OK, I get the message...

SUNDAY. People are getting nervous. I haven't posted anything for days. Emails are flooding in. "Are you OK?" some ask. "I'm worried," others say.

I'm parked in front of the TV this evening watching the Academy Awards -- something I rarely do. Don't worry because I haven't blogged lately. Worry because I'm watching the Oscars. Three hours into this show, my brain, I fear, is turning to pudding. A recovering TV addict, my appetite for mindless entertainment wanes daily, inversely proportional to my quest for inner peace. I know that sounds trite. The truth is, these days television is taking a back seat to personal work and a relentless search for meaning. Some days I don't have to look far.

The dogs are wrestling in my unlit bedroom. I hear them thumping about in the dark, batting marrow bones with their paws like hollowed-out hockey pucks. I think the doggie goalposts are somewhere in my closet. No longer a lap dog, our young pup is growing. She believes, however, she's still a lap dog. The sight of this exuberant bundle of glee depositing herself, ungracefully, on an empty lap is not for the faint of heart. We are increasingly reluctant to invite anyone to our home, until she fully understands she's a big dog, or more to the point, a baby dog in a big body. To make matters worse, she jumps on people and lunges on lead. Bad habits are hard to break. Lately, Cesar Millan is a frequent supporting actor in my dreams, which are eerily reminiscent of Cecil B. DeMille productions. I really must stop eating all that chocolate before bedtime. A hundred and one dalmations bouncing in my brain do not make for restful sleep.

On the plus side, Telly doesn't chew my shoes, beg at the table, or misbehave as puppies often do. She's completely housebroken. She's affectionate and plays nicely with others.

Dogs are great teachers. Murphy, my Canine Zen Master, continuously demonstrates patience and peace. He is my rock. Telly, an aspiring Master, always welcomes the day with tremendous joy, though her humans don't always grasp this concept before morning tea. Murphy and Telly live in the moment. They don't worry about their next meal, unpaid bills, deadlines, illness, war or climate change. My best days are those in which I fully embrace their enthusiasm and resonate with their simple joy, ignoring the mud they track on the carpets, tissues they pluck from wastebaskets and shred, furniture cushions askew, and puddles in the kitchen (they really are sloppy drinkers). Rather than endless reprimands to teach them to conform to our obsessive ways, I cover the furniture with sheets to protect each piece from dirt and mud. Carpets are vacuumed often, and once a day I pick up the scraps of paper and chewed toys off the floor, reminders of happy playtimes. I'm grateful they are both not only non-destructive of things that don't belong to them, but clever enough to know the difference. I love watching dogs be dogs and find comfort in realizing Telly will one day mellow and leave puppyhood behind. Only then can we have friends in for dinner.

N.B. We should have named the puppy "Adobe." Her coat is frequently caked with hard desert mud.

***

I've spent the past few weekends retiring one computer and preparing a new machine to be used for work. Data transfer is laborious and time consuming. Reconfiguring and reinstalling a lot of printers and peripherals, not to mention all that software, is taking way too much time. So for those who are wondering what's become of me these past several weeks, please know I'm waist-high in bits and bytes.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day I finish this data transfer. Maybe then I can take Murphy for a swim and dust off my camera again. I'll have time to begin serious training with Telly. She needs to learn that counter-surfing is not an endearing trait. Why have computers become so complicated? Files are much bigger now, and data invades hard drives like an octopus moving in on prey. Transferring everything from one computer to another used to take about 4 hours. Now it's taking ten times as long. I need to finish this project so I can get back to blogging, living, and enjoying my free time.

This is why people call Geek Squad. Perhaps I should have as well.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Building A Fire

TUESDAY. Yet another snowstorm crawling across the Southwest is headed toward New Mexico this evening. It's nothing like the monster Nor'easter (already dubbed the "Valentine's Day Blizzard") about to descend on friends and family in New York and New England. We'll see less than a half-foot of snow, but in my humble opinion, that's six inches too much. Recent history tells me schools will close and once again Albuquerque will be paralyzed until the sun has its way with the snow and reduces the white stuff to mere puddles.

The firewood is impressively stacked near the back door, a uniform corral of piñon and cedar. It's shielded from anticipated overnight snow by several tarps, braced for strong winds with two-by-fours rescued from the scrap heap in the back yard. I've been building more fires lately. Adjacent to the fireplace room, my office feels toasty in the dry, radiant heat. But building fires isn't about heat. It's about ambience. We don't normally sit in the fireplace room. There's nothing there but a fireplace and a tall tower of empty moving boxes in a distant corner. Bright flames are visible, however, from the far end of the long corridor that runs east to west in our adobe house. I glance at the flames each time I cross the corridor on my way to the kitchen.

