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Posts Tagged ‘Animals’

During this latest surge of the Omicron strain of coronavirus, I’m beginning to think this little bug has staying power.

If you’re of a certain age, you’ve had your childhood case of Measles back in the 1950s. For that matter you survived the German Measles, Chicken Pox and Mumps! You heard your mother pleading with you not to scratch itchy pustules as she ministered to your fevers and spread Vicks Vapo rub all over your chest. And when you recovered, she’d whip up an ugly tasting eggnog out of raw eggs.

Lucky for us, we were the generation of the Polio vaccine. We knew children in wheelchairs because of Polio, but we were the test subjects for a worldwide Polio vaccine. I dutifully lined up at Sacred Heart School to suck on my first sugar cube. We all had a Smallpox vaccine scar on our arms. Around that time, smallpox was completely eradicated by a strong public health response.

But this time, something is different. Just as researchers miraculously create a coronavirus vaccine in record time, the virus shifts into a different gear. And this time, an uneducated, anti-science cult of the misinformed disdains vaccines. So we are left with its every day presence, and its death counts are everywhere.

To escape from the constant undercurrent of anxiety, my reading habits have changed. I want my bedside tableau of books to reflect a happier time; or at least something non-controversial. Like say animals – I picked up Susan Orlean’s On Animals because I thought it would be happy and light. I was wrong. With a journalist’s eye, she delves into the myriad ways in which humans have historically used and abused animals.

I thought On Animals would be perfect to read before bed because it’s a series of short essays. Orlean has a splendid way with similes, making each animal chapter sing. Poor Willy the Orca (actually Keiko the actor whale with a wilted fin) is portrayed as a victim of circumstance who swims to Norway to panhandle tourists! But it was the noble rabbit that caught my attention and elevated my stress level.

“The most recent essay… takes up outbreaks of hemorrhagic disease among rabbits, a timely issue. Orlean effectively explores the conundrum surrounding the fact that some rabbits die during the vaccine production process that protects other domestic rabbits — and wild rabbits remain unprotected altogether.”

https://www.npr.org/2021/10/12/1043293943/book-review-susan-orlean-on-animals

Granted one rabbit must die to save 10,000. Still, the population of wild rabbits may be extinguished forever by an Ebola-like virus. And the problem is those little bunnies are stoic. They never let on that they don’t feel well, they just keel over and die! We once bought a lop-eared rabbit for the Bride at the Monmouth County NJ Fair from a 4-H tent. Bob built a large elevated enclosure in our yard for the rabbit, who managed to escape eventually.

Orlean tells us that rabbit meat was commonplace on American tables before the cattle industry ramped up after WWII. And of course, Bugs Bunny signaled the end of rabbit farming in the states. But this particular rabbit virus causes a disease, myxomatosis, that was first detected when pet rabbits started dying.

“Myxomatosis is a severe, usually fatal, viral disease. In some countries, it has been used as a way of reducing the number of wild rabbits. It first reached the UK in the 1950s and decimated the wild rabbit population at the time. The disease remains a risk today, to both wild and pet rabbits. The acute form can kill a rabbit within 10 days and the chronic form within two weeks, although some rabbits do survive this.”

https://www.bluecross.org.uk/advice/rabbit/myxomatosis

Our pillow talk has turned a dark corner. Last night, I told Bob all about those poor rabbits and followed it up with a summation of the BBC article I’d read about an elephant virus with a mortality rate of 85%. “Oh, and did you hear they found coronavirus in white-tailed deer?”

Bob turned to me and said, “Maybe we should talk about something other than plagues.”

A part of our menagerie

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Yesterday, I let W the Frenchie out on the porch, and he went straight for the new cactus dish I had planted. I caught him just in time, his tiny nose was saved from all those dreaded cactus spines. While I was telling the Bride this story, she let it slip that W was down to one meal a day since his puppy fat rolls were growing more fat rolls. My poor Grand Dog must be starving!

