03.30.13
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 9:30 am by admin
Feeding the Masses
by O.P.W. Fredericks
Little red wagon in tow, crazy Mabel
seeks the safety of shadows.
Teetering on a four high stack of pallets
under the stark white of security lights,
Mabel reaches into the dumpster,
finds a half good bag of pumpernickel,
a lump of bologna, a dented can of yams,
and wiggles a crushed box of Cheerios
from beneath the two rats she greets
as they feast on two spotted brown bananas.
Having served their purpose, pallets
now snap between her gnarled hands,
kindling for the fire.
At the foot of the Grocery’s steel steps
beneath a locked steel door,
a brown bag reads, Happy Easter, Mabel
atop the milk crates marked Expired.
She pulls a jug with yesterday’s date
and does the math; twenty plates at least
from the bagged canned ham.
The spired steeple now in sight, Mabel
climbs a hill and makes her way home.
She bows her head in passing,
mumbles a few words to a prayer
she can’t quite remember,
as she turns the corner. Muffled mews
and yips greet their host as squeaky wheels
cross the threshold.
A pitted pot simmers in the shadows
of St. Francis. Mabel portions her sunrise
supper for the masses on scavenged
pie plates. Finger tips pass from lips
towards the rising steeple
and Mabel thanks the Lord
for their bounty.
~
Happy Easter to all and please remember those less fortunate and those who care for animals in the name of St. Francis of Assisi.
O.P.W. Fredericks
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06.28.11
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 11:34 pm by admin
Zachary Robert Warnock, son to my dear friend Larina and her husband Mark, and brother to Deanna, Shyla, and Kurtis, left his life with us this past June 18.
I struggled for the words to say to Larina as she told me that morning on the phone that Zachary had died, but I failed miserably. What words can one speak to someone who has lost her child, over the phone, nearly 3,000 miles away? Simply, there are none.
As the days passed, I remembered the many phone calls Larina and I shared over the past four years. I remembered Daniel’s and my brief, several-hour meeting with Larina in Philadelphia last summer when we met her in person for the first time. We walked the isles of the Farmer’s Market, sipped coffee outside a Starbuck’s, and sat together over dinner in her hotel’s restaurant, talking about everything and nothing in particular. We talked about Zack, and Deanna, and Shyla, and Kurtis, and Mark, like friends do; we talked about our families. In just about every conversation we’ve had, Zack was a part of the conversation, if not the main topic. Over the phone, often I would hear Zack’s soft giggles in the background, and I would comment to Larina how happy he sounded.
During the past four years, Larina has shared many of her writings, both poetry and prose, about Zachary with me, and we published several of her pieces in Touch: The Journal of Healing: “A Little Perspective,” “Hospital Hush,” “The Light at the End,” “They Said,” and “Autumn 2003“.
I have many more of the works she sent to me, either for critique or just to share, saved on my computer and on paper.
For many people who didn’t know Zack and his family, I can imagine they would have found his life to be one that would be dreaded, a life filled with difficulties, hardship, and turmoil because of his disability, but then they wouldn’t have known the Warnocks. I don’t know many families who I can say are as dedicated to each other as the Warnocks, though I know they aren’t unique, as far a families go who have one or more members with disabilities, but in these families, like the Warnocks, who I do know, they are stronger than most because of that dedication.
Above all that Zack faced, his life was filled with love. He not only received it, but he gave it through his smiles, his twinkling eyes, and his soft giggles. Larina often spoke and wrote about these qualities in him so, though I never met him, I felt as if I knew him. After many days of trying to write something about him for his family and failing, I was directed to his obituary, written by Larina, in their local paper from a link on a website the day before his memorial service. In it, I came across the phrase “shades of joy,” and all became clear to me. These three little words are a perfect characterization of Zack’s personality, and I began to write what turned into a poem with that title.
It is a simple poem, purposely written in the tone of a child’s nursery rhyme to honor the innocence of childhood, though the tempo of the poem is meant to be read much slower with longer pauses at the commas and line breaks for emphasis, with reverence and tenderness. It is one of the few poems I’ve written in just a few hours that I’ve ever allowed anyone to see before it has gone through many, many revisions over the course of days or weeks, or longer, and the editor and critic in me sees many places where it would benefit from more work, but it is as it is, and it will remain unchanged from how it was when I sent it to Larina.
I was honored to learn that the minister who presided over Zack’s memorial service opened the sharing segment of it with the poem. Larina wrote to tell me that he did the poem great justice and that he seemed to know exactly how I would have read it.
For me, though not mentioned in my little poem, Zack is always present in my mind whenever I see box elder bugs because they remind me of the twinkle in his eyes, though I’ve only ever seen it in photos, and I will always remain grateful to these little creatures for their gift of a memory. If you read “A Little Perspective,” you’ll understand why.
~
Shades of Joy
for Zachary
by O.P.W. Fredericks
His colors rose October 6th,
in gleeful shades of joy;
he carried them each day he lived,
this gentle, quiet boy.
Among the instruments of care,
surrounding his abode
began the crafted mirth of one
in life, his bliss, it flowed.
And though he fought for every breath
each one he took would count
to bring great strength to those he loved,
they knew he would surmount.
To overcome adversity
encountered by this child,
he bore each pain with spunk and grit
and with it all, he smiled.
In times of strife and heartache too,
his giggles could be heard
from deep within his soul they rose
as lofty as a bird;
and though his time with us was brief
he made each moment last,
and through the many friends he made
his family grew vast.
So even though our memories fade
he gave to us a gift
his sparkling eyes, his laughter too,
he made our spirits lift.
We carry in our hearts each day
this gentle, quiet boy
to hold him close, his giggles, soft,
his gleeful shades of joy.
~
O.P.W. Fredericks
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10.09.10
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 3:58 pm by admin
I don’t remember why I followed a link to Whale Sound yesterday morning, the internet site by Nic Sebastian, and I’ll leave you to explore it for yourself, but I want to share this site with everyone who reads this note.
I don’t know Nic personally, and I do not have any poems of my own on her site (I’ve had so little of my work published that I’m sure it’s been lost to the black hole of the internet), so I have no professional connection to her whatsoever.
I’d like to ask you all to take a moment and visit her web site even if it’s to listen to her read just one poem, I don’t care which poem, just listen to one. Her voice haunts me. There is a lyrical, lilting quality to her softened, British accented voice that adds a degree of reverence and sophistication to each word she reads. She feels the poems she reads, and it’s obvious she believes in them.
If you take a moment to listen, you’ll feel them too.
O.P.W. Fredericks
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12.17.09
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 1:36 am by admin
Our first poet published by The Lives You Touch Publications, Christine Klocek-Lim has an interview with Didi Menendez on WordPress. The reason I wanted to publish Christine’s work was because she is one of the greatest contemporary poets I have ever encountered. I can only hope that the coming years will bring her the recognition and accolades she and her work so justly deserve. I encourage everyone to take a few minutes and visit the WordPress site to read her interview. It will me time well spent.
