Category Archives: Encore

Night Owl or Morning Lark?

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Originally posted in 2015

hands up

I don’t know about you but for me, one of the least desirable aspects of getting longer in the tooth is lack of sleep. Gone are the nights of 10-hour slumbers like in my teens. In my 20s-30s I often achieved a steady nine hours. In my 40s-50s, eight hours hit the spot. Ah, those were the days.

Now that I’m in my 60s, my snoozing time lasts about as long as an Oliver Stone movie, generally just over three hours. I’m then awake for two, followed by another hour or two of semi-consciousness. I tell ya, if I keep going like this, when I hit 70, the act of a prolonged blink will constitute a nice little nap.

dear 3 a.m

I suppose it doesn’t help that I’m a night owl. Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not my fault. I blame my mom. Like my sister and me, she stayed up well past midnight, needing to force herself to sleep around 2:00 a.m. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for a visit from the Sandman, does it?

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In My Mind’s Eye: Remembering Dad

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Here’s my annual Father’s Day post, adapted from an article I wrote for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1997. Happy Father’s Day! Here’s to you Dad…

There’s an image I have captured in my mind. I’m in my car in front of the home my parents have shared for most of their 45 married years. Mom and Dad are standing on the front porch.

From the street, I can see the huge eucalyptus tree in their backyard, silhouetted against the evening sky. It’s gently swaying in the warm breeze while the full moon illuminates the manicured lawn. My parents are smiling and waving as I drive away after a visit.

Mom lives alone now that Dad is in an Alzheimer’s nursing facility, so that scenario has changed; but it never does in my mind. My parents always stood on the porch to wave good-bye when I left. Even in pouring rain, they still stood in the open doorway together. I always looked back and returned their waves.

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To the Rescue!

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If I told you about the week I had, you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s why I’m re-posting this blog from 2022 since I had limited time this week. So grab a cup of coffee, sit back, relax, and I hope you enjoy this post.

What I’m about to tell you is just between us. Loose lips not only sink ships, they can also land me in the slammer. The problem with that? I doubt jail caters to vegetarians and I’m guessing their sleeping arrangements aren’t as comfy as my king size Sleep Number bed with pillow-top padding.

Jail food

Since you’re finished reading about our dog rescue on Mare Island, I figure this is a good time to tell you about another canine rescue I was part of. Some might call it a dog-napping and they wouldn’t be incorrect. But I prefer to label it as a life or death rescue intervention.

Here’s what happened: One of our feral cat caretakers (who we’ll refer to as Shannon) was told by her daughter (let’s call her Kelly) about a dog she discovered living out of state with a past friend of hers. The dog was locked in a cage in a basement with little food or water. Pretty cruel, huh? The dog was horribly malnourished and basically ignored by her so-called guardian, a drug addict who we’ll call The Neglector.

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Oh Happy Day! Or Is It?

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Still playing catch up from my trip, so here’s a posting for 2017 that, sadly, is still relevant today.

I think you all know how much I’ve struggled with house training my one-year-old Dachshund mix, Wally. He’s either the most stubborn dog this side of New York or not a very bright canine. I’d say maybe both.

wally-after-bath
After his first bath

My friend Patty adopted a Dachshund mix a day before I took home Wally last summer. Unlike me, she has a history with the breed and wanted a companion for her full-on Dachshund, Jimmy Dean.

jd
Jimmy Dean

Enter Ali. Hard as it is to believe, Ali is even cuter than Wally. But Patty’s pup has the same issues as Wally. Yippee!

ali2
Ali
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Compassion: A Curse and a Blessing

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Okay, so you probably noticed my last post ran for two weeks. That’s because I was in France with my besties, cruising for two glorious weeks along the Seine River from Paris to Normandy, which I’ll be blogging about. But until then, here’s a rerun from 2022. I hope you enjoy it…

I believe I have an overactive compassion gene. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that’s a particularly bad trait, depending on how you look at it. For one thing, it means I’m not a psychopath since they tend not to have an ounce of compassion, let alone a conscience. So yay for me!

The reason I even brought this up is because I’m in animal rescue, specifically cats. Not that I don’t rescue other creatures. I’m what you would call an equal opportunity savior. Wait. That sounds pompous. Let me rephrase that. How about equal opportunity rescuer? Yeah, that’s better.

Now, you’re going to think I’m a bit loony. And you wouldn’t be far off, especially when I tell you what I did the other day…So I’m having lunch at home when I reach for my glass of water and notice a fly inside, swimming frantically in circles. I’m not entirely certain flies swim but whatever it was doing, it looked frantic.

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