Danny Gets Official IT guy title

Tonight is out first agility class with Ginny. Danny will be the one primarily working with her which is good since I had a rare virtually sleepless night and all of a sudden fatigue has hit me like a Mack truck. I'm trying not to take a nap which will put me back in the 'I'm not sleepy zone' later tonight.

Newsflash: Danny got the IT job he wanted at UCF! It's Monday-Friday 8 to 5 so he won't be spending the same amount of time with me as we grew used to when he was a Personal Trainer and/or going to school full time at VCC. No more late nights and late mornings for him or going to theme parks during the week . In fact, on school nights, I won't see him from early morning till ten at night. Wow. We'll be back to phone calls and text messages. Just like 'normal' folks. While I will miss hangin' with the Dano, I am very excited for him. A real IT job is part of what he's been going to school for these past several years, and the fact that it is at UCF where he's going to be finishing his degree come September is way way cool...and convenient. Bravo Danny.

Postscript: Ginny did very well at her first agility class. She worked hard and tried to please. Her group worked on obedience commands for the first half and on the tunnel and jump for the second. She, like all the other untrained beginner dogs was a bit confused. She whimpered for the first twenty minutes of obedience--all the while doing pretty good sit stays and downs and weaving around the other seated dogs in the ring. At one point she slipped her collar and came running to me and tried to climb up on my lap. But once she got to the agility part, she had fun. She didn't object to familiarity from the other dogs but got a little scared by one of the trainers when the woman suddenly moved in too close to Ginny's face for her comfort. Ginny went straight up in the air and backwards like shot from a cannon. But she whizzed over the 'baby' jumps. 'Hoolas don't consider anything under four feet as a jumping challenge with five or six preferred! We're looking forwards to next week. Chow.

On Spiderwick and Some Writing Advice

Danny and I went to see the film, The Spiderwick Chronicles tonight. As most folks know, it is based on the wildly popular children's fantasy books. It was a good story, told well and well acted with pretty good CGI special effects and beautiful cinematography. Maybe a bit too scary for really little kids in a spot or two, depending on the kid. We like Sci Fi and fantasy films and we enjoyed this one. Unlike the recent Golden Compass, it actually had an ending. Best of all from my own personal viewpoint, it didn't have any actual spiders in it either. Danny liked the way the movie story line kept moving at a very brisk pace with no lags and that it was made using the Linux computer system--which is his particular favorite--and the one we both work with most of the time. Plot-wise, I really like the angle that the children had to tackle the mystery and the monsters pretty much on their own and work together to save the day. No polar bear warriors or talking lion kings or fairy queen warriors to fight their battles with the little kids as sidekicks. Just using their own brains and cleverness.

This next part is for you writers and would be writers out there who are interested. The rest of you go look at my Flickr pictures or something.

Earlier today I had some questions from a writing friend who wanted to know about my reactions to presenting my material to various writing groups for critique. How did I feel when other people either didn't like something I wrote or might have been offended by something perceived as being politically incorrect. Or dismissed it by saying that they just didn't get it? What about a short part of a longer piece being read and studied without benefit of the readers being able to place the material in the context of the whole story or book? How did negative criticism make me feel, my friend wanted to know.

Well, when I first started doing writing groups a half dozen or more years back, I admit I was pretty sensitive. Just ask Danny. He'll groan and nod in affirmation. I didn't know then or know now any new writers who weren't (aren't). New writers want to be and hope that they are talented creatures and that their precious words--the outpouring of their hearts and soul and intellect-- are perfect just as downloaded onto the virgin page the very first time.

You know, offer it to the world the way you download and glory will follow. This never happens. Not even to the famous guys. In the film, Finding Forrester (which was about writers and writing), Sean Connery as Forrester said that the first draft of your book is for you and all the others are for everybody else. Editing is...well...everything. Oscar Wilde once remarked that he spent five minutes putting a comma in a piece in the morning and the entire afternoon taking it out. You'll agree, Oscar knew of what he spoke.

I hate reading messy rough drafts that the writer obviously never looked at a second time so I never offer a really rough draft to a group for critique. It's always edited at least three or four times and neatly typed, checked for tense agreement and grammar errors. If a writer is going to to send a piece out for hopeful publication he or she should know that an editor will not even read a sloppy download with tense and subject verb agreement errors, spelling no nos, etc, its a good habit to learn the writing rules and always do things professionally from the get go.

I try to offer a complete chapter that fits into the group length guidelines since I really don't see the value to me of having them read anything less complete. People don't always like everything they read. This doesn't bother me anymore...but it did six years ago when I was a "newbee" too. Now, I can listen to and read their comments and often find value in the things they say. Sometimes (often) I make some plot or dialogue changes as a result of the readers comments that makes the piece much better. Sometimes I get ideas that take me in a whole new direction I like better. I love the comments, positive and negative.

I had to get to this place of serenity by writing a lot and working hard to improve in areas I was weak in. In the early days, my tender feelings would be bruised in critique. I'd struggle not to defend my stuff verbally and then go home and alternately think, I'm terrible, I'll never be any good, I should just give up...followed by some angry feelings towards the negative commentators. Then, that day or the next, I'd sit at my computer for hours banging on the keyboard until I pretty much fell over from fatigue and eyestrain rewriting the damn piece. And guess what? After all my hard content editing, it was always better. Since in the beginning folks often picked at my description and dialogue, I worked on exercizes to improve both areas almost exclusively for a year. Now, it both amuses and pleases me that the most frequent comments I get from critiques is that my dialogue rings true and my description is right on!

