Good Dogs are Made and Not Born

This is a from-the-heart kind of post, mostly because there's this dog that has barged into our lives and turned it upside down.

I have owned and loved two other muscle dogs whose demeanor and appearance caused people to pause. The family had a Rottweiler and a Boxer, both of whom were rescue dogs and both of whom wandered into our lives in a haphazardly intentional way.

Daisy the Rottweiler was found running loose, having been dropped off by her former family when it was discovered she had hip dysplasia in both back hips. It is a debilitating disease, and an impossibly expensive surgery, and we worked long and hard to exercise and lean her up to ensure a great quality of life as our family dog. We dearly loved Daisy the Wonder-Rott every minute we had her, and we had her for 5 glorious years.  She was the sweetest and gentlest of animals, always kind and attentive to the boys, and slept on their beds and lay at their feet watching TV. Turns out, we weren't crazy to trust a Rottweiler.

That probably set the stage to rescue Sophie the Boxer from a veterinary tech program in Sacramento. She had been 'donated' to them to rehabilitate, having been isolated on a side yard for several years. Sophie and I tussled at control but eventually she conceded that I was the alpha dog. She was beautiful and smart, attentive and appreciative, but boy oh boy was she willful! Having a Boxer turned out to be a wonderful decision, even though their appearance to the casual observer was cause for alarm.

With all of that Big Dog background, I was still totally against the Pit.  I secretly thought the Pit breed had no business being bred.  It had no redeeming value other than to fight. We hadn't spent time around Pits or had any personal experience with them. We changed to the other side of the street when one approached. We judged the owners for being reckless to own a dog that was fierce and unpredictable.

That opinion developed after watching a hundred or so news articles about Pit Bulls attacks that were serious and often life threatening. There are thousands of dog bites and attacks from all types of breeds every year, and most are not by Pit Bulls, but you'd never know that from the way it is being reported. The impression is left that you are safe with any breed other than a Pit, and that is patently untrue.

Someone in the last decade decided that this breed would be Danger Dog de Jour.  In the '70s it was the German Shepard, in the '80s it was the Rottweiler, and in the '90s it was the Doberman. Public opinion sways towards believing the Pit has no business living in a civilized world.

But I was watching something else entirely. As we grew to know her, we realized what a wonderful dog Lily was. She looked like a pit but acted like a lab. Her behavior was nothing like what was reported. She was even gentler than Sam, she had better manners, and was obedient and submissive. That got me to thinking about Bias again, and how it creeps into us unannounced. My Bias was deeply rooted in fear and distrust for the breed, until this little lost dog at our door in the middle of the night made me re-examine my conscience.

All this was going on during the Trayvon Martin case, and the same issues we wrestle with on a human level I was wrestling with on a dog-to-human level. When we are confronted with a serious situation, what Biases emerge that we may not know are even there? When hidden Intolerance and Prejudice surfaces, how do we not act impulsively on them?

The ultimate question.

I closed my eyes and listened to the truth of what happened that night in Florida. Had he not pursued and pursued and pursued that boy, had the boy not aggressively responded, had there been no gun, or no rain, or the watcher had listened to the police dispatcher and remained a watcher, the situation would have ended up just being about another teenage kid being mouthy and giving an older guy a hard time.

What Trayvon couldn't know or see was the Intolerance and Bias he was facing. And what George didn't recognize is the Bias and Prejudgment that was motivating him to act. That mindset put in motion a series of unfortunate confrontations and the gun just finished it off. Without a gun in his pocket, there likely would not have been as vigorous a pursuit, or a dead kid.

"Pre-Judice" without basis or reason is about empowerment and entitlement. Person A feels superior to Person B by circumstance, birthright or situation. People make bad calls. If this had happened in the 60s, it would have ended up with someone getting their ass kicked (probably George Zimmerman), and would have wound up in civil court.

What does all of this have to do with the dog? Quite a bit, actually. It is through that lens that we decided to judge her on her own merit.

She was used as a puppy factory for the first couple years of her life, not treated the way a pet should be and then dumped like trash in a cornfield when they were done with her. We can't say for sure that we will be her forever home, but right now, today, she deserves a fair shot. So cautiously, lovingly, we have opened the door and said, come on Girl, let's see what you're made of. 

It's the right thing to do.

A Big Lesson

I look down at this homeless dog at my feet who found its way into our yard in the middle of the night a week ago.  Sam woke me up growling, and I got up to check and walked down the hall to the door and found it ajar. That's creepy anytime, but at 3 in the morning it freaked me out. I peered out and the world looked still, and then I saw an iridescent white Pit Bull in the moonlight quietly staring up at me.

Ghost Dog! Slam door! Was that really real?

Sam and I eventually settled back down to sleep but it took a while, and in the morning the GD was still there.  She was about 40 lbs, playful, friendly, hungry, with no collar. It took every fiber of my being to reach down and pat her head because I was afraid.

I am one of those people who believes what they read about Pits, and how dangerous they are. I judge their owners for being reckless to have these dogs around children or other pets, because you just never know.

All that was before Lili arrived on our stoop. All of my Absolutes were put to the test as we began to warm up to her. The first couple of days we fed and played with her outside, and left her to her own devices during the day. She had a bed out there, lots of water, and was waiting for us when we got home.

When the weather turned hot it was decided to move her indoors. She had exceptional manners, was potty trained and gentle indoors. No calls came in from the flyers we posted, and we began thinking she might have been dumped.  What a cruel thing to do.

That's not the only cruel thing she endured. We started looking at her closely. The vet estimated she was about a year old and she has thick callouses under her arms from where a leather harness rubbed. She was bred at 6 months and again at a year, which left her with a slightly prolapsed vagina.  That would mean to a breeder she had outlived her usefulness.

She has worn patches of skin under her neck from a collar that was probably a little too tight. And yet, with all of that, she has a sweet disposition and wants to please. A kind word and pat has her tail lapping against the sofa and nuzzling her face into our hands and laps. When I sit on the stairs out front in the evenings, she wraps her paws over my shoulders and licks my ears.

