“Uh-uh! No way!” I insisted, shaking my head. “Bob, there’s no way I’m going to even try to give Happy a bath.”

“We have to, Pam. Giving Jack a bath doesn’t solve the problem unless Happy gets one, too.”
I knew he was right, but I also knew Happy. I knew there was no way she was going to cooperate like Jack did, and I wasn’t about to do battle with an eight- legged cat with 14 needle-like claws in each paw.

Jack was allergic to fleas, and his beautiful thick long fur was the perfect haven for them. Happy was not allergic to fleas. We would have never known she had fleas if we hadn’t seen Jack scratching incessantly. The fleas hitched a ride into the house on Happy, then many hopped onto Jack where they took up permanent residence, making him totally miserable. I had just finished bathing Jack in the sink in our laundry room at the back of our house.

Ungloved, I gently picked him up and placed him in the warm water.

“Meow,” he complained gently as I poured water over his back and cupped it around his neck.

“Meow, “ he complained again as I hurriedly doused him with flea shampoo, not knowing how long he would patiently endure this assault on his personal dignity. I massaged the shampoo into the more tender belly region, the place those nasty fleas feasted on his sweet blood.

“Meeeooow, “ he stiffened and began to protest , not more loudly, but certainly pleading. I felt horrible. This was the cat who took whatever anyone handed him -- the gentle, faithful cat who more than once allowed little children to crawl on him without a hiss, scratch or yowl, and without even walking away from them, but who always waited for me to rescue him.

Now, here I was, his trusted friend, pouring water over him, and stinky shampoo, too. And he just sat in the tub allowing me to do it. I hurried to rinse the suds from his thick fur. I reached for the towel that was draped across my shoulders and wrapped him snugly in it to absorb the wet and his protest. He relaxed in my arms while I cooed sweet reassurances of my undying affection for so sweet a kitty.

That was when Bob appeared and suggested it was Happy’s turn. She sat licking her paw and occasionally running it across her face, amused by what she seemed to sense Jack had just endured. I know she felt invincible. This is the cat who made it very clear from the very beginning that she was in charge. She ignored our banter over her fate. No one in their right mind would give her a bath. And, until now, she never had reason to question our sanity.

Bob insisted. “Pam, she has to have a bath.” I knew he was right, but the visions of what was about to take place were not pleasant.

“Ok,” I relented. “But not in the laundry room. You’re going to have to help, and there’s not enough room back there. We’ll have to do her in the kitchen sink. You will have to hold her, and I’ll wash her. You better go find some leather gloves. You’re gonna need ‘em.”

The Unsuspecting Cat continued to preen while Bob rounded up some gloves. I finished towel-drying the Sweet Cat and turned him loose to finish the job. I rounded up another old towel and went to the kitchen to prepare for The Ordeal. I filled the left side of the sink with warm water, and placed the open flea shampoo in an easy reach. I took a deep breath, and casually strolled into the family room toward Happy, who was still grooming herself. She was probably chuckling to herself about how funny Jack looked and how she wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that. I know she thought those kind of things. It’s who she was.

I scooped her up, spoke a few reassuring words in her ear, and quickly headed back to the kitchen. Bob was poised at the sink, donned in long leather work gloves. Happy was squirming. She wasn’t one who relished being picked up when it wasn’t her idea, and all of a sudden she seemed to be catching the same vision I had had only moments before. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

This was no time for hesitation or for the faint of heart. With one courageous plunge, Happy was in the sink, in the water. Bob clasped his hands firmly around her neck and tried to hold her still. The eight legs were wildly flailing, all 118 needle-sharp claws extended six inches toward anything they could grasp. An impassioned hiss-growl escaped from deep in her throat. I poured water over her from a cup and quickly grabbed the shampoo. This five pound claw-embedded ball of wet fur was pushing back with the strength of Sampson. She was half way out of the sink onto the counter and Bob bodily laid across her while I tried to lather her up. She was gaining on us. I snatched another cup of water and began to rinse what was left of her in the sink, her hindquarters. Yowls, hisses and all manner of hithertofore unknown cat-noises filled the air. Water everywhere, Bob and I were soaked, the kitchen counter, the floor, the window. More water poured over the wrathful cat, and Bob warned me she was winning the match.

We agreed: on the count of three, we would turn her loose.

“One……two…….three!

