell asleep; his ordeal, over. So was ours.The low level crying was gone as was the panting. Hadn't he realized that nothing terrible ever occurred whenever he was with us? Did he not know that the people we brought him to see were also nice people? Deep down inside, he probably did.

A few weeks later a comprehensive dental plan was sent, listing all the facts and unknowns in our wiggler's case for his next appointment. Digital pictures with explanations galore and treatment protocols necessary were studied. I needed to know and understand. I had that right, after all.

Soon, a painfully sad story of canine teeth and gums will end. As in the case for humans, a yearly dental exam is always recommended for pets. Dental health is constantly evolving. Our pets have no choice. We do.

The Tenth Anniversary of Momsey

Today is the 10th anniversary of the MomseyBlog. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!! I did not think this day would come. I did not think it could last. But somehow, it did. 

I'm not on Facebook or Instagram. I'm an old lady with ideas yet a young one thought I needed to blog. She had recently become a part of our family- 10 years ago- and was continually telling me I was beautiful, smart and needed to write. Over 24,000 people have read what I have written. Imagine that! 

Complete strangers in other countries gave me power I never thought of or dreamed about. I simply had things to say. I never joined Facebook or Instagram. I was too busy. Others needed me more. I was  writing because I was I was encouraged. My then 18-year-old editor, now my daughter-in-law and mom of two, encouraged me to write. In the beginning, I posted one story a week. Now it is less. Things change, families grow and my days are busier than ever. As a grandmother to five - 5 years and under - things matter even more now. “It takes a village” has new significance. 

I write because I must, nothing more. It's a new world now. The pandemic has left an imprint upon the world. Trust has waned during this period. In the past if I had cut off a part of my finger, I would have called for help. When this medical event happened, I stayed home too afraid to seek medical help in a viral world. We were in lockdown. I worried about infection from my carelessness but took precautions to prevent it. The Wiggler and I took matters into our own hands, so to speak. A few months later, my finger healed, looking like new. I realized then that my older body was able to regenerate itself. Another lesson learned. 

Over the years, I have written about the adorable dogs in my life, turning those events about them into teachable and funny anecdotes. Revisiting those stories is an enjoyable path down memory lane for me. My favourite story casts our little mini schnauzer in the lead when a skunk got her one day. The blog, “When an Invisible Cloud Came Running” is both humorous and serious, teaching me a valuable lesson about Mother Nature's power. She is always the boss. 

Yesterday I walked into a local grocery store where I have shopped for many years. I looked to see if it was true. Many of its employees were mask less. I looked around and saw many people without them. It had been a long journey to this day. Lives were changing. I could see smiles again and conversation had been restored. A nice way to celebrate.

A 'Puddle' Like No Other

As I looked towards the spot where Sally, our 8 year old retriever had just released her bladder's 'puddle', Mr. Wiggles and Mall Cop, the males in the group, had arrived to 'wrap it up'. They marked her spot covering the scent of what she had just deposited to keep 'others' at bay. Then little Ella arrived to add to the discussion and 'punctuate' the spot. Seeing was believing!

Unusual animal behaviour had occurred. The act of bodily elimination is a multi daily occurrence in the animal kingdom. With a male dog, it was common to see him protect his female companion by covering her scent with his to keep 'others' at bay. What made today's event so unique was Ella's interpretation of her older brothers' protective behaviour. He was always doing it, moving from tree, to grass then back again, to protect his domain. Mr. Wiggles had followed suit. He was a male after all. Occasionally, a 'collision' between Mr. Wiggles and Mall Cop's head was on course. But both males managed to go their separate ways without any 'mishap'. Soon the unexpected happened. Ella began to play follow the leader, lifting her hind leg, in accordance with male house rules, masking the scent of her male counterparts. It was odd behaviour. ... A female was behaving like a male!

