If You Say So

I have a really bad memory.  Anybody who knows me would back me up on this one.  Sometimes I call myself absent minded but that's only because it makes me feel like I have a good excuse to forget things.   Like there's so much going on in my head I can't cram it all in there.  I'm not selective either.  I'll forget people, events, places, appointments, facts.....  whole episodes of my life.  I wonder sometimes if other people experience memories the same way I do.

Some memories are so crystal clear.  I could close my eyes and be taken back to that moment in time.  Remembering the sights, exactly what was said, someone's tone of voice or a facial expression. Most surprising of all, these memories bring back the feelings, both good and bad.   Life changing moments like the first time I held both of my children in my arms.  Or the first time I laid eyes on my husband.  The time I sat holding my uncle's hand as he lay dying.  

Sometimes I wonder if some of my memories are only there because someone captured a picture of that moment.  I clearly remember cutting my sister's bangs when she was five and and I was nine.  No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get them even. I kept cutting them shorter and shorter until my mother finally intervened.  My shortlived career as a pre-teen hair stylist was memorialized in her school picture the next day.

I remember more details than just the haircut.  I sat her in a chair in the backyard while I chopped at her bangs with the dull kitchen scissors.  I put a towel around her shoulders to catch the hair.  I even remember it was a blue towel with flowers on it that my mother got out of a box of laundry detergent.   Is it the picture that solidifed those memories?  Every time we pull out my sister's kindergarten picture the story is retold.  How could I ever forget it?  Or was it my mother's anger that cemented this memory in my brain?  Why this memory above so many other forgotten moments?

Sometimes a memory is nothing more than a flash.  I have a picture in my head of myself up on the roof of my neighbors garage with all the neighbor kids trying to coax me to come down.  A big tree is just within my reach but the two inch gap looms like the Grand Canyon in front of me. I had to have been three based on where we were living at the time.  I don't remember getting up on the roof and I'm not sure how I got down either.  I  remember the terror I felt though. 

Most troubling of all is when I can't remember something that somebody else remembers so clearly.  A friend saying "Hey remember the time we......." and I have no flipping clue what they are talking about.  Could have been something from high school or it could have happened only a few years back.  I'm also ashamed to admit that a good 20% of my high school facebook friends are people I only think I know.  I really don't remember them.  They have the same friends I do.  The name seems familiar.  But if my life depended on it I couldn't recount one single conversation I had ever had with them. 

It sometimes seems as if I'm racing through my life leaving behind key pieces of it.    It's very unsettling. 

A Handful

I wrote before about volunteering at the local animal shelter.  I'm glad to report I graduated to dog walking and now spend 2-4 hours per week walking a few of the many homeless dogs the shelter takes in every day.  I really enjoy it.  I get some exercise and feel like I'm doing something worthwhile in the meantime.  The big payoff though is getting the chance to meet and play with new dogs every week.  Most of them are not there long enough to get too attached to them.  That's a good thing.  It means they found new homes.  But there are a few dogs that seem to have a hard time finding new homes.  There are even a few that have been there since I started  back in October.  Usually these long-timers are either senior dogs or, more often, they're pit bulls.

I like to think I have a natural ability to discipline and train dogs.  It really is just a matter of letting them know who's boss with gentle firmness.  I'm mystified by the cases I see on the Dog Whisperer.   The way some people let their dogs push them around.  I'm not afraid of handling the big dogs at the shelter.  I find that most of them can sense a dog person when they meet one and I'm definitely a dog person.   The pits though are a little intimidating. 

I've never really spent much time with pit bulls until now.  I'd heard both sides of the controversy over this breed.  The side that says they get a bad rap and that they are no more vicious than any other breed.   The other side insisting that these dogs are inherently dangerous.  I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle, as it so often does.    

If you've walked these dogs you know how powerful they are.  Pure muscle with a little bit of stubbornness and determination thrown in.  If you've seen them play you know how they love to play tug of war with you.  It's then that the thought runs through your mind how you would be at this dog's mercy if he really wanted that tug toy.  Rationally I know that's true of other breeds too but I've never seen one shake a toy the way the pits do.  It's a little like they're practicing the death grip.

To make matters worse these breeds are often most attractive to people who really shouldn't be owning dogs.  They don't know how to train them, care for them or discipline them properly.  They want pits because they're tough and aggressive.  They think somehow this makes them tough by virtue of ownership.  Once these dogs become too much to handle they end up in shelters.  Along with all the puppies born along the way because so many of them aren't fixed.  

Early on I started walking a dog named Bluto.  He's a white pit bull with a big brown spot over his face.  The first time I walked Bluto he had gotten into the bad habit of jumping on you to demand a treat. I tried to handle this the way I do with my dogs, firmly say no and turn my back to him.  He ended up jumping up and biting my arm, drawing blood.  It wasn't serious but it surprised me and made me a little scared.  

