Welcome to Laura's Web Site, Est. 5/9/07

Will the Real Laura Silverman Please Stand Up?
8/22/07

I am Laura Silverman. Laura R. Silverman. Laura Rebecca Silverman.

No, I am not her.

Yes, I am just in an irritable enough mood today to finally address the subject. After receiving yet another piece of fan e-mail through this site that was intended for her.

When I bought this web domain and site, I had a rather intense conversation with Eric. The pressing matter was what I was going to call it. He wanted me to use my name. Laura Silverman. But I explained to him that there was an actress/commedienne out there of some moderate fame with the same name as me. That I was sure that the domain name was taken. And to prove my point, I did a web search for Laura Silverman. And there she was. Everywhere.

It was not a big deal to me. After all, I am not an actress. I don't need every single iteration of my name to be purchased to protect my domain. Yet, there was an underlying purpose to me buying a web site which is not going to be disclosed in this fun-and-games section. Family and close friends are aware of the real reason, as are the professionals who help me in critical moments of my life. There was and is reason for me to want use my name as my domain; and not for publicity or the confusion. I finally settled on buying LauraRSilverman.com. And here I am.

Since buying this site in the beginning of May, my readership had slowly but steadily increased. I've received enough communication meant for me to know that there are people out there who enjoy what I have to say. Who are actually listening. And who write me out of concern for my health when I don't update my blog for a few days. And I thank every one of you. My health issues are no secret and the fact that you care means the world to me.

But then there are the periodic other e-mails. Her emails. Fans. Old friends from before-she-was-famous. People who are clearly confused. Because her middle name - I believe - is Jane. Not Rebecca.

I've come upon a policy of just deleting those e-mails without reading them through. I struggled as to what to do with them for a while before deciding on this course of action. Should I respond and gently correct the misinformed? Should I ignore them? Should I enjoy the attention? Since the communications were not intended for me, I finally decided it's a matter of privacy for the sender to delete them. I hope that they figure it out when they get no response; not even the obligatory 'fan e-mail' automatic system response.

But having come home today and receiving yet another fan mail, I decided to actually look the other Laura Silverman up on the web. Actually peruse through a few of her sites, and see who she is. I have seen her sister's show once or twice; if I could figure out what cable channel it was on, I'd probably tune in because it was pretty darned funny. And I really liked her in "Dr. Katz." What could it hurt to take a looksie? I can tell you what.

When doing the internet search, I found one web site who's brief Google description declared that she is the real Laura Silverman and anyone else who laid claim to the name is clearly out to exploit her.

Excuse me? EXCUSE ME!!!!!?????

First of all, I am older than her. She stole my name if it was up to be stolen. But the fact is that there are about a bazillion Laura Silverman's in this world. In this country. Even just in Los Angeles. It's a common name amongst Jewish people, and L.A. is a Jewish town.

In fact, when I go to visit my doctors at Cedars, they have to figure out which Laura Silverman I am in their computer by birthday because there are just so gosh-darned many of us.

Additionally, there are a number of us who have also done work that is of some small note. If you look on the internet long enough, you will get past the actress stuff and find them.

As far as I go, I am a published author of a number of magazine articles. I have participated in a Richard Simmons exercise video after losing - at the time - 149 pounds, and now over 200. I have been on TV and in the news papers and in magazine articles a number of times, and not only because of my association with Richard. I will be in a magazine article in October in the Los Angeles Times. I will be a feature segment on HGTV's "That's Clever" in Spring, 2008. (We filmed the segment a few months ago.) I don't need to steal somebody elses name for the fame. I already have been recognized publicly and privately more than I am comfortable with. I never asked to be associated with her. All I want to do is live my life as best I can, using my own name. Because my father named me. After the movie "Laura" which he saw just a week or two before I was born.

For those of you who thought you had found a pipeline to the actress, I'm sorry. Rest assured that your e-mails are dust. They were deleted immediately, and not shared with anyone.

For those of you who come here because you want to read what I have to say, I thank you! I love writing in my blog, and love even more that you care to read. You inspire me.

And to the actress, Laura Silverman, if you stumble across this web site and this post. I am not you. I am not trying to be you and never tried to associate myself with you or your persona. I just want to be me with all of my attributes and faults and everything in between. Because that is good enough for me.

"Lugnut" and other Tails from the Veterinarian's Waiting Room
8/21/07

Cosmos needed to go to the vet yesterday. Normally,I would take both boys, even if only one was being seen, but with the daily temperature in the San Fernando Valley topping at around 106 degrees, I didn't feel right subjecting Sunny to the ride unnecessarily. So, despite his howls of protest, I shut Sunny in the condo and drove off with Cozie.

Our vet has two waiting rooms... one for dogs and one for cats. Sunny has a tendancy to be a bit dog-agressive, so we are normally ushered to the cat side. The boys don't realize what is in those pet carriers, although Cosmos actually did figure it out during our last visit. He sniffed at the bars, and was delighted at the angry hissing and spitting eminating from the interior.

Today though, since I only had Cosmos with me, we went directly into the dog waiting room.

We could not miss the first 'patient' awaiting his turn. He was a Saint Bernard, 180 pounds as his proud dad later boasted. He was spread out across the bench by the front door and also draped over Dad. He looked a little nervous, but Cosmos quickly approached him with friendly intentions, and the two dogs sniffed noses.

I looked around. There was a small herding-dog variety across the room. There was a Chihuahua just finishing up paying for her visit, and leaving. (Imagine the contrast in sizes between the St. Bernard and the Chihuahua!) I made a comment about how, now that we had arrived, dogs of all sizes and variety were represented.

The doggie parents were soon engaged in ernest conversation about the wonderful qualities of their respective children. One of the girls came out from behind the counter to pet the Bernard. "It's ok, Lugnut." she reassured him.

"Lugnut?" I repeated, almost convulsed with laughter! Dad - a very tall, skinny 20-something who was trapped in his seat by the sheer weight of his son spread across his lap, at first looked a little worried about my response, but as soon as I assured him that he had picked the perfect name for his boy, dissolved into laughter too. "He's a lug and he's a nut." Dad explained. Lugnut was there to have his lungs X-rayed.

The girl also stopped to pet Cosmos, and Molly (the herding type dog), and then Lugnut was summoned into the back room. He did not want to go. It took two vet's assistants pulling him from in front and his dad pushing him from behind to move him through the door. A resistant dog that size is quite a challenge!

That just left Molly and Cosmos in the waiting room, but that state of affairs did not last long. A very old lady with a medium sized mutt came in. The dog clearly had his mom over matched and outwitted. He pulled her all over the waiting room. She protested, but he paid her no attention. Since he was friendly, we all laughed. We knew who the boss in that relationship was!