There's something about building a fire that evokes an ancient, primal memory bursting with ritual and rich symbology. First, the wood is stacked--methodically, thoughtfully, meditatively. A carefully arranged cord of wood is a thing of beauty, the oddly shaped pieces wedged tightly like puzzle pieces. Next comes the fire building--the deliberate placement of tinder and kindling, applying flame to tinder, watching the magic happen as the flames grow, and then, at just the right moment, placing the first big log on the fire. For me, there's usually a prayer involved in this last step. Though my fire-building skills are reasonably adequate, I've built a few duds that fizzle, pop and die, leaving semi-charred logs in the fireplace. Divine intervention is occasionally mandated, and when the logs ignite, there's cause for celebration.

The aroma of smoke puffing from chimneys is different in this part of the world. Reminiscent of cinnamon, high-elevation piñon pine fires cast an intoxicating spell. When you see, hear and smell combustion in a New Mexican fireplace, you realize the experience is indisputably unique to the Southwest, and the distinctive scent enhances the romance of a well-crafted fire.

Gazing into a fire can be deeply spiritual. In addition to providing warmth and a means for cooking, fire is a metaphor for purification in many religious traditions, as well as a symbol for overcoming challenges and removing fear. Studying a roaring fire, watching flames flicker and dance hypnotically--seductively--is supremely soothing and cleansing. Even the dogs seem to enjoy a respectable blaze. Lately I've felt the need for healing at many levels. I'd like to think laying a fire at 6AM is going a long way toward pointing me down the road to recovery.

One wonders whether global peace might simply be a matter of gathering world leaders around a fire, where they could discuss their wars and conflicts in an atmosphere of peace, enjoying hot cocoa and Mozart.

I'm eager for winter to end, but I look forward to cold nights well into Spring. It will give me an excuse to build more fires. Let the healing begin...

Another Tune For Sammie

I'm too tired to write, so instead I offer you some calming music. This is a piece I listen to when I need to refresh and be peaceful. These days, with an insane young puppy, I'm tempted to record a loop of this and play it 24/7, even while I sleep.

A Little Night Music For Sammie

Bouncing Back

TUESDAY. Lately, a lot of people seem to be leaving the planet way before their time. The truth is, it's hard losing important people in our lives no matter what their age. That urge to pick up the phone and call them persists long after they've moved to that cosmic zip code in the sky. Somehow, though, we usually find the strength to carry on. In time the pain and shock lessens and we find the courage to delete their numbers from speed dial. I often keep numbers on my cell phone long after their usefulness disappears, as if deleting a number is symbolic of deleting all my memories of the departed. It isn't. If anything, it's a gesture that says I'm coping. I'm moving on. I will survive.

I was introduced to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's five stages of grieving many years ago, when "fun" meant curling up with a thick, juicy psychology book. (I'm happy to report that self-help and psych books no longer amuse me.) Kubler-Ross's five stages of grief are denial ("this can't be happening"), anger ("why me?"), bargaining (attempting to make deals to change the loss), depression (hopelessness) and, finally, acceptance. What I need is a self-help book that tells me how to skip stages 1-4. The tomes on grieving tell us we MUST go through the first four stages before reaching acceptance, and that takes a lot of time. Personally, I dispute this notion because, like everything else in our human existence, it's based on our belief. Because today is the first day of the rest of my life, I intend to zip through stages 1-4 by lunchtime, and hit stage five before sunset.

Watching the dogs live in the moment is a real education. There's no past, no future. Everything is in the NOW (especially it if involves food). Yesterday I realized it's time to have Telly spayed, after finding Murphy (neutered since 6 months of age) humping her in the back yard. I'm told this behavior is mostly about domination, not procreation, but it's hard to accept this explanation knowing how submissive Murphy generally is. To my knowledge, he's never mounted another dog (or human leg). I distracted them both with cookies and that was the end of it. Despite our male dog's inability to reproduce, other dogs in the neighborhood are quite fertile. Telly is able to jump our fence easily. This scenario does not bode well for a puppy who has reached sexual maturity. The last thing I want, or need, is a kitchen full of puppies.

Telly continues to be fiercely protective, barking and growling at perceived threats, like the meter reader, UPS, ringing telephones, the mailman, and neighborhood kids. She loves all people, and wags her tail while she barks and growls in a schizophrenic display of manic energy. Nearly seven months old now, her energy is off the charts. I keep slipping her "Mellow Mutt" treats I purchased at Bow-Wow Blues, our neighborhood pet food store. It's made with chicken, lavender and hops. It puts Murphy to sleep, but Telly continues to raid the waste baskets, shred tennis balls, and do her Stirling Moss thing around the house in spite of the soporific treats.

