Ahhh Yes--Thanksgiving Memories

 

 

 

Every family has some Thanksgiving horror in its history.

Whether it be ruining the turkey, dropping the mashed potatoes on the way to the table, or simply forgetting to buy that tasty can of cranberry jelly, we have ALL had some sort of holiday disaster.

My family has had one … a few…OK,  several .

The first turkey I ever remember being cooked for Thanksgiving was when I was five or six years old. As many of you wonderful cooks out there know, a turkey has to be cooked for quite a while to go from a naked jay bird to a brown mouth-watering center piece.  

Well, it just so happened that someone, somewhere, somehow, had told my Momma that the bird would cook and brown to perfection if she rubbed it down with peanut oil , placed it in a brown paper sack, and the slid it into the hot oven.   

Now, Momma wanted to present her household with a perfect bird, so she gave old Tom Turkey a peanut oil bath, slapped him in the bag, and put him in oven.

 Soon, the trouble began.

While every other home in town was filled with the sweet aroma of a bird in the oven, our house was filled with something else. SMOKE! 

A London fog had rolled into the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Even though it was November, the windows were all up, and everybody was fanning. My brother and I finally ran into our bedroom and shoved towels under the door. We learned that trick from watching the “Towering Inferno” on TV.

Needless to say, at our table that year, we all had a smokers hack and blood shot eyes.

But, the bird was really good.

There was another time when Daddy declared that we would eat our Thanksgiving Dinner out. We were all excited about that as we did not eat out at ALL. He had a big plan to make it easier on Momma and give us all a big thrill. We could barely wait until Thanksgiving rolled around. 

When the usual hour of Thanksgiving dinner rolled around, Daddy cut loose with his master plan. He was going to go get Kentucky Fried Chicken.  We all looked at each other for a moment, then thought, “Oh well.”  So, we picked up the phone and called. It rang, and rang, and rang, (you get the picture).

They were CLOSED ON THANKSGIVING (Duh).

SO we boycotted that year. No turkeys or chickens were harmed in the making of that fiasco.

I can skip all the other minor malfunctions down through the years and go straight to the big guns. We call this story, “Ash Thursday”.

Yep—to make a long story short, due to circumstances beyond our control, the turkey went to that great ash pile in the sky, LITERALLY. It was burnt to a crispy mess of black charcoal so bad that the dog couldn’t even crunch it up.

But along with the bad turkey days, we have had plenty of the good. There have been Thanksgiving dinners where everything was perfect and no mishaps were recorded in the family history. 

But we remember each one of those Thanksgivings, good and bad, all the same.

You see, it really doesn’t matter to my family.

Thanksgiving is about being thankful for the blessing you have been gifted by the Almighty all through the year.

 Our brood is blessed a dozen times over every year.  As long as we are all happy, healthy, and can be together, we could pass around a can of potted meat and a pack of crackers and all would still be right in the world.

So remember, even if your bird takes flight, or the sweet potatoes are gloopy, or the electric knife gets stuck in “kill” mode, take it all in stride and be grateful. You have been blessed by the Almighty, and Thanksgiving only comes once a year.

But, and I hate to bring this up, Christmas is only 26 days way.

 

 

Potty Time Mayhem

At Dogwood, there are three words that can both provide either joy, or complete terror.

Those words are “Let’s Go Potty”.

 These simple words can bring on a reaction that would make a layman wonder if either war had been declared, or if a nuclear warhead was dropping outside the window.

But to the canine four legged felons who inhabit Dogwood, they are a call to action.

Like stallions they run for the back door, with me in the lead, hoping to get it open before they pounce. But in my efforts, I usually forget the storm door. But I needn’t worry. Linus burst it open with a flying ninja kick that sends it back against the side of the house with a FWAP!

The irony of this little exercise in futility is that, once the hounds have cleared the door and are on the pavement, they suddenly look at me like, “What are we doing out here?”

Then I begin the ten to fifteen minute encouragement phase of our trip to bountiful. Translation: GO POOP!

Charlie wanders through the yard like he’s never been there before. But he is the first to offer up offerings to the poop gods.   Lucy will run to the edge of the pavement, drop her load, and strut back like she just left me a bag of diamonds on the grass.  Daisy and Linus have a hard time concentrating on making the drop. They are too busy chasing each other around, flinging leaves and mud everywhere. If Duchess Daisy truly needs to “go”, she’ll stop mid romp and let it fly. Trying to get Linus to achieve escape velocity is another chore indeed. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do except chase Daisy and run circles through the gates.