Then low and behold, I read a Chasten Buttigieg Tweet lamenting the 20 pounds he gained during Covid. But, he went out and bought new pants after a friend told him, “… maybe just dress the body you have and stop worrying about it.” He finished with being grateful for his friends and the “bigger pants.”

First of all, I didn’t think that guys would mind a little tire around the middle. I thought it was mostly a women’s issue – body dysmorphia and diet culture (aka the business of betting on your willpower) has been marketed to women for quite some time. Where once we were implored to become “bikini ready,” now the industry urges us to lose weight for health reasons. My Mother’s diet culture has morphed from grapefruits into jargon about “wellness.”

I felt like confessing to Chasten (and his 588.8K followers) that I too had gained weight during this past year of: losing our family’s matriarch; no gym work-outs; intense election and January 6th anxiety; plus Bob’s delicious-never-ending sourdough bread. Yep, I proudly admit I’ve gained 10 pounds which is a whole dress size, but who’s wearing dresses these days?

Luckily, most of my pants still fit. Granted they are mostly pull-on, yoga style, size Medium, Eileen Fisher. I know cause I actually had to dress up this past week for a graduation party in Ms Berdelle’s secret garden. Talk about getting back to normal, it was delightful to mingle with our vaccinated friends and neighbors, to drink champagne with strawberries, and walk under her roses reaching into the sky.

And honestly, I don’t worry about gaining or losing a little weight. I used to joke that I wasn’t quite Jewish enough because when I worry I stop eating. Well, Grandma Ada would be pleased to know that I’ve finally joined the tribe. This past year required an abundance of comfort food, and I love to cook; so the constellations aligned and voila! I find myself in the South searching for the perfect fried chicken sandwich.

Oh, and the rocks in my pants pockets as I head out the door to Hattie B’s?

I’m not some Victorian damsel in distress heading for the river to drown my sorrows. No, I carry rocks around to hurl at Kevin, who has decided to bring two of his squirrel buddies to raid my dish of delectable bird seed. One good throw never hits him and it does give the doves a few minutes before he returns.

Right now a mourning dove is lifting both wings, sitting across from Kevin, who could care less. She is doing her very best to appear intimidating and large, but squirrels know things. He keeps eating.

Animals have figured out what we humans are still learning, how to eat to survive and thrive. They don’t require scales or marketing ploys. And I don’t require a bikini anymore, I’m more of a tankini type anyway.

Still, sometimes I feel like somebody’s watching me eat.

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We live in a hot spot. Let’s face it, TN hospitals are starting to fill up with Covid-19 patients, and the number of infections has been growing. Temperatures hovering in the mid-90s haven’t helped – we can’t even have a socially distant lunch in the garden with the Bride because a) NES chopped down our neighbor’s trees leaving us with very little midday shade, and b) it’s just too damn hot!

This past week the Groom has been on call in the ICU, and the Bride has been working more shifts than usual in her ER. They are lucky to have employed a wonderful nanny who is available at all their odd working hours; if something ever happens to this delicate arrangement, I am ready to volunteer as tribute! The garage would continue to be their red decontamination zone, and I’d move into the guest room.

But so far, so good.

Even though my hot flashes are long gone, or should I say my series of self-immolations have stopped, I still manage to melt in the heat and humidity of a Southern summer. I turn bright red, sweat drips down my back, even my feet get clammy in sandals. Sunscreen burns my eyes and I twitch and wipe my neck and wonder aloud how anybody ever did summers without air-conditioning. I like a cold New England climate – it must be my Irish heritage.

The L’il Pumpkin agrees with me, he hates the heat too!

The Love Bug and the Bride take after their Father – the hotter the better. Once I tried hot yoga with my daughter and I thought I was going to die. Who in their right mind would love contorting themselves in 92-105 degree temperatures?

