Those ladies who flew before lunching are finally seeing some clear blue sky.
Still no time for tea parties, quite yet.
“Hey, Baby. Need a lift? I got my wings.” (Elizabeth Gardner just before heading down a runway.USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Tiffany Miller, WASP Elaine Harmon’s granddaughter, is thrilled with progress with the effort to secure burial rights and honors for the women who served in the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots and contributed to the war effort during WW II.
Legislation has been introduced into both the House and the Senate.
This is a big step
But we all know many pieces of legislation get introduced, then are lost forever down some long, dark hall. Leaving the only thing gained is publicity and PR.
Listen up, ladies. Final instructions for your cross-country flight delivering this B-26 bomber. Hurry and you’ll have time to freshen up before dinner. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
The chocks are still under the wheels of this.
The engines are revving.
Now finish clearing the way for their final flight.
Get on board by reading Tiffany’s updated flight plan:
Nerves of steel. Cornelia Fort, WASP instructor, was in the air over Hawaii when the Japanese arrived at Pearl Harbor. She managed to land safely as her landing field was strafed. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
“Dear Supporters,
Rep. Martha McSally (Arizona) and Rep. Susan Davis (California), have introduced legislation into the House and Senator Barbara Mikulski (Maryland) with Senator Joni Ernst (Iowa) have introduced legislation into the Senate to secure inurnment rights for the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) in Arlington National Cemetery!
We are very excited because if legislation is passed, it cannot be easily overturned by future administrations.
Now I would like to ask for your support one more time.”
Stepping up with style. “Lockbourne, here’s your Pistol Packin’ Mama plane”.Talk about role models.(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Please visit the following website and write an email:
http://letter2congress.rallycongress.com/698/send-emails-to-congress-on-any-topic/
- Enter your Zip Code. Click “Submit”.
Below is a template email. If you’re comfortable, please add your own thoughts on what it means to you for these women honored as they should be.
- Enter your contact information. Click “Preview Letters”. Then, click “Send Letters”.
Sample email message:
As a constituent, I am asking you to co-sponsor HR 4336, the WASP bill, if you are in the House of Representatives, and Senate bill S2437 if you are a Senator. The WASP were a brave group of women who provided substantial support and displayed tremendous bravery during WWII. They were true patriots and embody what it meant to unselfishly serve and protect the United States. These women sacrificed family, and in some cases their lives, to participate in the war effort, and they deserve to be eligible for inurnment at Arlington National Cemetery.
Sitting pretty, Mom. Don’t worry. Patiently waiting our turn. (1943/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
“We want to ensure your Congresspeople know the public supports overturning the Army’s decision to exclude these brave women from Arlington National Cemetery.”
Tiffany Miller, Granddaughter of Elaine Harmon, WASP
Twitter: @tiffbmiller
Here’s a link to the sign the original petition and for Tiffany’s updates
Feel free to share or Tweet asking others to fly along in formation.
Smiling like a pageant winner, Ruth Daley hops gracefully into Lockheed P-38 Lightning fighter.1943.(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
The Women Airforce Service Pilots suited up when they and their skills were desperately needed.
Time land them with respect and all due honors.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Related post: “Women and the Underground“
Now there’s a pin-up girl. Jackie Cochran, head of Women’s Airforce Service Pilots, in a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk fighter plane cockpit. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
“Hey, look. They finally noticed us!” Neatly dressed WASP pilots delivering a TB-25 Mitchell Trainer in 1944 (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Cleared for take off. Thanks. Better late than never.
Can’t say this summer isn’t going to be bloody. Some itching for it to start, but good reason to freeze that.
Call out swats. Especially if you’re ready to Samba.
No, don’t blame it on Rio. Totally, anyway. Although the World Cup Soccer Games may have kick started this unpleasant situation.
Not taking any chances. (UK Wellcome Trust/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Brazil hosted more than just athletes at the games, Zika left calling cards there.
Zika, a mosquito borne virus, may have hitchhiked in with an infected attendee according to experts. When an infected mosquito bites a normal adult, he/she suffers mild discomfort, but the individual can travel on carrying the infection. If a particular species of mosquitoes bites an infected person, that non-infected mosquito then picks up the disease, becomes a Zika carrier, and the virus spreads.