Ahhh, my little goof. I love him so.

Hines has to sniff everywhere (and I mean everywhere) to find that one special spot of undesecrated ground in which leave his tiny caveman club’s. Squirt has no such special requirement. He can drop his junk anywhere and be perfectly happy. 

There whole process can take anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes, depending on the level of stubbornness they are feeling and the weather conditions. God forbid that the grass should be wet or that it should be raining. Charlie is the only brave heart of my bunch that will venture out into the wet.

All the rest are either afraid of that strange wet stuff falling from the sky or just too darn picky to get their feet wet.

As you all know---sugar melts.

As the herd grazes the yard, I enjoy a smoke and keep an ever vigilant eye on their behavior and their progress.  As the old saying goes, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you  lose”.

After the time is up, and hopefully the mission completed, I call to them with the next magic word, “Cookie” and the stallions once again bound past me, through the open door and into the kitchen for tiny morsels of goodness brought to us by the good people at “Milkbone’.

Once the craving for treats has been satisfied, and the urge to have a bowel movement in the kitchen floor (it happens) has passed, my six little canine convicts are ready to once again do what they do best: sleep and watch TV.

But in the end, I can’t blame them. It’s what I do best too.

 

 

PLEASE SUPPORT "MOMO'S MIRACLES"

 

 

Pictured above: The children's book: "MoMo's Miracles"

Pictured Next: Little MoMo, who cannot see, and desperately needs cataract surgery.

 

For many of us, life is a truly blessed thing.

Though we have worldly troubles, we can still be thankful for our continued health, our ability to persevere, and for the many, many blessings God gives us.

But some of God’s creatures don’t have that.  Some of them have lost even their basic faculties.

What would you do?  How would you deal with the removal of a basic sense?

Imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to lose your sight. 

There’s no light, no color, and no shape to guide you.  The only images of the sun, the grass, the blue sky, of your loved ones, are those stored in the vault of your memory. These photographs of the mind are like snap shots from a by-gone era.  With each passing day, they yellow with age:  the true memory of the image, fading forever.

It’s not a pretty thought, is it?

As human beings, we have the ability to learn, to adapt, and survive.   Animals, though teachable, sometimes do not survive the loss of such a vital sense.  As the world slowly fades from sight, they can lose all hope.  Without help and loving hands to keep them active and to shape their abilities to adapt, they simply give up.

Now, what if you were blind, and a doctor told you that you could have your eyesight back?

What if the doctor told you it would cost $10,000 dollars to see again, and you had NO insurance.

You’d do anything in your power to be able to let that doctor heal your eyes, right?

You’d want anybody and everybody to help you reach that $10,000 goal. Right?

You’d pray for an angel to help.

Now, I’ve written all this to make a point.

Right now, the Humane Society of Dover-Stewart County is trying to be that angel.

MoMo is a two year old; eight pound Yorkie Poo, who has lost his sight to severe cataracts.  His eye sight can be restored with surgery. It’s going to be expensive.

 But MoMo doesn’t need 10,000 dollars. He only needs $3,000.

In an  effort to raise the money to restore MoMo’s sight, I have partnered with my good friends at the Humane Society of Dover-Stewart County by creating a little children's book called "MOMO's MIRACLES".

It's a simple children's story, written on a first grade reading level, that you and your child can enjoy together.

"MO MO'S MIRACLES" will sell for $15 per copy and IS AVAILABLE NOW!

You can arrange for purchase and to have your copy mailed out to you at: www.HumaneSocietyDover.org

Now, if you don't have children in your life, and have no use for a kiddie book, then you can still help little MOMO. I am challenging everyone who doesn't need a book to donate JUST $5 dollars. That’s right—FIVE DOLLARS. If you want to donate MoMo…I mean MORE…then feel free!

I know what the economy is like. I live in the real world just like you.

But I also know that we buy creature comforts every day that we could do without. If a bunch of readers contributed cost of a pack of smokes, or a cup of coffee, or a big mac, then MoMo could have his surgery in no time.  No amount is too small. This is about a community getting together to help one of God’s creatures.

 

And here’s FIVE WAYS for you to get your Donation to MoMo.

1. Call North Stewart Vet Clinic (in Stewart County, TN) to donate via debit/credit card. Ask to donate towards "MoMo" eye surgery. 931.232.9900.