But last week we were all sick of staying at home, walking the dogs, Same. Old. Same. Old. And on a rare day off from the ER, the Bride decided we should all go to the Nashville Zoo. Since we are members, we knew they were limiting visitors, you’d have to get timed-entry tickets, everyone had to wear masks, there were hand sanitizers everywhere, and all their paths were one-way. When she told the kiddos they were so excited, the L’il Pumpkin said,

“You mean the REAL zoo, not the Zoom zoo?”  

It was a success! Yes, it was hot and humid but we were there in the morning and stayed six feet apart. Meandering through trees and hearing monkey cries made me feel like I was in a rain forest. We had packed juice boxes and string cheese and stopped for a rest after watching the lemurs swing and groom each other. The Andean bears were playing for our enjoyment and the kangaroos were chowing down. They put on quite a show.

It was almost as if the animals were happier with less people around?

I’d like to believe that we all want to care for one another, but we still see people not wearing masks, and bars are still open. No more pedal taverns though. I hope that Gov Lee issues a mask mandate and that everyone is taking steps to slow the progression of this virus, and that TN starts to cool off. That my daughter and her husband stay safe as they treat seriously ill patients.

Our heat dome became more tolerable for a few hours last week. Notice the tiger cooling off with his paws on the glass.

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Yesterday, Bob was outside the front door doing some weeding. Our raised bed of vegetables is on the south side of the house, not within the confines of our fenced-in garden. I was stringing a few pearls together in my first pandemic necklace when I heard him yell, “Honey, come here, quick.”

He told me all about the fat and healthy red fox that had just strolled around the front corner of the house under a holly bush. They were an arm’s length away from each other. Of course Bob saw him (or her) the very second his hand was pulling up a weed – as they locked eyes I’m sure they were both shocked! The fox immediately took off across our not/so/busy street and around an apartment building.

Imagine that, in a city of a million and a half people, nature can still find a way.

This is day #13 of quarantine. I’ve stopped watching the White House Pressers about the Coronavirus, they only serve to bolster Mr T’s fragile ego. He is selling us a fool’s paradise, and I for one am not buying his lies.

But I am crossing off the days on my old-fashioned paper calendar, eager to put each day behind me. Luckily Ms Bean requires a slow-walk each and every day, sometimes three! And now that the sun has returned and Spring has arrived, these meditative walks are a kind of salvation.

They are a way to still the noises in my head, all the “what ifs” and “if onlys.” A stroll around the neighborhood tethered to Ms Bean keeps me here, grounded in the Present. This morning, the sun has come up and the temperature will climb to 80 degrees. The rain has stopped for now. And while drinking coffee and reading my online papers, I noticed a tiny headline: “Yale Happiness Course Takes Off.”

It seems that since December, this online course titled “The Science of Well Being” has enrolled 1.3 million people worldwide. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-52055242

Now, when over half a million people around the world are infected with the Coronavirus, and everyone is isolating themselves to flatten the curve, and the Bride is donning her PPE and caring for patients in her ER, and the Groom is planning to make ICU beds appear all over his hospital, and we can’t visit Great Grandma Ada and Hudson, and we can’t hug the Love Bug or tickle L’il Pumpkin…

Now more than ever, I have to keep hope alive.

“People in these situations tend to either look backwards for solutions or ruminate about possible futures: Will I go back to work? Will I be able to afford getting sick? Can I support my family if they get sick?

“While both those abilities are very adaptive in solving immediate problems or challenges or an immediate threat, they’re very harmful in situations like the one we’re in the middle of where the threat is ambiguous, the duration is unknown.”

It’s important to mention that only here, in the US, are people worried about hospital bills. Only here, in our great country, would someone not seek emergency medical treatment because they are afraid it would bankrupt them.

While waiting for the spike of this curve, we have to keep hope alive. And one way to do it is to stay in the PRESENT. Mindfulness isn’t easy during a pandemic. I notice every little flower on my walks, every flowering vine that threatens to engulf a mailbox. I would usually bring my phone with me, to take pictures, but it’s better if I leave it at home and stay present.

