Welcome 2011

When I was in the 7th grade, I remember thinking that 2010-2011 sounded like something out of a science fiction book.  Of course, back then, the cell phone, Ipods, computers and all the techie devices we have now were not even conceived.  I remember typing on an electric typewriter in typing class and thinking that progress was really something. That was a much kinder, gentler time.  We had telephone party-lines and drove gas guzzling automobiles that were as big as some of today's RV's.  Most kids didn't have new cars when they turned 16.  They drove their parents' car if it was available, and if not, they stayed home.  There weren't that many places to go, anyway. A really big event would have been a dance at Finley's Roller Rink or the National Guard Armory featuring the Ovations or Jerry and the Decades.  An even bigger event would have been a dance at the Corbin Youth Center.  We were much more innocent back then than kids are today.  Heck, most of believed in Santa right up until the point that we became Santa.  It seems in memory, that days were longer and nights were kinder back then. The most anyone had to fear from the night was being left on a "snipe hunt."  As a nation, we seemed to know who we were and what we stood for.  I'm fairly certain that is not the case today.
Looking back just a year ago, I'm appalled at all the changes that have transpired in this nation..many against the will of the people.  My daddy always said, "America will never be defeated by a foreign country.  We will destroy ourselves from within." and the scary thought is that that might possibly be truer than we knew. I guess mom and dad worried back then just the same as I do today about the state of society and the liberalism that was foreign to them. 
On the up side, my life is very blessed.  My family is healthy and we are secure....for the time being.  I love my sweet husband, and my kids and grandkids and my family and friends, and really, what else is there?
 
Daisy is becoming more and more like me in her old age.  She worries.  Thunderstorms frighten her and she doesn't like to be away from me.  I think all the changes she has gone through in the past few years have added stress to her little life, so I try to be more aware of how tender she has become.   Her needs are few:  food, water, attention and the need to be close to those she loves, and she loves me.  She tolerates Dolly, who seems to roll with the punches much easier than she does.  Sometimes I swear I think I catch Dolly rolling her eyes at Daisy.  Dolly is one of those unique individuals that goes through life secure in the knowledge that someone else is going to take care of her...I think she might be a closet Liberal.

Another Year

 Time Passes By

Time certainly does have wings.  Another New Year's Day is quickly approaching.  The past year has been a roller coaster ride, but I think the older we get, the higher the hills and deeper the valleys.  True blessings have been health, happiness, and the continued wonder of seeing the world through the eyes of my grandbabies.  Their wonder at the world around us continally makes me stop and see the world afresh.

Daisy and Dolly continue to be constant and abiding friends, accepting the addition of an additional "master" in the form of my husband, Mark, right in stride.  Wouldn't it be lovely if people were as accepting as most dogs are?  They tend to see people through the lens of "good" and "bad," not "different."  They really don't care what color the hand is that pets them or feeds them.  They only care that it is gentle and reliable.

My true concern for 2010 is what I consider to be the misdirection in which our country is heading.  If I weren't a history teacher, I might not be as concerned, but if we are to learn anything from history, it is that the major civilizations of the world usually fell victim to corruption from within.  Big government take over of the private sector should be a concern for all freedom loving Americans.  The colonists revolted for far less tyranny than we are facing and ACCEPTING today from our own government.

I honestly believe we have too many voters who feel they are entitled to "things" (read hand outs) from the government and look to the government for their livelihood.  We are rapidly breeding liberty out of our very existence.  I believe that illegal immigrants should be sent back from whence they came and the government should stop providing them with education and health care.  I believe that the only rights Americans are entitled to are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (without the government telling us what happiness we are entitled to)  I don't want to take anything from anyone that I didn't earn and I don't believe anyone else should either.  The government is crippling independence and we are sitting back and watching it happen.  I shudder to think how history will look at this period of immense government spending and the legacy of debt we are foisting upon our children and children's children.

I don't care what color the President is.  What I care about is the lightening speed with which this administration is converting my America into a socialist/fascist state.  What I care about is the "legalized prostitution" my congressmen are engaging in with pork barrel rewards and vote buying.

I hope 2010 brings sanity to Washington and a slow down of this massive government expansion and "take over" of capitalism and the economy.

Daisy and Dolly are definitely socialists.  They are all about entitlements, especially if someone else is buying!!!

Everything Old is New Again

                                       One of my childhood dolls from the mid-late 50's

I like old things.  More than that, I like to restore old things to their former beauty.  I've always adored antiques of any kind, perhaps because I grew up with "old" furniture.  I didn't realize at the time that most of what my mother had in the way of furniture was "antique."  I simply thought we were too poor to afford new things.  Lately, I've adopted an affinity for vintage dolls.  My mother faithfully kept several of my childhood dolls and I inherited them when my mother downsized her home to move to Laurel Village, the assisted living facility.  I enjoyed cleaning and restoring them to their former selves, which was quite a task, considering I had loved them well and sometimes a little too hard as a child.  I played with them, slept with them and wept when I couldn't locate them at bedtime.  Sometimes there would be as many as twelve dolls and a rather large teddy bear in the double bed that I shared with my older sister.  Needless to say, she wasn't thrilled with all the company in the bed and sometimes enjoyed harassing me by throwing them out of the bed one at a time until I was worn out from retrieving them and we would both fall asleep with the intentions of out maneuvering each other.

