A Grand New Year To All

It's a five furkid pile-up. Wishing you a blessed New Year. And a quote I found last January, in a calendar (where else), that I really liked:

"We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives... not looking for flaws, but for potential."- Ellen Goodman

It's a SHE

Finally. Says Lisa who was 41 weeks pregnant. I, the proud great-Auntie, am ecstatic to introduce you to Morgan Campbell. Born December 29th at 9:22 am and weighed in at 8.11 lbs. Healthy and happy all around. Sweet, sweet baby girl. A red-haired beauty like her Mom. Those newly minted toes will look extra special in the booties this Auntie sent, although those toes will need to grow a wee bit, first. May Abba Father guard and grow this new one into a Daughter of the Most High. In Jesus precious name, Amen. (contented Auntie sigh)

S-H-O-P-P-I-N-G

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love you tomorrow... I always take the day after Christmas as a vacation day. I must go shopping. Will I buy shoes, clothing, Christmas decor and ribbon- all at those astonishingly-low prices? No. Those don't call my name. I have a confession to make.

I'm a page-a-day calendar junkie. I make an early-morning pilgrimage to Barnes & Noble or Borders the day after Christmas. Huh? you say. These bookstores have all their new calendars at half-price on the 26th of December. I love ripping those little pages away and seeing a new, daily dose of information or humor. The shelf above my workspace has hangers for 6 and desk space will accommodate 2-3 more. I do have a couple of perpetual ones that I have been flipping-over, for +6 years.

The Joy of Cooking, Get Fuzzy, A Little Joy- A Little Oy, Mary Engelbreit and Ziggy are must-haves. I also get a mini magnet one that resides on the fridge- Chocolate. I fill in with whatever subjects that catch my interest. I also get wall calendars for the various spaces in my life that need a little brightness or daydreams. Usually Pics of Ireland, Pics of France and this year- A dragon calendar. I saw it before Christmas and I hope it can still be found. It's like an Audubon' field journal on dragons and their habitats.

So if there are people on that Christmas List that weren't crossed off- try a little trip to your local B&N or Borders. Just make sure you breathe deeply upon entering the store. There's just something about the smell of books gathered together, ready to impart knowledge. Ahhhh.

I Wish You The Merriest

This is the pin I wear whilst I decorate City Hall. I thought it a nice blog pic for this day. A very
Merry Christmas to everyone who stops by The Antique Whisk. Please leave a comment if you
would care to. Blessings to all and to all a Good Night.

In Case You Wondered

In case you wondered who was on the other end of the keyboard. Well then. I figure what-the-hey, I'm me and no one does it better. Cheers, everyone. (disclaimer: no eggnog was harmed in the making of this pic.)

Merry Christmas Eve

There were many things I did not find the attitude to do this year. One being the hand-drawn card that features the Furkids and me, all grinning ear-to-ear. I sent these two pics, to all my 'wired' friends and family, with the subject line of "consider yourself carded for Christmas". That's my front porch and a view of the 'river' just about a ½-mile from my home. We had ice the last week of November, so I paused long enough to take a shot through a rolled-down car window.

I am not going anywhere for Christmas this year. Everyone I know is having company or being company today. And I am so not of the mood to sit through a triple-dose of my Daddy's second wife, Nell, and her daughters, Cheryl and Donna. Uncharitable? Yes. But I have struggled to keep my sanity during the past three weeks. Someone pass the Zoloft®, please.

I know there are many, many people who have no one and nothing at this time of the year (or anytime for that matter). I also know that I always have Someone, and I have everything through my faith in Jesus' life, death and Resurrection. I am never alone and never will I be forsaken. There are times, though, that I cry out to the Father for 'skin-on' encounters. A voice besides my own. Affirmation. And, oh, how I miss Christmas as it once was, but will never be again. Ever. But I know this is the way the journey road is traveled.

Mommie's been gone for 28 years now. Sometimes the pain clawing at my soul is that of a tiger, bringing down its prey. Gripping agony, strangling me. Mostly now, however, it's the soft, gentle tickle of a kitten's paw. And I giggle. Oh... for a stocking filled with: an apple, orange, banana, mixed nuts ( in shell), assorted mini-chocolate Hersey's® bars (removable paper sleeves, then), and a dollar bill. Actually it was no fancy 'stocking', but truly just a sock. A well satiated, 100%-cotton snake, with various-sized lumps bulging out from under its 'skin'. A sweet, sweet memory. (sigh)

I declare to the world (and to myself): I am blessed. I say, Merry Christmas, and The Lord's joy and comfort be upon you and yours. May you find laughter in remembering dear ones and for the ways they showed their love to you. And sometimes, just sometimes, comfort is found at the end of your own blog entry. And it was, really, there all the time, I just needed to let it in to nestle. That familiar 'soul-kitten' I mentioned before: is purring loudly, ecstatically now. And is that wonder-filled joy I detect shining in its eyes? Peace... Abba Father's peace be unto you all.

Occupied

The previous post shows the birdbath sans bird. Well, this shows it does, indeed, get patrons.

