They Waited for Spring

This week, three friends had to tell me they lost their four-legged, much loved pets. Why suddenly now, I wondered. Then I realized: They all had waited for spring for them to cross over the Rainbow Bridge.

Squeaky, born and raised in Egypt before moving to the US, surely is an

"Old Soul."

I know they will always be fondly remembered, just as I often think of my first Himalayan, Bombo (who flew all alone from Denver to Boston at eight weeks old--and then joined me via American Airlines six months after I had moved to San Diego. At that time, he was nine years old and lived in all that sunshine until he was eighteen).

One day, I scooped a little starving tuxedo urchin off the rocks at the Redondo Beach Pier while visiting a friend.

I named her "Samantha (Sammy for short),"

because her fur was like black velvet ("Samt" in German).

My San Diego Himalayan, Tiffany, was seemingly glad to get a friend after Bombo had passed away.

Lastly, after driving with an already ailing seventeen-year old Tiffany all the way to Arkansas, rescued Turkish Van "NickNack" eased Tiffy's loss the very day after I played "It's Time to Say Goodbye" to Tiffy (bad idea actually, just prior to the final appointment with the vet - because it'll make you late due to a severe crying fit).

And so, as they pass through our lives, they stay in our hearts.

My poem, excerpted from "Memories of the Heart," is to remember all these loyal companions:

                A Last Wish

Spring, you joyous youthful knave,

touch me, smile at me, lend me your strength

to brace myself, and to be brave

against the icy winter’s length.

Spring, don’t waste the time, come quick, I pray.

I want to greet you just once more

before my breaking spirit goes its way

to pass eternity’s awaiting door.

Spring, I waited. Hoped so much to catch,

through my slowly closing, tired lid,

your first triumphant thawing patch

to tell me that you’d come.

            And Spring just did ...

Death by Toilet Tank

 When you get to a certain age – and live alone – invariably you ponder 'how will they find me one day.’ While I certainly hope it won’t be half-eaten by my two cats (being a writing hermit, nobody might miss me for weeks), the following scenario had not entered even my inventive mind.

Every couple of years, I look into my toilet tanks. Not just for something better to do, mind you, but to check on the bolts. Even though they are made of brass, they seem to disintegrate into mushy blobs after a while. It was time to change them.

Trip #1 to the hardware store. It may have been my accent, or the clerk’s perception...but I came home with bolts that (I found out after the tank leaked like a sieve) anchor the toilet to the floor! No wing-nuts, no rubber washers.                     

Wrong

Trip #2: Getting the right bolts – and while I was at it, also the big new seal between the tank and the toilet.

So, where does death come into all this, you ask?

Getting the old disintegrated bolts off, I forgot the nut between the tank and the toilet top – and used pliers on the bolt thread, naturally flattening it. Then, once I discovered the nut, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get it off over the mangled threads.

Hacksaw! After thirty years of use, it took a while. I straddled the closed toilet seat, sawing away until my tongue hung out of my mouth.

Not only was the toilet seat slick, so was the seat of my pants. As I slid backwards, I didn’t want to rip the tank off by holding on to it. Within a split second, I was ignobly deposited onto my tailbone. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my head whipped back and hit the tile floor rather hard.


Damn, I thought, that’s all I need. Being found on the bathroom floor with an old hacksaw in my hand ...

gnawed over by Pasha and Lilliput.
Not the scenario I had envisioned which often included lying in bed, a blissful smile on my lips, sexy nightgown on a recently-toned body (darn, I missed gym again this morning).

To add insult to injury, it took days of on-and-off tweaking the leak from the intake valve (that had never leaked before), and the flapper that also had not leaked before.

Trip #3: Bought new flapper – didn’t fit; leaked.

Trip #4: Another flapper. It fit, but still leaks, just less.

Apparently, Oprah has fixed a leaky toilet or two in her time.

Still, I think, I’ll wait a while before I tackle the perfectly functioning toilet in my guest bathroom...

Or, I might just call the plumber.



PS - The kitchen faucet has been dripping for a while - and I just happen to have a little repair kit handy...don't worry, I'll be standing up for that one.