I read the notes the other walkers had written on him.  "Bluto jumps up a lot but settles right down once you tell him to sit and give him a treat." No wonder, the dog had been trained to treat us walkers like treat vending machines.  The shelter dog trainer worked with him using a squirt bottle and he no longer jumps up on people.  He is a real sweetheart and will snuggle up to you and give you kisses when you stop at the bench on the walking trail.  But I can't ever forget how he bit me.  It's good that the shelter works so hard to match dogs to the proper environment.  He's a powerful, strong willed dog and needs an owner with some experience.

The only down side to my volunteer experience continues to be some of my fellow volunteers.  Some are introverts, like me, just there to walk the dogs.  Many of them though have something to prove about either their knowledge of dogs or how dedicated they are to the shelter.  They show it by commenting as you pass by with every dog you walk.  "Oh, Sheba, she sure does love to fetch balls."  "That Whiskers sure was a handful yesterday."  They drive me nuts.  I'm there because I like dogs, and truth be told, more than a lot of the people I know.   So, I smile and move on.  I just keep coming back for the dogs.

Precious indeed.

Yesterday my sister and I had a plan.  We were going to spend a half day at each other's house helping with a task the other was dreading.  For her it was cleaning her basement out.  She is a self-proclaimed hoarder in training.  Early intervention was in order.  My task was cleaning out and organizing all my kitchen cupboards.  We promised to get an early start.  I started for her house at about 8:30 in the morning.  Adding a quick stop at Starbucks would put me at her house around 9am.

As I was driving my mind began to wander, as it often does.  I started out thinking about a very good internet friend of mine and how her husband had a very scary health situation this Christmas. He is on the mend and she was so thankful to be having him home from the hospital soon. This lead me to thinking about my Mom and how she has come so close to dying a few times.  Then I began to wonder if coming close to death fosters a new appreciation for life and if it so, how long does it last?

Life is short and at any moment someone we love can be taken from us.  As I passed under the train viaduct I thought, why this bridge could collapse right now and I'd be dead.  As the oncoming traffic hurled towards me I thought 'all it would take is one slip of the steering wheel and poof, you're gone.  Would my loved ones know how much they mean to me?  I resolved to appreciate the day, my life and my loved ones.

Coffee in hand, I drove down Wayne Rd., one block past Frank's Furniture Store and a right on Ash St., parked my car and headed into my sister's house.  She greeted me at the door.  Then all of a sudden the house shook, the lights went out and we heard  a tremendous boom.  We looked at each other in panic and asked each other back and forth a few times... "What the hell was that?"  Logic dictated it wasn't something in her house that had blown up.  After all, we were standing there unharmed.  She checked the basement anyway.

At a loss as to what had just happened we went to the front door to look outside and saw all the neighbors doing the same.  One of them said that a building had exploded on Wayne Road.  In a daze, we walked to Wayne Road, along with everybody else in the neighborhood.  What we saw was unbelievable.  The entire store was flattened by a natural gas explosion.  Glass and debris strewn all over the road and sidewalks as the force of the blast had blown out the windows of all the businesses up and down the street.

I kept saying to people, strangers..... Oh my God, I JUST drove by that store not three minutes before it happened. Though once I learned that three people had been in the building when it exploded I tried to stop saying it.  It seemed trivial in comparison.  The owner of the store was rescued shortly after the explosion but was badly burned.   We learned later that night that the other two employees had died in the explosion.

Those poor people got up yesterday morning and drove to work just like every other workday.  I feel so badly for their families and friends.  I hope that they find comfort from each other.  Life is so very precious.

Unacceptable

For the last four days we have been dealing with the aftermath of a winter storm. Not a blizzard. Just your regular, run of the mill, snow storm. Unfortunately this storm was followed up by freezing temperatures. This caused the roads to freeze over which makes for slow and dangerous commutes.

When 20 miles separate you from your place of employment there are an infinite number of routes you can take. Each of the last three days I have tried a different way to work. I have not found "the" best way to avoid treacherous roads and the idiots that populate them. Each route has sweet spots but none of these are connected. Just when I think I'm getting somewhere I run into someone creeping at tortoise speed. They act as if their tires are also made of ice. The only thing worse is the idiot who passes you on a two lane road with oncoming traffic.

Strangely though, four days after the storm hit and the freeway ramps and side streets are still snow and ice covered. I was patient about all the snow and ice the first and second days. Curious the third day but willing to accept the explanation of "Salt doesn't work in freezing temperatures". Today, I'm just mad. I'm also entertaining conspiracy theories in which evil government bureacrats horde and sell our road salt to Minnesota for profit, leaving us Michiganders to fend for ourselves on our deathtrap subarban side streets.

Let's examine the facts. I have not seen any salt trucks on the side streets I've been driving every day. I mean, none. I thought they were working on the freeways so I decided to try M14 on the way home today. The freeways are dry and clear, which begs two questions. Why is salt working on the freeways in this freezing weather? Why aren't they moving on to the side streets if the freeways are clear?

If they don't get this cleared up by end of day tomorrow I may have to complain to somebody.   Probably the same people I complain to every year about the potholes that never get fixed. 

Is this run noticeable?

