Noah of an Alternate Universe

In My Opinion:

In case you haven't seen the movie Noah and were still thinking about it...

...in my opinion, Aronofsky stole the concept and character from the Bible just to make a "save the earth" statement that animals and growing things might be more important to God than man. 

You are seriously joking, right??

He also communicated that man's WORST evil EVER is how he has collectively harmed "nature." 

Imagine this: Of all the thoughts in the heart of mankind, every imagination, purpose and desire was ONLY evil. How often? Continually. (Genesis 6:5)

The man's portrayal of both God ("Creator") and Noah is VERY twisted and disgusting -- truly NOT an interpretive Biblical movie in any sense of the word -- as Aronofsky himself has stated. 

Definitely an AU (Alternate Universe) story -- utterly altered reality and remiss of original intent.

But -- by using this title and promoting it as the flood of the Bible, he has been able to draw moviegoers that perhaps would not have gone to his movie under a different guise. 

Pure plagiarism, plain and simple.

'ya think?

Why Not A Book?

TIME is my culprit. Taking the TIME to just do it. It seems like a "forever" thing to accomplish...and I always have so much catching up to do just in everyday life. Yes. TIME. That is my culprit. :)

Ramblings of a Future Memoirist

ram·bling [ram-bling]

Adjective
1. aimlessly wandering
2. taking an irregular course, straggling
3. spread out irregularly in various directions
4. straying from one subject to another, desultory
 

des·ul·to·ry [des-uhl-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee]

Adjective
1. lacking in consistency, constancy, or visible order, disconnected; fitful
2. digressing from or unconnected with the main subject, random


Thinking through the above definitions, I would have to say my title is very apropos, but not to the extent of being desultory. If I were to pond-er anything that's desultory, I would write of my mother. And if I were to now write about her...well, THAT would indeed be desultory on my part.

I have not seen it feasible to write an autobiography that would be of any interest to anyone, since I am an unknown; meaning, I am not a familiar public figure that would warrant interest. But more and more over the past year or two, the genre of memoir has teased my muse. Perhaps it is time I take it to heart.

I would first write of my intriguing 3-month hitchhiking trip from Minnesota through the Manitoba, Ontario and Quebec provinces of Canada to Bangor Maine and then westward home through the States.

Next would be going back in time a few more years to my spur of the moment decision to travel with a new friend to Chicago, ending up stranded in Madison Wisconsin, living in a near-penthouse apartment, and becoming part of a major drug ring including behind the scenes of the largest rock festival following Woodstock.

Naturally, I could not resist telling of my notable childhood memories and sibling stories, of my beloved daughter and 2 divorces (before I finally got it right), and how this laid the groundwork for who I've become.

But one more story must be told...the one I call Another Perspective. It's the one where I delve into my changing relationship, knowledge and understanding of God throughout these various events. Yes, another perspective indeed!

Many many people have told me again and again that I simply must get my stories in writing -- that they're all very interesting to listen to and there's so much to be learned. I don't know about all that.

What I do know is this: I've pushed to have an adventurous life without regrets, and I love to write. I've also met a lot of people who always seem surprised at all I've done and everywhere I've been. And somehow, that just seems like the right combination to write...
   a memoir...
               or two...or three...or even four!   
(You know, just to have...Another Perspective.)  :~)

Control the Dog -- or Me?

Can you believe it!? Awake at 2 a.m. and I'm thinking about yesterday's trip to the dog park with our two dogs. At two in the morning!!???

The youngest canine is Brandy Bojangles, a year and a half old Cocker Spaniel -- recently spayed -- which is why she could finally go to the park. Brandy usually barks fearfully and incessantly at the mere sight of another dog or human. Yet, once in the park, she took it all in without a sound.  

But this writing is not about Brandy.

The second dog is my husband's three year old, female, Dalmatian/Aussie mix named Zephyr. That afternoon Zephyr did something I had never seen her do before. She jumped up on someone, resting her paws on their chest, then quickly got down as I verbally directed her. But she did it again...and again...and again!...and...to more than one person.

