Unstaged Reality

I don’t much care for reality shows.  As a whole, I think so many started out as bogus – though there are some really good ones now.  I don’t watch the Biggest Loser, but that is at least believable as being real. So many of the first reality shows introduced were “staged”.

          Over five years ago TBS advertised one called “He’s a Lady”.  I would roll my eyes every time I saw the commercial.  And yet, I must have been intrigued.  Must have had some sense of morbid curiosity.  Why would a guy subject himself to follow in a woman’s footsteps for 6 weeks or two months or whatever it was.  How about a quarter of a million prize money?  Or the “false” advertisement which drew them to enter in the first place?

          There were at least eleven candidates who had applied for “The All American Man” contest – prove to the nation just who was the most macho.  Some had envisioned physical competition.  Some thought their knowledge of “man power” would win them over. Others may have had something else in mind.  No one expected the rules would have them dressing up, making themselves over, and doing their best to imitate woman such as their wives and girlfriends.

          Some might have bailed upon hearing the truth of what the contest entailed.  But there were eleven men picked to start off this new reality series.

          I was rooting for Rick.  I didn’t know him.  Perhaps it was his charisma or that he was a dad of five children or because he was the oldest of all the contestants.  I don’t know.  Something.

  But Rick was let go after the first round -  along with three others.  Some disappointed that they had been dismissed so soon but at the same time relieved not to have to endure more humiliation. 

          Mike and Albert (or Scarlet and Alberta) definitely made the prettiest females.  In fact Albert actually made for a more attractive woman than he did as a guy.  David (Wynona) was definitely NOT attractive – and actually quite awkward about trying to pass himself off as a woman.  

          At the end of each episode, the guys got to select one among them that might be voted off the show and the final decision was given to the judges.  Mike had been selected at least three times.  Mike (Scarlet) was beautiful.  He also had attitude.  If the show had been solely about beauty he might have won.  But there was a lot more to it – though I don’t know that the contestants really got it at first (if at all).

          David was never selected to leave the show.  He was gawky.  Not a potential threat to any of the other contestants.  Surely having David in the group would just increase the chances of any other to win the quarter of a million dollars. 

          It wasn’t just the contestants who found David’s behavior as a woman non-realistic.  He’d get stares from men and woman alike shaming him because he was homely, or clumsy, or obviously not a women or whatever.  David sensed it and it was uncomfortable just to have to present himself as a woman – but to have others treat him as though he didn’t matter made it even more difficult.

          I rooted for David.  I didn’t want to because I can never pick a winner.  Whether it’s a painting or photography or food selection or a person – whenever I show an interest, it (or he) is always eliminated. The judges never like what I like.  They often vote for what (or whom) I don’t.

          David showed great compassion and felt emotion both as David and as Wynonna.  He was getting it.  And each day he understood it more.  Women DON’T have it easy.  Sometimes men are pigs.

          David went on to be one of the three finalists.  He had a shot at the quarter of a million prize – and for the first time he realized he could actually win.  Before the final judgment, each of the contestants answered the question, “How has being a woman helped you become better at being a man?”  David gave the most awesome answer ever.

          “. . . men’s obsession with external beauty can be hurtful when the greater beauty inside is ignored . . .” he had learned greater respect.  He had established friendships and had learned lessons that were far greater than the prize money.

         I was crying.  David was crying.  His wife was crying. The audience was crying.  The former contestants who had returned for the finale were crying.  The judges were crying.  Even John Salley who seemed too macho to even want any kind of involvement in the silly exploitation was crying.  I still cry whenever I listen to it.

It was David’s speech that won him first prize.  And there were cheers and tears.  It was so awesome.  The judges had actually picked the same person that I had.  That has NEVER happened before.

          I have watched other reality shows since.  But the only ones I think are worth watching are the ones that make me cry.  Undercover Boss, the Locater and Secret Millionaire come to mind.  All great at building up and fulfillment.  I’m grateful to these positive reality shows.

Jenna likes to Read

          I started reading to Jenna when she was still inside of my womb.  I would place earphones on my stomach and play Classical music for her.  I would hold a flashlight over my belly and turn it off and on and explain to her weather it was dark or light.

