hiking with darwin...

This past weekend, I felt like Flanders.

The Flanders of Simpson's fame.
I was a 'nervous pervous' most of the weekend.

We went to Hocking Hills in Southern Ohio, the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains for a little getaway. It was supposed to be relaxing. And it was, for the most part...except for those times when we were hiking. Then, I was nervous.

My mind playing out worst case scenarios with each trepidatious landing of my foot.

If you've not been to the area, you should do yourself a favor and go. There are extensive hiking trails through some rugged territory that lead to amazing caves, cliffs and waterfalls. No need to travel to the ends of the earth. They are all here, right in O-H-I-O. And despite of the size of this relatively small park area, no matter how many times you visit the landscape changes and there is always something new to admire.

Hocking Hills National Park is made up of 6 named famous rock formations. The towering cliffs, deep gorges, waterfalls and caves all provide stunning beauty. The Blackhand sandstone bedrock was deposited here over 350 million years ago. There are markings of ancient Adena which resided in the area 7,000 years ago. It's a plethora of outdoor opportunities that beckons you to visit again and again.

We found a wonderful rustic, yet well appointed cabin just north of the State Park. What drew me to this particular beauty was their advertisement of the need for a 4WD vehicle if visiting when snow is on the ground. To me? That sounds wonderfully remote and heaven like.

Only 3 1/2 hours from home, driving into this rural area diverse with such incredible raw beauty makes it the perfect place to really getaway without the investment of too much travel time. As we approached our backroad destination in the dark, I invisibly clapped myself on the back for adding the Navigation System when I purchased my Commander. Without it we might still be driving around looking for a lone cabin in the Hills of Ohio.

Our hillside was silent.
And dark.
And perfect.

Nothing but us and the stars.

And the much appreciated hot tub and fireplace. I love a roaring wood burning fire. It's mesmerising. Especially in a rustic log cabin in the middle of the woods with no one within sight.

Always a planner, I'd read up and charted a route for the next mornings hike. Our destination: the 8 mile circle between Old Man's Cave, Cedar Falls and on to Ash Cave. It's a nice hike. A good distance, but not too overwhelming for Boo and the dogs. If you go too far, they lose interest. And energy. We'd done this same trail before in the spring and were looking forward to seeing the frozen waterfalls and their massive icicles in the winter off-season.

We couldn't have asked for better conditions. Sunny and cool, but warm enough for just a fleece. Decked in the proper trekking gear, we left the car and headed to start the lower gorge trail and return on the upper rim.

However my plan was immediately thwarted. The stairs heading down into Old Man's Cave were frozen. Solid.

A gal was huffing up with her dog and twanged, "There ain't no way yo'all make it down there. That dog's gonna pull ya."

At that moment I didn't know she had intended herself to go down that stairway, but was unsuccessful. Her statement wasn't a taunting 'your dog ain't gonna make it'; rather it was a 'there ain't no one going down there today...'

We didn't heed the warning.
We were fresh. We were ready. We wanted to go.

In actuality, I didn't take it as a warning. It sounded more like a 'that dog won't hunt', I thought she was returning from her own visit to the Devil's Bathtub and was dissing my anxious pups...so we did as my Grandpa would say, "don't pay her no never mind". So I didn't.

D led the way. I liked the idea of him forging the trail for us to warn of danger ahead. 1 step-2-3-4-5 steps and then Whoop! D took the rest all at once with Stuey sliding down with him. He looked up, brushed himself off and said, "You comin', or what?"

I'll choose the 'what'.
Wisely, I decided it might be best to start our hike minus a full slide down some mighty long, rough, frozen stairs that'll end up with a bruised backside. Plus I'd like to keep all my teeth exactly where they are, thank you very much. I knew there were other ways down into the cave. Let's just go find the one slightly less hazardous.

This national park is well visited with hundreds of thousands of people coming to see it's wonder each year. Surprisingly enough it is still rather wild and unmarred by humans. It's not a commercial park. They take the 'natural' seriously. So yes, there are a few stairways and rock bridges, but they are not salted or cleared. There are no railings. There are just warning signs.

WARNING: Ice danger
WARNING: Rock ledges
WARNING: Hazardous cliff

All above signs and maps noted with a picture of a little stick guy falling on his arse. Fitting.

With the caveat of 'Stay on the Trail' they really do mean 'STAY ON THE TRAIL'!
100 foot drops are common throughout the park land without so much of a 'Be Careful' sign or fence. All the trails at Hocking Hills are pet friendly except for one; which is a nature preserve.