Speaking personally for a moment, I must confess that over the course of the past three years she has also become a trusted and close personal friend in addition to a revered poet and editor to whom I have turned on occasion for advice on poetry, editing, publishing, and life. There is no greater proof of our friendship than the kindness and support she extended to me during the winter and spring of 2008 when my world was turned upside down and ripped apart by forces beyond my control. For days, weeks, and months on end, she was always there to offer an ear or supportive words that helped me to know I was not alone. It was during this time that I realized the poetry she writes comes from the core of her being. If you have read any of Christine’s work, then you know the soul of the poet she has become.
I can only imagine where her journey will lead her, and I can only hope that in the coming years the world will learn to trust her words as I have to learn the importance of relationships and to cherish those we have in our lives.
O.P.W. Fredericks
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11.13.09
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 11:50 am by admin
For me, a successful poem must tell a story so convincingly that I am transported to within its borders to feel, taste, and experience the events portrayed, as much as I must come to know the characters through the skill of the poet’s pen. Such were my travels into the world of four generations of a matriarchal bloodline created by Rachel Mallino.
The stories reflected in the 27 poems of Inside Bone There’s Always MARROW from Maverick Duck Press, May 2009, could have devolved into a journey of self pity on a road to hell and remained there in lesser hands, but this poet explores a reality of a tormented mother who creates a life of neglect and abuse for her child with absolute clarity as much as she reveals a child who possesses an inner strength of character that states, simply, “I choose to live.” As the child moves through adolescence into adulthood, ultimately to become a mother herself, her journey is filled with tumultuous encounters as she attempts to protect her progeny and her life by encasing her own past in self analysis and restraint.
Mallino explores each moment with a keen eye and brutal honesty, yet she treats each topic and subject with respect while she directly explores the issues that traverse her poetry. She takes us to where it all began: “my body: cell, blood, bone / all fortified in my mother’s / brackish womb” (1-3), and to an ultimate understanding: “when a mother isn’t a mother / at all, but a small vessel unfit to carry / even her own posture” (12-14) in the poem that titles her collection.
In “An Explanation of the Tales We Tell,” she reflects on a child’s attempt to protect her grandmother: “O, to make it all bearable: / the wild pack of dogs that chewed / my grandmother’s face to bits; / the icy stare I learned at seven / for anyone who disclaimed / the animal attack / and called it cancer instead” (1-7), the child’s attempt to comprehend: “… the sound / of the blender grinding like / teeth against bone: teeth / once rooted inside her gums” (20-23), and the child’s fantasies and dreams of a visit from the tooth fairy.
Mallino pulls no punches in “An Open Poem To god,” as she reveals the loss of childhood innocence: “Dear god, there has always been this / marrow inside of bone. Those retarded / cells that drive nonage to adultery …” (1-3), “It all boils down to sex: mother’s / bony knees beneath / motel sheets as I stared off / into the bends / of brush strokes …” (10-14), “The anonymity / of those painters, like my mother’s lovers, / became famous to me.” (15-17). Nor can one mistake the demotion of the deity.
A shift in vision occurs as the narrator reflects on motherhood and her own child at book center: “These are the shapes of her world” (1), “Everything now is either straight or round. / Even her heart, its triangle base and the top / round like buttocks” (4-6), “her legs – the shape of a wishbone” (12), in “How My Daughter Draws.”
In her closing poem, “Here’s How It Must Have Been,” dedicated to Anne Sexton, Mallino weaves a skilled tapestry of all the works that precede it, tying together images that parallel the lives of both poets: ” … I imagine, at birth, Anne wailed / to be still-born, maddened by the length / of her mother’s umbilical cord – the possibilities” (3-5), “… No wonder / she kept going back, back to the institution where / dinner bells rang at the nurses hand …” (9-11), “back to distant conversations beneath / the long silence of lithium, back to the steel headboard – / her mother’s hipbone” (14-16).
Mallino’s poetry is a literary dissection into the frailty of humanity as it cuts to the marrow of human relationships with raw revelations, and lays our skeletal core exposed for all to see as we struggle for Grace. No poetry could be as antithetic to the work I publish and try to write myself, yet I find myself drawn to it with a sense of compassion, and a sense of respect and admiration for the strength of its author. I am left completely drained and in awe of how, in the hands of a master, poetry can be the window into one’s soul.
O.P.W. Fredericks, Editor
Touch: The Journal of Healing
The Lives You Touch Publications
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03.16.09
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:15 pm by admin
It’s official, spring is here! This morning I found the evidence:
Our first blooms of the year.
O.P.W.
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03.13.09
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 11:47 pm by admin
I’ve been going though some cardboard boxes that have been packed away, some of which go back to grade school. In one of these boxes, I came across a small cedar box with brass hinges and inlays that I haven’t touched in over twenty years, and that was only to pack it into the cardboard box I found it in when I repacked it from another cardboard box that was packed when I moved out of my parents house in 1980. So for nearly 30 years, the contents of this small cedar box haven’t seen the light of day. It was locked with a tiny brass key lock, so I started to search through my desk for some old keys I’ve kept not knowing what they were for, but sure they were for something. After trying several very small keys on different rings and fobs that didn’t work, I came across the smallest key in my collection. Sure enough it fit and I opened the box. Inside I found an old metal Sucrets box that had holes punched in it and another small key lock. When I opened the Sucrets box I found two tiny lockets with semiprecious stones mixed in with cedar shavings. I remember the lockets and the shavings, but I don’t remember where they came from. Also in the box was another small lock with two keys, a book of matches, and a piece of paper written with the combination for a lock. The combination was for my old bicycle lock.
All evening I’ve had memories from my childhood return and each memory triggers another memory. I think that’s so cool.
O.P.W.
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03.12.09
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 11:55 pm by admin
Last week I checked the seven day weather forecast for this week. It said the days were going to slowly warm up into the 70’s by Thursday. No such luck. We’ve been at or just below freezing over night and we hit only 50 degrees on Tuesday, the warmest day of the week.
This past weekend the fish started to become active, sunning themselves in the shallow end of the pond and looking for food, but since Monday they’ve barely made an appearance. The water temperature is hovering in the upper 30’s to lower 40’s, so I can’t begin to feed them.
I do know that spring is coming though. The daffodils and crocuses have begun to poke their head up, and today I noticed green on the lilac bushes where there used to be only buds.
Spring can’t get here soon enough.
O.P.W.
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12.29.08
Posted in Recipes & Cooking, Thoughts and Reflections at 10:40 pm by admin
I checked back here this morning in search of my Sweet & Spicy Crock pot Pork Roast recipe, a recipe I created on the fly and couldn’t locate in my cookbook or on my computer. Luckily I posted it here back in September. My brother is down from New York visiting for the holidays and I wanted to make a traditional German New Years Day pork dinner, but with a twist. I’m not a big fan of sauerkraut so the pork roast with sauerkraut and caraway is out.
