Paying to Donate

I typically give a good amount of money to several charities each year.

But this year, I have cut back on my donations due to the excessive cost of groceries, propane (used to heat my house, run my water heater and stove), etc.

One thing that really annoys me is being asked by charities to donate more than my gift to cover the cost of processing the donation. Since online donations are typically charged to a credit card, and credit card companies charge of fee of 3 percent to 4 percent of the transaction cost, the charity does incur a cost for each donation.

But in my mind, asking me to donate money and pay the processing fee is akin to asking donors to pay for the privilege of donating. What will come next? Asking donors to cover the cost of electricity to operate the computers? Will there be a fee to cover the salary of employees or the organization's overhead?

To me, accepting monetary donations online is simply a cost of doing business. And the processing fee is far less than the amount of every donation. Transaction fees for debit card donations are very small. And the request to cover the processing charge is optional. But it still rankles me.

I know that inflation and producer greed have impacted charities just as they have impacted consumers.

But no, I will not be paying to donate to any charity. 

Goodbye to My America

We had the opportunity to do something that has never been done before in this country.

We could have elected not just a woman, but a biracial woman, a woman of color, to lead this country. We could have elected a leader who offered hope, who offered opportunities, who offered sanity and inspiration, to people of all races, of all economic levels, in this country.

But more than half of the voters of this once-great country chose to elect a racist, a convicted felon, a convicted rapist, a perpetual liar, a misogynist, a man whose dementia makes him unfit to lead this nation. They elected someone intent on making America suffer and promising to put into positions of power other mentally unfit men to dismantle the federal government, to decimate health care, to reject life-saving vaccines, to cozy up to the dictators of the world, to end Social Security and other programs on which people depend.

I fear not just for my nation, but for the rest of the world. With the presidency and both chambers of Congress in the hands of the fascists, I fear that Ukraine, a country fighting for its own democracy and survival as a free nation, will fall to the Russian invaders without the weapons provided by the United States. I fear the dismantling of our independent press. I fear that like Germany of the 1930s and 1940s, we have lost our system of checks and balances to rein in the raging madmad in power.

I fear more attacks on women. I fear the rise of so-called Christian nationalism. I fear further brainwashing of children in our public education system.

I fear for our planet, already struggling and showing her pain with climate change, drought, wildfires, floods and other natural catastrophes. I rear for our wild places and our wildlife struggling to survive.

I fear for those who aren't white, male and Christian. I fear for the LGBTQ population, and for the Jewish and Muslim members of our society.

The great American experiment in democracy has ended. That half of my fellow citizens could believe, and vote for, a person convicted of rape and 34 other felonies, who has pledged to be a dictator, who promises revenge and retribution on his alleged enemies, who calls for the shooting deaths of reporters and anyone who opposes him, makes me literally sick to my stomach.

Goodbye, America.

Stress and Fear

 I am not someone who gets stressed easily.

But today, I am very stressed. I am stressing about the future of our democratic republic, whose fate will be decided tomorrow in the most important national election of my life.

Will Americans vote for a progressive, positive Democratic candidate who brings hope to Americans? Or will Americans vote for a mentally ill, fascist-leaning, traitorous Republican who offers only a dark, violent future for this country?

The contrast couldn't be more clear. And the stakes could not be any higher.

I took part in early voting last month, as I don't trust the post office to safely and promptly deliver my absentee ballot. 

The future under an unhinged megalomaniac who wants to raise taxes on the middle class as he cuts taxes on his wealthy cronies, who openly admires Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Putin, who wants to deport tens of millions of immigrants (including those in the US legally), who wants to send the treatment of women back to the 1950s, and who wants to take away health care from millions, is terrifying. 

It's also unimaginable to me that tens of millions of Americans support this chronic liar who cares only about himself. He is a convicted rapist and he has been convicted of 34 felony counts. And he promises to fill his cabinet with nutjobs such as RFK Jr and Elon Musk.