I'm thinking of crumbling up a Mellow Mutt treat to mix with my scrambled eggs this morning. I need a vacation.

Remembering Penny

IN MEMORY OF PENNY KINTZER
12/23/47-1/24/07

I met Penny in 1972, when we were both 24 and life was little more than one big party. We never imagined our friendship would last 35 years, through ups and downs, across thousands of miles.

Though her legal name was Margaret, she always went by Penny (pictured here on the right, next to her sister Gail). Penny delighted in telling people she was named after a dog who lived in her Buffalo neighborhood, always followed by a hearty laugh. I remember many road trips in the 70s to visit her parents, Peg and Art, and her younger sisters, Gail and D.C. Sometimes those long, 500 mile weekend drives from Brooklyn to Buffalo were organized (quite literally) at the eleventh hour on a Friday night. Always the night owl, Penny sometimes left at midnight and drove till daybreak to surprise her family. In spite of occasional squabbles and differences of opinion, Penny's devotion to and affection for her immediate family were deep and enduring.

A graduate of Syracuse University majoring in Art, Penny was a talented illustrator and graphic designer. After a brief stint working in the World Trade Center at the New York State Department of Disability Determinations, Penny accepted a job at Ziff-Davis Publishing. After a few years at Ziff-Davis, Penny spent many years exploring different creative opportunities, many of them as a freelancer. Penny was never afraid to take on a new task, even if she wasn't quite sure how to approach it. I remember watching her work late at night applying press-type to a children's book layout, painstakingly measuring each line and positioning each letter, not realizing the easier and quicker method was photo typesetting. In later years, we enjoyed many laughs reminiscing about the Letraset fiasco.

I will remember Penny mostly for her sense of humor and comic view of the world. Over the years, our phone conversations and visits were punctuated with much laughter, and we both felt we were the only two people on the planet crazy enough to enjoy the things we found amusing. I loved her penchant for the weird and bizarre. Many people considered her eccentric, but she never seemed strange to me. I understood her fascination with food packaging and Cracker Jack toys. We shared a common appreciation for roadside kitsch, and the apartment we shared in the early 70s was full of tacky souvenirs that made us smile. Finding humor in any situation was a mutual priority.

I moved to New England in 1975, leaving Penny behind in New Jersey, but we never lost touch. There were frequent trips to NY and NJ, and an equal number of trips to Boston to see each other. This photo of Penny and Ruth, circa 1974, was taken in a Lower East Side watering hole which bore a large sign out front that said, "The Bar," where she often played pool and spent time with friends. Shortly after I left the Tri-State area, Penny became an apprentice sculptor at the Johnson Atelier in Princeton. A true Bohemian, she lived in a house deep in the woods away from downtown Princeton with other apprentices. They dubbed their house Isla de Basura ("Island of Garbage"). The New York to Philly Metroliner regularly roared through the back yard, day and night. I learned quickly that sleep was elusive when visiting Isla de Basura.

Unencumbered by possessions, Penny moved about freely over the next several decades. She lived in Florida for a short time and spent many years in Seattle. We kept in touch by phone and the occasional letter. In later years we emailed. Penny bailed me out of many "graphic arts emergencies" over the years, offering suggestions and help with projects I'd taken on that were obviously beyond my skill set. She encouraged me to accept challenges and nurture my creative self. Penny inspired me to learn layout, web design, and video editing. She was one of the first people who urged me to write.

The laughter and good times came to an abrupt halt in early 1991, when Penny's youngest sister, D.C., died in a car crash at 28. This tragedy would forever change Penny's life. Haunted for years, she struggled daily with addictions and loneliness, and somehow found the strength to move forward in spite of profound sadness and self-doubt. As always, Penny's salvation took the form a robust sense of humor that carried her through even the darkest of days.

Las Vegas was her home for the last several years. Life was sometimes difficult, and this past year Penny faced major health issues. Through good times and not-so-good times, we continued to connect by phone and email, and she always had something funny to say, no matter how badly things seemed to be going. We shared our joys, accomplishments, and concerns. She always had something positive to report and made me smile.

Penny's bold laughter will forever be with me. I can't pass a souvenir shop without thinking of her. She was a fiercely loyal friend; her commitment to our friendship never wavered. We shared our deepest secrets and accepted each other without question, even though we didn't always agree or approve of each other's choices. Penny's support and caring were unconditional, no matter what.

I will forever remember Penny as a courageous spirit with indomitable resolve to face personal challenges with tremendous strength and determination. She faced even the most daunting of circumstances with conviction and stamina. Penny persevered when others would have folded. She never gave up, and when I was tempted to quit, she helped me stay the course. It's hard to imagine she's gone.