Mosquito bites. No big deal, right? Unless you are a pregnant woman.
The Zika virus/Zika fever is strongly linked to congenital birth defects: usually microcephaly (very small head, reduced brain development), diminished mental capacity, seizures/convulsions, neurological issues, motor control, dwarfism, and delayed speech. Often the full effect isn’t seen for several years.
Suddenly Brazil is experiencing an unusually large number of infants infected by Zika
“Brazil reports 1,761 microcephaly cases as mosquito virus spreads” Reuters
Ultrasounds do not show Zika’s damage during pregnancy until the 3rd trimester. Abortions are illegal in Brazil.
Some obstetricians are so concerned that they are suggesting women might want to avoid pregnancies.
Perhaps mosquito net burqa outfits will be the “must have” Olympic gear in Rio.
May be logical, but doubt this fashion will become popular in areas with hot, humid summers. (UK Wellcome Trust/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Not a bad idea for this summer in the US Gulf Coast either.
As if Saint Louis encephalitis, West Nile fever, chikungunya, dengue fever weren’t enough, Zika fever just appeared in a Houston patient who had been to Brazil.
So the local authorities are putting out warnings.
Hope all the area’s newcomers quickly realize why houses have window screens here. Obstructed views or disease-bearing skeeters?
Enough to stop any thoughtful person cold.
Blood sucking little monsters. Under the bed. In the closet. What was that shadow under the door? (1863.Vampire/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Cold, of course, is what is needed: a couple of good hard freezes to knock back the skeeter population.
They are currently still here. Buzzing.
SOS, Mr. Snowmiser!
So faced with a miserable summer choice of skeeter dodging or being held hostage indoors, I’m willing to delay warm weather – if some cold blast would only freeze the wings off those little blood suckers.
Oh, that sounded a bit harsh. Bad karma.
But they asked for it! We told them to buzz off and they didn’t!
Should have read the contract’s fine print. Who knew insect control was in the job description for child’s tutor?(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Nothing left but dodge, swat, and splat.
Itching for it.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Read more?
- “Texas traveler diagnosed with Zika Virus” (News video)
- Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, TX. issued a report by Dr. Peter Hotez and Dr. Kristy Murray that the Zika virus could pose a risk to Texas and the Gulf Coast.
- “4 Things to know about Zika’s Potential Spread to the US” (Huffington Post)
- “Zika virus, a mosquito-borne infection may threaten Brazil’s newborns.” (NY TIMES)First identified in 1947 in Africa, it’s spread. El Niño isn’t helping.
“I don’t care. I can’t stay cooped up any longer. I’ll take my chances with the blood suckers.”(1933.Warner Bros./USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
All together now: Hoop it up./4th Olympiad 1908/British Olympic Assoc./PD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Despite all the hoop-la-la-la they were determined. Friends, family, and a good part of the country scowled at their impetuousness. So unladylike. Too dangerous! Only a sad society would allow this.
Still they jumped through all the hoops with smiles, undeniable ability, and without tripping on their too large overalls.
Requirements and conditions were tough for the WW II Women Airforce Service Pilots.
Hey, would you dare to live with 12 young women sharing only 2 sinks? (Not even the Duggar family is that brave.)
Yet the 1,074 WASP pilots trained male pilots in flying on instruments, ferried planes stateside, and towed targets for gunnery practice.
Thirty-eight WASP pilots died in service to their country during that time.
The women’s ground school training included studying weather, aerodynamics, engines, Morse code, and more. (You know, male-type curriculum.) All had 40+ flying hours already.
Bravely served their country and contributed to the war efforts, then, more or less demurely, waltzed back into the shadows.
That doesn’t mean they were any less patriotic or less worthy. (Ask the male pilots they trained. Oh, wait. Most of those are resting in peace.)
You’ve come a long way, baby, yet still not grounded. Notice they’ve got clubs and not afraid to use them. (Eden-lys/Flickr/Commons.wikimedia.org)
It’s a dead end.
So?
Despite the whoop-de-do over people being equal, WASPs, according to the Department of the Army, aren’t offered military burial honors in Arlington National Cemetery.
Hey, just can’t please women. They’ve been “given” stuff:
- The WASP were
finallyissued uniforms…seven months before they were deactivated. - In 1977 WASP were given Veteran status. (Public law 95-202.)