I'm sure Boo was getting tired of me following her and repeatedly telling her, "Be careful. Stay on the fresh snow. Stay to the left. Watch that ledge. Be careful."

As I was walking (and pushing the images from my mind of a bruised and bloodied Boo, or myself, at the bottom of the gorge) I thought about a past golf lesson. My instructor had told me, "Don't look at the water. (or whatever hazard there was that was giving me immediate anxiety) If you look at the water, you'll go in the water. Pretend it's not there."

So I would. I'd pretend that enormous lake wasn't there. Low and behold, I got over my fear of hitting over water. And managed at the same time to stay out of it.

Now I desperately was trying to channel some of Paul's insight of hazards and not think about the death cliff edged in slippery ice. If i succeed, I might just make it out of Hocking Hills alive.

Our hike, which was quite enjoyable although somewhat hazardous at times, was rewarding and exhilarating. Physically and mentally. Towards the end we all had one thing in mind. "The sun is setting. It's getting colder. The snow will again start to freeze up after a days worth of rays. We need to get out of this gorge. Please God, let us make it up the stairs with all our teeth and limbs intact."

As I witnessed several times over during my hikes, seemingly God does protect the ignorant.

With our trek over, the parking lot in sight, a girl and her friends were heading down into the park at dusk. They were wearing Uggs. Classic Uggs. Not even the winter ones. No traction. No tread. I just spent the last 4 hours dealing with getting my family home safely. I thought, "I may be reading about them tomorrow. I hope I don't, but I just might..."

There are several deaths attributed to this park each year. It's usually blamed on people wandering off the marked path, getting into trouble on unstable ledges and plummeting to their doom. Many times, as in the case of young Jacob Walls, he lost his footing after a quick rain when he was trying to get a photo of the Old Man's cave. A shot for the photo album. One worth framing. The family at the base of the cave where young Walls fell could do nothing to save him. He was only 15.

Or Amy Adams, 22, who was 100 yards off trail and tried, unsuccessfully to jump a stream. She slipped and was swept off the precipice. Or even Peter Westoff, 23, who was an amateur adventurer who got separated from his group and fell 60ft into the deep gorge. It took 18 hours for park officials to remove his body.

Peter that was on my mind during my hike this morning. Because he had been hiking in February when the conditions were the same as they were today.

Any printed park material that you pick up states several times over" Because of it's wilderness character, the park can be hazardous if you stray from the designated trails. Be sure not to lean over rock ledges and keep young children restrained." Yet, people hang over rock ledges, stray from the trail and let their kids run amok.

We were at the top of Ash Cave and passed a family walking towards us. "Be careful. It's very icy up ahead.", I told them. Trust me, it was. Even with my caution, I slipped several times. Yet here was this family with a 6 year old and toddler running ahead of them. Cliff ledge 150 feet. No rail. Icy trail. Toddler. They nodded, smiled and did nothing to rear in their children running 30 yards in front of them.

Ummmm. Hello? Anybody home?

The Rim trail runs exactly that. Right. Along. The. Rim. One mistake and BAM! You are now one with the cave. Forever.

There was another guy that almost gave me heart failure as well. The small stream that feeds the waterfall you see from below has a rock bridge you can cross. For the untrained, or ignorant eye, it doesn't appear fatal. But it could be. Easily. The bridge is exactly 20 feet from the edge. And yet this guy and his excitable puppy walk right out to the lip! IN THE STREAM, no less!

Let's see.

• Slick rock bottom stream. Check.
• 40-50 degree weather with spring meltoff and hidden ice. Check.
• Slick ice forming everywhere. Check.
• Right above the Cave! Check.
• Potential Darwinian award recipient. Check.

Prior to witnessing his ignorant bravado of "Hey! Come look at this!", I sat on a bench, leisurely enjoying my packed lunch. Soaking in the sunshine listening to the brook, the waterfall and the sound that spring brings in the woods, I was relaxed. Then I spied this group of ignoramus's approach the bridge and him take a beeline for the edge of the cliff with his dog in tow. One jerk of the leash could easily knock this guys footing right from under him.

"Either this guy, his dog, or both are going to fall. It's not going to be pretty."
I do not want to witness that.

It about ruined my day.
And Boo's.