Recycling At Its Feathered Finest

Since moving to the country, I've never gotten around to purchasing a 'real' birdbath. When money got tight(er), I cancelled Dish Network, and now watch TV by rabbit ears. Hmm. What to do with the old dish? Well now, wotcha think? Doesn't it make the most divine birdbath, darling? Just enough water to wet little birdie beaks and splish-splash the plumage. But not enough for the mosquitoes to hatch in, as it needs to be refilled every other day. We like recycling. "Here, here, and jolly good", say the feathered ones. And besides, watching this dish network is vastly more fulfilling.

But just so's you know, there is no old commode sitting out beside it (or anywhere else) in the garden. However, I do have a red-neck gazing ball. Yep... it's a bowling ball. Ü Ahhh. The joys of country living- without Martha.

Christmas At The City With More Pics (and Pans)

This is another area I decorate- Water Customer Service Counter. I changed the color scheme for this year. And there has already been a query as to why they did not have 'traditional colored' garland this year. The Superintendent of Parks approached me with this very question. I said that there had been many complaints regarding last year's garland and decor. There is not enough counter over-hang to protect the decorations, and it was constantly getting caught on pagers, cellphones, belt buckles and so on. The poinsettias were already a 'non-traditional' hot magenta, so I went with shiny aluminum lime-green garland that would provide the "flash" without too many added-on decorations. I said they should be glad I didn't go with the aluminum hot-pink or orange choices. He just smiled, raised a Spock-like eyebrow, and said "should it be asked again, I will relay this info to the inquisitive person(s)".

There is a laughable inside story to this complaint. The Parks Department provides the funds to buy said decorations and the staff to install it (every year). And it seems the Water Department only needs to supply the complaints. Hope they get used to it, I only change-out counter decor after three years of use.

Thanksgiving and Then, Christmas At The City

Yes, I'm still alive. I have the aches, pains and pictures to prove it. I went to Austin for Thanksgiving. I left plenty of food for the kitties and bird, loaded the puppers into the car and left at 2:00 pm on Wednesday. At 4:00, we had 'zoomed' a vast 90 miles. We were zipping along at 10 mph for most of that time. We finally arrived in Austin (only 210 miles) at 7:15 that night. Whew! But, Thank you Lord, we were in better shape than the wreck-outs that were causing the traffic snarls.

I had a very blessed time seeing my friend of 35 years and her husband, of two years, Mike. (still kissy-faced, they are) They have 3 dogs, too. Zackary is Gunther's actual brother. It's kind of like red-neck families- they are brothers and cousins, at the same time. I consider Karol my sister, so, of course, our Furkids are cousins. So we had 2 dobermans, 3 Aussies and 1 Rotti-X to go with Turkey Day. And the Husband who is allergic to dogs...

Karol and I did something we have never done before and it was legal, too. We got up at 4:00 am on Friday and went to stand in line at the local Best Buy. They had monitors on deep sale. Were we successful? Well, sort of. The line was all around the building when we got there. People had begun to camp out on Thanksgiving evening. So we didn't get the 22" or 19", but I did get the last 17" LCD flat screen at $79.99. Since I still had a 15" behemoth from 2000, I am very happy with the purchase. I also bought the last all-in-one Canon copier-scanner-camera docking thingee for only $19.99. Did I need it? NO. But who could pass up, for twenty bucks, a back-up printer/scanner. (and my scanner is old too)

I had to leave Austin on Saturday afternoon, to make sure I was back in town with no problems. For Monday morning, Christmas At The City began. If you call in, you'd better be calling in DEAD. The week after Thanksgiving is always for decorating the whole first-floor of City Hall before the Holiday Extravaganza, a.k.a. Christmas Tree lighting. I do have much help, but I am considered the Decoration Diva for the week. The Go-To-Girl if there is a question, problem, or 'come look at this right now' moment. While there may be enough of me to make two people, I haven't yet learned how to clone myself. Whoa Moma!! It's intense for one week.

But an oh, so, soul soothing week- both artistically and spiritually. While the City's legal wimps may have suggested Irving take the PC route and call the event "A Holiday Extravaganza" but still light a 'Christmas Tree'. (BTW- how does that work , actually?) I get to say "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" in my heart, and with a silly grin on my face, I go merrily along, decorating all week. I actually wear a pin on my city-furnished uniform T-Shirt that has "Happy Birthday, Jesus" on it. I temper it, somewhat, with another pin which reads "HO3". You ask how does this work? Because we are allowed lapel pins, I cannot be kept from wearing one that has a 'religious' message. One of the things that President Clinton did right- passing The Freedom of (not from) Religion in the Workplace Act. It also works in my wood shop, I play Christian music without restraint. If radios are allowed, stations can't be censored or all radios must go. I must admit, though, I do work in the shop by myself. No one to offend, I'm not that much of a pushy twit. Yet. ;)

Christmas At The City With Pics

I also decorated the Meet and Greet room where the City Council and Park Board members gather for munchies, before the Tree Lighting.

This is the Information Counter. The roses and gold poinsettias are new this year, as last year's stems had gotten a bit tired looking.

The main inside Christmas Tree. It's just a 12 footer.

