Dem Bones

It’s uncomfortable to be the only person in the room who does not speak Spanish, especially when you know they are talking about you. My housekeeper commented repeatedly that I needed a massage because my posture is a mean copy of a mobile pretzel most days. Injuries that were not addressed properly by medical personnel left me coping with the injury and the consistent pain anyway I could, but I pay a high price for what’s past. When Lulu told me to “call Rosa,” I did; however, the message was in Spanish and I left a message in English, so we never hooked up. This past week was different: Lulu called and made the arrangements for the massage, and then she took me to the appointment: an apartment on the east side of the valley.

Rosa is not very tall, she’s chunky, and her smile reveals many missing teeth. She asked her son and Lulu to translate about all previous injuries, which, for me is a long list: I’ve broken both of my legs in separate injuries; had 3 knee surgeries on the left and 2 on the right; I broke my left arm, followed 3 months’ later with a fractured ball joint on the same arm, accompanied with fractures along my clavicle, and most recently, I fractured my L4 vertebrae. I have osteo-arthritis stem to stern, along with posture that would make any chiropractor cry. When I stood up to go into the massage room, I was a bit hesitant because it never entered my mind that the massage would be in Rosa’s bedroom, and I would be directed to lay face down on Rosa’s bed.

With uncanny accuracy, Rosa found every single sore spot on my body and mercilessly attacked each one and beat the muscles and nerves into submission. I tried “no mas” a couple of times, but she ignored me and continued to kneed, stretch, massage, and then pull my spinal column into alignment. At one point, she grabbed my head and wham! pulled it so hard and so fast that I thought she was using that stealth killer move that instantly kills a victim by breaking his/her neck!! I survived it once, but a bit later on, she did it again before I realized what the heck she was doing. I had asked for a full body massage, and, by God, I got it: in spades! There was no mercy until Rosa determined that she had won the battle of my bones.

Rosa may give massages, but she outdid any chiropractor I know. Most professionals take 6 months to do what Rosa did in 2 hours, and she did not stop once she began. When I finally lifted my body from her bed, there was not a single pain anywhere, which I consider a miracle just based on the force of the massage and spinal manipulation Rosa did for 2 solid hours. When I woke up this morning, I expected to see bruises from head to toe, but nope, no bruises, and no pain either. I don’t know how long the effects will remain, but I hope it lasts through Monday’s travel.

Details

The big gallon dog auto-waterer stopped working, which means that all the water flowed out over the kitchen floor (tile, so easy to mop up the deluge). I was going across the freeway anyway, so I bought a replacement, deciding this time to get the smaller model, which weighs less when filled with water as my age increases. Brought it back home, pre-cleaned it before filling with water for my thirsty dogs, then set it on the floor.

Woosh! All the water poured out onto the kitchen floor I had just mopped from the previous deluge. Picked the waterer up, as well as all the water, went back to the kitchen sink after thoroughly investigating the equipment operational aspects, and again filled the tank. I carried the water container back to install onto the stable base, and Woosh! All the water again left the tank for the kitchen floor.

Okay, so I am determined that this darned thing is going to work, but I don't know how, so I dried it off and took it back to the store of purchase for a refund. Something wasn't right, but I had no idea what it was ... until the clerk pointed out that I had purchased a feeder, not a waterer. The feeder backs up in the delivery shoot and the dogs removing feed releases more feed; however, when it is used for water, there is no "back-up," so the water floods the floor.

Well, now I know and I'll be more careful in the future to check out the equipment before I purchase it. When there's a picture of dog food on the side of the dispenser, it means that it's a food dispenser; when there is a picture of a dog drinking water, it's a watering system.

Benefit to the experience: my kitchen floor is clean! Feeling foolish is just another by-product of one's advancing age.

We're Outta Here

Has the US ever entertained the thought, while the people they are committed to "save" from either the government or themselves, riot in the street -- hey, we're outta here. Just pack up the military vehicles, equipment, and personnel and ... leave?

We've tried our best in Iraq, Afghanistan, and all the other places wherein Muslims reside, and it is obvious that they do not want and/or need further help from us. Acknowledge the people's wishes and withdraw our aide in whatever form it takes.

We don't need more Americans killed while trying to do their best for people who don't want what we are offering.

Sticks and Stones

Cinnamon is growing litterly by leaps and bounds. She has learned how to bark and play both tag and keep-away with Daisy; unfortunately, that madhouse occurs as often in the living room as it does outside. Daisy’s nose has been out of joint since Cinnamon came to live with us, but she’s slowly making her peace with the littlest dog in our house.

Mia? She’s never had her own litter, but she’s a “mama” when it comes to other dogs. Mia is the one who sniffs the appropriate places on Cinnamon to determine whether we need another trip to the potty place, and Mia is right more often than she’s wrong.

Several weeks ago, I had a neighbor earn some spending money by hauling wheelbarrows full of dirt into the area along the fence that Mia digs up. He brought in 10 loads, so I thought we were set; however, Mia has managed to dig two large craters into which she folds herself when the nights are just warm enough, without being too hot, and therein she sleeps the night away. Cinnamon has discovered that there are small rocks throughout the sandy area, rocks that she roots out first with her nose and then with her ferocious digging (note rock in photo). She tosses sand this way and that until the rock is showing, and then she digs it out and brings it into the house, where she plays her own form of ceramic tile soccer. I have to keep picking up the rocks and taking them back outside because that is a slip and fall waiting to happen!