She complained about how big he was, but when I told her that he was nothing compared to Lugnut (who she had not seen), the room burst into hysterics. Then, the vet's assistants - like they had timed their appearance - came through the door. Lugnut didn't want to be X-rayed. Would it be ok to give him a light seditive? The room burst into laughter again. We could all just envision what was going on back there. "Dad" gave the O.K., and they disappeared again

Cosmos was called into the back to see his Dr. Florio. We were back there for quite a while, and then I was sent into the waiting room while he was taken further back for an injection and to have a lump asperated. Molly was still waiting out there; the old lady and her dog had been called in back. But there was now a very nice woman with a rescued Silky Terrorist, "Gigi," who she was brushing. I looked, laughed, and quipped "It's not easy to be beautiful."

At that moment, an Australian Shepard Puppy burst through the front doors. She was way too young to realize that she was supposed to be scared, so she quickly engaged Molly in play. Soon, our eardrums were bursting at the high-pitched happy barking. But the puppy wasn't satisfied with just Molly. Almost before I knew it, she came bounding over to me and jumped into my arms! Then she started kissing my face. Yes, she got her tongue into my mouth before I knew what was going on (Oy) and she also licked one of my eyelashes off! Then, bored with me, she traveled down the bench to visit Lugnut's dad, and then back to me and Molly again. Gigi wanted to play too, but her mom wouldn't allow her to be involved in the maylay.

It was definitely a busy afternoon. A father and daughter team came in, each holding a small terrier in their arms. (Think Jack Russell, but smaller.) The dogs wanted to join in the fun and were not leashed; they had to struggle to keep them under control. I knew that terriers could jump really high, so I asked them what the limits of their dogs were. (The dogs were 9" at the shoulder.) "Well," the father replied, "We had a six-foot wall around our property and the dogs went sailing right over it. We just raised it to eight feet." My kind of people.

A woman emerged from the back leading a poodle. Another pair of women had their dog - another mutt - delivered. A man took receipt of his dog who had had surgery. And Cosmos was delivered to my waiting arms.

We hung around a little while, waiting for them to process us and pay our bill. After 40 minutes, we realized that the staff was out of control. So since Cozie has to go back for another injection on Thursday, I asked the staff if we could just pay them then, and they quickly agreed. Lugnut's dad was still waiting for his son, Molly was called back, and the waiting room was awash in dogs. We left. To Cosmos's relief.

As for Cosmos, he has severe arthritis in both his elbows. Couple that with his badly-healed broken hip, and right now, he doesn't have a leg to stand on. But the injection series that we started him on today was something that I had used on my old boy, Achilles (long gone). It worked very well for him and I hope that Cosmos will be fine over time, too. Keep your fingers crossed for him.

Alpaca Spit and Other Slimy Matters
8/20/07

Last Saturday after exercise class at Slimmons, I headed directly down to the Santa Monica Civic Center Auditorium. There, I found Mariko's annual Fabulous Fiber Fest. It's a very upscale crafting show with an emphasis on luring fiber artists into trying new disciplines. Bead and Button vendors are next to Quilting Booths who are next to Spinning and Weaving Suppliers. Because Mariko is very careful about the artisans she allows to sell at her show, people from all around Southern California come to buy goods without worrying that the quality is anything but the best!

One of the wonderful features of the show is that there are animals who's fibers are used in our crafts in front of the building for all to admire and "love," if the animals will allow it. Before even going inside, I was all over it. The three alpacas got my immediate attention, but they were aggitated, humming their low hum that's so pleasant to the ears.

They are so delicate in features and their eyes are so big that they look like something out of a Disney movie. In fact, they are dromids, members of the Camel family. They can easily be identified from that lineage from their shapes, but also by habit. You see, when they are upset, they spit. And spit they did on Saturday!

That's actually a rather rare event. They are very docile and quiet as a rule, and I found out later that there had just been a group of kids teasing them. That would explain their overall manner while I was visiting them. Rather than being curious about me, sniffing my face and emitting a low undertone of a hum, they were pacing the corral, humming loudly and looking outside, like they were expecting someone. Except for "Mystery," who lay in the center of the corral with an angry look on her face. And Mystery didn't just look angry, she was. I snapped a couple of pictures of the group; she did not approve. (She also didn't approve of her 'roommates' squeezing by her to get drinks of water.) The next thing I know, it happened. I had been slimed!

Alpaca spit is slimy. It's green with a high viscosity. It smells of alfalfa. And just like the slime in Ghostbusters, it covers everything and sticks! Fortunately, I love animals. I was pretty amused. A long time ago when I first started spinning wool, I visited a Llama farm. I asked the owner how far they can spit. "They're accurate up to around 10 feet. Why do you ask?" she inquired.

Because I wanted to know how far away to stand from them when I teased 'em.

There were other animals in front too. Angora Bunnies. (Yes, where angora comes from.)

And Chinchillas!



Apparently, chinchilla fur is now being incorporated into hand spinning fibers. I was very surprised because it's a short staple, but they showed samples of 70% Cormo (a very soft staple wool), 20% Silk, and 10% chinchilla fiber, yarns, and a knitted swatch. The chinchilla lent a lovely bloom to the sample, something akin to angora.

Once I finished playing with the animals, and buying a raffle ticket for a chance to win a hand-made quilt,

I went inside. The show was amazing, as usual. I was actually attending, specifically to meet Michael and Sheila Ernst and buy some of their handmade buttons to use in my jewelry. I not only got a gorgeous set, but I also got a handblown glass bead which was absolutely incredible. I will use it as a center piece in one of my necklaces.

I suppose that if there was a Fiber Fest. every weekend, I might grow used to it and not realize how extrordinary a show it really is. Or maybe I would, because the event of my weekly Farmer's Market has not grown old yet. But sadly, Fiber Fest is only once a year. Ah well, I still have the Southern California Handweaver's Guild annual Show & Sale in Torrance this November to hold me over. It is a different emphasis, but I enjoy that too.

I am so lucky. I don't know what I would be doing now had I hadn't joined forces with the artist and crafting community in my area.

---

Beady Eyes
8/17/07

The thing about doing what you love as a business rather than a hobby is that you can't just do what you want to do. You need to keep records.

This morning, after seeing Dr. V- at Cedars Sinai, I had planned to go to a couple of bead stores in the neighborhood. First stop, King's Beads.

I don't particularly like that store, but they carry the 18 point nylon cord that I use to make my jewelry. I discussed the fact that I now had a resale license that needed to be registered with them; they told me that their policy was that a $50 minimum order needed to be placed before they would honor it. That's illegal in California, but instead of pointing that out to them, thereby souring an already tenuous relationship, I reminded them that I have spent a lot of money at their store in the past. Amazingly, the minimum requirement immediately vanished.

One of the issues that I have at that store, though, is checking out. I have to watch everything they do. They've overcharged me and short changed me in the past. Today, they failed to provide a detailed receipt. Of course, when I call them on it, they fix the issue, but it happens too often for me to assume that the mistakes that they continually make are by chance.

Once finished there, I went across the street to International Silks and Woolens. That is one of the premiere fabric shops in Los Angeles, and has a large wall of buttons. They're helpful, cooperative, and honest. Just in case you don't get the drift, I fully endorse them and hope that anyone that sews or does crafts pays them a visit.

Next stop, JB Buy Lines, a bead store across the street from Paramount Pictures. In fact, I originally discovered them while I was working for Paramount. Their attitude towards me has always been indifferent, but they're easy to work with and their inventory is a specialized niche which I enjoy.

My errands done, it was time to come home where it's necessary to record all of the expenses in my spreadsheet. I have a system. It's a simple system that's easy to follow. But working in spreadsheets is too much like all of my other jobs over the past 20 years and I don't enjoy it. It's a necessary evil.

Then there is the actual construction of the jewelry.

Everyone who knows me knows that I rarely can sit still. I need to be knitting or spinning yarn or weaving or doing something all the time. If not, then you can assume that I'm really feeling bad. Yes, my health is declining right now, but it's nowhere near enough to stop me from crafting. I have a large order to be completed and it's a very special order at that. Inability to sit still combined with product that I enjoy making is a pleasure. But there's paperwork associated with that, too.

You see, I figure out how much to charge based upon both the materials used and the time spent making the piece. My jewelry is very labor-intensive. Because of issues of health, I cannot spend more than an hour or two at it at a time before I need to stop for a while. So I can't just charge for a day's worth of labor. I have to keep close track of the actual time spent on each item so I can fairly estimate what it should cost. So I am now keeping my desk calendar in my studio with me and writing down when I start and stop working.

There are multiple entries on each day that I work. Start, stop, start, stop. It's weird to look at it. I remember when I was capable of working a corporate job. I'd get into the office at 7 in the morning and go straight through until the end of the day. 5:30 pm on Slimmons days, 7, 8, or 9 pm on days that I didn't have exercise class.

No way could I do those kind of hours now. My health issues are pervasive and I just wouldn't hold up. In fact, while in the traditional work force, I didn't hold up. I was out on disability at least once a year, generally for about three months at a time. I'm surprised that I wasn't let go over it, but when I was able to work, my work was exceptional and also there's the matter of the Americans With Disabilities Act. Just like with other laws against discrimination, employers run scared of it. I've rarely even mentioned that I fall under the spectrum of it's umbrella within the workplace, but they would have to be fools not to realize it anyway. The people that I used to work with were very, very smart...

Now I struggle financially. And wouldn't make it if it weren't for periodic infusions of financial help when the medical bills pile up. It's estimated that the greater part of American filings of Bankrupcy are because of medical bills. I have great insurance, but am still liable for thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars every year. Money which I don't make anymore.

But still, I have the innate sense that everything is going to work out well in the long run. I'm circling something... I'm not sure what yet, but something. There are many things happening in many areas of my life; too many not to think that something is going to come to fruition and both make me happy and support me. Jewelry, weight loss, writing, and media coverage (more to come on this at an appropriate time). Something is going to pop, and soon if my health does not give out. I can feel it.

In the meantime, my calendar is a mess, but my days are full.

* * * * *

Cosmos has been at the computer again, e-mailing with his best friend M-.

M- writes:

well cosmos i saw you with your choice hat on. and you look very debonair..LOL now you are watching tv. i think if you apply yourself you too can make beautiful jeweled belts with leather found in a warehouse somewhere in santa monica ca.
:) M

To which Cosmos responded:

Dear M-:

Thank you for your kind words. I did make that hat look rather good, didn't I? It's one of Mom's favorites. It says "Shaft. Still The Man" on the back. Of course, I think it should say "Cosmos. Always the Man."

I enjoy when my cousin Ian comes to visit. He knows where my dog biscuits are kept and dispenses them liberally. He also brushes me and pays me the attention that I so richly deserve.

What do you mean make jeweled belts out of leather? Leather is for chewing on.

Your friend,

Cosmos

M- responded:

leather is for chewing on. i agree, but if you add some really cool beads it will be a crunchy chew.LOL

Cosmos, never at a lack for words, replied:

Personally, if I am looking for crunch, I like bones better than beads. But nothing beats 'Captain Crunch.'

Cosmos

M- wrote back:

yummmmmmm i agree

Which perplexed Cosmos. He queried:

You bit Captain Crunch too?

M- responded:

many years ago I did , but Cosmos all of those sweet memories came to vision after your email.

Cosmos always has to have the last word. His last e-mail read:

Ah, if you knew he tasted sweet, I suppose you really did bite him. I knew that I liked you.

Cosmos

---

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme
8/16/07

When Ian and I returned from our adventures yesterday, I asked him to help me immediately plant the herbs that were destined for the new pots. He thought about it for a moment, agreed, and started siging Scarbourough Faire by Simon & Garfunkle. (Mommy and Daddy took him to a concert by them last summer at the Hollywood Bowl.) He was very happy when I showed him that I actually did have Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme in my garden.

Parsley

Sage

Rosemary

Thyme

Ian is not one for getting dirty, so he was the "hose man." I showed him how the herbs that needed transplanting were not only outgrowing their small pots, but also were dry from the 106 degree daily temperatures that the San Fernando Valley is currently enduring. In a 4" pot, you just can't keep plants alive in this kind of heat. We finished up the job-at-hand, then went on to other business. (Like Ian dressing Cosmos up in hats.)

This morning, I stepped outside and surveyed our work. I am a combination of a couple of lucky traits when it comes to gardening. I am somewhat lazy in my approach, but also actually prefer a wild and unkempt look when it comes to plants. But I realized that I had let things go way too far out there, and could not resist grabbing my pruning sheers and going at it. I quickly had piles and piles of overgrown rose branches, thistles, basil, mint, and assorted other dead stalks trimmed from here and there. It took four trips to the dumpster, my arms overfull, to carry it all out!

Of course, my plants now look pathetic instead of lush and full. My basil plant by the front door is sparse.

My poor roses look like stumps.

At least my other herbs look happy and healthy.

Lavendar

Malcolm, the Geranium

Mint

When I look at my patio garden as a whole, instead of chopped up bits and pieces, it still looks just fine.

And the best thing about keeping plants is that no matter how much you trim them, they always grow back.

---

Leather and Lace and not a bad Country Song
8/15/07

My life never seems to be dull. Despite "injection day" yesterday (those shots make me feel really ill), I managed to make it to my Weight Maintenance Class. And then, because it was just so darned geographically close (like less than a mile away), I went to Caldelle Leather. This field trip was necessary because I was advised to try applying my bead-craft jewelry to leather for next season. And to expand into other accessories, like belts. It sounded challenging, it sounded like maybe fun, it definately was an intriguing idea. So my mind is racing and we'll see where it takes me.

Caldelle is, apparently, the major source for leather hides. It was probably the singularly weirdist shopping trip that I've ever been on. Drive into an industrial zone in the midst of a high-fashion shopping district. Park in an old parking lot in front of a brick building (an unheard of medium these days in Los Angeles because of earthquake danger), and try the front door. It's locked, of course, and since I saw no other entrance, I whipped out my cell phone and gave them a call. "Hector" came to my rescue, letting me in, and pointing out the bell that I missed right in front of my nose.