Christmas At The City with Pics, Continued

This is a new area I designed this year. One I am quite pleased about, if I may so myself. I made the cupcakes from lampshades and expandable insulating foam. The red and green candy are plastic plates hot-glued together. The boxed chocolates are Styrofoam spread with brown silicone house caulking. The chocolate cupcakes have the brown silicone on top of dried foam. The sprinkles are party confetti and small Christmas tree ornaments dusted on before the foam dried. That's not real gumdrops you see, I found a gumdrop garland that I cut apart. And, I think you guessed, the red 'cherries' are tree ornaments placed in the wet foam. The toy soldiers are getting a bit worn, I made them some years ago. They are on the 'do over' list for 2007.

Banisters by entry ways. More controlled chaos.

Parks Department Counter and large wall wreath. I designed this area to follow a more 'natural' decor, as we are, after all, the Parks Dept. The ribbon is just tucked to add movement in the garland. A sort of controlled chaos.

Council Chamber Christmas tree. They get their own. La-Ti-Da, don't you know. I did have to re-decorate this tree. It's a girl vs. guy thing. The guys had trussed the tree, not placed the ribbon on in a flowing garland effect. I wondered if they were going to hold it for ransom, as it been tied up- not dressed up. I wish I had thought to take a before and after pic. It was funny after I got over the disbelief of what I actually saw. I'm glad there's always time for do-overs.

These are large murals painted by me on butcher paper. Sometimes original artwork, sometimes copy-free clip art blown-up on an Art-O-Graph, new every year.

Full of Thanks

Just wanted to wish all my friends, family and readers a wonderful, blessed Thanksgiving. I pray your day is filled family, food and good times. May Abba Father give His blessing to all you do, and keep you and yours safe. Love in Jesus name, to all who stop by here. And of course, the Furkids say "Gobble".

Everyone Loves Fresh Sheets

Gosh, do ya think it's a hit with the locals? The fresh sheep sheet set (say that 3X's real fast) lies beneath a cover. It's so hard to wash a king-sized bedspread, every week, in a normal washer, that I keep an old sheet over the whole bed. With 12 puppy paws that come in slightly damp and sometimes leave prints, the sheet helps keep my washing down.

I switched to flannel sheets today. I do so love to put on a set of sheets that have been residing in the linen closet for a time. The scent is so comforting. I just feel well looked after for some reason- all snuggled safe. Somewhere from childhood, I suppose. (And I smile.)

The green spread is Gunther's nest, which is occupied by Hannah at present. I keep the winter nighttime temperature at 63º and short-haired puppers doth protest. It's too confining to put their coats on at night for sleeping. So I cover Gunther and Hannah with the spread before getting into bed. And during the night, as I'm a very light sleeper, I re-cover them should they need it. Ahem...just who trained who?

Fluttered By

This bush was all aflutter this afternoon. It's the last wildflower left on my land. A very busy hub at Insect International Airport. Honeybees, wasps, several types of butterflies- all were landing and departing with great precision. The air traffic controller was doing a fine job on this sunny day.

Surprise In The Sky

Strange things are happin' here in the country. Large mushroom shapes rising, ethereally, out of the treeline in the early morning glory.

I just wanted a cup of motivating java. But it was jolt of "What the..." that got me moving, instead. Looking out the kitchen window was a bit different from the norm. I hadn't even put on my glasses, and I had no trouble spotting the "what's wrong with this picture?" scenario. I ran (yes, actually) to get my robe, glasses, Birkenstocks, and camera. Thankfully, all in one room. In just the seconds it took to get these items, the balloon had risen high in the crisp, clear Autumn sky. The heating system blasts could be heard going off, adding height at a breath-taking rate. I don't know if they had had trouble and needed to land, or if they launched from the parking lot ½-mile up the road. Either way, it was quite a sight to behold. And off they flew into the wild, bluest-of-blue yonder.

A Time To Remember

I thought this a serious enough topic, that it should be on both my blogs. November 9, 2006 is the 68th Anniversary of Kristallnacht (The Night of Broken Glass). Please see my blog entry from It's Wooly Me for the full post on this topic. Please pass on a hug to those you love. And pass on kindness and compassion to others- always.

I Forgot

I forgot to mention the change in the "comment" area. It now reads "L'Chaim! Notes". I thought I should tell people what that means, lest someone think it's some weird cult thingy. No, it just means "to life" in Hebrew. It's a declaration (a toast) of joy and blessing of the message you leave for me. I thought it appropriate for this blog because I whisk about in the "bowl of life". I also use it as a stamp on some of my pottery. L'Chaim, ya'll.

Say It With Pics- Worth 1000 Words Each

I have had domestic chores and haven't had a chance to post a wordy entry. I thought I could substitute a few pics that would show a glimpse into my furry world. I have come to love my digital camera. So easy to use. It's been cool here in Texas and short-haired puppers become 'chilidogs'. Instead of mustard or onions, I just add a second coat. Gunther is an 8 year old red Doberman (his ears are natural). Doing his best impression of 'Sherlock Bones'. He has had his forever home with me since he was 7 months old. His brother, Zackary, was rescued at the same time and lives in Austin with Karol, my friend of 35 years.
Hannah Ruth is stylin'. She is a 4 year old Rotti-cross rescued off the streets at 7 months old. Since it was a crazy Irish lady that adopted her, she has a very Irish birthday-March 17.
Dueling tummies, with Barucha and Hannah trying to 'out cute' each other. All my puppers know the phrase, "Show me the tummy!" or "Where's your tummy?". Yes, I'm the Mommie, but they still do have a high C.Q. (Cute Quotient).
Enoki and Finch enjoy Kitty TV. One day it was a riveting drama: a true claw-biter. It starred a free-spirited plastic grocery bag pirouetting about in the yard. Four stars and four-paws-up rating.
Fresh. Fresh. Fresh. I must have it fresh. Enoki mews and purrs in her personal attendant's face while they sleep. Upon stumbling from bed, said attendant turns on the faucet. Voila! Liquid purrfection.