I spent the remainder of our day riding her extra hard about her making sure of her footing. But this trail led us away from the cliff and into the lowlands. If you slipped, you just got your jeans wet and lost a little ego. But (hopefully) you weren't about to crack your skull or snap your spinal cord. I did get a hiking boot blow-out which made my feet slosh, but I can handle that. I wanted to buy some new treads anyway, so this was a perfect excuse to do so.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not encouraging the resurrection of handrails and fences in the park. I'm not even asking them to put up more signs. It is the hikers responsibility to educate themselves and have respect for their surroundings. Even if there were railings, you know you'd see the same mindless people standing on them.

If you are prepared and respect the potential danger of nature, then it's gorgeous. Everyone should experience it's beauty.

But be smart. KNOW your surroundings. Exercise caution. Err on the side of reserve with every step...no matter what season you are visiting. In spring, it becomes wet. And moss and leaves can be a slippery as ice. Or buy some Get-A-Grips crampons to wear on your shoes. They help.

Just be smart.
I was. And it was wonderful.

I've got the frameable photos to prove it.
Darwin didn't get me. At least this time around...
:-)

daily body smackdown...

I'm fed up.

I'm not fed. I'm just fed up.

I can't get away from news programs, advertisements, commercials, flyer's and event flyer's all telling me basically 'You're fat. And we can help you.'

I wouldn't mind losing a pound or two or ten...aw, hell. Maybe twenty for extra measure. But if I do, it's because I want to. Not because I've been coerced or guilted into it.

Every single time I turn on the television there is Julian Michael's hawking her exercise regimen and diet supplements. Interestingly enough she is being sued for false advertising for the same weight loss supplement. Cashing in on her fame, she joined forces to sell worthless diet pills at $40 a pop. But the class action suit is for $5 million...Julian, put that in your weight belt and eat it.

What about Nutrisystem with Marie Osmond? Can her eyelashes get any faker or her hair any bigger? That's the rule with celebrity endorsed weight loss programs. Wear excessive makeup and big hair. Add to that stilleto heels and some horribly flashy garb and well, it makes the rest of you appear smaller. They really want me to believe that she eats their food to lose her extra weight?....Yeah, right. And she lives in a mansion on that swamp land I bought the last time I jumped on the '120 delicious foods' Nutrisystem bandwagon.

Or better yet, 'One Day at a Time' sister, Valerie Bertenelli, selling the Jenny Craig dream. That's all fine and good. But that commercial with the gal that just lost 5 pounds and wants to know if her mascara is waterproof because she's going to cry? They lost me there. It annoys the hell out of me. Really? 5 pounds? I understand that they are trying to make it 'let's not set our goals too high'... But c'mon. That commercial makes me want to boycott all things Jenny Craig.

Let's face it.

Losing weight isn't easy. It take diligence and hard work.

Usually.

Back in 2001 I lost 43 pounds. I didn't need to. I didn't really want to. It just happened. I started losing weight and the next thing you know, none of my clothes fit. I was buying size 0. Yeah...I said that right. Z-E-R-O. And some of those didn't fit all that well. They were a little baggy. I'm 5'6". It wasn't pretty.

When I was 120lbs....I looked good. That there's my fightin' weight.

I could put anything on and look fabulous. But at 100lbs? No sir. I looked ill.

Granted, I was going through a divorce and I just couldn't eat. Seriously. I couldn't. The weight just fell off. And then slowly I stabilized. The antidepressants my doctor prescribed for me started putting the weight back on even without my eating. Then I didn't need those any more and I stayed the same for quite some time.

Like most women, I fluctuate with weight. There is a song by Lyle Lovett called "Good Intentions' croons "The temporary weight gain due to excess water retention...It's just a fact of life, that no one cares to mention." That's me.

I mean, he wasn't singing about me, but was singing about me.

Guys don't have to deal with that. Lucky bastards. So they don't quite understand what we go through. But lately for each 5 temporary pounds put on, I only lose 4 9/12. Doesn't sound like much, does it. But it is....do the math. That's 2 pounds a year. I'm presently at a size that takes very little effort to maintain. I'm not going to be modeling for Hawaiian Tropic or anything, but people don't run screaming in the opposite direction when I approach either.

Sometimes I see some rather heavy people in outfits that I wouldn't wear in the house, let alone out in public. Something inside me shouts, "Cover that shit up!" when you see a 200+ lb woman baring her midriff or wearing a mini-skirt. And then another softer side of me thinks, "That's cool, she has such body confidence."