Some killer. She reminds Sammy how not to beg from the table.  She quietly goes into the bathroom at night and onto her bed, without so much as a whimper, and bounds out in the morning ready to play. She appreciates every bowl of food, every treat, because we have a feeling she has been without them at times. She watches Sam, and then eats the raw vegetable snacks. 

We are considering what to do. Out here there are no fences and the land is constantly being worked by many Spanish speaking farm workers. All the farm dogs roam free and play in the fields, but our community is uncomfortable with Lili, so she would have to be in a run or on a lead. We just can't do that to such a sweet and sensitive dog.

Sadly, that is what helped us decide to be her foster home and look for a loving permanent home. She still needs to be spayed and have vaginal tissue repaired, and get her shots. We put the word out today to some Pit People who know what wonderful dogs they are and will help spread the word. And in the meantime we will keep learning about life from her.

Things like, it is always a bad idea to judge without personal experience, because you're usually wrong. Things like, even when life is hard, you can still be kind.  And, even when you think it is impossible, you can learn rather quickly how to cuddle up on the sofa with a Pit Bull and give her head a kiss before bed.

Lili makes me laugh with delight when she turns inside out when I get home from work.  But maybe I shouldn't be surprised about that: a wonderful dog is a wonderful dog.

Young At Heart, made famous by Frank Sinatra

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart.
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart.

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes.
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams.
And life gets more exciting with each passing day.
And love is either in your heart, or on it's way.

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart.
For as rich as you are, it's much better by far
To be young at heart.

And if you should survive to 105,
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive!
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.

An Anchor and a Star

Every Friday is cause for celebration but especially this one, as we gather to remember one of our own and her early passing. Annie had no lingering illness or outward signs that death was near. She was fine on Easter weekend and dead by Wednesday afternoon.

I know tears will flow today as many try to fill the hole where Annie stood. The better the person, the deeper the grief. And the abruptness of her passing left her community of family in friends in utter disbelief.

A lot have mentioned her smile that lit up the room or the gentle way she laughed at the crazy antics going on around her. She included everyone in the conversation and made newcomers feel welcome. She was an anchor and a star. What I remember most is her consistent, authentic kindness even when there was bickering and dissent in the group.  She was Switzerland, baby!

A lot of people feign generosity of spirit because society values them, but Annie was the Real Deal. She built bridges and skyscrapers with the relationships she fostered. She changed people's lives with her encouragement.  She loved people through rough times and that helped her stand tall during her own.

How Annie managed to hang on to those loving, childlike, open-hearted qualities in a world like ours is a miracle. But we are grateful she did. Annie lived a quiet but large life to those who knew her. Friday was her favorite day, and so tonight in the Sunset we will celebrate all that she was and the fine example we can take forward into our lives.

The Book of Boy

Today for my birthday I'm all alone in the house, me and the dog. I saw two of the boys @ a family funeral last weekend, which doubles as a get together in the Book of Boy, that and the upcoming Mother's Day weekend get together with Grandma Joy on her 90th. My birthday runs so close to Mother's Day that we combine them, and often Tim's birthday too, on the 24th.

May is Funeral Month, and I am taking stock.  I am blessed by Randy. And three fine boys that I would like to see more often, but you get what you get in that regard. Good health, save for the self induced aches and pains from not acting my age. A strong inner child that motivates me - no matter what happens and what setbacks there are - with hope and promise and faith to light the way. Truly, it is better to look forward than back.

Aging is awesome... even the genuine shock when people call me ma'am and use the 'young' adjective when they tease, the way I heard them do with my mother. HEY BUDDY, watch it.

I have never clung to any special age. The 20s and 30s were about building what was thought to be the perfect world.  It was stuffed full of what I thought I wanted and needed - and in time some things held up and others didn't, and the next two decades involved a lot of cleaning. Each decade has had its charm and its challenges.

A friend and I talked of her recent losses and difficulties that somehow gathered into a storm. We reminisced about my journey, raising the kids and all the inbetween stuff, and she said seeing me happy and settled gave her hope that she would get through it. And I know she will, because I believe in her.

I am a hopeless believer in temporary*ness. We don't get to choose how long to keep what we are given. Up down dark light inside out and round and round we go. Age has a way of bringing this into sharper focus.

I am grateful today for being a strong woman; with a forgiving nature to let go of unnecessary crap; enough sense for introspection to learn lessons and self worth to own just my piece; words to call it as I see it; and most of all, to understand my nature and unapologetically be true to it.

Today, I own the moment. No, I'm not talking about the pile of chores and impossible projects ahead. Or the crazy job in-security or loopy finances or nutty family synergy. Or all the zany things I do and decisions I wish I hadn't made, although I own those, too.

I mean I have a life partner walking in step and rooted to each other, our families, our futures and even the ridiculous euphoria of watching bunnies hop across the lawn as we sit down to dinner. There is no one else I'd rather be.

Just once before, when my babies were running around and there were friends up and down the block, I was in balance.  At that time I was authentically living out who I was, raising the first, second and third editions of the Book of Boy, and doing it with all of my heart. I have yearned for Phoenix for 25 years, thinking it was the place that made it perfect.

Ah, but today I occupy a life similarly balanced, that is a reflection of who I truly am. It is the life I have always wanted, with all of my heart.  The Book of Boy editions are grown and out in the world. I will never forget all these precious and rare gifts.

Leading You There

I am being tossed and thrown about in the midst of a storm. It is nearly retirement age.

I plant flowers and let the beauty wash over me. It is tangible and true. During times of great change when the earth shifts underfoot and there is no stabilizing bar that is not also in sway, it is hard to not feel afraid. The land - the wind - the birds - the weeds - the rocks - and yes, even the mosquitos - gives a singular anchor, and somewhere to leave footprints.

I see by the broken branches and trodden path that others have passed this way before. They have stood in this spot and looked at their lives in astonishment, knowing that time has rushed by faster than it seemed, and now they stand at the edge of life in recall.

