I got the best gift ever this year when my 5-year-old granddaughter pretended not to kiss me at her birthday party...then hugged me hard with a happy grin on her face and twinkle in her brown eyes, delighted at fooling me.

A sparkling wit is added to the world: Welcome, Princess!

Laughter.
Tricks.
Wit.
Humor.
Yahoo!
I like to think I had a little to do with her developing a sense of humor. She gets the trickster part from her dad -- my son -- who got it from me :)
And from my other son. We were all there in the party melee of relatives crowding, mixing, yakking, eating, gesturing, all taller than she -- it must be like living in an  old growth redwood forest for her, everyone so very much bigger -- and often talking literally above her head.
But she holds her own. She's happy to go off and play with her new toys and let the adults yak. She also competes with adults in the computer games her dad got her...she's happy to win, losing just spurs her on.
She is socially comfortable way more than  I, raised in the children-should-be-seen-and-not-heard generation.  She is a kid, no question, but relates on a level with adults that I still find it hard to manage sometimes: becoming awkward and brainless in crowds or new groups. She comes from social people, and they have bequeathed her her ease, a great and valuable gift that will serve her well throughout her life.
And we have given her that 5th dimension, of humor, of looking at things less seriously, including yourself, of seeing things askew and belly laughing and playing with words and getting jokes and making puns and grandmoms smile.
And that is precious, too.
It makes the Year of 5 exciting. There is not just "real" school ahead, but a developing humorist discovering the diverse ways to introduce laughter - that one characteristic unique to humans - into her life, her friends, her family and her world.
Which may be a wee bit of an overstatement when she may just learn to tell jokes.
Which is nothing to sneeze at.
It's going to be a hoot to watch her grow.

You don't stop laughing when you die, you die when you stop laughing

Ducks executing their divide and conquer ploy.

BTW: I've loved dogs and I treasure my cats, so there's no bias in this story, it's just cute.

I was out walking in 2010's fantastic fall this week. I'd just been up to see the pictographs on the side of Ha Ling mountain with a buddy. The last time I went there the trail was blocked for maintenance and you couldn't get to them. That was two years ago and I remember it as a steep hike, me puffing up the side, a good exercise with great views of the waterfall and two pristine, spring-fed lakes. This time we got to the lakes and I was still wondering when the steep part would start.
Good to know I am in much better shape these days.
I got pix of an amazing wall-full of icicles, round icicles along a spring fed stream and the hoop-holding Indian pictographs. On my way home I stopped at another lake hoping to get a reflection of the mountains in the water. I flushed a pair of mallards and stalked them as they glided among the lake's golden reeds and still waters. I heard a funny sound behind me and a golden retriever poked his head into the lake.
Off went my ducks and on went a frown: the signage was clear about no dogs allowed around the lake, they had a huge dog area of their own nearby. But dog owners, many of them, don't think rules apply to them. They refuse to use leashs, or use extendable leashes that mean they have no effective control  over their dogs, One bragged the other day that she connected two extendable leashes to 40 feet so her animal could get a good workout while she was obeying the leash law. Sigh.
This owner didn't even pretend, she had her two animals off leash in a restricted area without apology and I was concerned for my ducks.
Silly me.
The retriever jumped in and started paddling straight toward the pair. They glided smoothly away. The dog paddled harder and drew closer. The ducks looked at each other, waited a bit, then split up.
The dog followed the male, then realized there was only one duck. He got confused and turned toward the now-distant female. She allowed the retriver to close the gap, then lifted gracefully from the water and landed  out of reach.
It was all done so smoothly the dog never knew what happened.
The owner did.
I laughed at the ducks' clever ploy as she called in her hapless pet. "Ducks are way smarter," she shrugged as she stepped away from her wet pet shaking off the water and they headed off.
It wasn't a belly laugh quip, but I chuckled all the way around the lake as the ducks returned to their reed dinner. 

Momma said there'd be days like this...

Cosmic laughter: the universe finds us irresistibly hilarious.

My big brother gave me a book.