There is something about the smell of a doll that brings back childhood memories.  I always associate Christmas with the fresh vinyl smell of a doll brand new out of the box.  It is a smell that cannot be duplicated and which many little girls over the decades have come to recognize, love, and associate with Santa Clause and Christmas morning. Christmas could not be Christmas without a bright, beautiful doll waiting under the tree for me, and there ALWAYS was.  My mother, I'm sure,  always derived as much joy from selecting dolls for Santa to give to us, as we did in the receiving of them.  She took black and white pictures of my sister and I with our dolls standing in front of the Christmas tree, dressed in our Christmas finery, or sometimes early on Christmas morning, in our  PJ's, with our bedraggled hair straggly and sleep clinging to our excited eyes. There are pictures of drink and wet dolls, big bald headed baby dolls, China head dolls, bride dolls, and several I have yet to identify.

I now keep an eye out for vintage dolls that I can restore.  I find them at thrift shops, thrown helter skelter among the cast off toys of later generations.  I find them at Good Will Stores, hiding among the later era, more commercial blank staring dolls. I find them most often on EBAY, from sellers auctioning off pieces of the past and making a buck off other people's childhood memories.

Perhaps I'm trying to recapture my childhood.  Perhaps I want to revisit, just for a moment, a happier, less stressful time before adult responsibilities were a constant of every day life.  Perhaps, I just want to catch a whiff of those vinyl Christmases when mama and daddy were still alive and excitement was the order of the day.

One thing I do know for certain, Daisy and Dolly would know exactly what to do with a vintage vinyl doll.  They would sniff it, too.....just before they devoured it.

Vintage Ideal Doll
                                                           Ruthie, before and after

On the other hand, Dolly does have a tendency to think of herself as a real doll.  I think she is, like her master, quickly becoming a "vintage doll."  Years do roll by.  Once a doll, always a doll is what I say.

                                                                            My Dolly

Football from a Dog's View

Vols

Smokey



I'm a Kentucky girl. I know Wildcats and Big Blue Country Basketball and still remember the many thrills of watching Rex Chapman, Sam Bowie and Richie Farmer swishing the net at Rupp Arena. I married a Tennessee Volunteer. I decided early in the game not to hold that against him. After all, in all other respects, he is as sane as the next man, and has a great heart. I know it isn't a black heart. It is as orange as a pumkin.

Football reigns supreme in Tennessee. Down here, they believe girls play basketball...ergo the Lady Vols, their national title dominating Ladies' Basketball team. I haven't quite convinced anyone here that Basketball is also a national championship MEN's sport.

I've never really looked good in Orange. It makes me look sallow, but I have to say that Neyland Stadium has a definite orange ambiance. It reminds me somehow of a huge, pulsing living, breathing Jack-o-lantern, ripe for the madness that erupts when that Big Orange machine comes charging out of the bowls of the orange stadium, running through the orange Pride of the Southland Band, followed by orange cheerleaders and orange dance team members and all the peripheral orange members that make up the inner sanctum of the Volunteers.

Most of the time, my eyes travel immediately to "Smokey," the Blue Tick Hound that is Tennessee's mascot. Smokey doesn't care that most of the spectators seem to think life and death can hinge on the outcome of any particular football game, whether the opponent be Western Kentucky or UCLA or Georgia or Florida or even my own beloved Kentucky. All Smokey cares about is getting to charge up and down the sidelines or run across the end zone following one of those all important touchdowns. Smokey is just happy to be there. I can only imagine what he must be thinking during the game, and I wonder how often the urge to charge the field and chase that pigskin enters his doggie brain. It is, after all, his natural instinct to chase and fetch. He must wonder why he isn't allowed to chase that ball, since everyone else on the field seems to be allowed to. Be that as it may, I can't help but be infused with enthusiasm for the game when I happen to glance at Smokey and see him dancing on the sidelines, eager to join the fray and happy to be part of that Big Orange Hullabaloo.

I like football. I like UT Football. I will be a fan...right up to the point in time that UT plays UK. That's when my blue Wildcat colors will come out and ours will be a house divided. I wonder what Smokey thinks about the mascots that accompany other teams. Somehow, a human impersonating a wild cat doesn't carry the same "uumph" as a living, breathing canine mascot.

I think Daisy and Dolly would love to go to a UT football game, but their interest would end when the tailgating goodies are packed away. They are so obvious in their love of creature comforts. They might even give Smokey a second glance; he is, after all, a fine, masculine canine specimen, but unless he came bearing steak bones as gifts for them, those Kentucky Divas would probably not give him the time of day, mascot or not.