Zephyr had caught me so off guard that I never even had the thought to physically restrain her from doing it again. Why hadn't I simply taken her by the collar, apologized, and walked away?

Everyone involved appeared both surprised and almost entertained by her behavior. It was obvious, that for some very uncomfortable moments in time, I did not have control of my dog. 

But this is actually not about Zephyr either.

Laying there awake in the wee hours of the morning, I became immensely disconcerted about Zephyr. That's when I realized the urgency of how much I truly need to regain control of a lot more than a dog. 

This is really about me, I thought.

Just like that warm engulfing sensation you feel when you step into a hot tub and slowly immerse yourself, I felt strangely comforted and even inspired by yesterday's episode. My mental muscles rejuvenated as I lay there pondering the benefits of a more controlled, more disciplined life.  

It was time to get up and lay out a plan.

To have reasonable control of things around me (including a dog), I must first take control of myself. And, control over the physical body begins with mental discipline, because the body won't quit until the mind gives in.

What a person thinks about -- considers, ponders and focuses on -- is what they become. That is a law. So I will tend to my moment by moment ponderings by giving greater heed to the kind of nutrition I'm feeding my mind with. That's fair and simple.

Diligently disciplining the mind will enable my physical body to attain the desired results I seek, for I cannot function well without significant physical endurance and vitality. This will also mean a balanced diet and exercise. 

I may have the good food and great cooking part of it under control, but there remains a very pressing need for me to concentrate on the exercise side of that equation. I am encouraged by knowing I am fully equipped for success.

Next, I can begin to branch out into my environment, to have better control of my surroundings. This will include my/our dogs, my home and yard, the care of my mother, and...even taxes. 

All these things have one essential aspect when it comes to control  -- the element of time. 

Time~~ (as defined by Juilius O'Hara -- Peter Lorre in Beat the Devil, 1953)

Time. Time. What is time?
Swiss manufacture it.
French hoard it.
Italians squander it.
Americans say it is money.
Hindus say it does not exist.
You know what I say?
I say, time is a crook!

Well, you know what I say? I say, I will need to be more assertive in how I utilize my time, because time is an irreplaceable commodity that requires stewardship.

There it is...all laid out. I cannot -- I will not -- fail. I can only succeed. I will regain the control I desire and need in my life. 

And...

       I will have the presence of mind to simply take Zephyr by the collar, apologize, and walk away.

Hearsay? Or Heartfelt?

How is it possible that one vet would refuse to take a look at my declining dog to see whether or not there was something that could be done to ease her pain; while another vet wanted to see her right away, do a blood panel, and even offered to keep her in the hospital overnight to give her one last chance of recovery? 

The first vet is spoken highly of by her clientele and is probably ranked among the top 5 out of over 100 local veterinarians. The second vet is perhaps not as highly favored in the community, and runs a walk-in clinic along with a not-for-profit service that caters to the tight budgets of many elderly pet owners. 

The first was our top choice after trying four other vets in the area over the past 5 years. After talking to her office staff and many of her customers, we were convinced we had found the best of "the best" for our 3 dogs -- not only quite capable, but a very compassionate vet also. 

At least that's what we thought up until our eldest -- a 9+ year old Cocker Spaniel [click here to read my 2011 post "G" is for Ginger] -- took a sudden turn for the worst.

Ginger had a Protein Losing Enteropathy we had managed to keep in remission for nearly 2 years through a carefully monitored holistic diet. But, the symptoms were back with even more vengeance than before.

It was the day before the winter solstice -- that time of year when the noon sun is at its lowest level above the horizon. About mid-morning, Ginger let me know it took all she had within her to simply lift her head up a few inches above my lap.

I put a call into our new vet.

We were all set to just drive to the clinic, when vet#1 returned my call. I told her how I knew my little girl was on her last leg, but I just wanted to make sure she wasn't in too much pain -- that she was comfortable. 

To my surprise and dismay, this person had the nerve to scold me. Something about a typical case of IBD (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and me needing to get serious about treatment.

