Ponder Post: Word of Mouse

Delightful. Pure fun. Educational. Did you know a group of mice is called a mischief? Or that they are crepuscular? Or that mice are color-blind? Well, not completely. They see black, white, and blue.

How could I not buy a book about a blue mouse with the same name as my grandson, Isaiah? Word of Mouse ©2016 by James Patterson and Chris Grabenstein was an impulse buy from the book table at Costco but I am very glad I was weak and bought it. Correction. I was not weak, I was smart and inspired. Perhaps I was even as clever as Isaiah.

I thoroughly enjoyed this tongue-in-cheek action packed book intended for a young adult audience. Isaiah faces the crises of imprisonment /escape from a research laboratory, separation from his ninety-six brothers and sisters, chases from cat and bird predators, dangers of food foray expeditions, threat of traps and the challenges of transitioning to a life in suburbia. In a fast-paced, humorous style that somehow manages to be educational as well, Isaiah sets a good example for an honorable way of life in which fostering bravery and accepting diversity are desired and encouraged. Told in first person by the very creative and resourceful Isaiah himself, this is one book you should not pass up. Read it. The chapters are short. Read it to your kids if you need an excuse. But read it.

Ponder Post: Whirligig

Lesson learned:
One of the worst ways to select a book is by its title, at least that was my experience with the young adult book Whirligig.

My current quilting project, Whirligiggles, is the topic of my most recent quilt blog post. In idly googling the word "whirligig", I came across the book Whirligig by Paul Fleischman ©1998. What a coincidence! A brief research about the author told me he had won many awards – Newbery Medal in 1989 for Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices, a Newbery Honor Award for Graven Images, the Scott O'Dell Award for Historical Fiction for Bull Run among others. He also hailed from my area of California. So after checking that my local library did not carry a copy of it, I ordered Whirligig from Amazon. The book and shipping were free due to my build up of points from my Amazon credit card. I was overcharged.

The plot is that a teen boy depressed and driving drunk is trying to kill himself. He survives the car accident relatively unscathed but inadvertently kills a teenage girl in another car. One of his court assigned atonement tasks, requested by the girl's mother, is that he travel to the four widely separated states of Washington, California, Florida, and Maine to build and erect a whirligig in each in memory of the girl. Seeing a whirligig is to bring hope to four unrelated characters who view it when they are in need of encouragement.

Normally I avoid reading Amazon reviews on a book until I've written my own. I will skim the book description to see if I am interested in the plot and check out a little information on the author to pre-judge a book by its author rather than its cover. But, for the most part, I try to avoid having my opinion swayed by what others think. I made an exception for this book. I just finished it and I did not know what to think or what to write. I could not make heads nor tails about what I was to absorb from the book but the writing style was non-taxing and the book was short so I completed it, half-hoping but not really expecting to see some revealing redemption at the end. There was none. It read like the author had re-purposed several of his unrelated mood-setting or scene-setting assignments from a writing class. Why was its average Amazon rating four stars? In my opinion, any rating greater that 1 star is more indicative of an Emperor's New Clothes type response based on the author's reputation rather than an honest evaluation. Also, reflecting a personal bias... what a shame that such a depressing book sports such a misleadingly upbeat title!

Amazon had a one star review from a 12 year old in the seventh grade who reviewed this book far better than I ever could. I repeated it here verbatim. What is that saying "from out of the mouth of babes..."?

I am a 12-year old in seventh grade. My language arts teacher made me read this. Honestly, it is one of the worst books I have ever read, and I would give it a 2 on a scale of one to ten. It had no action from chapter two to the end. It also didn't have any suspense. The four people that experienced the whirligigs that Brent built were just in some random order. My favorite part of the book is the only chapter that that had any suspense or action. It is chapter one, where Brent is publicly humiliated in front of his friends and he tries to commit suicide and almost dies. Whirligig would have been a lot better if Brent had died in the crash and the story ended there. From chapter two to the end, it is very boring. It is basically repeating the same thing four times. Brent builds a whirligig in a city. Then comes a story about someone in the future who sees it. That pretty much repeats three more times within a different city for each chapter until the end. Also, I highly disliked the ending, too. Brent was on his way home and the book just ended. At least give an epilogue or something. Overall, I pretty much hated the book. Most people say that you can learn valuable lessons from it, but I think most people already know them. I will list them here so you don't have to go through the torture I did by having to read the book: Actions have consequences. It is very nice to always forgive those who do wrong. So in conclusion, DO NOT READ THIS BOOK!!!!!!! I hated it for those reasons, and I am giving this to you to help you. Goodbye.