I'm not quite certain where the concept of "belonging" originated. One would think the idea of "survival of the fittest" would still rule even in this day and age of technology, but it doesn't. We all want to belong to someone, whether it be family or friend, group or organization. That feeling of belonging defines who we are.

A special look, a touch, that gesture that we share with those to whom we "belong" identifies

us as not being alone. I read a story today about a basset hound in a kill shelter. He was food agressive toward other dogs because he had been forced to fight bigger dogs every day just in order to eat to survive. He was deemed "unadoptable." That label, in and of itself, is a virtual death sentence. There will be no belonging for this little guy unless someone can foster him and perhaps teach him how to feel safe enough to "belong" to someone.I guess all God's creatures have the same basic needs: food, shelter, warmth, and if one of those is missing, our ability to "belong" is diminished, and that, somehow makes us less human.

The Hush Puppies seem to be inclined to "belong" to everyone. Anyone, male, female, two legged, four legged...they love everyone. They even like cats, which tells me they are self confident in that fact that they "belong." I sometimes wonder if they just view me as a larger basset hound, the alpha dog. It really doesn't matter. I belong to them, too. Tonight I think we'll say a little prayer for all those who don't "belong." We hope someone adopts them.

Up to Our EARS!

New Year's Day has come and almost gone. I always feel like a new penny on the first day of the year, shiny and new, unscratched or marred as yet by what the future holds.

In trying to eliminate clutter and get organized, I am suddenly struck by the amount of paper that inhabits my own personal world. While filling the tank with gas today, I was asked if I wanted a receipt, and of course, I punched the button for, "Yes." I'm scared if I don't, the pump goddess will spout all my information out to the next unsuspecting customer who stops to fill up. The receipt shot into the air and got carried away on a gust of wind. I watched it go and felt bereft. What are we supposed to do with all the excess paper we are bombarded with, anyway? It is hard to burn it, especially with ordinances about when and where and how and why you can burn anything. Ok..so I can shred it. Then, what do I do with all the shredded paper? I can't burn it. I guess I could use it for packing..but I never ship anything. I have receipts for everything. Sometimes I can't find the bottom of my purse for all the receipts. There are receipts for groceries, for a drink at the drive-thru, for an oil change and for Christmas presents, for a chili dog, for dog food and vet visits and a pair of boots I bought on sale that didn't fit. I can't even use that receipt to return the boots because they were on sale with no returns, so what good is the receipt? I already know I bought the boots. The receipt just ticks me off because it reminds me I may as well have dropped that money down a man hole.

On the other hand, just the second I really need a receipt, nine times out of ten, I can't find it. It drops into that black hole where all the missing socks go. I can find advertisements and flyers and bulletins and sale papers and credit card offers and catalogues and junk mail in all shapes and sizes that seem to think I'm running a half way house for clutter, but at tax time, I know I won't be able to find those receipts for my charitable contributions.

The bassets have simplified the whole issue of paper. They find it really has only one useful purpose. If they can't go outside, paper serves as a temporary "out house." I think they have the right idea.

New Year's Resolutions

I have learned very many life lessons from the Kentucky Hush Puppies. Starting today, I will share some of their wisdom during the coming year. You might be surprised what you can learn from a dog, if you watch and listen.

I often think my "hush puppies" are smarter about life in general than I am. They seem to be able to maintain their equalibrium in circumstances that would try the patience of most people I know. Daisy and Dolly have become accustomed to traveling between "lives," one in Kentucky and another in Tennessee. I, on the other hand, still struggle a bit with having what I feel is a dual identity. I love my job and being able to spend time with my children and grandbabies, but "home" is still that big old white house where I raised my children and lived another life with my husband. It is hard to believe he's been gone four years. Sometimes the lure of that big old house pulls me over Jellico Mountain and I come home to replinish that part of me that draws strength from "home."

We have come to a decision about our New Year's Resolutions this year. The Hush Puppies are going to try to lose a couple of pounds. The vet recommends they cut out that extra treat before bedtime. They are not happy about this. Unlike their two legged counterparts, they don't understand the importance of keeping a svelte figure. It's all about the Scooby Snacks for them.

I, on the other hand, have decided to make a resolution to treat my family like dogs. That might sound strange, but I have determined that most people I know don't treat their own families as well as they treat people they hardly know. I wonder why it is that we take our own families so for granted, expecting them to overlook our faults and forgive that unguarded word, that unwelcome sarcasm, or even that silence that unintentionally creates distance?

I think the Hush Puppies know the secret. They are always happy to see me, no matter how long I've been gone. They show joy from the tips of their noses to the tips of their tails. They can hardly contain their joy when they see me, dancing around and kissing me, eager for hugs and kind words. They kiss every available inch of me they can reach, and voice their happiness, unashamedly with big "Aroooos." They always give me their best: they give unconditional love, and they live only to make me happy. That is the very least we should do for the "two legged" family we love so much.

Happy New Year from the Kentucky Hush Puppies. I hope you are treated like a dog in the coming year.