In the past I’ve baked a ham and served it with coleslaw, baked beans, and cornbread, which as far as I’m concerned covers me for the pig and cabbage combination traditional dinner. I checked with Mom about New Years Day dinner and she hadn’t made any plans so I offered to cook and bring the meal to her house.
You might be wondering what the heck New Years Day, pigs, and cabbage have to do with bread therapy, Julia, and Danielle. When I clicked on the link to my blog, I was surprised to find that I haven’t posted anything here in seven weeks. I thought it’s about time I posted something, so here goes.
For the past twenty-eight years, I’ve baked sourdough bread, usually beginning in the fall until the end of the following spring, and sometimes even in the heat of July and August if I really had a “hankerin’ fer it”. I have my own sourdough starter culture, fondly named Herman. I figured Herman is a living being, or more accurately living beings, who has/have brought much joy to my life by way of my taste buds and stomach, and so my sourdough culture deserved a name. I chose Herman after a favorite patient of mine from when I began my nursing career. Herman, the man, was very particular about things and had to have things just right and in a certain order, and he had to be in control of any situation he was in in order for him to exist in this world. He was plump with a bubbly personality, and he had a complexion that reminded me of bread dough. All of his characteristics aptly describe sourdough starter and so Herman, the starter, was born. Herman, the man, was quite amused when I told him of his namesake. Both Hermans died within a month of each other nearly twenty years ago, Herman, the man, followed by Herman, the culture. Herman the man, died from a heart attack, Herman the culture, from an invasion by red mold, something fatal to sourdough starter. I had to start all over to create a new sourdough starter culture, and it took several years before the second generation Herman was up to snuff by way of taste. The spring after both Hermans died, Herman, the man’s wife, became a patient of mine. I told her my little story and also that I named a favorite goldfish I bought that spring after her husband, who swam in my pond and greeted me each morning, the goldfish not the man. She was touched by the gesture. Ok, back to bread therapy.
When Julia Child’s PBS series “Baking with Julia” aired eleven years ago, I was a faithful viewer, and if I didn’t watch the programs when they aired, I taped them to view later in the week. I don’t think I missed a single episode, and I know I actually watched the programs that involved baking anything with yeast when they aired. To this day I vividly remember the episode on french bread. The guest baker, Danielle Forestier, demonstrated the preparation and baking of a traditional french batard, a bread that contains the same amount of dough as a baguette, 12 oz., but isn’t rolled out quite as long. It looks similar though smaller to a loaf of Italian bread you can pick up in any supermarket, but the appearance is where the similarities end. If you’re interested you can view the program via a streaming video by way of your search engine.
During the year “Baking with Julia” aired, and for several years after, I experimented with different ingredients and methods, often combining the ingredients and methods from different episodes or introducing something I picked up somewhere else and from my Mom. Mom is a wonderful baker, who never measures anything, it’s all done by feel. One combination that I found to be a success is Pesto bread. It is very simple to make and requires only a few ingredients. Bread can often be unforgiving if something isn’t done quite right during the preparation, handling, and baking process. This bread I have found is quite forgiving.
During the past two weeks I’ve been baking bread. For me, baking bread is as therapeutic to the soul as it is to the taste buds when eating it. When my brother called several weeks ago, he asked me to bake some bread for Christmas because he doesn’t fancy store bought bread. That evening, I took Herman out of the ‘frig and fed him. Feeding sourdough consists of stirring warm water and flour into the starter and allowing it to become active in a warm place if it’s been stored in the ‘frig. I place the container on the top of the ‘frig over night. By the next morning it’s bubbling and twice the size it was the night before. Here’s my recipe for Sourdough Pesto Bread using a KitchenAid Stand Mixer. It will make two batards.
Sourdough Pesto Bread
Ingredients:
1/2 cup active starter
3/4 cup warm water
1 tsp. active dry yeast
1 tblsp. honey
2 1/2 – 3 cups bread flour or unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1 heaping tblsp. pesto base
1 tblsp. extra virgin olive oil
Directions:
1. Combine in a nonmetal bowl the starter, 1/2 cup warm water, yeast, and honey. Cover with plastic wrap leaving an edge open and place in a warm place over night to develop the dough sponge.
2. Add remaining water, olive oil, pesto base, and flour (reserving 1/2 cup) to the mixer bowl.
3. Stir the sponge and add it to the mixer bowl. It will be sticky so scrape as much as you can into the mixer bowl.
4. Start the mixer on the slowest speed to combine the ingredients until you can’t tell the difference between the sponge and the added ingredients. Add the remaining flour slowly as needed during the next minute or so until the dough begins to take form. The dough should be firm but not dry. If needed you can add 1 tblsp of water at a time to the dough. Mix the dough for about 8 minutes on the slowest speed.
5. Remove the dough from the mixer, form into a ball, and place in an oiled bowl, turning the dough to coat it completely with oil. Cover with plastic wrap and place in a warm place. Allow to double in size, about 1 1/2 hours.
5. Punch the dough down and remove it from the bowl to a floured board. Cut it in half and form each half into a ball. Cover with a floured towel and allow it to rest for 5 minutes.
6. Form each ball into a batard. Watch the video noted above if you don’t know how to do this. Place the batards on a floured Baker’s Couche, cover with a floured towel and allow it to rise in a warm place for about an hour. It should be just about double in size. Placed Baker’s Tiles and a pan for water in the oven. As the dough nears completion add water to the pan and preheat the oven to 425 degrees fahrenheit.
7. Turn the dough onto a Baker’s Peel and slash the top with a razor blade or sharp knife. Quickly slide the dough into the oven on the hot tiles and bake for 25 – 30 minutes. The internal temperature of the loaves should be 200 degrees fahrenheit when done.
8. Remove the loaves from the oven when done and allow to cool on a rack.
Serve with extra virgin olive oil to which you’ve added your favorite Italian herbs and freshly grated parmesan cheese, and enjoy, Daniel did!
O.P.W.
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11.10.08
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 10:12 am by admin
I’d like to give a shout out to Tilt Press.
Here’s their catalog page.
Rachel Mallino is a casual member of my poetry forum who has been busier than a one armed paper hanger lately. Rachel and her co-editor Nicole Cartwright Denison have just made their selection for their most recent chapbook Handle This Bludgeon and Run Me Through by Andrew Terhune.
Give the site a visit and order a copy of this latest poetry chapbook.
O.P.W.
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11.04.08
Posted in Poetry, Thoughts and Reflections at 11:11 pm by admin
A Pantoum – of sorts
In Time
for Madelyn
by O.P.W. Fredericks
For the times they are a-changin’.
–Bob Dylan
When the last has stood to gentle time
and when gentle winds soothe tired bone,
In that comfort hour I’ll know it’s mine,
In that comfort hour my life I’ll own.
For the times they are a-changin’.
And when gentle winds soothe tired bone
I’ll have given all to one in love.