CONNECTING WITH OTHERS is another way to support our sanity. We’ve been Facetiming with the Rocker and Aunt KiKi. They have dueling desks set up in their California home and have had Zoom conferences with colleagues. The Bride turned me onto Marco Polo, an APP that’s like video texting, and we’ve been having fun with friends just capturing a snippet of time each day. Steve sent us video of a huge hawk in his yard yesterday! And of course, we talk on the phone too.

Yesterday we walked around the Bride’s neighborhood looking for teddy bears in windows. It was so hard to stay ten feet apart, to not touch the children.

The third linchpin of well being is a daily PRACTICE of GRATITUDE. Bob and I have been doing this on a pretty regular basis before bed. I can’t watch the news at night these days, but I can recall small pleasures during the day, things that bring me joy. Sometimes it’s just the sound of Ms Bean snoring, or a tulip that popped up under the cherry tree. Sometimes it’s the young man who delivers a restaurant meal. We can always name three things we’re grateful for.

Like the red fox foraging under the holly.

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Is this the Year of the Dog, or the Year of the Bird? Last night, a gorgeous picture of a Boykin Spaniel popped up on my Instagram. Liver colored, with soulful eyes, droopy ears and curly fur, it looked just like my very first dog. She was the sweetest, most lovable creature ever, although maybe everyone’s first love takes on a special significance over time.

The Boykin’s photo was courtesy of a National Geographic photographer I’m following who is shooting a series called the #yearofthedogs. His name is Vincent J Musi, “…a trusted friend to animals everywhere.” He doesn’t just capture their distinct personalities, he tells you a little bit about his encounter – like how much the dog may have drooled, while noting that he’s also drooled back in the day. It’s a witty and wonderful start (or end) to any day!

Meanwhile, in the middle of my Monday, I found myself at the Animal Hospital with the Bride and Groom’s older dog, the much loved G-man. I just happened to be playing super heroes with our L’il Pumpkin when I noticed Mr G really digging into one of his paws. Upon closer inspection there was blood on his dew claw; so without further adieu, we headed to the Vet. At that point the Love Bug came home from school and wanted to keep us company.

Her level of empathy is amazing for a 5 year old.

I’ll dispense with the gory details, Mr G is now wearing the cone of shame to keep him from tearing off his bandaged leg. The hardest part will be keeping the new puppy from trying to attack him, um play with him. Maybe I should visit our friend Robin’s pet store, “Come, Sit, Stay” to find Mr G a special treat?

What is it about dogs? Almost every picture I have of me as a child has me standing next to, or holding a dog. The Flapper’s first child, my half-sister Shirley, the one I never knew, used to raise Welsh Corgis. Of all the dogs in the AKC, I too chose Corgis to adore when my children were little, never knowing that Shirley felt the same way. German Shepherd dogs hold a special place in my heart, and let’s face it, ANY and ALL rescues, like Ms Bean and G-Man.

My niece Lynn breeds the regal Scottish Deerhound, a breed known for their sweet temperament. She’s in that category of Best in Show dogs, traveling the country with a plethora of hounds in the back seats. Come to think of it, Shirley’s daughter Karen loves to travel with her canine companions too! Hmm, now that’s a children’s book!

Every other dog you meet in Nashville is a Frenchie! I loved Musi’s photo of a French Bulldog named Larry, who is friendly in a “take over the world” kind of way. Y’all know my Francophile ways, so a Frenchie might just fit with us whenever and where ever the wind blows. Having one pup in a city townhouse is enough for now.

But I digress, because I was wondering about 2018 now that we are 3 months in, and it seems that this isn’t the Year of the Dog, even though I’m a dog addict. It’s the “Year of the Bird!”

“National Geographic, National Audubon Society, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, BirdLife International, and more than 100 organizations join forces for 12 months of storytelling and science to examine how our changing environment is impacting birds around the globe.”