 2. Stop by North Stewart Vet Clinic to donate cash/check/charge at 1613 Hwy 79, Dover, TN 37058. 931.232.9900.

 3. Use the DONATE icon (PayPal) button on the Facebook page:

www.Facebook.com/HumaneSocietyDover

 4. Use the DONATE icon (PayPal) button at: www.HumaneSocietyDover.org

 5. OR Mail a check or money order to:

Humane Society of Dover
533 Honey Fork Road
 Indian Mound, TN 37079

Whether it be by enjoying a book with our children, or donating from our hearts--TOGETHER, we can work miracles.

MoMo is just a little guy who wants to see again.

Have you been a part of a miracle lately?

I humbly ask that you please be a part of this one today.

 

 

RAIN RAIN GO AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Rain, rain, rain!!!!!

There have been times in the last few soggy days when I have wondered seriously if we should start building an ark.

Lord knows I have the beginnings of the zoo it would take to fill one.

There was a simpler time in life when I loved a rainy day or night. The soft pitter patter of rain drops on my window, the quiet roar of a sudden down pour on the roof, the gentleness of a spring shower: all of these things used to be so relaxing and renewing to me.

If I had my way now, I‘d build a glass dome over top of my entire property and never let a drop of the stuff ever touch the ground around me again.

What was the reason for this change of heart?  It should be self-explanatory that my insane for the rain was brought on by my five canine convicts, of course.

 I guess being a sugar foot is a black lab thing, though I was always told Labs were water dogs.

NOT!

Lucy, the Queen matriarch of the House of L, has not changed her mind about being wet. She hates it. She deplores it! She absolutely, positively, DESPISES rain.

Therefore, getting her outside to do any sort of potty time in wet weather is like trying to talk a deaf mule into a fifty mile hike up a mountainside.  In other words: it isn’t going to happen. As soon as I send out the call for volunteers to exit the back door, she immediately runs into her house.  We call it her “Fraidy Hole”. When the weather is wet, you can sure bet that even if I stuck dynamite under her fat furry fanny and put a hydrogen bomb in her old buck teeth, she would still sit glued to the bottom of her kennel.  

Of course she would look like Wyle E. Coyote after the blast—but I digress.

Linus, our newest induction into the hall of shame, has the same problem as Lucy. He will NOT venture out into the wet.  I push, I pull, I command him to enter the soggy fray and do his business. But I get nowhere. Linus has a big goofy smile, and very expressive, big brown eyes. It is through these portals to the soul that I can actually see him saying in a perfect Mortimer Snerd voice, “Nope, nope,nope, nope.”

Hines, the rat terror (I mean terrier) of Dogwood, has an issue with the rain as well.  Our welcome mat stretches out in front of the back door, and also rests under the dryer vent.  Because the dryer is ALWAYS RUNNING, and giving off a blast of hot air through the vent, the rug is always dry. This is where my special little guy chooses to park himself.  

Here and nowhere else. 

Daisy, my only reason to own a Thunder straight jacket, will run out into the rain, pee all over the concrete of the patio, and then bound back under the cover of the car port.  Leave it to Daisy to do what I ask—but do it half assed.

I’m assuming that everyone understands that those who don’t go outside end up having “OOPPSY”S” on the dining room floor—correct???

Who is the only fur child who obeys? The one with the heart of a lion and the expression of a brow beaten clown: my Charlie.   Charlie is neither afraid of water, thunder, nor lightning. He is not afraid to slog through the mud, wallow in the soaked grass, or run between the rain soaked bushes.   My Charlie, my love, my best pal: my walking ball of mud and soppy fur.

Yes. Once upon a time, a rainy day brought a blissful state of mind to this old man.   

But I try to look on the bright side of things. Without these four legged felons who control my life, and without the wonders and love they bring me every moment of our time together, what would my existence be?  It would be one where it rained EVERY DAY, dark and gloomy, lonely and full of sad.

If all it takes to keep my life complete is a few towels, a mop, a bucket, and a can of Lysol, I’ll endure the occasional rainy season.

After all, whether it be in my mind or in my yard, the sun has to come out sometime.

THE DOGWOOD ORCHESTRA

It’s the close of another Sunday.  The sky’s bright blue color and has begun the decent into shades of evening navy, which will evolve into the inky blackness of night.