It is highly probable that we won't know the final results of this year's election until later in the week. And it's almost guaranteed that if the traitor loses the election, he will appeal the decision and get his minions to stage violent protests like those we saw on January 6, 2021. 

America is more prepared for violent protests this year, and the leader of the seditionists is no longer in power.But those who refuse to accept the results of the election have had time to plan their rebellion.

So yes, I am stressed. I am frightened. I fear for my country. Indeed, I fear for the world.

Cows

I recently was part of a photography group that visited both Croatia and Slovenia.

One day in Slovenia, I decided not to take part in a walk to a waterfall because I wasn't comfortable on the hilly, rocky, slippery terrain. The morning outing was a bit more strenuous than I was comfortable with. I found a bench near a grassy enclosure that held five cows. There were three adult cows, and two calves. One of the cows was wearing a bell around her neck. I'm told the cow with the bell was a matriarch of the group, and that even if the animals were dispersed over a large area, the other members of the herd could locate their leader by the clanging of the bell. The bell also made it easier for the cowherd to find the herd.

So I sat on the stone bench and watched the cows. I felt the urge to write, but I couldn't call up my blog. So I decided to dictate a draft e-mail with the beginnings of this post.

Now I would guess that not too many people give a lot of thought to cows and their lives. But as I watched these five cows peacefully grazing on a comfortably warm and partly sunny day, I started wondering about what cows think about their environment. and their lives. 

I suppose that cows, not being the brightest among mammalian species, don't really think about their environment or about their future. They simply are. They do what cows have always done. They graze on grass, drink water when they need a drink, and have not a care in the world as long as their basic needs are met. 

In that sense, cows are much better off than are we humans. We worry about the future. We fret. We lose sleep. We plot and plan.

I know that most cows, the vast majority in fact, spend their lives outdoors in the sunshine eating grass. And then they are shipped off to what the British used to call the knacker man. There they are killed and chopped up into various cuts of meat. So-called beef cattle are raised and killed for their meat. Dairy cows, such as the ones I watched, are used to produce milk for human consumption until they are deemed no longer productive. Then they, too, end up as hamburger meat.

I would guess that cows don't worry about the future. They don't fear their looming deaths and dismemberment. They simply do what cows have always done. They eat, they drink, they have babies, and they have no fear of what future awaits them. 

Some 900.000 cattle are slaughtered every day around the world. That is a tremendous number of lives lost each day. Several years ago I made the decision to give up cow's milk and beef. I really enjoyed vanilla almond milk, until I had to give up anything almond due to the nuts' contribution to the development of kidney stones, for which I have been treated surgically five times. If I feel like having a burger, I enjoy a plant-based burger, which is remarkably tasty It isn't much, but giving up beef is my small contribution to lessening the suffering of animals.

So in one respect, I think cows are very lucky. They live for the day. They love their babies, but they don't fret about things over which they have no control.

We humans could take a lesson from the lowly cow.

My Heart Hurts

My heart hurts.

It hurts when I watch television coverage of the aftermath of hurricane Helene in the southeastern part of the US. It hurts as I watch the events marking the one year anniversary of the October 7 terror attack on Israel, an attack that took the lives of some 1,200 innocent people. My heart hurts for the 251 people taken hostage, and the 101 still being held hostage if they haven’t been killed already. My heart hurts as I see the suffering of the innocent people in Gaza, whose lives and whose territory have been taken over by the terrorists of Hamas.

My heart hurts when I see the devastation in Lebanon, where most people afflicted by the bombing are innocent civilians. 

My heart hurts for the people of Ukraine, whose country has been under attack by Russia for nearly 3 years. And my heart hurts for the Jewish citizens of the United States who continue to face antisemitism in public and on college campuses.

My heart hurts for this country as many of its citizens and some of the governments work to remove rights from us in the name of religion or politics.

And my heart hurts for the non-human among us as well. My heart hurts for the endless stream of dogs in animal shelters throughout the country who will lose their lives because no one wants them. My heart hurts for the wolves, the bears and other mammals hunted mercilessly. My heart hurts for this planet that sustains us as humans continue to pollute and rape it of its natural resources.

