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Tuesday, November 29, 2011

THE DOG WHO WAS INTIMATE WITH CATS

Their love was a perverse, yet passionate and star-crossed one. He was a callow, young charmer with a cocky, devil-may-care attitude and orange-reddish hair. She was an earthy type with a long, freckled nose and missing teeth. And she was old enough to be his great-grandmother. But they connected on a deep spiritual level as soul-mates. Were they human, poets and singers would have mellifluously immortalized them in song and verse.

Of course each had their rivals. She stood riveted, eyes wide and ears perked, every time a certain mixed breed hunk with a feathery, curled tail swaggered by the front of our house. Several times I had to prevent her from running down the street after him. He was the dog with which she most wanted to swap fleas. -- And yes, she was spayed!

Kitty-corner from our house lived a platinum toy poodle who let the callow, young charmer know she was game for anything; including getting kinky with a member of a different species. She was always throwing herself at him. French poodles have a certain reputation, you know.

Our dog was into her teens at this point, a senior citizen in canine years. We got her through mutual friends when she was a 10 month old hellion. She turned out to be too much for her elderly owner who had paid top price for this pure bred. Now she was looking for a good home. We treated animals better than family, so we were perfect.

"She's gigantic for a chihuahua!" I thought aloud upon 1st seeing her. The dog was about twice the size of our previous one. She more closely resembled a terrier.

"She's an asthmatic chihuahua," the lady told me, "they're a larger breed. They're supposed to help people who suffer from asthma. But I'm just getting too old to tend a pet."

Upon bringing the dog home, she went wild, tearing up everything within reach! Among other things, she pulled a photo from my mother's open purse and shredded it. She barked non-stop at a vase of flowers on the table, also clothes hanging on the line, too. -- She sure wasn't the sharpest stick in the yard!

Our elderly cat was not happy to see her. He had only tolerated our previous dog. And this one was constantly shoving her long nose up his behind. -- He didn't swing that way!

She had one really disgusting habit as well! The dog was constantly raiding the litter box and gulping down it's contents before we could stop her! Sometimes, she liked to just sit in the litter box and stare at the river outside through our glass door. -- Perhaps she was pretending she was at the beach!

It took us 3 long years to completely house-break her. For several Christmas's I used to sing, "Check the hall for piles of dog poop!" whenever anyone got up to use the bathroom.

The previous owner had named her Cocoa because of her chocolate color. -- I used to call it poopy brown! Seems every 3rd dog, cat, or monkey I knew was named Cocoa. I wanted something more distinctive! I suggested altering it to Cocote' (pronounced Co-co-tay) after a floral designer who once worked in our shop. But the lady had bitterly told my father off before she quit. So he adamantly refused to have an animal in our home with that name!

Our elderly cat died a year later. Soon after, we got a new one, a year old female from an ad in the newspaper. She was unused to dogs. Especially one who was constantly shoving its nose up her backside. It was an affront to her dignity! She ran away, back to her previous owner. They decided to keep her.

We found another female cat from the newspaper. A Russian Blue who was the same age as Cocoa. Her name was Tasha. She didn't take any nonsense from dogs! Big ones from down the street would wander onto our property. Cocoa would cower and want to be carried. Tasha would charge them, yowling with claws and teeth barred! And they'd run, too! Sometimes multiple dogs at once. It was hilarious to see!

Early one evening, the 3 of us were outside together. Out from the bushes sprang an impudent young tomcat less than a year old. He ignored Tasha and went straight to Cocoa as if to say, "Hey baby, smell me up, smell me down!"

The dog was at first startled, then confused by his attention. He began jumping on her rather than the other way around. Tasha watched transfixed in amazement, as did I. Soon Cocoa wagged her tail as she and the tomcat began to play a flirtatious game of tag.

He came courting right before dark every day. We learned he belonged to a neighbor at the end of our street. The only cat in a household filled with dogs; his name was Clyde.

"He probably thinks he's a dog, too!" my father used to say.

"Well that explains a lot," I said. My nickname for him was, "The Little Pervert." I remember the way his eyes lit up upon 1st seeing Cocoa.

The poodle's owner didn't want her messing around with any cat. So Cocoa and Clyde became an item.

Soon he was neutered. But that didn't seem to deter his ardor for our female dog. He continued to come courting. Both delighted in each other's company! They had clicked and bonded unlike any 2 animals I had ever seen before.

Tasha perished from lung cancer, which mystified us. No one in our family smoked! And the cat sure didn't!

Later that same year, Clyde was struck and killed by a car. It happened right before dark! Probably on his way to see Cocoa. She looked around sadly for him on many evenings.

That Thanksgiving, before our feast, I told my father we should observe a moment of silence for both cats. Only months later, we put our house up for sale.

By the time we moved to our new home in Vero Beach, Cocoa was nearly 16 yrs old and afflicted with Cushing's disease. We were told it was fatal! But she seemed to do well on medication.

Now she had a new companion. The cat that came with the house.

As my father's health continued to decline, so did the dog's. Her hearing and eyesight started to go. She became so arthritic I had to lift her up and down from furniture, and carry her on the stairs. Also she couldn't hold her bladder for long.

My father wanted to put Cocoa to sleep. But she still had that mischievous gleam in her eye, and she still enjoyed food. So I refused.

A few months after my father's death, the cat failed to come for breakfast. I found him dead outside. The dog's health continued to deteriorate. I swore our next trip to the Vet would be one-way for her.

A couple months later, I ended up putting her down over a dental infection. She was 18 yrs old. I was with her right until the end. As I held her in my arms, I assured her there would be lots of familiar dogs, cats, and humans to welcome her on the other side. And one special feline in particular, the great amour of her life, Clyde!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

THANKSGIVING, MY WAY

After my father's death in Oct. of 2001, the holidays were soon upon me. I was still grieving and just wanted them to be over. However, the following Thanksgiving in 02, I realized the time had come to start my own holiday traditions.

Since my idea of cooking mostly involves poking holes in a tray, I looked for an alternative. But I didn't want to spend time in a crowded restaurant either. The local hospital held a Thanksgiving meal in their cafeteria for a reasonable price. It was open to the public and had several seatings. I found it wasn't as crowded if I attended the earliest one. Afterward I drove to a matinee. This became my tradition.

One year, my friend Margaret announced she would be coming to spend Thanksgiving with me. She offered to cook a turkey dinner for the 2 of us.

"It won't feel like a holiday if there's any work involved!" I said. I wanted to enjoy it like a man with no messy clean-up jobs afterward. I told her I would take her out, my treat.

Margaret was surprised to say the least when I drove her to the hospital cafeteria for our holiday dinner.

"Hey, the food is delicious and it's cheaper than a restaurant," I explained. "Plus they have a wonderful assortment of desserts, not just boring ole pumpkin pie."

"Well I've eaten in hospital cafeterias, before," Margaret replied. "Remember I am a doctor. But it never occurred to me to go to one for a holiday meal."

"If you don't like it," I said, "next time we can go to one of those churches in town offering a free Thanksgiving dinner. For you, I'll put up with the preaching!"

Two years later, Margaret was again joining me for Thanksgiving. This time I promised to treat her to an actual restaurant. It was a popular local establishment that was noted for it's cuisine and affordable prices. I made a reservation.

As soon as we stepped inside, Margaret started loudly complaining it was too dark! After we sat down, she complained she couldn't read the menu due to the dim lighting. Also her coffee was too cold! There were other complaints as well. For a minute I thought my father had risen from the grave! I told her to be quiet or they would be spitting in her food! The waitresses were all giving me sympathetic looks. They probably thought she was my bitchy mother!

I usually enjoy Margaret's company, but I discovered that I prefer to spend my holidays alone.

After awhile, the Thanksgiving dinners at the hospital cafeteria became too crowded, noisy and routine. So I decided to stay in and enjoy my home. I decorated the big dining room table under the chandelier. I brought out the fancy lace tablecloth & place settings, also my good china. Plus frozen food had become better than ever!

Right in my grocer's freezer I found delectable stuffed chicken breasts and fish, seasoned mashed potatoes already prepared, vegetables with sauces, everything easy to fix! Not to mention lots of tasty appetizers from which to choose. Plus I had a garage freezer filled with pastries from the bakery. -- An exotic feast fit for an empress! And afterward, as I enjoy action flicks on my DVR, Mr. Dishwasher does the dishes. -- It just doesn't get any better!

Friday, November 18, 2011

MIGRAINES & MULTI-GRAINS

My father was still alive & quite ill when I began going through the change of life. That's when the migraine headaches started. Or as I call it, migraine hell. Usually it was about 3 days of pure torture!

Dad required constant care. My father couldn't take himself to the bathroom, or bathe with out my help. Also he had doctor's appointments to keep and meals had to be prepared. I couldn't take time out to be sick. Nor could I ask the young mother next door for any more favors. She was too busy with her own family. It was a miserable time to be alive.