In that comfort hour my life I’ll own.
In that comfort hour I’ll shine above.
For the times they are a-changin’.
I’ll have given all to one in love.
By example I have lived my life.
In that comfort hour I’ll shine above
In that comfort hour there’s no more strife.
For the times they are a-changin’.
By example I have lived my life,
in that comfort hour I’ll know it’s mine.
In that comfort hour there’s no more strife
when the last has stood to gentle time.
For the times they are a-changin’.
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09.20.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:57 pm by admin
Today is our anniversary. We spent a quiet day together, and I have been reflecting on how much my life has changed for the better since Daniel came into it. I have never felt such peace nor experienced so deep a love, and I have never known an inner strength as unshakable as I have in Daniel.
I love you Daniel,
O.P.W.
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09.19.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:27 pm by admin
There was a tang in the air this morning, that first hint of autumn when the sugar maple in the back yard begins to lose its leaves. It’s always the first to signal the change of season. The house was cold this morning, I didn’t think to close the windows last night, and I woke this morning with the down comforter over top of me. I must have pulled it up sometime over night. The white oak has started to drop its acorns. I can hear them bounce off the ground and the picnic table, and some even roll across the front porch floor. The squirrels are busy eating their fill as well as burying the darn things in the flower pots and boxes around the porch. This winter, after I’ve brought the plants indoors, I’ll have a few oak trees sprouting among the basil and lemon verbena. The koi and gold fish are also ravenous, finishing their food in less than half the time as normal. All of these things all my signals that the change is coming.
I harvested the yellow peppers today, all two of them. One was perfect, the other half rotted on the side concealed by the iris it was growing against. I tried to cut away the bad part, but the rot permeated the entire thing. I also brought in two perfect tomatoes. There’s six more that are trying to ripen before the first nip of frost kisses them good morning. I hope they make it.
O.P.W.
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09.17.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 8:18 pm by admin
This is going to be brief. Tonight we’re having an online discussion on enjambment and line breaks. It’s interesting to see how different poets use these techniques differently to enhance stressed words and emphasize their work. The participation is a little lighter this evening, but the discussion is very informative.
O.P.W.
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09.16.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:30 pm by admin
Gizzie experienced her first real day of freedom today. Neither Daniel or I realized how little we have seen of her the past two weeks. Chester’s presence required her to live in the basement and I’m sure she considered it a banishment. It’s wonderful though just how forgiving animals can be. Humans should take note. Today was the first day since Chester left that she seemed at ease and she spent hours out on the front porch sleeping on Daniel’s rocker-glider. When I called her in for dinner, it was obvious she knew Chester was gone because she didn’t wait at the front door and listen for him. She just sauntered into the kitchen and ate her dinner in peace. She spent this evening moving from the back of Daniel’s La-z-Boy to my side to the front porch, and back to Daniel’s La-z-Boy. She made this round trip several times. It’s nice to have her back, but I still miss Chester terribly.
O.P.W.
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09.15.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 11:51 pm by admin
I realized today how many things had changed over the past two weeks, how much our routines were modified to accommodate and work with a new dog, how quiet the house was, and how much I miss Chester. I spoke on the phone at length yesterday afternoon with my friend Larina about Chester. I told her about what I was feeling, and that after crying my eyes out and making a fool of myself in front of the man who came to take him away, I realized Daniel and I had made the right decision. Could it have worked out, perhaps? Was it possible that at some moment after he and Gizzie learned to cohabitate, he would decide to not listen just one time and attack her? Was it possible if he attacked her he would kill her? Could he have turned on Daniel or myself, without what we would interpret as provocation? Was there something in his past that caused him to interpret a word, as sound, a tonal inflection, a body stance as a threat? The answer to these questions is yes.
It is so hard to know exactly what triggered his aggression. Daniel and I talked at length Saturday night. Our greatest fear was for Gizzie. While he could inflict severe injuries on us, we do not believe he could kill us, but Gizzie is another story. There are several things that nag at me. Whenever I told Chester to sit so that I could put on and remove the soft collar for his leash, he would cower. I wonder if he associated this word with a punishment of some kind from his past, or if a punishment followed that word. I was the one who most often reprimanded and rewarded him for his behavior. Reprimands consisted of no, a stern no, or if he wouldn’t listen, a time out in his cage. His rewards consisted of praise, petting, a belly rub, and for the second week he was here, a small treat, usually a piece of his kibble, as I was advised to do by an animal behaviorist I had consulted about he and Gizzie. I was the one who walked him in the yard most often and corrected his behavior about the koi pond, testing the fence with his teeth, and rolling in the excrement of wild animals. I was the one who most often told him to move away from the basement door when he observed or growled at the cat. Was this all just too much for him? Had he finally had enough of it?
I was told by the animal behaviorist that dogs often try to establish their dominance by positioning themselves on furniture at a level at least equal to if not higher than the humans. He was allowed on the sofa, and he often positioned himself on the back of the sofa or on the arm of Daniel’s La-z-Boy recliner. In talking with the animal behaviorist and the woman I adopted him from, I related the training he was going through. They both told me that Chester identified me as the alpha male of the pack. Were these aggressive incidents his challenge to that position?
I wrote that Chester became aggressive towards me on Saturday. I had just finished taking a shower. I used the same soap, shampoo, and deodorant that I always use, and I was dressed in clothing he had seen me dressed in before. I had walked into the living room to ask Daniel when he wanted to eat dinner. I remember that I had put my hands on my hips when I was talking to Daniel. Was this the trigger that set him to growl and begin the cascade? I don’t think we’ll ever know whether it was a combination of things or one isolated incident, but the bottom line is that we both no longer felt safe in the house with him. In addition to our fear for Gizzie’s life, we were also very concerned for other people who might visit, be they friends, family, or strangers. Because his aggression escalated over the course of those two days, we just couldn’t take the chance.
I called the Vet’s office this afternoon to inquire about Chester. I wanted to be sure he was OK and that they were not going to put him down. When I had talked to the woman about Chester on Saturday, she told me that just the day before a farmer had inquired about a dog for his farm. She said that if Chester didn’t work out for us, perhaps it would work with the farmer, but she had to go visit the farm first and talk to him about what he was looking for. This was all before Chester turned on Daniel. This afternoon I was reassured that they were going to visit the farm, talk to the farmer and determine if Chester might work out for him. I told the woman I had adopted him from that I do not want him put down. She told me that they would do their best for him.
I sit here this evening thinking about this little guy, sleeping in a metal cage when just 3 nights ago he slept beside me on a down comforter, and how happy he was hunting moles in the yard. I think about how fast his little stump of a tail wagged when he ate the food I cooked for him, and I remember most his gentle eyes looking up at me pleading, “Please Daddy, pet me some more.”
God I miss him.
O.P.W.