New Year’s Resolution

Apart from the ever recurring resolution of “I’ll lose some weight this year”

and
“I’ll read more and eat less,”

my goal for 2016 (other than not falling off the ladder when I clean out my gutters) is to write at least one new novel:

Perhaps a stand-alone sequel (or prequel) to my Egyptian series that will grow to five books on January 6th.

Why else -- in Book 5, The Nile Conspiracy, would I have left several clues about the Khepri, a people long preceding my First Dynasty Egyptians? Why else indeed?

Now then, it’s time to conjure up new characters, sketch an outline, wonder how to start - and how to keep going. Nora Roberts was once credited for having this one fast and simple rule for writing a novel:

“Ass in Chair.”

Easier said than done when said chair is frequently ocupado.

Bah! Humbug!

Here we are once again, glowing with the warmth of eggnog, 

getting all tearful and cuddly for a day or two wishing everybody and their brother a ‘Happy One.’ A day or two? Really? Yup. Then all those smooshy sentiments are trashed in favor of year-end deals, exchanges, and ripping down the kilowatt-sucking ornaments in front of the house (unless you are Gretchen Wilson or a semblance of her “Red Neck Woman’ who proudly keeps those dreadful icicle lights up all year ‘round).

Why am I such a scrooge?

Because this is the very time when newly-purchased kittens and puppies are popped under the tree like a new pair of shoes—fit in, don’t pinch, and for heaven’s sake, don’t piddle.

Just like department stores having to cram unwanted gifts back into their year-end inventory, Animal Shelters all around the country are overwhelmed with Fido and Fluffy who didn’t quite fit the bill.

It’s so sad—yet so preventable. Every year, I hauled out my excerpt from Pasha’s book to post here – you can read last November's post yourself why not to bring a very confused and often frightened new four-legged member of the family into the throes of these festivities.

Rant over.

Why? Because right now, I have all my lamps on (no more burning candles in this house ever since Pasha stuck his bushy tail into one!), “Christmas in the Alps” is playing my favorite holiday songs from my long-lost youth, and I am getting all smooshy (though not on eggnog, mind you) - just the memories of simpler times. Tromping an hour through deep snow to go to midnight mass, a tree lit with real candles (I never had a pet then), and one or two gifts underneath. One was always, ALWAYS, a much-prized book.
Come to think of it, it is lovely to have a special time of the year to reflect, to be kind, and to be thankful for what we have.

I feel lucky to have my two sweet little rescued souls right here with me; are they really ten years old already? Time does fly; hence, we better make good use of it.
Oh, and by the way, 

Pasha and Lilliput 

do wish all of you a very Merry Christmas!

And so do I.
Bah! Humbug, my Paw!

It is not Pasha; It is my Cooking

Pasha is such a happy cat - usually.

But when presented with my undercooked turkey, he cannot help but pull a face.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone.

The Internet is full of great recipes. Take the Southern hankering for whole fried turkey (equaling "How to burn down the house").

The alternative is an expertly barbecued bird or any other meat.

Author Rupert Robertson (he officially goes by Robert C. Robertson III) has collected hundreds of family recipes of the best barbecue sauces ever.

Check this out - summer is coming sooner or later: 

http://www.amazon.com/107-Barbecue-Sauce-Marinade-Recipes

Healthy Diet for Your Cat

 Yessss!
Finally, a Cat Food Recipes book. Rupert Robertson did it again. Following up on his successful cookbook for dogs (I mean, for them to benefit from those recipes, not to be cooking them), there now is a follow-up for us Kitty-Lovers. It is something sorely needed. With kidney disease on the rise for our much loved companions (mainly from the unsuitable ingredients in their commercial food), cooking your own cat food--and knowing what and, more importantly, what not to put in, will extend those little lives for many years.