Or maybe she might not own a mirror.

One second thought, by the look of her hair, it is indeed due to lack of a mirror.

In comparison, I look like a runway model.

My friend has a cousin that runs. She doesn't just run, she runs marathons. She thinks it's fun. I find it exhausting just listening to her talk about her running.

I like her. I really do. I admire her. And I admire her commitment.

I used to run. I used to run a lot. Used to. Past tense.

I enjoyed it as well. I was in excellent shape. And then I blew my knee out skiing. I swear it's never quite been the same since. If I run too much, it tweaks my knee and then I'm in pain for a month. I'd rather do something that doesn't aggravate it too much. Why push it? There are other physical activities that I can get involved with that will leave my delicate cartilage at peace.

I saw her at a gathering around October and she had gotten that P90X. It works. Of that I'm sure. If you have the commitment to do it. Which she does. And which I don't.

When I saw her in November, again I ambled into a conversation going on and it was all about P90X. At the Christmas party as I went over to get another cocktail she was standing in the kitchen talking to someone about...guess what? P90X.

I would love to transform my body into a work of art. Muscular art. But I don't have that much time to devote to an extreme workout everyday, nor the time to shower then afterwards. I just don't. I want to...but it's hard enough working in all the things on my calender already.

Now I can almost hear some of you saying, "But you CAN. Just change your schedule."

I wish I could. I've been running behind the eight ball for so long. Squeezing things in here and there. Not enough time for such a rigorous fitness program.

Right now.

Although I do have their website listed as one of my search favorites. Maybe I might just take the 90 day challenge. I did just get that new Victoria's Secret Swim Catalog. I bet there might be something in there I might like. Fact is, I'm sure of it.

I read the other day that Demi Moore does a daily body assessment.

She stands naked in front of a 3 way mirror and looks at her entire body to see what needs to be worked on and what looks good.

Every day.

But her job depends on her looking good. Hell, her job is to look good. She has the time and the energy and the commitment to look like she does. And all the money to back it up as well.

Let's not mention the little hottie husband, Ashton baby, to boot who is a smackdown 16 years her junior. I think if I had to live and sleep with Ashton, I'd make it my priority too to look as damn hot as I could.

My brain has too much respect for my fragile ego to allow me a daily mirror assessment of that intensity. There are some things that should be left unscruntized. I do wish to be able to address the world with some sort of head held high decorum, after all. Demi's ritual might well be the end of Nancy as we know her if introduced into the household itinerary.

I'm not excited about getting older, but yet I'm relatively okay with it. I don't want to destroy my looks like I personally feel Meg Ryan has done. She was adorable. And now she's just...well, like all those other gals getting older and trying desperately to not. Botox, plastic surgery, implants, liposuction. I am bombarded with images of these women not growing old gracefully daily.

I just want to feel good.

About me.

Without the pressure of pleasing anyone but myself.

But how much is that P90X? Because that little black bikini is killer. And 120 is my fightin' weight...

I could so rock that.

Where's my debit card.

:-)

take a bullet or a number...

I receive countless 'drum up business' e-mails daily.

Overstock, SmartBargains, Borders, Zappos and LandsEnd; to name a few. Normally I just hit 'delete' and away it goes. Zap. Incinerated into the spam abyss.

Granted, these e-mails more than once have led me to a fantastic deal or two. But most times it's not.

So the delete key and my pointer finger have become quite well acquainted.

But this one caught my eye. The marketing guys done did good.
Marketing: 3 Delete Button: 10,942

$35 covers a complete meal, including tip and mini-spa night with gift from Aveda. Targeting the female audience for a girls night out, the restaurant holds this gig every third Monday of the month. Monday nights must be hurting for biz.

So looking for some compatriots to indulge, I forwarded the spam to some of my local friends. See if anyone else was intrigued with the idea of pampered 'me' time. No children. No spouses or significant others. Just the gals.

Sounds fun, doesn't it? It was. It was grand.

As we sat a talked between courses, and libations to accompany, I realized how wonderful my circle of friends were. Melissa on my right and Eileen on my left, I felt blessed...no, honoured to be in their presence. They both never cease to amaze me in their awesomness. Who knew Melissa could speak Russian? I felt like Jamie Lee Curtis in a 'Fish called Wanda'...well, almost. But it definitely strengthened my 'girl crush' that's for sure. Eileen is self deprecating, but she shouldn't be. I could listen to her for hours. She, for some reason, has no idea how fabulous she really is.

In my household we've begun experiencing the first, and I'm sure not the last, of female drama with my daughter and a few of her school mates. At eleven, she hasn't had much exposure to what can be the worst of female traits. Cattiness.

She has a 'friend' that one day is her best friend and the next doesn't want her to sit at the lunch table with the rest of the girls. It's horrible. And it's mean. We've had long discussions about the true meaning of friendship. That 'it's not how many people you know, or how popular you are, but the quality of your friends that matters most.' She had an opportunity then to express her friend loyalty and chose to sit with a girl, at another table, that had been deemed unworthy to sit with the rest.

I'm so proud of her.

I'm not good friends with many of the people that I've encountered over the years. I didn't maintain contact. There's a handful here and there, but not many I'd call close. I have acquaintances that know so many people, it's confusing. I wouldn't be able to remember everyone. That's not my bag. I like my close circle of friends. My bubble. Only so many can fit in here at a time. Those are the ones that I count on.

I'll continue to keep my circle tight. I like it that way.

A cohort of mine was filling me in on the latest of her wedding plans over lunch one afternoon, "I've got to cut back the guest list to 400! That's all the hall will comfortably hold." she informed me.

She's been planning her wedding it seems like for a year. Actually, it's probably longer than that. She was planning this event even before she knew her spouse to be. Every little detail is nailed down. Bridezilla? That description fits. God help anyone who's responsible for any detail of her 'most special day'.

My mind was spinning. 400? Seriously? I don't think I even know 400 people. Let alone 400 people with whom I'd want to share my wedding with. But then, this girl has over a 1000 'friends' on Facebook. I like her...but we obviously are so completely different, on so many levels, we probably shouldn't even be friends.

I offer, "Well, please...don't worry about me. You can give my invitation to someone else. Just make sure to save me a piece of cake."

"Oh, Nancy! That's what I love about you!", she gushed, giving me air-kisses across the table.

That sealed it. We really, really shouldn't even know one another let alone be having lunch together. What she doesn't know is that when and if the invitation did arrive, I'd mysteriously have had other plans that I 'simply forgot about but can't get out of...'. Yeah, 'Happy for You!' I am, but I'd much rather just send a gift.

I didn't have the big frou-frou wedding myself. We got married on the beach at sunset at our favorite spot to getaway. My daughter is named after that island as well. My then boyfriend had asked me, "When's your next weekend off?"

"In two weeks. The weekend before Thanksgiving." I worked as a manager in retail at the time and we were just getting geared up for a busy holiday season. No one got weekends off through Christmas.

"Do you want to get married? Go down to the island?", he asked over dessert.

I still think it was the veal. Johnny's on Fulton veal is to die for, but they did something extra to it that evening. We're out having dinner and the next I'm getting married. His proposal was unplanned. Spontaneous. I like that too.

My parents were traveling abroad and I had to wait for them to call before I could give them the news. I'll never forget what my dad said, "I admire your practicality." The ex still contends that my dad owes him $40+ for saving him the big To-Do.

But our wedding was romantic. Special. We shared our moment with just a handful of friends and family who all went down to our 'happy place' on the island. It was perfect...for me. For us. If given the opportunity to change plans, I wouldn't have done it any other way.

400?
No way.

As I sat with my friends at dinner my mind was wandering as the conversation flitted around the room. Years ago I accompanied my ex on a week long excursion to award the high performers at his office. The destination? Costa Rica.

I was excited at the opportunity. I'd never been before and was looking forward to the experience. We planned on staying an extra week and explore the country since we were there. Lounging on a chaise, cool drink in hand, kibitzing with some of the other spouses, I soaked in the sun and my gratitude for the moment. My husband had gone for a walk with one of the firms partners.

I watched them approaching in the haze of the heat, strolling the beach nonchalantly. He waved as he drew closer. As he delivered a quick kiss and he said, "C'mon. Let's go for a swim, I've some news".

Knowing how well business had been for him of late, exceeding all their expectations, I figured this was good news. I was already mentally picking out new furniture.

"I've just quit." he continued.

"What? You what?....." I stammered, "What, pray tell, happened?"

"Yesterday, while looking around the people here that I work with...I realized I wouldn't take a bullet for any of them. So I quit."

Take a bullet.
Putting yourself in harms way to protect another.

I understood. I wouldn't have either given my limited knowledge of those at the firm I'd met over the years. No worries. The new furniture can wait. I'm sure he has his reasoning. I trusted his instinct implicitly. And admired his integrity.

It turned out to be a good move. Things were changing there and not necessarily for the best. There was a company wide shake-up with his departure. It's interesting how some things happen, without planning, that can change your life. If you listen. Are in tune. And react.

As I sat listening to these women surrounding me at the table the other night I thought, "For these ladies, I'd take a bullet." That's how fond I am and how grateful I feel to know them.

It's not the length of time that denotes a close friendship, but the quality of time spent.

I love that.
I love them.

It's good to network and know people, but it's the ones close to you that matter most.
The rest can take a number.

I've only so much time....and I have to make it count.

:-)





"As real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." ~ Walter Winchell

time to go...

Our household contains a plethora of animals.

Two dogs, two cats, one hamster, one beta fish, and who knows how many pond fish. I can't count them as they are blissfully in frozen animation under two feet of snow.

I'd add more to the brood, but I'm already up to my ears in care taking duties. I've always had pets. Many times more than one at a time while growing up. But this is about the largest group of animals that I've had in my lifetime thus far.

There have been many throughout the years.

The early years for me included Tuffy, the sixteen pound tabby cat. Puffy, the Shepard mix dog. Poncho-the Chihuahua mix followed by Poncho2, and Rex the 1st.

Rex was a gorgeous dog. Pure white German Shepard with clear blue eyes. Then Puffy led Rex on a hike and Rex never found his way back home. So we ended up with Rex2. Dad called the APL and they had a white German Shepard. My dad figured that it 'had to be him', went and retrieved the dog. Lo and behold, it wasn't. Still a cool dog, but he growled at my brother anytime he went near him. Rex2 holds a special place in my heart. For five years I got away with tormenting Charles' because I had Rex2 for backup.

There was Elliotto Gozaimashita, Norman, Buster and Max. All great cats that thought they were dogs. Then Aarow (Border Collie), Cameron (Golden Retriever) and Ferris (Bouvier) who actually were dogs. I'd count Cameron #1(Golden Retriever), but we only had him for two days before he started with seizures. The vet said it would be best if he just put the puppy down. I cried for another two days. I thought it my fault, I felt responsible. It was so sad.

Puffy lasted the longest of all the animals I've ever owned. Seventeen years. Probably because she never got in any trouble (except her long walks sometimes) and was a medium sized dog. I was at college when my mother put her to sleep. She had a swollen jaw and found out it was mouth cancer. It took my mom three months to tell me. Only forced to do so the day before I came home for winter break.

"Honey.", my mom purred into the phone, "There's something I have to tell you......"

Dead silence.

My mother was a super sweet woman, but as a teacher, she was the strong lead by example type. Lessons were learned in our house. No smoke and mirrors, everything was pretty point blank. My dad was a scientist so everything was just put out there and you dealt with it. We were an open family with no secrets. So to hear the soft, hushed, smooth over tone in her voice...I figured what she had to say must be a biggie.

"What's that, Mom. What's so important?", I replied. "I'm studying for my finals tomorrow and then I'm driving home." I really needed to concentrate. Tomorrows test were huge. This conversation wasn't helping me.

"It has to do with Puffy...." I felt a sigh of relief. At least no one had died, or was in the hospital. I figured she took one of her walks again.

"We had to put her to sleep, honey pie. I'm sorry."

"Mom! When? What happened?"

"Mouth cancer, dear. The vet said it was the best thing to do. She was in pain." my mother explained. "We did it on Monday."

It was Tuesday evening. I thought, 'Geez. Couldn't you have waited until I came home?'

What I didn't know then that I then learned once back home...she wasn't talking about the Monday past, but the Monday past past past past. Like three months prior past. Like the day after I left for school past.

But seventeen years is a long time for a dog to live.

Cameron lived to sixteen. Strangely old for a big 120 lb. dog. And Ferrris was a grand old age of fifteen when he finally went to the playground in the sky.

The number of pets that I have only lowers itself when one passes on. Over the years I've had to put four cats and seven dogs to sleep. It's never easy. Some were harder than others. I've never given one up for adoption. I know all too well how overcrowded the Animal Protective League is with unwanted animals and can't bring myself to add to it. Most adult animals don't have much of a chance for adoption, they end up euthanized.

That being said, over the weekend one of the little furry friends had to find a new home. There's always a first time.

Misty had to go.

Presently the cast of characters in the house is Stuey (American bulldog), Sienna (Labradoodle), Big Maw (whose real name is Little Miss Cutie-blame my daughter when she was 3 for that one) and Little Maw (whose real name is Misty). The hampster is Butterscotch and the beta is Blue. Can you guess their colors? Yup. Go figure.

Our pond fish all are known by name as well. Stealth, Shark, Bubble and Karat are a few. Google and Yahoo are in the pond as well.

I love my pets. All of my pets. Even the ones that don't do much, like the fish. They are an extension of my family unit. But when one doesn't comply with family rules, then you can't stay here.

Little wasn't listening. She wasn't playing by the house rules.

So she had to go....

And go she did. That ultimately was her downfall.

She went on my couch.

Then she went on Boo's bed. Twice.

And Boo's couch. Three times.

Have you ever smelled cat urine?

It's the worst.

It gives me headaches.

Just thinking about it is giving me a headache and the smell is long gone.

I took Little to the vet to see if it she was having a physical problem. Nothing. I replaced the litter boxes with new ones to see if that would help. Nope. I searched the Internet for clues and suggestions of what to do since this was a behavioural problem. Nothing worked.

So I found her a new home.

I felt badly about it. I wasn't positive who was the culprit. It was a 50/50 crapshoot at best. Was it Little or Big that has decided to use our furniture as an toilet? I never saw when it happened or who did it. But I had a good guess.

It's now been two whole weeks and we've not had another urine incident. Our house remains odor free! So I think I was correct in my deduction.

And I have a new cat.

Not a new cat, really, but Big is a whole new cat now that Little is gone.

She's now uber friendly once again. She had started to get quite skittish. As I think about it now, Little would wait and pounce/attack her when she would stroll into a room. She would do the same to me and I didn't like it, so no wonder Big became so testy.

Last night as I sat watching the Olympics with Sienna under one arm and Stuey under the other, Big jumped up and couldn't decide where to settle. She was purring do loudly I had to turn the TVs volume up. She'd curl up with Stuey and then cross to me. Knead me a few minutes and then rub up on Sienna. She was a happy cat. Very happy.

One big, furry, happy family. Once again.

And the bonus?

No cat urine. For over two weeks. And three animals that all get along.

Life is good.

Now where's that lint roller?

:-)

guilty pleasures...

I broke down and indulged.
I couldn't help myself. I caved.

I figure it's alright though, because isn't Valentines Day an excuse for indulging in guilty pleasures?

I've never been one to shun candy. I love me some good chocolate. Or beautiful flowers. Or extra long kisses...but I don't buy into the whole Valentine's Day "I love you so much that today and only today I'm going to show exactly how much by sending you flowers chocolates and cheesey cards" retail thang.

But I DO love guilty pleasures.

You probably have heard that the northwest got hammered again with snow. Presently, there is about 8-10 inches (and growing) of snow on the ground right outside my door and I don't even live in the snow belt. I like snow, I'm prepared for this kindof weather, so I say, "Bring It." I have a Jeep Commander that loves this stuff, I have a plowing service, a snowblower, I ski, I sled and I have a new pair of snow shoes. So c'mon Mother Nature, seriously, bring it on...

My guilty pleasure, my indulgence, stems directly from this recent snowfall.

Friday afternoon as I was sitting in my office reading my favorite blogs and I happened to hear the sound of wheels spinning. Not uncommon as our plows haven't been able to keep up, but these wheels were really spinning and it sounded rather close-by. It was also accompanied by many four letter words.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzttttttt. "F*ck!"
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttttttt. "S*it!"
ZZZZZzzzttttt.Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzttttttt. "F*ckin' F*ck, MotherF*ck'er!"

Now, you must know at this point of the story, I live across the street from an Elementary School.

It's 3pm.

There are little kids and parents picking up said little kids everywhere. If I can hear this inside my home, up on the second floor, in my office, with the windows closed...can you imagine what it sounded like down where this was happening?

I stood up and looked out my window and what did mine eyes perceive? But my obnoxious next door neighbor completely stuck in the apron of her driveway.

Now before you go and get all, "Nancy, that's not nice to laugh at someone else's misfortune." Let me set you straight on what I've had to live with these past two years of her tenancy next door.

My neighborhood is comprised of mostly single family homes with a smattering of duplex's mixed in. The house next door is a duplex. The neighbor is question lives on the first floor. A renter. I think with a male roommate, but there are so many people coming and going, I'm not sure anymore.