Penny died suddenly last week. She had just taken a medical leave from her job and was about to travel to Arizona to stay with her dear friend Dorothy--a move she was sure would restore her health and give her a fresh start. The cause of her passing remains a mystery, though the Coroner's report alludes to heart failure. Penny leaves a sister, Gail, a niece, Sasha, and her longtime companion Dorothy. The song you've been listening to, Blackbird, is from a Kenny Rankin album she loved and played constantly in the early 70s. It's a song about freedom. Always a free spirit, Penny is finally free from her earthly chains. Farewell, old friend, you're free at last. You're home now, with D.C., Art and Peg. Thank you for decades of joy, laughter, and love. I honor your courage and strength, and will miss you deeply.

No tribute to Penny would be
complete without this song.

The Gentle Giant & Half Pint

With each passing day, Murphy and Telly become closer and closer. They are very well-suited to each other, their temperaments meshing like peas and carrots. Tiring easily from keeping up with puppy energy, Murphy makes daily valiant efforts to respond to Telly's continual invitations to play. They frolic endlessly in the back yard. We took them both to the dog park this weekend, twice, and Telly loves it. Murphy looks after his little sis and Telly greets everyone--both human and canine--with great enthusiasm and unbridled glee.

At night they crash hard and sleep soundly--Murphy at my side, Telly in her comfy kennel several feet from my bed. After two somewhat trying weeks, she is becoming well-settled in her new pack. All is well in our recently-expanded family.

Both pups fit nicely on Murphy's Freecycled loveseat!

Weirdness Is In the Eye of the Beholder

SUNDAY. After reading over several "six weird things about me" posts that recent taggees have penned, I'm beginning to think I'm not nearly as weird as I'd thought. This is both a relief and a disappointment. That said, in my quest to prove my uniqueness to the world, I'm tempted to reveal more weird things about myself.

Like the time I decided it was a bad idea to fly to Jamaica to surprise a friend, and asked the stewardess (that's what flight attendants were called back in 1971) if she would please open the door and let me off a 727 moments before our 3PM takeoff. "What? You don't want to go to Mon-te-go Bay?" she asked with a tuneful West Indian lilt, her penetrating dark eyes wide with alarm. As it turned out, my boldness was eclipsed only by my naivete. Several minutes later, I was greeted at the jetway by armed Kennedy Airport security guards and federal agents who escorted me to a harshly-lit office and grilled me for hours in an attempt to determine exactly where I'd planted the bomb. A seasoned twenty-one-year-old traveler, I had packed only a small canvas carry-on bag with a change of underwear, a hot-pink bikini, a toothbrush, and a few miscellaneous toiletries. My interrogators found this more than a little suspicious and ordered a complete search of the aircraft and baggage hold, delaying the flight by two hours. Rumor has it, over 35 years later, that passengers on Air Jamaica Flight 823 are still looking for me. Fortunately, there was no arrest and by evening I was regaling friends with my escapades over Singapore Slings in our favorite Brooklyn Heights pub.

Or the time I lived in an apartment behind a New Jersey self-service laundromat. In lieu of curling up in front of a cozy fireplace, I watched, through large holes punched in the drywall, gas-fueled flames dancing in a bank of Maytag dryers on the other side of my bedroom closet wall. It was a strange, noisy apartment. Once, after a plumbing upgrade performed by our illustrious landlord (whose claim to fame was the role of Vernon in the 1958 film version of Damn Yankees), we discovered Mr. Linville had erroneously connected the hot water supply to the commode. I delighted in every steamy flush, assuming I'd never have to scrub the bowl again. Perhaps he should have stuck with acting. I always thought it odd that after a career in film and TV, the final chapter of Al Linville's life involved running a dingy coin-op laundromat in the bowels of New Brunswick, NJ. Odder yet was actually living in his dilapidated railroad-style hovel.

And then there was the time I donned trench coat and Groucho Marx glasses, made my way up Newbury Street in Boston's Back Bay--my gait wobbly, duck-footed and Chaplinesque--and silently handed fresh flowers to pedestrians for no apparent reason. The two friends walking with me were so embarrassed by my pantomime, they crossed the street and pretended to not know me.

I can't forget the time I flew to D.C., against my parents' wishes, to protest the Vietnam War in front of the Washington Monument. I was over 21, so I went anyway and told them otherwise. Unfortunately I found myself in a huge crowd unable to move, positioned directly in front of network TV cameras. So much for hiding in a crowd. OK, this one wasn't exactly weird. It was just really, really unlucky. Kids, don't lie to your parents. It will catch up with you, bite you in the posterior, and land you on national TV, where your parents, your entire extended family, and everyone they know will see you.