It is an insecure time. Perhaps I did not plan well enough, and will not be ready. Or maybe I am clinging to my former, more robust self.  I contemplate my anchors of purpose and value, and how I can best adapt to the coming transformation.

I study my hard working and calloused hands that are puckered with age. They were beautiful once, with long slender fingers, white with a light dusting of freckles. They could do anything, and they lived many lives.

They speak to me now with reassurrance. There will be purpose ahead and something to anchor you. Trust us to lead you there. But to begin the journey, you have to let go.

Continuity

A high school friend recently published a book to favorable reviews, and the same goal is on my Bucket List, and I secretly wonder if I will ever get around to it.

The white sleeves that protect and surround the trunks of tiny almonds dot the ground for miles to the North. The sticks have sprouted now and every day they are tended and watered and weeded. Giant farming equipment comes and goes, and workers till and furrow, and crops grow tall in the sun. A farmer's job seems so much more gratifying than mine.

Sometimes the work I do feels invisible, without a rhythm to it or even a beginning or end. Certainly it is nothing like the life of a farmer who can stand back at the end of the day and survey his accomplishments. Yet purposeful work begins, things are accomplished, and we advance to the next thing in my world, too.

Life now is not as idle as it was. Saturdays and Sundays are work days with a new set of clothes. Yesterday, while the Hubs was mowing and clearning, I continued working on a broad planting bed for daisies and ice plant. I kept my eyes down, for fear of distraction by the weeds in the drive or the tall grasses beyond the garage.  I dug and planted, and trickled water into the roots, and rocked back on my heels afterwards when the sprinklers ran. There are so many areas to do, big and little projects that will take vision and time, but every day something is accomplished. It will come together if we keep at it, and one day we will be astonished to see the progress here.

I can't seem to turn off thinking of new ideas. There are glorious bulbs popping up - Iris, at least 3' tall already, against a cyclone fence that is in an ugly part of the yard. Let's use up the old wood hanging around to frame in ground level planter boxes, and let them grow wild. Ideas build on what we discover.

My husband rolls his eyes at my enthusiasm. I tell him I will be learning to do some of this myself and perhaps we can work on independent projects sometimes. He mentally counts off the twenty projects ahead of that, but lets me add it to the list. In pencil.

We took off on Saturday and nosed around antique stores while waiting to meet the guy with the used composter and haul it home. Now that we're here, a day off might mean something more along the lines of a real weekend away. On it.

Quite the Imagination

An interesting idea sparked during a listen to my favorite radio/news/talk show. The conversation was on a phenomenon called mis-remembering. That's not the proper name, but good enough for a discussion about experiential datas and how our brains process it.

Mis-remembering is when the brain strongly identifies with a story and imprints a memory about it.  It reminds me of telling those big childhood stories, when our parents would say, you've got quite an imagination!

It turns out that we have. This researcher brought a bunch of people together with a CatScan machine and one by one put a listener inside and registered how the brain responded when listening to the re-telling of a dramatic or traumatic event. She was able to isolate which part of the brain was active for passive listeners, and ways we listen and identify with the story.

Some listeners were passive, as she expected. It was an interested but detatched listening, with empathy and other emotions as they followed along. But she discovered some were so involved with the story that their brain activity actually created its own fresh memory from the story, as though they experienced the event themselves. 

This kind of research begs to be linked to the ongoing debate about exposure to violence in all of its forms, and the spike in violence and fantasy mass murders. We have too many examples of those who act out internal stress disorders from people whose lives were not full of violence and brutality.

If anyone's random brain can hard-wire the experience of violence, murder, brutality and gore into their active memory, how can we not hold the entertainment industry accountable?

Ward & June

Introducing the adventures of Ward and June, our new Great Horned Owl neighbors.

http://cityfolkfarmers.blogspot.com/2013/02/awesome-neighbors.html

Unending Stars

Moving to the homestead has been an organic reawakening.

I didn't know how important it would be to start with the sunrise low over the fields in crimson and orange and magenta splashes that are farther out than the ends of the earth, and watch it merge into the day.

The owls in the trees out front chat all night long in low mournful hoots. Sam sits on the edge of the bed facing the window, leaning so far forward she nearly falls. There is life out there, the ground squirrels and bats and rodents, and she watches for them.

The Ugg knockoffs are speckled with mud from walks in the field.  Bunnies and ground squirrels scurry away as we stomp through the tall grass, knowing the pits and valleys already, staking out where the garden and fruit trees and deciding how to fence them from the critters.

An Egret came yesterday, and two hawks sat in the trees hunting a meal. Last night there was the call of a coyote far off in the distance that was answered by another closer to home.

I didn't realize how it would change my life being part of wild space, even wild space tempered by a small farming community. Life really is different far from town with no sidewalks or street lights or traffic. Out here you hear the thud of your footsteps as you walk and look up to the heavens at stars as far as the eye can see.

Gratitude

Where has the time gone?

Every minute more precious as the years fly by.

I have forgotten already the tenor of my mother's laugh, but not her hug or her broad smile.

We never forget why we loved them or give away the enormous place they hold in our hearts.

It would be wonderful if things could stay just the way we remember them. But if they did, there would be no room for all the wonderful things that are waiting.

New, interesting characters.

Love, for instance.

And appreciating the beauty of history and age, and the magic that fills our life.

How lucky we are to be able to share so much of our journey together.

Thank you for all of it, even the hard parts (especially the hard parts).

What Is Under the Bed?

Thoughts of gun control are deepening, what it might look like, what it might do. Gun proponents are afraid that their constitutional rights will be usurped, and they have a genuine reason with the poorly managed government track record of political management of laws already on the books. The question won't be does the new law have teeth, but whose teeth are they?

I am espoused to a lover of guns. We have several in a 600 lb locked combination safe, at my insistence. I did not grow up handling or shooting guns, and until recently when it became an occasional hobby to learn how to respect guns and shoot at targets, I never held one.

As a fifty something adult, I came to accept the importance of having basic know-how with safe gun handling. However, that does not change my nature of being a Pacifist. I believe education and ideas and tolerance makes much more of an impact than any gun will.  You can imagine the spirited conversations that arise at home with my husband and I on opposite sides of this (and other) political matters. We have debate ground-rules, for instance keeping the topic to 15 minutes, and always a kiss afterwards.