Sometimes, I use phrases or words that some people don't know because they are not common usage. I shrug inwardly when folks complain that they don't understand a German word or Pennsylvania Dutch term or SciFi term and leave it in the story. When I read, if I don't know a word, I look it up. Generally a reader can infer the meaning from the context of the piece. If not, let them look it up or leave it. If the word contributes to the authenticity of the characters or setting it should stay. The same goes with politically incorrect dialogue or dialect. That's the writer's choice in any case and with the general dumbing down of our culture I make it a point to offer new bits and bytes of information even if trivial. Anyway, there's always instant referencing on Wikipedia for the readers. No excuses anymore.

So here's the advice to new writers. Don't turn in something you downloaded from your head onto paper thirty minutes before you make copies of it for the group. Not fair to you or them. Take some time to polish the piece a little. Try to remember that nothing is perfect the first ten go rounds though and that your piece can't be everything to all readers. Try to remember that there's always room for improvement. Accept fair criticism on your work. Sleep on it and rework your piece later. Don't let adverse reactions shut you down. And if perchance you run into some smart alecky condescending know it all who makes the criticism unprofessionally personal...well, theres' always itching powder, thumb tacks, and voodoo dolls.....just kidding. Really.

So, its not the destination grasshopper, its the journey...wait a minute...the destination can be pretty good too...it can be Paris or the Pulitzer or the National Book Award. Oh crap, what do I know? It's tomorrow already. Time for a bedtime snack and a few pages of the mystery book I'm currently reading and...bed. Live long and prosper. Write on.

Puppy Poem and Pix

Tonight's photos are dogs currently adoptable from Catahoula United Rescue Society (Curs). If you are looking for true love and devotion and are willing to give up satin bedspreads and oriental rugs, check out their site or Google your favorite dog breed. Most have rescue groups. Adopting a dog from a rescue group saves not only that dog's life but also enables rescue folks to pull another dog from a kill shelter. Most of the dogs end up in shelters for really stupid reasons. Owners abandon them when they move. They say the dogs won't come when called, or have fleas, or jump on their kids, or bark. Apparently, most of those folks are too lazy or self indulgent to get a dog training book or sign up for a training class or apply flea prevention products. But lucky me, that's how I got my Ginny and Abby.

Note to single folks who like dogs. Dog parks are full of other single people with dogs.

Here's a puppy poem from my upcoming book, Between The Lines (working title)

NEW PUPPY

By Nancy Wayman Deutsch

Busy buddy,
rapscallion
in constant motion.
Searching, finding
hidden treasure:
a discarded bit of tissue,
carried proudly off,
scavenged from my office trashcan.
Or one of my socks,
escaped from my walking shoe.

You ate my white summer sandal,
while I drifted somewhere in sleep.
Only one before I awoke
although I needed a shoe for each foot.
Or so I believed, before we met.

My Waterford vase must find a new home.
It’s silken flowers, bent over
several missing, now.
Why must you walk across the sofa table,
when the floor is nearer your paws?

You pounced on a lizard,
there in the grass
who left his tail behind
when he shimmied up the screen.
You didn’t notice his escape,
nose already calling you away
to some new smell-vision adventure.

Unrolling the toilet paper,
you ran from the bath,
because I caught you that time.
On the kitchen counter,
the meatballs sang a drool song
but, I heard them, too.

Why do you remember to bark at six o’clock,
for a puppy’s breakfast,
though you can’t remember to go outside,
when you need to pee.
I walk you for an hour.
Somehow, you wait,
keeping everything you’ve got inside
until we get home.

Your favorite toy
a fuzzy yellow duck,
which still quacks,
despite his missing foot.
Second to that lopsided duck
anything that our other dog already has
between her paws.

When we rescued you,
I thought you had lost your joy.
Though I know dogs,
this time, I was wrong.
Joy was there, hiding
behind your mismatched eyes,
waiting to be set free.

Live long and prosper.

The art of napping, week end update, and a duck

There is an art to napping. I've always though so. These pictures prove it, don't you think?


Hidy Ho Bloggers,

I dunno where the week end went...or for that matter where February has gone to so fast. I seem to have very little to show for my time these days. Okay, I did make a path to the washer and dryer and did a veritable mountain of clothes this week end. I even put them all away. That is to say, stuff is re-jammed into all my dresser drawers and squeezed into my closet. Remember this maxim. It is very useful to the organizational challenged like yours truly: If it's out of sight, it must be right. Thank God in Heaven above for closet doors.

I spent quite a few hours formatting and editing my poetry book manuscript. I read about a hundred pages of Charles Frasier's book, Thirteen Moons. Watched a very funny episode of the BBC/HBO show, Extras as well as the film Idiocracy and the Oscar telecast. Had dinner at PF Chang's with Danny my daughter Laura, and her friend. Made cookies for the theater students at Rollins College. Went shopping for new chocolate brown sheets and comforter (my concession to sleeping with dogs), checked out what's new at Borders and Books A Million, ate some of the cookies I made for the Rollins theater students, and went to Universal Studios Islands of Adventures theme park and Ikea superstore.

Okay, so I was busy. But I didn't cure the heartbreak of Psoriasis, discover a new planetary body, come up with a viable plan for global warming or even conquer my ice cream addiction. Or get Chili to quit attacking the dog training clicker for that matter. Oh well. Maybe I should just take a cue from Baby Alex, Danny, Abby, Ginny, and Chili: Don't worry, be nappy.

Here's a brief poem from my write side:

THE DUCK
The duck is not a graceful bird,
mystique he's surely lacking
no singer of melodic song
he makes incessant quacking.

His gait on land is awkward
as he waddles to and fro
unlike the eagle he won't soar
above the earth below.

He flaps content above his pond
he has no yen to roam
with bugs, a crust of bread or two
he's happy right at home.

He glides across the water
serene upon the surface
yet underneath the waterline,
webbed feet, kick with a purpose.

The droplets fall right off his back
his worries seem so few
he just keeps swimming back and forth,
with nothing else to do.

Rejecting all complexity
avoiding care and strife
a man might emulate the duck,
and lead a simpler life.

Live long and prosper.

Danny has been trying to talk me into watching this movie, called Idiocracy, for months. I said, it sounded dumb. (Get it?!) Finally, tonight being Saturday night, with the usual lack of anything watchable on TV, I agreed. The film, a very broad satire on the dumbing down of America (although it is set five hundred years into what I sincerely hope won't be our future) has become a cult favorite since it's release last year. It is absolutely hysterical. The movie starts out with a very funny comparison between a a couple with IQs of 138 and 141 who have no offspring and a man called Cletus who makes Larry the cable Guy look really brainy and who constantly reproduces with any number of women who have never heard of birth control and couldn't spell the words without help. The film narrator talks about how many decendents Cletus has and the trends in America towards...well less intelligent people being more fertile. Then, we jump to the main plot.

Imagine a very ordinary "Average Joe"(Luke Wilson) who has made it his mantra when superiors say, "Lead, follow, or get out of the way", to always get out of the way. Hapless Joe is frozen by the military in an experiment gone awry with a prostitute (who Joe thinks is an artist) who has been tagged as the most ordinary and expendable woman in America and wakes up into a nightmare society of the future where an IQ of 80 would be genius. The citizens of this America speak a language mix of black street slang, Hispanic gang talk, and Valley Speak. Poor Joe, renamed by a Computer as Not Sure, only wants to find a Time machine to send him home, but on an IQ test he answers this question correctly when those around him can't: If you have a bottle with two gallons of liquid in it and a bottle with five gallons in it, how many bottles do you have?

Eventually, Not Sure finds himself in the President's cabinet as minister of the interior and...well, I'm not going to tell you the rest of the story. It really is funny though. I hooted and hollered.

Afterwards I was glad it was just a movie...but then I saw a comment by a real woman posted on the internet that stopped me in my tracks. The woman, nameless here, said that she likes to shop in the dollar stores," because I don't have to get all dressed up like when I go to the Wall mart." Was she kidding? What about the people Jay Leno interviews? They seem real enough, too. I won't even mention Washington DC. Maybe we should be afraid. Very afraid.

Writing Out of My Head, again

Here's a couple more Baby Alex pictures. In the first one he kinda looks like Eminem after a hard night partying. But seriously, I can hardly wait until he's old enough for me to read Dr Seuss books to him. Maybe write a few Seussy style poems myself. By the way, those are not my legs in the picture.

Well, Bloggers, it's Thursday already, actually technically only thirty five minutes until its officially Friday. Good, I guess. I'm so tired of Thursday that my eyes are almost crossing. 'Course, that may be from all the hours writing at my computer.

I spent an inordinate part of the day (since it was crappy rainy) working on re-formating a manuscript. I've had a basic manuscript of my collected poetry done (working title, Out of My Head) for the worst part of a year...or I thought I had, but then I decided several days ago that the order of most of the poems was all wrong and rather than constantly scrolling through back and forth and cutting and pasting 120 plus different pieces here and there, I would just do a new revised order Contents page and pull the poems out of my general poetry folder on my desktop and make a new manuscript. Make that a revised manuscript. It would be much faster that way, I reasoned. Well, it was. It was working out great, my fingers were flying and I managed to format over a hundred pages when I think I clicked cut rather than paste and managed to completely delete two poems from my computer. When I opened a poem that should have been Spider On The Wall, it was Skunk. Game of Love was Musing On Feminine Endings. I still had the real Skunk and Musing poems, but the contents of the two others was gone, baby, gone... even if their file names were there. I'm still not entirely sure how that happened.

But, never fear, all was not lost. I have a back up file somewhere but the way I stash things I probably couldn't find it in this decade. While I work primarily on my desktop in Open Office (Linux Ubuntu), I do keep duplicates of all my writing stuff on my Mac Laptop in Word. I also put most of it on my jump drive, so it was easy to replace the poems. I also found a half dozen poems in my file that I completely forgot I wrote. Bonanza! With a little edits they'll fit in fine...if I'm careful what keys I hit.

I'm going to try to be more careful and quit working when I get tired. I have an unfortunate tendency when writing and editing my stuff to work for anywhere from two to six hours at a time or more. Without moving from my chair. Until the dogs bother me about one or another of their meals or demand a walk. Thank goodness for dogs.

Tonight, I stopped writing and burned the pasta.

Somebody asked recently, what jump starts you to write? Interesting question since I don't do it for the money I'm not making. I seem to have an emotional need to download all the stuff that's constantly in my head onto a screen and/or paper. I write because I can't not. Yeah, I know that's grammatically incorrect. I majored in English. Even if I'm spelling challenged.