I don't know if these things make me weird, foolish, adventurous, or crazy. Looking back, though, I wouldn't trade one moment of my strange misadventures. My memory banks are rich with amusing anecdotes. They will serve me well when I'm 90, assuming, of course, I can remember them. There's good reason to record (and preserve) these tales in writing.

The dogs are have been insanely tearing through the house this morning since 7AM. They wrestled on a towel smeared with peanut butter from stuffed Kongs they enjoyed after breakfast. Not surprisingly, both dogs bear an unusual leguminous perfume. A palpable aura of Skippy permeates our living area. I consider this far more preferable to other possible household odors. However, gardenias would definitely be more appealing on this sunny high-desert morn.

I'm It

No, I'm not the "It Girl." I've been tagged by Wendy. I didn't even know I was playing a game. Evidently, I am, and now I'm it. As I understand it, my penance for being tagged is revealing six weird things about myself. Only six? Good heavens, "Weird" is my middle name. In the spirit of blogdom, I submit six strange things about myself, in no particular order, for your thoughtful consideration.

Six Weird Things About Me

1. I'm a nomad. I've lived in 32 different places, including one dormitory and two Brooklyn, NY transient hotels. That means I've moved 31 times. Oddly, it never gets easier. I lived in one apartment at two different times. Who moves out of a place and then moves back to the same unit 15 years later? (And after 15 years, the apartment was definitely worse for wear.) No, I've never lived in my car, a tent, or a tool shed (though the latter intrigues me). The time I've spent packing, unpacking, and setting up new utility services, not to mention the hours looking for new places to buy organic carrots and cheap gas, must account for at least five years of my life. In a perfect world, I would move only once more: to a funeral home. Amen.

2. I can wiggle one ear at a time. Other than providing an amusing diversion at holiday parties, this talent is really quite useless.

3. At fifteen I was told by a cute boy that my clodhopper feet looked like ferryboats. Since then I've been shopping exclusively at "Big Shoes 'R Us."

4. I talk to plants, trees and rocks. Like many other neo-Pagan Christian Buddhist Unitarian New Age Hindus, I've been known to celebrate the Vernal Equinox alone in the woods, dancing and singing praises to the Earth and Heavens. Generally, I keep my clothes on. It can be chilly in March, and sometimes it rains.

5. I often know when the phone will ring, and who will be calling. This is a tremendous asset for screening telemarketers. I often know what's in the mailbox, too. Unfortunately, this ability fails me when I'm puzzling over how I'll pay the rent.

6. I'm an alien. A sister from another planet. There's no other explanation for my apparent strangeness and inability to conform. My real home is in the Pleiades. I'm waiting for Verizon's Extended Network to include Erra, my home planet. If only they could find that wormhole...E.T. phone home!

Now the hard part. I need to tag six people. For starters, I'm tagging Al, Judy, and Mishy. Hey Russ, do you have a blog yet? I need to tag you. Start writing.

More Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part XXIII

FRIDAY. I was reluctant to write another blog entry because I've become hopelessly enamored with the Yeshiva Boys. Watching their little music video is a daily ritual now, and I just didn't want to see it buried in my Archives. However, it's time to move on and write something.

To my chagrin, the new puppy wakes up at six o'clock in the morning. I thought she was stirring to the sounds of another early riser in this household: a clock radio, water rushing to showerhead, coffee brewing in the kitchen. Evidently this is not the case. Telly simply likes to awaken at six with a weak, but perceptible, whimper that says, "Please let me out of this cage. I need to be near you, jump all over you, and generally create havoc." And she does.

Telly's first order of business is bursting out of her crate like a boomerang on speed, pouncing on Murphy (who pretends to be sleeping), biting his ear, and making a complete circuit of the house like Stirling Moss. It's hard enough getting up when it's pitch black outside. It feels like the middle of the night. The real challenge is speedily commandeering the puppy to the back door before she has an accident. (So far, so good.) At 58, racing is not something I do well at any hour, but especially early in the morning. The biggest insult is pulling on, with great dispatch, my thermals and heavy layers to repel the icy nighttime chill. Tying my shoes is pretty much out of the question, so I've taken to wearing my slippers outside for Telly's early morning peregrinations. At least they're warm. I never have time to get my coat from the coatrack at the other end of the house, so I wrap myself in a cozy fleece blanket. Murphy always joins us in the dark cold, but soon returns to his sleepy retreat on my bed. Telly, on the other hand, is off and running. Next stop: The Breakfast Bar.

