Oreo

BTW - here he is - in all his smug escapee felicity.

Hack Horses at Summer Camp

My friend Chris got me thinking about horses - and despite how dangerous they can be, how much fun they are. My favorite camp horse memory involved a guy named Matt... I knew him as a camper - then later as a camp counselor. Now, as adults, I still tell this story every time I see him. In fact, this past Christmas, I got to tell his new wife. (I'm sure he just tunes me out)

Little Matt was riding a horse named Master through a quarry. I was leading the ride. There is a point in this quarry where the horses needed to go up a little, but steep hill. The kids loved it because the horses found it much easier to do a little leap-maneuver to get up the incline, as opposed to trudging up the hill, one leg at a time. The sudden "whoosh" of horsepower was always a bit of a thrill for beginner riders.

To add drama to the thrill, I was unaware of a bee's nest next to the trail.

If you are un-horsed, I have to tell you something about these seemingly majestic animals. They have a hopeless and unforgiving pack mentality. If one horse is upset, the others will act as if the offense is theirs. The result can be sheer pandmonium until everyone calms down. Then, it's business as usual, as if the incident never occurred.

For example, if a horse is doing a little leap-maneuver up a hill in a quarry and suddently gets stung by a bee, it will run. The other horses, unstung and absolutely fine, will think something like, "I don't know why - but I'm TERRIFIED!" and begin to run. To make matters worse, the 8 year olds riding the scared horses will join in on the fear. They tug at the reigns with all their might, often raising their arms as if they want to ask a question... This throws kids' balance further off... Their fear and dizziness feeds into the horses' paranoia...

It seems we all have one huge and ridiculous pack mentality.

I've been through this before. As a seasoned professional equestrian guide (tee hee), if I turn my horse, and ask that horse to stand still, generally, the other horses will say something like, "There's Scout. He's not scared - and he's a real pansy! We must be okay." Everyone stops. The children, realizing they're holding their reigns above their heads, relax. The horses can put their heads down. Everyone calms down. No one falls off.

Ok. Back to the quarry. The horse behind me got stung and began to run. Master and Matt fled the scene (this was, of course, a scene of about 2 yards). I turned my horse. All the horses stopped, but the momentum caused Matt to lurch forward. (He had a certain lack of balance, superceded only by his stubborn unwillingness to fall.) Matt threw his arms around Master's neck. He gripped with his legs. His little body, topheavy, caused him to slide down and around the horse's neck. Somehow Master remained calm and upright.

Matthew, now dangling from Master's neck, (much like a kid hangs from monkey bars), screamed, "Miss Kelly, Miss Kelly!! HELP!"

I just looked at him, bemused, and said, "Matt, let go with your feet." He looked at me like I was crazy, but did as he was told.

Relieved, Matthew was surprised to discover he was standing, firmly on terra firma - right next to Master's neck. A beat later, he discovered he was still hanging on to Master's neck, therefore giving the magnificent steed an accidental hug. He blushed. I helped him back on the horse, and we rode back to the stable.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Chris - that's one of my favorite camp memories. AND, FYI, I was a part of one of those Camp Rodeos (for everyone else - refer to Chris' comment on the previous blog)- I was riding Kibbles - and he took off. Instead of going over the covered bridge, it jumped in the creek, and over the opposite bank. Kibbs ran me through a tree. I got a nasty welt on my neck, but I didn't fall off - Phil and Brian came running after me to see if I was ok... Later, everyone kept asking where I got the hickey. I don't think they do rodeos anymore.

Horse Sense

NOTE: This is a post about lost cats and dying horses. It's about mercy killing and free will. If you grew up in an un-horsey area, you may not understand that this is not a sick or deviant post. It's just about life and kind decisions... and the fact that everything that's born dies eventually.

Today was one of those days. The cat hasn't shown up (not that I expected it to...) The more I think about it - I really should have thought this whole cat-sitting thing through... It was a stray, and therefore ferrel cat, who went from living outside, to living in a house - to moving to another house, to, through no will of its own, got moved to my house... I might leave too.

When I told my boss about this, he kind of laughed at me. "That's pretty funny. You take a wild cat in - and it bites you and escapes your house." Somehow, this makes sense to all men - and none of us girls, who just want something in life to rescue (whether it wants rescuing or not).

So while speaking with the boss, I inquired about his horse. The horse had West Nile Virus, and was very very ill. The last I asked, the horse came home from several days at the vet, and was doing better. I assumed that he pulled through.

"Um, Kelly. The horse died. Didn't you know?"

This is the SECOND time this week I felt crappy. The first was when I found the cat's escape route in the screen. I felt like a heel. I could, in my mind, envision my legs, hips and torso morphing into one huge and calloused heel...

I don't know if any of you are horse people, but the death of a horse a really sad thing - one that's happened to me a couple of times with horses I knew well. It's more sad than an escaped cat - although I would never mention that to Oreo's owner.

The first horse I ever knew who died while I knew him was Old Budweiser, a dear old Roman-nosed black horse who lived at the riding stable I worked at in high school and college. He was sick, old, and indisputably ready to die. He was sweet, and despite his frat-boy name, all the kids loved him the best.

I marvelled at how easily my boss could take him up to the pasture and shoot him. It was a very solemn day at the stable.

NOTE: Before you freak out - shooting him was a kind thing to do. (and if you knew my boss at that time, you'd understand that it wasn't at all out of character - or even one of the nastiest things he's done... but that's another expose' for another day...)

The second horse death still haunts me. When I was an 8 year-old camper, the first horse I met was named Blaze. Later, I was a staff member at the same camp, and worked with Blaze every day. Years after my camp days were through, I rented the apartment above the same camp's office (I never left Camp! Either did Blaze).

The kid hired to take care of the horses one summer wasn't paying attention, and for some cosmically strange reason I will never understand, didn't notice that Blaze wasn't eating. Cardinal rule of horse care number one: If a horse isn't eating, something is very wrong. Eventually, Blaze's disease progressed to a point where, mixed with the weight loss, he could no longer function. He couldn't stand up - he could barely lift his head.

I wasn't around much that summer, and wasn't around the horses at all. I wish I had been... but that's how it goes sometimes.

One morning in early September, my friend, Donna (the camp program director) walked into my kitchen and knocked on the bathroom door. I was in the shower. "Kelly. Can I see you a minute?" I grabbed a towel and opened the door.

"Do you think you could shoot Blaze for me?"

"No, I couldn't possibly shoot Blaze." Despite the fact that I had grown up in a houseful of mighty hunters, I've never shot anything stonger than a BB gun in my life - and even though I knew it must be really bad, I couldn't bring myself to do the good and kind deed. Donna couldn't either. She called another friend.

I got dressed and asked if I could say goodbye. "Brace yourself," Donna warned.

I headed out to the barn - and completely walked by Blaze, skin and bones, lying by a tree. When I found him, I started to cry. I sat with him awhile - and told him I would miss him - and that I appreciated his sense of humor. He always found a hole in the fence, and frequently waited on the outside of the paddock gate around feeding time.

I never really got on all that well with the camp director... so it was fun to watch Phil continually grumble as he had to mend yet another hole in the fence... I'm pretty sure "Heavens To Blazes" (as I affectionately referred to him) understood - I don't think he liked Phil all that much either.

The third horse was poisoned by a freak incident, where he ate some bad grass (I'd explain the details, but it's pretty gross - and very, very rare). Scout was a horse I knew very well. To eulogize a bit, you could say Scout brought out the best and worst in me... We had many pleasant hours on trails together, but he could get me very angry with his stubbornness.

The disease left him semi-paralyzed in the back legs - With no cure, the kindest thing to do was to put him down.

I don't know why I'm telling you this - I guess I'm just thinking about loss... But you know? Having relationships with animals is such a complicated thing - We're responsible - and we love them - but we're never really in control. I guess their unpredictability - and the fact that they actually pay attention to us - are some of the things we love most about them.

I guess in some weird way, our grief is our memorial...