After my father passed, I had the luxury of taking care of myself. Usually twice a month, I spent 3 straight days in bed without food. Often the pain was too excruciating to sleep. I couldn't even keep water on my stomach. Even strong aromas sent me to the bathroom heaving. Nothing over the counter worked. I couldn't keep it down.

My worst migraine lasted into a 4th day. I was so weak, I had difficulty walking down the stairs. I'll never forget the meal that magically restored my strength. It was a can of chicken soup, soda crackers, lime yogurt, & lemon tea. After a migraine, I always seemed to crave tart & salty foods.

Saturdays, my long-time friend Pat would call from North Florida. She had moved there right before my father and I had moved to Vero Beach. We both acknowledged we would probably never see each other again in life. But we stayed close by phone.

"Why don't you go to a doctor?!" she always queried.

"Because migraine pills cost $20. a piece!" I always told her. "Plus doctor visits are not cheap! I keep thinking of all the other things for which I would rather spend that money."

"So you prefer to suffer?" The idea seemed incredulous to her.

"It's better than being ripped-off," I stated. "The price of medicine and doctors are all too high. I feel like a sucker paying those prices! But unfortunately they have most people over a barrel and they know it...Oh yeah, the doctors all complain they're forced to charge those exorbitant fees due to the whopping cost of malpractice insurance. Get real! They don't want to give up their expensive cars, boats, & luxury homes and the assorted rich people toys."

"It's not going to change, Dianne," she said. "It's the way of the world."

"Well the world had better change!" I told her. "Way back in 1961, when I was 10 yrs old, my grandfather spent 3 days in the hospital. My father paid the bill in cash! We weren't millionaires. Back then, health care was affordable! Now everything is out of whack!"

I read someplace that the reason pharmaceutical companies charge so much is because they need money for research. I think that's just more acid eye wash! It's so their CEO's can retire with their golden parachutes! -- I'd like to give them all a golden shower!

Actually at the time I had Health Insurance. But it didn't pay for spit!  Every time I pulled out my card, some doctor's secretary would practically laugh in my face. Then ask to see my REAL insurance. -- I was certainly paying REAL premiums! After I lost so much money in investments I decided it wasn't worth having anymore.

Eventually the migraines became so frequent and severe I was forced to see a doctor. He gave me free samples. The very next day I had a migraine. I took the 1st pill and immediately threw it up. Later, I placed the other under my tongue as per instructions. I heaved that one, too! There was no relief from the excruciating pain in my brain.

My former neighbor Gertrude told me she experienced the same thing while going through the change. She assured me they would gradually taper off. Mine only seemed to be getting worse. I thought I'd tried everything by now.

At the 1st throb of a migraine, I started drinking strong black tea with industrial strength lemon. -- I was actually able to keep it down! (A miracle!) Every subsequent hour I prepared another cup. I still had pain, but it wasn't the knife twisting in my brain variety as before. Also I didn't have to spend as much time in bed. -- As long as I stuck to that liquid diet.

When I felt better, I gave up my daily greasy breakfasts. I love buttery biscuits & cheesy potatoes. -- Or at least I limited them to once a week! This also helped.  I started eating only multi-grain bread and cereals. I began getting fewer and less severe migraines. I wasn't gaining weight from those fatty foods because I was getting sick instead. My body had been sending me a message.

Friday, November 11, 2011

THE LADY DOCTOR & MY TA-TAZ

My friend Dr. Margaret had a religious bent. Which is a good thing, if not taken to extreme. Being a generation younger, I was more of a daring dresser. Frequently, she would scold me for my low-cut tops. -- Now they were no worse than what you see on network TV during prime time! Plus displaying cleavage happened to be the style early in the naughty-aughty decade.

Margaret was hardly a modest dresser herself! We both had a taste for flashy frills. Plus her clothes were so tight, they almost appeared sprayed on. Margaret had a great figure and a bosom most strippers would envy. Yet for some strange reason she had this bug-a-boo about cleavage.

Upon one of her visits, I wore a flowery low-cut summer dress. I had purchased it new, on sale. Plus the day was hot and humid, as is typical of Florida weather. Margaret criticised my attire as being indecent.

"I bought it from a CHADWICK catalogue, not a whore store! And it's not as if my nipples are showing!" I vehemently protested.

"If that was the style I bet you'd be doing that too!" Her nostrils flared. "And don't you bulge your boobs at me!"

"Hey, I get tons of complements on the way I dress," I told her defiantly. "People are always asking if I'm an actress!"

"That's because they're probably too embarrassed to ask if you're a prostitute!" She sniffed.