That, and Five Dollars Will Buy You Ecstasy

How exciting- it's a... bowl. And not even clay. But wait, it's the search for the bowl that fills this story. A search that has lasted for almost 30 years. It's the fourth in a set of nesting bowls by Pyrex. Mommie made banana puddin' and mashed potato salad, in the largest bowl (no not together), which was yellow. In her set, there was salmon, red, green and yellow. Somewhere in the years after her death, all the bowls, with the exception of the yellow, were missing from my cabinets. A good friend filled in the red and green ones for me. I searched for the last one at rummage sales, antique malls, flea markets- all to no avail.

I was at yet another antique mall, this day, and I had scoured all the booths. Once again, disappointment was all that had caught my eye. I heaved the inevitable oh-well-sigh, and had begun to say the last rites for this search: "I guess I'll find it one day". Yes, it was a very Eeyore moment. But I had not even fully finished the last word...gasp. When, what to my wandering (sic) eyes should appear, but the very bowl I'd searched for, through many a long year. (my apologies to Clement Moore) There it was in blue. I almost did the dance-of-happy right there in the aisle. But seeing a large lady dancing about in pure ecstasy, over a bowl, (or really- over anything) might have cleared the mall of potential customers. I demurely settled for an shrill schoolgirl scream.

I gleefully strolled up to the counter to make my purchase. Actually, I looked more like Jimmy Stewart in It's A Wonderful Life, doing the 'moma and papa dollar' dance after the run on the bank. The price tag was marked- $10. How perfect. Through the years, I have found other sets that weren't complete or with the wrong pattern, and they had been over $60. I would have gladly paid $20 just for that one bowl. I was on a Pyrex-high when I reached the check-out. But wait, here's the extra serving in my bowl story. There, I was informed that all items in that booth were 50% off, and it would really be a mere- $5. Whoa Moma. Ooh. Ooh. Sweet! I finished making my purchase, giggling all the while. And when I left the store, the cashier was shaking her head and upon her lips- a story that is sure to become the stuff of legends... Giggle.

Last Of The Summer Reds

Autumn trys to convince me with her sensuous siren song that she is here to stay. But when these beauties provide plump, tangy explosions of delight- Summer's song wins out. I also have rosemary in aromatic, bushy profusion. I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, when I will slip several sprigs between the breast skin and into the turkey cavity before its baking. Yummy. All the rest of my small garden has stopped producing. No peppers, basil or sage. My Sweet Williams, though, have started to flourish since the grasshoppers stopped producing themselves.

Enoki (named after the mushroom because of two white toes) came "maa-ing" down the hall at me today. It did actually sound like a tiny lamb. She couldn't meow because she had her mouth full of grasshopper. She deposited it at my feet and looked most proud of herself. She and her brother, Finch, are very good wranglers of insects. Enoki catches and Finch feasts. E-eew. No kitty kisses, please.

Did You Say "Puppy Biscuit"?

Yes, the pupper girl is feeling much better, thank you very much. At about 10:00 pm last night, she decided food was needed. She had gone all day without anything except a horrid look about her. Today she's back to her more than normal self. Chasing brothers, sisters and barking buzzards from her airspace. All in a day's woof.

Waiting On Daylight

You know, alarm clock makers ought to make one with the sound of a dog- puking. 'Cause it'll get you moving and wide awake- instantly. And I was, at 4:00 this morning. My furkids have bed privileges. Or actually, with 3 dogs, 2 cats and me in a king-sized bed, I'm allowed the bed privilege.

Anyway, back to the story. Barucha (Aussie, almost 2 yrs old) was majoring in Puke 101 on the floor. Mommie scrambles out of bed, "come-on puppers, let's go outside" in an excited voice, but trying not to scare her. She's still young enough to think that emissions from the front end must be as wrong as those from the hind end. It's not- I know she can't help it. I just wanted to get the next puddle, should there be one, to happen on dirt, not carpet. After coming back inside, spot cleaning the carpet and poking a Pepto tab down a sick dog throat- we went back to bed. Hmmm. I don't remember hitting the snooze button on the Puke alarm. Yep. Repeat the steps from an hour ago.

We have a call into Dr. Paul, because the second Pepto tab didn't stay down and Barucha has "stinky butt". That's the term of endearment I have for diarrhea. I am, as I type, dressed for mowing the lawn, and I was just waiting on daylight. Oh look. There's a light now. Hey, there aren't any train tracks...

