Turkey, Chicken, Duck and other Fowl Words

 Living in a rural area comes with it's share of challenges. One of those challenges is crappy roads. Another challenge is crap left IN THE MIDDLE of the crappy roads. 

The Queen left home at 5:50AM early last week to head to her newish part time job. She was not gone five minutes before the phone rang, and she indicated she had a flat tire. I asked where she was; and, before I could get her location out of her, she indicated that all 4 tires were still inflated after all but that something was making a racket. I told her to come back home, and I'd meet her outside to see what's what. 

The road we live on is straight as an arrow, and I can see almost all the way down to the intersection with the main drag about a half mile away. I stood at the end of the driveway; and, from the time I could see her headlights, I could hear something smacking the asphalt rythymically all the way back to me. 

And what did I find my curious eyes behold when The Queen came to a stop?

Well...that's not good. I wasn't awake enough to deal with that before sunrise. So, The Queen took my truck, and I set about scratching my head, grumbling under my breath and breaking out my floor jack. Fortunately, I am a smart fart that knows to buy road hazard certificates on his tires. So, I loaded the wheel and tire into the back of my mother's car and dropped it off at Discount Tire during lunch. They had it fixed before I even made it back to the house. 

I went through the same area where The Queen got her "flat" later in the day. I say "flat" because it actually held air pretty well despite having a spark plug sticking out of it. THIS is what I found scattered around the main intersection in our little town. 

Knowing how things operate around here, someone left a box of junk in the bed of their truck or sitting in their bumper when it bounced out at just the right moment to land in the path of The Queen's Chariot. 

It wasn't even a few days later when I got another call from The Queen. It seems that The Queen had found herself another object in the middle of the road. This time it happened on her way to the store. Fortunately for me, it was after work and daylight still. Even more fortunately, the temperatures had dropped down into the high 90s instead of the mid 110s they were the previous week. So, I grab my floor jack, mechanic gloves and a few other odds and ends that I knew might be helpful before heading off to town to change a tire. I arrived to find this. 

Bugger. Fortunately for me (again) it was approaching sundown, and the truck was parked in the shade cast by a building to the west. There was a faint breeze that helped the temps just a little. It took a little bit of doing to find all the fiddly bits to get get the truck jacked up (the flat had dropped the front end so much that my floor jack would not clear the bumper), the spare dropped, etc. Another small blessing was that the spare still had plenty of air (70 PSI out of a max of 80 PSI) despite being the original spare (with a 2012 date code). I keep an air pump in the truck just in case. 

Now I just need to find my plug kit and remove whatever the Hell that is so I can put my good Michelin back where it belongs. I'm going to have to mount magnets in front of my tires if this keeps up. 

Is This Thing Still On?

There are lots of euphemisms I could use to explain my relative absence from this space for the last five months. Suffice it to say, much has transpired since we last saw our hero relocating to the supposed peace and tranquility of east Texas. I’m still looking for the proverbial country record that I can play backwards to get stuff back not the least of which is my sanity. 

So, let’s set the Wayback Machine for early May when we closed on the “new” old house. 

That was supposed to be a happy day. I was really looking forward to moving in and getting settled after all the chaos from the preceding year. 

Sigh….such was not to be. 

Once we took possession of the house and were able to get in a look around at what needed doing, The Queen immediately noticed the overwhelming odor of cat urine. It took a few minutes, but it finally penetrated my nasal passages which are not the greatest sniffers on a good day. A trip to Lowe’s for a UV Flashlight revealed that, yes, indeed, the prior owners cats' had sprayed everywhere all over the house. The worst of it was the living room. A quick inspection of the walls in the living room revealed that what we thought was painted sheetrock was, in fact, painted wallpaper over sheetrock. 

Well, thinks I, that’s a simple matter of removing the wallpaper (in a room roughly 15’ wide 19’ long with 12’ ceilings….I am such an optimist) and painting the walls underneath. 

 Let’s just say that Murphy is a dirty rotten scoundrel who hates me personally. 

 If you were not aware, East Texas is, in addition to being as hot as the rest of Satan’s outhouse in the summer, humid as steam bath. Why is this important? Well, we discovered through careful research that exterior walls that have wallpaper in a humid environment with HVAC will trap moisture and make for the perfect conditions to grow mold and mildew. 

Guess what we found behind the wallpaper in the living room? If you guessed mold and mildew, give yourself a gold star. Guess who has a major allergy to mold and mildew? If you guessed The Queen and M&M, give yourself another gold star. 

 Not happy making for Daddy Hawk. 

In addition to trying to get settled and keep work going, now I have to figure out how to get rid of mold and mildew off of sheetrock and find a place for The Queen and M&M to hide while doing so. 

 To add insult to injury, my boss called 17 days later and let me know my services were no longer required for the company. 

Well, POOP and other assorted four letter words. They claimed performance issues were the reason. I’ve never missed a deadline or failed to respond to matters timely. Yes, the preceding year or two were a challenge with caring for The Queen mum and dealing with the aftermath of her death, but who wouldn’t have challenges under those circumstances. So much for care and compassion and “work / life balance”. 

So, there I sit. Haven’t made the first payment on the mortgage, no job, a major project to deal with and a house that is unlivable for 2 out of the 3 members of the household. I did the only thing a rationale person could do. I called my realtor and asked what it would take to get the house back on the market. 

Over the next month and a half, I (with some help from The Queen), removed all the wallpaper from the living and study, discovered a water leak in the skylights (which were later determined to have been improperly installed in the distant past), hired a contractor to fix the skylights, painted the living room, hired another contractor to texture the study walls and master bath ceiling and did my best to keep up with the lawn care, car maintenance and job searching. 

We finally got the house on the market, and it sold for full price within a couple of weeks. Fortunately, I was able to land a temporary gig starting right before the closing on the sale of the house which allowed us to rent an apartment back in the Dallas area while we get our feet back under us. There were some other trials in the interim which are not terribly critical to our current story. The temp gig lasted a little over a month before I landed a better temp to hire gig with another company that is much more to my liking and pays better to boot. A big bonus with this job is that it is 100% remote meaning I can pretty much work from anywhere. 

Things are looking up overall. The Queen and M&M are doing much better now that they are in an apartment with no mold. My boss is happy with my work so far. So, hopefully the job will convert to permanent before the end of the year. 

So, the saga continues. Just not in the direction we thought.

Shared Pain...Shared Joy

Once upon a time, I did a ride along with a Denton PD officer as part of a college project. During the ride along, one of the things I learned about were “Dear Chief” letters. Anytime an officer made a mistake that warranted the chief’s attention, the offending officer would write a letter to the Chief that started out “Dear Chief, much has transpired since last we spoke….” Also, one of my favorite quotes comes from the Callahan Cross Time Saloon series of books by Spider Robinson. That quote is in the side bar “Shared pain is lessened; shared joy, increased - thus do we refute entropy.” Well….Dear Readers, much has transpired since last we spoke. Entropy has been getting a workout.

It all started one fine Wednesday evening a month ago after we all thawed out from the great polar vortex event here in North Texas. It had been decided by The Queen and Princess M&M that Miss Tater Tot needed a companion to keep her company. Never mind the three cats, two dogs and multiple fish that were already in the house. I was informed Tater was lonely and needed a friend. The Queen had been in touch with a crazy bunny lady in a nearby suburb who had several varieties to choose from. After much deliberation and handling of many buns including a handsome Lop named Beast, a lovely blue otter colored, female, Netherland Dwarf rabbit came home to join our herd.

 

Thus began the naming saga. Many names were tried on for size and found to be lacking. At one point, M&M tossed out “Death” as a possible name. What ultimately stuck was “Graycie”. Now, you are supposed to keep bunnies quarantined from each other for a couple of weeks so they can get used to each other, make sure no illnesses are transferred, etc. Well, Graycie had other ideas. Despite our best efforts, we consistently found the little Houdini in Tater’s cage to the point we just threw up our hands in defeat and made one large bunny enclosure under M&M’s loft bed. They get along famously and are regularly seen flopped next to each other.