We let go, hopped back in unison, arms raised outstretched. Happy flew off the counter drenched and dripping. Yes, flew. Cats can fly. I saw it with my own eyes. She landed and ran from the kitchen into the family room. We let her have her space for a bit, then I approached cautiously with the towel to help her regain her dignity. She let me.

Sometime later, she walked into the kitchen where Bob was standing. She sidled up to him slowly, until near his feet. Then hissing, she took a serious swipe at his ankles with her claw infested paws, and ran away. For several days she repeated this remonstration, be sure he knew just how she felt about what he had done to her. Somehow, I escaped her wrath.

Judging from a few comments that I have received on the poems below, I see that I have offended some people by posting them. That was not my intention. The man who wrote these things lived in an oppressive communist regime and recognizes the symptoms of that type of government. His writings are graphic, yes. He fled oppression. He is a fierce defender of the American way of life. I will not apologize for that. I'm with him.

I respect the office of the President of the United States. I will not disparage it, nor the person who holds that office. But I will exercise my right and my duty as a citizen of the United States to call any of my elected officials to task when they fail to uphold the Constitution.

Our country is at a crossroads. We can move ahead in a continued path of freedom, liberty and a capitalist society, or we can surrender our freedoms to a government who promises to "take care of us". Personally, I've always believed that individuals must be responsible for themselves, and take care of their neighbors personally rather than thru a government system. If you do not agree, I am sorry for that. But this is my blog and I reserve the right to share my feelings here.

Crowds

The following poem was written by a man whom I met on the http://www.gopusa.com/ forum. He is a former Russian, now an American citizen living in the USA. Having lived under a regime like Obama is proposing, Mike is a fierce defender of our liberty. Oh, that we would all awake before we lose it!

When I asked Mike if I could send this to my sister, this was his reply:

"Pam, you can share it with anybody, including your zombified friend. My name is Michael Shtalman. You can also clarify that I was in the country where Obamas ones won under the pretext of "bringing hope". Even if it helps one person to start thinking as opposed to swallow the media poison - I'd be satisfied."





Crowds
by Michael Shtalman


Our crowd is checkered with H-placards

Ecstatic fellas are shouting: H…, H…, H…!!!

Hope unites us and helps us feel elated

Yes, we can!!!

Can what?

Don’t be a cynical reactionary, dude.

Something good, common good, very common …

The open-ended slogans stem from open hearts

Stop laughing and shut up you,

Damn egg-headed critics!

We greet a great leader, a savior, here

Yes, we can – - subdue those greedy egotists,

Those self-interested bourgeois thugs.

He will install true people’s bureaucracy

And redistribute the wealth justly

95% of the citizens will flourish *

And the damn rich 5% pay for that;

The rest of the world will respect us again

Charisma and socialistic vision alone,

Not the “experience”, will do the miracles.

Holding their breath, a multitude of Germans

Heed his speech at the Großer Stern

Some chicks pee their panties**

Everybody shouts with ardor:

“Heil, Heil, Heil Hitler !!!”



And now you, schleppers, encouraged by a zombie,

Are going to schlep to Florida. Faceless crowd …
H…, H…, H…

* 95% of the Hitler’s party, NSDAP, were workers. Obama also likes to claim he is acting in the best interests of 95% of the “working people”
* * According to some historic records, at least some Hitler admirers urinated upon hearing of his speeches.

From Pam, a post script: Mike tells me he participates in a Russian American forum who recently took their own poll. Obama 29, McCain 61

Time Out for an Important Message

Like you, I love my country. I love that my life is easier here than it would be if I lived anywhere else on this earth. I love the freedoms I enjoy -- the freedom to speak my mind without fear of being imprisoned for my opinions, the freedom to travel throughout the country without restraint, the freedom to worship my God in the way I choose, the freedom to gather uninhibited with other people, the freedom to take part in the political process that chooses who will lead and govern my city, my county, my state and my country. And many more freedoms do we all enjoy on a daily basis.

There was a time when I was too busy to really get involved in the political process, but nonetheless did what I could to educate myself about the candidates and issues and voted my conscience. In recent years, I've paid much more attention, and have even served in various capacities in our precinct. For one thing, our freedoms are being eroded line by line, here a little, there a little. Perhaps age has given me a perspective I didn't have before, and I can see where we seem to be headed as a country. And it concerns me deeply.

So here we are, just 5 days away from "Super Tuesday", a day when 23 states will hold their primary elections (or caucuses in some states). These states are Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah, and West Virginia. Rules may vary somewhat from state to state as to how this process is carried out, but I believe in most, if not all states, you have to have registered to vote in a certain time frame before the election. This information is available on-line by looking at your state's website for Elections information.

I know that many of the people who might wander onto this blog are busy with young families and other responsibilities. Those duties are most important, and precious, and timely. But I hope that you will make the time to get out and vote on Tuesday if your primary will be held then, and if it isn't, find out when it will be, and vote then. The bottom line is -- at least to my way of thinking -- is that the primary elections are every bit as important, if not more so, than the general election in November. This is the election that determines who your party's candidate will be.

Ok, that's the most important part. But something else -- and I'm going to stick my neck out here -- I'm conservative. I believe in less government involvement in the lives of citizens. I believe that we as individuals should be as self-sufficient as possible and not surrender our freedom to our government by taking handouts from them. I also believe there are times when some of us need government help, and that is ok. The candidates who are selected as the potential president of our country have very different approaches to government. Select wisely. Your future, and the future of your children is at stake.

He Knows the End From the Beginning

In the midst of a trial, great or small, have you wondered where your Heavenly Father was and why he wasn’t hearing or answering your prayers? I’m ashamed to admit that I have. But this morning, for no particular reason, my mind went back to some incidents that happened in my life that remind me that He is always there and He always answers our prayers, spoken or only felt, in the best possible way.

In 1976 I was not a happy person. Bob had been out of work for a year and a half, I was working part time. He stayed at home with four-year-old Gayle. We were members of a neighborhood Catholic parish which we did not attend with any frequency. My life, at least, was not in order, and although I knew that, I didn‘t have any idea how to change it. I was struggling personally as well as with the circumstances in our lives.

After having looked for a job for a length of time, Bob started thinking that his best option would be to join the Army. Not only would he have a job, but they would give him special training in the field of his choice. He had served his obligation in the National Guard for six years in the late ‘60’s and early 70’s, and at the end of that time had sworn that he would never stand in line again. I took that to mean that he was definitely done with military service. When he announced to me, pretty much out of the blue, that he was thinking about joining the Army, I was horrified. I knew what that would entail: we would have to leave our home, our home town, all of our friends, and our family, and we would become -- gasp -- Gypsies!! I protested long and loudly. I refused. I probably even stomped my feet and cried. And I must have prayed that this foolish ideal would evaporate.

Looking back, I see now that Heavenly Father knew my needs so much better than I. He was moving me in a direction to end my struggling and help me make my life right, to put it in harmony with the best that He has for me. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, so when Bob came home from enlisting, I cried. He was committed for four years. When he showed me on a map where we would be living in Texas, I ripped the page from the atlas into many pieces and told him of all the places I might want to live, that is, if I ever even considered leaving Toledo, Texas was the last place I would choose. He was unfazed. He calmly but firmly told me that he had joined the Army and that he was going. I could stay or I could go. That was that.

We had been married almost ten years. I hadn’t come that far through the challenges of early married life, to give up yet. I swallowed my pride, and began doing all that needed to be done to move our little family to Texas and to adjust to a whole new life ahead. I told Bob I was with him for four years, but no more, and after that if he chose to stay in the Army, he would be doing it alone. I still wasn’t happy, but I was going. I didn't know it at the time, but I was taking the first step toward putting my will in line with Heavenly Father’s.

to be continued

All Hearts Go Home for Christmas

“All hearts go home for Christmas, for love is always there”


The year that my husband, Bob, joined the Army, our four year old daughter, Gayle, and I joined him at Fort Hood, Texas, shortly after he finished training in November. Ohio had always been home, and I had had no desire to leave. The recession of 1974 had forced Bob out of work, and after almost two years without a job, Bob was glad for the opportunities the Army offered.

We had sold most of our furniture and stored our belongings in our home in Toledo, which was rented to friends. My sister, Kathie, drove with Gayle and me to our new home, a small furnished apartment in the booming military metropolis of Killeen in central Texas. A day or two later when I watched her plane leave from Austin airport, I felt very much alone. Thanksgiving, a holiday which we had celebrated exactly the same every year for as long as I could remember, was three short weeks away. Facing the holidays in a new place without our extended families and no friends was a bleak thought indeed.