I know we believe in our perspectives and that it represents what we think is solid right reasoning, and the proud tradition of ultimate jurisdiction over ourselves in a free republic. I can't think of a more important topic, other than the educational reform necessary for our schools to prepare our children to thrive in the new world.

Today, I read an article that was both shocking and enlightening (reprinted below).  It was about how the NRA had manipulated the free development of research to help draw honest conclusions about -- not gun ownership in this country -- but gun use, and the people who use them.

How can there be a fair and effective response to gun violence without it? I have listened to the outcry for intervention through mental health screenings and physician heads up, but as a doc is treating their patients for harm-to-society diagnoses, they are FORBIDDEN by our governing body from asking if there is a loaded gun under the bed...

Boy, what a legacy. Maybe what we should be asking is ... what kind of free republic is this if the most powerful lobby in the United States can control the information and research that directly impacts its citizens?  The Bill of Rights has more than one amendment.

----

(CNN, 1.10.13) -- No new gun laws. The National Rifle Association has made its position clear, even amid America's most recent gun debate.  It says enforce the gun laws already on the books.

 

It's well-known that the organization has actively lobbied to prevent new legislation limiting guns.

But making this happen is more nuanced than just rallying its supporters and lobbyists every time a new law is proposed.

 

Since the 1990s, the powerful pro-gun NRA has targeted the heart of what most legislation is based on: studies about the effects of gun violence.

Last year, the NRA used its influence in Florida to push through legislation that would punish doctors if they asked patients whether they owned a gun.

 

And buried inside President Barack Obama's signature health care legislation is a little-known provision that prevents the government and health insurers from asking about gun ownership.  The NRA says it is simply ensuring that taxpayer money isn't being used to promote a political agenda.

 

"If gun control groups ... (and) individuals want to further their research, we're not saying they shouldn't be able to do it," NRA spokesman Andrew Arulanandam told CNN. "We're just saying they shouldn't be using public funds to do it."

 

But public health experts say it's all part of an attempt by the NRA-led pro-gun lobby to hamstring lawmakers.

 

"If a bunch of people do research and generate solid evidence that suggests firearms policy should be reformed and either firearms or people who used them should be regulated in new ways, (if I'm a gun-rights advocate,) I'm not going to like that," said Dr. Garen Wintemute, head of the violence prevention research program at the University of California at Davis.

 

"So, I'll simply prevent the evidence from being collected in the first place. It's a brilliant strategy, and (the gun lobby) succeeded."

 

A lightning bolt and a chilling effect

 

It wasn't a lot of money -- $2.6 million -- but it represented the bulk of the nation's research on firearms safety in the mid-1990s.

 

"With regards to gun research, it was enormous," said Stephen Teret, the founding director of the Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Policy and Research.

 

In the 1990s, this small portion of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's budget went to a program headed by Dr. Mark Rosenberg that funded two high-profile studies that concluded the risks of having a loaded gun in the home outweigh the benefits.

 

"That was demonstrated if you counted dead bodies; it was demonstrated if you counted individuals shot but not killed; and tallied up the good guys versus the bad guys," said Dr. Arthur Kellermann, who led the research teams under Rosenberg's National Center for Injury Prevention program.

 

Kellerman said the studies were not politically motivated but simply a way to give homeowners information to make informed choices.

 

But the studies created what Teret described as "the lightning rod that started the bolts of lightning from the pro-gun side."  In 1996, it all ended.

 

Flexing its political muscle on Capitol Hill, the NRA successfully pushed for legislation that effectively ended Rosenberg's program. To underscore its point, Congress -- in a move led by Jay Dickey, a former gun-rights advocate and Republican legislator from Arkansas -- added this language to the agency's appropriation: "None of the funds made available for injury prevention and control at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention may be used to advocate or promote gun control."

At the time, critics in Congress accused the researchers of pursuing an anti-gun agenda and said the CDC's work was redundant.

 

The provision remains in place today. The language created what Teret called "a chilling effect" for nearly all gun-related work at the CDC. Though the agency continues to track gun deaths and injuries, it does little work on how to prevent them.

 

Many years later, the National Institutes of Health funded a similar study that triggered the same lightning-bolt response.  In 2009, the NIH study concluded that a person carrying a gun was nearly 4.5 times more likely to be shot in an assault than someone who is unarmed.

 

Two years later, Congress added the same restrictive language it had imposed on the CDC to all agencies of the Department of Health and Human Services, including the NIH.

 

Today, the NRA maintains its position that government research into gun violence is not necessary.

"What works to reduce gun violence is to make sure that criminals are prosecuted and those who have been found to be a danger to themselves or others don't have access to firearms," the NRA's Arulanandam said, "not to carry out more studies."

 

Unanswered questions

 

So why are government studies on gun violence necessary?  Rosenberg, who left the CDC in 1999, explained that many of the questions that his group was seeking to answer remain open.

 

For example, he said, it's not clear whether registering and licensing firearms lowers gun violence; whether allowing people to carry concealed weapons increases or lowers the risk of gun deaths; or how letting people carry weapons in places such as shopping malls or schools or bars or parks affects the number of deaths.

 

"These are very big questions that we need to know the answer to," said Rosenberg, who is now president and CEO of The Task Force for Global Health.

 

There are other private agencies and even partly federally funded programs that have researched these issues.  But none was as far-reaching as what Rosenberg's program did in the 1990s.

 

The CDC's website still keeps track of the toll of gun violence -- or, as the CDC sometimes calls it, "lethal means." Yet, the federal agency does little of the epidemiological research it once did that might offer guidance to lawmakers.  Now that gun violence has been thrust into the forefront of issues on Capitol Hill after last month's mass shooting at a Newtown, Connecticut, elementary school, the focus has turned to the medical community's role in the debate.

 

Last week, The Washington Post reported on a little-known provision added to the 2010 Affordable Care Act -- better known as Obamacare -- limiting what doctors can ask their patients about firearms in the home.