          Roland read to her and her brothers read to her from newborn to preschool.  Jenna grew up reading books and has loved books ever since.  She especially likes books that encourage imagination or anything non-fiction that helps her learn.  I think that is SO AWESOME!

          Of course I have to thank the library system for setting up the Beehive Nominee’s incentive program (or summer reading or whatever else is offered) as Jenna is always on a mission to complete the program and have her card filled ASAP. 

          She’s a human sponge and absorbs everything.  She often stops the reading to ask questions about what we’re reading or to make a comment about whatever subject. 

          For example this morning, while she was eating breakfast, I read to her. We read “Lizards” by Nic Bishop.  She would eyeball the pictures and widen her eyes at reading a certain lizard shown so many times larger or smaller than actual size.  Or she would tell me about when she had seen this lizard on TV or learned about that lizard in school or what have you. 

          We had to leave for school before the book was finished. Fiction doesn’t take near as long to read as non-fiction.

          I love that Jenna loves to read.  And I am so grateful for her mind and her assortment of knowledge and her memory and her imagination!  She has been a great blessing in our lives.  It’s been a pleasure watching her grow.

In God's Due Time

Roland and I had been married a couple of months before we met Bill Jolly – who totally lived up to his last name as he was always smiling and joking and overall really did appear to be happy.

          He’d come to choir practice and often joke with the chorister.  It was rare that he presented himself as a person who was ever serious.

          Overall he didn’t seem like my sister’s type, but I liked him and wondered if she would too.  Yet in the back of my mind it seemed like he had a wife.  I’m not sure why I thought that.  I never saw him with anyone. 

It wasn’t until much later on that I learned his wife was homebound for much of the time due to failing health.  When she did leave the house it was usually to go to the doctor or hospital.  I would visit her periodically. It was disheartening to see her in such poor health as she was younger than I and I had just turned 40.

          Bill loved Annaleigh.  He was committed to her.  A very devoted spouse.  And she loved him.  She struggled to meet his optimism.  She actually suffered from depression.  After our visits, I would often leave with stirred emotions.  Overall our visits were never the most uplifting and I did struggle with it.

          And then there was Bill who never showed his emotions about his home life.  Many knew they were there.  But he remained pleasant and in high spirits.

          Bill is a photographer.  He was working for a company which specialized in selling cameras.  On the side he tried his hand at starting his own business putting Annaleigh in charge of making the appointments.  I don’t know how well he did with the business part.  I know he was struggling financially.  And still he continued to smile.

          I had introduced him to my family the month before Jenna turned one.  My brother, Corey, would be leaving the state to return to school and I wanted to make a family picture before he went out of town.  Bill took the photos.  He did group shots of my sibs, my mom and me.  And my family with Roland and Patrick with his family.

          I remember my oldest niece was really annoyed with him although the boys and youngest niece found him to be strangely funny.  Bill doesn’t seem to have a talent for remembering names and often assigns bogus names to people – usually to make them laugh.  But my oldest niece was NOT amused.

          Three years later Annaleigh passed away.  It wasn’t really a big surprise to anybody.  It was the first time I had seen Bill cry – though he still continued to give the appearance of being happy.  Annaleigh had been unable to give Bill children – and he would have made such a great father.  Bill had accepted that maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

          Shortly after the funeral, Roland suggested that we set Bill up with my sister.  What?  When I first met him I thought he was maybe a few years older than my baby sister – but he was actually the same age as me.  Kayla didn’t want somebody that old.

          Roland persisted with setting them up together.  So I called Kayla and told her about Roland’s plans. 

          “Would you be interested in going out with him?” I asked.

          “No I wouldn’t” She had remembered Bill from the photo shoot and thought he was a nut.  Their personalities did clash, I thought.  But then so do mine and Roland’s.

          I told Roland that Kayla was not interested.  Of course that didn’t stop him.  He ended up giving Kayla’s number to Bill – who called her on the spot.  I was surprised to hear that she had gone out with him.  But she said he had to have guts to call a total stranger – it would, of course, just be a onetime thing.