Our 20 degree morning will soon warm to nearly 50. The sun has been especially warm lately, though shaded ground still bears patches of ice and snow from recent storms. Murphy has taken to sleeping outdoors in the sun during the day, in part to escape the Telly Monster's incessant attempts to engage him in puppy play. Nearly six, Murphy has a limited appetite for puppy wrestling, but will chase tennis balls for hours. When Telly arrived, puppy play was a novelty and he couldn't get enough. Now he seems to prefer sleeping.

It's below zero in Carroll County, NH this morning. Wind chills are expected to plunge to minus twenty-five, and the warmest part of the day will be but a single digit. This brief reminder--Albuquerque's winter pales in comparison to New Hampshire's Arctic cold--is as warming to my bones this morning as a bowl of hot chowder. These days I avoid comparisons to Florida, where the winter has been as warm and dry as the southwest has been cold and snowy. I guess I picked the wrong year to leave Florida.

Telly is gnawing on a "bully stick" this morning. For those of you who don't know what a bully stick is, trust me, you don't want to know. (If you must know, read this. But remember, you were warned...) My primary client has gone away for a few days, so my workload is light. It might be a good day to catch up on work that's been sitting on my desk for weeks (and in some cases, months). The dogs are quietly digesting their breakfast, but this temporary calm will soon give way to frenzy. I'd better have my second cup of Earl Grey now, before chaos sets in. Puppies are cute, but I'll be relieved when this one matures, mellows, and slows down a tad. So will Murphy.

I rather enjoy watching the sunrise, but at 8:30 in the evening I'm ready for bed. A confirmed night owl retiring mid-evening? Good grief.

The Yeshiva Boys

Hope you all enjoy this wonderful music video I found on the Internet, by the Yeshiva of Cleveland's Yeshiva Boys Choir.

Winter Storm Warning

FRIDAY. To paraphrase Paul Revere, The snowflakes are coming! The snowflakes are coming! And the crowd (or in this case, Albuquerquians) roared with delight. Obviously we are not among them. The dogs do love it, though, and that gives me joy.

Telly (no, we still haven't given her a new name) continues to keep Murphy on his toes. Mostly he's happy to play with the puppy, but on occasion he'll offer a loud bark or growl which says, "Not now, kid." He's teaching me all about setting boundaries. Surprisingly, she takes his cues all in stride and shifts gears easily. She seems to settle fairly easily and understands correction.

One major difference between Murphy and Telly is their line of vision. Murphy never looks up. When I toss him a ball or Frisbee, he loses sight of it unless it's close to the ground. Telly, on the other hand, is constantly looking up. At night she stares at the stars and watches lights in the sky. She's fascinated with birds perched in trees and geese flying overhead. Murphy keeps his nose to the ground. I've tried to teach Murphy to look up, to no avail. He prefers to look straight ahead.

Snow will be here in a few hours, six to eight inches they say. One of our overly-animated TV weather anchors informed us last night to expect a "powerful" storm that will bring "a lot of snow" to New Mexico, all the while jumping up and down, waving his arms. I half expected him to wail like a banshee. Let the record show that six to eight is not a lot of snow. Fifty inches is a lot of snow (Norwood, MA, Blizzard of '78). Forty-eight inches is a lot of snow (Tamworth, NH, two back-to-back storms, April 2002). But not six to eight.

That said, I'm off to the supermarket to pick up a few supplies, just in case the predictions are off and we measure our new snow in feet, not inches.

Winter Doldrums

THURSDAY. I awoke to news that Iran is prepared for a standoff with the West over the nuclear issue, and a Winter Storm Watch has been issued for Albuquerque. Honestly, I'm not sure which is worse. Winter can't be over too soon for this warm-weather creature.

The National Weather Service in Albuquerque has issued a Winter Storm Watch... which is in effect from late tonight through Saturday morning.

Snow totals of 4 to 8 inches of snow can be expected across the northwest mountains region with up to about a foot possible in the high terrain there. Current indications are that the middle Rio Grande Valley and northwest plateau have the potential of picking up anywhere from 2 or 3 inches minimum to around 8 inches maximum. The storm center aloft is still in its relatively early developmental stage and is just beginning to gather a deeper subtropical moisture tap into its circulation. How much moisture it eventually gathers and its exact track and strength across the Desert Southwest are subject to slight or moderate changes... which will impact by at least a few inches just how much snow will fall.

The bulk of the snow is likely to accumulate between late morning Friday and very early Saturday.

Remember... a Winter Storm Watch means conditions are favorable for a hazardous winter weather event in and close to the watch area. This is a potentially dangerous winter storm situation.