 

While the provision doesn't forbid doctors from asking about guns, it prohibits health care workers from collecting that information, documenting it and using it for research.

 

A similar law in Florida went a step further and would actually penalize doctors if they ask their patients about whether they own a gun, in most cases. A federal judge overturned the law, but Gov. Rick Scott has vowed to appeal.

 

Gun-rights advocates, including the NRA, have raised concerns about tracking this data, including the possibility that acknowledging legal gun ownership could bring higher insurance premiums.

With these restrictions and the revived gun debate, doctors should become active participants in the discussion about gun violence and gun policy in this country, according to the American College of Physicians.

 

After all, the group said in a recent publication, physicians take a stand on other public health issues, such as smoking, air pollution, drunk driving and vaccinations.

 

Examining gun violence isn't a political issue to most physicians, one Florida doctor said.

"Physicians basically want two things: They want continued research so we can find out what is happening along the lines of firearms and health care," Dr. Carolyn McClanahan told CNN's Sanjay Gupta. "And the second thing, though, is we want to provide basic gun education. Studies have shown if you ask parents, especially pediatricians ask parents, 'Do you keep your gun locked, unloaded, keep the ammunition separate from the gun?' that decreases the chance of a death from a firearm."

 

Where things stand now

 

When Adam Lanza unleashed a hail of bullets inside an elementary school on December 14, ending the lives of 20 young children and six staff members, the debate over America's gun laws reopened.

Days later, Obama announced that a task force led by Vice President Joe Biden would create "real reforms right now."

 

That could include a revival of the assault weapons ban, something that Sen. Dianne Feinstein, D-California, has said she plans to introduce. It could also result in executive orders that would bypass the legislative process, Biden said Wednesday.

 

The NRA will participate in the task force meetings this week, mostly to "hear what they have to say," Arulanandam said.

 

Whether the effort in Washington results in significant changes to America's gun laws isn't clear.

What is clear, according to Kellermann -- who led research with the now defunct CDC program -- is that the nation has lost valuable time.

 

"Democracy is not served by ignorance and by excluding certain topics," he said. "I think that's been the real loss in this case."

A Girl's Perfect Bug

The day we put up the Christmas tree, and I dragged out the boxes and fished through the ornaments for just the right ones, and from that constructed what we would gaze at for a month, a ladybug appeared on the windowsill.

I think everything is connected to everything else, so I gently invited her on my finger and she crawled on up. Look! A ladybug, in the dead of winter with windows closed, in the middle of decorating for Christmas!

I love ladybugs. Beautiful and gentle, soft and colorful, they are sweet simplicity. I have always helped them along by moving them on flowers and leaves, or to a shady spot against a fence.

My mom never gardened but she did plant carnations in the spring, the ones that trailed up the fence on pieces of twine, with creamy pink fluted edges that smelled of a soft summer day.  I would sit with her with dirt under my fingernails and we would dig holes and pat the plants into place, and she would point out ladybugs and say, be gentle - ladybugs do no harm.

That ladybug watched me trim the tree, unannounced, as I hung family ornaments that are too precious to imagine, handprints and first grade pictures, and family stockings with our loved one's names. I got to wondering if God ever lets our loved ones drop in for a visit to help ease our longing.  Aiyana and my Dad were so much like ladybugs - beautiful and gentle, doing only good and making the world better.

I cradled the ladybug gently as we walked downstairs and down the long hall to the porch, and nudged it onto a Verbena plant still in flower under the overhang. Thank you for dropping by and raising my spirits. Everything is connected.

No Eating the Guests!

As I sat down on Thanksgiving night, when the dishes were done and no one was quite ready for dessert, I watched my kids together on the couch laughing over something silly. I was filled with the most wonder sense of thanksgiving for my family the way it is.

They have a choice to be here. My brother in law has been part of the boys' lives for the last 30 ~ 27 ~ 24 years. He would come down when we lived in Phoenix, go to spring training and have a lot of time to hang out with the boys at the park, at the pool, at the game.

It seems like forever since those days of building a friendship that has outlasted a twenty year marriage to his brother and a decade since. We still go to games and he still comes to bbq's and holiday dinners. He gets along great with the Hubs, too. He always sweeps in with cheesecake under his arm and heads for the Seven Up in the fridge. 

Choosing family is so heartwarming. So right. We put out the idea of family dinners in the New Year. We live an hour or two apart, and that's a bit of a snag, but the boys were receptive to it.

I am thankful this year that Tim's new rescue Rottweiler did not eat the guests. In fact, Gatsby and Princess Sam got along well with her, so well in fact, that Roxie is on an extended sleepover until Sunday.

There was that moment she jumped up with front paws on the chopping block and thinking about digging in to the turkey carcass while we were at the table, but someone nixed that idea pretty fast.

Roxie's tummy was upset last night and so I boiled up some rice and chicken to settle things down. Now she follows me around as the Food Fairy. (Food truly is the universal language of love.) This morning, she actually laid on her side for me to scratch her tummy. That is a By Invitation Only activity with a Rottie and I was honored.

Sam taught Roxie to run up and down stairs, and just where to stand in the kitchen to be assurred a little morsel from the butcher block. And Roxie took Sam across the road to the farm on the other side, which nearly stopped our hearts until we had them back home and safe. Bad idea, city dog, bad bad idea.

I can hear Roxie snoring on her -no joke- Tempur Pedic dog bed in the living room, which is a relief that she is comfortable without Tim on her first sleepover.  And Sam could barely keep her eyes open after two days of Big Dog play. When the Hubs turned in, she was first on the bed and first conked out. I had to drag her sorry little carcass down to the foot of the bed -- and she didn't even wake up. Off to bed for me shortly, if there's room...

On Being Tuesday

A morning stretch and bam! it's Friday!  Puttering around at home and catching up with friends/fam is definitely on the top 10 hit parade for the weekend. I just love Friday.

So focused am I on Friday that I wonder if I really even see Tuesday. How different would it be to be more grateful for Tuesday and not shrug it off as merely a waystation to somewhere else?