- The Congressional Gold Medal was awarded WASP in 2009 by President Obama (The little ladies do so love gold jewelry, right?)
Why haven’t he WASP Vets been offered the honor of military resting places?
- Well, she’s dead. Not complaining. Easy to ignore. (Besides, women are used to that.)
- It seems to be a matter of tiny words allowing interpretation – like with returning the military dogs home.
How could anyone refuse her anything? Elaine Danforth Harmon. (Change.org)
Elaine Danforth’s granddaughters said their grandmother, Elaine Danforth Harmon, was always proud of serving her country. She wished her ashes to be inurned in the Arlington columbarium.
If you want to know a bit more – and maybe sign the petition to get her settled in. Go here.
Enough hoop-de-do. Time for hoop-de done.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
VIDEO interviews here. Listen to Elaine Danforth Harmon’s, (Woman Airforce Service Pilot) story in her own words. (“Experiencing War: Stories from the Veterans history Project” Library of Congress. Links to other WASPs)
Being told “Just work so hard and be so good that they can’t ignore you” does get tiring. (1936.RKO Pictures/USP/Commons.wikimedia.org
Did the booties get mixed up in shipment and they mistakenly delivered a pair of those fairy tale enchanted Red Shoes that wouldn’t stop dancing?
Or is it the result of viewing too many Fred Astaire movies? Footloose? Happy Feet?
I don’t know, dancer like Prancer, but this made me smile.
Baby’s got new shoes.
Bless the dogs that defend and protect our troops.
Fun with feet.
All ready to twist and shout.
This video sent to you by The German who apparently is mulling over some Wellies as she is sloshing, not hot footin’ it.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Worst time of year, this.
The calculated shoving of those darn big-eyed suffering animals in your face on every channel. Enough to make you to run away: escape to the gym.
(At least the staring animals there fund themselves. And shed microscopically. The watering holes still dangerous…)
Pulling for change? Remember to exercise the heart. (1924.Spinning4health.cz/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Only in winter can people grudgingly admit “with only a few genetic clicks, I could have been one of those poor desperate creatures shivering in the cold”.
(Better increase the resistance on this machine. Need to build up for those office fight or flee situations. Running down prey, pray….)
Anyone would help those animals fallen on hard times – if they had the money each month. Compassionate, but sigh.
(Survival of the fittest. This is MY stairstepper. Get back, you lump, and you wish you had this stamina.)
Brains over brawn. To the smart, go the spoils.
The ones at the top can afford to be magnanimous, so do it. Please. (Note the polite manners)
Ever get the feeling that things aren’t quite going as expected? (Spinning4health.cz/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Please, please, pretty please help the Houston SPCA win $50,000 by just a click.
The Chevron Houston Marathon Run for a Reason charity will award the winner of their contest with a huge check January 17th.
Voting ends January 12, 2016. You can vote daily. Here.
“Don’t cry for me, Argentina. The truth is that I’m safe now. But there are others. Help the Houston SPCA save them. Click and vote. You can do it. Click and vote. It just takes a minute.” (Hey, I never said I was above using big sad eyes to guilt trip. Houston SPCA)
The Houston SPCA is one of the good ones.
Last year they’ve been involved with rescuing, healing, and finding homes for not only dogs and cats (multiple hoarding/puppy mills), guinea pigs, rabbits, goats, birds, and turtles, but also entire herds of starving, abused, abandoned horses. They provide care and shelter for confiscated exotics until appropriate refuges can be located. They have a 24 hour Stray Animal Rescue Ambulance (With a phone number to call. That’s how Benny shown above was saved). When disaster strikes, they deploy to help with animal disaster relief and emergency care.
Our Bouvier de Flanders, Raggs, came from there. I do write them checks each year in his memory in thanks. I know volunteers and those who foster animals when there’s no room in the shelter.
Here’s your chance: Just a minute. Just a click.
Houston SPCA homepage: contest link / instructions here.
“What went wrong? As a Palomino I dreamed of the Rose Bowl Parade. Now a plain feed bowl is enough.”(Horse at Houston SPCA with vet staff/Click2houston)
Then you can look those sad, desperate, big-eyed animals on TV and honestly say, “I did something. I helped.”