 

Two days later, I woke up Friday morning to an email from my niece and nephew from whom we have been renting/caretaking a house for the last several years. The email indicated that they had decided that they needed house back so that my niece and her friends could move in by early June. I had not had my morning caffeine injection by this point. It was a bit of an eyeopener to say the least. The Queen thought I was joking when I told her. I confirmed that I was indeed honest and true.

So, the hunt began for a house. We, by that I mean me, had been dead set against ever having a mortgage again. We had been making plans to build a house at Mimi’s property; however, that was a multi-step, multi-year project and we were barely in the planning stages due to the care and feeding of The Queen’s parents the last few years. Calls were made and we reached out to a realtor lady we had worked with a couple of years ago unsuccessfully when we were looking for an alternate situation. We quickly determined several key points in this process:

• In the course of two years, the North Texas real estate market went from bad to bat guano insane.
• Renting/leasing was not an option for several reasons
• Houses are staying on the market for less than a week and in some cases just hours.
• Agents are boldly stating “highest and best offer by Sunday”…and buyers are lining up to wave cash at them.
• It is not uncommon for houses to have multiple offers ABOVE asking price.
• As a single income family, our buying potential was limited which put us in a position of looking at the fringes of the market.

With God, all things are possible as they say.

Thanks, in part, to being a permanent remote worker now thanks to COVID, we literally looked at everything in our price range from the Oklahoma border south to Temple, and from Mineral Wells to Canton in a rough hour to an hour and a half circle around DFW Airport. The state of the market in that general area is crazy. Your choices within my budget are ugly small houses built in the 70s and 80s, sketchy neighborhoods, investor “lipstick on a pig” flip specials or fixer uppers. We agreed that, building not being an option, we wanted a house we could be happy with especially since we were going to have to bite the bullet and get a mortgage. So, we spent several late nights looking at the offerings on Zillow, Realtor.com, Craigslist, word of mouth, etc.

Our agent suggested we look at a house in Sherman, TX which was a fixer upper just on the other side of our pre-qual amount. It was in a nice, well established neighborhood that backed up to a wooded area with a creek running through it. The house was built in the 50s and was in desperate need of an update in addition to foundation work as the east wall was trying to separate from the rest of the house thanks to soil shifting. The current owner is an investor who bought it with the intent of doing a “lipstick on a pig” treatment for a quick turn around. The foundation issues put the kibosh on that thought. I was seeing the potential at the first showing, but The Queen was not. We dithered about whether or not to make an offer for a week or two, and we finally asked our agent to go have a second look at it a week ago today. The Queen finally started seeing what I was seeing as well as the potential financial upside. As we sat down to discuss with our agent what to do about making an offer, she called the listing agent who informed her that it was contingent. This was news to all of us as she had checked before we drove an hour and half to see the stupid thing. I said “I’m done” and walked straight out to the car. She apologized profusely for which there was no need on her part.

Anyway, back to the drawing board. Sunday evening and Monday, The Queen was staying up deep into night looking at houses all over North Texas. She located a few possibilities in Sulphur Springs which is an hour and half northeast of DFW. We made arrangements with our realtor to go see them on Tuesday.

The first house was immaculate. It was like a museum from the 1950s. The original owners of the house were a doctor and his wife who had the house built. They added a wing onto the house in 1960 when they started having kids. It had the original wool carpet. They had three sons who all grew up to be doctors. The original intercom/radio worked.  The original 1950 vintage electric range still worked. They had the old console TVs from the 1960s/1970s. They had the blue prints from when the house was originally built. The widow had moved out in 2015 to go to assisted living and died just last year. The surviving sons had kept the house just as she had left it for the last six years. It was jaw droppingly amazing for a one owner house of that vintage…but not for us.

The second house was nice but nothing special.

That brings us to the miracle house. We almost didn’t see if because there were already two contracts pending on it. The Queen and the realtor decided “why not?” and off we went. After a brief lunch stop, we made our scheduled showing time and stepped into the Twilight Zone. Imagine, if you will, a house originally built in Fort Worth in 1868, disassembled and rebuilt with the original lumber in Sulphur Springs in 1874. The house lives through several owners as a one-story farmhouse just a few hundred yards from the courthouse square for just over a hundred years before the current owner bought it. She and her husband decided that it needed full renovation. They added an entire second story including a grand, sweeping staircase. They gutted the walls, double insulated them, added Anderson double paned windows, rewired and replumbed the entire house, modernized the master suite and the kitchen. The house has over 3400 square feet and the asking price was right at the top end of my range. We loved the house. And we walked away deciding not to make an offer on it thinking we didn’t have a chance at it because of the pending offers.

Now, here is where Entropy really started to get a workout. First, at the miracle house, there is a bedroom upstairs that is pink. M&M immediately fell in love with the pink room and claimed it as her own. She then proceeded to have a great old time running around the upstairs playing. This will be important later in our story. Second, on our way home from Sulphur Springs, literally 1 minute from our house, The Queen’s chariot took one on the chin after a driver, whom I shall charitably call “clueless” made a sudden left turn from the middle lane smashing right into The Chariot.

The whole thing felt like it was happening in slow motion until things started flying everywhere. The Queen made a valiant effort to avoid the crash, but there was not much she could do. I was in the front passenger seat (since I was working remotely from the car). Disentangling myself from cords and cups and papers gave me enough time to chase the inner ogre down and put him back on a leash. I got out of the car to check the damage and ask the other driver if she was okay. Instead of answering that question, she said “I had my turn signal on.”  To which I replied, “That does not mean you can turn left from the middle lane.” “Oh”, she said. I got on the phone with 911 to get things rolling. Fortunately, there were three witnesses who stopped to give their information. All had the same story to tell. The Chariot still runs and drives and does not appear to be leaking any vital fluids. It just has the automotive equivalent of a shiner with a few scrapes. Hopefully, the insurance company won’t try to total it. I’ll be getting an estimate from the body shop for my carrier first thing Tuesday morning. The other driver’s carrier has called but not connected with us yet.

Ouch

Physically, we all have soft tissue aches and pains. M&M and I seem to have faired better than The Queen even though the impact happened on our side of the car. The Queen has taken it a little harder. She will heal though. That’s all that matters.

So, Tuesday evening after the accident, we were on the phone with our realtor about whether or not to make an offer on the miracle house. Our realtor told us that the Sherman house came back on the market as the contract that came in under the wire of our second showing had fallen through. The layout of the Sherman house actually works better for our current situation, and there are some other personal benefits to being in Sherman that are unimportant to our story. So, we told our realtor to make an offer.

Turns out that the owner on the Sherman house doesn’t really want to sell the house for what it’s really worth in its current condition and is convinced that someone will come along and pay him his asking price. That won’t be us.

So, I’ll skip the back and forth between the realtors on the Sherman house which took up all day Wednesday and most of Thursday. Thursday afternoon, I get a call from the realtor that the owner of the Sherman house countered our offer by increasing the price to effectively net the same amount as his asking price on clean contract. Our realtor also mentioned that she received a text from the listing agent for the miracle house. Word was that the owner had rejected the pending offers, was pulling it from the market for three weeks to do same minor repairs but that if we were still interested that we could do a deal.

Huh???

So, you’ve heard people say when one door closes another opens? This door not only opened, but it was taken off the hinges.

Our realtor had given feedback to the listing agent including the story about M&M loving the pink room, etc. Turns out the lady of the house, a woman in her early 70s with a serious health issue, decided she didn’t like the investors who had submitted low ball offers well below asking price (one of whom she called a “jerk”) and was tickled at the idea of a little girl playing up there. So, the listing agent told our agent to give them an offer as close to asking price as possible and they would see what could be done. I immediately told our agent to terminate the contract on the Sherman house, and we drafted up the contract on the Sulphur Springs house.