Life is speeding up with technology, but also in the general pace and energy of life. We are stimulated 24/7 by electronic connections that demand attention. It is second nature now, the Facebook and Twitter. We almost always have a phone in our hand.

It reminds me of the scene in The Time Machine when Rod Taylor tries out the machine for the first time. He's in the laboratory with the windowed ceiling and wall, and we watch him push forward on the throttle. He has no idea what to expect, but he is curious to find out. The changes are abrupt! All of a sudden the sky and seasons fly by and the mannequins in the shop across the street go through a hundred years of fashion changes. We are transported somewhere new and strange.

I was relieved to know the Time Machine has a back button. But it was just a story. In real life, to slow our forward journey requires self control.  I am going to do a little experiment. I'm going to shift my thinking from counting weeks to counting days. In other words,  treat every day as important as Friday has become ~ each in its own right as its own destination point.

Living Present will make them more visible. I'd like to stretch awake and exclaim, oh good! it's Tuesday!!  Maybe there is untapped joy and purpose within the day. And what I suspect is it will slow life down a little bit. No need to wolf it down! And part of that is staring down the poor technology habits I have developed. From now on, mine will be muted and tucked away at night so I can be present at home.

Peace Be With You

Not to be disrespectful to what is happening with Hurricane Sandy but the reporting of that gave me a brilliant idea. There are tons of websites where updates are boiled down to the jist of what is happening - where the storm is, how people are affected, who has power and how the sick and infirmed are faring. Pretty much everything else was drama, and the way they constructed the reporting, you could avoid that.

So why not do the same with the Presidential race.

http://www.weather.com/weather/hurricanecentral/tracker/2012/sandy

You know, have a Political Stormtracker showing velocity and trajectory of their campaigns, and whether to batten down the hatches, run for the hills or plan a party.

The Presidential stumping ground could go from (too many) months to just a few days of petting dogs and holding babies. Everything else could be posted on the Stormtracker. Past performance, goals and the first-hundred-days-in-office plan, how the White House would get a makeover, etc. We don't actually have to know them on sight to vote. We the people, who are so capable and gritty, can spoon feed ourselves.

I can hardly contain the excitement of a drama-free campaign. I'm sure the candidates believe it's thrilling to meet them. They've been told it will ramp up their campaigns. And in small circles, perhaps so. But for the rest of us, they more resemble that obnoxious next door neighbor we try to avoid.

Famous people are like that. So out of touch. They buggggg me, with their wall-eyed glances, one on the camera and one on the crowd, in shameless self promotion.

The Hubs loves celebrities. He talks all the time about meeting some baseball player named (Oscar? Manuel? Roberto?) Zepada? Cepeda? at the Sushi place we love and shaking the hand of Bobby Kennedy just days before his last. He goes to music venues to see TV personalities. He and his brother actually sent a present once to one of the guys on the tv show, My Three Sons. LOL

I saw Walt Disney once. And I remember the day the Principal of my elementary came to dinner. What kind of father makes friends with the Principal of their kids' school?? I knew instantly my folks had BatPhone access to Mr. Jennings. And even worse, he singled me out the next week on the way to recess, called me by name and said with a big smile what a nice time he had at dinner. I couldn't look anyone in the eye for a week.

I am super judgemental on this topic -- and did you happen to notice the subword mental which supports my efforts to shun those seeking fame for being the magnificently crazy stupid people they are. 

{Except for Antonio Banderas. I'd like to meet him in the historical non fiction aisle of a bookstore and talk about what it was like working with Catherine Zita-Jones.}

The Understated Era

Every decade I have stood on the edge ready to dive, always excited to move forward.

I themed them up:  the 20s as big life transitions, the 30s as building the bricks and mortar, the 40s as focusing on careers and enjoying the fruits of that labor, and the 50s as putting on fat for the coming winter. The 60s*70s*80s were supposed to be the defining years of time well spent once the 8-5 was archived. You know, perpetual recess.

That theory sort of frittered away after the late 40's and those feelings of unlimited potential. Roadblocks were not big issues early on, with oodles of time for a comeback. And frankly, the 50s were supposed to be the pre-golden Me Years after kids and college, and the place to sock away solid earnings.

My folks built a lot of their retirement nestegg in their 50s. I watched.
 

Except it wasn't to be. The late great boomers have been enmeshed in a seriously unproductive decade.  The old tired Plan A seems more outdated than a 3 year old laptop.

 

So I started checking out who weathering the storm and what they have in common. What an eyeful.

The people who stayed in their original home and made do are doing just fine. They resisted the temptation to loot the equity for any reason, and if a dire situation arose, borrowed conservatively and paid it back. ***Lesson***

The folks who saved all the way along, for a rainy day, and took to heart Social Security as just a supplement, they're good, too.  ***Lesson***

And here's a shocker: the ones that came out on top here are those who worked for the government. ***No Lesson***

Seriously! We are the Love Peace Dope generation! No way would we be forced to give up our principles and stick with a conservative job. I was never ever tempted to work for big government. The antithesis of making a difference is a government job. 

But 50 years later and financial portfolios as they are, those big fat pensions and medical for life bennies look mighty tasty! 
 

Talk about irony! My favorite irony is in watching The Body that eased regulations and gave the banks latitude to execute a cataclysmic fraud of this magnitude to also deliver their employees from suffering the effects of it.  Land the Hand on a Giant Smack Down and then Lift Up in Pseudo-Comfort?  What a scam.

Hey, it's the same gig, buying or selling. The rest of us are standing around scratching our heads, wondering what the hell we're going to do without a Plan B.

 

I Liiiiiiiike It!

The Let's-Sell-Our-House- And-See-the-World Retirement

By LYNNE MARTIN

I'm 70 years old. My husband, Tim, is 66. For most of our lives, each of us lived and worked in California. Today, our home is wherever we and our 30-inch suitcases are.