Thanks (Tell your friends,too. OK?)
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
We’d like to take a minute to thank the anonymous donor whose gift to the non-profit Vested Interest in K-9’s, Inc. is providing Richmond Police Department’s K-9 Jackie with a bullet and stab protective vest that is to be embroidered with their chosen words of “Bless and protect this K-9. Thank you for your service.” (Read more here.)
Attention. All paws salute for those who back those who defend and protect. Better than any gun. Won’t go off accidentally. Works perfect in gun free zones. Get one for your school.(click2houston)
Water. Must have more water. Super Bowl’s on and they need electricity. (1916.USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Pipe dreams come true. Portland, Oregon is spinning them.
Although wooden windmills are charming and bring up images of tulips or dry west Texas dust, those are so yesterday.
Fields of towering wind blades repurposing flowing air? Them, too. Old news.
You know that old joke from the “I Love Lucy” show where Lucy and Desi are going to California and ask Fred and Ethel along? Fred sees no need to pay for riding in the back seat as it’s going along anyway.
It’s like that. Don’t have to pay for something that’s already happening.
Portland energy and water engineers placed spinning turbines inside existing gravity fed water lines creating free electricity as the water rushes past and down the line.
Potential swims before your eyes with this one.
- Not relying on weather at all. Sunny, rainy, windy – none of that matters.
- A seems to have no environmental impact as it’s all inside a tube. No fish or endangered species threatened.
- Even better, no visual blight. (Oh, those West Texas mesas cluttered with giant humming, vibrating tinkertoys!)
Interested?
Watch the PBS video here.
“Portland to generate electricity within its own water pipes” (Gizmag)
“Water in Oregon pipeline is tapped for electricity” (Techplore)
“Look, I’m tellin’ you. We need to organize now.” (1921Cooper/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Fliers are flapping in hope. They have good reason.
In 2012 some 888,000 bats and over 573,00 birds got chopped.
Despite the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act, under Obama administration policies, it turns out Eagles aren’t so special after all. More disturbing news about wind and solar farms’ license to kill (2015). There’s even a mathematical model for how many eagles wind farms can kill before facing fines that is part of the US efforts to regulate the wind energy industry. (2015)
But sticking energy-creating spinners in a tube? Win-win!
Not sure if environmental studies on the impact of water turbines on water rats were done.(Stratton/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Many things are better contained: cats, crude oil, Bill Clinton.
Streets are mean.
That’s why kids need playgrounds. Good ones.
Ones not gutted by overprotective parents. Free play is serious work.
Crafted “safe” playgrounds may stunt normal development of children.
- Wall Street Journal “Playing it too safe? New Playground Gear promotes risk-taking to boost fitness and brain development.” Cooool provocative playgrounds around the country. And what can happen if kids aren’t encouraged to learn how to take and manage risks or build confidence in their abilities.
- New York Times. “Can a playground be too safe?” What are the 6 categories of risky play? How about a child who is hurt in a fall before the age of 9 is less likely as a teenager to have a fear of heights? “Dangers outweighed by the benefits of conquering fears and developing sense of mastery?” And more reasons why scary is good.
- Plaid Zebra. “These dangerous playgrounds turn kids into fearless adventure seekers” (Video and story). Adventure playgrounds started in 1943. Why? And where are the now?
Not dressed for adventure playgrounds, but they still worry about birds of the air and fish that they see.(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
All you see is a kid spinning in circles round, and round, and round.
“You’re gonna fall and hurt yourself!”
While that kid feels the blood running to the fingertips, the world tilting, and the smear of colors blurring into something totally new.
With luck some kid wilding around the playground will spin up a perfect solution for a major problem facing the world.
Thoughts flowing like water and spinning energetically into the unknown.
Thirsty for that
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Over the edge, just for you (Image by Frank Kovalchek/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Giant smackdown.
Ready to rumble: Organic vs Mechanic.
Will the free-flowing Natural whop up the Upstart boasting “Anything you can do, can be bested by machinery”?
Success? Close, but no cigar? Or is it back to “Try, try again”?
You be the judge.
Their massive efforts dwarfed. (Can you even spot Team Mechanic’s vapor trail against the original, the authentic, clouds?)©
Vapor trail: cloudy concept in progress.