This is a wholesale operation, requiring a resale license. Not a problem. Hector led me into the "shopping zone," a warehouse lined from wall to wall with floor-to-ceiling metal bins filled with leather "skeins," as Hector told me (skins) from which to choose. I was looking for metalic; apparently metalic leather is made that way in a process something akin to gold leafing furniture. I had to stick with smaller animals... cow hides were too big for my purpose and need.

It was weird to be shopping there. Every one of those pieces of leather had been a living creature at one point. It's funny; I'm not a vegetarian and I do wear and use leather products, and although I fully admit that my stance might be different if I had to find my own meat sources, I don't give it much thought. But a brief flash of despair for the lives lost ran through me, and then I returned to normal and got down to business.

I selected a couple of gorgeous pieces of leather, paid for them, and am astounded that something like this place should exist in the heart of Los Angeles. Once I got home, I took a nap, changed for exercise class, and off to Slimmons I went.

Richard has been on the road for the last couple of days, so Anne taught. I worry about her classes as she works at a much higher level than I am capable of (she's a true hard-body), but I did ok. Except for the part where my last bra was done. And I mean done. Girls, you know what I'm talking about. When the last bit of elasticity goes out of the old chest-strap? I knew that I was going to have to make a trip to Nordstroms (the best bra source in the world, with qualified people to fit us) and quickly.

But it was not to be this morning. I was scheduled to run "Aunt Laura Camp" with Ian. Daddy brought him over at 10:30 am, we were quickly off to go to the planned destinations of the day. First stop: Discount Pottery in Reseda.

This is a very unusual store. Although they advertise pots, they have several immense showrooms, filled to the brim with fountains. Working fountains. Hundreds of them side-by-side filling the entire room. Ian was transfixed. I doubt he's ever seen so much running water at one time. And the pressing matter at hand was whether I would let him run his fingers through the water and underneath the spouts. "Of course," I assured him. "As long as you wash your hands after we're done."

After about an hour, we were done, having bought a few 'on sale' pots for my herbs and even getting an extra one because it was so darned cheap. We came home, washed our hands, and then off to Carrows. We had business at hand. Ian wanted Garlic Bread and a Malted Milk Ball Sundae, their specialty.

Lunch finished, we were off to the Nursery to buy potting soil. And one herb - a Mabel Gray Geranium - to fill the extra pot that I had taken home. Ian was incredibly intrigued when I showed him how you can rub the leaves of herbs and they will leave a scent in your hand. But after about 10 minutes of it, he was ready to go, so we paid for what we needed and were about to leave. But there was one question. Ian wanted to know what I was going to name my Geranium.

Now, it has never occured to me to name plants before, so after I suggested "Ian," which Ian rejected, explaining that it was "already taken," I asked him what he thought it should be called. "Malcom." he replied. Apparently for Malcom In the Middle. So "Malcom, the Geranium" it is.

Back home, the imperative became playing with my dogs. Poor Cosmos and Sunny! Ian kept them awake and moving for two hours in a row! No sleep? That is not how dogs operate! Cosmos was dressed in hats, Sunny brushed and teased with toys. And then Daddy came to take Ian home.

A quick dinner, and it was time to deal with the bra issue.

One of the main disappointments that I've had since losing so much weight is that I am still a DDD. Shopping for clothing is hard, shopping for bras is generally excruciating. I had a lovely sales woman who kept bringing me bra after bra after bra to try. After trying no less than 15 of them, I finally found the one. THE one. And, it turns out, it comes in many colors. I got three. As the color queen, I'm in heaven.

so now I'm at home again. It's time for the last shot in this series. Hopefully, I'll sleep through the worst of the side effects. I need to prepare the cord for the next piece of jewelry that I am scheduled to make. And then I am going to join my dogs. Who are already in our bed. Asleep. Where I would like to be right now.

---

A Dog's Life
8/13/07

My dogs have two left feet. They also happen to have two right feet, but there is no denying that they have two on the left side.

Unfortunately, Cosmos has developed quite a limp on his right foreleg. Couple this with his bad hip from an old break which did not heal correctly (before I adopted him), and he's not getting around very well. When we go for walks lately, his limp becomes really pronounced, and he's clearly in pain. He stops frequently, holds his leg in the air, and looks at me plaintively, asking me to somehow magically get him home without having to continue. And all the while, Sunny pulling at the leash to go faster. So today, I decided to break up their field trips.

Because Cozie has been walking so slowly, I've been taking power walks on my own. My power walks, of course, are not all that big a deal given my medical issues, but for me, they are quite something. This morning, I decided to take Sunny - on his own - with me.

Of course, the beginning of the walk was the usual... fight the collar, mark his territory. Mark it again and again and again. The prerequisite poop and scoop. Twice. Sunny always goes two times. And then, we were off to the races.

He loved his walk! Without Cosmos slowing us down, we were free to run from sniff-point to sniff-point at whatever speed he chose to move at. Usually the speed was zoom. Since I've learned in my weight maintenance class that interval training is actually more efficient at burning calories than exercising straight through, I didn't mind. And of course, Sunny loved every minute of it. To go where he wanted to go, at the speed he wanted to go at? And to be, for once, the only dog, it was like a dream come true.

It was in the mid-90-degree range when we went out, so by the time we were done, he was hot and tired, ready for a long drink and a nap. And nap Sunny did.

In the meantime, Cosmos was quite upset at having been left behind. He's used to going with us, and couldn't understand the change in routine. But I had a surprise for him too. A field trip. In the car.

Just as Cosmos has his quirks - like being slow to walk - that make him difficult to take out, so does Sunny. He is dog agressive. That means that we cannot go anyplace where there might be dogs to attack. It's actually kind of sad. I'd like to take him, and Cosmos, to the dog park, to the Concerts In the Park, to the regular park and the beach and all the places that dogs would like to go. But I'm afraid and for good reason. I will not allow Sunny to be in a position where he might get into trouble. I love him too much for that. But Cosmos has to suffer staying home too.

So today, after bringing the Sun-Sun home, I leashed up Cozie all by himself and led him to the car. You could see a mixture of excitement and anxiety on his face. Usually, the only time he goes to the car on his own is when it's a trip to the vet, and when he's on his own there, it's usually for a bad appointment. Otherwise I bring both boys, no matter which dog is to be seen. And of course, they both had surgery a couple of weeks ago, so a trip to the vet right now cannot be made up for by the basket of treats in the waiting room.

I kept assuring him that he would like where we were going and he could quickly see that we were not driving to our regular place. He started looking happier, but of course, he is still a Dalmatian, and they are anxious dogs. Fortunately, our first stop was only a few minutes away. The Red Barn.

The Red Barn is a store that all animals like. A Feed and Supply store, it's not the traditional pet supplier. It truly is a barn, or should I say three barns in a row. Dusty and old, packed with farm animals (mostly chickens and pigeons) and animal food and animal toys and treats, cosmos quickly knew that he was in heaven. He forgot his leg as he traversed up one aisle and down the next, pausing only to swing his head from side to side on occasion and take in the sights and smells. It's funny, but he knew when we would start down an aisle that he had already visited, and would turn around and lead me down another. That is, until we reached the rawhide bins.