Maybe one day my computer savy will be up to my creative output. Just gotta watch those delete keys.

Other news: We missed our dog agility class tonight due to the dratted rain. We were really looking forward to starting Ginny. The first classes are such a hoot with the dogs being totally clueless and the owners almost as much. Total chaos.

I actually did get an offer on Mother's house after only eight days on the market. Almost unheard of during these nasty economic times. It wasn't an acceptable offer as written. I countered. They have two days to counter mine or walk. Meantime, three more people want to see the house tomorrow and there's another Open House this week end. My Realtor is terrific.

Those of you who followed my all too frequent tales of woe when I was hoping to sell my own house a year ago know how passionately I wanted and needed to get an offer and move back then. It didn't happen. I was really disappointed. My life situation changed and fortunately I no longer need to move, since my house wouldn't sell then or probably not now even after doing the updates I've done that I couldn't afford to do when it was for sale. Only the most expensive and median priced homes move at all, if they move, albeit slowly. My house doesn't fit into either category and its 44 years old.

Now, when I am not all that worried whether the other house I'm marketing sells quickly or not and am not stressed about monthly bills, I get an offer on it almost right away. Life is ironic isn't it? Sometimes, as Danny says, its hard to see 'the big picture.'

Ah well, it's now officially Friday. That's Mexican food day. Ole. Live long and prosper.

Doggeral, Real Estate Update and Playing Wilde

Picture: Jack and Algernon being 'Ernest' in Oscar Wilde's play during original London run in the 1890s.


Heel, I mean hello, Bloggers. Sorry, I was looking at one of my dogs. One of the dastardly pack that trashed my kitchen with garbage and ate my giant Valentine cookie on Saturday last. The self same pack that broke into one of the kitchen cabinets on Sunday afternoon while Danny and I were at a production of Oscar Wilde's play, The Importance of Being Ernest at Rollins College.

Now, being Ernest was certainly important to the character of Jack Worthing who earnestly sought the hand of his fair lady Gwendolyn on stage. Little did we know that while we were laughing at Oscar Wilde's clever and witty lines and puns as enacted by the Rollins Players and guest star Dana Ivey of Broadway and Hollywood fame, Chili and Ginny earnestly sought another rascally thing to do to entertain themselves and since stealing food is always entertaining to dogs, they gave it their best shot. Yes, boys and girls, they raided the cabinet that housed their large bag of dry dog kibble. Formerly housed it, that is.

When we stopped home to feed them after the play before going out for dinner, we discovered the tell tail evidence of their deed. They'd fed themselves, like frat boys at a hot dog eating contest. The cabinet door was open, the large bag of Purina lay open on its side, and Ginny was so swollen that she resembled a canine Hindenburg.

I know it was Chili who opened the door since I've caught her opening cabinet doors with her paw before. I'm sure Abby and Chili partook of their ill gotten impromptu dinner as much as Ginny did. Unfortunately for them, they are real dogs who live in the moment not super smart literary or cinema dogs like Lassie who would have not only eaten all the spilled kibble (erasing all trace of the caper) but who would have pushed the bag back into the cabinet and shut the door again. That's why Lassie had her own book and became a film star while Ginny and Chili were only fat and gassy.

Fortunately, nobody got really sick for gorging kibble. Chili had another really bad epileptic seizure though and fell off the couch onto the hardwood floor. That's three so far since February 2nd. Not good.

Better news: the Realtor had an Open House at my mother's while we were at Oscar's play and my dogs were playing in kibble. She had thirteen groups come through the house at the open house as well as seven Realtors show the house during the first five days on the market. Which is phenomenal in this crappy market. Even more remarkably, one couple has toured the house three times already and the Realtor expects a contract offer tonight or tomorrow morning.

Which is not to say the offer will come. Or that it will be an acceptable offer. Still, it is very encouraging. Maybe I learned something about staging and pricing a property while enduring seven months of unsuccessfully trying to sell my own house last year. Hope so. Selling Mom's house will enable me to pay off my mortgage, which after all, was my reason for wanting to sell my own house. I'm happy to stay put and continue updating. I'll be happier without a big monthly payment.

Today I was one of a lucky couple dozen folks to join ( Rollins theater alum and sorority sister) actress Dana Ivey for lunch at Rollins President's house. Aside from the beautiful lakeside setting, the dandy lunch, and the privilege of dining in the presence of a Tony winning actress, I got to sit with other Rollins alums and friends who I've worked with on the Art festival board. Also present was the alumni advisor of my sorority (Phi Mu) in college, a lovely lady from my old Orlando book club, a handful of folks from my time working for Orlando Opera, the Civic Theater and the Annie Russell Guild. Even a retired ambassador who was a neighbor in my kid-hood days in Pittsburgh! Almost, but not quite, makes me want to get re-involved in volunteering in the arts community again. I used to meet so many interesting people that way. But, these days, I seem to want to write and redo the house.

Ta ta for now, bloggers. The television calls me to slothful behavior unless the dogs bark me into a walk.