On the back patio of Dogwood, I find my trusty rocking chair and enjoy a quiet smoke alone.  A smooth breeze flows thru the trees around me, causing a hypnotic sway which eases me into a relaxed state of mind.

The light is fading, ever so slowly, so sweetly, and the creatures in the woods that surround our new home pick up their evening song.  It will build to a crescendo as the sun slips past the horizon, sending their music out over the night air with a strength that would make any AM radio station jealous.  

It’s quite a little orchestra I have playing around me. The frogs in the nearby pond lay the ground work of the bass and drums.  A thousand crickets’ play a slivery sound layer of stings overtop of the booming frogs. The breeze whispers through the branches overhead, creating a light yet potent sound of rustling and scrapes that complement the other elements already in the air.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, the twill sound of tonight’s solo artist bursts forth over top the heavy orchestral tune.  I turn to see a little gray bird sitting just inside the lip of the concrete barbeque.  Later I discover that she has built her nest inside the cone of the chimney, and has laid her eggs. 

She is soon to be a mother.

But tonight, she is a star.

Her song is sad, somewhat mournful.  I wonder what could possibly make one of the Lord’s most beautiful creations so sad. But then I remember it’s just the opening of her song.

The notes begin low, but as the arrangement progresses, she sings from her heart. The notes dance in the air, becoming more and more energized and happy. Soon she is chirping at the top of her lungs. It is her song of celebration.  She is thanking her creator for another sweet day on the Earth, for her home and her soon to be born babes that will complete her existence.

The concert goes on for more than half an hour. But as the spot light of the fading sun exits, the song begins to lose its volume, and it too slowly fades into the darkness.

As the stars begin to twinkle overhead, the orchestra loses interest in its own tune.  The music of nature separates, and becomes simply noises of the night. The solo artist takes her bow, and retreats back to her dressing room in the chimney of the barbeque.  Suddenly, I am alone again, and the dark velvet of night makes me drowsy.

The curtain of night has fallen over the stage, and this evening’s performance has come to a close. Along with it, the day has finished too. 

So like the musicians who have entertained me, I pull myself from my front row seat, and sleepily move toward the door.  

 

 

HELP A BROKEN ELBOW AND HEART TO HEAL!!!!

You all know I have all but Patented the $5 dollar donation drives in the past.

WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!!

 

ALRIGHT BOYS AND GIRLS--get those wallets out and let’s make this happen!

 

MEET MOLLY!!!!!

MOLLY HAS A HOME TO GO TO!!! BUT WE GOT TO GET THIS VET BILL TOOK CARE OF AND GET THIS BABY BACK ON HER FEET!!!

HERE"S HER STORY:

As many of you know I am not one to ask for a lot, but we have a super sweet 4 month old female brindle pit puppy. She was brought in today with a broken right elbow that with surgery and the right foster she will have a long happy life. Funds are limited right now but I know that we can help her. Her vet bills are going to be a little over $600, If you can help please make the donations to Animal Hospital @ 931 647-1696

 All of you who know me!! PICK THIS UP AND SHARE IT

 I AM CHALLENGING YOU!!!! (leather glove to the face, etc)

 FIVE DOLLAR DONATIONS!!!  Gve up that pack of smokes or your big fancy coffee and help this baby out!!!

CALL THE NUMBER OF THE VET HOSPITAL AND DONATE OVER THE PHONE!!!! Donations to Animal Hospital @ 931 647-1696

That's straight to the vet boys and girls--no way anybody is getting snookered.

 DON"T MAKE ME CALL YOU!!!!  Get on the phone NOW!!!

 Five dollars can set this beauty on the road to a good life with a clean bill of health!!

 DIG DEEP BOYS AND GIRLS!!!! And if the Lord moves you to give more--CHIP IT IN!!!

TOGETHER WE CAN DO ANYTHING!!! SO DO IT TODAY!!!

 

The REAL Story of Rudolph

I received this in an email from a very dear friend. It touched me very deeply, as I can so easily identify with it's origins. I just wanted to share it with our Dogwood family.

The True Story of Rudolph

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night. His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bob's wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?" Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to be different for Bob. Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys. He was too little at the time to compete in sports. He was often called names he'd rather not remember. From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in 1938. Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift. But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined to make one - a storybook! Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope. Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about? The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. The name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there. The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book. Wards went on to print,_ Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book. In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter. But the story doesn't end there either. Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore , it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry. "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas." The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing.