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Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Swimming in Oatmeal

Eight days until Ash Wednesday. The Lenten season is forty-five days starting—this year—March 5th and ending on April 20th Easter Sunday. Every year, I give up something for Lent as part of my spiritual building exercises. I’m not sure if it improves my character but I do have a better understanding of my failures and therefore a pathway toward divine development.
Each year I pick something heinous to give up. The choice is not easy because, unlike New Year resolutions, the contract is not with myself but with my maker. I have successfully given up cigarettes, chocolate, coffee, soda, sugar, meat, impulse buying, television—most for Lent and cigarettes for good. Swearing was a failed choice. I tried. Really I did. I never made it more than five days without something slipping out of the mouth.
My marriage almost dissolved during the great coffee abstinence of 2010. Every morning, Paul begged me to give up my pledge which made me even more determined to stick with it. I had become a crone with attitude. Migraines blossomed during the day but I held my bitchy guns and made it to the end. No one was happier to see Easter than my husband. He made me swear to never do that again. Agreed.
So much has changed in my life and quickly, from loss of husband, health, job, to separation from friends and my Bay Area home. I feel like I am swimming in oatmeal. Yes. I am moving forward. The sensation is not unpleasant but this is not who I am. If there is anything I would give up, it would be the wet mush around me that slows down my progress. How in the world do I define that?
Perhaps if I choose not the negative but the positive and pray…
Lord, today
Help me taste the day
Help me witness beauty
Help me hear good reports
Help me touch someone
Help me believe you're here
Today, Lord.
 Dear Lord: I give up all that holds me down. Amen.
Okay if that doesn't work then I'll give up cookies. 

Dog Food Update

It’s been twenty days since my Poindexter has been eating the homemade dog food as his regular diet. He has not turned up his nose once at the meal. He still gets one bowl of dry food per day but I’ve cut back on snacks and table scraps. Dex is happy and active. Looks like we are done with canned food.
Here is the recipe again for those who did not see it.
Dog Food Casserole:
4 lbs ground turkey meat
1 lb canned Navy or Red Beans
1 lb frozen mixed vegetables (corn, carrots, peas, green beans)
2 cups cooked brown rice (which is 1 cup uncooked) *I used Wild Rice instead in my rice cooker.
1 cup cooked oatmeal *I used Trader Joe’s Organic Multigrain Hot Cereal with rye, barley, oats, and wheat. Microwaved one cup with 1¼ cups of water.
1 cup 2% fat cottage cheese
2 large eggs
¼ cup nutritional yeast
 Cook rice and oatmeal then allow it to cool. Find a very big bowl. Mix all the ingredients together until blended. You will need two large baking or lasagna pans sprayed with oil. Spread the mixture into the pans. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 60 to 90 minutes. This is a basic meat loaf recipe and will cook about the same. Cool and cut into dog can portions. If you have a little dog you should get 36-48 squares (42 to 31 cents per serving). Poindexter’s size was about 12 squares ($1.42 per serving). Pop into plastic freezer bags and freeze.  I like to heat a portion in the microwave before serving.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Creeping Crud


“How can I help you?” The male voice squeaked into my cell phone.
“Sounds like you have a cold.”
“Yes, it’s been hanging on for over a week.”
“Nasty stuff. Have you tired hot toddies?”
Laughter. “Without the rum?”
“During the work week of course…I want to get an upgrade on my cable that includes a sports package.”
That was it. One phone conversation with one individual—I’m downing Emergen-C every two hours and slathering Vick’s Rub over my chest like Sheldon on Amy Farrah Fowler.  Perhaps it was the Facebook chat with Rick also curled up in a ball with the creeping crud. More likely, I succumbed to the one-hundred fifty church goers of whom were starting, getting over, or ending a three week misery of a cold. Kudos to the other two hundred members who did not have colds but were most likely carriers of the disease.
This is my third cold of the season. The first came from a crowded American Airlines flight from London to Dallas. The plane packed with hackers and coughers who lacked one single Kleenex between them. Next, came after Thanksgiving, an illness gained from Monday sales meetings with contagious co-workers. And now…when I need my strength and focus for my job and personal goals, I am sick. Timing is everything.
I have been told that the cold is God’s way of saying. “Slow down.” I not sure if I buy into that. Does that mean shepherds don’t get colds? Toll bridge workers? Inspector 12 who checks the quality of my pillow? Conversely, wouldn’t the President be sick all the time? What about Olympic hopefuls? There is some pressure and stress right?

I am in sales. I need to talk by Monday. Anyone, please shoot me an email, comment or FB post of the best sure-fire cure for this crud.  Thank you!

Monday, February 17, 2014

Internal


I want to be a writer.
Aren’t you published?
Well…yes.
Then are you a writer?
I want to be a full time writer.
Why aren’t you a full-time writer?
My husband died, then I got cancer, then I needed income…
Is that the reason?
Um.
What is the reason?
Well, I need to make money.
Don’t writers make money?
Yes, some but not much.
So how much money do you need to make?
Depends.
On what?
What I want to do.
Didn’t you say you wanted to be a full-time writer?
Yes, but…
But what?
I want to travel and get some new clothes and…
Didn’t you say you wanted to be a full-time writer?
Yes.
Isn’t that goal worth a sacrifice or two?
Yes, but I need to make some money now.
Don’t you have a job?
Yes.
Don’t you make money?
Yes, but…
Do you see a problem?
There is so little time.
Really?
Between work, the dog, church…
Didn’t you watch the entire season of House of Cards this weekend and last month, Game of Thrones seasons one, two and three?
Hey, I can relax once in a while.
Jeopardy? Nova? Downton Abbey?
Okay. Okay. I have time.
And the dedication?
Perhaps.
So what is stopping you?
Me.

Ah, therein lies the problem.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Easier to Find a Husband


Ten months, I have been advertising, networking, and praying for a renter. I’m not asking for a lot—someone intelligent, clean, honest, close to my age, that likes my dog, doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend spending the night, no kids spending the weekends, someone quiet, won’t destroy my house, that will pay the rent, doesn’t mind parking on the driveway, and I won’t kill after a month. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, yes.
I’ve hired a roommate finder agency, posted ads at churches and senior centers. No luck. Most of the time, I read the room/share wanted ads on Craigslist.org.
The read is like this:
“…man in his late 40's looking for a place. I am neat and clean. I want no drama or bring any. I can do work for exchange for rent. I am honest, hard working, healthy, six-foot tall, looking for place…”
Picture two beautiful women with pouty smiles looking at the camera with the following caption, “We need to find a place ASAP, myself and my fifteen-year-old daughter…We are quiet, (you probably won’t know we’re there most of the time). I just need a safe environment …”
There are the traders—will do housework, yard work, or companionship. The 420 friendly grass smokers, cigarette smokers, and yes, 215 friendly pot growers, they do advertise. A couple who are or want to be foster parents for four rescue dogs while renting a home, “prefer tile floors for obvious reasons.” A young man looks for a place to crash for free for a few months. The sad ads: eighteen-year-old brother and sister leaving mom and dad to hang out and “get away from a hostile home.” “Single mom with three kids. Can’t afford motel. Need two rooms.”
I know that everyone needs a home and I pray everyone finds their match, but some of the ads were scary. One man wanted rent a room to bring his “young daughter” there once every two weeks or so. He would not live at the rental just show up with a young girl. I tried to make that into an innocent request but there has been too much on the news about abducted girls.
The suitable listings are rare and involve some kind of compromise. It is not like the college days where four of my friends made do in a two bedroom flat. It is interesting to be in the same situation at the autumn of my life as I was in the spring. My four bedroom home costs me money—taxes, utilities, and upkeep. With a renter, the house would be a self-sustaining asset.

I’ll keep looking for a renter or find Poindexter a job. Does anyone need a part-time squirrel chaser?

Saturday, February 8, 2014

NEITHER RAIN, SLEET, OR HAIL


It’s my fault really.  Three years ago, we got a shelter dog in December. It rained and rained and…not the best weather to potty train a twelve week old pup. At that time we had not renovated the yard. With the Sacramento hardpan and the incline to Elk Horn Boulevard behind the back fence, each inch of rain transmuted into three inches of standing water in the backyard.
Poindexter’s stubby Bassett legs raised his body an inch and a half to two inches at best. When he squatted in the yard all but his shoulders and head were above water. The cold puddles made his sad eyes weep. He would not go out alone. Trained by a foster home before he was released to the pound, he refused to do any of his business inside the house. Good dog.
To keep the little guy from exploding, I slipped on my housecoat and UGGs, tromped into the flooded yard, and stood vigil over my peeing-pooping pup. Every two hours. Every Day. Every night. Dex went on command in waters chin-level without a whimper. On particularly bad days, I let him pee into a pile of leaves I had arranged on one corner of the patio. That did not serve him for number two.
Eventually, it stopped raining. Dex got taller—not by much. He braved any weather on his own. I thought my rain duties had ended.

            I dare anyone to come up with a more pitiful looking mug than a Bassett mutt holding a mangled Frisbee and whining at the patio door. Yes. He will do his business in the rain but play? No. The sad face and ear-splitting whine continue until I don my raincoat and schlep out into the wet for a game of fetch. Dex will play until he drops as long as I am soaked too. As I stated earlier it is my fault. I trained him.  

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

DOG FOOD


My Poindexter is a rescue dog.  Found on the streets at four weeks old, raised in a foster home and placed in the pound where my husband and I fell in love with the Bassett eyes. The county lock-up provided basic dry food for the animals. The foundlings gobbled it up gratefully until…
Paul, my husband a Saratoga native, believed the food should be nutritious and set about finding the best food for our mutt. We tried a wide variety of canned and dried foods, settling on two different brands. Unfortunately, the cost of the food eked up a bit every year. The bag of dried food now is a whooping $18 a bag and the canned $2.79 to $2.99 each.  On a widow’s budget that is extreme.
I haven’t helped matters by providing a lamb shank once a month or an occasional steak. To be fair, the lamb shank on sale comes in at $2.79 to $3.00 and does a great job of cleaning up the tooth plaque from his giant teeth.
To hold the household to a budget, I started with mixing Poindexter’s high end dry food with the cheap Kibble and Bits—half and half. He likes it better than the plain but cuts my costs by almost thirty percent. The meat and canned food he got at night killed the budget.
I snagged a recipe provided by a committee at my church. (Thank you Razzle Dazzle). It seemed doable and with some modifications I made the recipe for my fifty-pound hungry dog.  The Dog Food Casserole called for garlic cloves. Sorry but my vet and ASPCA has garlic on the toxic food list for canines.
I also left out peas because Dex hates them. You can give him soup, dog food, or pot roast. If he finds a pea, he spits it out, amazing for a creature that cleans his entire body with his tongue. I also left out wheat germ because I didn’t have any.

Poindexter showed up in the kitchen once the rice was done and I started mixing the turkey meat with the egg. He stood guard over the oven until I finally served him his meal. He has scarfed down the dog food each time and licked the bowl clean. He is a big fan.  
Here’s the modified recipe.
Dog Food Casserole:
4 lbs ground turkey meat
1 lb canned Navy or Red Beans
1 lb frozen mixed vegetables (corn, carrots, peas, green beans)
2 cups cooked brown rice (which is 1 cup uncooked) *I used Wild Rice instead in my rice cooker.
1 cup cooked oatmeal *I used Trader Joe’s Organic Multigrain Hot Cereal with rye, barley, oats, & wheat. Microwaved one cup with 1¼ cups of water.
1 cup 2% fat cottage cheese
2 large eggs
¼ cup nutritional yeast

Cook rice and oatmeal then allow it to cool. Find a very big bowl. Mix all the ingredients together until blended. You will need two large baking or lasagna pans sprayed with oil. Spread the mixture into the pans. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 60 to 90 minutes. This is a basic meat loaf recipe and will cook about the same. Cool and cut into dog can portions. If you have a little dog you should get 36-48 squares (42 to 31 cents per serving). Poindexter’s size was about 12 squares ($1.42 per serving). Pop into plastic freezer bags and freeze.  I like to heat a portion in the microwave before serving.
BTW I took a bite. It is delicious. So if I end up being Old Mother Hubbard at least I will be eating quality dog food.
According to the ASPCA:
Foods to Avoid Feeding Your Pet
•           alcoholic beverages
•           avocado
•           chocolate (all forms)
•           coffee (all forms)
•           fatty foods
•           macadamia nuts
•           moldy or spoiled foods
•           onions, onion powder
•           raisins and grapes
•           salt
•           yeast dough
•           garlic

•           products sweetened with xylitol (04/06/2007)

Sunday, February 2, 2014

NFL Super Bowl XLVIII


Super Bowl parties! They are fun—filled with family and friends. I attended the best one ever and I did not leave my home but I hung with all my favorite peeps. Dan and Angel cheered mightily for the Seahawks in their Seattle condo. Steve dished “Pey Pey” in Nashville.  Rick offered a spread of yummy game snacks in Citrus Heights. Suzanne, while sitting in her home in Nebraska, extolled the beauty of Renee Fleming’s rendition of our national anthem.
Between my smart phone email, text, and the iPad mini with Facebook, I kept in real-time contact with ten households from Lodi, California to Murfreesboro, Tennessee. If I had really stopped to analyze what I was doing I probably could have added in more friends and Skyped a few more.
We live in a fantastically unbelievable world these days. My family and friends are spread to the four corners of this big blue marble but are all accessible as if they lived next door. A few decades ago, I might have been at a party, picked up the phone, and called my brother. Everyone in the room would have shouted, “Hey.” That would have been it. Instead I got such gems as—“Bieber busted. Raiders not playing. My life is hell…got chili on tho…” Digital image pops up of half eaten chicken wings and strawberry shortcake.  Image of Peyton Manning on the phone asking if his mother would come pick him up. “One moment please, Seahawk HATERS!!! 29-0 just 12 seconds into the 3rd quarter. Could we have a moment of silence please?”
Witt and barbs flung back and forth through the cloud. The final gun, confetti, and then as if a party ended, they wandered through the cloud and back to their lives. I am struck but the simplicity of the electronic communication and the comfort of it all.
My great grandmother Flossie Mapes came across this country in a covered wagon. She communicated with those left behind in letters written in gorgeous script we now call calligraphy. It took hours to write anything of significance and weeks to get a reply. Images of loved ones were taken on tintype and pressed on paper. Some of them still exist in an antique family bible that my brother now owns.
Tomorrow morning my goddaughter will text me a message with a smiley face or a heart to start my Monday as she always does. I will feel close to her though she lives one hundred and twenty-nine miles away. My cousin Katie in Hawaii will post a selfie on Facebook depicting her weekend events. Sue Tornai, Sunrise Christian Writers, will post the events for February on our website. Many times I take this for granted though it is truly remarkable. The ability to touch someone anywhere at any time is a hallmark of this new century.

I hope you had fun at your Super Bowl party.