          Without going into all the detail, Bill and Kayla ended up getting married.  For the second time (since they've been married)  Bill cried as he announced that Kayla was pregnant.  He had waited over twenty years to become a biological father!  Even longer than I had waited to become a bride and spouse. 

          Miracles do happen.  They take place every day.  Sometimes we fail to see the small miracles because we are so busy searching for the much larger ones.  I thank my brother-in-law, Bill for his awesome example of always being jolly.  Always accepting whatever life may slap him with - and accepting whatever good things may be handed to him – no matter how long it might take. 

          Things happen in God’s due time – not necessarily when we would like them to.  But through faith things will always work out – even if they are nowhere near what we desired or expected.

Seven year itch? Not quite

Jenna and I went downtown to meet our new in-laws at a Bridal display.  While we were waiting, Jenna stood over the air vent and let the air blow under her dress.  She held it down as the air blowing had revealed a little too much.  So her dress would puff up making her appear round in the middle - like a nesting doll sort of.  When she left the air vent, she was back to her normal skinny shape.  And I thought: "How cool would that be if we could just stand over something and when we walk away all of the rounded middle of ourselves could simply vanish away?"  How wonderful it would be to lose weight the instant we put it in.

Modern Technology

         

I am younger than the rotary phone though older than the cordless and definitely older than the cell phone. 

Roland often used to get unwanted possessions from his clients – one being an old rotary phone.  He brought it home one day and called the boys together.  There was an extra jack in Tony’s room and Roland hooked the phone up and brought it out into the hall and told the boys that they could leave it in the hall so that they would all have access to it and wouldn’t have to run into the kitchen every time.

I remember the three boys standing around the phone – first with their eyes on the phone and then exchanging puzzled looks with one another until finally one of them asked, “How does it work?” 

Until then it hadn’t even dawned on me that what had been very routine for me growing up really was a foreign object to these boys who were not much younger than the cell phone.  How would they know?

And I LOVE the GPS.  What a great invention!  Especially for those of us who are truly directional challenged. 

I am grateful for early inventions.  The camera.  I was raised on the kind that required film.  There are a few advantages that film have over digital.  But the thing I like most about digital is being able to view the picture before it is “developed” 

I am grateful to the light bulb – though not as modern of an invention.  It is truly wonderful to have. Plastic bottles are also nice.

I like being able to ask the computer a question and having a wide variety at my fingertips.  I am grateful to have a library where I can borrow the computer and check out books.  I am grateful for learning.

I often feel that we have come too dependent on these modern joys.  When the electric power supply (which I’m also grateful for) goes out, there is a major downfall in the system.  Can’t go shopping (at least not in the area where I live) you can’t check out books, even driving itself becomes a big hassle.

God bless the inventors who have given us such wonderful modern equipment!  I thank him for the inspiration and for those who acted upon that inspiration.

Late Bloomer

I was thirteen when I got my first period.  I was with my family – on vacation.  Ugh!  I told my mom that there was blood in my pants.  She explained what was taking place inside my body and how I could look forward to this special gift each month.  Yuck!  Seriously.  Wasn’t at all excited about having this piece of womanhood.

          I didn’t receive my second period until two and a half years later.  I was at school thinking, “Okay, this is not so bad.  Every two and a half years.  I can handle that”  But there was no two and a half year wait for my next one.  They started coming in perhaps every five or six weeks.  Soft.  If it weren’t for the disgusting smell, I could have probably gotten away with just a band-aid for my entire period.  I have never been a heavy bleeder.  I have never been regular.

          I didn’t get married until I was thirty-nine.  I had joined a ready-made family and was quite okay with it as I didn’t plan on bearing any children myself.  Roland wanted more children, but I told him I was too old.  Plus our financial situation was so unstable, I didn’t think it was a very good idea. 

          Now I know the only sure method of birth control is abstinence – which I knew would not be happening with Roland’s strong desires.  I did take birth control in the first year of our marriage – never knowing whether I really needed it or not. 