A bit lean on impact, in contrast, though.
Narrowly flies into the Knock-off category.
Considering the line up, a weak attempt entering the clouded field.©
Then, without one whiff of compassion, the Organic Team ups the ante by introducing an updated model.
Just like unveiling the giant leap from black and white movies to Technicolor.
Before Team Mechanics managed the basics, the full-scale fluff, cue up the hue!
Organic bullying? Or something more beautiful?
Encouraging the toddling idiot child, perhaps.
Raising the bar to raise the lot.
Prodding the dreamers.
Oh, no fair. Applying glazes and scumbles as if painting with oils. And punctuated by a full moon. Extra points for style.©
Oh, there will be a response to the challenge. Despite the fact that even cheap parody requires understanding.
There’s those unfortunate crashes from flying too close to the sun. (We could wax on forever over foolish incidents of “Some days, chicken, and some days, feathers”.)
Baby steps. Like small children playing dress-up and mimicking the ones towering over them.
- “Imitation is the sincerest of flattery.” (1820. Lacon: or, Many things in few words. Charles Caleb Colton)
- “Imitation is a kind of artless Flattery” (1714. Eustace Budgell/ The Spectator No.605, Oct.)
- “You should consider that Imitation is the most acceptable part of Worship, and that the Gods had much rather Mankind should Resemble, than Flatter them.” (1708 Emperor Marcus Antonius his conversations with himself. Jeremy Collier and Andre Dacier)
Sky kind. Yes, there’s a jet vapor trail if you look hard enough….Just like a kid on a bike with training wheels yelling, “Look, I can do it. I’m doing it!” Sky sigh.©
Work in progress. Good to have lofty goals.
Happily, a whole new year to get it right.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge
A new day. Clouds moving with a charming staccato. Dreams sky high. It’s the Great Adventure. Please play.©
Don’t be catty, now….©
I do not have cat on my head.
(Down, Molly. Down.)
My neighbor hasn’t stopped laughing. He actually choked. But I blame his cigarette.
It’s fashion. The label proves it: RH.
Page 60-61 of their trendy Christmas catalogue. “Ultra Faux Fur Ushanka Hat”
Of course, the image on the left is the dream. The reality….
No, I do not have a cat on my head, Molly.
Tres chic in Restoration Hardware’s 2015 Holiday Catalogue.
People wouldn’t know what to think without labels.
That’s why years ago Neiman-Marcus used to stock so many “moderate” (unusually cheap, for them) scarves, gloves, mens’ handkerchiefs, and such for those holiday shoppers who were ordered to “Buy me something from Neiman’s. Anything from Neiman’s!”
Proud ladies would casually (with practiced precision) drape their coats across chair backs or church pews so everyone so see and envy the coveted store label.
Along with dance lessons, young girls practiced to become expert at that tossing skill before high school.
Wearing any store or brand label on the outside of a garment would have been snickered at as backwoods hick.
Oh, that silky affirmation of worth!©
What was good – what was of value – was obvious (because it had been taught: mother to child)
The quality of material, the high level of complexity of the item which required skilled expert craftsmanship, the ruler-straight seams, patterns matching, with a luxurious lining.
The satin label on the inside was simply the cherry on top. For the unsophisticated. For those so uneducated not see the obvious.
Today people don’t seem to see well.
Or lack time to see. Requiring instant information.
Or maybe it’s lack of interest.
In any case, it’s normal that labels have evolved and morphed into more than they once were.
Now, sign posts. Casually tossed identifiers.
Doesn’t help with dogs, though. Can’t read. Don’t care about symbols.
If it looks like a cat, then it’s probably a cat…or a raccoon.
Even if it’s on my head.
But as mom said as she forced me to wear cowboy boots to school one January in eight grade when it was sleeting and the outdoor walkways between classes were ankle-deep in water, “All that matters is you are warm.”
Anyone owning a Husky/Malamute/any sled-type dog masquerading as a domesticated pet knows these dogs have to be walked – a lot. No matter the weather. Or you’ll be buying a new couch.
And it’s warm, this hat. The label? RH needn’t worry.
It’s hidden on the inside.