Subscribe to The Antique Whisk

While I'm still recovering from past Pottery sales and getting to new ones, I haven't had a chance (or made time) to post new articles. I added the FeedBlitz option to my blog page. If you're tired of visiting and finding nothing new, please subscribe- it's free and there is no spamming. Look at the bottom of the right-hand column for the entry space. An e-mail will be sent to the your mailbox, each time I post a new article. You can also un-subscribe, at any time, with no problems. Cheers, and have a grand week. Oh. Don't forget to feed Lida Rose down at the very bottom of this page...

Glazed Bakedgoods- With Calories

Happy Birthday to me, today...As you can see, I spared no expense when buying the cake. My pretty little mini-cake is chocolate and had purple and blue stripes of gooey, guilt-laced icing. Both scrumptious and inner-child pleasing.

Unfortunately, that one last stop on the To-Do list was almost responsible for its demise. It's still a bit warm here in Texas and the cake had a wicked-witch-of-the-West-moment. Melting, melting. All the sweetcream icing flowing down like lava, forming a puddle of blue-purple at the bottom. Wow, is that Richard Harris I hear singing in the background. I managed to swirl it back onto the cake and let it recover in the fridge.

I'm going to celebrate today in Technicolor. Meatloaf, loaded smashed potatoes, and green beans are on the pre-cake menu. It's just me and the Furkids today. Cards, calls and e-mails will abound, though. So, I am safe and secure in the knowledge of my friends and family's love for me. And that my Heavenly Father loves me- His daughter. Life doesn't get any better than that. My heart is full.

Counting Chickens Before They Hatch- Ceramic Version

My Dance of Happy has slowed a wee bit. This is what happens when you try to rush the drying of pottery in a bisque firing and it says "No-I don't wanna", rather emphatically. Water becomes steam and it has to come out somewhere. What could have been in my checking account after being sold, is lying in shards upon the kiln shelf. But on a still-in-one-piece note, the second shelf is fine. Eggs. Chickens. Pottery. Ehh, it's all the same- only safe when sold or hatched.

Glazed Bakegoods- Without Calories

Drumroll please. Kiln opens... and I'm happy,happy,happy. Doing the Dance of Happy. No creative before-and-after pics this time, just posting results. I'm especially enamored with the platter. It is going on the Inventory List as "Barely Fits". That's because I made, before I measured. If one has a kiln a certain size, one should only make pottery which fits into said kiln. Almost had a platter-sized serving of "Whoops".

A Toad Interlude

Thought I would post what I have been doing while not posting. I am trying to prepare for two pottery sales. And though, Mommie and Daddy gave me the perfectly lovely, middle name of "Annette"- I have changed it to 'The Procrastinator'. So, I'm potting and glazing and firing right now, trying to make up for wasted time. All the time chanting to myself "don't do this again, don't do this again". This is a close-up of one of my stoneware functional froggie bowls. I'll post more pics to show the kiln opening, it's like Christmas to a potter, just without the wrapping and ribbon carnage.

And With No Repeats

With The Hummingbird Channel gone for the season, I'm glad The Sunset Channel is still on the air. And no technical difficulties, ever. Awesome...thank you, Abba.

That's All Folks...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am most sad as I tell you- The Hummingbird Channel has left the airways(sic) for the season. (I apologize for my pic as I can't sneak very well, and must depend on the zoom.) This little guy will be the last of his kind at my house for the year. I watched him plump, like a Ballpark frank on the grill, in the gentle rainfall that came last week. He also seemed preoccupied with the tennis match he was attending. He sat there in the drizzle, almost motionless, for long moments at a time. Only his tiny head swinging, to and fro, as he watched the phantom game.

When The Hummingbird Channel airs its programs for the Spring ratings sweeps, it is at its best. Awesome surround-sound capabilities makes the 'twitter-chitter' and resonating wing thrum, must-hear experiences. And the dog-fight scenes have excellent aerial choreography. Such drama, such action and all in amazing jewel-tone colors. Sigh...I suppose I'll have to be content with my feathered memories until next Spring, since this channel doesn't syndicate its programs. But stay tuned, tomorrow I'll post the other channel available here. New episodes daily, with no repeats.

Of Furkids Past- Part Two

Harrigan was named for a song in the musical, Yankee Doodle Dandy. As a kitten, he was a very active, cheeky fluffball. He grew and grew(and grew) into a 13 lb chunk of DLH brown/white tabby- my "kittyboy". He did have a littermate sister, Hillary, who was let out by a roommate too soon after a move. She was gone, never to be seen again, within moments.

Harrigan was one of those kitties that, had he grown an opposable thumb, should never play poker. Everything he thought was immediately evident on his naughty whiskered face. He was declawed(before I knew better) and he loved to entice Cardigan into a lively chase about the apartment. "Monster Cat" would go to the back of a chair and proceed to 'scratch' the dickens out of it. "Tell the kitty- NO!" was Cardigan's favorite command because it meant a kitty head needed honking. You go to the kitty, grab his head and squeeze(gently) a couple of times. Honka. Honka. Just like a bicycle horn. GAME ON. It was just what a frustrated herding dog longs for- running feet just begging to be nipped. And the perfect excuse for 'Lewis and Clark Cat' to blaze new trails across the furniture and walls.