There is so much pain, so much hurt and so much evil in this world. Sometimes it seems overwhelming.

Please Stop With the Guilt!

Why can't, or won't people, understand?

I love golden retrievers. I have wanted a golden since I first saw one when I was a child. I have adopted seven goldens over the years. Actually, one of those dogs was a half golden/half corgi who is my heart dog. 

So please stop telling me to adopt a mixed breed, or a golden doodle. I have nothing against mixed breed dogs. My current dog, Jenny, is a mix of who knows what breeds. I have adopted, and loved, eight mixed breed dogs over the years. I have adopted seven purebred dogs.

But my heart belongs to goldens. I am well aware that there are millions of dogs, mostly mixed breeds, languishing in animal shelters. I am aware that most of them will not get adopted.

For me, adopting a new dog into my family is a very personal thing. I must, and I will, follow my heart. 

A few years ago, I decided that for once in my life I wanted a luxury car. So I bought a slightly used Mercedes Benz. I didn't want a Ford or a Cadillac or a Volkswagen. I wanted a bright red Mercedes. And a bright red Mercedes is what I bought.

I feel the same about golden retrievers. To me, they are the top of the line dog breed. This does not mean I view other breeds or mixes as unworthy of rescue or adoption. It does not mean I view these non-goldens as unworthy of being loved as an important part of a family. It does mean that they simply are not the kinds of dog I want at this point in my life.

So no, I am not going to adopt a golden doodle or any other designer dog. I don't want a Chihuahua or a pit bull or a cattle dog, the breeds most common in shelters where I live.

I spent 8 years working for a large California humane society. I don't need to be lectured about the overpopulation of unwanted dogs in this country, in my state or in my city. 

My most recent golden retriever died in a very traumatic fashion -- for him and for me --  from a rare medical condition that treatment didn't help. I am still dealing with the trauma of his death.

So please stop trying to guilt me into getting a dog that isn't what I really want. That isn't fair to me, and it certainly isn't fair to the dog.

Prosecutor Or Felon?

The 2024 election is just six weeks away.

Amid all the hype and breathless reporting of polls, several things are extremely clear. The two candidates could not be more opposite in everything: personality, character, policies.

I don't want a president who deals exclusively in threats, fear-mongering, lies, insults and name-calling.  

I don't want a president who is so out of touch with everyday Americans that he talks about buying a pound of cereal. Every shopper knows that cereal is sole by the box or bag, not by the pound.

I don't want a president who spends more time golfing than he does working for the American public.

I don't want a president who hurls ketchup-covered food at the wall when he is upset.

I don't want a president who openly admires dictators, and who announced that he "fell in love" with the North Korean dictator.

I don't want a president who has been convicted of rape and of committing 34 other felonies.

I don't want a president who had a secret meeting with the leader of Russia at which no notes were taken.

I don't want a president who insults world leaders and who shoves them aside so he can be in front for a photo.

I don't want a president who openly lusts after his eldest daughter.

I don't want a president who steals dozens of boxes of highly classified materials, stores them in a residence bathroom, shows them to a foreign national, and then lies about stealing the documents.

I don't want a president who has no plans and no policy proposals, but who touts his 'concepts' rather than plans.

I don't want a president who wants to send Haitian immigrants to Venezuela because he doesn't know that Haitians are from Haiti.

I don't want a president who steals from charities for children with cancer.

I want a president who works to uplift people. 

I want a president who will work to improve the standard of living for all Americans, not just the super wealthy. 

I want a president with a sense of humor. 

I want a president who is joyful. 

I want a president who knows how to laugh. 

I want a president who happily takes part in a video to show a Senate colleague how to make a tuna melt. 

I want a president who cares about people. 

I want a president who shows compassion. 

I want a president who has actual plans for her administration, along with real policies. 

I want a president who will protect, not remove, the rights of everyone.