Read what Rupert Robertson says about his book:
Over the years, my wife and I have adopted rescue and abandoned dogs and cats. We have watched them struggle with various conditions as they grew older and have searched for ways to prolong their lives without making them suffer. It is difficult, and often very expensive, to find a diet that will help them survive some of the problems associated with aging or kidney, heart and other serious problems and diseases. 
The recipes that are included in this work are a compilation of the research that we have done to help our own four-legged family members. If you mass produce these recipes, you will find that most of them can be done for the same cost (or less) as lower priced canned dog food. They are far less expensive than prescription dog food and much better for them, since there are no added preservatives, dyes, flavor enhancers or other unwanted chemicals.
Get it here and start cooking:
http://www.amazon.com/Food-Recipes-Cats-Health-Problems

And don't forget the companion book for your doggies:

http://www.amazon.com/Food-Recipes-Kidney-Heart-Health-ebook

Shining Light On Our Ladies

Every Tuesday in October,

ten of us historical fiction writers are

What does that have to do with my usual theme of authors and their pets? Well, nothing - except that some of us do have animals (I am hoping to write about some of them after this blog hop is over).

In the meantime, I'd like to invite you to acquaint yourselves with these authors and their ladies from history. Find links to those blogs on my devilwinds blog:

http://tinyurl.com/qcp7x3x

Healthy Diet for Your Dog

Do you worry about your best Friend? Of course, you do. You hand out treats, and feed what you think is good commercial food--until your buddy gets renal disease (the most frequent cause of death--caused by all those treats and commercial food).

What are we to do? Well, one solution is to cook up a batch where you know what's in it. Only good, natural ingredients good for "Fido." Cook it, freeze it - and even enjoy the savings for your wallet.

But, mostly, watch "Fido" shake off that lethargy caused those unnamed "by-products."

Rupert Robertson III just published a recipe book for dogs.

Why? He and his lovely wife have kept aged rescue dogs alive for years after they were asked to foster them just for "the last three weeks of the dogs' lives."

A worthwhile read for anyone who wants to keep their Best Friend healthy and with them as long as possible.

An informative read available in eBook and Print Format from Amazon.com:

Dog Food-Recipes

Let's get cooking!

The Curse of the Crow

Is it that I follow the crow? Or does the curse of the crow following me?

At any rate, these birds seem to haunt me to wherever I move.

Credit: Alexis Moussine-Pouchkine / Flickr

The first time I became eerily aware of them was visiting the amazing Trinity-Serius Monastery in Zagorsk, just about 45 miles outside of Moscow, in the then USSR, (the limit we diplomatic folk were allowed to venture out—albeit with a chain-smoking tail trailing after us; it was during the time of the tenuous Cuba Crisis).

It was a blustery November day, and the place was deserted – except for bunches of old women, bundled in black shawls, sitting around like – well, crows, I thought. Then I saw them. Flocks of them, silently waiting for – what? Death? It was an eerie scene; the women and the crows eyeing us suspiciously.

Years went by and I had moved to the jewel of the Pacific, La Jolla, California. I loved to sit on my deck, palms rustling overhead in the sea breeze, the temperature just right, no bugs – wait! What was that shrill noise? Ah, crows! Bunches of them!

I remember one consoling thought on my last day before the movers came for Arkansas.

“At least, I’m leaving the crows behind.”

Wrong!

Crows are noisy. Crows are cantankerous. Crows are smart.

They remember your face.

And ... they know where you live….

I am not too fond of crows.

Maybe that’s why I never put them into any of my stories.

Now, there’s a thought.

Remember Me Thursday

Yes, I know it's Friday.

But this message is important enough not to be picky about this.

I admit, I plum missed it myself until I was reminded by a Cocker Spaniel and a Poodle (imagine!) of this important day for those of us who have not yet found a forever home.

Princess Rosy and Annie (aforementioned blog-buddies at http://www.bearhugsforever.com ) are a great source of amusement and wonder for me and I go there often to see how the other half lives (by 'other half' I mean these two funny, obviously spoiled, but apparently very well behaved dogs).

Anyway, these two entertaining canines let everyone know not to forget those waiting in shelters all over the country. We were also supposed to light a real candle, but my mummy said 'no.' (I guess, ever since I stuck my tail into the flame, those things are out around here.)

I guess, I'll be safe with a virtual candle though.

Please, before you buy,check out your shelter;

Your sweet buddy may be waiting for you.