They have odd hours. Coming home at 2 or 3am, leaving other days at 5am. I've but talked to them once. They pull in. They go in the house. The come out of the house, get in their car and drive away. I've been out front doing yard work when they've pulled in before and don't so much as get a wave. It's a little odd.

I'm quite tolerant. I've never created a fuss, although this does get a little old. Me thinks she could take her trash can out sometime the day or night before, not at 4am in the morning...dragging it. Making all kinds of noise clanging her bottle recyclables against the pavement all the way down the drive. Did I mention it's 4am? Yeah. Real considerate. Very neighborly.

But as I say, I'm tolerant. Plus I don't want to start a neighbor, 'I'm going to call the police' war. I can see them trying to get back at me by calling every time my dogs bark or the kids play on the trampoline. So I've been patient. And kept my mouth shut.

The other morning they arrived home and woke me from a dead slumber. The music was so loud is was as if I had turned on my own stereo in my bedroom as I slept. I turned and looked at my bedside clock. 2:04 am the damn thing glowed at me in it's ambient blue light.

I got up, wiped the sleep from my eyes and hobbled over to the window. As I peered out the back window into my neighbors driveway three levels below, the music got louder. My neighbor was doing her rendition of a soft shoe, holding a beer, in the driveway next to the drivers open door. Phish. And like most Phish or Dead songs do....it went on forever. Dancing. Soft shoe. In the driveway. 2am Weeknight.

Yes. It was a Wednesday night. Or Thursday morning, depending on how you look at it.

Her house stands between mine (complete with 11 year old daughter) and my neighbors ( two daughters 10 and 13) who both have school aged children. In the summer, although annoying, it's somewhat acceptable. I get that. Summer nights. Heavy drinking. Incoherent, unruly, inconsiderate neighbors...whatev'.

But to err in waking a sleeping child on a weeknight so you can continue your party in your driveway? Hmmmm. Not so acceptable.

They are either just too dumb and young to know that they live in a residential neighborhood. There are responsibilities that go along with living in such neighborhoods.

*We all care for our yards.
*We take out our trash.
*We try not to offend our neighbors.

*bing*bing*bing*bing*

Oh! They must not have gotten that memo! The one that makes them compassionate human beings? Assets to the community?

Yeah.....that one.

So to see her out stuck in her driveway not knowing what to do?
That was my Valentines Day present.

I enjoyed seeing her upset and flabbergasted.

A good Samaritan pulled into my freshly plowed driveway to try to help. She retrieved a shovel from her trunk and went to try to shovel the blockage from the driveway apron. "Rock the car!", she yelled to my neighbor.

"Whaaaaatttttttt?! Do whaatttttttttt?", she whined.

"ROCK the car.", the good Samaritan yelled back. "You DO know how to rock the car?"

"Ummmmm. Whhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttttttt?"

I'm holding my head thinking....'Dear God, How dumb can this girl REALLY be?'

"Here. Let me get in.", Ms. Good Samaritan offered.

So the lady who has stopped to help this sloth out of her situation because she didn't even check the driveway and obviously has no idea to do with the shovel she's just been handed has now gotten into the drivers seat of the dumb ass girls car.

Another gentleman pulls up and in his suit and tie gets out to try to help as well.

Dumb girl stands in her pajama pants (did I mention this is 3:00pm?) and gloveless hands, holding a shovel while two strangers dig her shit out of her own driveway....I stand and watch.

And take pictures.

Valentines Day. Guilty Pleasures.

Bummer.
They unstuck her car. I had sooooo hoped she'd had been inconvenienced for awhile. That would've been fun. A little karmic payback.

But just like chocolates. Guilty pleasures don't last long.
Although I have photos, so I can look at those anytime I want. How fun for me.

That's almost better than chocolate.

:-)

Footnote Update: You'll all be happy to know that since my neighbors are seemingly too lazy to shovel their driveway, and not bright enough to hire someone to do it for them, she's been parking in the street. And right now, my Valentines Day bliss has doubled! The snow plows have her buried in the street. Of course, there are LARGE SIGNS posted that our street has a snow ban. Which means you don't park in the street if there is more than 2" of snow...because they WILL plow. And you WILL get buried.

Should I loan her my shovel? My snowblower?

Nope.I'm charging my video camera...

:-)
Delicious.

Happy Valentines Day! I hope you can enjoy a few guilty pleasures yourself!