Harrigan was my lovable, purring "lap-lump". He made many a cold evening of book reading, a very cozy time. He didn't like 'people food' and would actually give a very melodramatic gag-action if you let him sniff it. Oh, but how he loved to hunt and he was adept without claws. Snakes, geckos, and water roaches were all brought to me in feline adoration. Snakes went into the 'Catch and Release Program', the roaches were screamed at and then stomped on, and a couple of geckos, unfortunately, weren't found until they had become lizard jerky. Small, desiccated, twig-like things that, when finally noticed, always made me cry. Poor critters.

In his later years, Harrigan developed arthritis in his declawed broken-down paws and his kibble bowl was up high, being kept away from doglips. A thick multi-layered pile of rugs made a soft, impact absorbing landing site, but better still: The Kitty Cafe. I took a medium-sized plastic totebox, turned it upside-down, cut out a "U" shaped door in one end and placed the box back onto its lid. Voila! Inside it an old kitty can satiate, while just outside, dogs salivate.

His health declined rapidly in 2003 and medication could no longer provide him a quality life. I held Harrigan while Dr. Paul made him pain-free. A life well pounced, purred and scampered through: April 6, 1988 to December 3, 2003. Good "Kiddles".

Pic of Yesterday's Blog Subject

This is my sweeters, Cardigan. She was with me from December 17, 1987 to June 3, 2003. And on the morning of June 3, I was there when Dr. Paul ended the pain caused by her failing body. It's my opinion that, if they accompany you in life, you need to be there with them in their last few minutes. I know that, through my Faith in Jesus' life, death and resurrection, I am assured of Heaven. I hope that Cardigan and my other babies will meet me there. I can't say for certain, but neither can anyone else this side of Heaven's Gate. So I think I'll consider I Cor 2:9, "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.", until I get there. Pooh, you'll always be my rootin'-tootin'-snortin'-pig-dog. Good girl.

Of Furkids Past- Part One

I can't introduce the current Furfamily members without beginning with two who have been gone only a short time. The 'short time' is actually 3 years, but these sweet ones were with me for 15 years. My heart doesn't go by a calendar.

Cardigan(Pooh) was a blue merle Australian Shepherd cross. So named because of her resemblance, or so I thought, to a moth-eaten sweater. Pooh was small and dainty by Aussie breed standards. At only 31 lbs, she fit nicely into the apartment du jour. She had what I called the "apartment bark"- a light, barely audible percolating sound which she kindly taught to her brother Gunther. However, upon seeing a beloved human, she let out a screeching aahoo-ike-oooh, continuously until she thought that person well met. A very interesting sound, indeed, when in a underground parking garage.

She padded softly beside me through an In-patient stay for depression, a poorly chosen marriage(what was I thinking?) and The Divorce. In an attempt to salvage that marriage, I even offered to give Cardigan away, as my husband was not a dog person. And, though he declined the offer, giving away a family member will never be offered again- to anyone. I kept the dog and lost the husband, the best choice hands(or paws) down.

While I loved Cardigan dearly, she was the result of human ignorance. Born out of the belief that if you let a dog have one litter- she will be a better pet after being spayed. *Soapbox Alert* Nope, still have the same dog, plus a litter of mixed-breed puppies that may never find responsible homes. Added to that, the dog now has a higher chance of breast cancer because of not being spayed before her first heat. And should someone feel the need teach children the "miracle of birth" by allowing(making) the family dog or cat have a litter, be sure the curriculum also includes a fieldtrip. Strap those kiddos in the ol' SUV and head on down to the local Animal Shelter. Where on Euthanasia Day(just a tad different than Earth Day), they can learn what happens to all the leftover Life-ED Course 'materials'. Please find another way to teach the children. Fluffy thanks you, and so do Shelter workers around the world. *Soapbox now stowed away*

No Pets Allowed

I've been on this journey road for nearly forty-nine years, and most of it has been spent walking side-by-side, hand-in-paw with pets. These same pets found a way to pounce, romp and wriggle their way into the Mapsco of my heart, as well. Somewhere along that journey, though, they have managed to shed more than hair- they shed their noun. No longer are they pets: they are Furkids. Mommie's Furkids. I suppose as the years vaporized and no real children materialized, I made the fuzz-covered vocabulary change.

I know that some people have a difficult time with this particular definition of family. Activities after work have to be carefully planned, overtime possibly turned down and spontaneous travel doesn't happen because of the 3 dogs, 2 cats and 1 bird waiting for Mommie to return. I've been asked, "Is it really worth it, you're life's really limited?" The fact that the question was posed means you won't understand the answer given. Like I said, "It's a Furkid thing".

In coming posts, I plan to introduce you to my Furfamily. Well, anyway, I hope to do this and not wander into Soapbox Land. Ahem...that was not, however, a promise to reduce my soapbox to kindling. My apologies.

Next Year's Butterflies?

I was staring out the window above the kitchen sink, one of my most fave views, and noticed a fluffy, fluttering lump in the backyard. I assumed it was the remains of something's fast-food meal. So I went out expecting to find bunny parts, but was surprised to see it was an exploded milkweed pod.

