You Say It's Your Birthday

We're going to have a good time.

I'm glad it's your birthday.
Happy Birthday to you!

Art Auction

Hmmm...a horse that paints? I wonder if I could sell Loki's cardboard sculptures?

The artist at work:

His current work in progress:

Classics:



Anyone care to start the bidding?

Thor's Day!

It's curtains!



Thor sez: HEEEEEELLLLPPPPP! I'm stuck!!

Thor sez: No, it's okay that you are taking pictures instead of helping me, I'm FINE right here. Perfectly comfortable.

Thank You For Being A Friend

Mick the Guinea Pig Jagger
2000 - 2008





Mick passed away peacefully in his sleep yesterday afternoon at the ripe old age of "about 8 years".

Thor is very sad.

Will It Go 'Round in Circles?

Leslie, the owner of the Santosha on the Ridge B&B had a labyrinth built on the property.

I must confess that I knew nothing of labyrinths before I took this trip. When telling us about the Columcille Park, she mentioned walking the labyrinth there and like many people, I concluded that it was a type of maze.

One afternoon, I wandered out to the Santosha labyrinth. I stood at the entrance, looking down a gentle slope toward the river just out of sight below and cleared my mind of any notions I may have had.

I would follow the path and let it tell me its story.


But it told me my story. The story of all humans. Of life. It reminded me that the path is never straight. It is never direct. I was walking towards my goal - the bench in the center - but the path was taking me away from the center, then tantalizingly close, and back away again.

It was telling me no matter your plans - the earth, the universe, your god, whatever name you give to that which guides you has its own plans. You can peacefully walk the path laid before you, learning as you go or you can fight and rail against it, missing the entire journey.

I walked the path, feeling the bark of trees as I passed by, admiring stones set out along the way, noticing the many hues of yellows and reds of the leaves beneath my feet. At last I did reach the bench and sat quietly there, listening to the wind through the trees, the scrunch of leaves being shuffled by the chipmunks and the conversations of the crows. I watched the light and shadows ripple as the trees swayed. I breathed in the clear, crisp air, slightly tinged with wood smoke from a fireplace down the hill.

I felt the exhilarating paradox of being completely at peace and completely energized at once.

And I walked out the same way I walked in, open to what our Mother had to tell me.

How I Spent My Autumn Vacation

It all began last Spring. We deferred our usual May trip to somewhere we'd never been before so Jason could send his daughter to China for an international robotics competition. Then he mentioned that one of his favorite artists -Frank Frazetta -had a museum in East Stroudsburg, PA.

I began looking into the Stroudsburg area and discovered it was in the southern Pocono Mountains. Perfect! We could combine our usual autumn color trip with the never been there before trip.

We flew into Allentown, PA, a pleasant little airport and drove about an hour to the village of Shawnee on Delaware.

We stayed at an awesome B&B - Santosha on the Ridge. The owner, Leslie, was awesome. The inn was gorgeous. It was one of those places where you almost hate to tell people about because you want to keep it all to yourself.

(Before I forget, all photographs by JAZ.)
The road to the inn:


The inn:


One of the views from our room:


We hiked the "red trail" at Bushkill Falls:

I raised an eyebrow or two at the claim of "The Niagara Falls of PA", while certainly beautiful and no, I've never been to Niagara, but these were a tad bit smaller than Niagara. Also- back at the gift shop, there was tee shirt emblazoned with the boast: I survived the Red Trail at Bushkill Falls! 1267 steps! And since I had survived the trail (and the shirt was on sale) I bought it. The lady there told me that the 1267 steps referred to the actual wooden stairs built along the trail, not the other 10 jillion steps along natural paths. No wonder my calf muscles were screaming blue murder at me for days.

We went at dawn to a spot down the road, Columcille Megalith Park.
What a treasure this spot is! Leslie, our innkeeper, told us that the gentleman who created this park was a teacher who had spent some time in the Scottish Islands and fell in love with the spiritual use of stones. He has created this park over many years, trying to capture the spiritual feel of the stones and the power of the earth and nature.

I think he succeeded beyond measure:



We also drove up to a small town, Milford, PA because we'd been told it was a nicely preserved example of a New England town. It was a great little side trip, a beautiful town - all decked out for Halloween already! We had a wonderful moment of wandering around success when we stumbled upon Grey Towers.

On the way back, we hiked a short hike to Raymondskill Falls.