Ok. That's it. I promise the next blog will be about something more cheerful... For now - and just so you know, I still smile when I think about Blaze, Scout, and that adorable old Budweiser.

Cat Acquired - And Lost

The cat arrived on Thursday. Apparently, my friend-the-owner cried when she left…

Then, the cat had one quiet night. Then he very likely decided he didn’t know where he was, and despite adequate company, good food and clean litter, he bit my hand then tore down my curtains on Friday, and pushed out and escaped through a screen on a second floor window on Saturday night. I’m mortified – worried about him – but even more worried about how its owner will feel when we have to tell her.

I’ve made posters, canvassed the area, called the police in two municipalities, and left a description with the Humane Society. I’ve called the owners mother – and much to my embarrassment, started to cry on the phone… “It’s not your fault,” she said…

Now that I was on a roll, I called everyone, to various degrees of making myself feel better… It was a mixed bag:

Called Police: Within 5 minutes, one of the local police left a message, while I was on the phone with owner’s mother… “I saw a cat around St. Mary’s – heading towards Front. Great.

While in the car canvassing, I spoke with the humane society: left description

Called Dave: “No more cats, Kelly… Stupid cat… It's not your fault.”

Called Stephanie, friend of the owner: No answer

Called my father (why? Why? Why?): Kelly – it’s a cat. Forget about it.

I’m now sobbing…. And asked to speak to my mother… who said essentially the same thing, but in a slightly nicer way. She also mentioned that it was not my fault...

My father was so upset that he upset me, he called Dave, explaining that he said the wrong thing (I know he should have called ME to say that – but he’s my dad and I love him anyway)

An hour later, Fran shows up – because we have a gig. I pull him in the car and we canvas again. I question my sanity in thinking I might be a cat person… I once owned a cat – but I now think I only liked THAT cat.

We need to leave for our gig... I told the band that if we didn't speak of the cat, I wouldn't cry.

Stephanie called: After reiterating that this was not my fault, she was a dear and not only recruited our friend Mark to canvas, but stuck a photo of the offending escapee on my door… I made posters later…

That was the rescue effort to date. This morning, the cat did not return, despite the food and his bed left by the front door.

This is the absolute worst thing that’s happened to me in a loooong time. I’m hoping someone finds him…

Epilogue: Dave says I’m not allowed to cat sit anymore. He even cited the fact that cats I’ve taken in the past could have just as easily escaped (um… it probably didn’t matter that they didn’t escape and were returned successfully to the owner…) but... now you've heard it - no more cats. I think my churning stomach and crazy dreams are okay with that. I still feel like it's my fault.

Oreo? If you're reading this - you're a whole lot of trouble, but come back anyway.

Kudos and Cheers

Kudos and Cheers to my co-workers, who this week helped me through all SORTS of things. In a show of gratitude, I've volunteered to drive the Fed-Ex'es to the box tonight.

Ah, teamwork

To Acquire Cat - Or Not To Acquire Cat

An acquaintance of mine wants me to assume responsibility for a cat she’s recently taken in… It’s just possible that I’m way too busy to add another thing to my life – namely – a cat with feline leukemia. This is not to say I won’t kitty sit for the poor feline while her foster feline mom is on vacation.

The cat was to arrive last night. I had to postpone. My sister called. Jason (my nephew – see “Hardcore”for more details) had to go into the hospital overnight for an early morning bronchoscopy. (No idea if I spelled that right – but to make a long word understandable, the doctors need to clean out his lungs.) I agreed to stay with him.

I’m still a little upset. At 2 AM, they decided to wake him from deep slumber to insert an IV. Nurse I looked for veins for almost an hour. It went like this – tourniquet goes on lower left arm, just above wrist. She uses this powerful light to hold up to his little 5-year old arm to see the outline of the veins (remember when we stuck flashlights into our mouths at campfires? Our cheeks glowed? The technology is exactly the same. The light glowed - and the veins showed up as dark purple creeks flowing up and down Jay’s arm)

The only trouble is – Jason’s veins are tiny, tiny, tiny.

Light off, tourniquet off. Re-tie tourniquet to left leg, below knee. Search left ankle for veins… Move tourniquet down. Add light, feel around foot for deep vein. No dice.

Right arm. Tourniquet. Found what may be a good one, despite my request to keep the IV on his non-dominant arm.

Meanwhile, Jason, fully understanding what is about to take place, is voicing all the protest his tired little body can muster. “Owie! I want Mommy!” Then he’d fall asleep until the tourniquet was retied. This breaks my heart.

Ok. So the first needle prick is unsuccessful. Instant bruise. We’re all unhappy. Repeat process until a vein is suspected in his left foot. No dice. I’m annoyed because all the nurses can say is “Sometimes we don’t get them in right away…” All Jason can say is “Owie, I want Mommy.”

I was relieved when the three nurses decided to get more experienced help. A MedEvac guy named Chris comes and begins the search for veins again. He managed to find an acceptable one in Jay’s right arm. At least it wasn’t in his hand. I hate it when Jay can’t use his hand due to IV.

At first, he didn’t believe he got the needle where it should be, but he was able to draw a blood sample, and flood the vein with saline – which is, apparently, the sure sign of a successful stick. Jason was exhausted.

As Chris left, and my stomach churned, I told Jay he was very, very brave. He asked me if he could watch Shreck. (we both love Shreck). Until he calmed down, we passed the time by quoting movie lines and singing “Hey now, you’re a rock star…” I may have fallen asleep before he did…

I wonder what the cat was up to last night.

Baby Showers

I think I've stumbled upon the pinnacle of wisdom.

Because of my schedule lately, I've missed one baby shower, and was only able to attend the first hour of another. In the first instance, I dropped a gift off later... In the second case, I dropped a gift off, won a shower game (and therefore a 5$ Blockbuster Gift Card), chatted with some friends, hugged the mom, and left.

It was great. I was still able to support both moms-to-be... without the tedium of showers... I know, I know, I sound distinctly un-female, but I really don't enjoy showers. I tolerate party games fairly well, yet dislike guessing who's name is stuck to my back. I dislike collecting clothespins for every two-syllable word someone utters. I don't enjoy walking around having people sign my paper under the category that most suits them...

During the gift unwrapping, I must admit that I think baby clothes are all adorable -but the task tends to drag on and on. And on. Guys never have to go to showers!

I do, however, love giving gifts. I think it's great. I loved finding the perfect kate spade leather brag book for my friend Nancy. Nancy waited years and years and years to get pregnant. She deserves nothing less than kate spade. I loved giving Mimi a hand-crochetted blanket and certificate for baby photos. Giving presents is one of life's best priviledges... It marks friendships - it expresses creativity - it creates community.

I'm not being a party poop - like I said, I'm all for the celebration and support of my friends' milestones... I just happen to dislike certain female traditions - like showers.

Maybe I need to throw a shower where everyone gets a gift - for no reason.... but I have to say - I've truly enjoyed simply delivering the gift and cutting out. Is that so wrong?

Pope Elopes!

A round table discussion once centered around possible explosive headlines... the winner? Pope Elopes! Of course. I also liked one I read in the Readers' Digest once: "Diaper Thief Leaves 150 Babies with No Place To Go..." Yes. This is why I read the R.D.... But on to real life explosive issues

My personal explosive headline?

Chips Get A Bad Reception

Saturday's wedding posed one of the most embarassing moments of my wedding photography life: The bride had placed me at a table with some of her guests. Some brides do this. It's fine with me. However, no bride ever did what follows:

Everyone at the table is happily eating filet mignon, twice baked potatoes, and veggies. When the server brought my plate, it consisted of a chicken sandwich, cup of mayonaise, pickle spear and (gasp) POTATO CHIPS. I asked for something else. I couldn't fathom eating with my hands when everyone around me was cutting beef and potato. The server assured me that the family of the couple had ordered me a chicken sandwich. I fumed. I probably turned very red.

I tried to be game to this debacle, by removing the chicken from the sandwich, discarding the roll - hiding the mayo, and ignoring the chips. I took a bite of the very dry and barely warm chicken.... Then I got up and left the table. I couldn't face those strangers ever, ever again.

When I told Dave about it later that night, he was so annoyed he could barely speak. "I hate cheap, Kelly..."

Last night I called my friend the caterer. He said, "Well, I would never do that - and where I understand why it may have been done (cited $35 dollar difference in plate costs), it should never, under any circumstances, be done the way it was done... That was very low-class of them." I felt a little better.

Normally, I don't eat a lot at weddings anyway... I don't expect filet, even - but I certainly didn't expect the meal I'd have tossed at Wendy's. Yow.

Thankfully, the family's guests were so pleasant, I was able to get through the night... But if any brides read this, May I offer some advice? If you're going to feed the help on the cheap, put us at a separate table from the guests - or even in another room.... Don't embarass those you've hired to make you look good.

Sheesh.

Rough Notes from a Busy Woman

1) Trix, I will certainly photograph the purple couch (which I adore) (which has already been quality control-tested by Nigel, the white Chihuahua)

2) I will post the new spectragoggles – Despite the eye doc’s claims that I am far sighted – I have discovered that my new glasses make me see distances much more clearly… and probably do more for my distance seeing than for their intended reading purposes. Must ask opthomologist about that.

3) Funny story… The other day a client came to my office for a meeting. He asked to use my computer. I am left-handed, so my mouse is on the left. My cell phone happened to be on the right side. I walked in – just in time to see him mousing around with my cell phone. “Kelly, is this a wireless mouse? It doesn’t seem to be working.” I wish it had rung in the middle of that discussion and the explanation that followed… ha ha

4) Also for Trixie - who asked for a band photo - I'll get to it - I've just been crazy busy, running around with head cut off and wondering when I'm going to have time to do laundry.

5) For David - Ay, Que Dia! We should quit drinking!!!

6) Here's a random item: A client today, in addition to bringing me lunch (sushi), brought me a pair of gloves that electricians wear in the winter. "I knew you were dying for a pair of these!" It was quite touching (no pun intended...) - I never really get why people bring me the things they bring me (except for David, who buys me lovely gifts at all times) - but I'm glad they bring me stuff.

I found a photo of a SleeStack

Errol & Ames

Y'all just need to look at this clip on Errol Morris' website - Errol Morris is just so very, very cool.

Enjoy!

I Play In a Promising Local Band

The band had a whirlwind tour this weekend - meaning we played one gig on Saturday and one on Sunday. Saturday's gig was a sporting event - where we sang as people entered the arena - and sang as they left. We are the venue's favorite band. When we finished, the director told us that next season, we'd be the only band allowed to play at more than one event. It was a lovely compliment.

On Sunday, we played at an Historical Society's annual fundraiser. I played all afternoon in the sun - and I am sporting a very creative sunburn to prove it. It was a fun gig - our stage was a wagon bed, and the people seemed to dig us.

The two events sparked the following Top Ten List:

The Top Ten ways Kell knows she's not going to make an MTV video any time soon:

1)During the latest gig, a Menonite woman kept walking a pony back and forth through the audience.
2)Sunday’s gig was full of Pennsylvania Dutch men and women who “Really lahked that ban-cho, donCHA know?”
3)An elderly woman approached us and asked, “Now why haven’t I heard of you before?”
4)You get handed the check for the gig while the whole band is standing on stage – in the middle of a set
5)Yes, we will play private parties in barns and living rooms.
6)We cringe each and every time we ask for a rate raise.
7)We feel we need to lose 30 lbs (each, except for Fran) before we can have any more publicity shots taken
8)At next month's gig - October’s Fall Festival, we were told we need to take a break during Bobbing for Apples and the Eating Contests.
9)We got accused of singing a Bruce Cockburn song at a gig – when we actually sang a Bruce Springsteen song.
10)We’re better than Britney – but not nearly as cute.

The Truth About Frames & Lenses

I needed new glasses. My vision is changing. I'm getting old... blah blah blah. Ok, so I'm feeling lucky because the two glasses stores in the mall are having sales... One sale features $100 off frames. The other features half off lenses (does that mean I only get one lens? Or the top half of both?) I flip a coin and head for the $100 off frames store.

I invite my friend Mark to pick specs with me. When he arrives, we somehow spontaneously decide that reading glasses should be fun - so I start picking nutty frames that Michelle, the woman in the shop, refuses to see the humor in. "That's not nutty... It's a great frame!" (tee hee). I choose a shocking red pair. "Hey! I'm Sally Jesse!" The green pair that fades to black at the nose is a little *too* urban for me. The turquoise pair is ridiculous. Mark tilts his head to one side and takes a good look at me. "You know what? I really like them!" They went into the "keep for later comparison" pile. Mark and I had differing opinions about cats' eye glasses. I think they make me look like a granny. He said, "Yes, but old is the new Young!"

After awhile, we got "Frame-Weird." Each new frame came with a song from the 80's - or a new accent... Mark's '60-style frames screamed, "I know who killed the President!" Big bug-eyed sunglasses made me think of the SleeStacks from Land of the Lost (does anyone remember the SleeStacks?) Others simply rendered a big, "OY VEY!"

When I grew tired of looking, we proceeded to the speed round - We had to choose between 5 pairs - Michelle and Mark both got 5 seconds to say yes or no. Five shrunk to two - and I finally chose the pair least like my current glasses....

Ok. Remember how the frames were $100 off? Well, the price of those frames, with discount, was $29. I was in heaven thinking, "Ok - car repair is coming... New couch (purple... very chic) is being delivered on Friday... having trouble getting a bride to pay the photographer (not much of a story - I think I have it straightened out...) - What a great savings! Until I found out lenses were $250. sigh. My mind reeled. If I bought the same frames at the other mall store - I quickly deduced that the ultimate price would be about the same...

The good news is - I can see this computer screen so much more clearly... So I guess it's worth the money, right? When I sit on my new purple couch, after a day driving in my newly repaired car - I shall be able to read, watch TV, or see friends clearly...

So the truth about frames and lenses is that whatever the sale is - the price is still steep. However, the value of seeing is priceless (do you think an ad agency will pick up on that line any time soon?) (I hope I get commission - I could use the $)

Galax, VA

I know I promised these ages ago - but here are vacation photos for you guys... Dave and I went to Galax, Virginia, home of the annual Fiddler's Convention. Dave wanted to play a lot of music. I was just game for vacation. Here are the highlights.

If a man's home is his castle, a girl's home must be hers too... With that in mind, I found an appropriate throne to rest upon... Dave said I couldn't have it if I couldn't fit it in the car... I might go back for it.

Our favorite place to eat was the Galax Smokehouse. I especially thought their logo was great - because it kind of reminded me of my band - three pigs and a lady. Hmmmmm. It's uncanny. The first little piggy wears glasses - just like Dave. The second little piggy is bald. Et tu, Fran? The third has a shock of black hair - just like Scott... Yowsers! Maybe the Perks and the owners of the Galax Smokehouse live parallel lives 8 hours away from each other. Maybe I need to dye my hair red and get a little orphan Annie dress.

Moving on. At the festival, Dave met one of his favorite young banjo players, Haley Stiltner. Here, he's purchasing her CD. I think it's kind of cool that he had her sign it. She looked like she wasn't really used to that sort of thing. (I personally politely refuse autographs, but then again, I haven't put out a rippin' banjo CD either.)

Here are some goofy festival photos - If you've never been to a music festival of any kind, you should go... Just to check out the digs. I can't believe how much decorating campers do - lights, inflatable flamingoes, impromptu stages, grills, manequins, mascots, signage, neon... Whatever the mind can conceive and the campsite can generate power for. Dave feels that the best camping is a hotel room. Where I agree, I can't help marvel at people's ingenuity.


Oh, and if you have anyting you wanna unload, the campground is a virtual Bazaar. Dave played a lotta banjos for sale in the campground. Below, you'll see someone carted not one, but THREE basses they needed some *fast cash* for. I ask you - who has a camper large enough to house humans plus three basses? Ah - the price one pays for money!