This is the plant where Monarch butterflies lay eggs, and on which the caterpillars feed. An empty chrysalis, found on my porch railing earlier this year, meant I had just missed a birth. I am tickled pink (red, orange, black & yellow, too) to discover these plants on their journey to becoming next year's butterfly chow. My neighbors probably aren't- I don't mow very often in the Spring or well... ever for that matter. A major plus in moving here, was being able to see the countryside in all its glorious green imperfection, and not to live on a golfcourse. I'm thinking that one man's weeds, are this girlie's wildflowers.

Why Must We?

Yesterday, I visited a Blog-of-Interest and left a comment. The author was bemoaning the use of a certain dead celebrity's likeness, with added computer generated dance scene, to sell clothing. I whole-heartedly agreed with the author on this subject. I know the advertiser in question had to receive permission from the celebrity's estate, but I still disagree with using people who can no longer voice their objections.

Here it is-wait for it, wait for it... Why must topical comments always become fodder for someone to de-evolve into a political rant? Geeze, we were talking about dead people being exploited for monetary gain. Most comments suggested other famous dead people who could peddle products, and that it would most likely be against all they were about. Then Maytag-man (agitator) suggests that it could be worse- said celebrity could be dancing the mambo(actually, he wrote mamba) with President Bush. It was a wild slide downhill from there. Lobbyists, Iran, bi-partisan socialism and then the mentioning of living celebrities getting out of drunk driving charges. Whoa Moma! My head hurts.

Come on, let's post on the topic used by the author. If the comments have a pulse that is lighthearted; keep it that way so there will be no need to administer literary CPR. Supply your own wooden soapbox if you feel a rant coming on, climb on up and "may the slats be with you".

Oh Just Run Me Over, Already

'Hate' is usually such an ugly word. But when used to describe irritating commercials, the word becomes the Miss Universe of the dictionary. I am speaking of the new genre of automobile TV ads. The car, truck or SUV is shown leaping tall mountains, making maneuvers of super-mechanical strength, or whizzing bullet-speed through various terrains. (By now, I'm thinking I'm hearing a whiz of a different kind.) Then the small print flashes across the bottom of the screen- "Professional stunt driver on a closed course". Uh, I seem to have misplaced my driver's license with that option listed. And, Rhett, wherever shall I find the closed course that they speak of?

One new ad shows a queue-jumping scene at a playground line. Mom and kid load into a mini-van and drive straight to a dealership. Once there, she signs papers, straps the kid in and away they drive in a new Hummer. In the next scene, it's not hard to miss the I'll-show-you-smirk plastered on her face. Gosh, I've always wanted to be on the road with drivers who are toting attitude as cargo. Now, I don't actually need those closed courses to drive like a stunt driver. (lightbulb moment) Wow, those ads were accurate after all. Happy Trails, ya'll.

Up on the Rooftop- Drip, Drip, Drip

Oh my... is that rain?! My back deck has a metal roof and the sound now emanating from it, is ambrosial. Liquid manna from the Father's hand. My area of rural Denton county is down 34" of rain for the last 20 months. The "Goodnight-Loving Trail", a.k.a. my backyard, will become gooey toe-sucking mud. With three large dogs, one of them being an XL at 85 lbs., all of them have been taught the request- "show me your toes". Toes are then presented so I, The Mommie, can clean all the nooks and crannies of 12 pads and 48 toes. Old T-shirts and towels are always at the ready. With no grass in the dog area (a 365 ft. linear fence-line) because of the drought, it should be a toe-showing Autumn and Winter. But as I cerebally wander through my B.C. (before country) apartment life, I shudder and ecstatically proclaim "Let the MudFest begin!".

All Things Unimportant

I've come to a stop-the-presses-announcement moment. This blog, at least on one level, will be my catharsis. (The first dictionary definition- not the one connected to "purgation". Although, some readers may liken my writing to such.) While I will write about topics that have a serious side, I can still prattle-on about inane subjects, as well. This way I might be able to spare myself from actually hearing, again, the ominous martyr death sigh succinctly punctuated with the sound of a closing door. Um... Yes, this happened to me last week at work, whilst in mid-prattle. I had become the very person (moi?) I inwardly roll my eyes at and try to escape from. So when I post here, I will have no need of ears with skin-on. So there! (nya-nya) ;)

I made a most delightful discovery this morning. One of my most favored mugs, Erika Oller's "Happily Dying of Chocolate", fits under the spout of my new Senseo Coffee Machine. I am a potter with no pots, or mugs for that matter, that I have made for myself. The cobbler's kids have no shoes and this potter has no pots. So I buy mugs with snappy sayings and this one was right up my dark chocolate alley.

Have you ever watched an infomercial and been tempted to buy the product? Do yourself a favor and Google the product before you break out the plastic. Find a site that has customer feedback about the product, read both pros and cons and you might find yourself not buying the product. This happened to me this morning- I was highly tempted by the Magic Bullet food processor set. What I read online convinced me to step-away-from-credit-card. I wish I had used this tactic when I wanted to purchase the Black and Decker Home Cafe Coffee System. I bought three: work, home and as a gift for my niece. Both of mine went Super Nova or fell apart within one week of each other, after only 15 months of light use. I would have known to purchase the Senseo in the first place, had I followed my own aforementioned advice. So Google before you gamble.

Lions and Tigers and Goats, oh my.