I want a president who knows what it is like to grow up in a middle class family of immigrants. 

I want a president who likes people for who they are, not for what they can do for her. 

I want a president who knows and enforces the law.

I want a president who understands and defends the US Constitution.

My choice for president is based on a number of things, including personality, but mostly on her willingness and ability to put country above party and especially country about self.

World Gratitude Day 2024

 There is much in this world that is sad, disappointing, frightening, even horrifying.

There is international war. There is escalating gun violence and other violent crime in this country. There is a political party hell-bent on either destroying this country or turning it into 'Christian', fascist state. There are millions of people around the world suffering from starvation, flooding and other natural disasters. The planet is suffering. There is a presidential candidate with tens of millions of supporters who ignore his deteriorating mental condition and rabidly embrace his fascist leanings.

But today, World Gratitude Day, I want to focus on things that make me smile, that make me happy. Things for which I am grateful.

The joyfulness of my dog who at age 3 often makes me smile. I love watching her sleep peacefully in her bed.

Looking at some of my photographs can make me smile and bring back precise memories of when and where they were taken. Not just the memories and the images, but realizing that I did a good job of capturing the scene, makes me happy.

Walking outside on a crisp autumn morning, with no wind, no traffic and no noise, under a blue sky, makes me happy. A beautiful sunrise over the mountains adds to the joy.

Looking at photos of some of the stunning places I have visited reminds me to be grateful for the opportunity to travel, to see places I have always wanted to see, to photograph amazing places and wildlife, and to meet people from many other cultures.

There is beauty in this world. And while the evil gets most of the attention, there also is kindness. There are some good people doing their best to make this world a better place. We who have much for which to be grateful should remember to join them in making the world a better place.

Let's be grateful for the good things and the good people in our lives.

I Am Sick of the Death

I am sick of my Facebook newsfeed being filled with appeals to save this dog with only one day to live before it is killed. 

I am sick of posts about some poor dog that has been confined to a kennel run in an animal shelter for the past two or three years. I am sick of people refusing to have their dogs and cats spayed or neutered, thus contributing to the millions -- yes, millions -- of pet animals killed each year because there is no room, and there are no homes, for them.

I worked in a large California humane society for 8 years in the 1980s. Sadly, the past 35 years have seen little improvement in the number of animals killed each year for lack of space. Some 3 to 4 million companion animals are killed in this country every year.

I have adopted 15 dogs over the years, some from humane societies, some from rescue groups, and some directly from their previous families. All were spayed or neutered except one. He, sadly, died before he could be neutered. But he never added to the surplus pet problem.

The problem of too many dogs and cats is one that can be, and should be, corrected. 

I cannot solve the overpopulation problem on my own.

Whenever a post appears in my newsfeed about a dog in urgent need of adoption or rescue, I block that organization so I don't see any more of its pleasing posts. This is particularly true of animal shelters in other states. 

I cannot adopt the millions of dogs in need of new homes. I cannot donate enough money to fix this problem. It is a problem of human making. Humans have allowed this problem to continue for many decades. Only humans, collectively, can solve this problem.

I cannot continue to be besieged by stories of dogs needing urgent rescue. These stories hurt my soul, and my soul has been hurt far too much. I do what I can to help, but besieging me with more sad dog stories isn't the answer. 

I am currently looking for another dog to adopt. That is all I can do.

What Has Happened to Us?

On this 23rd anniversary of this nation's worst terror attack in American history, I believe that Sept. 11 should be a national holiday. 

It should be a day to remember all those who died that day while going about their daily lives. September 11 should join other days of remembrance such as Memorial Day and Veterans Day. We should cancel Columbus Day, which is a minor holiday celebrated by the federal government, but not by anyone else. And it is an insult to Native Americans who resent having to honor a man who enslaved and killed so many of their ancestors.

Let us instead honor the nearly 3,000 innocent people who died on that beautiful September day in 2001. Let us also honor those first responders -- police, firefighters and paramedics -- who rushed in to help the victims. Sone 343 New York firefighters and paramedics died that day. An equal number later died of 911-related illnesses.  

Seventy two peace officers died in the line of duty on September 11, with an additional 229 who died of related illnesses.

These attacks killed people of all ages, from young children to senior citizens. They killed US citizens and immigrants. They killed men and women, people of all races, ethnicities and religions. 

And let us honor the survivors who will forever carry the physical and emotional scars of that day. Let us honor all who were forever scarred by the memories of Sept. 11, 2001. 

Let us remember how Americans came together in the aftermath of that terrible day, in love and support of each other and of this great nation. It didn't matter the gender or nationality or economic status of the victims. We cam together as one nation, united in grief. Whatever our race, whatever our political beliefs, it didn't matter. What did matter was that our country had been viciously attacked, and our fellow Americans had died.

Let us work to regain the sense of a common humanity, a nation united, that we experienced in the aftermath of this horrible day. Wei need to work on rekindling that sense of unity, that sense of togetherness.

As NBC News anchor Lester Holt commented at the conclusion of a story looking back on the aftermath of 9/11, "What has happened to us?"

Above all, let us never forget.

One of These Days

How often have we made this statement: One of these days I'm going to ...?

For me, the best day to do these 'one of these days; things will be a cold, cloudy winter day, a day that is perfect for staying indoors. 

One of these days I won't take my dog for her expected morning walk.

One of these days I will skip walking 10,000 steps (usually more).

One of these days I will stay in my cozy, warm pajamas all day.

One of the days I will spend the day writing or reading, things I really enjoy.

One of these days I will cook comfort food or soup that will fill my house with wonderful aromas.

One of these I will finally tackle PhotoShop.

One of these days may be too late.

The problem in waiting for 'one of these days' to arrive is that too many 'one of these days' comments may find us wasting our days, our lives, with  postponing things that might be just what we need. So skip walking the dog once. Stay in your comfy pajamas. Cook that comfort food. Don't exercise once in a while.

Make one of these days today!

Do. Create. Be.

 Do. Create. Be.

I did not create this chain of words. I ran across them on a Facebook page where people share their photos of Yellowstone National Park. But I like what these words prompt me to do. Do what I love. Do something to help others. Do something to make this cruel, often hate-filled world a better, friendlier place.

Create pushes me to indulge in my creative pursuits of photography and writing. I don't write music or screenplays. I can't draw or paint. I don't have the imagination to write poetry or fiction. But I can write about things I love, about my travels and about my experiences. I can create beautiful photos and share them with my friends. I can use my photos to create wall calendars and I can give the money from sales of my calendars to one of my favorite charities.

Be is a more difficult word to put into practice. Be brave. Be kind. Be strong. Be helpful. Be my own person. Be helpful. Be generous with my time and resources. Be my best self. Be an example to others. Be authentic.

Thank you to the couple who created this 3-word expression. As a writer, I love seeing the power of words and the impact, both good and bad, they can have.

So get out there and do. Create. Be.

A Year of Changes

This year is turning out to be a year of changes.

First the negative change. My 2-year-old golden retriever, Jett, died suddenly just two days after getting sick. I will always wonder whether his life could have been saved had his veterinarian detected the massive infection ravaging his body, and ultimately, his brain. He died of meningitis.

Another change is happening as a result of Jett's death. I am leaving the veterinary practice I have used for the past 14 years. There are a couple of reasons for my decision, both related to Jett's death. I no longer will entrust my dogs to that practice, so I'm moving on.

Earlier this year I traded in an SUV I didn't like and replaced it with an almost new, smaller, hybrid SUV. I like the newer car a lot.

I'm also changing cell phone carriers, leaving the one I have used for some 20 years. Two things prompted this change. AT&T has had not one, but two, so-called 'data breaches' this year. In other words, the company's customer information was hacked ... twice. The thing that put me over the top in deciding to leave was the monthly increase of more than $10. An extra $125 per year for cell phone service is something I will not tolerate. So goodbye, AT&T. I am tired of constant rate increases that far exceed my paltry 3 percent cost of living increase last year.

Another change under consideration is dropping DirecTV and switching to streaming services. I need to do some research first to figure out which streaming services I want.

So that's it. Change is always a bit unnerving, but it's not a bad thing (except in Jett's case). I think adapting to change is especially helpful to us older folks. Change can help us grow.

So let the change begin!

The Power of Words

I love words. They can be so powerful and so descriptive.

I got my thesaurus out to help augment my initial list of words. 

Here are a few to start. Do you know about whom I am speaking?  One guess.

disgusting

despicable 

immoral.

greedy

deranged

egotistical

boorish 

lying 

negative

vindictive

nasty 

traitorous. 

vile

hateful

spiteful

vengeful

foul

cruel

repulsive

contemptible

revolting

vulgar

pompous

deplorable

loathsome

selfish

dangerous

racist

misogynist

classless

unprofessional

This is a start. Which words would you add to the list?

Inspiring Words

 And still I rise.

These words are the title of the third volume of poetry by renowned American poet Maya Angelou. These words are also tattooed on the collarbone of the best female gymnast ever, Simone Biles.

And rise she has. After withdrawing from the 2020 Olympics because of the 'twisties,' after which she was called a coward and a quitter, Simone Biles came roaring back. She won three gold medals and one silver medal in the 2024 Paris Olympics. In total, she has won 11 Olympic medals. Adding her 30 world championship medals makes her the most decorated gymnast of all time.    

The twisties is a dangerous phenomenon experienced by some gymnasts in which they lose their perception of where their bodies are while flying through the air. The twisties can result in serious injury or even death. Imagine, if you can, flying through the air, several feet off the ground, and having no idea where you are in relation to the floor. How soon will your feet hit the ground? At what point do you get your feet and legs in position to make a safe landing?

Simone has risen above so much. Born to a drug-addicted mother unable to care for her and her three siblings, Simone spent years in the foster care system before being adopted with one of her sisters by her grandparents.

How inspiring her achievements, indeed her life, have been. Keep rising, Simone. Whether you decide to retire from competitive gymnastics or keep going, you are an inspiration to the world, especially to the young girls who watch you train and dream about their own Olympic chances.

Remembering Pete

On August 25, 2023, the world lost a great man. 

He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t infamous, but he had friends both online and in real life who miss him terribly. 

His name was Pete. He loved all animals, especially his beloved cat ScOOter and golden retrievers. He loved nature. He was an awesome nature photographer. He loved hiking, and he loved bicycling. Pete had a great sense of humor, and he had the ability to find humor and joy in most everything. He quickly became friends with everyone he met. He was kind and generous. In return, some of his female friends showered him with gifts of homemade preserves, funny socks and a variety of tasty treats.

And then on that August 25, Pete left his car in the parking lot of a local Ohio park, hiked to an old barn, got comfortable, and took his life. His last post ended with the words “I’m home now.” This wasn’t the typical, witty, humorous post that Pete made. It left a lot of people wondering what was going on. Sadly, we soon found out. 

To say his friends were stunned is a huge understatement. Nobody knew he was depressed. Nobody knew he was suffering. If he had reached out to someone, anyone, people would have done anything to help him. Like comedian Robin Williams, who was the funniest man I’ve ever heard, Pete’s humor masked his pain. He suffered in silence until he couldn’t take it anymore.

I am told that there were several reasons -- all speculation -- why Pete decided to take his life. The isolation of Covid. The death of his beloved cat ScOOter. And finally, being forced to vacate the apartment where he had lived for many years so it could be renovated by the management company. Were there other things weighing on Pete’s mind? We will never know.

All of his friends questioned why. Why didn’t he reach out to somebody? Why did none of his friends have the slightest hint that he was suffering? I never met Pete in person. I never spoke to him on the phone. But we were Facebook friends. He always sent me a card and a photo of whichever of my dogs had died. But looking back to when my heart dog Benny, a golden retriever/corgi mix, died in late June, just a couple of months before Pete's passing, I realize Pete didn't send me a condolence card. Was that a subtle indication of what was going on in Pete's mind? 

Because I knew he loved coffee, I would always bring a bag of coffee beans back for Pete when I visited a coffee producing country. Tanzania, Nicaragua, Brazil and other countries I visited provided bags of coffee beans for Pete.

And of course, we shared a love of photography, nature, animals and especially golden retrievers. We both shot with Canon cameras. It was rather unusual to find a fellow Canon enthusiast in a world of Nikon shooters.

Every year for the past several years I have made photo wall calendars and offered them for sale to raise funds for an African charity that works to save African elephants. Pete always ordered six calendars, with different photographic themes, that he would give to some of his friends as Christmas gifts. Last year another friend of his decided to keep this tradition going by ordering six calendars and distributing them for Christmas gifts to some of Pete’s friends. I don’t know whether this tradition will continue this year or not.

Pete and I shared a great love of nature photography, but I was nevertheless stunned to find after his death that he had left one of his Canon lenses to me. I had to purchase an adapter so that it would fit my mirrorless camera, but I took it with me earlier this year on a photography trip to Yosemite National Park. 

The person who handled the distribution of Pete’s personal property also sent me Pete’s large camera bag, along with a variety of filters and other equipment. The filters would not fit any of my cameras, so I mailed them to a mutual friend who could use them. A camera body that I also wasn’t expecting I sent to another friend of Pete’s, as I have all the cameras I need.

It’s so difficult and so very sobering to think that we lost Pete one year ago today. I hope he has been reunited with his beloved ScOOter cat, and that he has found the peace that eluded him during his life on this planet.

Go Someplace You've Never Been Before

Once a year, go someplace you've never been before. -- Dalai Lama

I think this is wonderful advice. I used to travel a lot, but now with the price of the trips and the sky high price of airfare, I have had to cut back on my travels considerably.

This year's travel schedule is very light, thanks to the incompetence of American Airlines management that made it impossible to get to a scheduled trip to South Africa with European friends. But next year should be better, with trips to southern Africa, Yellowstone National Park, Banff (Canada) and Switzerland on the schedule. 

It's always great fun to visit a new locale, even when I discover the place isn't one to which I want to return. There are only a few countries I have no desire to revisit: Nicaragua, Iceland, Ethiopia, Brazil, Russia and Namibia immediately come to mind. I have been to Costa Rica and Botswana twice, and to Kenya and Tanzania multiple  times. The latter two keep drawing me back for their wonderful wildlife photography opportunities. My favorite domestic destination is Yellowstone National Park, which I have visited close to 10 times, and which I will visit again next year.

The Olympics were more personal whenever the television coverage showed the Eiffel Tower, because I had visited this iconic landmark when I was in Paris a few years ago. The same goes for the Arc de Triomphe, which was only a block or so from my hotel. I got to see and photograph it any time I wanted to by simply walking a short distance from my hotel.

Everything is so expensive and so uncertain these days, but I hope to keep checking countries off my bucket list for as long as I am able to travel and my money lasts.

I used to work with a guy in Houston who was proud of the fact he had never left the state of Texas, where he was born. I feel sorry for anyone with such a limited view of not only the world, but of the United States.

My advice? Go somewhere you have never been before, whether it's another state, some place within the state where you live, or another country. Expand  your horizons, spread your wings, and go explore the world!

Ready For 2024 To End

Every December I hope the new year will be better than the previous one.

And every year I am disappointed.

This has not been a good year for me. Here are some examples.