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09.14.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:53 pm by admin
For the past two weeks Chester has helped me fill an empty space I’ve had in my heart for five months. I had to have my other dog put to sleep this past April for what I believe was a brain tumor. She was my companion for fourteen and a half years, and to this day I continue to miss her. She took to Daniel immediately and loved him as much as she loved me. Daniel’s grief for her loss was more intense than mine, as I cried rarely and minimally until the week before we adopted Chester, then I sobbed for days. Chester was a rescue and a young adult male Jack Russell Terrier of between two and three years.
Since last night, Chester’s behavior and demeanor deteriorated to the point of trying to attack from within his cage. This occurred when Daniel had returned him to his cage after his second walk this morning. As Daniel closed the door, Chester lunged at the door, snarling, barking, and bearing his teeth. It was obvious he was trying to harm Daniel. I called the Vets office where we adopted him to come to take him away. It was no longer safe to have him in the house. It was four and a half hours before someone was able to come for him.
Chester showed great promise. He was adjusting well to his new home, and learning what his new boundaries were; e.g. not diving into my koi pond to catch a fish, not peeing in the house – he only did this once, coming when called, and lastly to not antagonize the cat who was living in the basement until we could figure out how to introduce them properly. Three days before he attached me, Chester saw his first deer in the back yard. Since that time his demeanor was off, yet he was still loving and, and full of young dog energy. He had become more resistant to commands to come, or sit, or the word no, and most importantly, to move away from the basement door and not growl at Gizzie the cat.
Since I was a toddler, I have shared my life with nine other dogs – one who had a litter of ten puppies – five cats, six pet ducks, one rabbit, five guinea pigs, five mallard ducklings who I hatched from their eggs when their mother had been killed by a car, one Canadian goose who was raised from one day old – she still had her egg tooth, two mice, and many baby birds who had fallen out of their nests. Chester was my tenth dog. Until Chester, I have never been afraid of a dog, nor have I ever had the slightest worry or fear that one of my dogs would turn on me and attack.
Today my hand is a little more swollen than last night, and the evidence of a bruise is making itself known. It is oozing serum and I am keeping it bandaged. It has become more tender than last night, and it now throbs and stings. There is no sign of infection, and Chester was up on all his inoculations. As a result of the wound, typing is a little tough. The mouse is putting pressure on the wound, but I want to keep the muscles moving to speed the reabsorption of the blood that is there.
O.P.W.
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09.13.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:40 pm by admin
How do I tell you about this? As some of you know, I have written frequently about Chester, a dog we adopted a little over two weeks ago on August 30.
This evening Chester attacked me, biting me in the palm of my right hand. We had just finished our walk when I started to wipe his feet of mud from the yard, something I have done dozens of times over the past two weeks. Without warning, he lunged and bit my hand leaving two puncture wounds. I spoke with the woman we adopted him from, and she advised me to allow him a time out in his cage while we go to the hospital. If he seemed OK when we got home we could let him out, if not he should remain in the cage ’til morning, only being allowed out to potty. I spent several hours in the emergency department and after returning home, he seemed to be the same old lovable Chester. Daniel took him out for a walk and then returned him to the cage. I remained in another room with the door closed.
An hour later we checked on him and he seemed fine. He was allowed out of his cage with a leash attached. I sat on the couch and he jumped up beside me and pawed me to pet him. I spent a few minutes petting him on his back, behind his ears, and on his belly when he offered it to me. An hour later he again became very aggressive towards me without provocation. Chester was lying on one end of the sofa and I was at sitting at the other end watching the weather about hurricane Ike when he began to approach me slowly with a look in his eyes I have never seen before, one step at a time, pausing between steps. I had a pointer-beagle mix before who moved like this when he was stalking prey. Chester’s head and ears were lowered. He was not growling or bearing his teeth. I immediately averted my eyes and froze. He stopped right next to me staring at me, his body stiff, muscles tense. I softly called to Daniel to take him away from me. He was returned to his cage and it was covered. Daniel has been the one to take him out for his walks, but Daniel has told me that Chester is becoming more distant. Each time he has been taken out of his cage I have gone to another room. He remains there now.
O.P.W.
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09.12.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:47 pm by admin
Last evening I participated in a lively discussion online between members of my poetry forum. One of the things we discussed, there were many topics – some of which will not be repeated outside of that chat room, was poetic voice.
My dear friend Larina, editor of the online poetry journal The Externalist, led the discussion. I’ve always had difficulty putting into words my definition of poetic voice. It’s sort of like the well debated issue of, “Is it pornography or art, you know it when you see it,” or in this case read it or hear it. I recognize the voice of a poem, and I can now often hear the forum member author of a poem without seeing their name.
~
Among the explanations, definitions, and descriptions of poetic voice were the following comments:
A focus on sound or emotion.
Unique variations that occur consistently within a poets’ work that make that poet “stand out”, a combination of theme, style, technique, and tone.
A poet may find it difficult to recognize their own voice.
A poet often discovers their voice when they listen to someone else read their work
Personal philosophy comes into play, whether we view the universe as having any static components. Poetry is inherently a dynamic art, and style, a momentary vista in a kaleidoscope of emotion.
In life, if you let your perspective dilate, you can see that fine thread of continuity that is ever changing and yet unbroken. For those whom writing is inextricably intertwined with that thread, they are poets and have this kind of voice.
Voice is a personal style of a poet.
Each poet has a different concept of voice, what it is or not, what will inspire it, who has or doesn’t have it.
Voice is a combination of things that make poetry unique to a poet.
It is the totality of the poet.
It’s something really kind of ephemeral and hard to categorize.
There are many poetic voices, confessional, lyricist, narrative, experimental/avant-garde, langpo, accessible, difficult, etc., etc., etc.
~
So use your unique voice and write a poem.
O.P.W.
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09.11.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:47 pm by admin
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09.10.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:49 pm by admin
I’ve been thinking a lot about tomorrow. I know I’m not alone when I say I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the first jet struck the first of the twin towers. I remember it was a Tuesday. I was performing a procedure on a patient. It took all of my will power to stay focused on the procedure, but I could feel a numbness overtaking me. When the second plane struck, I was with another patient, performing the same procedure. It was a hectic day at work, and though I was grieving inside, and numb, and angry, and scared, I could not allow my feelings to interfere with the care of the patients. That evening when I went home, I watched the television until 4 AM and went to bed. I remember watching Peter Jennings on ABC, and I remember Diane Sawyer walking through New York as she picked up pieces of paper that had been blown out of one of the towers. I woke on the 12th at 6:30 AM and immediately turned the TV back on and watched until I had to leave for work. I remember the skies that day, devoid of jets, except the few fighter jets I watched fly overhead. All commercial aircraft were grounded.
For the next two weeks I sat glued to the TV whenever I could, wherever I could. I kept KWY, a Philadelphia news radio station, tuned in on the car radio. In the evenings while I had the TV on, I went to the major news networks web sites and read about all the victims. I looked at each face and read all of their biographies and the stories that were written about them. Then I stopped. I couldn’t watch it any more.