However, I wasn’t entirely wrong because according to the Chinese calendar 2018 is the Year of the Dog! Loosely translated we should all have “prosperous wealth.” I’m OK with that, because a house isn’t a home until it’s covered in fur. Maybe my next post will be about birds, and the way Ms Bean just plucked one out of the air!? Happy Birding everyone!

Awwww poor G-Man.

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There are only about 1,600 black bears in the Great Smokies. They are interacting more and more with people, coming down off the mountains because their habitat is shrinking. I’ve seen a couple of bears lumbering through the forest in Central VA, but here in the Music City my only wildlife encounter has been with feral cats. I’ve heard about coyotes and possums, but they don’t scare me.

In Eagles Nest Township, MN with 4 beautiful, clean lakes, some people can lay down on the ground and allow bear cubs to crawl all over them! There’s a bear whisperer there who teaches neighbors how to feed the wild black bears peanuts from their hands! He is a biologist on a mission to let people know that bears are harmless, they are more afraid of us than we are of them!

But in the same little MN town, others are convinced of a different reality. They perceive black bears to be a threat; they look at their teeth and claws and imagine being torn to shreds. Even though they appear timid, they have tremendous strength and have killed at least 70 people since statistics were kept in the early 1900s.

I’m probably in this camp, if I were to see a bear on a trail I’d start backing up very slowly… NPR has an incredible podcast about this pair of conflicting paradigms: https://www.npr.org/2017/06/08/531904266/reality-part-one.

They are investigating why people see things differently and appropriately enough it’s called, “Reality.” After Great Grandma Ada witnessed a mama bear with two cubs playing in her swimming pool, she stopped going down to the pool alone. I’m just glad she didn’t decide to feed them peanuts from her hand, as she’s been known to encourage a stray fox or two with treats. In fact, I can’t remember a time when she didn’t have some candy in her pocket for her grandchildren.

Listening to this podcast about how we shape our own reality, and after this weekend’s #MarchforourLives I thought to myself, what’s the point of worrying about something like bears? I mean, there’s some Chinese space station that’s about to crash into earth, maybe I should be losing sleep over that?

Psychologists tell us that depression and anxiety are endemic in our modern world, and that in order to worry less we should make a list of the 10 things that worry us. Writing them down demystifies our dread and helps us decipher when we’re just worrying for the sake of worry – you know that dream where you have to take a test and realize you never went to class? Sometimes we imagine things are way worse than they actually are, or we may need medication to keep the demons at bay.

My mentor, the humor writer Erma Bombeck called that toxic, useless type “rocking chair worry:” “It gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”

And the funny thing is, the more you write these 10 things down, make a Top Ten List every 6 months, you realize over time which worries are utterly useless because they resolved themselves, or the outcome was better than the problem, and you can get a handle on those things you may actually want to DO something about. You may even start to worry less.

Why do some people see the list of countries that are expelling Russian “diplomats” and feel fine, while I see the long list of countries who have signed the Paris Climate Agreement – that does NOT include the USA – and feel dread? We are the ONLY country is the whole world who doesn’t believe in climate science! Syria and Nicaragua were the last 2 countries to pledge their allegiance; here is what Stephen Hawking had to say about Mr T’s mean and inept decision:

“We are close to the tipping point where global warming becomes irreversible,” he told the BBC. “Trump’s action could push the Earth over the brink, to become like Venus, with a temperature of two hundred and fifty degrees, and raining sulphuric acid.” He added that Trump’s decision would cause “avoidable environmental damage to our beautiful planet, endangering the natural world, for us and our children”.

So maybe I should be worrying about the bears, and gorillas, and the newly endangered, my favorite of all wild things the graceful giraffe: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/giraffes-silently-slip-endangered-species-list-180961372/  I had NO idea the giraffe’s tail is used as a status symbol in parts of Africa. It’s time to schedule a safari so I can see my long, tall blondes in the wild, not just at a zoo.

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The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Billy Collins was appointed Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003. This may have been one of our country’s most fragile times, when more people sought peace from poetry. And he is a poet who gets us, and last night Bob and I had the distinct pleasure to listen to him read some of his poems at Salon 615. Everyone of a certain age has picked up a book in rapt anticipation, only to find a few pages down the line that it’s something we’ve read before. I admit it, and Collins makes it bearable in his poem “Forgetfulness.”

Like that moment when he realized he was older than Cheerios, at the age of 70, and so wrote a poem about it. He scatters serious sonnets in among his readings, so last night’s audience gasped and laughed in unison. Because poetry is “…a megaphone.” Because he loves to make up new words, like “azaleate” – which loosely translated means we’ve arrived at a place just before, or after, it’s signature event. Oh, it’s too bad you’ll be missing the peak leaf season here in Vermont, let’s say. Or:

Bob and I azaleated the lavendar blossoming in Provence this year. 

Collins writes about cats and dogs from their point of view. And he even writes about Tennessee Fainting goats! This type of goat freezes and keels over whenever it is startled or feels panic. It’s something I may be catching here in loud and noisy Nashville 🙂

What brought me nearly to tears was Bob’s reaction; he didn’t fidget or head for the bathroom. He actually loved listening to Collins, we poked and prodded each other at yet another small truth that bounced between the two of us. It was like going to Jacob’s Pillow when we were young and discovering that he enjoyed the ballet almost as much as I did!

Then, towards the end of the evening, he turned to that ultimate question all couples must grapple with, “Who will go first?” The universal hope that “…you will bury me.” But is that really true love, to want to go first and save yourself from grieving. Bob has told me so often that due to his genetics he will most likely go first, and I almost believe him.

But what if I were to get hit by a bus tomorrow? A very real possibility in this busy city. He would still buy peanut butter and jelly, he would still drive like someone from NJ. Maybe he wouldn’t search for a beach house, or maybe he would?

Collins recommended a book, one that had inspired him in his youth, by a philosopher named Gaston Bachelard, “The Poetics of Space.” And I remembered the Bride showing us her Public Policy building at Duke, the light pouring in through modern-Gothic arches. And just last year, pointing out her son’s little hidey-hole inside his closet in their new home.

In the first and last days of life, it is the cosmos of the home that takes on the full weight of human habitation, as retreat and space of belonging. Bachelard’s greatest work remains a compelling reflection on the enduring human need to find psychological refuge in familiar places and spaces, though its author admitted that poets and story-tellers got there first. 

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/book-of-a-lifetime-the-poetics-of-space-by-gaston-bachelard-1673212.html

Here he is reading from his book, “The Rain in Portugal.”

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While we were in California, we bumped into lots of new and exciting experiences. Feeding giraffes by the ocean, listening to the Rocker score a new Rogue One trailer, and of course dining at some of the most innovative, delicious restaurants. But picking up the bill was even more  astonishing, because all along the Gold Coast the people voted to give themselves a “Living Wage,” so the bill could be shocking until you realize there is basically no tipping allowed.

Well, at some places tips were included in the bill, but the basic premise is that by 2020 the minimum wage will be $15 an hour, and supposedly one could live on that salary in LA County. Just look at this calculator, it shows two adults working would pull in $62,400 a year, however – “Note: Although the living wage model is a step above poverty, it doesn’t take into consideration extras such as entertainment, eating at restaurants, or being able to save and invest.”  http://www.latimes.com/visuals/graphics/la-me-g-california-new-minimum-wage-20160328-htmlstory.html

Never mind a family with kids who had to pay for childcare. Still it’s a start. Until now.