In the old days when I had good dogs that I could take shopping, we would go to the Red Barn specifcally so that they could choose out their own treats. Everybody knew the rules; one treat per visit. They would look in all the bins carefully, and then pick up one rawhide item. I would remove it from the dog's mouth, pay for it, and they knew that they were going to get it when we arrived at home. Somehow, my chow hound, my eating-obsessed Cosmos seemed to know the rule too, even though I can't remember ever having done this with him. But he looked carefully, nosing inside a number of the barrels before settling on a rather disgusting roll of hide. I bought two, of course, so that Sunny could have a treat. But it was Cosmos's choice.

With dog food purchased, it was time to move on to the car wash. That was possible because Cosmos is not the kind of dog that makes nose prints on the window. But he does insist that everyone he meets pet him, and that expectation can, at times, be problematic.

At the Red Barn, it's a good bet that everyone there likes animals. Loves animals. When Cosmos would slow down to greet the people, he was rewarded 100% of the time by being pet. In fact, some of them shared treats with him. But it was not the same at the wash. One man ignored him completely, even after he started barking to get attention. Another lady screamed when he got close. But we did meet the one very-nice woman outside who was happy to pet him to his hearts content. And then our car was ready and it was time to move on.

One last stop to make; Walgreen's Pharmacy. This is a particular favorite destination for both of my dogs. You see, they have a drive-through pick up window. In that window is a jar of dog treats. Both boys know about that "magic drawer" that dispenses treats. They both try to climb over my lap and out the driver's side window in an effort to meet and greet the drawer as it extends to the car. It's doggie pandamonium in my car when that happens.

But with Cosmos alone, the action was a little more civilized. He did stand up at attention with an anxious look on his face, and seemed quite relieved when the drawer delivered, as usual. He ate quickly, dropping crumbs all over my newly-cleaned car, of course. And was prepared to settle down when he got a surprise. The drawer asked if he would like another treat. I replied that he would always be grateful for food. And the drawer sent him more food!

Our field trip errands done, we came home and Cosmos did was Sunny did and what all dogs did before them. He went to sleep. Of course, both dogs were at attention when Eric came over with chicken dinner. 100% of the dogs surveyed really like chicken. Roast Chicken. with the skin attached. But then they went out again, and have been sleeping since.

It's hard work to have fun.

---

Who Eats Old M & M's?
8/12/07

I am questioned about my dieting habits by two major influences in my life. Richard Simmons asks my favorite question: "What did you have for lunch today?" That question, repeated day after day, week after week, turned out to be a profound influence in my life. I found it funny, and instead of shutting down emotionally like I normally would when asked questions about my eating habits, I rose to the occasion, and started making lunches that were healthy and good to eat, just so I'd have something to report. Then, after making my report, I'd turn the question around on him and ask him what he had for lunch. He'd answer me too, much to my amusement. And the openness of our exchange was the first step in looking at my food choices and making changes.

Recently, Lucy asked me if I liked dessert. That was an easy one for me. "No," I responded. "It makes me feel not good after eating it."

That question was actually way more profound than it appeared on the surface, because I realized that it was a 180-degree reversal from where I came from, 200 pounds ago. At that time, dinner was only an appetizer. Dessert was the real meal.

I must have felt awful all the time then, but was so used to the feeling that I identified it as being normal. How would I know the difference? I was diabetic and had high blood pressure, but so what? Nobody knew what kind of crap food I was "sneaking" into my diet (or so i thought), and if nobody saw me doing it, it didn't happen.

Now I acknowledge almost everything that I eat, and record it all on my food journals. And just by being constantly vigilant, I've managed to hold my weight to within 5 pounds of my goal weight range. But acknowledging actions and taking responsibility for your actions is not always easy. Especially when the food and reason for eating it is so stupid. If it's in front of me, I'll eat it. Simple as that.

And I'll eat almost anything, short of beans (do not even mention the green beans), beef, or bananas. Lord help me when I'm hungry or experiencing a craving... I'll grab pretty- much anything that is available. When I prepare healthy foods in advance, I'll eat them first, but if they're not there and ready, it's right to the loaf of bread. Or whatever else is available and there on the spot. And I'm also a stress eater. That point was driven home last March when I was trying to go to ASCH Conference.

I was packed and ready to leave. My dogs attended for, my home picked up and pristine, that only left me a couple of prescription refills to take care of. I would get them on my way out of the city. But fate was not to be kind to me that day. One of the prescriptions had not been authorized by the doctor (yet) when I arrived at Walgreens. The other was was fine, but their shipment of my medication had not yet arrived.

I was very upset, of course. I had made arrangements to meet friends for dinner at my destination in three hours. I didn't have the time for the works of this plan to be mixed up. I called doctors, in a panic, and eventually got it worked out so that they could refill me on the spot.

By the time I got out of there, I was extremely stressed. And I had a reaction that I hadn't had in years. I needed M & M's. Peanut M & M's. And not the regular size, either. I needed the big, two pound bag! I bought it and I ate it and I ate it and I ate it, most of the way to Visalia. First through the desert and over the Grapevine, through Bakersfield, through Fresno. I would stop on occasion, feeling ill, but then would commence again. There was no reasonable answer why I was eating those stupid candies except that they were in the car!

I finally needed a bathroom break, and I was also not exactly sure where Visalia was and thought that I had perhaps missed the turn off. So I stopped at a rest stop, used the facilities, consulted the "You Are Here" map, and common sense struck. I threw the rest of that bag (about 1/6 was still left) into the garbage, and left it behind.

That weekend, I planned to eat, knowing full well that I was going to gain weight. And I did. I had allowed myself five pounds, and that's what I gained. About half of it was the M & M's. The rest was "Continental Breakfast" and "Fish & Chips." I did promise myself that I would eat a salad for one meal each day, and I did exactly that. That's probably why I didn't gain ten!

The following week, I returned to home and reality and exercise class. We were talking about binge eating in the dressing room; N- made a sarcastic comment about how I never ate anything wrong and that's why I didn't ever gain weight. I responded that I had just eaten a 2-pound bag of M & M's. Much to the shock and surprise of everyone in the room. But again, I don't deny anything. The truth will out anyway, so what's the point?

Fast forward from March to now. I plan to have my car washed tomorrow. To be honest, I haven't had it washed since that fateful trip. There were a lot of suicidal bugs in Fresno County, and about 2/3 of them ended up on my car. It's also disgusting on the outside; covered in that oily grimy dust that you only get when you live close to a freeway. It's time. And so I went through my car with a fine tooth comb, looking for any odds 'n' ends that might be sucked up by a car wash vaccum. And I found a lone Peanut M & M on the floorboard underneath the front seat. I thought about it for a minute. Who would know if I ate it? And then I thought about Richard and his rhetorical question "Who is it that eats M & M's out of their sofa cushion when they don't know how long they've been there?"