And finally, on the way back to the airport, we did a quick drive by through historic Bethlehem, PA. I wish we'd had more time to explore as it looked to be a great spot to wander.

The food? That's a whole other post!

We're Baaaa-aack!

Lovely vacation. Absolutely gorgeous B&B. (With a welcoming Obama sign on the front porch.) Gracious and fascinating hostess (kept thinking "she needs to be a Skirt! woman!"). Perfect weather. Challenging hiking. Good autumn color.

Here's a tidbit:

No vacation kittens this time:

That's Xena, the pit bull and Lucy, the terrier mix. I think Lucy and Thor have the same personality.

Oh, where were we?

Pennsylvania. Eastern. In the Pocono Mountains.

More when I have had coffee with real creamer.

Thor sez: I am not a dog!

Get Your Fix While the Gettin's Good

We'll be big old jet airliner-ing our way to some autumn color and landscapes slightly above sea level.

The boys will be tenderly cared for by their grandmother-hairless-monkey-servant. So if they log on and claim abuse, it is a lie.

Back next week!

Loki sez: Ack! She's killing me! Call SPCA Kay!
(I was actually removing it.)

Thor sez: Look at my crazy eyes! Stop putting angel wings on me!

Loki sez: Oh my Ceiling Cat! This is worse than the hat!

Thor sez: Give her the crazy eyes!

Show us your hands!

Kick over rocks....

and look what slimes its way out.

And how about this little snippet from the same article:
"That suggestion came from Lehman's money management subsidiary, Neuberger Berman. Waxman quoted George H. Walker, President Bush's cousin and a Lehman executive who oversaw some Neuberger Berman employees, as responding with a dismissive tone to the idea of going without bonuses.
"Sorry team," he wrote to the executive committee, according to Waxman. "I'm not sure what's in the water at 605 Third Avenue today.... I'm embarrassed and I apologize.""

Yeah, I'm sure a Bush family member can't comprehend going without a bonus for shoddy work.

Why Am I Awake?

I was supposed to sleep in this morning because I have to work tonight. Oh well, won't be the first 28 hour stretch I've done.

It's been a strange morning. Thor, who even for a cat, has supernatural hearing abilities, began meowling the moment my feet hit the bedroom floor. Meowling: verb, a combination of meow and howl, the resultant sound resembling a chain smoking, whiskey drinking truck stop waitress screaming at a poor tipper.

Loki tossed his cookies, well actually his breakfast, shreds, gravy and all on the floor and acted offended when I cleaned it up.

And then like some demonic Chatty-Cathy doll, I see from a headline that someone drug Ann Coulter out of whatever closet the Repubs store her in, dry cleaned her little black dress, gave her a B-12 shot and a liter of LR and pulled the string on her back.

And I'd give her some grudging respect for the courage she has to speak her mind, if she meant all those evil things she says, but she doesn't. She just says them because she knows they appeal to the lowest, vilest instincts of humans (to make someone, anyone, less than so you can feel superior), and she knows she can make money off the need to hate. She's like some left-over relic from another age now, I hope.

But to answer my own question, I suppose I'm awake so I can finish up all the errands I was going to do last Saturday before I got distracted. See, here is my very own dirty little secret, my guilty pleasure, if you will: I am addicted to cheesy disaster movies. The cheesier, the better. I supposed it goes back to Earthquake and The Towering Inferno being huge hits during my formative years.

I love the orderliness of disaster movies. No matter how stupid the plot, how bad the acting, how ridiculous the special effects, they are all the same. Hero scientist who knows "the truth" and is estranged from some family member is treated as an idiot, Evil scientist is a power-grubbing know-nothing (variant: Evil military person), Anguished President who yells a lot and bemoans the humanity, Rescue Dude Hero, who usually is a total screw-up but redeems himself by dying so that another might live. And of course, the Disaster itself. And in the end, Hero scientist is proven right, reunited with his loved one, humanity is saved and Evil scientist is either dead or humiliated.

And I've noticed that way back in the 50's when most disaster movies began to be made, the CAUSE was almost always some sort of nuclear/radiation accident. In a few recent disaster movies, a nuclear device was what SAVES the planet.

Makes you go, "hmmm".

Thor sez: I'm a natural disaster of epic cuteness!

Loki Sunday

New toy.




Loki sez: Wasn't doing nothing.

Blatant Product Endorsement

Yesterday, I went to Super Petz to get some bird feed and cat food. I was standing by the windows where they have kittens (and bunnies!) for adoption, talking through the little air holes to the sweetest black and white kitten when one of the employees approached me. I had to tell him, that no, I couldn't adopt a kitten because I have the two meanest, most spoiled kittens in the world. He then asked if I wanted to hold the kitten and love on it a little bit. And I had to confess that I wasn't allowed to do that either. Last time I petted a kitten, Thor hissed at me for almost an hour.

Gives a more accurate definition to the term "pussy whipped", huh?

I also bought, after what I'm sure looked like some sort of apoplectic fit to the other customers, a FURminator. The fit was due to the fact that it was priced at $35.00.

"For a stupid cat brush to toss on to the pile of freaking cat brushes you already have?!" is what the money manager side of my brain was screaming at me.

"But I've heard such wonderful things about it! And both cats have puked up hairballs this week! You are a bad kitten mommy!" is what the money foolish side of my brain was screaming back.

And you all know, dear readers, that I ended up buying it because I am incapable of denying my fur babies anything.

I have one thing to say:

Worth every penny!

I worried at first that they wouldn't like it because I've never used a comb on them before. And this is how brushing usually goes around here:

But other than Thor's refusal to stand still, leading to his getting knocked in the face a few times, they enjoyed it.

And if you clicked on the link above, the picture of the dog with the clouds of fur around him? Exactly what my rug looked like. And it worked on both of them. They have very different fur types. Thor's undercoat is very thin and his fur is very fine. Loki has what we call rabbit fur. It is very thick and luxurious.

Loki fur after two passes (and a full brushing yesterday):

The FURminator worked great on both of them. Plus, it works so quickly, that I'm actually able to do a good job on areas like under their chins or their bellies, where they usually wouldn't put up with me brushing for too long with another type of brush.

Go buy one. Today!

It's October!

For some that means beer festivals.

For others, the turning of the leaves.

For me, the torturing of the felines:

My Mind, A Cluttered and Random Place

I think I should just publicly thank Jason for putting up with me.

I'm not an easy person to live with. I rant. I rave. I'm spectacularly lazy. I whine about my poor left arm which is currently throbbing in agonizing pain due to the flu shot that I got yesterday. I occasionally just walk up to him and update my funeral plans so he'll know what to do if I get hit by a bus. (Most recent change: Jackson Browne's Rock Me on the Water replacing Van Morrison's Into the Mystic as the soundtrack for the illegal sprinkling of my ashes along the shores of Folly Beach.)

I just worry that someone will plan some crazy Southern Baptist funeral and some rent-a-pastor will be praying over me. Because if he says that I'm in heaven, I'll have to rise up out of the coffin (neat trick as I'll be cremated) and smack the snot out of him.

My mother wants no preaching at her funeral. All she wants is a black gospel group to sing. How awesome is that?

I got all excited when Google announced a contest in which the person who came up with the best idea to improve the world would get ten million dollars to make that idea come true.

I started thinking about an idea I have that touches on some of the things I care about: children, women and poverty.

But I guess helping poor women and their children isn't really a "product" that can be developed to be sold for profit, so it wouldn't qualify.

I was outlining it to Jason and he pointed at me like a pod person from Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978 Donald Sutherland version) and (fake) yelled: "Liberal!".

Exactly.

The boyz say: We are not POD KITTENS!

We Interrupt This Thor's Day

For this WTFHH moment.

Can some-one please explain to me why the Senate version of the bailout plan has a giant chunk o' money going to automobile race tracks, oh excuse me, so sorry, motorsports racetrack properties?
Double WTF?

Our economy is circling the drain. Part of the problem is sky-rocketing GASOLINE and DESIEL costs.

And the Senate thinks this is a good time to tack on a couple million (NBC this morning had a graphic of 125 million, but I can't find it on-line) for some idiots to clear cut land, pour concrete over it and have people come to watch stupid cars drive around in circles at high speeds, burning through thousands and thousands of gallons of fuel while spewing noxious pollutants into the air.

For entertainment.

Think about that NASCAR junkies next time you bitch at the pump. That your favorite driver blows more in one race that you probably use all year.

Auto racing is as stupid and as pointless as boxing.

The End.

Thor's Day!

Thor sez: About time, crazy human.

The new toy.

Thor vs. Loki

Loki: Have you lost your human mind?

Thor: Tooth brushie time!

Loki: I love my blue fluffy toy.

Thor: Your toy offering is an insult.