Mr T has appointed a fast food billionaire as the next Labor Secretary, Andrew Puzder is the CEO of CKE Restaurants. This California golden boy runs Carl’s Jr and Hardee’s and thinks the Living Wage thing is hogwash, in fact he’d like to see robots making his food! Oh but wait, he also wants to see bikini clad women eating his burgers, because well, who wouldn’t? What’s more American than that I ask you?

  • He has been critical of the Labor Department ruling to extend overtime pay to more than 4M workers
  • He accuses the Affordable Care Act of creating a “restaurant recession” since it has deprived citizens of their extra money for dining out…not making $7 an hour
  • His “record of fighting for workers” means he believes a higher minimum wage will kill the job market…

I guess having a robot put mayo and avocado on your burger doesn’t kill the market? I cannot wait to see what Elizabeth Warren has to say about Andy; oh wait, here ya go:

Throughout his entire career, Andrew Puzder has looked down on working people. At Hardees and Carl’s Jr., he got rich squeezing front-line workers on wages, overtime, and benefits, all while plotting to replace them with machines that are so much better than workers because they are “always polite” and “never take a vacation.” Appointing Puzder to run the federal agency responsible for protecting workers is a slap in the face for every hard working American family.

Wasn’t it Sandra Bullock who said, “Once a waitress, always a waitress?” Well I’ve been a waitress and it’s one of the hardest jobs on the planet. The Bride worked a snack stand at the beach as a teenager. The Rocker was a barista in high school. I’d wager a bet that most of you dear readers have worked for awhile in the service industry. That is, those of you who didn’t get a few Million handed to you on your 21st birthday. And I bet most of you think a Living Wage is self-explanatory.

After all, its opposite would be a Dying Wage. The kind of wage that shortens your life span, where food choices and health providers are limited to your station in life. The kind of life where obesity leads to chronic diseases, the kind that taxes our hearts, and any young person feeling suicidal in their low wage job could easily purchase a gun at the Walmart. You see where I’m going…

We now live in a country where our life expectancy has declined for the first time in 20 years. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-38247385

We know about diabetes and heart disease factors, but what is causing the rise in infant deaths under the age of one? Parents are warned about suffocation concerns with babies sleeping in a family bed, but I’m afraid I agree with a doctor who states “…the rise (is due) to “social stressors”, such as financial pressures and addiction.

“The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says the country is “in the midst of an opioid overdose epidemic”, with a record 28,000 people killed in 2014. No figures are yet available for 2015, though the 6.7% rise in deaths caused by “unintentional injuries” may be partly related.” How could you possibly care for a baby while addicted to pain killers?

Our ecosystem is so fragile, so intricately related: to billionaires running/ruining our government; to our life span shrinking; and to the beautiful giraffe grazing freely in Kenya. Like the canary in a coal mine, giraffes are now listed as “vulnerable” to extinction. Perhaps Mr T will invent a robot giraffe for our great grandchildren to feed at the zoo?

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If only I believed in soothsayers, fortune tellers and psychics. I’d make a killing in the stock market, and be able to prevent any slip-ups coming my way in 2015. Although I’ve learned my lesson about bounce houses – they are dangerous emporiums disguised as attractive rainy day activity palaces – I’ve also learned to look down more often while walking. And not at my Iphone!

Ellen DeGeneres is predicting that 2015 will be the “Year of Baby Goats.” In her classic deadpan style she said on Twitter that 2014 was the “Year of the Selfie,” and she should know since she broke the internet with that star-studded Oscar selfie. But when I read about the goats I thought, that is sooo last year. Now if you don’t know anything about goats sounding like people on YouTube, here you go. You’ll thank me later. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlYlNF30bVg

Which started me thinking, what makes a trend, and can we really predict them? Remember the snap bracelet, well that’s back strangely enough. And who ever thought those Ugg boots would catch on, even the Love Bug has a pair. Let’s go to Buzzfeed and see what’s “trending” shall we. http://www.buzzfeed.com/trending

The first story is about that guy who found a steel turning rod in his arm from his Thunderbird, 51 years after crashing into a truck! Again I say, pshaaaw (or some such gutteral French sound). Years ago my brother, Dr Jim, found a piece of glass that had migrated out of his arm 20 years after falling onto a glass while he was an undergrad at Columbia University. And the Flapper had to have teeth extracted from her jaw 30 years after her accident in our Year of Living Dangerously. It seems that dentistry after a near fatal car accident in 1949 was not very evolved, they just fitted her with dentures and figured her teeth must be on the road somewhere?