Everyone laughs at that question. And I always knew that it wouldn't be me, because if I had M & M's in my home and was eating them on the sofa, there's no way that I would ever spill a single one! It would be a moral imperative to eat them all. But now, here was I, presented with the dilema in person. What to do?????

Well, I know the answer now. I know who eats the M & M's out of the sofa. All I have to do is look in the mirror for the answer.

---

California Market Center
8/10/07

Apparently, I am really a jewelry designer. Gulp. Designer. Me. Oy.

This I learned today during my first trip to LA Fashion Market at the California Market Center. I know this because: 1.) I didn't see much that compared to anything I produce. 2.) Buyers who were attending the show really liked the necklace I was wearing, enough to refer me to a woman who's job it is to place start-up businesses with suppliers and representatives, and 3.) I was physically body-blocked by a representative to keep me from going into her booth. She wanted to make sure I couldn't look at her stuff and steal her designs. LOL. Like her stuff was better than mine? She wasn't even close.

But, for those of you who think I should be insulted by her behavior, get over it! It's a compliment. She took me seriously.

Welcome to downtown Los Angeles. This is it. The whole thing. Really. There's not much to downtown Los Angeles.


Arriving at the California Market Center.


In front of the center.


The building.


The front doors. No photographs allowed inside.


While looking for the elevators to get back to my car (I had about all the good times I could stand at that point), I ran into a "Sample" store. That's where showrooms sometimes put their floor models after the season is over, and at a ridiculously low prices. I bought a purse there! Yes, I know it's kind of a weird purse, but it suits me.

---

The Fab Four
8/9/07

I've never had real girlfriends before. Truthfully, I've never had friendships of any kind. Not that others didn't want to befriend me, but I was so wrapped up in my own head that I couldn't see it. Couldn't respond to it. Wouldn't even acknowledge that it was possible.

Then, something changed inside of me. Partly because of years of therapy, partly because of Richard influencing me to lose weight, partly because I couldn't go on the way I was. And I lost weight and joined Richard's Clubhouse, and found Beth and Claudia and Vennie. Women who, without Richard and his web site, I never would have known existed.

Between us, I think we have lost around 600 pounds. And maintained that loss within reasonable boundries. We've laughed and cried and adjusted our mindsets to our new realities together. We were lucky enough to find each other at around the same points in our weight loss journeys, and were experiencing the same astonishment at how the world didn't work the way we had thought it did, all at the same time. It didn't matter that Beth was an East Coast Girl, Claudia lived in Florida, Vennie hailed from the MidWest, and I was located in Los Angeles. Richard introduced us, and our common experiences bound us together in a way that few can know.

In 2006, Richard held his first Retreat at Slimmons. I met Vennie during the filming of his PBS Special a month earlier, but had never met Beth and Claudia. Vennie was staying in a hotel near Slimmons, and Beth & Claudia were going to stay with me. (All these arrangements were made before we met and knew we liked Vennie.) We picked Vennie up every day and my, what adventures we all had! Between the retreat itself, and our agenda between sessions, I don't think we stopped running and seeing things and laughing the whole weekend. And we named ourselves The Fab Four.

We were fabulous together. None of us had ever had anyone pay us any individual attention before that weekend. Ever. But we became the It girls. We felt like we were Cheerleaders in high school. Everyone was watching us. We knew it. And we loved every moment of it! It wasn't like we planned it or anything. It's just that we kind of glowed when we were together. We were having fun - like in the times of our lives - and nobody could miss it.

And we realized that that's the reason that the Cheerleaders were the envy of everyone else around. What the big secret was. It wasn't that they were that brighter or more beautiful or better than everyone else, even though we thought it to be true at the time. That was just our own value set applied to them in our youth. The truth was that we were jealous, plain and simple. We thought they were evil. We were wrong.

They were simply determined to have fun and were not going to let anyone deter them from getting the most out of life. And that's what we did, together, last year. We had fun. And we didn't let anyone or anything stop us. We did not take time to be sad or depressed, or terribly introspective. We simply had a ball.

Now Richard is having yet another Retreat at Slimmons. And the Fab Four is reuniting! This time, we are all staying at my home, even Vennie. I have no idea how I am going to accomodate us all plus Cosmos, plus Sunny, but we'll figure it out. We're sooo looking forward to meeting many of the webbies that we've chatted with and gotten to know from Richard's site over the past year. And to spend time with them at the retreat.

But I know that the best of all will be during our down times at my condo. Because we are going to have simply a fabulous time together! We are going to have fun.

---

Unexpected Response
8/8/07

Cosmos has been at the computer again.

It started last night during exercise class at Slimmons. Frequently, Richard will allow his teachers to lead during one of the songs while he watches from the sidelines. It's fun to try out different moves with different people. And amazing how many flavors of aerobic dance there really are; probably as many as there are teachers.

Anyway, M-, one of Cosmos's e-mail pals, was one of the women that Richard called upon. This was one of the few times I had actually seen her lead a class, and let me tell you, that girl has some moves on her! During a water break, I whispered to her that I was going to tell Cosmos what she had been up to. He was certain not to approve. M- giggled, but Cozie rarely approves of anything that she does.

So I came home and told Cosmos all about it. And his response - as written in an e-mail to M-, startled me.

Dear M- (my favorite and where is my dog biscuit?),

Mom told me about what you did tonight. I despair that Mom will never understand individuals like us. I bark the abrupt, explosive cry of a dog that is frustrated.

I rotate my butt too. First I might move just the very tip of my tail. But then I go into full-wag mode. If I'm lucky, I'm near a wall or furniture and can thump on it to make noise. When I'm really happy, my whole back end moves from side to side in time with my tail. From what Mom told me, you must have been especially joyful tonight.

There is only one difference between the two of us. I heard that after your tail-wagging dance, you quietly went back to your place in class. I would have found somebody's leg to hump.

Your friend,

Cosmos

Who could have anticipated that my dog would feel this way?

---

Moustache Monday
8/6/07

Ok, I'll stop it after today's Blog Title. I know, I know. But it just had to be done!

About 10 days ago, Eric asked me what I thought about moustaches? "On you or on me?" I replied. It seems that he had decided to grow one, and actually had about a day-and-a-half's worth on his upper lip. My main concern was what kind of moustache he was planning on growing. I figure if he's going to do it, he should go for a handlebar moustache with waxed tips. "I think not." he replied to my suggestion.

A couple of days later, he complained that he had woken up early and was still half asleep, and had shaved the moustache off by mistake. But as of this evening, he had re-started the project and his effort was becoming apparent.

I'm not sure what it is about men that they have to periodically grow hair on their faces. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against it at all. Eric admits to feeling the need to grow a moustache about every two to three years. Most of the men I know have succumbed to the same urge. And eventually realize that hair on the face is a lot of work to keep clean. Certainly not worth all that trouble for a crumb collector.

