More Talking (with) Animals

Yesterday I was in a small shop in Amsterdam. The shopkeeper's large dog joined him behind the counter and began barking in what I could only characterize as a "speech." She certainly wasn't barking at me. I addressed her, and asked her what she was saying.

Her owner said she was a "cookie monster."

I siezed that opportunity for some fun & asked him if he had any I could give her. The three of us went to the back of the shop. Tara sat for me, and earned cookie #1. She was a very large dog, and we were barely introduced, but I hardly felt her touch taking it, she was so gentle.

The man had begun a converstion with someone behind me so I went improv. I asked for Tara to shake, and darned if she didn't lift up one huge paw for me. She earned cookie #2, and again was unbelievably gentle.

I wonder how many cookies a day she gets with her strategy. I would guess many.

Is Criminal Minds BRAIN PORN?

I have several journal entries about the TV show Criminal Minds, so it must be bothering me.
My younger son got me hooked. I swore off watching it. I started again.

I love the personalities on the team, especially Penelope Garcia and Spencer Reid, and how they all care for one another and understand one another. I am fascinated with the depiction of their scarily close understanding of the minds of the criminals.

But the criminals themselves are frightening. The brutality and inventiveness of ways to cause pain to other humans is beyond creepy--not something I want to put into my head.

It's not the show to watch before bed, and not a good one for when you are home alone and have to open all the first floor windows  because you are running the self-clean cycle on your over, and smoke is pouring out.

Yet I am drawn in again and again. I am reminded of the phrase from Heart of Darkness, "fascination with the abomination." Like you can't look away from the dead animal in the road.

This post really doesn't go well with my last post, but that's what happens sometimes.

Sweet Words

Sometimes I spontaneously express my kind thoughts to those who have no hope of understanding me: babies and animals. Here is a good story about the former:

In one of Amsterdam's many flower shops, I am waiting for my husband. In the middle of the tiny place is a stroller with a round-cheeked sweetie in it. I said to her, "You are the prettiest flower in the shop."

Her father, approaching, overheard me. He said, "That is fitting becuase her name is Rose."

Ah.

Appreciation, Expressed and Unexpressed

Today is the last day for one of the volunteers on my shift at the bird shelter. We are bringing cookies and flowers, and I am wondering, since I am continuing on, where are my cookies and flowers? Why do we so often only give recognition when somebody stops what we are recognizing them for?

Think about it. Think about all the lovely things said at a funeral that didn't get told to the dead.

Think about this. My husband and his father had an edgy relationship throughout their lives. His father always harped on the imperfections, and never commented on his son's achievements. Yet at the funeral, his father's friends told him how proud his father was of him. How he talked about him all the time. That makes me so sad even now, decades later, that I get tears in my eyes. What a terrible opportunity missed.

At the going-away party for one of my jobs, I remember thinking, gee, if I knew you all liked me this much, I might have stayed on.

Resolved: I shall be more forthcoming about telling others--family, friends, co-workers, what they mean to me. How they brighten my day, teach me something new, make me laugh, point out a new perspective. You don't have to get all mushy, in fact, you don't even have to like the person. Just be conscious and use your voice.

Put some words together and give them away. They'll wing their way into others' hearts and brighten their day.

Giving Happiness

This week I made several parrots happy. Coco, the Umbrella Cockatoo, calls so plaintively, "Chickie! Chickie!" (That's what she calls herself.) Usually I just give her a few quick ear rubs. Today I let her out and sat down with her in my lap to snuggle. She poked her face into the crook of my elbow and clacked her beak with joy. I can't tell you how good this made me feel.

Parrots are adept at getting your attention to get what they want. On Friday, I was using a spray bottle to shower a macaw, an Amazon, and a cockatoo, inside their cages. They all spread their wings in excitement. I turned my back on Paco the Amazon to continue with the macaw, and Paco says, "Come ON!" He sure got what he wanted. He was soaked when I was done.

In case I have not mentioned recently, I volunteer at a bird refuge. Visit http://www.rescuethebirds.org/ to see what it is all about.

The Past

I often listen to WXRT's Saturday Morning Flashback show, hosted by my friend Wendy Rice. Today was 1980. As I listened to The Pretenders and The Talking Heads, I wished I could go back in my mind--not to be again how old I was in 1980, but to know myself in my mid-20's. What was I like?

Back then, I know I loved to read; I always have. I didn't play tennis yet and I didn't have kids. I had moved or was about to move to Austin, Texas with my love interest (now husband of 20+ years.)

I did have an interest in pet birds, I remember that. We socialized a lot. I studied Aikido. We bought a house. I know the facts, but what was going on in my head? What did I think about the future? What did I wish for? Maybe I can dig up a journal from back then--I know I kept one in college off and on, but I don't recall doing it then.

Flashbacks would be such an insight. Maybe not fun, but what a world of learning to be had.

Mugs

Here’s another Mom A story. As I said, she never throws anything away. Illustration: for a gift, I bought her two fine bone china mugs decorated with delicately painted pink roses. On a subsequent visit, I noticed that one mug had a chip—no, a deep gouge in the rim. I asked her why she kept it, and she told me she “alternated the good one and the chipped on so they would wear out evenly.” (Remember I said she was a little weird.) “It doesn’t bother me!” she continued.

I am not sure how long it takes to “wear out” a mug, but she was in her 80’s at the time. Oh, and she lives alone.

I couldn’t find a replacement locally. I copied the information from the bottom of the mug and got busy on the internet. I located the company in Staffordshire, England and exchanged a few emails, one including my MasterCard number. I ordered three—replace and make redundant, I figured.

She was well pleased when she opened the package. When we visited next, I observed that she had still not tossed the chipped mug.

Pink

In the years since her husband died, my mother-in-law's house has been gradually turning pink. The non-absorbent exfoliating bath towels are pink. There is pink tile in the bathroom; the bedspread is pink lace as are the paint-by-number pink roses the size of cabbages over the bed.

Of course, the bursting closets (she never throws anything away) reveal rose, coral, raspberry, peachy pink, dusty pink, and lavender.

Perhaps he had forbidden the color to enter the house, along with shrimp, pizza, and broccoli? I am glad I had sons. I abhor pink in any but very small doses.

Mom A is okay. Just a little weird.