Meanwhile the death of a great Progressive, the Lion of Liberalism in NY, Mario Cuomo is trending on Twitter today. I always wondered why he didn’t run for President, that’s how much the Flapper and I loved Cuomo. And I’m willing to predict that just as the news footage of Blacks being attacked by police dogs in Selma long ago helped turn the corner for Civil Rights, the proliferation of YouTube videos, of citizen reporters filming injustice in their neighborhoods, will spark a larger conversation about social justice. Here is an excerpt from Cuomo’s famous 1984 speech about equality:

We believe we must be the family of America, recognizing that at the heart of the matter, we are bound one to another; that the problems of a retired school teacher in Duluth are our problems; that the future of the child—that the future of the child in Buffalo is our future; that the struggle of a disabled man in Boston to survive and live decently is our struggle; that the hunger of a woman in Little Rock is our hunger; that the failure anywhere to provide what reasonably we might, to avoid pain, is our failure.

http://www.vanityfair.com/online/daily/2015/mario-cuomo-dead-1984-speech?mbid=social_twitter

Notice how he starts out with “WE.” And so my hope for us, my prediction for 2015, is that we turn away from so much turmoil and trending social media nonsense like baby goats, that we vote out gun enthusiasts, and that we practice being “tender” with each other this year as Pope Francis said. Cheers to a Tender New Year!

Out with the Old Selfie!

Out with the Old Selfie!

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“Would you eat them here or there? Would you eat them anywhere?” You may recognize the voice of Dr Seuss. His Cat is a master manipulator. You may think you don’t like green eggs and ham, but gosh darn it, you’re gonna like them eventually.

It’s a great book for a toddler, especially the Love Bug. She likes to tell me where to sit, “Nana, sit here!” She likes to tell me where to go, like when I told her that Mama would be home, she looked me right in the eyes and said “Nana go bye bye!” I told her my plan was to stick around for awhile and she smiled as if to say that would be just fine.

Transitions can be hard at every stage in life. Who knew that crossing the threshold of a door – from the world of the wind and the sun outside with popsicles on the porch and school crossing guards who wave “Hello,” to the world inside with high chairs you have to sit in and diapers that for some reason must be changed all the time. My Bug, like Jane Goodall in her new children’s book,”Me Jane,” loves to be outside!

So coaxing her to come in is a major challenge. In fact I’d forgotten this simple fact about toddlers – everything is a negotiation! Then I remembered that the Bride loved a good argument at this age too. I was convinced she was going to study law, that’s how good she was. I found myself saying my daughter’s name instead of the Bug’s, over and over again because her level of sophistication is equal to her mothers.

So last night I thought ahead. After dinner I sat the Bug down and said we needed to talk. I told her I would keep my promise and we would have popsicles on the porch, but then I expected her to be a BIG GIRL when it was time to come in and “Not Cry.” She said “Not cry.” And I said, “OK, big girl, do you want a strawberry or a grape popsicle?” And she said, “Strawberry.”

It worked!

Today was the best day ever. We spent the whole morning at the Nashville Zoo and topped it off with a wild animal carousel ride. She eagerly hopped on the painted kangaroo with me and we waved at Mama who is thankfully home and was waving to us miraculously every time we rode around in a circle.  And now that I’ve got this toddler transition thing down, from getting her into the car without a fuss to getting her out of the tub at night, I’ll be heading home. My husband tells me he’s missing me. But leaving her, will be the hardest transition of all.

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