It was a hot, quiet afternoon and I was holed-up inside having just come home from work. The quiet part was changed instantly by a knock on the door. The furkids (still need to introduce them) erupted into their "I'm going to eat you/pet my tummy" canine opera. Still haven't posted that "my dog eats every third salesman, the second one just left" sign on the front door, yet. The salesman stated he was selling great steaks at very reasonable prices. I don't buy meat from the back of trucks in August in Texas, I tell him. He nervously laughs and says "no, we take orders and bring it out to you". I wondered why he was fidgeting and as I followed the glance he made over his shoulder, the reason became apparent. Buddy the goat had followed him from the neighbor's house.

We now, ironically, have unpackaged meat on the hoof chasing a meat salesman. The rather burly manly-man says in a voice that was, by now squeaking, "I don't do goats, make him go away". Buddy, at that precise moment, happily clip-clops up the stairs and onto the porch. He wanted to play with the nice man, like he does with his human 'Daddy' at home. I have watched Buddy and his Dad play and charge each other with lowered heads, without ever once striking each other. However, cheap-steak man knows nothing of this ritual and sees himself about to become goat chow. I grabbed Buddy's horn and let the man make a hurried dash for his truck. I, evilly (who ME), let go of said goat horn. Did you know that a goat can outrun a salesman; even if the salesman is given a headstart?

The man would have made a promising football player (or ballerina)- the moves he made were executed with style and grace. Both arms stretched out fully in front, with fingers widely splayed trying to fend off the wildly bouncing demon goat. All the while, his cute butt (hey, it was) was stuck fully out the opposite way. To his credit, no girlie-scream was ever emitted while he did the goat dance- the only sound heard was me snorting the held back laughter. He dived into the passenger side of the truck, slammed the door and thereby, saved his own meat so to speak. I escorted Buddy safely home, all the while chuckling and murmuring thanks to him for the delightful respite he provided on a hot August day in Texas.

Pesto Recipe

This is a recipe that I modified to fit the ingredients I had on hand. I had never made it before and was very brave (or stupid) because I took it to Patsy's B-Day Party. I had a request for the recipe...uh, I didn't follow a recipe. Just a splash here and there. Amazingly, my brain had not yet deleted the file. It is a nice pesto but very pungent- so a little goes a long way.

SAGE PEPITO PESTO

• 1/3C. Fresh Sage Leaves (do not pack)
• 2C. Spring Greens (pack lightly)
• 1/8C. Pepitos (roasted/hulled pumpkin seeds)
• 1/4C. Blue Cheese Crumbles (a blue brie would work)
• 2-3 Garlic Cloves (3 if small)
• 1 TB Balsamic Vinegar
• 1 TB Red Wine (whatever you like)
• 1/8C. Olive Oil (to start, if too dry- add a bit more)

Add all, except the oil, through the food processor shoot and finely mince. I don't have a good one- just a blender attachment. I have used the blender but it becomes pablum, tasty, but too smooth. Lastly, add the olive oil through the shoot, process until blended. Serve with a crusty bread or roast a chicken with the pesto glazed under the skin.

Two for one Sunday Edition

Furkids 101 was to be the class today. But... Wonder of wonders, last night I actually found myself somewhere besides work, WalMart or a gas station. I had the priviledge of attending a party to celebrate the 70th birthday for Patsy- a dear, talented Art instructor. She has been my Pottery teacher at Northlake College on Saturday mornings for several years. Her Monday thru Friday gig is at Booker T. Washington where she teaches Sculpture.

I had never been to her house and was in reverent awe as I entered the door. A state that enveloped me for the entire evening- I thought I had been transported to public art gallery not listed in the points-of-interest-guide. Everywhere one looked there was art. Beautiful flowing fibers, glass/metal sculptures, signed editions of 2-D, pottery and even the walls of the bathroom were art. She had designed the wallpaper for one bath and made the sink for the other. She has traveled extensively and has brought home treasures besides the perfunctory photos. Gathered about her that evening were the products of her life's work- people. Those who were touched by her journey through the multi-medium canvas that her life has been. Well done, Patsy. It is an honor to know you and to have been your student.

Tomorrow I will post the yummy Sage Pepito Pesto recipe that I took to the gala.

Still trying to find my blog legs

While I'm still a newbie and considering my options regarding blogging, these missives will seem a bit fuddled. Do I write for myself or for an audience? If just for me, recipes, products and any minutiae details regarding lifewhisks would be already known to me, the author. Well then, I must consider penning for an audience and it's a given that I already write for "the Audience of One", to quote from author Randy Alcorn. Abba Father is always the first to read my heart's blog, even before pen is put to paper (or fingers to keyboard). So with that having been said: come with me or dismiss me. But with or without an entourage, I am going to continue to whisk my life into being.

First day--timid but stepping out.

to blog or not to blog. I purchased an old whisk with a flaking painted handle at an Antique Mall, planning to set it aside for viewing only. It whispered, "Use me. Let me show you that old and scarred is still capable." Needless to say, I found it to be the best I have ever used. So this site will be about whisking in the bowl of life. Cooking, furkids, pottery and faith on ¾ acre in a country setting - whatever topics that might need to be agitated for the perfect melange to take place. I can not promise Pulitzer posts, correct punctuation, nor proper grammar- but I will endeavor to make good observations as I whisk about in my life.