Ponder Post: Wokini

My last reviewed book was Two by Two by Nicholas Sparks discussed in my post for December 19, 2016. In that post I noted I had read everyone of Sparks' books except Wokini,  which he co-authored with Billy Mills. My interest was aroused as to who Billy Mills was so I looked him up in Wikipedia. Billy Mills is a Gold Medalist from the1964 Olympics in Tokyo. He is a member of the Oglala Lakota (Sioux) Tribe, was raised on an Indian reservation, and is currently an inspirational speaker. His win in the 10,000 meter track event is considered one of the greatest upsets in Olympic history. Partly because of my desire to be able to claim that I had read every one of Nicholas Sparks books, and partly because of my curiosity about this author partnership, I located and purchased the 1990 publication Wokini: A Lakota Journey to Happiness and Self-Understanding. Wokini, translated from Lakota means "new life, a life of peace and happiness."

I had received my copy in the mail from Amazon on November 12, 2016 but it has taken me until mid-February to complete this 6" x 6" by ½" small book. Granted, a lot has happened in the intervening three months considering the holidays and our challenging medical issues, but I did carry this book around with me in my handbag to medical appointments and the like. Why did it take so long to finish? I do not want the protracted completion to be misconstrued as a lack of the book's quality so I will explain.

The first reason is purely aesthetic. The book is printed in brown ink and the lack of a black and white contrast makes it tiring to read especially in low light conditions on the go. Perhaps later editions were printed more traditionally but I do not know. The second reason may be my timing in reading it. Certainly I wanted to be happy even during our trying misadventures, but were these really the appropriate conditions to be learning that skill? Maybe yes – it was certainly a time of great incentive but also a time of great distractions. Third, trivial but compelling, the book is so small I kept misplacing it around the house! Wokini was decent enough though, that I did not want to give up on it. I finally determined one afternoon to just sit down and complete the book.

Wokini is written in a Native American legend storytelling style that is a unique vehicle for a self-help book. And no denying it, this is a self-help book. The book "blends traditional Native American beliefs (which rely on meditation, thoughts, dreams, and love of nature's beauty) with modern therapeutic principles (positive thinking and an understanding of happiness)". It is meant to be read slowly and considered carefully. Some folks refer to this consideration as meditating. Meditation does not work for me but pondering does. It is all semantics. Rushing through the book without thought is just checking a box and not absorbing the concepts. Slow is good – interrupted, not so good. Sometimes a disjointed read like I just did does not do a book justice. So afterward I sat down and browsed through the book once again, outlining what I had read. That way I could cherry pick from what I thought was valuable to me and perhaps put those ideas into practice.

The backbone of the book is seven pictures, each representing a lesson. Each image symbolizes a concept. For example, take the central one of fire. A man does not need fire to live but it does make his life more pleasant to cook his food and be warmer.  I summarized the message of these first five pictures, from left to right. 

1. There are no external happiness sources - not fame, not wealth, not even health
2. Happiness is an emotion that makes you feel a certain way and which only you can control 
3. Happiness should be a personal goal; though not required to live, it improves every aspect of life
4. Happiness is something each of us can control – the secret is how
5. Happiness largely depends on the way you view yourself and the world around you

It is the fifth, a constructive point of view of ourself and the world, that we as humans seek to master. Ten actions (ten sticks) are given for this fifth picture. I picked the four that spoke loudest to me and explained my interpretation of them. 

• set new and interesting goals
  Goals keep you looking forward, not wistfully backward.
• adjust to life accordingly
  I need to be willing to discontinue (without guilt) volunteer activities that no longer mesh with me, to take certain medications (without complaint) as a part of life, to accept (without self- judgment) my choice and rate of  task completions 
• never be a perfectionist
  Not being a perfectionist is a hard one for me, but it is so true that the need for perfection can be a real downer. Angela Walters, a quilter whose work I follow, continually reminds her students of Theodore Roosevelt's quote "Comparison is the thief of joy"
• learn to see the others' point of view
  I found this very perceptive. How can you be happy if you know you have upset someone else?