Ella, the female mini schnauzer had learned to behave like a male and did what males do when other females are around, marking territory, covering the scent of the female. Who's scent was she covering? Ella's actions were a remarkable feat of learning. I had never witnessed such misdirected allegiance to behaviour not ingrained in the female. Our little Ella, at 17 pounds and four years of age, was now acting like a 'interim' male, thanks to the teachings of her brother, Mall Cop, alias the professor. I recounted the event to her parents. They had seen it, too. In nearly 50 years of 'owning' male and female pairs of retrievers, I had never seen such behaviour. Ella was learning more than she needed to. I was in awe of her plastic burgeoning brain.

The adult female mini schnauzer had learned a behaviour unbeknownst to all of us. In her doggie mind,  Ella had acquired a male behavioural trait. She had been watching her older brother for years. Her 'mom' told stories of Ella performing this 'masking' act, often, with her brother, during walks in the neighbourhood where other dogs lurked. I'd noticed this behaviour only while dog sitting my two and Ella and Mall Cop.

Ella was an interesting subject, always encouraging her brother, Mall Cop, the professor, to move or else. (I think he worried about what the 'or else' would mean. So he invariably moved to the absurd). I watched in wonder at these two. But then I watch in wonder at all of them including Tiggy, our miracle cat. I was observing and learning much from our four-legged wonders.

Dogs give us so much while telling us their story. I've watched and learned. In over 40 years of pet ownership, I now know that an inert male canine trait can be taught, unknowingly, to a close female canine sibling. Learning can occur in the absence of pen, paper, conversation or textbook. Let that be a lesson to us. Ella was now a most unique canine subject.

Tumbling Down Again!

I scrambled to find those two chocolate chips cookies before he did! As I tumbled down the two stairs into the next room, I realized I needed to find them. (Had I invented a new sport?) With our 'wiggler' in the next room we did not need another crisis on our hands. Dark chocolate is harmful and can kill a dog. Delicious to man but not to beast.

I'd fallen hard. Should I worry? I am an old lady but found those cookies, thankfully. I am 8 years older since that last time I fell. In that earlier event, there had been no warning. I had been knocked down by our one-year-old happy boy, our wiggler while he happily trotted with his three other furry family members. I went flying, slipping over ice, hidden beneath a light dusting of snow. What a way to start the day. Those four looked down at me wondering why I was there. Was I playing with them? Three days of babysitting followed. The diagnosis: broken capillaries in a swollen foot.

Had something broken this time or had the tiny blood vessels simply torn en masse, to heal slowly over time. (Breaking bones can be calamitous.) I called our health consultant son to verify the leg protocols for my fall again. Cold pack for 15 minutes then warm, to follow for days. It continued for over 2 weeks. 

It has been nearly 3 weeks since the disaster. Standing and walking is easier than sitting around with my leg reclined. I stretch, bend and move to get the fluids flowing and the muscles, joints moving. Pity is such a nuisance.

Purple is my colour for the time being. More than I expected. Things could be worse. At my advanced age of 'decomp' I simply laugh, comforted by the knowledge that I found those chocolate cookies before he did.

I prefer wearing a dress or nightgown, now, making my heat/cold applications easier to apply. Wearing pants makes things more uncomfortable. I continue with my dogs' daily routine. I fell not them. They cannot do anything for themselves so onwards I go. No joints were harmed just the loose tissue called fat that reside in the thigh of an old woman- that's me! Nothing really hurts just the lump that lingers there.

I continue with hot/cold. Soon I will see our new doctor. The pandemic is loosening its grip. He will begin seeing patients now. I'm glad. Last year when I chopped off the tip of a small finger, I stayed put and stayed home. There was a lockdown and I was afraid to go the hospital, thinking  things could get worse for me. Stopping the flow of blood was uppermost in my mind. Though I found the top to that finger, I reasoned it was too small for re-attachment.Two hours later the red river stopped, comforting our wiggler who watched me throughout this latest ordeal. Had he been at fault? He is always present when one occurs. Probably just coincidence.

I'm not in pain just discomfort. No painkillers required. They mask the injury not heal it, I knew. As time passes I drink warm liquids with freshly made orange juice. Raw honey is added to augment my healing. I eat fresh pineapple whenever I can. Its bromelain enzyme helps to reduce swelling and address pain as do cherries. Fresh fruit and salads help as well. Falls are not to be taken lightly. Neither should chocolate chip cookies.