In my humble opinion, here in Albuquerque (or anyplace for that matter) the only thing snow is good for is photo ops. At the very least, tomorrow's inevitable school closings ("A snowflake! Quick!! Close the schools!!) will at least give us time to take down the Christmas tree, though the thought of puzzling the neighbors by keeping it up until Easter amuses me.

The dogs will enjoy the snow. I, on the other hand, count the days until this wintry nonsense draws to a close. I regret that I didn't borrow Dad's snow stick when I left Florida. Who knew we'd have measurable snow in a city where snow is rare. Our yardstick already has a little notch at 22", representing snowfall thus far in our front yard.

But there is a silver lining. All this snow is going a long way toward mitigating the drought, and business is booming for the New Mexican ski industry. However, the birds remain confused.

Forty Pounds of Trouble

TUESDAY. We rescued a six month old puppy this weekend. They say she's a Lab/Shepherd mix, but I have a feeling there's a little Border Collie in there somewhere. We're considering a name change, since the name she came with is Telly, as in Telly Monster, a Sesame Street character. Inasmuch as she's already had two different names, confusing the poor thing with yet another name gives me pause (or paws, as the case may be). I'm leaning towards Loki or Dakota. Several people have suggested Kelly. All name suggestions are gratefully appreciated.

No, this is not Murphy. This is Telly.


Telly loves to smile and thinks she's still a lap dog. She follows us everywhere just like...well...a puppy dog. Weighing in at 39 lbs. last night, she's a big baby, but nonetheless a baby. Murphy is both delighted and horrified to have a puppy in the house. Fortunately, she's crate trained, so timeouts are easy to arrange. She doesn't seem to mind downtime in her crate, and Murphy seems very grateful when she settles down. She loves to chase him, bite his back legs, and play tug with a fat piece of cotton braided rope. Both dogs have slept well the past two nights.




The following photo of Telly impersonating Cujo is for mature audiences only. Contains graphic violence. Not suitable for small children!


The truth is, she's a very docile, cuddly puppy--a total mush, whose personality is in no way represented by the vicious look captured above while the two chums were playing. I could sit and watch them play like this for hours. They're actually quite gentle with each other while baring their teeth like rabid beasts.

At the moment they're both sleeping...Murphy in the hall on his fuzzy blankie, Telly at my feet. Life is good.

My Balloon Fiesta Slideshow

NEW AND IMPROVED!

If you're wondering why I haven't written anything in a week, the Muse visited and helped me produce another slideshow. I've been busy. Assembling. Creating. Now you know. If you're all set with the Presenter Plug-in, click here. If not, follow the directions below.

Windows Users
If you've never seen my streaming slideshows, you'll need to download a free browser plug-in to watch the show. (It's perfectly safe - no spyware or viruses. I've been using it for years.) Save it to your desktop and double-click to install. Once the plug-in is installed, click here to watch the show.

If you already have the plug-in, you're all set. Occasionally the plug-in needs to be updated, so if you try to load the show and nothing happens, grab the latest plug-in (using the above link) and install it.

Mac Users
Click here for a streaming flash video. You'll need the Macromedia Flash plug-in, but almost everyone has that already. If you don't have it, you should, and you'll be prompted to download it. Just follow the directions.

Dialup Users (Windows)
Dialup users won't be able to stream (view) this show on the web. A high-speed connection is required. However...you can download the show and play it on your desktop, but only after you've downloaded and installed the plug-in. The show is a staggering 33MB, so it'll take a very long time to download.

Dialup Users (Mac)
You folks are out of luck. None of the above solutions will work.

Hope you enjoy the video (unless you're dialing up from a Mac, in which case you might want to once again consider upgrading to high-speed).

Full Moon Madness

WEDNESDAY. The moon is full tonight. Beware! Strange things happen during the full moon! Dogs bite! People murder! Loonies wander the streets! Or do they? According to National Geographic, the frequency of strange behaviors is no more likely to occur during the full moon than any other night.

Simon Chapman at the University of Sydney in Australia compared dates of admission for dog bites to public hospitals in Australia with dates of the full moon over a twelve month period and found no positive relation between the full moon and dog bites.

Regardless of what the studies say, the power of the moon is often used to explain a wide range of events, from human insanity, violent crimes, and traffic accidents to putting people in a celebratory and romantic mood.

Why? "One reason is that people have selective memories," said Chudler. "When something unusual happens and there is a full moon, people might notice the moon and assign blame."

Another mistake, according to Chudler, is failing to make the distinction between correlation and causation. He notes that just because a study finds a relationship between a full moon and certain behavior, it does not mean the moon caused this behavior (National Geographic, Feb. 6, 2004).

This means I no longer have an excuse for behaving badly during a Full Moon. Darn, and just when I was starting to have fun.

The article goes on to explain that for every positive study, there's a negative study. In other words, there is and there isn't a correlation between the full moon and unusual behaviors touted in folklore for centuries.

In the Native American tradition, the January full moon is the Wolf Moon.

Full Moon names date back to Native Americans, of what is now the northern and eastern United States. The tribes kept track of the seasons by giving distinctive names to each recurring full Moon. Their names were applied to the entire month in which each occurred. There was some variation in the Moon names, but in general, the same ones were current throughout the Algonquin tribes from New England to Lake Superior. European settlers followed that custom and created some of their own names. Since the lunar month is only 29 days long on the average, the full Moon dates shift from year to year.

Amid the cold and deep snows of midwinter, the wolf packs howled hungrily outside Indian villages. Thus, the name for January's full Moon. Sometimes it was also referred to as the Old Moon, or the Moon After Yule. Some called it the Full Snow Moon, but most tribes applied that name to the next Moon." (Farmer's Almanac, "Full Moon Names and Their Meanings").

I hope you'll join me in howling at the moon this evening. It's the only thing that makes sense. There's absolutely nothing on TV.

For My Florida Friends & Family, In Case You're Feeling Too Warm

Remember these?

And this stuff?

Murphy couldn't be happier.

Promises For the New Year

I created this slideshow a year ago for a theme contest. I didn't win, but I watch the show from time to time to remind myself of the things that are important.

Windows Users
If you've never seen my streaming slideshows, you'll need to download a free browser plug-in to watch the show. (It's perfectly safe - no spyware or viruses. I've been using it for years.) Save it to your desktop and double-click to install. Once the plug-in is installed, click here to watch the show.

If you already have the plug-in, you're all set. Occasionally the plug-in needs to be updated, so if you try to load the show and nothing happens, grab the latest plug-in (using the above link) and install it.

Mac Users
Click here for a streaming flash video. You'll need the Macromedia Flash plug-in, but almost everyone has that already. If you don't have it, you should, and you'll be prompted to download it. Just follow the directions.

Dialup Users (Windows)
Dialup users won't be able to stream (view) this show on the web. A high-speed connection is required. However...you can download the show and play it on your desktop, but only after you've downloaded and installed the plug-in. The show is a whopping 13.7 MB, so it'll take some time to download.

Dialup Users (Mac)
You folks are out of luck. None of the above solutions will work.

Hope you enjoy the video (unless you're dialing up from a Mac, in which case you might want to once again consider upgrading to high-speed).

Now THAT'S A Lot of Snow!

TUESDAY. While browsing the national news headlines this morning I came across this photo of a Kansas farm buried in 15 foot drifts. It makes our Albuquerque snowfall look like a mere dusting. The story accompanying the photo told of tens of thousands of people in the Plains still without power.

It was very cold again last night in Albuquerque. The heat kept kicking in all through the night. We'd turned the heat back before bedtime, as we always do, to a chilly 58 degrees. My brain spins thinking of spending a night without heat when the mercury outdoors is hovering in the low teens. Still, with a fireplace, plenty of wood, a few candles, bags of rice and beans, water, and a few chocolate bars, we'd survive.

Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part VII: We never lost power during the storm.

They say necessity is the mother of invention. When I finish this entry I'm reviving the eFax service I maintained when cyclones threatened, requiring several evacuations during two consecutive Florida hurricane summers. It's quite handy when a fax line isn't available. Last summer I left Florida, in part, due to frequent business interruptions that seemed to occur regularly because of the weather. New Mexico weather seemed fairly stable in comparison. Mild winters, sunny days, and very little precipitation lured me from the unsettled East Coast. What I failed to consider was, as the planet warms, interruptions and inconveniences are more apt to occur anywhere. No location is immune from the effects of climate change.

The global warming debate continues, especially in the higher ranks of government, yet science is demonstrating, without a doubt, that our climate is changing in ways we've never known. The question we all need to address is how we can individually help restore normalcy to a planet in crisis. Short of erecting a windmill in my back yard and driving an electric car, I'm not sure how I can make a major impact. Yet, more and more I find myself doing the small things that add up: flipping light switches off when I leave a room, gradually replacing all our bulbs with energy-saving fluorescents, conserving water (washing dishes under running water is a really hard habit to break), and reducing my overall impact on CO2 usage.

If you haven't already seen An Inconvenient Truth, I urge you to rent the DVD.

It's quite possible that I need to moderate my self-imposed news blackout in 2007, and start paying attention to what's happening environmentally. The bad news is that the planet is in trouble. The good news is that we can turn this around. For more info on what you can do, click here.