Friday passed with no word. Apparently, the owner was out of town visiting her children. Saturday evening, we got a call from our realtor that they executed our contract with no changes. We were floored.

But wait….there’s MORE!

Our agent says, “So, would you be interested in the washer, dryer and refrigerator that are there at the house?” I had been planning to ask about that as we do not currently have those appliances in our personal possession. So, we said, “Absolutely.” Then our agent drops the kicker. The owner is giving those appliances to us as her gift to us. These are practically new appliances.

Body…meet floor. Floor…body.

I was speechless for several minutes. The Queen and I could not stop tearing up. Our agent sent us a packet with the history of the house which we did not have prior to making the offer. The house is essentially a 153 year old house that was completely rebuilt from the inside in 1983. I can’t wait to share photos. All because a little girl made an elderly woman smile. 

2020 in Review

My Sister…The Devil wrote a 2020 retrospective post; and, not to be outdone, I decided I would take a look back as well.

As tempting as it is to declare 2020 a total loss, a glorious example of Turd Theater writ large, the sinking of the Titanic brought back to life, etc., that is not entirely fair to the actual performance of 2020 as opposed to any other arbitrary time period in history. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a repeat of 2020. I am just enough of a pessimistic realist to know that history/karma/The Great Spaghetti Monster is out there lurking in the wings waiting to say “Here, hold my beer and watch this!”

So, let’s start off with the really craptacular aspects of 2020 from the perspective of Castle Daddy Hawk.

January – Oma went on Hospice care due to her Alzheimer’s. This was really a good news / bad news situation. On the one hand, it was long overdue. On the other hand, I had to all but force it down Opa’s throat with him kicking and screaming. While I can’t say enough good about the Hospice folks and the things they were able to do for us, I really wish they could have done more for us. We were at the end of our rope by that point (which was no fault of theirs), and we should probably have pulled the trigger on that decision about 3 months earlier than we did.

February – One of our cats, Binky, was not feeling well. So, a vet appointment was arranged; and, silly me, I thought they would give him some antibiotics and send him home. Turns out he was positive for feline leukemia and anemia. The vet really didn’t even offer any other options beyond euthanizing him. He was not even 2 years old yet. So, that was a bit of a downer.

March 1 – As previously written here, March 1 dawned with Oma shuffling off her mortal coils. As expected as it was and as much of a blessing as it was, losing a loved one SUCKS no matter how you slice it.

The rest of March and into May – COVID lock downs and toilet paper hoarding. Need I say more?

Actually, I will say more. Opa, in addition to some chronic physical health issues (which he will do nothing about), has more than a few quirks. His most serious quirk, bordering on mental illness (actually I think he qualifies for full citizenship but I’m not a licensed mental health professional), is INTENSE germaphobia. One side effect of this issue is a profoundly wasteful use of paper products. Specifically, toilet paper and paper towels. He goes through about a roll of paper towels a DAY for various uses including touching anything that he thinks might have germs on it including the freshly washed dishes in the dishwasher, he tears off the first layer or two of toilet paper and flushes that down the toilet before using the next several layers of toilet paper to cover the seat (since he has to share a bathroom with others) not including the unknown amounts he uses to wipe his own bum,….you get the idea. He refuses to shower on a regular basis and instead uses baby wipes by the box full to wipe down with. So, despite repeated warnings that paper products were in short supply, it was a constant battle with him to keep the house supplied with TP and such. So, pretty much anytime we found useful paper products, we were stocking up and hiding it from him. No, I am not ashamed in the slightest for doing so.

One other side effect of Opa’s germaphobia is that he now refuses to go out in public for ANY reason because he is afraid of COVID. He refuses to go to the store, pump his own gas or pretty much anything else. He waits until the last possible minute to ask The Queen or I to get him what he needs and then acts offended when we get frustrated at him or advise him that his lack of foresight does not create an emergency on our part requiring us to change our plans. This will be revisited shortly.

April – if losing Binky was unexpected and unpleasant, waking up one Saturday morning to M&M’s beloved rabbit Taco being unexpectedly deceased was a whole new level of suck. M&M LOVED that bunny. To be honest, we all did. He was outwardly in good health, and it was a complete shock when M&M came in the kitchen sobbing uncontrollably. We all still miss him terribly.

May and June – Aside from the continued insanity of COVID restrictions, the stress of caring for and losing Oma caught up with The Queen causing her health to crash and burn. Among other issues, she developed Tinnitus which drove her absolutely mad.

July and August – DID. NOT. HAPPEN. They were the months that henceforth shall not be named nor discussed.

September – During August, Opa finally went to visit the home of my brother-in-law for an extended stay that lasted most of the month. It was a welcome break for The Queen, M&M and I (In addition to being generally stubborn and set in his ways, Opa has been having quite a bit of difficulty adjusting to life as a widower. That makes for many frustrating situations. He is, in many ways, trying to fill an Oma sized hole in his life and frequently crosses lines he should know better than to cross.). Sometime during that visit, Opa got sideways with my BIL’s wife and harsh words were said. The net result of that confrontation was that Opa, who had originally agreed to go with BIL and wife on the annual fall church festival trip and plans made by all accordingly, decided he was not going after all. He waited to tell us until less than 2 weeks before departure. He also started dropping hints, subtle and not so subtle, that he wanted us to invite him to go with us. Due to his health issues and the ongoing challenges with The Queen’s health, his going with us was simply not an option given the distance we were traveling and the limitations his physical issues put on his ability to travel. So, we managed to prep the house for him to operate solo before departure and bid him farewell while praying very hard that there would be no disasters upon our return.

October to December – more of the same more or less. I’m not going to discuss the election. I don’t even know where to start with that mess, and I’m not even sure how to sort out fact from fiction on that front. 

On the positive side of things, there is still much for which to be thankful.  

First, Oma is finally at peace and awaits God’s Kingdom. She had been gone (mentally) for at least a couple of years; however, her physical shell had deteriorated dramatically in the last six months of her life. As I mentioned earlier, it was a relief as much as it was sad to see her go. The Queen, while sad to lose her mother, has been handling the loss extremely well having had several years to get used to the idea that her mother was dying.

Second, with COVID, my company made permanent what I had been doing unofficially and unsanctioned already: working from home. It started with the company sending everyone to work from home in mid-March. Due to the year’s financial challenges, the company decided to radically reduce its real estate footprint. To that end, all small to medium sized offices in the company were closed including the one to which I was assigned. So now, not only do I get to officially work from home permanently, the company is picking up the tab for my internet too. That’s a nice little benefit.

Third, as suggested by the second, I’m still gainfully employed and didn’t have to miss any work because of COVID. That’s not nothing. The company was strong enough to finalize an acquisition of another similarly sized company too. So, while we missed some financial targets and there was a voluntary separation program offered to those above 55 and with at least 5 years with the company, the company should be around for a while yet.

Despite all the challenges with supply chains and hoarding, we were blessed to never miss out on any necessities. I will count that as a win.

Summing things up, 2020 could have been much better and could have been a lot worse. For 2021, The Queen and I are trying to finalize and implement some long discussed plans which have been on the back burner for far too long. Further updates as events warrant.

Burritos and Jews: A Memorial

It has been four months today since Oma passed away. I intended to write this and post it much sooner, but it got back burnered for a variety of reasons. My apologies. 

While I recognize that the title of this post may sound a tad insensitive and even offensive to the uninitiated, I assure you it is not. At least not intentionally so. The explanation will sort itself out as we go. I hope. I would encourage the easily offended to reserve judgment until the end. Or, better yet, take your judgment elsewhere.

So, who was Oma?

She was born in San Pedro, CA and was the younger of two children. She graduated from high school but did not pursue higher education. She lived for a few months in Hawaii. Sometime after her return from Hawaii, she met the young man who would eventually become Opa. According to family lore, Opa proposed to Oma three weeks after they met; Oma, having nothing better to do, accepted. 56 years ago, they eloped and went to Las Vegas to get married (a fact Oma desperately tried to hide from The Queen for years until a friend of the family innocently spilled the beans).

Oma was a homemaker and a stay at home mom who gave birth to three children at home from what I have been told. The oldest, a boy, died from the flu when he was only an infant. The Queen is the youngest. Between The Queen and her brother, there are four grandchildren (including The World's Cutest Little Girl M&M) and now two great grandchildren. The most recent great grandchild was just born a week before Oma's passing. Unfortunately, the littlest wasn't able to make it by the house to meet Oma as his momma hadn't fully recovered from giving birth yet. The older great grandchild was able to meet Oma briefly in January. He won't remember it, but we do have photos of the event.

I've shared a few snippets of life with Oma since the Alzheimer's. So, I won't spend too much time on that now.  It is kind of funny how some of the things which were seriously annoying in the moment (like the whistling, the drumming, the Sundowners, and the "S" word) are now almost fond memories compared to watching her waste away over the last month. Oma would have been mortified had she been in her right mind.

So, what was she like before Alzheimer's?

For starters, she was an indifferent cook if we are being generous. Oma herself said she was allergic to the kitchen although she was only too happen to clean up the kitchen for anyone willing to use their culinary efforts for her benefit. Oma would cook for sustenance, but there was no art to it. Spices were a foreign concept. If she roasted a chicken, it would behoove you to add a large helping of your favorite condiment to reconstitute some level of moisture to the bird and add a flavor...ANY flavor...to the meat.

Strangely enough, that's not to say that people don't remember her cooking fondly. Ask anyone who knew her for any length of time what they remember most about Oma's cooking, and, invariably, they would say her "Bean Burritos". What do I mean by a bean burrito you ask? To answer that, I have to tell you this. Oma was a classic introvert to Opa's gregarious extrovert (though you would never have known she was an introvert if you met her at church). According to The Queen, Opa had a habit of inviting a number of people over to the house after church for dinner...and not telling Oma until they were in the car on their way home. Oma would blow a gasket, threaten Opa with bodily harm (occasionally inflicting some) and then set throwing together a meal with whatever was on hand which usually meant speed cooking a massive pot of pinto beans, mashing them up, heating up some tortillas and setting out the burrito fixings buffet style...complete with Mayonnaise. No joke. That family has kept Kraft and Hellmann's in business over the years.

Oma had one, to my eyes, very odd quirk in the kitchen. She would "dissect", as she would call it, her eggs. For reasons I could never get her to explain, she would crack eggs into a bowl and proceed to stick her fingers in the eggs to remove the white, stringy stuff next to the yolk (my quick Google Fu tells me this is the Chalaza which are spiral bands which hold the yolk in place in the egg whites). She would readily admit that she could not tell the difference of whether the Chalaza was in cooked eggs or not, but she would not cook an egg without removing it. Odd that. Go figure. 

Oma could also be quite resourceful. In true Scottish fashion, she was also a penny pincher and a bit of a hoarder. Anytime she was out walking in public, her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in search of loose change, lost fasteners and other items. We would sometimes have a bit of fun with her and toss coins in her path. She would get so excited until she figured out what we were doing. When we cleaned out their house, there were stashes of coins and hardware everywhere. She was not above stopping the car to inspect items left on the curb by others and not a few items were deemed good enough to be salvaged and repaired. 

Oma was also somewhat mechanically inclined. Opa is a procrastinator of the highest order; and, as I have mentioned in other posts, he is the only man I know who is cursed with the "Anti-Midas" touch when it comes to mechanical objects. He would (and still does) put off preventative maintenance until well beyond it's due date. Oma would step in and change the oil on the cars or whatever needed doing. Opa tried to get the minister to tell her to stop doing that, and the minister told him to let her do it if she was good at it. 

Finally, the last tidbit I intend to share. Oma was convinced that everyone is a Jew. Everyone. No exceptions. Bear in mind that Oma was raised as a Christian; and, to my knowledge, never set foot in a synagogue or had any Jewish ancestry whatsoever. I didn't matter what your ancestry is, what you looked like, skin color, you name it, she didn't care. She was insistent that you were a Jew. You can imagine some of the looks she got with that one. It was downright comical when she said that to one of African American brethren in the Church. I'm pretty sure they got whiplash when the cocked their head to the side trying to make sure they heard her right. 

So, there you have it. A brief memorial to The Queen Mum, Oma, and some of her more endearing qualities and quirks. May she rest in peace. The next time you eat a bean burrito, think of her. 

Rest In Peace Oma

As the title suggests, The Queen Mum, Oma, passed away peacefully in her sleep early Sunday morning sometime between 3:30 AM and 9:00AM. She was 77.

Friday night had been a difficult night for her. Fortunately, hospice had sent over Sir Morphine and his squire Lorazepam to help Oma's pain and anxiety. I spent a sleepless night tweaking the dosages from the recommended starting point suggested by hospice until finding the right combination that made her comfortable.

After finally getting to sleep at about 6:30AM Saturday morning, I had no intentions of getting out of bed unless there was a winning lottery ticket or Ed McMahon involved (you younger kids will have to look up the Ed McMahon reference to understand why that's amusing to me). At roughly 1:30PM, there was a banging on the door. The Queen hinted that I should be a dear and find out who was rudely disturbing our slumber on a Saturday afternoon.

I stumbled through the house bleary eyed with my hair sticking out in all directions. I peered through the peep hole in the door to see the blurry shape of a vaguely male figure in a white shirt and tie. Since I had left my glasses on my nightstand, that was as good as it was going to get ID wise without opening the door. I took a risk that I wasn't about to get preached too before having been caffeinated and, hoping Ed had finally brought that huge check from Publisher's Clearing House, unlocked the door. I figured the risk of a well dressed home invasion was pretty slim.

Turns out it was a long time friend of my wife's family and his daughters coming to visit Oma at my brother-in-law's suggestion. So much for sleeping in. I woke up The Queen. Opa was in the bathroom taking care of his necessary business which takes a fair bit of time as he has to catheter and generally ends with him walking through the house butt naked back to his bedroom. Rather than scar non-family members for life, I gave him a heads up that we had guests and brought him his clothes so that he could exit the powder room somewhat decently attired.

The rest of the day Saturday was spent entertaining as my brother-in-law, his wife and my niece arrived around 3:00 and were later joined by another family friend. Oma had a pretty good day overall with the help of The Queen and Sir Morphine. The Queen had nice music playing in her room, a breeze was blowing in throw the window, and she was surrounded by people who loved her. In hindsight, it is pretty apparent that she slipped into her final coma sometime during the afternoon/evening.

I went to bed around 3:30AM Sunday morning after a final check in on Oma at which time she was still breathing. The Queen and I chatted for a bit about how much longer this would go on. I told The Queen I felt the end was very close. She asked me what made me say that to which I replied it was just a feeling based on what the nurses had said and watching Oma over the last several days. I had no idea how right I was. The Queen tried to sleep but reports tossing and turning with no real sleep. She checked Oma a few more times also finding her still breathing. Eventually, The Queen was able to fall asleep shortly before sun up.

It was 9:08AM Sunday morning when Opa woke us up completely distraught saying that Oma was dead. The Queen and I jumped up and went to their bedroom. Sure enough, Oma was gone. I called Hospice, and the on call nurse arrived within 45 minutes to take care of the final details of pronouncing her death, calling the funeral home, arranging pick up of the medical equiment, etc. The funeral home arrived within an hour of being called taking Oma for her final car ride.

So, the grieving process has begun. The Queen is handling things much better than I expected. Opa is handling things much harder than I expected. I suppose that is understandable as he didn't exit denial mode regarding her condition until about 2 weeks before Oma died. It remains to be seen whether he can come to terms with his life without Oma or if he will give up and follow her.