At my advanced age, (I was in my 50's then) I felt I should be free to wear whatever I want! I wasn't backing down. "Most men of my years are all dating younger women anyway. But I still want to look pretty!" I bristled.

To which Margaret replied, "No matter how old, ugly, or fat a woman gets, a man's appendage always fits! -- So you need to be careful." According to Margaret, I was placing myself in danger with my revealing clothes. "You have no idea how strong the male sex drive really is!" she said with a tone of expertise.

She labeled me a "P.T." or "Prick Teaser"! Funny thing too, at the time I was considering purchasing a PT Cruiser, seriously!

"Yes men are so lecherous even our pets, farm animals, fruits, and baked goods aren't safe from their urges," I replied. -- I needed to explain the last two to her. Turning on a man is no great accomplishment. It's tantamount to making a dog wag its tail. Those Puritan women in their ugly clothes all did it, too!

"Haven't you ever noticed that other people don't dress like you?" she continued.

"Look in the mirror, Margaret." I pointed out. "Besides, I'm me! I'm not like everyone else!"

"No you are not!" she snapped. "You are seriously disturbed like everyone else in your family!"

"Well you know darn well I am no slut! I don't even believe in sex outside marriage!" I hollered back. "And even after marriage it should be unnecessary."

"True, you are no nymphomaniac," she agreed.

"Yeah, and I get so disgusted whenever I hear all these women gush about men's buns. I can't even look at a man's behind without thinking about what comes out of it," I said.

Margaret laughed.

Before he died, my father told me he could go to his grave assured his money would never be spent on any gigolos. "Not with my daughter!" he said.

"Remember, I am your friend unconditionally," Margaret stated. " That's why I worry about you courting trouble. You are naive."

"Actually trouble has come a'courting me a few times. You've forgotten," I reminded. "But I kicked it on it's way."

"Still, I pray for you," she said with a sigh.

Margaret and I tarted-up to dine at a restaurant over on the beach. I wore a rather tight, low-cut dress. Of course I received a disapproving stare.

"This is a vintage dress from the 80's," I told her. "Do you know what my mother said to me the 1st time I wore it?"

Margaret rolled her eyes. "I can just imagine!" she gasped.

Mom said, "That dress gives you a figure just like that Margaret character I introduced you to a few years back."
 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

THE MERETRICIOUS MARGARET

 
I met Margaret during the summer of 1980 when I was a 29 yr old blonde chick. Ironically, we were introduced by my mother. During my mid-teens Mom became a religious fanatic and joined a Holy Roller church. She remained a member until her death in 1987. But that's a story for a future blog.

That summer my mother was adamant I attend a wedding at her church. I had never met the couple and had zero interest. But Mom was eager to acquaint me with a new member of the congregation. The lady would be picking us up since neither of us drove.

"She's a peculiar person," Mom stated, You two might hit it off. She's close to your age."

I told her in no uncertain terms that I didn't want to know anyone who would belong to that church!

"The woman just experienced a painful divorce. She's lonely and looking for friends. She is disappointed the people there aren't more friendly," Mom explained. "Her ex-husband was a doctor. They used to fly to Florida on their private plane."

Well I was friendless, dateless, and a few months earlier, my father had sold our family business, so now I was unemployed, too. I couldn't imagine myself clicking with some rich doctor's ex-wife.

"The other people at church think she dresses way too flashy," Mom continued.

Bingo! We had something in common.

"She sings in the choir," Mom went on, "Everyone was shocked to see her make a bellydancer move with her tambourine."

Now she was beginning to sound like she might be interesting.

As I first saw Margaret, I knew instantly why the church ladies wouldn't like her. She was trim, attractive, and dressed with style. Clearly not a member of the frump-a-dump brigade. Also she was more educated.

Margaret was not close to my age. In fact she was closer to my mother's age. However they looked opposite as night and day! I told her she didn't seem like the type to gravitate to that particular denomination.

"They featured an ad in the newspaper that caught my eye," she replied. "It was a program for single people. I never thought my husband would leave me. I'm having trouble adjusting."

That's one problem I've never had, I embrace and enjoy my aloneness! I felt she could learn a lot from me. The following week we enjoyed lunch together sans my mother.

"It was sweet of you to attend the wedding with your mom," Margaret told me.

"She paid me $20. to go," I said.  And I wasn't joking!

But I'm glad I attended! Had you told me that this woman would still be in my life during my 50's as my longest and dearest friend, I would probably have considered it incredulous! Especially since she moved out of state only 2 weeks after our meeting.

We exchanged letters for awhile. Suddenly she seemed to just drop off the map! I heard nothing for several years. My mother thought she had probably remarried and didn't want to know me anymore.

But then one Christmas in my mid-30's, I received a card from her! Margaret had returned to college late in life and became a doctor herself. Her ex-husband had done every sneaky thing in his power to avoid paying alimony causing her financial hardship. She had been forced to give up the lifestyle she loved.

Now she was working in a Lab in North Carolina to earn enough money to retire in Florida. We began corresponding again. Shortly after, my mother died from cancer.

I received a beautiful sympathy card from Margaret. "One day, when it's your time, your mother will come for you," she wrote.

"Well if she does, I'm not going!" I wrote back. "Because if I do, I'm liable to end up in Hell!"

Margaret was shocked. Like everyone else, she had only seen my mother's artificially nice veneer. My mother had too many sociopathic traits to end up in heaven, as I see it.

Eventually Margaret retired to the Orlando area with a beautiful home. It's several hours away from here. She also became enamoured of the R.V. lifestyle. The lady doctor owned both a large and a small of the vehicles.

After our Stuart home went on the market, Margaret came in her smaller R.V. to see the place for a final time. Like most people she loved our river view. It was also the 1st time she met my father.

We learned she had been a professional dancer in her youth. Margaret had even attracted the notice of a Hollywood agent.

"I just wasn't interested in pursuing it," she told us. "All I wanted was a husband and family."

"I really thought you'd remarry," I said. "My mother believed you had."

"Most of the men I've met since my divorce are just users." She grimaced. "And my ex-husband "Fred" had deep-seated psychological problems. He punched me in the face once!"

"And you still loved him! That's amazing!" I exclaimed. I learned years later that he was the 2nd husband who beat her. In many ways Margaret was as damaged as I had been.

Later after my father and I moved to Vero Beach, Margaret visited many times in her R.V.. Dad delighted in her company, too.

Upon her 1st visit, she came attired in her infamous leopard slacks. I insisted she wear them. I surprised her wearing mine! However, Margaret went me one better with a broad-brimmed leopard hat, too. 

On a less fit and attractive woman that outfit would have appeared outlandish. However Margaret looked just like a Palm Beach socialite. She kept her dancer's figure her entire life.

During a later visit, she wore a trendy red leather pants & jacket set with a matching cap. She was into her 80's by then, but you'd never guess it! Margaret loved clothes as much as I do, especially flashy styles! We both admitted our love of reading SEVENTEEN magazine.

"I don't like the clothes they make for people my age," Margaret used to say.

I think the same. Both of us shopped in the Junior section. Later in her retirement, when she fell on economic hard times, I introduced her to Thrift & Consignment stores.

After my father's passing, she was a godsend! She helped me to find my way around what was still a strange city. Following directions after my father's stroke had been harrowing. He was too deaf to comprehend my questions. And I couldn't understand his answers due to his impaired speech. Cars would be honking at us while drivers gave me the finger!

Usually Margaret came twice a year. I always looked forward to her visits. We would ooh and aah over each other's garish frills like a pair of drag queens. It was a glorious time!

We often tried to out-do each other with our outfits. I used to think of us as an older, poorer version of PARIS & NICOLE. -- A popular program at the time. Except that we weren't tramps!

But after all those decades, she still seemed obsessed with Fred. She spoke of her ex-husband so frequently, I used to call him her F-word.

"My husband always told me how much he loved me," she lamented. "But the first time we had a problem he was crying on the shoulder of another woman. I'll never get over that!"

"Yeah the guy who hit you!!!  But didn't you say he married someone different?" I asked.

"His current wife, a patient came later," she replied. "It was his nurse who broke up our marriage. Why she refused to let me see my own husband when I went to his office. In fact she threw a glass of water in my face because I refused to leave!"

"You should have decked her!" I laughed.

"I could have ducked, but I wanted to see how far she would go," Margaret explained. " His staff called the police. Meanwhile my husband sneaked out the back and drove home."

What a coward!!!

"The nurse ended up going back to her husband, but my marriage had been destroyed." Margaret sighed. "After my divorce, I joined a different church. And guess what?... That nurse held a high paid position there. -- But I got her fired after I told them she broke up my marriage!"

"I'm proud of you!" I said. "She deserved that!"

"I had such difficulty adjusting to being single," Margaret stated. "But now I prefer it."

"Right on!" I replied.

Usually after 3 days, 4 at the most, we were both eager to resume our routines and separate lives. Margaret was a unique spirit and a valued friend. Best of all, she never over-stayed her welcome.