I was numb for months, but slowly the numbness wore off to be replaced by a deep seated, controlled rage. I wanted revenge! I watched our country prepare for war. I listened to horrible words spoken by many people about striking back, knowing that many of the words were twisting the facts, but I didn’t care, I wanted blood.
For the next two years, I supported our troops, “adopting” several individuals and platoons, and I spent thousands of dollars on supplies and postage to mail them each care packages on a monthly basis. I converted a room in my home to “the troops room” where I stored the supplies and shipping materials, and I found myself on a first name basis with the post mistress at my local post office. I wrote hundred of letters to each of my troops and learned of their birthdays, anniversaries, and when their unborn babies were expected to arrive. I even wrote to some of their wives.
Then I realized my country had gone crazy, and I stopped.
O.P.W.
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09.09.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:44 pm by admin
This morning the rain started around 9:00. There were two sections to the storm, and the first wave provided a continuous rain, heavy at times until just after noon. I spent the morning watching the weather radar on my computer to time my walks with Chester. In between walks, I washed eight large leaves of lettuce, wrapped them in a linen towel and put them in the frig to dry, and spent time on the two poetry forums. Instead of using the leftover pork roast for the bean soup, I defrosted leftover ham from two months ago. It was baked with ginger ale, cloves, and honey, and I’ve used ham cooked with this recipe before for different soups. It always comes out very well.
At noon, I added the ham after I diced it, stirred the soup, added a cup of water and left it alone. The rain has stopped and there was a large area on the weather radar devoid of rain so I drove over to the O & A Farms produce stand to pick up cucumbers, bell peppers, zucchini, tomatoes, and red onions to add to the lettuce for a salad to go with the bean soup. On the way home, I stopped at Genuardi’s Market and bought a wonderful loaf of an artisan bread to toast for garlic bread. When I got home, I prepped the vegetables I was going to add to the salad and put them in the frig for later.
I spent a few hours on the two poetry forums and then at 5:00 this afternoon I took Chester out for a walk and worked on the pond. While we were out, I measured the water level in a bucket that I sat on the sidewalk before the rain started. We received 2 inches of rain, that’s 6 inches since Saturday. As the minutes ticked by, the second wave of rain continued to dissipate, and finally disappeared. Daniel had told me he would probably be late this evening because of a project he was working on for a client, so started to take the things I needed out of the frig to finish making dinner.
At 5:30 PM Daniel called to say he was on his way home. I rushed through making the salad and sliced the bread, drizzled it with olive oil and then sprinkled it with garlic powder. Daniel arrived home just as I was putting the garlic bread in the toaster oven so I offered him his bowl of salad to start. The soup was gently boiling in the crock pot so I ladled out two bowls and let them cool a bit while the garlic bread was toasting. I usually just have bread and butter with soup but the garlic added a special something to the meal. I’ll have to do it again.
O.P.W.
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09.08.08
Posted in Recipes & Cooking, Thoughts and Reflections at 10:31 pm by admin
I called the Vet’s office today and talked to the woman I had spoken with when we found Chester. I explained the situation of Chester and Gizzie, the progress he has made in his behavior, and how his is settling in. She listened to everything I said then told me she’d like to consult with an animal behaviorist she works with to help the animals she rescues adapt to their new homes. She told me once she had some information, she’d call me back. Before we hung up, she said there was a second person she was going to call as well. I remain hopeful that we can make his adoption work.
Just after noon, I assembled the ingredients for my bean soup. I began to soak the beans this past Saturday, just as Hanna began to dump her version of rain on us. I’ll include the recipe below. In the past, I’ve soaked dried beans for a few hours in a large sauce pan and then brought them to a boil, then reduced the heat and allowed them to simmer for about 3 hours before I assemble the ingredients. The trouble with dried beans is that they remain crunchy after cooking in the crock pot for up to 12 hours. It isn’t until the second or third day that they’ve softened. I’ve used canned beans, but they literally fall apart in the soup and there’s a lot of waste when I rinse the beans until the water runs clear before I use them. I rinse them because I can’t stand the smell when I open the cans and it also helps to minimize the associated aftereffects.
Bean soup is a favorite of mine, right up there with split pea and lentil. This time I used four different dried beans, kidney, pinto, navy, and black. I usually use whatever is on hand, but I selected these varieties when I went shopping because of the unique taste and characteristics of each. I want to see how they’ll taste combined. During the first 24 hours I rinsed the beans and changed the water three times. After that, I’ve done this twice a day. I believe this will help with the aforementioned aftereffects and it will help them to soften. On a side note, if I didn’t know better I’d swear Chester has eaten beans every day since we brought him home.
3 day Bean Soup
Ingredients:
1/2 cup each – dried kidney, pinto, navy, and black beans – soaked 2 days
1 – large onion cut into small wedges
2 – carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch pieces
2 – stalks celery cut into 1/2 inch pieces – include the leaves, they have the best flavor
1 – large can diced or peeled tomatoes with juice or 2 1/2 lb. tomatoes diced
2 – bay leaves
2 tsp. – fresh ground sage
1 tsp. – fresh ground black pepper
1 tsp. – fresh ground lemon pepper
1 tblsp. – fresh ground sea salt
1 tblsp. – McCormick’s Italian Seasoning
1/2 tsp – dried chopped rosemary
1 tsp. – ground garlic
2 tsp. – dried chopped garlic
3 hefty dashes of Texas Pete’s Hot Sauce
1/2 tsp – Old Bay Seasoning
1 tsp – dried basil
2 cups – cooked diced pork or ham
3-4 cups – water – added as needed to keep the beans submerged.
Equipment:
1 – 5 or 6 qt. crock pot
Start in the afternoon.
Assemble all ingredients except the meat in the crock pot and turn on high until the soup boils, about 3 hours. Reduce the heat to low for 3 hours. Alternate settings between high and low 3 hours each, except over night leave crock pot on low. DON’T LIFT THE LID TO CHECK! – YOU’LL LOSE A TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF HEAT AND WATER VAPOR.
Only lift the lid to add water as needed to keep the beans submerged.
The next morning, (obviously lift the lid) stir the ingredients and turn crock pot on high the remainder of the day until serving.
6 hours before serving, add the meat and stir again.
Serving Suggestions:
Prepare your favorite garden salad and select your favorite dressing.
Get yourself a nice loaf of crusty bread. Slice bread into 1 inch thick pieces. Drizzle with olive oil or spread with butter. Sprinkle with garlic powder and place in toaster oven until the garlic bubbles and the bread begins to brown.
Serve the soup steaming hot with your salad and garlic bread.
Enjoy!
O.P.W.