Cinnamon’s other favorite chew toy is a stick, but I try to be quick to take them away as she hauls them into the house. Sticks shred, and her digestive system is not ready to handle wood shards. Yes, I have indeed invested a small fortune in an assortment of chew toys, but just as the younger child likes the empty boxes and wrapping paper at Christmas, rather than the toy inside the wrapped box, Cinnamon likes her sticks and stones.

I’m glad I brought Cinnamon home, even though the timing is not the greatest. I’ve made arrangements for her to stay with my housekeeper while Yucheng attends classes and I'm away from the house. It’ll be a bit of back and forth, but it’s important that Cinnamon knows this is her home, even when I’m not here to play with her and cuddle. Of course, she's still small enough that I could stash her in my shoulder bag and take her with me, but that's not a good idea with the full house already planned for the wedding!

The Man with a Plan

It's already been too much for too long with too few details. The candidates vying for the win in November's election sound the same: I have a plan ... . The art of circumlocution is honed to a dull roar of meaningless patter at each stop on the campaign trail. I have a plan; you have a plan: my plan is better than your plan, but neither one of us can reveal our plan because it may not be as good a plan as the other guy's plan, and on and on and on it goes.

I don't want to know that you have a plan: I want to know what your plan is!! As a classroom teacher, I was required to have a specific lesson plan each and every day of the semester for each and every class/course that I was responsible for teaching. I could not tell my supervising administrator that my educational goal is "I hope to teach these students" because s/he wanted to know WHAT I would teach, how I would teach it (including the PowerPoint presentations with the bulleted major points), and what measurable outcomes I would use to evaluate the students' progress toward a specific goal.

I could not walk into a classroom with "hope" and call it either a lesson plan or an achievable educational goal. Hope is what I have; measurable outcomes are what the students' either achieve or fail to achieve. I could try blaming the previous teacher(s), but that sounds so ... whiny, unprofessional, irrevelant to MY job performance. It's always a factor, but my job was to find a way to progress beyond what last year's teachers did or failed to do, not go back 4 or 8 or 12 years ago and pin the blame on those teachers.

Ditto the political arena: don't tell me what failed in the past and then what you hope will happen once you are elected; instead, share the specifics of how you will achieve specific goals. If you believe you can add 2 million jobs in a faltering job market, tell me how you are going to do that ... specifically, and what measurable outcomes apply to your successful completion of that action plan. If you say you have yet another plan to turn this economy around, detail the key elements of that plan, as well as the contingencies for altering the plan if it does not go as planned. Blaming the past administrations and/or the opposing party is NOT a Plan B; these are tough times that require specific actions to happen before the economy can rebound, actions that begin when the person responsible for initiating them has a specific action plan that we, the voters, can understand and support, as well as measurable outcomes that detail what "I hope" looks like, rather than the old "just you wait and see" promise.

If you are still promising hope with your rhetoric, but cannot provide the educational plan and measurable outcomes in a PowerPoint presentation, I'm not tossing away my one ballot/one vote on your personal positive outlook on life.

Puppy Love

Yes, I already have 2 dogs, both of whom I brought home with me already imprinted with someone else's early nurturing. I love my dogs, but Mia is having physical issues and I may have her put to sleep ... sooner, rather than later. Daisy is very set in her ways, and it's Daisy's way or the highway. She is not thrilled that I brought home a new puppy, but Mia and I are enjoying her very much. Today, as a matter of fact, Cinnamon crawled up from my belly to my left arm, which was tucked against the couch, scooted around until she was comfy, and didn't move for an entire hour.

Cinnamon is Applehead Chihuahua and Pomerainian, and her mother and daddy are both about 2/3 Daisy's size. Her fur (refer to photo) is a soft, buttery yellow with one cinnamon dot; hence, her new name: Cinnamon. Her nails need clipping, and I must make a vet appt for her shots, as well as an appt to be "fixed."

As far as I can tell, she's smart, already playing with the crazy blue ball and quickly learning how to come in/go out the doggy door. Of course, the first time she made it through one side, she curled up on the little base between the inner and outer flaps, then went soundly to sleep. Imagine Daisy's surprise when she came bounding through the doggie door! When it's time to go to the potty place, both Mia and Daisy walk her over to the shaded sandy area they have all used until they were big enough to make it out to the dog run. It's cute to see the little troop of dogs heading out, single file, Mia in the lead, Daisy in the middle, and Cinnamon running furiously to keep up with the much larger dogs, on their way to pee.

Cinnamon can bark, at first tentatively, but when it's at Daisy, her bark becomes louder. A really obnoxious yapping dog is sometimes as effective at keeping strangers outside the fence as the ferocious bark of a bigger dog. My goal: less large poop piles to clean up every week.

I am by nature a nurturer, and right now I need something to nurture. I've killed almost all of my houseplants in the past 6 weeks, either by over-watering or under-watering, I'm not sure which. Instead of replacing them, I'm going to nurture the dog and fervently pray that the dog fairs better than the plants.

Blueberry Possum

This morning, as I was reading all the tidbits from the night's news, my eyes caught the title of a small article: Blueberry Possum: luxurious locks you'll love.

Now, I know I have developed cataracts, but had no idea how it's affecting my vision until I figured out that ... Blueberry Possum is actually Burberry Prosum, and the "luxurious locks" I anticipated loving are not hairstyles, but "looks," as in clothing.

Before figuring it out, however, I had pondered just what the heck a Blueberry Possum hair-do could possibly look like when it was a finished style.

Sighing.