BB has given me a lot of books over the years. Some I read, some I have not.

And I have to admit I started this one because I ran out of books and was too lazy to go to the library to get more. So I opened it. 

It's about insecurity (So Long, Insecurity by Beth Moore). Now, I have a lot of personality issues, but I never labeled any of them as being insecure. This author says pretty well everything can stem from feeling insecure. What you feel insecure about varies: competence, appearance, status, acceptance, adequacy, being loved, liked, appreciated, admired, measuring up, falling down, the list is practically endless.

When the insecure button gets pushed, we all react differently. Some circle the wagons and fire off the big guns, others retreat to a deep dark hiding place. Some rage, others cry. Some sail on as if nothing happened; hiding that it did.

This isn't rocket science, but I like some of the points she makes about where insecurity comes from (if you thought "childhood:" gold star) and the difference between dignity and pride. I've experienced both the deep dark cave and the sailing on, but what intrigues me is those who seem never to wobble no matter what gets thrown at them. They have an inner dignity, a secure sense of self, that accepts life is not fair, evaluates each new wrinkle, irons it out and moves on.

It's my goal to be there. To laugh at spilled milk sooner. This video shows a Domino Day, when you reach for the milk, spill it on your computer keyboard & while rushing to get paper towels, the kitties smell the milk and track it all over the desk, including the irreplaceable family photographs you were going to send to your mom...and on and on in a string of seemingly unending calamities while you yell at the Universe for dumping on you. 

My theory is the faster you can laugh, the faster you can break the disaster chain. People of dignity laugh.

The book may help point my way to getting there. Thanks, BB.

Click on the video.


Momma said there'd be days like this...

Old Dogs, New Schticks

I just wrote a thank you to a girlfriend from my way younger days. Something she said came home to roost yesterday in a big way and life is suddenly way more fun. Here it is.

I think Cowboy and Miss K have been laughing at me all this time.

Say El, wanted to thank you for something I don't know you realize you did.
Years ago when you had just split from your husband and were in that house you bought, you had an electrical box that didn't work. You told me you took off the face plate, fished around and fixed it. It made you feel empowered to do that. I have always remembered it, and my boys have been really good at helping me learn to fish as well, but you know our generation of women: raised to be insecure about our ability to fix things without a man to help.

I bought a treadmill in 2000 in eastern Colorado. Moved it to Denver, then San Francisco, then Canada. A basic fold up model small enough to fit in my car and not too heavy. Cost me $188 at SuperWalMart.

When I got laid off in 09, it stopped working, first trouble I'd had with it. A friend got a guy to come in and he got it working again. A few months later I stepped on the belt and the frame at the same time, stopping the belt. The motor stopped dead. I tried to get that guy to come back. He just wouldn't. I asked folks to help, including my engineer son, a friend who owns the Esso station, looked in the phone book where no one advertises they fix small motors, talked to the manufacturer, not that they make it anymore but they still service it, but nobody would or could help. I thought about buying a new motor for $250, but the motor frankly looked fine to me - how could I tell I needed a new motor? I finally gave up and looked on Craigslist for a used treadmill since the price was now in the high hundreds and thousands. I actually got one in my car, but it stuck out three inches and I couldn't close the trunk (it also took three of us to move it, so not exactly portable) - in short I have been trying to get that treadmill fixed or replaced for going on two years.

Yesterday, for some reason, I got tired of it being a big metal coat rack. I'd just talked to the electrician my landlord has working on the extension he's making to the house (and my place, I get another room!) I told him about the treadmill and he wouldn't have anything to do with it. Suggested I ask the place I bought it - same old, same old.

Now I'd had the cover off before. Looked at it. Found a reset switch which I thought was frozen since I couldn't get it to move. It was a mysterious, intimidating mix of circuit board, motor and pulley to me.

Yesterday, I found the manual on line. Read it. It showed a graphic of the reset switch. I pulled the cover off and looked. The button was reset, not tripped or frozen. Hummmm. I reached underneath the frame and felt the wires it was attached to. Wiggled em. Moved the cord next to it. Blew out the dust. Turned it on.