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09.07.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 9:33 pm by admin
After a week of forced separation, and after much discussion and contemplation, Daniel and I decided to introduce our two four-footed companions to each other today. BIG MISTAKE! While I took Chester outside for a walk, Daniel brought Gizzie, the cat (nicknamed Gizmo like the Mogwai from the movie Gremlins, but not after the Mogwai; or Mozilla similar to Godzilla, but not after Godzilla; or Mo Mo; or Mo dill a, emphasis on the first syllable which is held the longest, or … Ok, you get the picture) up from the basement and put her in her cat bed on top of the liquor cabinet in the dining room. “On the liquor cabinet in the dining room?” you ask. Because of the layout of the house, she is able to view us when we’re in the living room, dining room, and kitchen from this vantage point, and that’s how she wants it. What Gizzie wants Gizzie gets, she’s a cat!
When Chester and I entered the house, Chester knew immediately that the cat was near. Daniel stood in front of the cabinet petting Gizzie while Chester sniffed about with intent. Gizzie watched Chester with intent from an altitude of four feet. Try as he may, Chester could not locate her, and his search took on a fervent pitch. I picked him up and showed him where she was from about five feet away. It’s a good thing I chose this distance and had a firm grasp on his collar. I have never witnessed such fast reflexes. He immediately attempted to launch from my chest towards the cat. Gizzie hissed. Chester barked and whined. Gizzie hissed some more. After a few moments I put Chester on the floor while I held on to his leash. As if on a pogo stick, Chester launched himself into the air, intent on latching onto Gizzie. Gizzie peered down at him and with each leap launched controlled swipes towards his face.
Chester realized there was a chair next to the cabinet and made it up onto the seat before I was able to grab him. Had I not done this, he would have been at the cat in an instant. I moved the chair away from the cabinet and placed Chester back on the floor. He continued his feverish leaps into the air while Gizzie continued her swipes near his snout, alternating her hisses with growls. This continued for another five minutes. At four minutes, Chester began to tire and his altitude lessened with each leap. As he neared the point of collapse, I picked him up and took him out into the yard to cool down. He headed straight for the stream at the pond and immersed himself in it, lapping up water as he moved through the water iris. His thirst finally sated, he climbed out and came to me exhausted. I carried him to the porch and dried him off, thinking the encounter had drawn to a conclusion. Not so.
I kept him on the leash as we entered the house again, hoping he would retire to the couch, but prepared if not. Not! He headed straight for the cabinet and cat, and launched himself into the air with greater determination than before. Gizzie, recognizing the seriousness of his intent, increased her pitch and volume, and began to connect with great accuracy across Chester’s snout, but she did not draw blood. I allowed this to continue for another two minutes, and when the first sign that Chester’s launches weakened, I took him away into the living room, with him barking all the way. Gizzie immediately launched herself into the air and landed on the floor ten feet away at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. She disappeared up the stairs in an instant. Chester tried to pursue her, but I had a firm hold on his leash. I immediately took him outside to calm him down. Again!
When I returned, Daniel had closed the door at the foot of the stairs, allowing Gizzie time to recover in a safe environment. Chester sniffed around and after a few minutes determined Gizzie was not near. He returned to the couch and collapsed, falling fast asleep in less than a minute.
After a while, Daniel and I discussed what to do, and whether I should call the Vets office where we adopted him to take him back. This was very upsetting to me and I have remained nearly silent the remainder of this evening. I simply don’t know what to do. My heart is aching at the thought of losing this little guy, who has become so dear to me, while at the same time thinking of Gizzie and her sentence to the basement at no fault of her own. Chester has made tremendous progress in his behavior and he has become comfortable here. He is no longer on the alert at every new sound, and he doesn’t feel the need to follow either Daniel or I at our heels whenever we leave the room, at least for a minute or so. Late this evening I found tiny scabs in the fur on Chester’s snout. At first I thought they were fleas, which shouldn’t be there because of his flea collar. I realized that Gizzie had indeed connected, but again she was very restrained. We took a chance to see if they, or he could get it our of their/his system(s). It failed.
I’m going to call the Vet tomorrow to seek advice on improving the chances of getting these two to coexist without antagonism or the fear of bloodshed.
O.P.W.
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09.06.08
Posted in Recipes & Cooking, Thoughts and Reflections at 10:05 pm by admin
I prepared for Hanna and her wrath today by draining the pond of about 800 gallons of water, cleaning out the rain gutters and down spouts of leaves, sticks, and walnuts deposited there by squirrels, and by checking the foundation of the house several times during the storm. It was all for naught. When the rain had stopped, I had to top off the pond with the garden hose, there was no deluge to overtax the gutters and down spouts, and the foundation held. The estimate for our area was 3 – 4 inches over the course of 8 – 9 hours. We did get a smidgen of water in the basement, really just a damp spot just inside the bilco doors, (like those that would lead into a storm cellar). We could have done with twice the rain we received. We haven’t had any measurable rain in nearly a month.
Just before the rain arrived, I put together the pork roast in the crock pot. What a treat. It was moist, tender, and just on the sweet side, with just a touch of fire. I modified the recipe I mentioned yesterday, as I always do, and boy-oh-boy am I glad I did. The ingredients make a wonderful spicy-sweet compote that is attractive and goes well served over or beside the meat. With the pork roast I made potato pancakes from a Panni box mix, and french cut green beans. For dessert we had a pint of sliced strawberries that I added 2 teaspoons of sugar to and allowed them to marinate for several hours over Hostess cake cups with fresh whipped cream, Hershey’s syrup, and Daniel put coconut on his serving.
Sweet & Spicy Crock pot Pork Roast
Ingredients:
1 – 3 lb. pork roast
1 – can crushed pineapple
1 – c. chopped dried cranberries
1 – tsp. ground sea salt
1/2 – tsp. fresh ground tricolor peppercorns
4 – good dashes Texas Pete Hot Sauce (used 2 if you want a mild tang)
1/4 – tsp. crushed rosemary
1 – tsp. McCormick’s Italian Seasoning
2 – tblsp. soy sauce
1 – tsp. garlic powder
1 – tsp. dried chopped garlic
2 – tsp. dried onion flakes
2 – tblsp. dried parsley flakes
1/2 – tsp. freshly ground sage
1 – tblsp. Mrs. Dash
Place all ingredients in crock pot and cook on low for 7 hours. Remove roast from pot and allow to stand 15 minutes before cutting. Serve compote over meat slices.
Give this recipe a try. I think you’ll enjoy it.
O.P.W.
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09.05.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 10:45 pm by admin
I went shopping today at the local Giant Food Store to take advantage of a sale on meat. Tomorrow we’re expecting the arrival of Hanna the hurricane and I thought a crock pot meal would be a good idea. I want to try out a new recipe I received from a subscription email for pork roast. Hopefully the power won’t go out or I’m screwed, LOL. I can always cook it on the gas stove in my big ol’ cast iron dutch oven or one of my stock pots, but the crock pot really does a nice job on pork loin. I’m not one of those folks who makes a panic food run for milk, bread, butter and eggs whenever there’s a forecast of bad weather, but soup, stew, or crock pot goes with rain. I think tomorrow qualifies as a rainy day, they’re predicting up to 7 inches for us. What do folks do with all that butter anyway? You only need so much for scrambled eggs.
Giant is offering center cut pork loin roasts, buy one get one free, and I selected two of these roasts at just under 3 lb. each. While I was in the meat department, I found another bargain, gorgeous 1 1/2 inch thick beef loin boneless sirloin steaks, also buy one get one free. These steaks were in the display meat case where the butchers work. They were freshly cut which allowed me to get a good look at them. Both the roasts and steaks were nicely trimmed of fat. I also stocked up on lunch meat and cheese, and since there’s rain forecast for later next week I bought a few bags of dried beans; navy, kidney, pinto and black. I figure I’ll be in the mood for some good bean soup for the next rain event. I’ll use the last of the leftover pork roast for that, and it will be the first opportunity I’ll have to use a few bay leaves from the bay tree we bought two months ago.
At the end of next week, I’m going to grill one of those steaks and fry up some onions and crimini mushrooms I bought today as well. We’re going to eat well for the next seven days, that’s for sure.
If the crock pot dinner turns out Ok, I’ll post the recipe tomorrow.
O.P.W.
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09.04.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 11:58 pm by admin
This evening I am participating in a conversation with fellow poets online in a real time chat session. Gotta love this technology. We’re discussing a new project in the works, and as someone said in last weeks chat session, “Getting poets to collaborate … is like herding cats,” to which there was a reply, “You can only herd cats with a can of tuna.” I wonder if that’s why I’ve been craving a tuna sandwich lately.
This realtime technology is so helpful and quick when it comes to sharing ideas and discussing various topics. There are a few drawbacks though. When reading words, one is unable to hear inflection. Also, when there are several folks participating, the comments are posted as they are sent, but not necessarily in response to the comments that directly preceded them. This leads to some amusing reading, misunderstanding and confusion. We’ve all had a good chuckle when reading the lines that are posted in the order in which they are posted. It does help when each participant uses a different color.
We have since finished our discussion on the project, and the topic has now changed to “poetic voice”, or a “poets voice”. This is an interesting conversation we’re having right now. According to a good friend of mine, my poetic voice is that of a “narrative lyricist”. This sounds so nice, but I’m not sure I qualify.
It’s 11:55 PM right now and the conversation is still going strong. Lord knows when we’ll finish.
Gotta run, there’s much to read and catch up on since I left to post this.
O.P.W.
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09.03.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 11:49 pm by admin
When we went to look at Chester this past Saturday, I spent a few minutes talking with the veterinarian to learn his views on dog care. He is adamant that dogs should be fed once a day, regardless of their age. I’ve been of the school that after one year of age, a young dog is transitioned to one meal a day over the course of several weeks. This is accomplished by reducing one feeding, and increasing the other. I have always fed my canine and feline companions in the afternoon. This allows them to take care of business right after they eat, again in the evening, and then again the next morning. This has reduced the number of “accidents” dramatically. Of course, if an animal is ill or recovering from surgery I’ve always fed them small meals 4 or 5 times a day. For the dogs, I cooked their food which consisted of rice and barley, ground beef or chicken boiled in bullion for the fist few days, then I’d gradually add cooked vegetables to the mix. Once they stabilize, I begin to add in their kibble.
This morning was the first that Chester wasn’t fed. I took him out into the yard multiple times and then again just before I left the house. I put him in his crate with a rope toy and left, no ceremony involved. When I returned, he was waiting for me quietly, and the cat was howling at the basement door. After taking Chester outside for 10 minutes, I fed them both, Chester in the kitchen and the cat in the basement. I let Chester out again and brought the cat upstairs. Again she looked at the crate and disappeared up the stairs, so I closed the door behind her. Less than a minute later I went out into the yard to find Chester watching the fish intently from the rock border. I called him and he came immediately, then returned to the rocks only to be called away again. We walked around the yard and returned to the porch. I decided to do a little trimming of the burning bushes around the porch that had begun to invade the azaleas, and in doing so, I forgot about Chester. In less than a minute I heard a splash. There was Chester doggy paddling around the pond. I called him from the edge of the pond, but he acted as if I wasn’t there. For all I know, he didn’t hear me, he was that intent on catching a fish. Suddenly he seemed to notice me and after several more laps, he climbed out, just out of my reach. He completely ignored me when I called him to come. As he prepared to jump back in, I used one of the large nets I had made for the fish, and caught me a dog. In trying to herd him towards me, he fell into the settling chamber and swam to the edge by me feet. I helped him out and carried him to the porch. Fortunately there were a few towels draped over the furniture from Monday’s events, and I used them to dry him off. As I was drying him off, a towel fell over his head. He panicked and nipped at my hand through the towel, but he did this very gently. I told him No! and continued to dry him. When I brought him into the house, he acted quite dejected and went into his crate all by himself. I left him there and started to get dinner ready. He joined me in a few minutes, the previous events seemingly forgotten and made up with me. As I continued to prepare dinner, he waited at the top of the stairs for the cat to make an appearance. The basement door was opened and I let him think she was down there. I’m pleased that he did not venture down to the landing or into the basement in search of her.
Two steps forward, one step back.
O.P.W.
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09.02.08
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections at 9:14 pm by admin
Chester seems more comfortable with his new surroundings. He’s also found his bark, though it’s restrained. He doesn’t carry on as long as the previous dogs who have lived with me, and it seems to take a bit more activity outside to get his attention. He’s also minding better. Today each time he approached the pond I would tell him No!, and he listened. He does test the waters though, approaching the rock border around the pond repeatedly. I think he’s waiting for me to slip up and not say No! just once.
This afternoon while I was preparing dinner, he sat in the kitchen on the edge of the stairs that lead down to the landing for the basement to watch and listen for the cat. I spent the morning correcting him when he ventured to the landing to spy on the cat below through the basement door perforated sheet metal . Hopefully he’s beginning to get the message.
Chester and I spent quite a bit of time outdoors today walking around the yard. In the morning I kept him on the leash because of yesterday’s fishing episode. By the afternoon, there were no more incidents, so I tried it with no leash and he behaved. Several times during the day I put him into his crate, extending the length of time until he was in there for 1 1/2 hours. This is in preparation for when I go to work tomorrow. I’ll be gone from the house for about 5 1/2 hours, and I want him to become accustomed to being in the crate when both Daniel and I are away. When he was safely in the crate, I’d open the basement door to allow the cat to come upstairs. The furthest she ventured was the kitchen. At one point I put Chester outside and carried the cat into the living room. She took one look at the crate, sniffed the air and ran upstairs to the bedroom. I closed the door behind her and left her up there for three hours. When I checked on her, she was sound asleep on the bed.
When Daniel came home from work, Chester greeted him at the back door then turned around and disappeared into the living room. He returned in a few seconds with his baby in his mouth and offered it to Daniel.
I remain hopeful that in the not too distant future, everyone (dog and cat) will settle down and we’ll become one big happy family, if not happy then at least tolerant.
O.P.W.
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