The company would be appalled, I’m sure, that it’s coveted by dog walkers, not jet setters.
Does this look like a raccoon to you? Don’t answer that. Fargo. Just think Fargo.©
Besides, if the hat doesn’t work out, Molly has great plans for it.
Win-wind!
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Cheers and thanks for stopping by!
Wishing you a Happy New Year (and that you always know the difference between the cat and the hat.)
“She’s awake. You can’t take her out. It’s frigid.” “What choice do we have? She’s eyeing the ottoman!” (1923.USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
It was the night after Stuff All with most crashed out on the couch…
Not a creature was stirring, well, maybe the German, RC of the House…
If I close my eyes for one minute, they are like marbles and wander back into the kitchen. Hasn’t enough stuffing been done?©
With stockings all emptied – and dishes all stacked, shouldn’t everyone be still and relaxed?
The kitties were snug upstairs with their toys. (Catnip having gone straight to their heads.)
“Hey keep it down in there! Everyone’s trying to nap.”©
“Hey, look! Santa left me his beard!” (Mo)©
When suddenly below there rose such a clatter, the German flew like the Flash to see what was the matter.
“It could be catnip bandits!” (Little)©
When what to her wondering eyes did appear.
But an overly enthusiastic Molly ripping wrapping paper from there to here.
“German,” she yelped with joy, “Santa did see me being good! I believe. I believe. They said if only you believe…Oh, by the way, Santa brought you a new blue Jolly Ball on a rope. I opened it to save you the trouble. Know you hate being undignified. It’s over there. Did a bit of preliminary testing on it, too. It works fine. All ready for you now. Hey, let’s go outside and try it out. I’ll carry it for you….”
“Oh, Santa. My new best friend…you will stay in the house, right Raccoon? Outdoors isn’t kind for you little guys off leash. Don’t worry about that big German Shepherd. I won’t share – I mean, I’ll protect you.”©
There was much prancing and pawing of each furry foot in the yard.
Dash away. Keep away. Dash away all!
Finally, Stuffing Day came to a close with the AC on high, and a glowing fire in the fireplace charming all sleepy eyes.
The German smiled and happily sighed:
“Good dreams to all and to all a night-night!”
(As told to Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge by the German, RC of her Realm)
“Oh, will they never leave? RC Cat was right: ‘Visitors too long are fishy stink.’ “©
Leaving the light on for you. ©
Glow to go.
Welcome Winter.
Merry Christmas.
Revel in the revels.
See you next week.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge
Wrapping things up with style: no paper cuts, no wailing about running out of tape, and instantly recycled.©
National Geographic: “This week’s night sky: Winter Solstice and a Christmas Moon.”
“Celebrate the shortest (or longest) day of the year and the holiday season’s best celestial events.”
- Mars and Spica, the brightest star in the Virgo constellation on Dec 22.
- Ursid Meteor Shower Dec. 22
- Moon hides Aldebaran. Dec 23 (Especially good in northern Asia and Europe)
- Last Christmas Full Moon until 2034 (previous was 1977) Best at 6:11 a.m. ET, Dec 25.
- And a special escort by the Moon on Sunday (Dec 27) to two beautiful winter star clusters in the constellation of Cancer, the crab.
As the house light go down, the Christmas Moon awaits her cue. Bright Merry to all and to all a good night. ©
Here. Enough.©
Interrupted focus.
Still very much like the antelope at the watering hole watching for lions. Except people don’t know what they are worried about.
Seasonal anxiety: Presents.
Searching. Don’t know where. Can’t find.
Overlooking the obvious. It’s there. Every morning. Presence.
Price is right: free
No shipping charges.
While at risk for being stolen if not collected, always a pleaser.
Valued.
See. Not edible. Pointless.©
Winter. Less sunlight for brainy activity. Collect thoughts.
Eschew nervous sips for deeper draughts.
(Silence)
Pick which piece.
(More silence)
Merry
(Nod)
Bye,
Bob.
More Bob here.
(Who is Bob? Simple.)
Twin yolks: Special delivery from some free range vegetarian hen with a sense of humor. A grinning cosmic jokester. ©
A sunny side by side yolk after yolk.
(Where is it? That sign out front that says “Come on in. Weird totally acceptable.”)
The unexpected double vision slightly marred by a smug RC Cat eyeing the frying pan and crooning to an already Santa-nervous dog, “Santa’s everywhere. Watching. He sees you when you’re eating. He knows what you just ate. He knows if…” with the song continued as Molly Malamute gave an enthusiastic shake, shake, after bath-type shake.
Before we could inquire as to why, RC casually smirked while sauntering off: “It’s the Goodness Shakes. For end of the song.”
Weird lives.
Talking about goodness and weird, how’s life without bacon? (Insert sad faces and weeping)
Rejoice! This is the season of glad tidings! Schmacon is coming to town!
Schmacon: Half the fat. Half the calories. No nitrites and no nitrates.
It curls, crunches, and cooks like bacon.
Naturally smoked uncured beef ready to make you merry.
Created by a Chicago deli owner, this beef product will be sold locally shortly and internationally by end of next year.
Here’s the website. Here’s the Facebook page. Watch the foodie video here. (Warning: there are Brussel sprouts…)
You know that pair of cows pushing people to eat more chickin’? Get ready for Schmacon to hog in with a similar act.
Count on the critters to bring you a smile.
Goodness shakes. Merry on!
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge
More weird:
- “Even plants cause global warming” (Live Science) or from the Carnegie Institute for Science: “CO2 effects on plants increases global warming“
- QUIZ! Moo or false: do cow farts contribute to climate change? (The Guardian)
- (NPR.) “Tales of Pig Intelligence, Factory Farming and Humane Bacon”
Worked for Chick-Fil-A (Image by Schmacon/Facebook Timeline photos)
Is ignorance of the Santa Clause a defense?©
Easy Walk Harnesses: 0
Molly: 9
During the holidays stress related incidents shouldn’t count.
Exhibit A (“It was tired and out of fashion anyway!” she whispers in hope.)©
It was only a lapse.
So excited – over the moon excited after a long day of rain – to be in the car going to run with a pack of friends in the field.
No premeditated intent:
That happy lower jaw just slipped unnoticed between her harness chest strap and her chest.
That needing to be soothed upper jaw closed – just to mouth the lovely strap. Like with the bedspread. A calming strategy! Like a pacifier.
Those teeth spontaneously clinched like the paws’ nails on the seat with uneven traffic flow.
Can’t blame her razor-sharp teeth! If the car hadn’t stopped so suddenly right at the gate, her jaws might not have chomped down so hard. Anxiety. Totally acceptable action.
Still, that growing pile of sliced and diced harnesses is pretty difficult to ignore. (My kingdom for a harness repair shop. Perhaps recycle and weave into a door mat?)
You know how lawyers get so many clients off on technicalities in court? Technically, this strap isn’t completely munched through. Santa?©
There’s still time for Santa to see a repentant and reformed dog.
He’ll approve of the holiday jolly red harness now in use. (No need to admit it was abandoned by The German.)
Maybe Santa will shake like a bowl full of jelly watching us put it on:
“Put your left paw in. Shift, but don’t take the left paw out. Put your right paw in. No, don’t shake that paw all about. Take your right paw out of the left loop. Put the right paw, here, here. Left paw on the left! No shakin’ all about. You do the harness hokey pokey with face licks optional. Will we never get to go out?”
Putting on a harness should not be a test of hand-eye coordination or a wack-a-mole type game, but maybe the effort will impress Santa.
Molly hopes so.
She’s just run in asking if maybe the reindeer might want the unchewed harness pieces for emergency repairs in route on Christmas Eve.
Her heart is in the right place even if her teeth are not.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Worried. Despite all reassurances.©
Children’s Protective Services would have intervened.
Why didn’t the neighbors – friends – anyone try to put a stop to it?
“What? You said to entertain ourselves and not to bother grown-ups unless there was blood and lots of it.”(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
I was a deprived child.
Never given the opportunity – the Right (Ask any teenager) – to hit the mall on Black Friday. Nope. Never given any useful training in frantic shopping.
No sticky candy canes from elves ankle-deep in plastic snow or a chance to plead with Santas in worn, oddly damp, red suits. Only a handwritten list of “I’ll die if I don’t get this like everyone else” gift ideas gathered from TV and the Sears catalogue. And I never bought the story that if I left the list on the table Santa could read it with giant telescopes at the North Pole. Nope. Intentional parental sabotage.