It worked.

And while I was at it, the dashboard hadn't worked since I got here. The manual had a hazy explanation of what to do if it didn't work involving the pulley, a magnet and a switch that I would have to move closer to the magnet. I couldn't picture where it was on the diagram, but figured what they hey, in for a penny...so I looked, found the magnet, moved the switch and Bingo! The dashboard now works, too.

OMG. I gotta tell you, El, I've just won the lottery. The confidence that gave me is just amazing. I'm not opening a fixit shop or anything, but anything that goes wrong around here will get looked at thoroughly, wires wiggled, whatever, before I give up on it. That kind of goes for life, too. I don't know why no one else would wiggle the wires, but I right now I'm damn glad they didn't!

Thank you.

Your friend, T

Red, White (and Blue) Tape

I've been battling bureaucracy over benefits. Frustrating, hair pulling, mind boggling, screamingly maddening - but a minefield of unexpectedly laughable conundrums.

Bureaucracy: the right hand can't even talk to the left!

Get this, the Canadian government actually has policies that prevent one agency from talking to another. So when you are told you need to provide documents from Immigration and Border Services and Old Age Security, you have to deal with all three separately to get what you need for the fourth.

On the good side: some pitying souls were aware of this quagmire and created an agency called Service Canada that does nothing but smooth your path through the labyrinth.  

And there is an office in my tiny town.

Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until I'd had some freakishly frustrating days negotiating automatic phone mazes, making sense of unhelpful uncivil servant instructions & scrounging for 40-year-old records, etc.

The reason I didn't know about it is a perfect Catch 22: they are forbidden to advertise hours, location or have a local phone number. (They explained the government didn't want them to not be available when someone called or tried to come into the office.) Knowledge of their existence is totally word of mouth.

Now that I have found Service Canada, I can laugh. I still won't get benefits for perhaps six months, but the advice from the very polite and helpful young man was that if it takes that long, call my MP (congressman) and I'd get it in weeks (!) This, as he was making copies of my records to send (for free) to the proper offices and calling those offices to ask for an extension to my application (and getting through immediately).

You have to love a government that is so aware of their bollixed up bureaucracy that they create an agency to untangle it - for those who are in the know.

That's just Canada - I deal with the US next year. Wonder if there's  a Service America to help me out.

Companion Animal Companions

Ezy now, whats we gots in da pockets, eh?

The chip-munks were a riot, and one of the better parts of that hike above Lake Louise was seeing them in the photos, 'cause they're mostly too fast to appreciate in person. It's what animals do to people that really makes me grin.

From going all mushy at a kitten or puppy to putting dogs in baby carriages while owners go on walks, I get giggles from people reacting to what they now call companion animals (surely an upgrade from mere "pets.") 

And owner behavior includes my own. 

Just yesterday, I asked a worker to help me get a glass tabletop down the stairs to my basement apartment. The very nice young man was inside helping me get it settled firmly on the tricky base (from a thrift store, so a few blemishes to work out) when I spotted my indoor cats (well, Cowboy used to be outdoor until his last vet bill for a mangled front claw topped $500) edging toward the open door. By the time I got to them, they were in the backyard - which is a bombsite because the owner is expanding and there are piles of wood, rocks and debris everywhere. The two dogs were barking their heads off in their kennel and when I added my orders to get back indoors, the kitties scrambled.

I got Cowboy back, he's 16 and happy to stay near food and water these days, but middle-aged Miss Kitty vanished as fast as Mr Mistophoeles.

I was stricken. I searched in vain for her black tiger stripes in the rubble. Looked over the neighbor fences. We are a mountain community and yards filled with native plants instead of mown lawns made this a bit insane, but I tried. In desperation, I crammed Cowboy in his harness and took him out as a lure. No dice. As he is suitably slow at 107, I picked him up and walked him around the neighborhood to where I would have run had the dogs panicked me. He enjoyed the outing, but was useless as far as attracting Miss Kitty. I was spotted by neighbors who wondered if I'd gotten a puppy and was carrying it around -- or was just deranged. 