What surprised me the most about being in Virginia is A) how very, very serious everyone is about Bluegrass, and B) how very, very young the festival attendees are... This kid was pretty good. He also did a bangup - yet unfruitful - job of trying to sell me an upgrade to my guitar. Very cute... "What you need is the 180. I happen to have one riiiight here!"

Galax is kind of close to the town Andy Griffith grew up in - and later based the fictional town of Mayberry on. Naturally, everyone needs to cash in on TV land Reruns, so we found the Mayberry Station in walking distance from our hotel. You get one burger free with every one purchased and free french fries. Good thing they were closed when we got there!!! This was one of the silliest things we did on vacation. Here's Dave sitting on the 1960 Ford Fairlane (or whatever it is) - pickin' and grinnin'.

Our vacation ended in a big traffic jam out of Virginia. Dave decided to play with my camera as I read from a book I found at a Galax shop. It's called "On Bullshit," and it's a tiny little scholarly work written by an Ivy League postmodern professor who concludes that all sincerity is bullshit. Dave merely rolled his eyes as I read passages out loud. "He's kidding, right?" "Um," I answered, "Probably not, but it's pretty evident he has a sense of humor. This is me sitting in traffic, where we didn't move for about forty minutes. I have to say between the philosophy and the good company, it was the most pleasant traffic jam I've ever been in (East coast traffic jams are so much more gut-wrenching!)


I'm feeling all caught up now! Thanks for looking at my pics!

Katrina

I'm so saddened by the news of Katrina - I've donated. I'm touched that the world is responding with such concern - even Sri Lanka has offered aid - which is so amazingly touching... How can we help but give?

On CNN, Condy Rice reports receiving a call from Kofi Annan - who said America has been there for other places, and it's time for them to be here for us..." Very touching.

The Gulf Coast is in my prayers.

Dog Dreams

I like to talk about dreams… Dream research is fascinating. Some consider dreams prophetic, symbolic and deeply revealing. Others find dreams useful in nocturnal problem solving. My friend, Carol believes that we are each and every one of the characters in our dreams. (Once I dreamt I was shot. According to Carol, I was not only the victim, but also the perpetrator AND maybe even the weapon.)

The research that is generally accepted is that we dream 5 or 6 times per night. The earlier dreams deal with straight memories of events. Later dreams tend to be a mish-mash conglomeration of the night’s features. So. If , during the course of a night, I dream about the waiter who delivered my, a bad meeting with a client, an argument I had with my boyfriend, my third grade teacher, and a flight over Port Au Prince, the last show of the night might involve my boyfriend as the pilot on a plane having an argument with my third grade teacher about poor service in Haitian restaurants… or something like that.

I can’t verify this research – I can usually only remember one or maybe two of my dreams. They’re only remembered if I wake up while they’re occurring.

Last week, when my co-worker adopted a dog, I began telling her some of the crazy things I remembered about growing up with my dogs, Sam and Gladys. One involved a dream I must have had. It was so vivid, that in my 5-year-old mind, I swore then it was real.

In waking life, I fell asleep on the couch. I dreamed that Gladys walked up to the couch and, in a scratchy low-pitched voice, she spoke to me. (I have no idea what she said – I’ve since forgotten).

Fast-forward 30 years. Because I told that story, Gladys spoke to me again in a dream (doesn’t this sound heretical and sacreligious?) I dreamed that Sam and Gladys accompanied me to a business meeting. I was happy to have them with me, but I forgot to feed them. On the morning of the second day, Gladys walked up to me and said, “You know, I normally get 8 eggs for breakfast every morning…”

In a lecture about film symbolism, Father Andrew Greeley once said that if an image appears more than twice in a film, it’s a symbol. I wonder if the same thing is true about dreams? And what could a talking dog actually be saying to me?

I don’t know – but I’m kind of grateful for the dream. It was like I got to see my dog again. I think it’s unfair, however, that in my mind, she’s alive – and I didn’t feed her… but I’m not going to read too much into it! And what if – as Carol said, I was not only me in the dream – but the starved dog – AND THE EGG?

You know what? I’m just not going to read too much into this!