          I’d been instructed on how to take them and what was expected from the cycling process.  Instead of my usual four to five weeks, I would be ovulating just every four.  And although my period did come more regular than it ever had in my entire lifetime – it was every three.  And so I was still irregular.

          Before I got pregnant with Jenna, Roland and I were told that there would be a 25% chance of my getting pregnant IF I took frailty drugs.  This was due to my age and having only one tube. I had finally convinced Roland that I would not be able to bear him anymore children.  So that was that.  Or so we believed.

The boys were out of town the summer of 2003 and Roland and I had gone to a health fair to donate blood.  I don’t know whose bright idea it was to have the registration so far away from the blood bank – but it was.  We filled out the forms at the school and walked half a mile across the playground to the trailer where the blood was drawn.

Roland has excellent blood.  He has marvelous health and was hooked up right away.  Well, by the time I walked all the way from the school to the trailer in the unbearable beating sun, my blood pressure was too high.  My efforts were rejected  (though I did get a piece of red gauze to wear on my arm so that it would appear that I had donated)

We went to another exhibit.  I was tested for diabetes and told my sugar was high – but because of the heat it might not be accurate.  I was given a card that had the address and phone # of a medical research and was told I should make an appointment – which I did.  I was feeling sluggish. 

On the morning of my scheduled appointment I questioned some pain I had in my breasts – like rubber bands snapping.  That was a familiar pain I had had before the major pain that had taken me to the hospital the previous year.

“Could I seriously be pregnant?” I wondered.

When I arrived at the clinic I told the staff that it was possible that I might be pregnant.  So they did two tests on me.  I tested negative for diabetes and positive for pregnancy.  My obstetrician was in the same complex, and so I left the medical center and went right over to make an appointment.

The first thing my Dr. did was send me downstairs for an ultrasound.  He didn’t believe in the test results I had taken and wanted to see what was really going on.  And if I was pregnant that my baby was growing where she was supposed to be and not in the remaining tube. Sure enough I was pregnant.  Blew my doctor away!

Babies seem to arrive early in my family.  Like so many others, Jenna was born  before the intended due date - eight days.  My mom and sister and I were just about to leave the house to attend a birthday party for an eighty year old we had all worked with.  But then my water broke.  Surely I wouldn't be able to drive myself to the hospital.

I had just finished eating a tuna fish sandwich – which came out shortly after we had all checked me in.  My mom and sister stayed camped out with me in the birthing room.  And Roland joined us after a while.  I was starving, but they wouldn’t let me eat anything.  And Jenna had certainly taken her time. 

23 ½ hours!  23 ½!  I had to be induced (I never did contract on my own) and Jenna’s head was guided out as I was told to push or not push and I was so loaded up on epidural I didn’t know if I actually was pushing or not.

Short of seven weeks Jenna and I are nearly 42 years apart.  My first one.  My only one biologically.  I had had some weird symptoms with her.

I couldn’t drink water without getting sick (even that summer when Roland had donated blood and I had been rejected; before I even knew I was pregnant I would get sick just drinking water) I developed a really numb case of tendentious. 

Every time I mentioned an odd side effect, my mom would just look at me with a puzzled expression and state, “I don’t remember ever getting that when I was pregnant”  Nor did my sister-in-law.  But they were also 20 years younger when they had their first babies.

Jenna keeps me young at times.  But at the same time I feel so much older as I am theoretically old enough to be the mother of some of her friends' parents.  I will be sixty when Jenna graduates high school.  And at the rate I’m going I probably won’t experience menopause until I’m in my late 70”s.

Thank you for the Crock Pot

         
         Aside from disposable dishes, I am really quite grateful to the inventor of the Crock Pot.  What an awesome invention!  To be able to throw in food and have it done by dinner time!  And the meat is always tender and juicy and oh, so good.  So much better than the oven.

          The first crock pot that I have recollection of was a red orange one my mom had purchased shortly after this wonderful item was introduced to the market.  We didn’t have the option of removing the incert as we have today.  There was no insert.  It was just one unit.  The cord went in the sink as we attempted to clean it without getting the cord wet.  (What a chore that was)

          Today crock pots come in assorted styles and gadgets.  Roland and I have one that is oblong shaped and with settings for low high or warm.  We can take the dish part out of the heating divise.  We can leave it on low all day. We can have dinner ready even before he comes home.