Trying not to cry, I remembered the time Cowboy escaped from a screen window and stayed gone for three days. He finally returned, much the worse for wear, and meowled at the door. She'll come back, I told myself.  But a dark voice replied: The dogs bark all the time, she won't come near the yard. And she lives in cougar country, much bigger and way meaner. I protested: Someone will find her and take her in. My negative side just cackled: And keep her, since she has no collar, 

No collar, I thought, but she has a microchip!

But I hadn't updated her microchip information - yikes. I grabbed Cowboy and took off for home, creating even more fodder for the gossips gandering at my odd behavior. 

I spent an hour finding the websites for the kitties, since they had different microchips. I'd saved the letters with the tag numbers, one so old it didn't then have a website. I navigated the most confusing conglomeration of sites ever and it took forever to find one that had a member login window, but I finally got them both updated. Whew! 

The triumph was shortlived as dark thoughts of cougars and cars (she didn't even know how to cross a street!) and winter coming any day and kind people who would think her a stray and keep her (the best scenario, for her) flooded my mind. 

Tears flew and I blamed once free Cowboy who had lured her outside where she has never been comfortable. He looked remarkably sanguine and innocent and content -- how could he? - when with a hop, Miss Kitty jumped out from behind the bookcase, where I had looked for and not seen her: innocent, no longer afraid and fresh after her three-hour snooze. 

I had entertained the neighbors, given Cowboy a refreshing outing and updated the info on the kitties' microchips. As the companion of a companion animal: pretty normal behavior. 

I hold a grudge against Cowboy: he knew all along she was there, all he had to do was tell me.

Is Miss Kitty laughing at me or think she's still hiding from the big scary dogs?

And as soon as I understand cat speak, I'm going to tell him that.

You never hike alone...

Haiiii-ya! Karate-munks entertaining the tourists, mostly hikers, at Lake Louise:  Plain of Six  Glaciers Teahouse.

One of the many things that make my heart sing is hiking and I got a lot of chances to sing this summer. For one thing, I was trying to get in shape to celebrate my birthday at the top of a rather steep local peak. At least, I call it steep. Some locals run up and down it to work up an appetite for breakfast.

Did I say young locals?

Others climb it with ropes and metal appliances that keep them from falling down its sheer cliffs to their sometimes eternal regret. Also young (mostly).

I just looked up one day and thought I would love to be able to say Been there. Also to see what the world looks like from the top. It's hard to miss as it towers above town, so I got reminded every time I looked up. I managed to inveigle my son and daughter-in-law to go with me, and two very good buddies who stayed with me all the way  to the top.

Since then, I have been hiking a lot,  finding more opportunities and doing trails I would never have considered before. I don't mind sweat, aching joints, cold feet from glacial streams, lungs pumping hard for enough oxygen, sweaty and sunburned skin. I don't necessarily like them, they aren't my favorite part, but they go with the territory.

I've hiked by myself and with groups. Either way, I'm never alone cause there's everything from the clown chip-munks  pictured above and below to butterflies resting on wild orchids to bears too busy eating berries to pay humans any attention.  Or flowers. Or petroglyphs or rocks or pink and blue coronas as the sun peeks over a peak. I'm surrounded by such stuff.

I love looking for stuff. My favorite part is taking photos. I grab shots of animals and trees and rocks and mountain peaks, light, color, patterns -whatever catches my eye. Then I get to go home and have fun looking at what I brought back.

Like these ground squirrels called chipmunks who literally steal stuff from tourist's pockets (I have photos) or look cute to beg for food (and if none is offered, snatching it from open backpacks, off plates, out of purses). 

I don't think there's ever been a hike I didn't like, even the ones that hurt or made me dizzy from altitude sickness or were packed with people like sardines. Every one of them had some fun involved. 

And what's life without laughter?

I's tole yu an tole yu, no stealin less I sez go!