Fortunately, Bob did not share my dampened spirit about this new life of ours. His enthusiasm and Gayle’s natural cheerfulness were my lifeline those first months away. We made the best of Thanksgiving. We ate at the Holiday Inn. It certainly wasn’t Aunty Mary’s perennial feast, and having three at the table instead of our usual 10 or 12 was a change, but we had deliberately chosen to make it as different as possible so there would be no comparison.

As Christmas approached, we decided to make the best of that as well. A tiny tree decorated with homemade ornaments stood in one corner of our living room. We purchased a few small gifts for Gayle -- we didn’t have much to spend. It wasn’t so much that we wouldn’t have the usual pile of presents under the tree that bothered me, but that we would be away from “home”.

Bob was a medical lab technician and worked in the blood bank at the post hospital. Just three days before Christmas, he came home with the wonderful news that the chief had arranged work schedules so that everyone in their section would have either Christmas or New Year’s off, and a few extra days besides. Bob was fortunate to have been given Christmas, beginning at 4 PM on the 23rd. It takes 24 hours of driving, including minimal time for fueling, eating, and rest stops. The drive wouldn’t be a problem. Bob has always been an endurance driver. I would help out when he got tired. We could do it…weather permitting. We would do it! We packed the back of our station wagon, tucking Gayle into a sleeping bag between suitcases, and left Killeen just 24 hours before the Christmas festivities would start at my sister’s home in Ohio. We told Kathie we were coming, but she decided not to tell the rest of the family. It would be a surprise. The excitement was delicious.

But perhaps the most memorable part of that Christmas happened very quietly and unexpectedly in the middle of the night somewhere in Arkansas or Missouri. Have you ever had a moment in your life that was etched permanently into your soul? Gayle was asleep in the back of the car, and Bob dozed in the passenger seat as I drove. The night was cold and black, but thousands of stars were twinkling in the heavens. Christmas hymns were playing on the radio. I thought about Christmas -- about what we are really celebrating: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. For the first time in my life, I pondered the meaning of Christmas. An indescribable peace settled over me. I will never forget that feeling.

Joyful tears and hugs were plentiful as Bob, Gayle and I surprised our family at 6:00 on Christmas Eve. Since that Christmas years ago, we have spent many away from Toledo, but we have learned that home is where we are. And our family is whoever is with us. The best part of Christmas for me is the part I found that night -- the peace that comes from knowing.

* * * * * * *

I'm so grateful for the Savior, for his life and for his sacrifice that makes it possible for each of us to repent and to return to our Heavenly Father. Wishing you, your family, and all of those you love a joyful and blessed Christmas and a healthy and happy 2008.

Pam

Winter Solstice

According to Wikipedia, "the winter solstice occurs at the instant when the sun's position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equitorial plane as the observer". Evidently, it was/is a pagan "holiday" or time of festivals, rituals and celebrations. I've just always known it as the shortest day of the year.

I didn't give much thought to the term "winter solstice" until a few years ago when my eccentric cousin sent me a Winter Solstice card. I didn't know such greeting cards existed. Silly me. Her beliefs contrasted with mine would line up in a similar manner to the Winter and Summer Solstices. I shake my head, and realize that in recognizing our differences, I probably am in need of repentance. Sometimes, it's hard not to judge.

Over the years I have found myself starting to look forward to this midwinter event pretty much beginning the day when we switch back from Daylight Savings Time to standard time. I yearn for longer days, more light. But to get there, we have to get past the shortest day. Hence, today marks the beginning of longer days. Each day between now and June 21, will be just a little longer than the one before it. And on that day, I will revel in the light and try not to think that the days will then be getting shorter.

Several years ago, my husband Bob expressed the desire to be at one of his very favorite places on the Summer Solstice, June 21, to see how long it would be light there. We were living in Maryland at the time, but made the trek to northern Michigan, near Traverse City. Pyramid Point is now part of the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore (check out Picture #13 which is nearby) which overlooks beautiful blue Lake Michigan, but Bob and his family discovered Pyramid Point long before the federal government did, before there was even a clear path to the top of the dune. With our extended families, we have climbed up that sandy peak on many occasions over three decades. Now, not only is a parking lot provided at the road, but a restroom as well, and the path is graded and marked. Progress. Unfortunately. In the "olden days" we could count on enjoying the serene solitude of the place. Most times we visit now, we will meet others on the path and will have to share the view.

That night in 1997 was no different. We hiked up the trail through the beech and maple trees and arrived at thetop of Pyramid Point probably around 8 PM. It was a beautiful clear warm evening, and the sun was setting over Lake Michigan at the western end of the horizon. Near the other end, we could see a hint of the Manitou Islands, according to legend, representing the cubs of the mama bear (now the sand dunes) who had swam across Lake Michigan to escape a raging forest fire. In front of us the bluff dropped steeply to the water 450 feet below. We took pictures of the sinking sun and the deep blue water. Then we sat in the cooling sand, awaiting the demise of the sun on that longest day of the year. Other vacationers came and left while we kept vigil. One young couple was there to celebrate their anniversary; I took their picture, memorized their address, and mailed it to them later. The firey globe slowly sank behind the horizon as we watched. For a long time after the sun disappeared, its light glowed in the sky. It was almost 11 PM before we felt we could declare the end of day. Mission accomplished. Many times since then Bob and I have talked about the magic of that evening.



Today's winter solstice holds no such magic. This cold dark winter night finds me holed up in the house with a computer in front of me. The sun disappeared approximately 5 PM this evening. But the comforting thought is that each day will be just a little longer now, and we have June 21st to look forward to.

Buns

I thought my friend, Lynne, would write about this on her blog, but she didn't, so I will.

On Saturday, I was at my daughter's house doing some bookwork for her and checked my email. Lynne had written to see if I wanted to go to J-Dawg's, one of our favorite spur-of-the-moment getaways. I emailed back to say that I would be awhile, and not to wait for me, but that I would call her when I got home.

Being the true, loyal, devoted friend that she is, she didn't go without me, and when I called her an hour later, she laughed and said she hadn't had lunch yet, and that she was definitely ready for a J-Dawg. That's one of the things I like about Lynne: she likes to go. At the drop of a hat.

"Pick you up in a few minutes," I told her.

"Ok, I'm ready."

My mouth was watering. Mmmmmm. I could almost smell the grilled Polish sausage with special sauce, sauerkraut, dill pickle, onions, and banana peppers. Oooooo, I couldn't wait! It was almost 2 and I hadn't had anything to eat since my Dee's cereal breakfast. I was hungry. And the thought of that juicy J-Dawg got the digestive juices flowing.

I picked Lynne up and we headed toward BYU. I mentioned to her that Sheri Dew was at the Deseret Book store at our local mall signing her latest book, God Wants a Powerful People, and that it was 50% off today only. It didn't take us long to put our carnal appetites on hold for more spiritual things, and we decided to take a short detour to the mall. To save time, I dropped Lynne off at the door and drove around the parking lot until she came out. There was no parking. None. I'm sure half of Utah was at that mall on Saturday. She got the books, and despite the long checkout line, was out of the mall in about 15 minutes, maybe less.

Then we headed back over to J-Dawg's, got up to the window and were told THEY WERE OUT OF BUNS!!!

Lynne asked, "Well, did you send someone out for some?"

No, they hadn't. Talk about disappointment!

I suddenly realized that we had missed the last bun by mere seconds. The guy ahead of us was getting his dawg, bun and all. Maybe if we hadn't gone to the mall, I thought. But I quickly checked that thought, knowing we had "chosen the better part".

After we gathered our wits about us after such a horrific shock, we decided to try a hot dog place Lynne had seen in Orem. The menu showed promise -- probably 30 different varieties of hotdog combinations (four basic kinds of individual dogs with all manner of toppings). The proprietor was a hoot -- calling out to us from behind the counter to greet us when we walked in and accommodating us as only a small business owner can. A bit of a character. The price for a hot dog and drink was about $5.00, a dollar and a quarter more than the same thing at J-Dawg. And the dogs weren't really so great.

But that's ok, I'm stashing a package of hot dog buns in my car for our next trip to J-Dawg, just to be sure.

Oh, for a Tony Packo hot dog...

Another story for another time.

Marina's Story...Think about it

Because I started this as a draft, it was published under the date I began the draft, December 4. Please scroll down, to read as Paul Harvey would say, "the rest of the story".

Sunday Snow, or What a Difference a Day Makes