Linda Z

Hahahaha HAP. Dot, in defense of my neighbors, they were new to the neighborhood then and didn't know me all that well. Besides, I had EmmaDog with me, who might not have gotten along with their dog with his family gone. I was just thankful the husband left me his cell phone! He's the same one who let me use his phone when I got locked out last summer.

That's a logical theory, WD, except Clevey has been with my son since he was weaned and didn't have shredded paper for bedding in his crate when he was crate trained. I'm guessing there's some chemical residue or something in it that appeals to them. Psalmie, come to think of it, he'll lick my legs, lotion or no lotion, when I come out of the shower. Ewww, 15 piles of chocolate puke. That'll teach you to leave chocolate around! heheheh jeast, you really made me laugh!!!! A leg brace? Yard ornaments. Oh my Lord. Really LOL here. Pond, cat stories are more than welcome. Your big boy would be a perfect mate for my Princess LardAss. I only feed her dry food, but I think she finds stray dog kibble at night when everyone else is sleeping. I don't know what she weighs. I can't hold her on the scale (or hold her anytime), and no way she'd stand on it by herself. jen-o, my cat has had no toys of her own (except hard plastic balls that she can roll around and make noise with) for years because the dogs just destroy them. She gets her revenge. After they go to bed, I often catch her in the living room, lying on her back and holding one of the dog's stuffed toys with her front paws and pounding the heck out of it with her back feet. Notta, oh nooooooooooo, not Tampons. I guess I can be thankful it's just toilet paper and Kleenex! OKC, does your dog ask you to rub baby oil on him/her? :)

No kidding. They can be sooooo smart sometimes. And then there are the other times. :D Oh, and yes, I've often asked Clevey if he has a paper deficiency. Funny, T-Bone. And Jim, panty fetishes are common. Doggies just seem to love anything that contains the scent of a body fluid (I'm trying to be delicate here...not easy when it comes to things dogs like to eat).

Psalmie, there were a couple things in this part of your post that sorta raised red flags for me. What is the source of their being adamant about not believing there are learning differences? What is the source of their thinking antidepressants are unnecessary? Why are they "uncomfortable with weakness"? It sounds to me like these people might be hard-core Christian fundamentalists. The "uncomfortable with weaknesses" sorta gave me a twi-flashback chill up my spine. Maybe it's just me, but although I'm a Christian, that rigid "my way or the highway" mindset that a lot of fundies carry around doesn't sit right with me. How much have you talked with them about their beliefs? How close are their beliefs to your own, and if they aren't the same, will they try to indoctrinate Isaac to their way of thinking? I'd surely want to know that before I'd even consider letting my child stay with another family. You have to do what you believe is best for your son and your family, butI think maybe you've already answered your own question when you said God didn't make a mistake whan he gave you your son. When I was in junior high, my dad's wealthy aunt and uncle wanted in the worst way to let me come live with them. They had lost their only son during World War II, and I think they were just lonely and wanted someone around to love and spoil. Although they could have sent me to the best schools and bought me anything I wanted, my parents declined their offer, and I'm glad they did. I would have missed my parents and my little sisters, and they would have missed me. My high school years with my family, although sometimes rocky because, after all, I was a teenager (rofl), were precious. As far as improving Isaac's education and opportunities, are you in a homeschooling network of any kind? My sister's two boys were homeschooled; neither ever went to public school at all. But my sister, through her network, got tutoring for the boys in subjects she wasn't particularly strong in or that the boys were particularly interested in, and they both did fine. One's got just one year of college left and the other is about to start college. I'm sure you give your kids opportunities to socialize with the public school kids--joint scouts if they like, play sports, help at the library, whatever. They don't have to "conform with the crowd," but I firmly believe it's important that they learn to get along with a variety of kids. I think because my sister did that, it made the transition from school-at-home to college and work in the "outside world" much easier.

If you've been around GS very long you've probably heard about my EmmaDog and Clevey-Dog. They're both very sweet and lovable, but they do some weird things. Clevey is my son's 4-year-old, 120 lb. black lab/Chesapeake Bay retriever mix that looks like a giant chocolate lab. He is a sweetheart from the tip of his nose to the tips of his toes. Cuddly, gentle, sweet...a good boy. However, he does some really weird things. First, he loves to chew (and sometimes eat) paper--any kind of paper: toilet paper, Kleenex, playing cards. I once came home to find half a $20 bill, parts of a couple $5 bills, and three $1 bills with their corners chewed off lying on the living room floor. They'd been on a lamp table when I left for work that day. Paper isn't the only thing he has a taste for. I also have to keep bath soap out of his reach. I had to throw away a few half-eaten bars before I figured out I had to hide it from him. And when I get out of the shower in the morning, Clevey is sitting on my bed, eagerly waiting for the opportunity to lick the moisturizing lotion off as fast as I put it on my legs and arms and (this is gross) try to lick my deodorant as soon as I put it on. Of course I don't let him, but he tries, every single day. It doesn't matter how much I scold him. He's obsessed. Why would a dog want to eat paper? Why would things like lotions and deodorant taste good to him? This dog isn't malnourished. I feed him a very good dog food, and his doggie cookies are the best you can buy. He's just a freak! Have any of you heard of a dog with such strange tastes? Do any of your dogs have odd habits that you can't figure out?

I like the name Mocha best. I read somewhere that, from the dog's perspective, a name with a distinct sound (and not too long) is best, because they can discern their name easily. Mocha has that nice, distinct hard "ch" sound in the middle. I agree with your son that Cocoa sounds like a little poodle. My son has a half black lab, half Chesapeake Bay retriever who lives with me. He looks like an extra-large chocolate lab, so my son named him Cleveland Brown (ever the loyal fan of Cleveland sports teams). I call him Clevey when he's good and Cleveland! when he's bad, which isn't too often. I hope you learn how to post photos, because I'd love to see little what's-her-name!

Sorry to leave you hanging, Twinky. Had to work! Now I'm on my lunch break. Lockout #2 This was by far the most traumatic. It's funny now--a veritable comedy of errors--but at the time, I was soooooo not laughing. It's a Sunday in March several years ago. The weather in Ohio in March can be very iffy. On this particular day, snow, sleet, and freezing rain are falling. It's about 30 degrees (F) and windy. Just a miserable day. I had learned after lockout/lockin #1 that since I'd had a tendency to lose my keys, I really should keep spares with family members. However, only a week or so before this day, I had just had all new windows and two new doors installed. I hadn't had a chance to distribute the spares for the new keys yet. I decide to let EmmaDog out to do her thing and because it's such a nice day (ha! what was I thinking?), I'll tag along and smoke a cigarette while she takes care of her business. I let her out, throw on a jacket, and walk obliviously into my back yard. No hat. No gloves. No socks. Just funky clothes--the kind you clean house in when no one else is around--and a jacket and a pair of sneakers. EmmaDog completes her duties and nods and wags to me that she is ready to go inside. Still oblivious, I walk with her to the side door. Uh oh. I'd undone the deadbolt to get out, but I didn't know my new doors had doorknob locks that you could open from the inside that would still stay locked (see HAP's explanation above...good advice, HAP!) from the outside. None of the neighbors I knew were home. I had no cell phone at that time. I was in deep doo-doo. Finally, after about a half-hour of sitting out on my patio freezing, with ice pelts hitting me in the face and Emma glaring at me as if to say, "What is wrong with you. Let me IN!" I spot the young couple across the side street coming home. I run across the street and borrow the husband's cell phone so I can call a locksmith. I get back to my yard and then realize that since I don't have any locksmith's phone number memorized, and I'm not about to call information and run up my neighbor's charges, I have to go back and ask for a phone book. Turns out, he and his wife and the kids have just popped in for a minute and are on their way back out again. He hurriedly tears out half a page of locksmiths from the yellow pages, hands it to me, and they leave again. I sit on the patio and start calling locksmiths. You'd be amazed at how many of them are closed on Sunday! By now it's dusk and getting colder. I finally get one locksmith's voice mail. I leave a message and pray he checks his messages often. A little while later the cell rings. "Yes, I can send someone out." Great! I give him detailed directions. I wait. And wait. And wait. One hour. Two hours. I call again. Voice mail. I leave another message. Eventually the phone rings again: "Oh, I sent my man out, but he couldn't find your house. You're on the East Side, right?" "NO!" I'm on the West Side. I gave you the directions." "Oh. Well, I'll call my guy again." So I wait again. And wait. And wait. One hour. Two hours. Finally, here comes my guy, but he's not riding on a white horse. He's in an old beat-up car with a bunch of junk in the back seat. "Where were you," I ask? "Oh, I got lost. I thought he said it was on the East Side." Then, here's the real kicker. "By the way, all my tools were stolen, but I'll see what I can do." He pulls out a little piece of metal something or other. He fiddles with the lock mechanism. He pokes. He jiggles. He prods. Again, and again, and again. He asks me where the nearest Home Depot is, because, duh, maybe he could get a couple of tools that would work. I point out that it's Sunday night, and now it's well after the store has closed. It's pitch dark. I'm still outside and getting unhappier by the minute. Then he gives me the really bad news: "Um, well, I'm afraid all I can do for you is break down the door. These new locks are almost impossible to pick if you don't have the right tools." My brand-new, virgin, lovely sound-proof door. I want to cry, but I manage to mutter, "FINE! I don't care what the hell you do. I'm freezing. I'm wet. I have to go to the bathroom. I just want to get inside my house! Do it!" So the man repeatedly throws his shoulder into the door until "CRAAAAAAACK, the door frame (my nice, new, freshly painted door frame) finally gives way so he can break the wood around the lock mechanism and push the door open. The final insult is that he has the nerve, the cojones, to write me a bill for $75. Being reduced to absolute idiocy after spending 5 hours in the freezing rain and sleet with no socks, no hat, no gloves, I go get my checkbook and actually write this man a check for $75. I don't know. I can laugh about the keys in my bathrobe. I can laugh at myself for getting all huffy with my neighbor and then enduring the embarrassment of getting locked out. But this one still doesn't make me laugh much, come to think of it. Oh, I guess it's a little funny. :unsure: :)

Lockout #3 The third and most recent memorable lockout occurred on the 4th of July last summer. We'd had a pretty long drought, and I was worried about several neighbors' annual tradition of setting off enough fireworks to rival any community's display. Our houses are close together and everything was super dry. The day before, two houses in other parts of the city had burned down because of fires started by fireworks. When I heard the booms and whizzes begin, I went out on my front porch. I sat there watching, as several of my next-door neighbor's "misfires" landed in the dry grass in my front yard. I cringed as his grandchildren, in their little bare feet, ran across my front lawn where I could see the still-glowing embers. My stomach knotted as the two little boys ran right up to where the fireworks were being lit just about at their eye level. The longer I sat there, the more my concern and anger grew. At one point the neighbor's son ran over to grab one of the kids from my front yard (at least someone was finally looking out for them!!). He passed close to my porch, and I stood up indignantly and said, "Oh, good. Now I know who to sue if you catch my house on fire!" then I turned to stomp dramatically into the house and slam the door behind me. Alas, my dogs had already jumped on the door from the inside and slammed it for me. I had unlocked the deadbolt but not the lock in the door knob. Great. I've just threatened to sue my neighbors; I can hardly ask to use their phone now. And here I am, locked out in my bare feet with no key and no cell phone. Lucky for me, my neighbor across the side street from me came home, so I borrowed his cell phone and called my sister to have her bring my spare key. I learned the hard way after lockout #2 to make sure she has a full set of my keys at all times. I'm not a dingbat, honest. I just seem to have this knack for losing keys and locking myself out.

I hate to admit this, but I've had three memorable lockouts. There might have been more, but these are the ones that stand out. :) I don't mess around. When I lock myself out, I do it up right, as you'll see. I only have time now to tell about the first and third times. Number 2 is a doozie. Lockout #1 Actually, now that I think about it, my first lockout was more like a lock-in. I could have sworn my entire ring of keys vanished into thin air. It was early spring. I came home from work, so I obviously had car keys, and I got into my house (had to have keys for that!). So far so good. Next day, which fortunately was a weekend day so I didn't have to go to work, I couldn't find my keys. I looked everywhere (I thought). I finally had to call a locksmith. He had to change the locks on my front and side door, on my garage door, and the one for my car doors. He had to install a whole new ignition in my car. I was baffled about where my set of keys had gone--and considerably poorer. Fast forward 8 or 9 months. Winter had arrived. I came home from work through sloppy wet snow and couldn't wait to get out of my work clothes and into my warm, toasty bathrobe. The winter bathroobe. The one that had been hanging on a hook ever since I had last worn it on one of the last cool days of early spring. Yep, I reached into the pocket of my bathrobe, and whaddaya know...keys!

I've been a fan of Skidboot and his 2-legged friend for years. I'm sorry to hear ol' Skidboot passed away. Hats off to David Hartwig for showing what great things love and gentleness can accomplish. RIP, SKidboot. You were one of a kind.

I saw that 2nd SIT part, Waysider. Didn't sound like Lo Shonta there to me, either, but then I am getitng up there. :)

That gives me much more of a flashback to the Pentecostal church I attended for a few months than to twi. We stopped going there when my son, who was almost 7 years old at the time, tugged on my sleeve during one of their services and said, "Mommy, why is that man (the church's pastor) so mad all the time?" Out of the mouths of babes. We stopped going there and started going to a twi fellowship. I didn't like the chaos of everyone speaking in tongues aloud at once. I really disliked the fire and brimstone sermons and obsession with sin. I thought the "slain in the spirit" stuff was nothing but hysteria. And I got nothing out of the "angry" man's screamed sermons. He could have given Craig some lessons in vein popping and yelling. :) I have regrets about raising my son in twi, to be sure, but I think I'd have more to regret if we'd stayed with that church, and even more if I'd gotten him mixed up in something like the camp shown in the video clip. By the way, I listened to the beginning of that clip twice to see what the woman was saying. It sounds to me more like "rashada kasada."

From all I've read about him and seen of him, Fred Rogers epitomized walking in love. That concept sounds so simple, maybe because we've heard it so much, yet it's sooooo deep. Like, "God is love." A simple three-word sentence but oh, so powerful. Although he was an ordained minister, I'd bet he spent very little (or no) time arguing about doctrine. Looks to me like he was persuaded in the depth of his soul about the importance, the essence of love. That was his doctrine, and he lived it. Powerful, powerful, powerful.

David, no need to blush. I was paying you a compliment when I said that didn't sound like your usual reasonable self. That's why I pointed it out, so you could explain what you really meant. I figured it was mis-speak because it was so atypical. Do I detect a li'l sarcasm here? Damn, now we know who to blame for everything going to he|| in a handbasket--me! If only I'd been a better editor :lol: Actually, I did correct his grammar, but questioning/correcting his meaning was left for the research department, not us lowly Way Mag editors.

DMiller said: David, is this really what you meant to say? (bold added by me) That sounds way too much like what those in the Way would say; it doesn't sound like your usual reasonable self.

Thanks for posting the article about Mr. Rogers, Socks. We could sure use more people like him. I loved the story about taking the chauffeur to the PBS bigshot's house and then visiting the chauffeur's home on the return trip. I remember when his show started, when my son was small. I loved watching it with him. He taught his little viewers such positive lessons, and I think he was really able to convey to them that they were special.

It's embarrassing to admit this now but... "Good grief. If everyone starts posting photos of their dogs, cats, and children on the Internet, they're going to take the whole thing down! It will be so slow no one will be able to use it anymore!" Moi, circa 1993, when the rumblings about this "WWW" thing were picking up speed (This was perhaps the most short-sighted [not to mention incorrect] statement I've ever made.)

I hate to sound like one of those old folks who says, "I walked 10 miles to school in my bare feet, uphill both ways," but wow, you guys got sea salt?!? And water?!? When we were in residence (78-79 and 80-81) and on staff (82-86) we never got salt of any kind, and we sure as heck didn't get any water with our meals. Now that I'm older, I try to avoid eating much regular table salt and usually use just a little sea salt for cooking. I also understand your food digests better if you don't drink anything with meals, but having nothing to drink was hard for me to take (I was going to say swallow, but that was too easy). :) Ham, I've seen you make that comment about raising chickens, etc., at the Indy campus that only went on the MOG's table. That wasn't my experience. We all ate whatever was raised/grown on the farm. I also didn't see anyone other than Craig (ewwww, onions) or Earl B. (allergic to mushrooms) getting any special food at meals in the dining room, either at Rome City or HQ. When did you see that change? Actually, our first year in residence they fed us too well! Plenty of good food, and lots of homemade bread! In fact, last year I talked with one of the people responsible for all that good food...thanks, Willie T!! The food got much worse our last year. At HQ it varied, from really tasty to "What the heck is that?!?"

Yep, I'm snowed in up to the north of you, WG. The drifting is awful here. I'm not sure exactly how much we got in my neck of the woods. I think it's about a foot, but the drifts keep getting higher and higher. There's one right outside my back door that makes it hard for me to let the dogs out. I've had to push the snow back with the storm door and then dig out a space with the snow shovel I keep in my laundry room, to keep the drift from blocking the door completely. My poor Emma-dog. She's bewildered by trying to pee in snow that's as tall as she is. She won't go more than a foot away from the back door, and she just pees standing upright because she doesn't like squatting down in that cold stuff. Cleve-dog is so tall he can breeze right through it, and he likes snow. But even he did his thing and came right back in the last time I let them out. I'm thankful, though. At least I don't live in Ashtabula, where more than 3,000 homes still don't have power after our ice storm on Tuesday. But hey, spring is only 12 days away. Waysider, I do remember the blizzard of '78. I was at Rome City, and we got hit hard there.

I added my vote for Nico. She's such a sweetie!

Gorgeous, just gorgeous. I was out having dinner with some friends when the restaurant owner came by to let us know that the ecplipse had started. We had a perfect view of it right outside the window beside us, and for once the sky was crystal clear and cloudless. We watched it go from a full, bright ball with a small shadow, to a faintly glowing white ball, to pale yellow, to pale orange as we were leaving. By the time I got home the moon was glowing almost red, with faint silvery blotches. I stayed out as long as I could stand the cold. I think it was the best view of a total lunar eclipse I've ever seen. The spectacular sight was lost on my two pooches, but they were happy that I was actually standing outside with them on this frigid night. Cleveland Brown, my son's gentle giant of a dog, was so pleased that he brought me a nice, big frozen-solid pile of doggie doo and dropped it at my feet in hopes that I'd toss it for him to fetch. I passed, thankyouverymuch. At least it wasn't a frozen dead critter. Ah, nature.

Wow, those are really well done. I loved the scene in the second one where the hero rides for a bit on the foot that has tried to stomp on him. Ironic who the sponsor is, isn't it? I mean, how much world-changing inspiration has come from a bottle of booze? Not that I'm a teetotaler or anything, but I find it sort of funny when companies that sell products like liquor (and formerly, cigarettes) try to spruce up their image with classy commercials.

DWBH:

Eyes is correct. You're the one who said you had been on a path of destruction, right here: Do men get PMS?

What a great photo! I'm sure Nico's ears helped get you in the paper, but I'll be your pretty smile didn't hurt, either! Thanks for sharing.