On Jack Sparrow, Baby Alex and the dastardly cookie nappers

Yo ho ho ho, a pirates life for me... I bought the third Pirates of the Caribbean DVD and watched the film again with great delight. Nobody does pirate like Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush! What fun! I wish they'd make a forth installment. I'd be willing to watch Cap'n Jack and Hector Barbossa search for the Fountain of Youth and struggle for possession of the Black Pearl. Like to see Will Turner freed from having to be eternal captain of the Dutchman and returned to his lady love more than once every ten years. The un-dead monkey is kinda growing on me, too.

Danny and I went over to Amy and Elias's house this afternoon to visit with Mum and Dad and Alex The Pirate to be...Baby Alex is a month old now and scarfing down formula like a... ...well...pirate after stolen booty. He's already weighing in at a healthy ten pounds and is getting the cute widdle rolls of flesh Amy also had as a tot. His eyes are still blue, too. He's not really a fussy baby either. Danny says he's just waving his fingers around in the third picture, but I think he's pointing to the stuffed dragonfly in his musical cradle swing. After all, pirate lads are smart, right? Just think of Captain Jack and Will Turner.

After visiting with the Khourys we stopped in at Lowe's for six bags of river rocks and some more hanging plants to spruce up my mother's house for tomorrow's real estate open house. After finishing up at the other house, we decided to go home for supper. Upon entry, what to our wondering eyes did appear in the kitchen, but garbage devastation. Yes, Ginny had once more knocked over the big silver can full of garbagey goodies including last night's raw ground turkey package and the remnants of Thursdays lunch from Chick-Fil-A. But to make matters much much worse, she...or possibly Chili the climbing Cattledog...had gotten a hold of the big plastic covered plate still containing about a third of my giant chocolate chip Valentine cookie. I know, whoever was the thief or ringleader in the operation, they all participated in the feast.

Said cookie was consumed down to the last crumb and the plate was shiny licked clean. So clean you could see your face in it. For those of you in the know, anything containing chocolate is very seriously bad for dogs. Enough chocolate will kill them. Fortunately, the cookie only had chocolate chips and they're all pretty big dogs. Also, raw poultry and raw poultry "juice" is quite likely to be full of nasty bacteria and possibly salmonella. Especially some on a package sitting for a day in the garbage unrefrigerated. So, we may have some barfing dogs tonight. Somebody is already farting.

And darnit, I wanted to eat the rest of that cookie.

Danny was a dog on Valentine's Day

This is a dog-blog. Today's pictures show some dogs (not ours) on agility obstacles.

Did you have a good Valentine's Day? After eating a spaghetti dinner, Danny and I went to our first dog agility training session. The first night was people only, to discuss clicker training, go over the rules of the course, and "syllabus". Only two trainer(s) dogs were briefly present for demos, a muscle-y pug who looked like the Men In Black dog and an Australian Shepherd. At one point, the trainer had one person pretend to be a dog and one be a trainer with clicker, demonstrating the procedure of clicking for attention and reward. Danny volunteered to be the dog, which was smart 'cause he got to move around continuously while the rest of us had to sit still between shivers on cold stone benches on a windy frigid night. Danny even wagged his tail, but was slow to get the idea of where he was supposed to go. Course, the volunteer 'trainer' had no idea of what to do, either. It will be funner next week--and possibly more chaotic with our real dogs who won't have any more clue as to what they're supposed to be doing than we will.

One cool thing about dog agility competition is that it is open to all breeds and mixed breeds. And you see them all--from Chihuahua to Great Dane to agility superstar breeds like Jack Russells, Welsh Corgis, Australian Shepherds and Australian cattle Dogs, Malinois, Golden Retrievers, and the master of all dog sports...the amazing Border Collie.

We had wanted to train our cattle dog, Chili, but her poor little body isn't cooperating between the hip problem and Epilepsy...so the mantle of agility dog is falling on our talk-y amber eyed Catahoula, Ginny. 'Hoola's are generally pretty good at agility, being smart, fast, natural jumpers, and very, well, agile dogs. We're going to put up some equipment in our yard and work with Abby and Chili at home, just for fun, while doing our weekly 'homework' with the Ginzer.

This week, we're concentrating on the sit, stay, down, come commands. I didn't think she knew them, but I practiced with her yesterday in a separate room from our other dogs and she did them perfectly a half dozen times. Somebody must have trained her along the chain of previous owners before we got her from Catahoula rescue.

We can't work Ginny with Chili in the room, since dominant dingo girl nips poor Ginny for the rewards. Understandably, hapless Ginny can't concentrate with a pushy cattle dog nipping her in the throat every couple seconds. Abby doesn't give a rat's ass what Chili does most of the time...she is half Rottweiler, after all. Nothing Chili does can hurt hurt her and she knows it.

So, we're looking forward to our Thursday night agility group. What fun to be with other folks who think wearing dog hair on your sweater is high fashion!

PS After dog class, we came home and ate a lot of my giant Valentine's cookie! Yum. Ta for now.

On Silent Paws

Tonight, the eve before Valentine's Day, I salute love in its various forms. Here's a poem from our book, Florida Shorts (K McEnany Phillips et all, iUniverse 2005, available on Amazon.com)


ON SILENT PAWS
By Nancy Wayman Deutsch

Sometimes love comes softly.
Creeping down the hallway with silent tread.
You’re in the middle of something routine,
like making dinner or paying a bill.
You don’t notice love at all,
standing there, staring at you from the hall
waiting for you to turn and see it.

Why should you notice?
You thought you were alone in the house,
safe from anything unexpected.
You thought you’d locked all the doors,
that nothing could ever get in to surprise you again.
But, you were careless.
You left the back door unlatched,
and love got in.