I can grow a moustache if I want to, too. Most women who are of menopausal age can. Now, I haven't gotten to that state yet (although I wish I had), but having taken steroids fairly continuously for the past 20 years, I can lay claim to small amounts of hair in all sorts of unlikely places. I am fastidious about it, and pluck it with a tweezer at the first signs of growth. I also shave my legs (and pits) pretty regularly. It's socially acceptable for men to go hairy, but the same claim cannot be made by women.

Unless you are "Earth Woman," of course. They are the lucky ones; self-assured and dedicated to their chosen lifestyle. Hairy beyond redemption, proud of their refusal to give in to social norms. They don't need to carry razors on camping trips, and in the winter, their legs are not as cold as the rest of ours. No, hairy legs do not work out well in nylons or tights, but it's the rare earth women in anything other than pants or, in the summertime, shorts, under any circumstances.

I don't think I can go hairy, as much as I would like to. There's just something inside of me that clings to urban life. I like to wear the occasional skirt. I am not French. And I have a vivid recollection of a gal I knew when I was in high school. She would sit on her horse and braid the hair in her armpits. Ew.

I am waiting to see where Eric's growth project goes. His daughter Gabby - age 9 - hates the sprouts and tells him that she will not give him a kiss until he's shaved. He's responded that she will not go to sleep-away horse camp until she kisses him. It's a stand-off right now and I can hardly wait to see who gives in first.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to seeing what it's like to kiss a man with a growth on his face. I'm still hoping for the handlebar moustache. If Eric waxes the tips with mint flavored wax, it can double as dental floss.

---

Sunny Sunday
8/5/07

Look at this dog. Just look at him! This is Sunny.


Does this look like a dog who's favorite food is small dog? He is as gentle as a kitten with people!


Do pictures of animals yawning make you yawn too?

* * * * *


Sunday is when I make my weekly pilgrimage to a local Farmer's Market.


I believe in preparing my vegetables in advance so that when I'm hungry, I don't have to wait to eat.


This is a mixture of fresh basil, fresh parsley, mushrooms, and onion that's been run through my food processer's chop cycle. I can use this to stuff chicken or fish, as part of a salad, as a base for pesto, or a multitude of other purposes. There is nothing like fresh herbs in a dish to make butter or sauces or cream unnecessary.


I love Sunday evenings when the refrigerator is stocked for the week.

---

Enough
8/4/07

I actually started today's blog posting last night, but discarded it a little while ago. Having had a bad reaction to an injectable med during a routine test - this on top of starting another injectable earlier in the week which also has made me feel lousy, I was in a bad state of mind.

Additionally, it seems that lately, everyone wants a piece of me. "Do this, do that!" they all suggest to me, not understanding that I am running on empty. I remember the time that nobody knew that I existed, and don't want to send these people away. But I was at my wits end, and probably even more emotional than usual last night because of the drugs.

I wasn't much better when I got up this morning. I really thought about not going to exercise class. But in the end, habit won over desire. I got myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and put on full make up. Threw my jewelry case into the car. And backed out of my parking space to go to Slimmons. And then it happened.

A loud bang from the left front of my car. And a screeching noise. The car shuttered and felt like it was being drug over boulders. I stopped, got out, and took a look. I had blown a tire.

Quickly deciding not to change it myself, I called AAA. They gave me their standard "We'll be there in 30 minutes." line; I begged them to come sooner, figuring that they could put the spare on my car and I would still have time to make it to class. Also, I was blocking traffic in my condo's driveway.

I was in luck. My neighborhood is densely packed with condominiums and apartment buildings, so service companies in my area - like AAA - are notoriously busy and slow to respond. But I'd called before the Saturday morning rush. AAA was here in less than 10 minutes!

Then, catastrophe. They looked at my spare. It was flat. Oy.

"Ivan" suggested that he could blow up the tire so I can go buy replacements, but since the spare had little wear, there was probably something seriously wrong with it and he'd recommend me being towed instead. He also recommended a discount tire place right up the street. Since I've had singularly bad luck with Costco tires, I agreed.

We pulled into the discount tire place; negotiated a price for the replacement, and with something actionable on my plate, I started feeling less sorry for myself. Begged them to do what needed to be done in a hurry so I could still make it to part of my class. And they did! The entire transaction to replace both front tires cost $270 (Goodyear tires), but was complete from start to finish in about 15 minutes. And off to class I drove.

Now I had time to digest this morning's events. I was shattered again, at the thought of yet another large sum of money going out the door. I've been hit with some very large expenses in the past ten days, none of them controllable by me. I again debated skipping class and just going home. And I looked at my watch and realized that, although I would likely miss all of Richard's Project Me class, I could still easily make it to the exercise portion. And knowing that if I went home, things wouldn't get any better and I would probably spend the day eating, I kept on driving.

Surprisingly, I got to Slimmons at about 11 am, 15 minutes before Project Me ended. That class most often consists of three parts... individual discussion with Richard, "homework" which consists of a question that Richard asks the group to respond - in writing - to and then reads the responses to the whole, and then a lecture or sermon about the point that he is trying to make. I don't know what he had the class write about, but the lecture was on "Enough."

He talked about people who come into his life and drone on and on and on about their problems. He is very generous with his time, and has made a career out of listening to to those who are ignored, helping them take action with their problems. But even he has his limits. "Enough," he said. "When there's somebody in your life who is draining your resources and is beyond hope, it's time to say enough."

I needed to hear that this morning. I've been having trouble with time management lately anyway. And all my friends calling and calling and calling. I'd been wondering how Richard handled that in his life. And then I thought, "Enough." Enough of the self-pity for this go-around. Yes, I have bad health issues and good reason to feel sorry for myself, but dwelling on it will only make me bitter. "Enough." Yes, I am distracted from my business-at-hand by friends and loved ones who call and call and call, but how lucky am I to have them? I remember a time when nobody gave a damn about me. "Enough."

And I picked up my reserves, and when Richard announced it was time to get on our feet and dance, I did so to the best of my ability. I ended up sitting out about a third of the class and not feeling very well for another third, but during the part that I was moving, S-, a medical doctor at Cedars Sinai and student of Richard, told me how much she admired me for perservering and coming to class no matter what. And B- asked me if I had my jewelry with me (good stroke of fortune that I threw it in the trunk of my car this morning!) and made arrangements to buy a piece as soon as class ended. And W- asked me to interceed with Richard on her behalf during class and paid me a high compliment indeed, thinking that I worked for him.

Enough. Sometimes you have to say it about and to people who drag you down. And sometimes you have to say it to yourself. Enough. You have to put your problems aside and just keep on keepin' on. Because by doing so, you open yourself up to all sorts of other possibilities. Enough is enough.

---

E-mails from Cosmos
8/3/07

It's a rare dog who is interestd in the computer. Even more rare is the one who interacts with it. And it's almost unbelievable to think that a dog would actively e-mail his friends.

Cosmos is just that sort of dog. He has a number of pen pals, but his favorite, far and away, is "M." He was very upset with her yesterday, though, because she had viewed his picture on this blog and sent an e-mail to his "Mom" instead of directly to him.