          Crock pots are SO COOL!  You don’t even need an entire kitchen for a crockpot.  I really like that!

Paper Dishes: making Life easier

I would like to thank the inventor (or inventors rather) who created disposable dishes.  Paper plates and cups, plastic flatware, aluminum pans – though not yet invented for the stove top – at least that I know of.

          I don’t mind doing dishes – but I don’t thrive on it.  It does irk me quite a bit when I know I’ve done the dishes – lots of them – and less than four hours later the sink gives one the appearance that I haven’t done dishes all week.  Where the heck do these extra dishes even come from?  Usually it’s just me and Jenna.  Or me.  In the morning and after work it is Roland, Jenna and me – well not every night. 

          Biff works graveyards – and although he does cook at odd times during the 24 hour day – he doesn’t use that many dishes.  Two – maybe three.  I think I have dish gremlins that break into my house.  I honestly can’t find any other explanation.

          I try to keep paper products on hand – for the few guests that we invite to our huge luxurious house (usually my sister and her husband) so I don’t get stuck with even more dishes than usual.  Not only are they convenient for after dinner, but paper products also take less space than normal dishes.  And they don’t break when they crash onto the ceramic tiled floor.

          Disposable containers are wonderful when sending home left overs or even packing a lunch for those who neglect bringing the containers into the house from the car (if they did indeed make it to the car) or taking treats to neighbors. The treats that my daughter made at the sitter’s house for instance – when they vanished (less than 24 hours later) I simply threw the pan away.  Disposables don’t have to be returned.  What an awesome invention!

          Some people may argue that there is more waste – waste of money and garbage waste with disposable dishes.  But look how much you are saving on dish soap and germs.  When examined by a doctor, everything is thrown into the waste – the tongue depressor, needles, cotton balls – they never sterilize or try to wash those products – it is for health and safety issues.  Well that is how I feel about paper products.  It is sanitary.  It is safe.  I can’t believe how many dishes have gone through the sink or dishwasher that really aren’t clean – and that’s just the stuck on stuff that one sees with the naked eye.  But what about the stuff we don’t see?  Really.  Think about it.

         

          Have you ever gone to a restaurant and picked up a dirty fork?  Or a buffet and picked up a plate that had food stuck on it?  So your home dishes may receive a little more care than the food industry – or does it?  All I’m saying is that I like the idea of disposable dishes.  I think they are awesome inventions!

Driving Miss Daisy - Lucy Ricardo style

          My mom has always had a lousy sense of direction – at least since I’ve known her.  Improper medication or improper amounts due to failing health and aging does not help matters.  She’s always been an okay driver – not exceptional.  Perhaps even good at one time – now?  I think my mom behind a wheel is rather a scary combination.

          But then again having me behind the wheel when the sun is streaming over dirty windows – also scary.  And to top it off – send me to unfamiliar roads.  It’s like Lucy Ricardo driving Ethel Mertz.  (For those of you who have no clue what that statement even means, I encourage you to go to YouTube and click on “I Love Lucy” – any episode, doesn’t matter.  It should help you to understand my comparison)

          Mom and I have actually had quite a few Lucy/Ethel moments – like the first (and only) time we attempted to wallpaper the bathroom – figuring it was the smallest room – and how long does one spend in that particular room anyway? 

          The wallpaper itself was truly loud.  Big huge flowers in a variety of colors.  And bright.  One could walk past the bathroom and attempt to flip the light switch thinking that the light had been left on but never turning off the glare – which only became even brighter when the lights really were turned on.

          Have you ever been in the tub when suddenly the wall paper joins you?  It was quite obvious in many ways that those who had hung it were definitely amateurs.  As I recall the bathroom had to be redone after only a month.

          Recently I had to take my mom to the Driver’s License Division.  A specific DLD – one that might as well have been in another county considering the route we took to get there.  Over half the roads had not existed ten years ago when I had last driven there (or that general area rather) and was more familiar with where the roads went – or at least thought I did. 