You start when you feel it’s silken fur,
rubbing gently against your leg,
promising to be, oh, so good,
and never leave you again.
If you’ll just let it stay, this time,
and give it the home it’s always wanted.

You’ve got to make a choice.
Do you try one more time, to believe?
You’ve heard it all before,
more times than you’d like to admit.
Do you take a chance, and welcome love?
Or grabbing it by the scruff of it’s neck,
put it firmly out the door.

After all, you were fine before love came along.
You really don’t need complications
in a life you’ve so carefully crafted.
You don’t need anything to be responsible for,
to worry about, to miss.

Maybe it isn’t really love after all,
only another stray looking for temporary lodging.
A warm fire, caress, soft bed.
Until it’s gypsy soul sends it out into the night
in search of another unlocked door
to another heart.

The choice is yours.
Love will wait a little while.
But don’t wait too long.
Love is always hungry.
If you don’t take a chance, you’ll never know
if love is real or not.

So, choose,
but don’t tell me what happens.
I’d rather believe in possibilities.

Here's two pictures of little me to compare to my mother's childhood photo.

It's six pm and I just got up about an hour ago. A massive migraine laid me low in my bed all day, curled up with Ginny, Chili, and sometimes Abby. I was just about to walk the patient pooches when a big bad weather system began dumping tons of rain accompanied by tornado warnings. Oh, well, maybe tomorrow will be better. So, I'll hunker down with ice cream and a book and wait for Danny to swim home from IT class.

Actually, I'm not surprised that a migraine hit me today. I tend to get them as an aftermath of extreme emotion. Especially suppressed extreme emotion. Finally listing Mother's house was hard. All along, no matter how illogical it sounds, I felt like I was updating and and cleaning and prettifying her house for Mother's benefit. Like when it was all done she'd come home from wherever she's been and I'd say, "Look what I did for you!" And she'd happily move back in and live happily ever after. Of course, my rational mind knew better, but rational minds don't trigger headaches. Stress does.

In any event, the house is now on the MLS list, #04829735. Signs are being delivered tomorrow and the first open house is this week end. A Realtor visited it today, previewing for a client, and another called about it. We're off to a good start in a bad market. We'll see.

Live long and prosper.

Young Nordena Miller

I finished cleaning up my mother's house yesterday prior to listing it today. I found this photo in a folder of family pictures mixed in with a box full of old tax and check stuff. I'm guessing my mother was probably around ten or eleven in the photo. I never realized her hair was that light as a child and until I looked at the photo I never realized that I have the same shaped eyes. Hers were a prettier color though...sort of a Lapis blue that sometimes verged on purple. Mine are gray-blue that sometimes goes greenish.

There were some other photos in the file I'd never seen before. One was a photo of one of my great-grandmothers, Nordena Wilson Mates and my great-grandfather James Buhl Mates, circa 1917. Got me looking up some Geneology and I re-discovered that Nordena Wilson's mother was named Senthalia Jane Bowser. ( Whew! I gotta say I'm glad they didn't name me after her. Or after some of the other of my female line. I might have been Alwilda Wilhemina...or Wilhemina Nordena. If I'd been a boy, I might have been named after Valentine or Amberson Sisley. Ugh, 'nuff said on that. Give me Nancy any day.) The name Bowser was originally spelled Bausser when the family fled the after effects of war in the Palatinate region of Germany for the then virtually empty hills and valleys of Pennsylvania.

Family lore stated that James Mates's family was also originally from Germany and spelled their name Mott. I can't document that, though. I can document that one early American settler ancestor, George Sill (Sell), was an indentured servant/farmer. Another, Andrew Robeson, a convicted and pardoned felon, arrested for writing seditious poetry satirizing the reigning King over his native Scotland. My American family tree includes a Hessian mercenary soldier, an English Lord, and an Irish peasant lass who sat barefoot on her front porch and smoked a pipe.

All of these people came to the American shores hoping for a different and presumably better and freer life than where they were. Fortunately for them, nobody told them they couldn't come here. No green card. No guest worker program. If they could pay their way and find work, all immigration systems were a go. They came, they survived and prospered. Some fought in the Revolution and the Civil War and World War One. They were literally part of the making of America. The America that was, that is.

I have to wonder what America may yet become if we start welcoming people in once more. Re light the torch in Liberty's statue. So, here's a raspberry to Lou Dobbs and his anti immigration blarney. I wonder if you looked under his family tree you'd find a troll?

Live long and prosper mine liebschens und freundan.

House for Sale

Danny and I are two very tired puppies. We did our best to get Mom's house ready for the For Sale sign to go up tomorrow. How do you like the pictures of some of the rooms? I had to stage with the furniture I can't keep and 'found objects' already in the house and my own garage along with minimal purchases.

Don't you just want to buy it, dear Bloggers?

Enjoy that Winter Park lifestyle. Great home for a young family or empty-nesters. Recently updated by me and Danny (with a lot of help from handyman Sean, painter Manuel, and floor restorer Cory.) It's eighteen hundred square feet plus 9x19 bonus room for home office or hobby room with outside entry, three bedroom, two bath, formal living and dining rooms, large master bedroom, terrazzo floors, new A/C and fenced yard. Close to hospital, UCF, Rollins, Full Sail Academy, community pool, park and Cady Way Walking Trail. C'mon, shell out 250K and it's all yours. I'll even throw in several copies of my book, Flights of Nancy!

Anyway, it's done. Tomorrow in God's and Coldwell Banker's hands for the next six months...

Live long and prosper.

Some new pictures

New pictures for your viewing pleasure:
1. Danny's stepson, Stephen Scott, and his girlfriend, Casey, with Danny on a recent visit, enjoying lunch at Carlucci's Italian restaurant.
2. Amy and Baby Alex in a pink moment.
3. Baby Alex feelin' blue with a Teddy.
4. Amy and Elias cheering on the Florida Gators.

Mama's house, bits and bytes

Hello Bloggers,
This is where I've been since Super bowl Sunday, at my late mother's former house, trying to get the last necessary projects done prior to finally officially putting it on the sales market...after dragging my feet for six whole months. Partly, I haven't been really emotionally ready to potentially let it go, to deal with the clearing out, going through more of her papers and throwing out more of her stuff, etc. With the market so far down in the toilet, it didn't seem like there was much hurry to attempt to sell in any case. I'd also hoped that by now, things would be looking up with the economy and real estate market...but as everybody knows that isn't happening any time soon. So, while there's slim chance of selling, without a listing there's no chance at all so it is time to do what little I can. I've lost the Homestead Exemption in any case and the estate is soon to settle. So, as of next Monday when it will be listed on the internet with a sign in the yard, what's done is done, for six months. It's in the hands of my patient with me Realtor friend and God. At least this time I won't be showing the house myself or living it it while its on the market, so my miserable seven months of 2007 won't be relived. I won't be concerned or even know when folks look at it or have to hear their comments. Just go over to dust and vaccuum every so often.

After lifting boxes and moving furniture and scrubbing floors and cleaning out closets for three solid days, there just isn't a muscle in my body that does not ache. Big time. My allergic condition is in overdrive from dust, too. But, the house will be ready by Sunday as promised. In fact, Danny and I got so much done today that if tomorrow is a nice weather day we may just go to Universal. We haven't been since Christmas and our passes run out next month. Gotta ride Spidey and Mummy's Revenge while we still can!

I can't believe Baby Alex will be a month old in three days! He'll be ready for Kindergarten before we know it...I hope to get over to see him over the week end and take some updated pics.

Ginny's foot is nearly healed but poor Chilidog has suffered some setbacks. She three legged it from last Friday through Monday and had another bad epileptic seizure on Monday night. Lost bladder control and all. Upon reflection, we've decided that she isn't in good enough shape for agility training. We're going to start Ginny instead. That could be a real adventure or a disaster. We'll see, come February 14th.

How 'bout that Super Tuesday? Do you think that by early March, Mitt Romney could ace out the May Tag repairman as the loneliest guy in town?

I experienced cheesecake ice cream with graham cracker crumbles at Marble Slab Creamery tonight after picking up some computer stuff for Free Geek. Divine, absolutely divine. Next time, I'll add some strawberries, too. Incredible stuff, ice cream.

Live long and prosper.

Puppy Bowl

Here's some cute 'hoola pups pics in honor of tonights big game. (Catahoula Leopard Dogs). Yeah, I know it's Super bowl Sunday and you might wonder what that has to do with dogs. Well, read on.

While I love the commercials, the Pittsburgh Steelers aren't in the game, so why should I care about guys and pigskins? Patriots and Giants. Phooey, wrong teams and wrong towns. So, tonight, for a howling good time, I will tune in not to the big football game, but the much more entertaining Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet. For you catty folks, the half time show is the Kitty Bowl. Seriously, I am not making this up. Check the link. Watching at least a few minutes of the doggie game is a hoot.

So, for tonight, a doggie themed poem.

OUR NEW PUPPY

By Nancy Wayman Deutsch


Busy buddy,
rapscallion
in constant motion.
Searching, finding
hidden treasure:
a discarded bit of tissue,
carried proudly off,
scavenged from my office trashcan.
Or one of my socks,
escaped from my walking shoe.

You ate my white summer sandal,
while I drifted somewhere in sleep.
Only one before I awoke
although I needed a shoe for each foot.
Or so I believed, before we met.

My Waterford vase must find a new home.
It’s silken flowers, bent over
several missing, now.
Why must you walk across the sofa table,
when the floor is nearer your paws?

You pounced on a lizard,
there in the grass
who left his tail behind
when he shimmied up the screen.
You didn’t notice his escape,
nose already calling you away
to some new smell-vision adventure.

Unrolling the toilet paper,
you ran from the bath,
because I caught you that time.
On the kitchen counter,
the meatballs sang a drool song
but, I heard them, too.

Why do you remember to bark at six o’clock,
for a puppy’s breakfast,
though you can’t remember to go outside,
when you need to pee.
I walk you for an hour.
Somehow, you wait,
keeping everything you’ve got inside
until we get home.

Your favorite toy
a fuzzy yellow duck,
which still quacks,
despite his missing foot.
Second to that lopsided duck
anything that Belle already has
between her paws.

When we rescued you,
I thought you had lost your joy.
Though I know dogs,
this time, I was wrong.
Joy was there, hiding
behind your mismatched eyes,
waiting to be set free.

Here's to Marmots and Farch

Well, boys and girls, Punxutawny Phil saw his shadow this morning. Looks like six more weeks of Winter if you are a believer in Marmot prognostications. Happy Groundhog Day, anyway. Party on.