Writes Cosmos:

Dear M (and I use "dear" loosely),

I was very hurt by your response to mom. Here I smiled my very best grin into the camera for you and had Mom put it on the Internet for all to see.. And you didn't say a word to me directly.

Is it because you were blinded by my teeth? After all, Dr. Catlin did clean them last week while I was asleep. Had I been awake, I would have bit her, but I did not have the opportunity.

I just looked up "bark" in the Webster's College Dictionary. "New Words for the New Millennium" Edition. bark n. 1. the abrupt, explosive cry of a dog.

I bark in disapproval of you.

Your friend,

Cosmos

PS - Beth sent me a message and a hug, and I didn't even initiate the communication.

* * * * *

Of course, M didn't waste any time in replying.

Dear Cosmos,

You are one handsome brut.. especially with your pearly whites.I apologize for not saying anything before thank you for reminding me.I just cannot imagine you barking. you seem so demure. LOL

I send you two hugs to Beths one... xoxoxoxoxoxoxox and many kisses to . so i am now your favorite.

:) M

* * * * *

But Cosmos is not so easily forgiving. He wrote:

Dear M,

You always were my favorite. You can seal your position permanently by bringing me a dog biscuit. Now. My mom says that my Dr. Catlin said "It wouldn't hurt him to miss a meal." and won't give me any more tonight.

I don't like that Dr. Catlin. I bark in disapproval of her.

Your favorite,

Cosmos

PS - You're lucky you wrote back when you did. I'll let Dolly and Hattie know not to bite you on my behalf. They would have done it, you know. We all have spotty histories. And everything is black and white with us.

* * * * *

M was clearly worried that she should stay in Cosmos's favor. She responded:

hello There Mr.Cosmos,

Hattie and Dolly are my buds but you are my one and only fav black and white spotted one. your personality is crazy like me.. LOL

sweet dreams. and the time i see that Laura person on two legs I will give her something special for you and your bro..

:) M

* * * * *

Cosmos always wants the last word. He replied again:

See,

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Love,

Cosmos

PS - You only think they're your friends

* * * * *

Cosmos always seems to be somewhat irritable when he e-mails his friends. But he has reason. It is tough to use the keyboard when you don't have any thumbs.

---

Evening Rituals
8/2/07

It was a lucky coincidence that around the same time that my boys had surgery, I found my boars bristle hairbrush. It's been "missing" for about two years. Amazingly, it was underneath the guest bathroom sink, right where I put it.

I don't need that brush for myself, but my dogs have ultra sensitive skin and they could not abide the slicker brush. As a result, my home has often been awash in drifts of shedded dog hair. Sunny's waifs around on the floor, collecting in corners and underneath the furniture. Cosmos's is evem more insidious.

Dalmatian hair is short. Really short. And it easily embeds itself amongst other fibers, difficult to remove. According to the book "Knitting with dog Hair, A Woof-to-Warp Guide to Making Hats, Sweters, Mittens, & Much More" (by Kendall Crolius and Anne Montgomery, ISBN # 0-312-10489-8), Dalmatian is described as the following:

Known as the "Coach Dog" in England and the "Fire Engine Dog" in the United States, this black-and-white spotted canine has a hard, shiny coat totally unsuitable for spinning. Sprinkle liberally among longer fibers.

Yeah. Right. Like the situation isn't bad enough already? Cosmos's hair is usless. Totally useless! It's a good thing that I love Cosmos and he loves me back. Because I will never make anything out of him.

Anyway, I found that boar's bristle brush right where I left it, and I had a lightbulb moment! I wondered if my boys would enjoy having it used on them. The answer? A resounding YES!

So for the past week, I've instituted a 15 to 20 minute brushing session (between the two dogs) every evening around 10 pm. They love it. They've quickly adjusted their internal timer (how do they know what time it is, anyway?) and show up expectantly at about 9:55. I get on the floor between them and stroke them long and slow. They look so happy.

These sessions have paid off. Not only are their coats nicer, shinier, and devoid of loose hair, but their attitudes are better too. They just seem so settled, for lack of a better word, because of the attention.

---

August Blues
8/1/07

Please check out my 'new and improved' Jewelry Link! I've posted some of my recent work under Necklaces and Bracelets..

I'm ready to take this thing live. Tomorrow starts my search for Representation.

---

---

Friday Night's Massacre
7/30/07

I itch. Badly. I have the most giant bug-bite on my back that I've ever seen.

The story is odd. In fact, when I think about it, I wonder if I've lost my marbles. I'll probably tell my therapist about it at our regular appointment this Wednesday, and he'll assure me that I'm completely sane. Like his opinion's to be trusted?

It started late last Friday afternoon. The boys were home, still fresh from their surgeries. They were only 24 hours post op, so there was no way they were going for a walk.. Sunny might run into a small dog and feel that he had to fight his leash-and-collar to try and eat it, bursting his stitches. They were restless and in some slight pain. They kept asking to go in and out and in and out our front door onto the patio. In desperation, despite the heat, I opened the front door and screen, giving them free access as they pleased.

Afternoon turned into evening turned into night. Busy working on my jewelry, I didn't notice, and the door was still open against the dark. My fan was running in the corner of the living room; a continuous wind that assured air circulation through the condo.

It must have been around 8:30 pm when I walked into my living room, well past sunset. There, it was a creepy scene right out of a horror movie. At least a dozen Japanese Water Beetles (think 2" long cockroach) were entering my condo through the front door. At least another 10 to 15 making their way across my living room towards the fan. And another dozen of them were gathered directly in front of it, facing it and the breeze.

I'm not one for girly panic. Quietly making my way into the kitchen, I grabbed my can of Raid Earth Options Roach Killer. Thus armed, I made my way to the fan and sprayed. It was cockroach pandamonium, but most of the spray disbursed into the wind. Note to self: Turn off the fan before spraying an aerasol can.

Stopping only to turn it off, I ran in pursuit. Water Beetles were covered in spray, dropping in death throes. I went to the front door and sprayed all of those just entering, stomping on a couple too. Then shutting the door, I walked around, killing all the others that were to be found. And then it happened. With a sputter hardly worth sputtering, the can of bug spray ran out!

The vast majority of the bugs had been sprayed; it was just a matter of time before they died. They were all disappearing down cracks and crevices. I figured I was ok.

Later that night I went to bed. And woke up in the morning with an odd sensation on my back. Under the stealth of night and darkness, some kind of bug had bitten me. You probably don't realize what an oddity this was. I don't get bitten by bugs. Ever. Not even mosquitos. My theory is that I take a lot of drugs that alter my body chemistry and they are either not attracted to me in the first place, or if they are, I don't taste good. So the fact that I was bit on this night, of all nights, has left me with a cold pit in my stomach.

Could it be that the Japanese Water Beetles bit me? If yes, was it coincidence, or do they have enough intelligence to be angry that I killed so many of them all at once? And exact retribution?

I don't know. I haven't been bit since Friday night, but it's really hard now, to turn off the lights and go to sleep.

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