That is all for now. I will share some more details about the woman who was Oma in another post. 

Oma - December 1942 to  March 2020

Tough Day

Today has been a tough day emotionally. One of the hospice nurses stopped by the house today for a regular visit. I was busy with work and did not get to sit in like I do when I can. I was stuck on yet another monotonous conference call about how our business unit can support the larger corporate goals for 2020....blah, blah, blah. How about we try focusing on fundamentals for starters and quite trying to "innovate". Seems like every time some wet behind the ears manager gets a wild hair, we have to sit through unproductive training as they roll out another useless tool that robs our efficiency and distracts us from our core jobs. If they would quite screwing with us and just make the tools we have actually work as they are intended, it'd be a nice start. But, nnooOOOOooo, we have to innovate and play with shiny new toys because someone had a light bulb moment instead of asking whether we really needed another new turnip twaddler.

I digress.

The Queen reported the findings from the nurse visit: Oma is starting to show signs that her body is shutting down. Of course, they cannot say how long she has left; however, based on what's happening, we are looking at days to weeks as opposed to weeks to months. The Queen, understandably, has been taking it very hard.

M&M is handling things surprisingly well for an 8 year old. We've been extra attentive towards her and listening more. We also have plans in place for when things appear imminent. So, we've been thinking ahead on that front.

I've given my boss a heads up that bereavement leave is probably in the near future. She appreciated that.

Opa, while also taking things very hard, has finally moved out of denial mode. I don't think he is fully at acceptance yet, but he's making progress. So, that's healthy. I was able to have a good heart to heart with him this evening about arrangements for Oma which he has been avoiding for months now. It went better than I expected, but I had prayed for wisdom before approaching him too. So, maybe a small answered prayer went a long way too.

One small insight that came to me during the discussion with Opa was something I really don't think many people consider when they get married. Opa and Oma have been together for over 56 years now. Opa has said a couple of  times now, "What am I going to do without her?" I told him, "Genesis says the two shall become one flesh. That's more than just a physical bonding. It's emotional, mental and spiritual as well." Opa has relied on Oma for so long, I'm really not sure what's going to happen with him when she is gone.

Sorry for the Monday evening downer post. It's just helpful to write about it. Gives me a way to process what's happening so that I can focus on The Queen's and Opa's needs.

Where's Daddy Hawk Been?

Inquiring minds, or at least Cederq, expressed some mild concern that we here at Preachers and Horse Thieves had fled the coop for the dark side and forgot to turn off the lights or leave a forwarding address. Such is not the case. 

Although, he mentioned something about cookies AND pie...might have to investigate that a little further.

Life, as usual, has stampeded through my free time and taken what little extra bandwidth I had set aside for blogging for a glorious white water rafting adventure down the toilet bowl. 

The main reason behind all of this has been the rapid decline of The Queen's mum, Oma. As reported in previous updates, Oma has been developing a case of Alzheimer's for quite some time now. She was formally diagnosed in September with "Stage 6 Dementia/Alzheimer's". At that time, she was still able to walk relatively well, unassisted for normal distances to/from parking lots, etc. She would still feed herself for the most part. 

Now...sheesh. Wow. You would not recognize her from September to now. She is homebound now, unable to stand or walk without assistance, and she is forgetting to swallow her food. The OMA we knew is gone. In late December, I burned several days of vacation time to get home health aides set up, discuss funeral arrangements and finally get her approved for hospice. The hospice folks have been wonderful. They even came to the house on New Year's Day to do the formal assessment so that I wouldn't have to take another day off from work. 

There is a lot of internal family drama that would be very cathartic to write about but which would probably bore you to tears and only wind up widening the rift into a gulf. As I told The Queen the other day, I will stand before God on Judgment Day to answer for my mistakes. How I've handled the care of her parents won't be one of them. Others in the family will have some answering to do. That's  all that needs to be said about that in this forum. 

So, I haven't gone anywhere. I promise I will give this blog a proper shut down if it ever comes to that. Due to higher priorities, posting will remain light with scattered bursts of my usual drivel and humor when possible as The Queen and I are handling the majority of the care giving with hospice assistance. 

Animal Magnetism

Several months ago, I related the tale of rescuing a cat from the center median of an interstate highway. In that post, I mentioned The Queen's gift/curse relating to animals in distress. I am convinced that The Queen puts off a pheromone or the psychic equivalent of the bat signal for animals in distress. It doesn't matter what part of the animal kingdom is involved, they seem to have a knack for finding The Queen. So far, the list of animals she has assisted includes multiple varieties of birds, cats and dogs, snakes, bunnies, turtles and more.

Well, Friday night it happened again. 

The Queen, M&M and I went out for dinner and dessert in Fort Worth. Dessert was at the Food Hall at Crockett Row in the West 7TH area of  Fort Worth. This is one of those multiple use shopping/dining/residential/entertainment developments with mid-rise apartments built above the commercial lease spaces on the ground floors. There is both garage parking and street level parking available. This particular evening, we chose the street level parking. 

We had a lovely dessert of cupcakes from Gigi's Cupcakes in the Food Hall, and we had just gotten back to our car when The Queen heard the faintest of "mews". We all turned around to see this tiny little half starved kitten running up to us with that "Hey buddy, could you spare food?" look. 

You see where this is going I'm sure. 

We spent about an hour out there on the street taking turns petting him, looking for possible places he could have come from (none were apparent - apartments above, parking garage below and across the street), finding him some food to eat (he tore up a small bowl of chicken shawarma and some cream), discussing the insanity of bringing little fuzzball to the menagerie, etc. 

We eventually decided that there was no momma kitty or siblings nearby nor any likely place where he could call home. So, we picked him up and headed to the car. He road home like he was a pro at riding in cars. No freaking out. No crying. Just curled up and purred contentedly. 

He bears a striking resemblance to my beloved and dearly departed cat Sneaker. He talks a lot and purrs almost non-stop. He's been attacking my hands and feet while I've been writing this. We haven't decided on a name yet, but we have several contenders. 

M&M wanted to name him Kung Pao. That was a hard no for The Queen and I. Snickerdoodle was an early suggestion/rejection. Earl Grey was given the boot. Friday was discussed, but died for lack of  enthusiasm. Iggy, Igor and Ozzy (Clawsborne) are the current leading candidates. We shall see what sticks as his personality comes out.  

You've Never Really Lived...

...until you've vacuumed your back yard.

I know it sounds like a really messed up punishment you'd give a kid for some epic screw up, but this really happened recently.

You see, several years ago, The Queen convinced me we needed patio furniture. Pro tip to all: patio furniture should be made out of dimensional lumber. Anything else is a waste of money. Case on point to follow.

The Queen, being a serious shopper when she sets her mind to it, found a listing on Craigslist for a little out of the way shop that had a set up patio furniture for sale for a stupid low price. If you've ever priced patio furniture at a big box store, you know dropping a kilo buck is not uncommon for "decent" patio furniture. I forget the exact price, but I think it was sub $500. This is almost Guido "It Fell Off The Truck" territory, but we checked the place out and it was legit.

Any deal, one of the selling points for The Queen regarding this particular set of patio furniture was that the table had a glass top. Pro Tip Numero Dos: Never, EVER, buy a glass top patio table in North Texas (where hail storms with baseball or larger hail are a regular thing). Luckily, for me at least, this set of patio furniture managed to dodge several hail storms and even one tornado. Unfortunately, time and weather had not been kind to this set of furniture. Texas heat is brutal, rain rusts metal, things break and get lost...you get the picture.

So, after about a decade of service, we put the patio furniture aside for eventual disposal and/or repurposing.

Well, along came the dogs. Two dogs who'd never met a free range bunny in the backyard before. They really wanted to get to know Taco a lot better. Taco was less than thrilled with that idea.

So, The Queen decreed that a barrier must be erected to separate Taco and the pups. A trip to Home Depot and the parting of  $80 to$100 of my cash later, and we had a barrier. Of sorts. The dogs, managed to defeat my best efforts at fencing on a distressingly regular basis. Part of the problem was that we had to have a gate to allow access to the Taco side of the fence. This was the weakness that the dogs exploited. The Queen had a light bulb moment, and the table top from the patio furniture was pressed into service as a sliding gate supplement.

It did not end well.

Roughly 3' x 7' of shattered glass

One fine summer day, the weather turned nasty in a hurry with winds blowing storms in toot sweet. That lovely slab of glass patio table top toppled over and immediately fragmented into about a million little pieces of super sharp silicon.

Well, I needed an excuse to by a shop vac. I just never guessed it would be to vacuum the yard.

Daddy Hawk's Discount Doggie Emporium

To those of you acquainted with me in real life (or at least the facsimile of real life that exists on FaceBook), you already know what's coming. Shhh...don't spoil it for the rest of the readers.

So, last week, I had business in the southern part of the state. Since I live in North Texas, that would be pretty much most of Texas. However, in this particular instance, I am referring to the arm pit of Texas, the "greater" Houston metropolitan area, and San Antonio. Since it was a "two-fer" trip, I elected to drive as opposed to trying to deal with flights, hotels and rental cars. Just dealing with cars and hotels is a lot simpler and allows me to do two things: 1) control my own destiny (more or less), and 2) bring The Queen and M&M along with me for the ride.

Business was uneventful, and the drive home was sufficiently late enough Tuesday evening and near enough to Mimi's house, that we chose to stay the night since I didn't have to have the rental returned until Wednesday morning. When Wednesday morning dawned and we loaded up the rental for the short drive back to our home to off load our junk before returning the rental, we were departing Casa Mimi (aka "The Farm") when we spotted a female dog in the driveway who most clearly in "a family way".

We snapped the above pic and texted it to Mimi to see if she was aware of this young lady casing her house (this is not an unusual occurrence as Casa Mimi has been the refuge of  choice for many a stray over the years). Mimi denied any and all knowledge of the poor, lost waif but promised to keep an eye out for her. We proceeded to depart secure in the knowledge that God and Mimi would take care of it.

We didn't think much more about it until Friday morning when Mimi texted to advise that there was a 12 week old black lab puppy in her driveway. I thought that was oddly specific considering Mimi was departing for work at the time. We have not been "in the market" for a new dog since our beloved Numbnutt had to be put to sleep; however, a chance at a free black lab puppy is not to be missed. So, The Queen, M&M and I loaded up the chariot and returned to Casa Mimi to begin hunting for the rumored black lab puppy.

We arrived before Mimi returned from work at noonish to find no sign or trace of any black lab puppies. What we did find was the little lost, pregnant waif still loitering in the neighborhood. After much searching and following of little miss preggers, we came to the conclusion that the mamma dog to be and the black lab puppy were, in fact, one and the same. Mamma in waiting had been curling up in the flowers next to Mimi's driveway; and, when so cuddled up, her white patches were not visible. Mimi confessed to not having seen the fabled puppy standing or otherwise moving. So, a lab puppy was not to be.

But, the adventure endeth not there. A cold front was coming (or so sayeth the weather guessers...truly Texas forecasts are a joke at best), and temps were expected to drop below freezing. This was intolerable to one and all, and The Queen set about making efforts to befriend one pregnant female dog of uncertain pedigree (it's hard to tell in the photos, but she has a long neck, smallish lab shaped head, longer body out of proportion with her legs and a pit bull tail).

At first, mamma mia was reluctant to come near The Queen and gave a subtle "I'm scared. Leave me alone." low growl. Several treats later, some water, a dog bed and some food along with gentle coaxing by The Queen, and she was down right sociable.

As we spent more time around her, it became apparent that she was most likely a "dump". Some sub-human pile of excrement most likely dropped her off in a "nice area" (Mimi lives in a small, rural town...not quite "turn off the paved road", but you can see it from there.) thinking she could fend for herself. I'm here to tell you, after the better part of at least 3 days, she was not fending for herself. She was thirsty, hungry, scared, stressed, uncomfortable and still keeping a close eye on the road and perked an ear at certain car sounds. So, we suspect she had stayed close to where she was dropped in hopes that her "pack" would come back for her.

There are no words I can share for my thoughts on the person who would do that to a pregnant animal. Then again, I like animals a whole lot more than I like most people.

Anyway, on with our story. As night fell, temps were dropping, condensation was making everything wet, and she was a shivering ball of bloated beached whale. So, we decided she needed to be relocated to more suitable accommodations. Mimi just happens to have a reasonably well built greenhouse complete with heaters, etc. Mimi's house is in "no vacancy" status due to the pipsqueak in residence named Lulu who is sweet dog one on one but who has vociferously expressed her displeasure at the presence of an interloper. So, we made a comfy place for her and set about deciding how to relocate about 50 pounds worth of female dog and her bus load of puppies without inviting disaster.

Since she hadn't reach full trust stage with us yet, she was in no mood to help or make things easy for us. We wound up helping her into a dog bed after which I carried the dog, bed and all, to the greenhouse. She promptly spread out and made herself right at home. Several pettings and head scratchings later, and we received a couple of contented doggie sighs signaling that she was good for the night.

Saturday morning dawned to find us no closer to puppies getting their eviction notices. Mamma May I is much more  relaxed but as uncomfortable as one might expect a short legged dog to be carrying a wide load.

We did attempt to take her out for a walk or two to get her some fresh air and sunshine. Unfortunately, both walk attempts ended in short order after she got tuckered out necessitating yours truly acting as your friendly neighborhood sherpa to carry her back to her bed.

In the mean time, puppy watch continues. I expected to hear the pitter patter of little paws yesterday, but God apparently hasn't given the pups their GO signal yet.

Momma is really a sweet little lady, and I expect she will be a good momma dog to her babies. We have no idea what the pups will look like since we have no clue what the  male side of the equation looks like. I'm gamely trying to remain unattached to her which is really hard because she is an easy dog to like and who wouldn't want to take in an animal in need (discounting the piece of trash who dropped her off on the side of the road). M&M is already in love with her, and Momma Dog lights up like a church on Christmas Eve when M&M comes in to check on her. As much as we would like to take her in, we have other considerations not the least of which are three cats, a rabbit and an unknown number of puppies who need new homes. So, her status remains in limbo for the time being.

So, anyone looking for a sweet dog or a puppy? The puppies need a few more minutes in the oven before they will be done cooking at which time the recipe says to rest them in a cozy spot for about 8 weeks. Pics of pups to follow. Let me know if you are interested. Free to well qualified good homes.

Source Material

The Queen has been out on her annual fall trek through the thrift stores hunting clothing and other apparel for our upcoming trip (hopefully Haweewee if it doesn't get blown off the map by the hurricane currently spinning up in the Pacific). So, she sends me a text at the office with the a photo of the following t-shirt:

She allowed as how it was the perfect shirt for me...since I typically refuse to accept much of anything without critically assessing the facts and source material.

I can't help it. I come by my flaw honestly as I was trained that way by a wise, old, Jesuit priest turned history professor in my history methodology class. The man had to be in his 70s at least at the time, and that was...more than a few years ago. Let's just say, if that man is still creeping around this old mud ball, I'm shooting him in the head on general principle. You can't be too careful to prevent a zombie outbreak.

God will sort it out.

Anyspeculation, there was a point to this post. I'm sure of it.

Oh yes...critical assessment of facts and source material.

That old Jesuit had all us wannabe history majors do a project (a research paper really) the main point of which was an annotated bibliography. He didn't really care what the subject of the paper was as long as the bibliography was annotated with a critical assessment of the source material including whether it was primary, secondary, tertiary, etc. He also wanted us to take it a step further and assess whether the source material exhibited any bias (this came back to bite me in the butt with my African history professor, but that's a story for another time).

Fast forward mumble, mumble years, and that is one the lessons that has stuck with me to this day. Unfortunately, I think this lesson has been lost on an entire generation (or more) of people.

Case on point. The other night, I come home from work to find two, brand new, freshly purchased boxes of Cheerios (M&M's preferred breakfast cereal) on a pile of stuff being gathered for donation. I queried The Queen as to the reason suspecting something was afoot.

The Queen informed me that my father-in-law, Opa, had told her that he had read an article somewhere that claimed Cheerios contained dangerous levels of a particular pesticide residue. Opa is one of those people for whom a little information is a dangerous thing (no, seriously, he's never met an internet scare of conspiracy theory that he hasn't latched onto). He really should not be let loose with an internet connection without a minder.

This revelation, as one would expect, caused my eyebrows to raise and set off my facial tics just a touch.

I set about investigating the claim du juor. Opa was questioned regarding the source of the Cheerios Challenge. After much fumbling about the dustier corners of his memory, we were able to tease out the source of the pesticide proposition. It was a news article from the Detroit Free Press linked to from the Natural News website referring to a study done by a group called Environmental Working Group.

Now we were getting somewhere. I start doing my due diligence on EWG. EWG claims to be a non-profit, non-partisan organization dedicated to protecting human health and the environment. A laudable goal to be sure. Funding is primarily from grants and individuals. Notable names among the donor list is the Walton Family Foundation (think Sam Walton of Wal-Mart fame) and The Turner Foundation (Ted Turner - CNN Founder). They also have corporate partnerships with many of the bigger names in organic foods.

Nothing about this is particularly alarming. It's not like George Soros or the Koch Brothers are involved. Having said that, did I mention EWG has a lobbying arm? Silly me. That must have slipped my mind. And regarding what issues do they lobby? Environmental, agricultural, food, toxic chemicals, etc.

So, they are environmental advocates. Again, nothing particularly wrong with that, but it could color their findings on certain topics or influence their reporting of facts. We'll get back to that in a minute.

I tracked down the article EWG posted about glysophate levels in foods. Glysophate, for the uninitiated, is the evil active ingredient in RoundUp (created by the nefarious mega corporation Monsanto...yes, I'm being a tad tongue in cheek). It seems that EWG commissioned a laboratory study of glysophate levels in common breakfast cereals. The article published by EWG reporting the results of the lab study started with a link to a recent California jury verdict in which Monsanto was ordered to pay $289 million to a plaintiff dying of cancer allegedly caused by exposure to glysophate. They then get into a discussion of the levels of glysophate in food allowed by the California Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment (1.1 milligrams per day for a 154 pound average person), the EPA (not specifically noted by referenced to be 60 times higher than the CA state allowable level) and the EWG's calculated "one in a million" cancer risk of 0.01 milligrams per day.

The original article I read did not "show their work" on the math, but it seems to have been corrected as they now report that a person would have to eat a 60 gram serving of food exceeding 160 parts per billion glysophate concentration to reach their calculated risk level of 0.01 millgrams per day (which, by the way, is 110 times lower than the  level the state of California says is too much which in turn is 60 times lower than what the EPA says is too much). So, just to put a bow on the math, EWG is saying that the safe level of glysophate in foods SHOULD be 6600 times lower than the level currently allowed by the EPA. They don't make a convincing case for why the level should be 6600 times lower than the EPA or 110 times lower than the state of California. Instead, they seem content to make the argument that it is a chemical linked to cancer and is therefore bad in any quantity.

For the record, I'm not volunteering to drink or otherwise consume 1.056 million parts per billion (that's 160 parts per billion times 6600) concentrations of glysophate in my daily Cheerios; and, truthfully, EWG may not be wrong in their conclusion. I just take issue with the manner in which they are presenting their information.

Back to the report on the study results. First off, the article currently on their website has been drastically revised from the version I read a few days ago, and I really wish I had a screen capture or PDF copy of the original to compare and contrast. The current version shows that EWG took samples of 45 conventional breakfast cereals and 16 organic breakfast cereals and tested them for glysophate concentration. They then report the test results in concentration parts per billion for each sample. All fine and dandy so far. Where things really went off the rails in the original article was that samples results were grouped according to which ones had unsafe levels (color coded in red...for contrast I'm sure). The thing that really bugged me in the original was that  they did not make it clear that the table of results categorized each product according to EWG's much lower concentration level.

To clarify further, the report starts out talking about concentration levels in milligrams per weight before  shifting to parts per billion in the lab results table. The revised article does now provide a brief conversion from milligrams per serving to parts per billions, but the original article did not.

Even in the revised article, if someone is not reading carefully, they might miss that critical distinction. The skeptic in me suspects that was EWG's intent in order to advocate for a new, lower standard for safe concentration levels.

Another, in my opinion, glaring omission from EWG's article is the results of other scientific testing on glysophate, a discussion of the MSDS sheet on the chemical, etc. For instance, it took me literally seconds to find out that the WHO and UN studies on glysophate determined that mammal animal models suggest that concentrations as high as 2000 milligrams per kilogram of  body weight was not associated with genotoxic effects. There's more detail out there than I'm willing to transcribe or cut and paste here. Bottom line is that you would probably have to ingest enough to drown yourself before you'd be at a legitimate risk of getting cancer, and you'd probably puke it up before you got close to those dosage levels.

After I pointed out these little details, the Cheerios mysteriously reappeared in the pantry.

Now, this is just one little drop of questionable information in a practical galactic ocean of information floating around the internet. Why should you care? Well, the president attacks CNN almost daily accusing them of being fake news. Fox News claims to be fair & balanced. Alex Jones gets banned from social media for making wild claims reported as news. For every EWG, there is a company or interest group lobbying for the opposite position. And let's not forget all those companies out there trying to make a buck selling snake oil and legitimate products.

Everyone, it seems, is publishing information at the speed of light. The incredible quantity of information being published everyday makes it impossible to fact check it all. That is why it is so incredibly important to learn to critically assess source material.

So, the next time you hear someone ranting about the latest scandal, conspiracy theory, social justice melt down...etc. Take a step back and dig into the source material with a critical eye. I'd bet that, more often than not, you'll find discrepancies in the reporting that will be most illuminating.

I'd Be Pissed Too...

So, a few nights ago, The Queen and I went out for a lovely evening stroll as we are want to do from time to time. Theoretically, the intent of the walk was to get some exercise and enjoy the evening. We wound up strolling to a little hole in the wall tiki bar that opened up near the house tucked away in an industrial area where you'd never guess there was a bar much less a tiki bar.

We perused the drink menu of island themed alcoholic mixed drinks and made our choices. The Queen ordered something called the Headhunter which was advertised as " Dark rum, cinnamon and banana liqueurs, blended until frozen.

The drink arrived at our table decked out thusly:

Now, I'm not one to be impressed by presentation, but this got my attention. I love the look on the poor buggers face. I'd be pissed too if I had to wear a dolphin hat made out of a banana.

The Queen reported that the drink did not measure up to her expectations passing the palette with very little in the way of flavor. Disappointing. We agreed that we would stick to rum and coke there in the future.

Comings and Goings*

*Much has transpired since last we spoke. Those who are connected to me on the Book of Feces already know some of what I'm about to write. Grab your tissues now. You've been warned.

Along about Thursday evening before Mother's Day, The Queen and I were out and about minding our own business running mundane errands. One of those errands included a stop by the local PetSmart to receive our semi-regular fleecing for the privilege of overpaying for pet food (this is not a complaint against PetSmart as it's not really their fault that our animals HAVE to have the "good" stuff). As we were pulling into the parking lot, we noticed a lady pushing a shopping cart with a small ball of fur in it. The Queen immediately squealed sweet nothings about the unknown boo boo, and I slowed the chariot to avoid making the poor woman and said boo boo a grease spot in the lot. I did roll down my window to ask if The Queen could take a closer look (I know my wife too well).

Before I could say "Whatcha got in the basket Red?", the somewhat harried lady apologized to me for blocking the way. I allowed as how we were not in a hurry nor were we miffed with her presence and advertised The Queen's desire to inspect the fluff ball. Come to find out, the smidgeon of fur was a wee feline of roughly six weeks of age that the lady had spotted in the street moments before it had a close encounter of the Goodyear kind. The kitten apparently did a fair job of tuck and roll or was clipped ever so slightly by the unknown vehicle as the only visible indication of a near pancake experience was a slight scrape on his chin.

The lady told us she was bringing the little guy to PetSmart to see if they could take him in or connect him/them up with a rescue group as they already had their full allotment of felines currently and were unable to find room at the inn. The Queen immediately gave me "The Look"; and, I, manfully trying to maintain a desperate grip on some semblance of control and sanity, allowed as how we did not need another kitten either. The Queen was clearly disappointed, but she did not press the issue.

In what I suspected to be a foregone conclusion, I told The Queen to stick close to the lady and intervene if PetSmart was unable or unwilling to assist. The Queen was only too happy to oblige and proceeded to "help" the lady by holding the micro feline while the lady attempted to talk reason with the PetSmart employee and eventually a rescue organization loosely affiliated with PetSmart.

I went off to take care of the hunting and gathering of the supplies we had come for in the first place.

When I returned, I overheard the last part of the call with the rescue organization. The net result was that they could not take the feline until they found a willing foster family. Failing that, they would have to take the little to a regular animal shelter with the possibility of very short life expectancy.

I heaved a heavy sigh, told The Queen to take possession of the fluffy thing that was sharp and pointy on five of six appendages and staggered off for a bag of kitten kibble while muttering quietly about the fairness of life in general.

A half-hearted effort was made to locate a suitable home for the interloper, and I even received one interested party. Unfortunately, he and I were unable to connect before the kitten had dug his little claws into the family's heart and refused to let go.

Dirty pool little fuzzball, dirty pool.

So, we are the proud slaves to a now 10ish week old male kitten named Winkerbean.

Several other names were tried on for size including:

Binky

Rocket

Stinker

Clawed

Ozzy Clawsbourne

Pinball (appropriate, but taken by my aunt’s cat)

Hissy (previously taken by another family cat and retired)

Rocky

Freebie

Spot (also previously taken)

Have you ever tried to get a six year old to agree on a name for an animal? Especially a six year old who named her rabbit Taco? Winkerbean was the compromise with two out of three family members agreeing and me issuing the deciding edict that we were done trying on new names.

He's definitely settled in for the long haul now. Cute little bugger with a healthy purr and an unhealthy appetite for electrical cords. 

Little did we know that God, in His infinite wisdom, had sent little Winkerbean to us for a reason. 

We have known for about the last two years or so that our remaining dog, Numbnutt - The Half Dog, has been living on borrowed time. He had a close call with a bad case of acute gastroenteritis a couple of years ago and less serious recurrence about a year ago. We just never knew how much time we had left. 

He was born in August of 2005 to my oldest niece's dog, Lilly, while The Queen and JuJu were off cavorting in St. Kitts while I was stuck finishing out my last few days working for a truly evil company before relocating to Houston for a new job. 

The proto Numbnutt on the right.

My niece claimed the proto Numbnutt for her own before giving away his siblings to those well qualified suckers who showed interest. She gave him his first name by trying to placate my displeasure at her lack of responsibility for allowing Lilly to get pregnant by naming the proto Nutt after me. At the time, I was not pleased with the comparison. I got over it. 

So, the proto Nutt went home with Juju and Lilly. Several months later, we received a call from my brother in law that the proto Nutt was in danger of becoming extinct thanks to his momma teaching him to kill chickens. It seems that my brother in law's wife had marked the Nutt for death and was seen looking for suitable implements to off the goofball for the crime of being a dog with a taste for hatched eggs. 

My brother in law, not being one to allow such a fate to befall an "innocent" dog when he knew there were animal lovers in the family to guilt, called The Queen. The Queen asked for/told me I was giving permission to rescue the Nutt, and he was delivered somewhat unceremoniously to our house whereupon he became of ward of my father in law since we had relocated to Houston and had not yet found permanent housing. My father in law bequethed upon him the second of his many names, Tornado, because of his boundless energy. To this day, my father in law refuses to call him Numbnutt. 

Following our return from Houston thanks to The Queen's Mystery Illness interlude, he more or less became a shared dog between us and the in laws. Hence, the appellation of "The Half Dog." It was during the Mystery Illness/Unwilling Two Year Separation that The Queen essentially claimed the Nutt as her own. On one of her good days, she was playing with the dog in the yard, and he was happily acting goofy as always. The Queen said, "You're such a numbnut!", and the rest is history.

From that day forward, he has been Numbnutt. Anywhere we went, he drew praise for his good looks.

Handsome little devil

Inevitably, people would ask his name...and then do a double take when we said "Numbnutt" with a straight face. It became really funny when M&M came along and was old enough to proudly say his name. The college girls at the nearby university found him irresistible when we took our evening walks over there.

Numbnutt has been fiercely protective of his humans and loyal to a fault. He was always especially fond of sharing kisses with anyone in range...which was surprising how far that tongue would reach. "No tongue!!" became a standard phrase around the house.

As he aged, he never lost a step. He would go and go and go. He never grayed around his muzzle like most dogs in their 10s.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Last Thursday, M&M came into the bedroom where I was doing something and said that there was problem with the Nutt. I came to investigate and immediately called The Queen. Numbnutt had just finished his dinner when he collapsed in the living room. I found him on his side, breathing heavily with a rapid heart rate. He had voided his bladder and bowels and was not focusing or responsive. We succeeded in getting him to his feet, but he only made it a few feet to the kitchen before he collapsed again. This time, he threw up his dinner.

Being after normal vet hours, I was not looking forward to another visit to the 24 hour vet in town. My last experience with them was not pleasant. So, I did a quick Google search and the first result was another vet's office that was open until 10:00PM. We loaded the car quickly, and I called the vet's office while on the way to see if they could work us in while explaining the situation.

Numbutt gamely tried to stand up during the car ride to watch the world go by, but his legs wouldn't keep him up. We arrived at the vet's office in short order, and The Queen filled out the necessary paperwork. We were ushered to a room, and the vet came in after a short wait. He was an older gentleman evoking the image of a kindly, family doctor. After hearing our description of the symptoms and doing his own examination, he laid it out for us in gentle tones that he could do a lot of tests to confirm what he already knew....our dog was dying. He said plainly that he could run the tests and probably determine whether it was a tumor or an internal bleed; but, ultimately, there was nothing that could be done. He recommended euthanasia as opposed to prolonging the suffering.

The Queen, in particular, was heartbroken. We were all crying, but The Queen was especially sad. Numbnutt was her comfort during her illness when I was unable to be there for her.

The Queen and Numbnutt - May 2017

The Queen was Numbnutt's Alpha. He would listen to her no matter what. He stood by her and made her smile no matter what. He lived to make her happy and receive nothing more than a kind word and a head scratch or a belly rub in return.

His passing was as peaceful as we could make it. The vet did an excellent job of a difficult task, and I cannot say enough good about them. They earned our respect and will be our regular vet going forward. I took Numbnutt down to Mimi's property to find a suitable resting place.

Like any good dog, he loved to dig holes and lie in the sun. Unlike many dogs, he never bothered cats and left Taco the rabbit alone as well.

I found him a nice spot in the open surrounded by trees so that he could still lie in the sun.

Like all good dogs, Numbnutt loved to dig holes and lie in the sun. He just needed a little help digging the last one.

Rest well our faithful boy. Enjoy the sun.