This is my image collage to remember these four guidelines to happiness: goals, adjusting, perfectionism, point of view.

There are two other pictures on the book cover. The small sixth one between the authors names stands for balance in life and its importance in maintaining happiness. The large seventh image of a gold quadrant centrally located show the four seasons of the year as a reminder that change is sometimes necessary. These overarching concepts are easy to lose sight of but are so true.

I recommend this book, but based on my example I would be remiss to claim it is a quick read. However, it is a worthy read and I plan to implement some of the guidelines.

I will set myself some new and interesting pleasure reading goals. I aim for reading 24 books a year - one every other week. I only made it to 19 in 2016 but I am happy with that. I had to adjust to life accordingly and give up perfectionism at the end of the year. Here are some of my options I am considering for 2017. It is an eclectic mix of drama, adventure, romance, history, humor, kid lit and a bit of self-help that I think may cover a variety of points of view. If a book does not appeal I will adjust accordingly. See? I did take home some messages from that wee book that took me three months to read. Give Wokini: A Lakota Journey to Happiness and Self-Understanding a try.

Kitty's Turn

Tuesday morning 7:00 am February 7th started out like most mornings these days. Wima, our 17½ year old kitty was sleeping between as usual –  between Frank and me, between his legs, between my legs, between our feet at the foot of the bed, between our pillows at the head of our bed. Wima gives an entirely different meaning to the term "sleeping around". She does not wake us by some intentional act of shaking or prodding. Ok, occasionally she dabs at Frank's hair-follicles-challenged spot on the top of his scalp with one gentle and prodding nail. Usually though, her mere pressing and warm presence gradually but imperceptibly give one or both of us a sense of having been cramped up or crowded during our sleep. We stretch and she moves - reluctantly - often jumping down from the bed with that soft plopping sound of hers. That first Tuesday morning in February was a different scenario, however.

Since his hip replacement in December, Frank's favorite side sleeping position is unavailable to him temporarily for a few months. Frank, half-awake, stretched out his cramped leg and we heard a loud THUD. I said to Frank, "That sure sounded different." I turned to look over the edge of my side of the bed and saw the hindquarters of Wima as she high-tailed it out of our bedroom - on three legs, holding her right rear leg out in an awkward position. She ran full tilt down our stairs and, rather than leaping from a few feet away, she use brute force to claw her way up onto her favorite chair with three paws' worth of nails.

We do not know if she had gotten tangled up in the bedclothes and fell awkwardly, if she was sound asleep and could not react as she usually does, or if her bones had become brittle with old age, but we knew something was amiss and suspected a break or severe muscular twist of some sort. I called the vet and left a message and then, not waiting for a call back or appointment time, Frank and I and a stressed kitty were waiting outside the vet's door –  in the pouring rain – when they opened at 8:00am. An X-ray at 8:15am confirmed that Wima had broken her leg, both bones in the region between what would be the knee and ankle on a human.

The vet immobilized the break area with a bandaged wrap and told us that cat bones heal quickly - if the bones can be kept in a stationary position while mending. Because both the "knee" and the "ankle" had to be held in position the "cast" ran all the way up to her hip and out past her toes. Poor kitty. It was very hard dragging that "club" around with her everywhere. So she just hid under the bed all the time. I lured her out to eat and for "as needed" pain meds with cans of tuna and cat Greenies. Dragging her out from beneath the bed I believe offset any benefit from the pain meds, which Frank and I had no way of knowing if she did indeed need anyway. It is the same dilemma as when you have a sick child. Do you let them sleep or wake them to give them their medication?

After three days we gave up on the pain meds since we saw no difference in her demeanor with or without. One week later, on Valentine's Day, we took her back to the vet for a cast check. She had kept it quite clean. Wima thankfully continued to be fastidious about coming out to use her litter box. We learned that the bandaging had slipped down her leg about ½" since the leg is tapered. As she dragged that bulky wad behind her, it continued to work its way down toward her toes, failing in its purpose of immobilization. The vet rewrapped the leg and we were please to see Wima at one point had emerged from beneath the bed to bask in a sliver of sunshine.

But the vet did recommend a surgeon and installing a plate and screws. This option would immobilize the region better and perhaps the external bandaging could be eliminated. It looked like surgery with a plate and screws was the next option. Frank and I wanted to find the least traumatic option for Wima with the best conditions for healing. We could not bear the thought of euthanization or amputation so we opted for the surgery with its high price tag. She does not act like an old cat even though 17½ is the equivalent of 84 in human years. We took her to a veterinary surgeon in Stockton, a forty minute drive away, on Thursday Feb 16th and he did the surgery that afternoon. The hospital kept her overnight with an IV and nursing care and we picked her up Friday late morning. She was sporting a sparkly pink splint and sparkly purple bandage where the IV had been. She seemed to be prowling around the surgeon's office a fair amount, expressing no fear and no desire to hide back in her carrier, even climbing into my lap when I sat on the floor.

The specialty and experience of the surgeon was fortunate. Our local vet's advice about how quickly cats heal is not quite as accurate with geriatric felines. The surgeon showed us X-rays from his other geriatric cat patients equivalent in age to Wima, that had broken their legs. Via their X-rays the surgeon educated us on the expected rate of healing with different methods of treatment - external cast only, cast with plate and screws, cast with plate and screws plus added healing medium. A mixture of bone meal and nutrients speeds bone growth in the injured area. He packed the area around Wima's break with this revolutionary new bone compound that he'd had good experience with. We were a bit disappointed that the plate and screws would not be sufficient. But the surgeon said that tiny animals (Wima is only about 7 lbs) require tiny plates and thin plates can bend. Also her bone had split sufficiently high up that the surgeon could not put in as many screws as he would have preferred, hence the splint for external support. He intentionally limited his effort to align the bones precisely, telling us that in doing so he would need to separate the muscle from the bone during his explorations. This robs the bone of its blood supply to heal; so it is better to aim for a slightly misaligned heal that is faster. We liked the surgeon. He has had 43 years of experience yet he still apparently keeps up on new techniques that are best for his animal patients.

So we brought Wima home armed with an antibiotic (twice a day) and pain med (three times a day, as needed), both in liquid form administered orally with a syringe. The drag from beneath the bed ritual continues but we have made simplifying modifications. We do both meds only twice a day. I have filled the area beneath the bed with plastic bins so Wima's ability to find the dead center, least accessible, position under the bed has been limited. Wima has learned that I am more stubborn than she is and coming to me after I coax her with Greenies is preferrable to being nudged out (albeit very gently) by being dragged by her tail and remaining good rear leg. Frank and I have learned how to position her head so the meds do not just leak out the opposite side of her mouth as I depress the plunger and also so we do not strangle her as they go in. Wima has learned to swallow and I have learned the correct speed so she can keep up. Wima has been very good throughout all this and, despite the indignities, she has not bitten or scratched me in defense. She has lived up to her name, an acronym for Woe Is Me, A**hole. For those of you uninitiated, here is how WIMA got her name.

Long story on how Wima got her name:
Dan brought her home from the pool where he lifeguarded in the summer of 2000 – for one night only Frank and I were assured – until the owner returned. I will leave the resolution of that scenario to the reader's imagination. He had named her Magellan because the white markings on her belly looked like the Straight of Magellan. Dan was going on a high school trip abroad to France and wanted the kitty to bond to him, be his cat and not the family cat, so we were supposed to keep her in his room to absorb his scents or some other such scientific theory of imprinting. She was miserable at being left alone and would howl pitifully. "Woe is me... Woe is me...". When she got no response she would angrily add a punctuated screech at the end that we interpreted as "A**hole!" Hence the acronym WIMA became her nickname and Magellan sort of fell by the wayside.

Short story on how Wima got her name. Neat but not true:

We took Wima to the vet and the vet commented on how sweet a name she had and asked if it was from the chorus of the song The Lion Sleeps Tonight. We said "yes" so as not to launch into a long explanation, but not really. Wima is not short for Wimoweh. But since it is a fun song anyway and about a lion sleeping, here is a You Tube link, published on Oct 29, 2013 so you can hear what it sounds like. Music video by The Tokens performing The Lion Sleeps Tonight (Wimoweh). (C) Originally Recorded 1961. All rights reserved by Sony Music Entertainment.