Is she for real?? I thought. She admittedly had never seen Ginger, and was looking at 2 year old blood work -- not a biopsy. You've got to be kidding me! Serious about treatment?! 

I phoned the other vet.

Vet#2 saw us right away and wanted to do fresh blood work. Our dear little fighter was severely anemic, so we all decided it best to leave her in the hospital overnight. 

When the phone rang that morning, I knew who it was before I answered. Yes, it had been in the wee hours of that winter solstice, December 21st, that Ginger quietly and comfortably finished her epicurean escapade with life. 

Heading out the door, we grabbed her favorite dusty orange afgan -- the one she always dragged to the front door to tell us "take me with you" when we were leaving in the car.

The vet only charged us for the blood work. No office visit. No exam fee. No hospital charges. Only for the blood work that confirmed we had done everything possible for our little Ginger Girl. Unbelievable!

There was one place in the backyard Ginger was always forbidden to go. We called it "the pit." Relentlessly, she'd head to that spot to eat grass or sniff out some unknown critter. Then we would clap our hands loudly for her to get away and she would jump and run like it was some sort of game. 

Talking things through, it only made sense to us for the "forbidden spot" to be her final resting place.

Wrapped in her favorite afgan, together with her most favorite toy, we placed her in her most desirable spot in the yard, topped off with a headstone! If there was ever such a thing as doggie heaven, this would be it!

As far as vets go...I guess there's hearsay compassion, and then there's heartfelt compassion. As you can about guess, the only similarity between those two is they both begin with the word "hear." Quite seriously, when it involves our other two dogs, the choice is obvious. 

We are so thankful to God to have had those 4 and a half years of healing with our beautiful rescued Ginger Girl (who actually rescued us). And thankful too, for the years ahead with our Zephyr and Brandy Bojangles, who have helped us to move forward...

...just second nature for a dog. :~)

Author Unknown

Have you ever heard of Author Unknown? Do you know anyone who has ever met him or her? Have you ever thought about how many centuries this individual has lived? (You think I jest!)

It is somewhat astounding to consider the number of truly profound and mostly inspiring poems written by this Unknown "character."

Here are just 3 Unknown thought provokers that I particularly enjoy -- especially at this time of year when our kindness and consideration barometers might be pushed to their limits.
  

Charity

There is so much good in the worst of us,
And so much bad in the best of us,
That it ill behooves any of us
To find fault with the rest of us.

Pray Don't Find Fault

Pray don't find fault with the man who limps
or stumbles along the road,
unless you have worn the shoes he wears
or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,
though hidden away from view,
or the burden he bears, placed on your back
might cause you to stumble too.

Don't sneer at the man who's down today
unless you have felt the blow
that caused his fall or felt the shame
that only the fallen know.
You may be strong, but still the blows
that were his, if dealt to you
in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,
might cause you to stagger too.

Don't be too harsh with the man who sins
or pelt him with word or stone,
unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,
that you have no sins of your own.
For you know perhaps if the tempter's voice
should whisper as softly to you
as it did to him when he went astray,
it might cause you to stumble too.

High Resolve

I'll hold my candle high, and then
Perhaps I'll see the hearts of men
Above the sordidness of life,
Beyond misunderstandings, strife.
Though many deeds that others do
Seem foolish, rash and sinful too,
Just who am I to criticize
What I perceive with my dull eyes?
I'll hold my candle high, and then,
                                 Perhaps I'll see the hearts of men.

The Cohen Brothers Couldn't Have Scripted It Any Better

Note: Found this in my unpublished archives from 2 years ago --title included -- and thought it would be fun just to post my notes "as is"...Ho-Ho-Ho.