On the subject of weather, here's a rough draft of a new poem by yours truly:

IDES OF FARCH

By
Nancy Wayman Deutsch

Is it February, or is it March?
In Florida, it's hard to tell.
Neither Spring nor Winter
a time between Jingle Bells and colored eggs
mind scape of scarlet hearts and roses
morphing into shamrocks and green beer.

Mother nature misbehaving, yet again
such an indecisive coy, calendar girl,
changing her agenda from one day to the next
here and there, her azaleas blushing in pink profusion
while brittle branched oaks shiver in the wind.

Outside the window, my lawn wears cocoa and verdant green
Old Sol playing peek a boo with steely clouds
glowering gray at patch worked earth below.
Have the robins come and gone unnoticed
before drifting yellow pollen blankets all in sight?

Cocooned with book and candle,
I wait to be an April fool again
longing for steamy sultry days and golden sunsets
my bare toes digging into damp beachy sand
the raucous calling of gulls filling azure sky above.

TTFN

On politics, free geeks, and Driving Miss Dana

Well hello my little Earthlings. This week sped past without much computer time...I dunno why, but I've been very tired and have been sleeping late and napping at odd times. Then paying bills, organizing tax stuff, working out, doing yoga, reading, reading, reading. Not writing at all. I've also been glued to the TV watching political discussions, debates, analysis.

It's a point of interest, at least to me, that I pretty much ignored politics when I was younger: as a student, then as a parent of growing children living an admittedly privileged life with a well to do husband. I was not a soccer mom...I would have rejected that title.. more of a sports car driving Republican fitness freak with a nanny, platinum credit cards and a second home on an island. Later, as a forty something single woman, I spent most of my time volunteering for the arts but although somewhat more evolved I still largely ignored politics. Politics then didn't seem to have any real connection to my personal life or social life which generally revolved around fund raising benefits for the arts and cocktail parties. Maybe because I am getting older and am less financially prosperous, less self absorbed, less energetic, and yes, less busy, I am more aware aware of the world around me and how everything is so deeply interconnected. My social awareness has been raised. Maybe because I realize my time on Earth is getting shorter, I care more. Maybe it's having a grandson to leave the planet to. Or it's Danny's influence as a result of his very Democratic principles. Maybe I'm just getting smarter. I dunno.

But it is a fact that as a thinking being, I have to care what happens in Washington now. Why? Because we as a nation are at a very pivotal point in our relatively short history. America, the once land of the free, the hope of the world, America the once beautiful is in danger of becoming a failed experiment. A second rate power and maybe in the not so distant future a third world country.

Ask yourself: is your daily life better than it was between the nineteen sixties and the turn of the century? Or between the 1980s and the 21st century. I'll bet you have less disposable income, more bills, and more worry today.The amazing breakthroughs of technology post World war Two have not made our day to day life easier, only more complex and more stressful. It's harder for most of us to meet our financial obligations and save any money for emergencies and retirement. Heath care and insurance costs are beyond ridiculous and out of reach for the average American. Lobbyists, drug companies, HMOs, credit card companies, China, and Arab sheiks etc have way too much influence on those who make the decisions for the rest of us. We're fat and unhealthy thanks to the fast food phenomena. Thanks to the policies of the present administration millions of us are losing our homes. People can't get jobs. Or change jobs easily. If they do, most don't get benefits. Half of our marriages end in the divorce court. Whether we caused it or not, Global Warming is happening. The planet is in real danger. We need to stop being oil hostages to the Middle eastern nations that frankly hate us. We need to solve the immigration problem. We need to get out of the Vietnan...oops make that the Iraq... debacle. People are confused, afraid, and angry. So, how can I not care? How can you?

I'm listening to politics because I hope to make a better choice this time around than I did the last. Hoping that the candidate I pick will have the ability and desire to make things better, to get America back on track. In the belief that my voice and my vote actually might matter, I must pay attention. I hope you do too.

Enough politics. You can take a breath now. On another tack, I was privileged to meet a five time Tony award winning actress this week. Dana Ivey, who originated the role of Miss Daisy in Driving Miss Daisy, is a very charming, friendly lady with a career in theater, film, and television that spans forty years. You've seen her in The Adams Family films, in the Home Alone films, in Sleepless in Seattle and Legally Blonde II among many other films. Dana, a Rollins College alumni, is in town to appear in the stage play, The Importance of Being Ernest, opening on Friday, February 15th at Rollins. Go see Dana and the Rollins Players. You'll have fun. Oscar Wilde is one of my favorite playwriters, too. So witty and clever.
Dana Ivey, inductee in the American Theater Hall of Fame and five time Tony award winning actress.

Danny and I had a terrific dinner at a local Greek eatery, Cypriana's with my daughter, Laura on Wednesday evening. For a memorable meal at a place that isn't a chain try Cypriana's.

Yesterday, Danny and I took some computer equipment to a school for autistic children as part of his Free Geek program. The school director was pretty happy about the free computers. He was going to have to buy a lot of new equipment soon and was facing charging higher tuition to cover the purchase. Now, he won't have to. The Free Geek program is a terrific idea. The Free Geekers take in donated computers, rehab them (by CIT volunteers like Danny) and give them to people and schools who need the computers. The recycling of computers and parts keeps them out of landfills and helps the environment too.

That's all for now. Live long and prosper my little Earthlings.