Frank just texted me the previous photo as I complete this blog post. He is sitting in his office and Wima came out from hiding and made herself comfortable not far from where he sat at his computer. Slowly she is adapting and we sure hope she recovers well. Her sutures will come out Friday, March 3rd.

As I was about to click the publish button for this post, Wima just surprised us by appearing downstairs in the family room. She has learned to negotiate the stairs! Perhaps she has run out of her tuna treat and has come in search of it. This is great news! She is observing us from her safe vantage point under the blue leather ottoman.

Bin There Done That

My previous post touched on the overwhelming task of dealing with approximately 100 plastic bins filled with "stuff" that had populated the attic and were now inhabiting two bedrooms. It had taken three folk about 2½ hours to migrate those bins down. The easiest path forward to regain the use of those two bedrooms would be to haul them back up there in totality, as is, without investigating what the "stuff" inside was. Returning them should take a comparable amount of time, right? But what a waste to not use this opportunity, as inviting and exciting as it is, to sort through those bins and thin out a lot of the contents. So that is what I set out to do.

The first bin I grabbed was full of Christmas stockings –  the cheap $1 kind that are generally used to give away to random acquaintances with perhaps cookies or candy or advertising. Nestled amongst the stockings were knick-knack type tins or package decoration novelties. I could pitch the entire contents of this bin. No need to even photograph it for posterity. Do not know why I even kept this stuff in the first place. Great! I was on a roll.

The second bin upon opening was labeled Robin Ceramics. Progress came to a screeching halt!

Carefully nested inside, in 3D jigsaw puzzle fashion, were just under a dozen clay creations. Each had been lovingly wrapped, mummy style, with yards of toilet paper, by my daughter's hands nearly a quarter of a century ago.

I carefully unwound the tallest one first, documenting my progress as if this were an archeological dig.

This was Chuckles the Clown for which my daughter Robin had won a second place ribbon at the county Fair when she was 12 years old. She was in a class taught by a Mrs. Cornell and it was affectionately called Clay Crew. This memory came flooding back since Robin had had the foresight to tenderly wrap that ribbon around Chuckles before enshrouding him in toilet paper.

The next largest item I unwrapped was some sort of L-shaped creation.

Robin was very much into horses and riding at that age and so it was no surprise that this was a riding boot she had chosen to hand-form. It is much shinier, cleaner, and more dust-free than her real boots ever were. Other than that small detail, it is a pretty good replica of one of her boots.

The third largest item I revealed was a flat, plate-shaped item. It was the image of a horse head, complete with flying mane and bridle detail. To be correct as I wrote this, I asked myself if the horse was wearing a "bridle" or a "halter." What was the difference? Wikipedia had the answer.

Horse halters are sometimes confused with a bridle. The primary difference between a halter and a bridle is that a halter is used by a handler on the ground to lead or tie up an animal, but a bridle is generally used by a person who is riding or driving an animal that has been trained in this use.

Since the reins are drawn back and the mane hair is flying in the breeze I assume the horse is being ridden, and hence my choice of the word bridle. See how much detail went into that plaque? There were some more horsey items to be unwrapped and revealed: a mini 3-D horse head, a hoof pick, and a gold trophy cup.

My guess is that the brown coil basket, the green box with lid, the tulip plaque, and the turtle were class-guided assignments. Perhaps that green creature at the rear (triceratops or gecko?) presiding over the eclectic assortment of sculptures was for her brother since that was his passion at the time.

So what do I do now? I show these pictures to Robin and ask her what she wants done with her historic bits of clay.

• I will be thrilled if she says, "Wow! Cool, Mom. Mail them to me." Then I will meticulous wrap them in shock absorbing bubble wrap – not flimsy toilet paper, double box them, and mail them to her. 
• Fingers crossed that she doesn't say, "Oh, Mom, just toss 'em". Then what am I to do? Then I will probably meticulous wrap them in shock absorbing bubble wrap and double box them and ... put them back up in the attic.
• Best outcome would be if I can mail her a few that she designates as her favorites and then, with a fond memory since I do have a photo record, sneak the remainder into a box along with other items I am donating to charity. (... Maybe her brother or some other little boy would treasure that green creature?...)

Next bin... ?