In short, we're senior gypsies. In early 2011 we sold our house in California and moved the few objects we wanted to keep into a 10-by-15-foot storage unit. Since then, we have lived in furnished apartments and houses in Mexico, Argentina, Florida, Turkey, France, Italy and England. In the next couple of months, we will live in Ireland and Morocco before returning briefly to the U.S. for the holidays.

As I write this, we have settled into a darling one-bedroom apartment a hundred yards from the River Thames, a 25-minute train ride from the heart of London. We have a knack for moving in. Within a few minutes of plunking down our belongings in new digs, we have made it our own: The alarm clock is beside the bed; my favorite vegetable peeler and instant-read thermometer are in the kitchen; and our laptop computers are hooked up and humming. Together we begin learning how to make the appliances cooperate.

Given all that, I suppose a better way to describe us is gypsies who like to put down roots. At least for a month or two.
 

Why we're doing this is simple: My husband and I—in a heart-to-heart conversation during a trip to Mexico—realized that both of us are happier when we're on the road. We enjoy excellent health and share a desire to see the world in bigger bites than a three-week vacation allows. The notion of living like the locals in other countries thrilled us, and after almost 18 months of living "home free," we are still delighted with our choice. Even a "cocooning" day is more interesting in Paris or Istanbul.

How we're doing this is more complicated. But we think our plan would work for many retirees with a reasonably healthy nest egg. A budget on the road—as in a stationary life—depends on how a person prioritizes expenditures and what kind of lifestyle he or she wishes to pursue. Someone who needs a large wardrobe or thrives on giving lavish dinner parties wouldn't find our life appealing. (Rented places seldom offer much in the way of attractive dinnerware.)

We certainly have moments when we question our sanity. Being up to our knees in water, completely lost in the middle of a torrential rainstorm in Istanbul, or discovering that we have locked ourselves out on a third-floor Paris balcony does give us pause.

But we've learned three things. First, coping with new situations and making complicated travel plans even as we're on the road keep us sharp.

Second, we aren't alone. We meet fellow retirees on a regular basis, some who are taking extended vacations, others who are leading a life similar to ours, and some who have settled permanently overseas. A man I met early on in our travels said to me, "There are a lot of us out there who have figured it out."

Third and most important, the rewards far outweigh the risks. The moments when we glance out "our" living-room window at Florence's skyline or turn a corner in "our" neighborhood and see the tip of the Eiffel Tower winking at us make the scary times worthwhile.

Becoming international nomads sounded appealing, but we first had to find a way to afford such a lifestyle. Serious number-crunching showed that selling our home in California would allow us to live comfortably almost anyplace in the world. Not having property taxes or a roof that needs fixing can pay for a lot of train rides.

 

A few specifics about money. Our financial adviser sends us about $6,000 a month, generated from investments. We also collect Social Security and a small pension. We have a "slush fund" of about $20,000, which allows us to make advance deposits—for housing, cruises, flights, hotels and so forth—without affecting our cash flow.

We follow some simple strategies to keep our budget in line. Stays in more expensive locations, like Paris or London, are balanced by living in less pricey countries like Mexico, Turkey or Portugal. We dine out several times a week but eat at home much of the time. I like to cook, and food shopping is a great way to learn about a country. (Finding baking soda in Buenos Aires isn't nearly as simple as it sounds.)

People certainly could live on less than we do. Accommodations are a good place to start; the cost of rentals overseas varies considerably with size, season, location and amenities.
And when all else fails, walking and gawking are free everywhere.

Although we have used airplanes, trains, buses, taxis, cars and ferries, our favorite means of transportation is now trans-Atlantic repositioning voyages.

When cruise lines move their ships seasonally, they offer big discounts. Not many people can spare several weeks in the off-season to cross the ocean. But it's perfect for us because we not only reach our destination, but we also are housed, fed and pampered for more than two weeks each time. Traveling by ship, we arrive in sync with local time and get a quick peek at interesting places that we probably wouldn't choose for an extended visit.

We are not married to any particular cruise line. Tim shops for the best deal he can find that fits into our schedule, although we sometimes schedule around the cruises. Prices vary. In May, our Atlantic crossing—16 nights with an ocean-view room—cost about $2,500 for the two of us. That included all of our food, and a wine package for me. Our return trip in November from Barcelona to Miami with the same cruise line will cost about the same.

Our repositioning bookings extend into 2014 and form the base from which the rest of our travels plans will grow. At the moment, we have reservations for next year to live in Portugal, Spain, France, Germany, the Netherlands and Russia. We are already confirmed for a Paris apartment for June/July 2014.

In our experience, vrbo.com and homeaway.com are the most reliable sources for short-term rentals. They offer a wide range of properties to fit almost any budget, and because we usually stay at least a month in each place, we can sometimes negotiate a slightly better deal.

We have had the best luck renting properties whose owners live locally. They offer information about transportation and shopping, grant reasonable special requests and are usually quick to correct any shortcomings. When I mentioned to our apartment owner in Paris that the pots and pans were a bit tired, she appeared the very next day with a new set of cookware and two wonderful stainless-steel frying pans.

Of course, challenges await us at each destination. A partial list: learning how to negotiate the grocery-store routine; using local transportation; connecting to the Internet; getting decent haircuts; operating heating and cooling systems; deciphering exotic DVD players.

Producing meals in an unfamiliar kitchen is often a particular challenge; microwave instructions in French or Turkish can considerably delay meal preparation, And every washer/dryer we encounter presents a whole new group of mysterious settings.

Connecting with people we would never have encountered in our regular lives is the most thrilling part of our lifestyle.

In Paris, my favorite neighborhood cheese vendor chose a slice of Brie that he guaranteed would melt perfectly at the precise time our guests arrived, and it did; we met two brilliant young Serbian educators and an internationally known Italian poet at a dinner party on a terrace overlooking Florence; and the owner of a gorgeous 16th-century hotel where we were staying in Kusadasi, Turkey, whiled away an afternoon with me playing fast and furious backgammon. Such moments make the uncomfortable times—like being stuck in a London traffic jam while still learning to drive a stick-shift car on the left side—more than worthwhile.