Never a fancy new outfit for Christmas Eve church services. Left out of the excited lunch room brag sessions about purchases of velvet attire (with lace!) Dad always said our absence would leave room for all the people who only showed up at church on Christmas.
No weekend holiday parties. No caroling around the neighborhood.
A childhood of memories missed!
Every weekend. Every holiday. Every vacation, we drove away. No point in complaining.
It’s like we lived a dual lifestyle.
Always packed into the car – including the dog – and headed to the old farm.
The farm. For a long time without such comforts as electricity. We had running water, Dad would joke: “You have to run out and get it.”
Dad wanted to get as far away as possible from the telephone and the office. Couldn’t get much farther.
No doubt this stylish Hollywood ranch image is what classmates envisioned. We never said anything to encourage that…(USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Oh, it was a hardship beyond imagination.
Fences had to be mended. (“Stop whining about cut fingers. You let go of that wire and it’ll whip back and git ya.”)
Wood gathered and chopped to size. (“So it’s wet. Pick it up. You’ll dry off before it does.”)
Tiny pine tree seedlings had to be planted by hand in frozen ground. Thousands of them. (No, that is not an exaggeration. Thousands.)
The floors were cold. Yes, there were times ice formed on the inside of the window panes.
But hot soup and simple cornbread never tasted so good or a house so warm at than at the end of the day.
And unlike kids stuck in the city, we could roast marshmallows anytime we wanted over the wood burning stove.
With hunting season over and snakes hibernating, there were acres and acres of fields and forest to roam. (“If you get lost, just go straight until you hit the fence line and follow it. Eventually you’ll get back to the house or just pay attention to surroundings so you can remember where you are. Just don’t cross the fence line as the moonshiners are probably busy for the holidays.”)
I swear this is the exact wallpaper from one of the farmhouses. Really. (1920/USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
While there were no neighbors nearby at all, we always stopped by to see those closest – of all shapes, sizes, and colors.
Some whose tired worn houses were very close to living outdoors. I remember visiting and politely sitting very still on a chair between pans catching leaks from the roof – in January.
Dad kept an eye on those. Especially elderly ones.
You’d be surprised how even in the mid ’60’s many older farm folks still hitched up mules to wagons each Saturday morning and drove to town. There were shady places with water troughs where the wagons would be tied upon arrival.
Dad routinely stopped by to see if he could offer them a ride, but the wagon ride to town seemed to be a pleasant time of meditation for them. Really, they didn’t want to depend on anyone else.
Besides, one 70-year-old man grinned with a twinkle in his eye, “Mules never have a problem getting back up the slick red clay hill and down the deep sandy roads in bad weather.” He was right about that. We’d have to borrow his mules more than once to pull our stuck car out of the mud car.
“When you said a country house, I was thinking a bit more French cottage. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
At night there was nothing to do. Complete radio silence. Complete darkness. Sounds, completely wild.
We’d sit outside and talk. About stuff. About stories and outer space. About the constellations in the sky.
During Christmas vacation nights , wrapped up like packages in wool coats, we’d loudly sing Christmas carols. My mom would scowl and say it was disrespectful to sing like that. (Like the neighbor miles away could possibly hear.) So we’d dig in even deeper and screech out songs like Spike Jones and the City Slicker’s “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth” or my ultra annoying imitation of Alvin and the Chipmunks. She’d just give up and go inside.
The stars at night were big and bright. Mom always liked Zane Grey novels. Be careful what you wish for, star bright. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
There under a vast night sky with glittering stars instead of store-bought decorations, Christmas never seemed more real.
Quiet gifts we given: self-reliance, kindness, appreciation, learning to not take things too seriously, and being able to laugh at yourself.
Feeling small in the dark, cold night.
Sometimes thought I heard the cattle lowing.
A shame to deprive anyone of all that.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge.
Production note: still attempting to practice Shavasana, so a long post ought to keep you busy for a while. Meanwhile I want to catch up on all your blogs this week. Thanks for stopping by and jingle on!
“Now if the fire will hold up for last griddle cake…” CPS would have a heart attack. (USPD/Commons.wikimedia.org)
Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge 