Letting Off Steam

Someone who betrays your trust, commits treason or throws you under the bus is a traitor, not a trader.
When one sobs uncontrollably they are bawling, not balling.
Every word that ends with an 's' does not have an apostrophe!
Would you please learn the difference between they're, their and there?
And while you're at it, learn the difference between then and than, woman and women, who's and whose, affect and effect, or two, to and too.

Oh! And the word is housebroken, not housebroke.
Him and I went to Wal-Mart.  Wrong!

He and I went to Barnes & Noble. Correct!

And I don't claim to be an English professor but who the hell ever came up with "prolly?"
The word is "probably."
I detest this computer chat and texting shorthand crap!

I've got to tell you, some days I sit here and want to scream out loud.
Wait! I do scream out loud!
I'm not referring to the writings of the third graders my daughter is teaching.
These grammatical, spelling and punctuation errors are made by people who are either in college, have graduated already or claim to have a master's degree!

Shall I begin the mourning process now?
Is the English language dead or just on life support?
Since death is inevitable, I'm hoping to be reincarnated and come back in 25 years or so.
Will I need an interpreter to read, write and speak?

"Where's the party at?"
Never mind!
You're not invited!
You sound like a rube!

There!
I feel better now.

Sure! Take A Look At My Junk!

I haven't flown since July, but have been giving my next trip considerable thought in the wake of the new Body Scans we are now being subjected to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEJC-FuOSZ4
(Sorry. You'll have to copy and paste to view this. Can't get the link option to work.)

Having just had my annual mammogram and my first ever bone density scan, I figure I've endured enough radiation this month so I'm grateful I don't have to fly in the immediate future.
But my husband flies often for business and one of my daughters will be boarding a plane in a couple of weeks.
I do hope they'll give some consideration to which security procedure they'll find least objectionable.
The Body Scan, a virtual strip search, or the new enhanced "pat down," which guarantees some random TSA agent a quick feel of a passenger's breasts, groin and butt crack.

Airline pilots have been advised to "opt out" of the scanners due to the unknown long term effects of this "perfectly safe" radiation - prudent when one considers the exposure pilots, and flight attendants for that matter, must endure just to go to work.
But what's the average traveler to do?
Of course we want to feel safe and secure boarding our next flight but are these enhanced security screenings worth it?
It's one thing to spread your legs in the privacy of the doctor's office but an altogether different experience in the crowded security area of a bustling airport.

And what about the disabled, elderly or small children?
Haven't we all taught our young children to never allow a stranger to touch them, especially their "private parts?"
How do parents now handle this dilemma?
Blast them with radiation or let some stranger touch them where we've always said they should not?
And I know of more than one eighty-something who would rather drive 3000 miles than submit themselves to a scan or a pat down. Is this what we want? Thousands of Octogenarians driving cross country to the granddaughter's wedding?
Wanna bet all this enhanced security will be nothing more than a dare for some to see if they can beat the system?
We'll be hearing lots more about it.
But as for me...
I'm a nearly 60 year old post menopausal mother of three. The excess stuff I'm packing is not explosive, I swear!
One tends to lose all sense of modesty after giving birth in a crowded room with cameras.
In my younger days I'd hop naked into a hot tub and I've mooned fellow rafters on a river trip.
I even went skinny dipping recently, although it was dark and at our age we now call it "Chunky Dunking."
You want to scan this broken down old body TSA?
Sure. Go ahead. Take a look.
Just don't be touching my junk!

Rescue Dog or Not?

Crate. Check!
Dog bed. Check!
Puppy food. Check!
Dog toys. Check!
We were as ready as we'd ever be for the arrival of our newest family member, a Shih Tzu pup we'd already named Boomer!
We fell in love, CORRECTION: I fell in love, with his picture in an email sent by my friend Pam's sister Angela in Indiana. She owned the mother and as luck would have it, had a litter of three just waiting for my choosing following the death of our beloved Baxter.
My first thought was, "No...I have to rescue a dog from the Humane Society."
It's where my heart had always been and we'd had such great luck over the years bringing home wonderful dogs who desperately needed a family to take them in and love them forever.
With one exception, every dog I've ever had the pleasure of owning came from a shelter or a home where they weren't cared for or not wanted. "Of course," I said. "It's the right thing to do."
But a little voice in my head kept reminding me that I'd spent the better part of the last 10 years caring for dogs with health issues ranging from thyroid conditions and mange, to diabetes and most recently, cancer.
We'd been fortunate we could afford the cost of vet bills and medications, including insulin and chemo drugs for the diabetes and cancer.

But something told me I deserved a break and should go for this pup that offered a known medical background and better chance for a long life and good health. So although I realized there are never any guarantees, I picked out the pup who consistently looked into the camera lens for Angela's slightly out of focus but very tempting pictures and said, "That's the one!"
My next project was to figure out a way to get him from Bluffton, Indiana (a two hour drive from Indianapolis) to Boulder, Colorado.
Although Angela had shipped pups all over the world, no dog of mine was going to be traumatized by a trip in the cargo hold of a plane! I'd heard nightmare stories and knew I couldn't handle it emotionally if anything were to happen to our new pup.
I considered meeting Angela and Boomer in Indianapolis and returning home the same day but then asked Pam if any of her family were considering a visit to Boulder (it's so lovely in the Fall!) in the immediate future because if they were, I'd offer to pay half the airfare in exchange for them bringing our new pup on the plane with them. Boomer's ticket, which allowed him to ride in his snazzy carrier under the seat in front, cost as much as any other one way human passenger sitting in a seat, but hell, we had to get him here somehow!
So on Tuesday October 19, Pam's 80 year old mother Jane, nervously boarded a non-stop from Indianapolis and escorted our little Boomer home. (A huge thank you to Jane, Pam and Angela for all their help making this happen!)
Despite her worst fears, our little pup never made a peep, nor did he have an accident in his carrier. 
For that, he politely waited until he walked in the door of our home where he was greeted by a small gathering of family and friends.
Okay, so he held it all day. What's the poor little guy to do?
Jim tracked the flight from Indianapolis and provided us with regular text message updates:
*Boomer has boarded!
*Boomer is traveling at 441 mph at an altitude of 34,000 feet!
*Boomer has entered Colorado airspace!
*Boomer's ETA at DIA is now 5:03 pm.
*Boomer has landed!
His humor was appreciated and made us laugh as we anxiously awaited Boomer's arrival.

So, it's been almost three weeks now and Boomer has settled in nicely.
He's figured out our routine, has bonded with our other dog Abby (adopted from the Humane Society 2 1/2 years ago following the death of Buddy) and is doing extremely well with housebreaking.
He's smart, he's feisty, he's cuddly, he makes us laugh every day and appears to love his new home and family. And he should! He's graduated to sleeping in our bed at night!
After Baxter died, we really needed something to mend our broken hearts and Boomer, as we now know, was the answer.
So in the end, I guess we really did get a rescue dog... but it's Boomer who's rescued us!

Chi! Chi! Chi! Le! Le! Le!

As I watched the coverage of the Chilean mine rescue last evening, (it continues today) it evoked so many memories of days past when I found myself mesmerized by not only the event itself but our ability to watch it.
Live.
As it was unfolding.
From all corners of the world.
To the moon and back.
Probably the first memory seared in my mind was the assassination of President Kennedy and the days following where a world in mourning was glued to their television sets - most, if not all, black and white.

School had been cancelled and I sat home watching the live perp walk of Lee Harvey Oswald when Jack Ruby came out of the shadows and shot Oswald to death - on live TV - thus making us all witnesses to the murder. The image haunts me to this day.
And of course I'll never forget the images of the spirited, riderless horse and little John John saluting as President Kennedy's casket passed by during coverage of his funeral. Live television took us there to witness and watch. Who did not cry?
Flash forward to July 1969 when Neil Armstrong made history as the first man to set foot on the moon.
TV brought us there.

In 1972 the world watched in horror as hooded terrorists held Israeli Olympic athletes hostage during the Munich Olympics. Eleven Israeli athletes died.
1974 brought us Richard "I am not a crook" Nixon's resignation.
In 1975 we watched the fall of Saigon which brought an end to the endless war in Viet Nam.
While at work at our local paper in January 1986 I had some business to take care of that required a visit to our newsroom where a TV was on at all times. I lingered long enough to watch yet another ho hum live space shuttle launch but this one was different because 73 seconds into launch the Challenger exploded killing 6 astronauts and the first teacher in space.
October 14, 1987 (23 years ago tomorrow) brought another two and a half days of round the clock television coverage (cementing newcomer CNN as a player in the global media market) as rescuers worked to save a toddler named Jessica who had fallen down an 8 inch wide well in Midland, Texas. The whole world cheered as she came to the surface.
In November 1989 we watched as The Berlin Wall leaked like a sieve and eventually crumbled.
One hot summer evening in June of 1994 as we dined with friends, we watched the infamous "Slow Speed Chase" of a white Ford Bronco with a murderous coward crouched down in the back seat. Tabloid crap yes, but everyone watched 'til the end.
And then there's September 11, 2001.
The ongoing rescue of the 33 miners in the San Jose mine in Copiapo, Chile is noteworthy not only because the world is watching live as they slip to the surface in the sporty tube constructed specifically for this rescue, but we are also treated to the camera coverage 2000 feet below where the miners were trapped 70 days ago.
This is an amazing story of survival. Ernest Shackleton would be proud.
I don't know about you, but I feel sorry for all those idiots driving around with bumper stickers on their cars that read: Kill Your TV!
They miss so much!

Dogs, Death and Dying

We lost a family member last week.
He was only 8 years young - really young when one considers the expected lifespan of Miniature Schnauzer is 14-16 years.
For most of those years he was the epitome of health.
He had an appetite that would put a Great Dane to shame and he had the strength of 8 Huskies pulling a sled when he was walked on his leash.
He was solid muscle and athletic as hell, able to "leap tall buildings with a single bound!"
Just prior to my return from Florida in April, our groomer notified us that she found a very large tumor at the top of his leg, near the front right armpit, one she said was not there when she last groomed him in January or February.
Not prone to panic, I immediately scheduled an appointment with our veterinarian who examined Baxter, took a biopsy and sent us on our way saying he would call as soon as the lab work came back. When it finally did, almost a week later, they still could not define the exact type but did confirm that it was indeed cancer. I needed to come in and talk about the options.
I quickly scheduled a consult and though I went in dreading the thought of amputation, I left wishing it were an option!
The tumor had nearly doubled in size in 8 days and due to the location and need for large margins for surgical removal, surgery was not an option. The only thing worse than the terrible diagnosis was the location of this monster tumor. And we discovered new tumors in various other locations.
We were then referred to the oncology department at the amazing CSU Veterinary Hospital in Ft. Collins, CO, where further tests determined the cancer to be Grade 3, Stage 4 Mast Cell Tumors.

Prognosis: Shitty!
But I felt Baxter deserved a shot and a promising new cancer drug called Palladia was an option worth trying.
It's given orally 3x weekly, with steroids given on alternate days along with an antacid and an antihistamine, both available over the counter. Regular visits to CSU continued as they did blood work and monitored the tumors. He tolerated all his medications very well and appeared to have no side effects.
Within three weeks time, we measured substantial shrinkage of the primary tumor as well as others that were subsequently discovered during the initial week or so of tests and lab work.
We were hopeful and Baxter seemed to be thriving.
But while some of the initial tumors had indeed gotten smaller, new ones appeared and that was not a good sign.
By late August, a large tumor appeared near the initial site and it obviously annoyed Baxter, who began licking at it. In no time, it ulcerated and began bleeding, prompting an immediate return to CSU. I'll spare you the details.
The look on the doctor's face said it all.
The Palladia was not working and his cancer continued to spread. They felt it was only a matter of weeks.
So I forced a smile through the tears, thanked the doctors and staff for all they tried to do, put on my big girl pants and once again made the hour long drive back to Boulder, knowing it would be Baxter's last visit to CSU.
Short of futile, expensive and stupid heroic measures there was nothing more they could do and I knew it. I had promised Baxter I wouldn't put him through anything I felt he couldn't handle so we went home to make his final weeks as comfortable as possible and they were.
We continued with the steroids, antacid, antihistamine and a new medication to settle his stomach.
Treating the symptoms and side effects was the best we could do at this point.
The week of the wildfire he had one slightly bad day where he threw up and seemed more tired than usual on his walk but I blamed the heat and smoke in the air as much as anything. By the next day he seemed to have rebounded.
And then one morning he walked away from his food bowl without eating.
Baxter loved food and never needed any encouragement when it came to eating but on his last night, he walked away again and though he ate a little out of my hand, it was clear he was doing it mostly to please me.
He started vomiting late that night and continued every hour or so until morning, when it became clear he could not even keep down water.
I knew Baxter would let me know when it was time and he did. I'll never forget that look in his eyes.

I called our Vet and made the appointment for 5pm.
We spent what little time remained making Baxter as comfortable as possible, removing the bandage and the annoying cone shaped collar that he was forced to wear in his final weeks.
As he lay in the cool grass under the willow in the back yard, we gently brushed him for what seemed like hours and told him repeatedly how much he was loved. He was peaceful and ready.
With the assistance of our vet and his amazingly compassionate technician, we became Baxter's personal Hospice team and provided him with a peaceful and painless exit from this life.
As we said our final goodbyes and kissed him one last time through our tears, I thought back on all the other dogs that became family members who in the end, needed us to be there for them and to accept responsibility for making the final decision. They filled our lives with joy and unconditional love and it's our responsibility to take care of them in the end. It's the way we pay them back for all they have given us.
Goodbye Baxter.
You were a great dog.
We loved you.
And you will be missed forever.
xo

Wildfire Week

It's been an intense week in and around Boulder, Colorado.
As anyone with a television now knows, fire crews are in what is hopefully the final stage of controlling the massive wildfire that erupted on the Labor Day holiday.
Over 6000 acres have burned and at last count 169 homes have been destroyed, including several belonging to friends and acquaintances. Thousands of families have been evacuated. Hundreds of firefighters continue to put out hot spots while trying to gain full containment.
Some dear friends who live just a mile or so up the mountain were evacuated and thankfully came to stay with me (Jim left the day the fire broke out for a business trip to the UK).

We spent the week watching and waiting together.
The images have been sobering, to say the least.
Thirty years ago when I lived in Pine Brook Hills, I was a member of the volunteer fire department and helped fight yet another fire that broke out one warm, dry Sunday in October. It's nothing to mess with, believe me. Only one home was destroyed that afternoon but dozens were saved by what was primarily an all volunteer fire department. And although the county's contract with the slurry bomber had expired the end of September, one happened to be at Jeffco (now Rocky Mountain Regional Airport) refueling following a fire in Wyoming. It made all the difference.
The Fourmile fire was also fought from the air. Eight air tankers and at least three helicopters were engaged. It's the only way to gain control of a fire in rugged mountain terrain...especially when so many homes are involved. The crews on the ground and the pilots in the air have been amazing.
While the majority of homeowners and residents of the burned and evacuated areas have shown gratitude to the firefighters and local authorities, there are always a few selfish assholes who never fail to amaze me.
Thirty years ago, a neighbor returned to her home after what amounted to maybe an 8 hour evacuation and whined about the power having been turned off and food in her freezer melting. I was somewhat incredulous and snarled, "You should be grateful your food wasn't cooked!"
She turned and walked away. I still see her driving around town and remember.
This week, I've watched (on tv) countless evacuees complain about the "inconvenience" of the evacuation and the lack of information coming from the authorities.
This still pisses me off.
One, because those evacuated were ordered to do so not only for their own safety, but also that of the firefighters trying to save their homes.
And two, because we had better information about this fire and its status than ever before.
We LIVE in the age of instant communication.
We have cell phones, lap tops, Twitters, Tweets and Texts!
Never before has so much information been available in a crisis.
But as anyone who lives in the burn areas of the mountains certainly knows, cell phone service as well as emergency radio service for the first responders and fire crews, is not only poor, it's often non-existent.
This situation alone can compromise the safety of the firefighters - many of whom either lost their homes or left their homes in other states to come and fight this fire.

And let it not go unsaid that I've heard several complaints from people not immediately threatened by the fire, about the smoke, ash, traffic and noise from the slurry bombers and helicopters rumbling over their heads.
It's just that I prefer to think about those who no longer have a home from which they can listen to the rumble from the helos, or wipe away the fallen ash.
Shame on anyone complaining about their inconvenience when so many have lost so much.
And who can forget where they were 9 years ago on September 11, 2001?
Over 300 firefighters lost their lives when the World Trade Center collapsed.
One, Bob Minara, was married to an old high school classmate of mine, Paula.
Today, I'm remembering them.
And every day, I wonder what we would do without these brave souls.

Just Getting Started So Please Bear With Me

Perhaps I'll have something pertinent to say.
Perhaps I'll just ramble.
Perhaps I'll just use this to vent.
Perhaps I'll use it as a forum for my take on current events.
Perhaps someone might even be interested in my musings!
Perhaps not.
I don't really know yet.
But this blog will become the place where I put down my thoughts whenever I feel the urge.
I will express my opinion and it matters not that anyone agrees with me.
I will tell it like it is, or at the very least what it looks like from my perspective.
I hope I'll throw things out there that people will find interesting or relate to,
but the beauty of it is I'll be able to do so Without Interruption!


*And a big shout out to my daughter Collin who not only helped me set up this blog, she did so without laughing out loud when I presented the idea.