We also enjoy the freedom of not being weighed down by our "things." Indeed, one of the benefits of living home-free is that people we meet on the road are interested in us and could care less about our house, our antiques, our art or other possessions. It's a remarkably forthright way to relate to others.
Most days we're up by 8 a.m., and we read our newspapers online with our coffee. If it's a "tourist" day, we try to get out in the morning before the crowds fill up the museum, historic site or event we're bound for. Sometimes we just attend to life with grocery or clothes shopping, or catching up on our laundry and our reading.

Strolling along the Thames on the way to have a haircut turns a mundane chore into an event, and many times we enjoy a chat with an interesting stranger along the way. My husband devotes some time every day to making travel plans for the future and writing a novel, and I try to work regularly on my blog, homefreeadventures.com. Many evenings we watch our favorite shows or a movie we've rented online, and we usually stay up too late, just as we used to do at home.

Since we have eliminated homeownership, we have few bills to pay. We use an online bill-paying service, and we buy almost everything by credit card so we can rack up mileage rewards. One of our daughters receives the mail, which has dwindled to almost nothing.

A good Internet connection is essential. Our computers link us with family and friends, help us plan future travels, and are our source of entertainment in places where movies and television in English are elusive. Each of us has a laptop and an iPhone, and our Kindles house our library and travel books.

We have Medicare and supplemental plans, and when we return to the U.S., we see our doctors for annual checkups. We also have international health insurance covering medical emergencies and evacuations. The plan has a big deductible to help reduce our overhead, since our experiences with health-care providers abroad have been very positive. For instance, Tim awoke one morning in Mexico with raging flu symptoms. A doctor was at his bedside within the hour, administered an injection and gave us a prescription. He charged about $50, and Tim recovered quickly.

Of course, we miss our family and friends terribly, but they have forgiven us for leaving and welcome us enthusiastically when we rent a house near them for a visit. Even our financial adviser has grudgingly admitted that our plan is working well.

For us, giving up 2,500 square feet of gracious California living for a 500-square-foot apartment in Paris or Istanbul is more than a fair trade-off. In place of our heavy-duty gas stove, big-name pots and pans and enormous refrigerator, we now find ourselves using Barbie-size sinks, bar fridges and some pretty sketchy cookware. We share bathrooms with one sink and watch movies on a 13-inch computer screen.

At the same time, we enjoy lunches where the paté comes from heaven, drives through the luscious French countryside where even the cows are beautiful, and strolls along the Arno River in Italy for our after-dinner exercise.

We don't plan to quit until the wheels fall off.
 

Sunrise in Laos, by Pam Houston

Such beautiful, beautiful imagery to enjoy.

Sunrise in Laos
by Pam Houston

 

I am a mountain girl, and my first love in Asia are the monasteries tucked between the snow-covered razor ridges of the high Himalayas. But I've been drawn south into these humid lowlands by the reported kindness of the Laotian people and the early morning ritual that is about to begin.

A rooster crows. A peacock screams. And then the bells of the monasteries begin to have their morning conversation.

When the monks come pouring down the stone steps of the prayer halls, they appear first as a river of color, a ribbon of saffron silk, shockingly vibrant against the chalky streets, the dusty footpath, the gray -- almost mercuried -- sky. All over Asia, monks wear robes the color of spices: curry, cumin, paprika. In Luang Prabang, every robe is brightest saffron, the cloth wrapped complicatedly around their torsos and hanging to their ankles, tied at the waist with a bright yellow sash.

As they approach it becomes possible to distinguish one monk from another, hands clasped in front of the belly, echoing the shape of the wooden begging bowl they hold.

Like the Mekong they live beside, this river of men never stops moving; they pass in a quiet, contemplative gait that is two parts walking, one part floating. One by one they drift past the woman, who also keeps a kind of time with her motions: one large scoop of steaming rice into each hand-carved bowl, refill, release, refill again. Every monk bows to her deeply and moves on.

Every few streets the same thing is happening: different woman, different monks; same bright, graceful river passing in front of her. And again a few streets over, an unmistakable flash of color, and again, a few streets beyond that. This is what happens here every morning, 365 days, year in, year out.

The women up early, cooking in the dark, carrying their little tables in the milky first light. Then the monks, a small fire in the gray light, lightening their rice cookers, lightening their burdens.

The sun strengthens slightly. In an hour, the fog will lift and the heat will begin to press down. There is a flick of fire, a swirl of a saffron sleeve as a monk moves around the corner, back up the stairs and into the dormitory, like a magic trick of compassion, of generosity, of prayers offered and received.

A Bowl of Tulips

Kindness is hardest to do when it is unappreciated, but that is when it is most needed.

I came across a free retirement calculator which became a very good tool. I wasn't prepared for the twenty different options and a series of questions too advanced for a morning looksey.  It turned into a somber moment to look forward twenty or thirty years to what the needs might be.  It dawned on me, the day is almost here when income will end and whatever is saved is what will have to last.  Likely the transition will be more abrupt than with our parents, who had the luxury of choosing a date and excitedly marking it off the calendar. This reality is where talented, educated young people have difficulty finding jobs, and new jobs are not being created. We may not have the luxury of going out on top.

But today is not that day! I worked with the calculator and entered all the info from retirement programs, savings and retirement income that I knew, and felt we've done a decent job saving so we should be okay. What came up was a pretty frightening graph that estimates how much *other* income will be needed to augment retirement and social security to maintain a modest standard of living. By age 80: $80K a year.

The Gods Must be Crazy!  Makes me contemplate this idea of living off the land and being as self sufficient as possible as more of a necessity than an elective choice. And you better believe the hot topic will be about post-workforce income and what we are going to do about that.

All this retirement talk definitely condensed the issues down to the meat and potato topics for the Presidential election next month. I'm looking at them only in terms of ~ National might; citizen protections from government/business corruption; strong social programs; healthcare reform; and financial strength.

We need someone at the helm with a moderate cooperative spirit and strong ethical principles to break through the partisanship.  This year my vote goes not to the lovely bowl of tulips draped with a matching bow, but to whomever will look after my best interests and get the job done.