          What an adventure!  I detailed my day in three pages and emailed it to my sibs and family to make them aware.  Some laughed – I’m guessing Corey shook his head in disbelief with another concern: perhaps someone ought to review his sister’s driver’s license as well.  And I’m sure if the DL workers could have seen me driving on the road they would have had me retest as well.

          I’m not saying I’m a horrible driver.  I try to be careful.  I don’t answer my cell phone – I take the slow roads and back ways.  I avoid traffic as much as possible.  And I don’t drive at night.   But throw me into a foreign area without a GPS and it’s pretty chaotic.

          And then there’s Roland, who for the most part has a keen sense of direction, who can drive somewhere for the first time and make it appear as though he drives there on a daily basis.  I admire that.  I can make my routine travel appear as though I’m driving for the first time.  I am Lucy Ricardo.

I just DON’T have a passion for family history

          When I was twelve I took a family history class – only it wasn’t actually called Family History.  At that time it was referred to a genealogy. (Boring name; must be why they changed it) I was the only youth in the class.  The instructor was early 40s – possibly late 30s.  The rest of the class members were all over the age of 50.

Things were done on legal size paper.  There were Xerox machines (photocopiers) and pens.  No PAF, Ancestry.com, Google, etc.  I would imagine doing family research is so much easier now than back then.

My instructor had been raised in a foster care system and had always had a strong sense of getting to know and understand her family.  It was a very long process.

I understand why family history is so important to her.  To have a connection.  And when she did find connections, the discoveries were great.  As an adult she learned that she had a sister who had chosen the same profession and was married to a husband who served in law enforcement just as my instructors husband had.  And I enjoyed hearing her stories.

I enjoy hearing stories of my own youth.  Or those of my ancestors.  But after a while they are just names.  I don’t know if I am seriously related to these people or not.  I don’t like family research.  In fact, I loathe it.  It’s just not important to me to know where I came from or how my ancestors were treated or how they treated others. 

Even when names and stories are given to me and they become more than names or stories but actual people I have read about in books – I still don’t know the accuracy of our relationship.  So what if we’re related? So what if we’re not?  I just don’t care.

That’s not to say I don’t credit other people with finding their ancestors.  Spending countless hours searching for some sort of a clue.  All the more power to them.  If that it truly what they love and want to do, let them do it.  Kudos to their desire and passion.  Bravo.  It’s just really NOT my thing.

For years and years our family could be traced to William Button’s mother, Eliza Tate – a very unattractive woman.  Legend was that she sang opera with her three sisters who were in favor of aborting her baby.  Upon hearing their plans, Eliza had run away.

 Eliza had William out of wedlock.  Now that had bothered me.  Wouldn’t a child out of wedlock have the same name as its mother if dad was not even in the picture?  I don’t know.  As a twelve year old I accepted all information as being accurate and complete. 

Recently I was told by a cousin that the information that we have had for all these years is inaccurate.  There are no records of any Eliza Tates being born in that particular town (or village or city or whatever) or approximate year.  The woman supposedly never existed.  So who is it really that appears in the photograph?  And where did the photograph even come from.

My cousin got in touch with another cousin – a very distant cousin to the both of us.  Her records indicate that Williams mother (who had him out of wedlock) was Jane Button.  Okay.  She had him out of wedlock and had given him her name. I accept that.  But does my approval really make it fact or fiction?  How do I know?

I do enjoy the stories I’ve read about my great-great (how many generations?) grandfather.  He sounds like quite a personable man who loved his family – and though he had his feelings hurt for whatever reason – seemed to resolve them.  But they’re all second hand stories.  I still don’t know what is true and what is not.  And it really doesn’t matter.

All of my ancestors were part of the human race.  None was perfect – though each of them may have strived to live up to the good family name, parents’ expectations, the community’s belief, or whatever.  All have had struggles – whether with an occupation or family member, day to day routines, diseases.  And then there have been black sheep and orphans – raised as orphans and yet they were produced biologically.  And I’m sure they can be found by one who has the passion to find them.  I don’t have the passion. 

My ancestors most likely experienced pain and sorrow, laughter and joy.  There was wealth and poverty.  They endured their fair share of trials.  They were part of the human race.

I do keep histories and scrapbook for my own generation.  Does that count? My passion lies with the future – though I do enjoy stories from the past and can learn from them.  The past is not where my passion lies.

I am grateful to all of those who have the passion and for the enthusiasm one experiences with discovery and sharing.  I am grateful to those who are willing to accept my choices for not pressing forward with my own family research.  And for understanding that the passion is just not there. 

We Don't Tell the Animals How to Behave

I so love it when nature seems to work against itself.  I’ve received emails featuring dogs or tigers raising pigs

 ;

or orphaned duckings accepted and raised by a non-biological mother.  I’ve read miracle stories on animal survival and unexplainable compassion.  And I think that it is totally great!

          Recently my brother introduced me to the Blog “Raising my Rainbow”  which I have checked periodically and tried to follow from the beginning.  In a few posts the blogger has sought out advice for book recommendations.  And I have checked out various recommendations that have been left in the comment section. 

My favorite book thus far is “And Tango makes Three” by Justin Richardson  and Peter Parnell – a charming book about two male penguins at the Central Park zoo who found themselves enjoying the companionship of one another and tried to imitate what the other penguin couples were doing.  The most fascinating thing about this children’s book is that it is a true story.  It actually happened.

And I wonder how much flack these animals may receive from those in the animal kingdom.  Probably not near as much as those among the human race.  Why do things have to sound so “scandalous”?  Why do we have to try to analyze every little thing? Why can’t we appreciate the genuine love and compassion?  What are we scared of? Wouldn’t it be great if all of us could learn to love and be accepting of one another?

Today is a holiday in which we honor Martin Luther King Jr. as his birthday was yesterday. His dream included acceptance. I am grateful for his victory in fulfilling that dream (though we still obviously have a long way to go) and for life’s lessons that teach us “It is okay to be different”

I would much rather search for a lost dog than for a missing person

         Perhaps that seems a lousy comparison.  And I am not actually comparing the dog to the human being – I am comparing the emotions one may go through as he or she searches for a pet as opposed to searching for a family member.

          I do have examples for both.  We have had two dogs that have come to us in their prime.  Both during different years and in different cities.  Both had/have a sense of adventure beyond our fenced yards.  And both have managed to escape – though it has been quite a mystery about HOW they escaped – especially the first one.

          The one who lives with us currently has always been nearby and often returns home on his own.  The first one was a happy wanderer who was on a mission to find his boys – he had claimed them before they claimed him.  He loved our boys and would often show up at their school.  Animal control found him just as many times as we did.  We didn’t have a chip for him.  It would have been less costly.

          I would think the idea of putting a chip into a child would appeal to many parents.  And lately I’d be leaning toward putting a chip in my mother – who has become frail and disoriented and just recently lost her driver’s license.  Although she had one before the new year.

          90% of the time she seems to be coherent.  But that 10% can raise frantic emotions like you wouldn’t believe.  Take the the end of 2011  for instance.  Her car had disappeared from the driveway.  And it was dark.  But she decided to go for a joy ride.  Afterall “she has been driving for years and it’s okay for her to be by herself” – that was how she rationalized it when she was confronted five hours later.

          I was one who was searching – not even close or semi close to where she was found – and so all the information that was given to me was second and third hand information.  But watching her distant facial expressions and hearing the explanations from her mouth the next morning I was actually present for.

          My brother had put in a police report giving out the car, make, model and license plate #.  Mom has NEVER had the best sense of direction anyway.  Nor has she ventured out at night for some time. But now – she can’t find places – she doesn’t even like to go very far – nor does she even know how to get there.  She is quite rational when she is coherent – but if she doesn’t check her blood or take the right amount of medication, another personality seems to take over.

          My family and I would like to express our gratitude to the police who found her and pulled her over and took her keys away and called my brother to come and get her.  For she is safe now.  And we would have never even thought to look where they found her. 

          I don’t know anyone who has been able to involve the police in searching for a pet. I would rather spend two weeks searching for a lost pet than just six hours searching for a family member.