Planned obsolescence is the practice of designing products to break down at a predictable rate in order to force consumers to replace them. Like pantyhose. Odds are slim that you'll ever wear a pair of pantyhose more than three times without getting a run in them. You have a better chance of getting struck by lightning, hitting the lottery or running across a one-legged accordian player doing a polka. The average pair of pantyhose costs about $6. You can pay more, and I have, but my empirical research shows no correlation between cost and durability. At $6 a pair I am dropping about $240 a year. My annual cost would skyrocket if I were the type of woman that frets over her appearance. I don't mind wearing a pair with a run in them if it's not terribly obvious. A hole in the toe though is unbearable. Nothing makes me madder than getting a hole in the toe on the first day you wear a new pair. Into the trash they go.


I refuse to believe that science is incapable of inventing a fabric that is both sheer and tough. This consistent product failure has to be intentional. The hosiery industry has no motivation to increase the useful life of their product. We just keep buying them. Why can't they follow the lightbulb's lead? Some of the bulbs they make these days last for years and consumers gladly pay more for them to reduce bulb changing. I'd pay a pretty penny for a pair of hose I could wear long enough to have to wash them one or two times.

I once suspected that blow dryers were also designed to fail. It always seemed they lasted at most a year or two before burning out. My opinion changed when I bought my latest blow dryer. It's been going strong for 10 years. Well not exactly strong. Currently the folding handle won't lock in position anymore, making the dryer droop unless you prop it as you are using it. But it's workable. The innovation in hair dryer technology that made this possible was the addition of a hatch over the air intake part of the dryer. I can clean it out regularly which keeps the dryer from overheating. I'm shooting for 20 years of usage of my current dryer. It's a trooper.

The most durable car I've ever seen was a work bucket Dodge my Dad drove back in the 80's. It was an old,  ugly, aqua green monstrosity with fins, chrome and a push button transmission. That thing was solid as a rock. What finally did her in was rusted door hinges. Hell, if my Dad had been willing to ride around Jeep-style I bet that thing would still be driveable. The worst car I've ever had was a Mercury Monarch my Dad bought for my sister and me. It was only 4 or 5 years old I think. But the body was literally rusting off the frame. Sis and I were mortified to have to drive it in front of our friends. But my Dad, bargain hunter that he is, couldn't see spending more to spare us the humility of driving the Rust Bucket. Stupid car only had AM radio too.  I suspect this was also planned obsolescence.  You can only listen to country and news talk radio for so long. 

Crazy Train

I was in DC this past weekend attending the Rally to Restore Sanity. The media is struggling to explain what happened there. Some of them are dismissing it as "entertainment", just comedy and music with no serious message. Others are calling it a bold move from the liberal left.   This need to sum everything up into an easy to understand, usually sensational, message is just more evidence of the problem.

Some things are beyond categorization and summation. Each rallyer had their own reason for being there, their own interpretation of the "message", their own feelings about the day. In a group of over 200,000 people you're going to find differing opinions. I think that was the point.

The minute the rally was announced I knew I was going. Every day it's becoming increasingly difficult to recognize this country. The hate and fear spewing from our TV's would lead you to believe that sensationalism is the only thing that matters anymore. Attending the rally felt like something positive I could do -add one more person to the throng I hoped would show up. My message was "You people are crazy." Who are "you people"? I'm talking about the loud mouthed, obnoxious media celebs that offer up their hate and bias and call it news. What have they created in the pursuit of ratings (profit)? People who actually think that nut jobs like Sarah Palin, Christine O'Donnell, Paul Rand, Meg Whitman, and Sharon Angle are viable candidates for anything except a ride on Ozzy's Crazy Train.

So, I went to the rally, along with a lot of other people. In the middle of that massive crowd in our nation's capital, it felt good to be an American with a constitutional right to peaceably assemble, for whatever I wanted to assemble for. My voice counts, my opinion matters and my beliefs don't make me less American. No matter what Fox News says.

I believe that those blessed with more financial resources should pay more taxes. I believe that two people should have the right to be married, regardless of their genders. I believe that hard working illegal aliens should have a path to US citizenship. I believe that the way to stop illegal immigration is to punish those who create the jobs that attract illegals to this country and then pay them sub poverty wages to do back breaking work. I believe that health care reform didn't go far enough. As long as insurance companies run the show profit will continue to be the driving factor in health care. I believe in a single payer system... if it's an option it's not really single is it?  I believe that business, left to its own, unregulated devices will do anything to add to the bottom line, no matter the cost to human suffering. 

It's so laughable when politicians spout off about "What the American people want" is blah blah blah. As if we are one person. I think being an American is a little like being married. You don't agree with everything your fellow Americans (spouse) want to do, and you surely disagree with some of their beliefs, but you work through it - compromise, acceptance, tolerance and respect. There might be some yelling along the way but in the end you have to reach a workable solution that maintains the peace. What good is winning the battle if your marriage is destroyed in the process?

One little word.

I quickly glanced over my Google iPage and read that it's "Cook Your Pet Day".  Say what?  I opened the article and found that I'd skipped over the word "for".  Today is "Cook FOR Your Pet Day".