It’s All Greek to Me, Part 2

I have to warn you I’m writing this on 5 hours sleep over 2 days. I’m not a great sleeper since the wickedly strong grip of menopause found me. Also, I just returned from Greece on an animal welfare mission. So between that and jet lag, I barely remember my name.

who am I

Normally, I try to inject a bit of humor in my posts but this one may be different. One thing I know: it’s hard to find anything amusing when animals are suffering. I‘m just saying. But I promise our journey in Greece ends on an upbeat note. Don’t worry, you won’t be crying into your Sunday morning coffee as you read this.

Greece Mykonos

Beautiful Mykonos

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Mykonos, Here We Come!

Thursday, 9 p.m.

So we’re sitting at SFO waiting for our flight to Greece to take off. And waiting. And waiting. Who knows, we might still be waiting when you read this. Actually, I think it’s miraculous we’re still planning to board the plane for Mykonos and a week-long spay/neuter mission for abandoned animals on the island.

It’s almost comical what we’ve been through so far. But we’re on a mission, literally and figuratively. Nothing will deter us. Besides, when 4 strong-willed women get their minds made up, it’s a losing proposition to think those minds can be changed.

Still, we are definitely getting a hint that we’d best stay home. We’re preferring to believe it’s a test of our devotion to our cause and not that this plane will vanish into the ocean minutes after take off. No, I’m afraid we have other plans. 
Here’s what’s testing us:

All our printers stopped working this week except Pat’s, but her cell phone wouldn’t receive texts; Pat’s toilet broke, then mine too; Lisa was late arriving to my house for a ride to the airport because of an accident on the bridge; our area has 55 mph winds so our plane is delayed 4 hours; I bought an $18 sandwich moments before Air France gave us meal vouchers. 

This morning, customs in Athens rejected all our medical supplies we mailed weeks ago and are being sent back as we sit here. So we have no surgery kits. We ordered them today from Athens at double the price. It’s a mystery whether we’ll get them by Monday. Then we learned air traffic controllers are on strike in Paris where we’ll be changing planes. Oh joy. 

Friday, 11:30 p.m.

Made it to Paris 22 hours after leaving home. Now don’t get me wrong; it gets better. The ATM appeared to accept my card (twice) but I received no cash. Who knows, I could be out $1200 at this point. We then waited 2 hours in line at the airport to get a connecting flight but instead got vouchers for a hotel stay. Trouble was, 3 of us were sent to one hotel and Lisa to another, which we flatly refused. 
We have no change of clothes, as they couldn’t locate all our bags, so we received t-shirts and toiletries. Had to call the front desk when the lights in my room wouldn’t work. Turns out I’m supposed to insert my key card into a slot on an inside wall. Being it was pitch black, how was I supposed to see the slot? I’m dizzy, dead tired and not wearing glasses. I was lucky to still know my name. 

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.

Slept a couple hours then snuck Lisa into the hotel restaurant for the complimentary breakfast. Tried boarding the plane at 7:00 a.m. for Athens but my ticket was repeatedly refused at the kiosk. Turns out they’d changed my seat, which the computer didn’t recognize. So now I’m writing this on our 3 hour flight, which will be followed by a 3 hour boat ride to Mykonos.

It’s been a challenging 33 hours so far and the thought did pass my mind that we’re somehow being tested on this trip. But we’re all still smiling and haven’t wavered in our goal to help as many unaltered and starving animals as we can, no matter the challenge in finally reaching them. 

After all, we are 4 strong-willed women on a mission. 

4:00 p.m. 

Landed 5 hours ago. Pat’s luggage still hasn’t arrived. 

Stuck at the Paris airport 22 hours after takeoff

Am I Coming or Going?

I was glad it was Mother’s Day last Sunday because I knew I’d be running a prior Mom’s Day post, thereby not needing to actually write. What a relief.

phew relief

Lately I’m so busy I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. That saying has some truth to it. I’m decent at multitasking but this is getting ridiculous. (And I’m not even due to write my Things I Find Ridiculous column.)

Preparing for our animal spay/neuter mission in Mykonos, Greece next week has been time consuming but I’ve also been attempting (rather pitifully) to plant some annuals and power wash my patio.

backyard annuals

My backyard minus the annuals

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Copycat

 

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I’m living with a copycat.

The weird thing is, it’s an actual cat. No surprise I guess, as I’m assuming the saying originated when someone astute recognized that kittens tend to copy their mothers. Hold on while I google that. Okay, I’m back. Turns out the earliest reference to copycat was in 1887 with no mention of felines. After that it gets too boring for words, so Iet’s move along.

My copycat happens to be my cat Tippi, so named because her tipped ear is severe. Seems ever since I adopted the ever-entertaining Jack a few months ago, Tippi’s personality has changed. And not, might I add, for the worse.

tippi

Tippi

I trapped Tippi in a feral colony 2 1/2 years ago in the small farming and ranching community of Valley Ford. Tippi and her 21 assorted siblings were born under the grocery store. Thankfully, the store owners asked us (Marin Friends of Ferals) to have them spayed/neutered before she had 41 siblings. Long story short, I ended up keeping Tippi after realizing she was a tweener – not adoptable at the shelter yet not feral enough to be content living under the market.

valley-ford-market

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A Dog’s Devotion (Pass the Kleenex Please)

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After a recommendation, I watched a movie called Hachi: A Dog’s Tale. It’s based on a true story of an Akita living in Japan in 1923. Hachiko (Hachi) was so devoted to his guardian, Professor Ueno, that for two years he walked him to the train station each morning then waited there for his return from work. Sadly, Professor Ueno died at work, never to return home on the train where Hachi still waited at the station.

hachi-waiting

But that’s not the end of the story; it’s really just the beginning. Death couldn’t break the depth of loyalty Hachi felt for his guardian. In fact, he continued his daily vigil for the next 9 years. A permanent fixture at the station, he became a celebrity of sorts. Hachi died near the spot he’d occupied all those years just outside the train station doors. He was 12-years-old. Continue reading