...we were fighting a series of events (catastrophes, disasters, tragedies...the usual stuff) - Christmas Eve Day - basement floods (Shirley's carpeted bedroom);

_early next day - kitchen floods (during prep of Christmas dinner), pipe falls apart, can't use sink, guest arrives (room in basement); 

_drank wine, ate dinner, drank more wine, dessert(s);

_next day - basement floods (again!?), Silver Grill for breakfast, still went to True Grit (escape!), say goodbye to guest, can't do dishes;

_next day, Monday - call plumber early, go to showroom to pick out new faucet, talk to plumber, kitchen out of commission until Thursday...

_and...I just came down with a little head cold, the sore throat kind. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.

_trying to figure out how to write all this with a humorous slant for my blog. I don't think I'm there yet.

Kathy Twist

Traditional. Like a Norman Rockwell.

Usually, I tend to be somewhat unconventional. BUT...this Turkey Day I am actually going traditional. That's what we call it in our neck of the woods, anyway.

I'll be roasting a 22 pound bird in a brown paper bag. Don't chide. The ol' bird will get nice and browned AND...even the white meat will be moist. Tom T will get to enjoy an Italian Extra Virgin rubdown with a full Scarborough Fair (i.e. parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme) of flavor...yummy!

But even before big bird hits the oven, my dozen red garnet "yams" will be doing a prick-'n-tick cook off (prick the skins with a fork and tick-off the minutes till done), then set aside to cool before their fabulous makeover later in the day.

Mr. T will be dressed with the convenience of pork (yes, I said pork) Stove Top. Okay, okay. Nothing truly traditional (from my era anyway) about Stove Top Dressing, BUT...Lord knows I've tried a lot of scratch programs: 2-day dried bread, fresh bread crumbs, corn bread, tortilla, etc. Stove Top wins -- unmodified.

My  beautiful fresh gree-ee-een beans will have an early garlic saute and jump into a sultry veggie better-than-boullion bath, before joining their cream-of-mushroom-soaked craisin friends in the casserole dish. Tucked in with French's Fried Onions and prettied by slivered almonds, it's enough to appease any palate.

Hand-mashed red potatoes...in their skins...after boiling their half naked quarters in fresh chopped (not minced) garlic water touched by the Extra Virgin. Aha!..now I get to be naughty. Real butter (unsalted) and real milk (2%) added for creaminess.

Turkey giblet gravy -- of course! Jellied cranberry sauce. (Actually tried making it fresh one year.) And, Hawaiian Sweet Rolls -- everyone knows how addicting those are, right??

And what to drink? Wine. Pinot Noir. Willamette Valley or one of the Napa vineyards. Probably a Riesling, too...for my mother. All compliments of my brother.

Wondering whatever happened to the garnets?  Those precious jewels got skinned, sliced and smooshed into a good-sized glass baking dish, enhanced with cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, salt, black pepper, brown sugar and unsalted butter. Not to forget those toasty melty marshmallows seeping into all the crevices as they make their way to the table. Oh my!

When all is said and done -- dessert. Warm lattice apple pie topped with vanilla bean ice cream, paired up with a slice of award-winning pumpkin pie, crowned with vanilla-pecan real whipped cream. 

Ahhh...traditional sounds sooo good right now. But there's one part I haven't dared to mention yet... 

The prelude.

Dare I tell of our delectable fresh-squeezed margarita mix?  Blood or navel oranges and key limes awaiting the perfect ratio of silver tequilla and contreau (this time, the cadillac -- Grand Marnier).

And dare I admit to indulging in all the afternoon appetizers?   

• slightly spicy Italian dry salami with a tidbit of applewood smoked cheddar atop a Monet vegetable round; 
• the intense flavor of asiago resting on a Zesty Salsa pita crisp; 
• cream cheese and peanut butter filled celery sticks;  
• an array of marinated Greek and Italian olives; 
• and a finishing touch of unsalted roasted walnuts and pecans. 

Yes, it appears that even I can handle traditional. Or, as my mother would say: 

Traditional, with a Kathy twist. :~)

P.S. I will probably be adding pictures in a couple of days.
P.P.S. No pictures...lesson learned: I simply can't be drinking like I'm in my 20's or 30's, when I'm actually in my 60's, and expect to have wonderful food photos.