I was unable to meet my friends from the UK in South Africa for a long-planned photo safari. American Airlines kept canceling my flight to Denver, from where I was to connect to the other side of the planet. There was a huge storm in Dallas, but American seemed incapable of rerouting me to another destination that wasn't impacted by the storm. Airport staff were not kept informed of delays until a few minutes before they were announced. After two days after delay after delay, accompanied by repeated trips home and then back to the airport, I had enough. Landing in Johannesburg was just the first part of the trip. From there I had to catch a flight on a small plane to Nelspruit, from where I would be driven to our camp in the middle of nowhere. So I cancelled the trip, which cost me some $7,000 in lost expenses even after trip insurance.

Then in late June, my 2-year-old golden retriever got sick and died just two days later. The necropsy showed that he died of meningitis arising from a large abscess behind his eye. No one knows why the abscess developed. Losing him so suddenly and at such a young age was, and still is, devastating.

I am now searching for another golden retriever, a breed that is extremely rare in the state where I live. Most rescues refuse to adopt out of state, so that isn't an option.

The latest bit of bad news involves my brother-in-law, a great guy, father of two, and a retired attorney. He is hospitalized with an abscess on his liver. He wasn't feeling well for several weeks, and he lost a lot of weight.

And I just was informed by my dog's health insurer that I won't get any money back for his examinations, tests and treatments because rather than including both invoices I submitted, it included only one. I'm told to expect a response to my e-mail questioning the decision in "5 to 7 business days."

This has been my year so far. I could use some good news for a change.

Proud To Be A Childless Dog Lady

That's right. I have never given birth to a child. That was my decision, and i refuse to allow some magat cretin to insult me for my decision not to add to the Earth's exploding population.

I do have a daughter, however, a lovely young lady who joined me at age 11 after I adopted her from Russia. She is now 30 years old and the mother of a beautiful 3-year-old son. It was her choice to have a child. It was my choice not to give birth to a child.

Women don't owe men children. Women don't owe men or anyone else an explanation.  Society, men in particular, need to stop pressuring women to give birth. And we need to stop glorifying women who have huge families. 

My father once asked me when I was "going to settle down." I replied that I had graduated college, earned a master's degree, got married and had a good job. As far as I was concerned, I was "settled down." What he meant, of course, was when would I start popping out the grandchildren. My former mother-in-law once said to me, at the dinner table, "You do want children, don't you?" I replied, "Not really." The was the end of the discussion.

Comments like those above reinforce the age-old view of women as little more than brood mares, a way for men to prove their masculinity. A woman can be well educated and successful, but if she doesn't 'give' her man a child or, preferably, several children, then she isn't a real woman in the eyes of many.

Women are the ones expected to give up their careers, or at least to put them on hold, to stay home and raise the kids. 

I could care less about becoming a grandmother. My daughter's toddler was the result of her failure to properly use birth control. I didn't have any particular interest in becoming a grandmother. But now that he is here, I help out by buying clothes and shoes when he needs them. I bought a farm set for him the last time he visited. And I set up a savings account for him, to which I make a contribution each month. But am I excited to have a grandchild? Not really.

So I am happy and proud to be a childless dog lady. I am allergic to cats, so I won't become one of the childless cat ladies so disparaged by the GOP's candidate for the vice-presidency.

The Earth is struggling to support the billions of humans on this planet. Our water and other resources are stretched to the limit. More people mean more pollution and more demands upon this planet. Global hunger threatens millions across the globe.

So I am happy to be a childless dog lady. I like things just the way they are.

A New Era in American Politics

Is this the beginning of a new era in American politics?

President Joe Biden's decision to withdraw his name from the race to the White House has really shaken things up. Already Republicans are in panic mode. All their arguments and campaign materials focused on Biden's age and on his lack of mental acuity. Now they must prepare to do battle with a young, intelligent woman, a seasoned prosecutor.

Kamala Harris is smart. She's female. She's accomplished and successful. She is a minority. She is the daughter of immigrants. She is tough. She is only 59 years old. She truly represents the changing of the guard. No longer will old white men be the only candidates for higher elected office. And Harris is an experienced prosecutor, something the felonious former president should fear. His blustering and lies won't scare her.

In short, Kamala Harris is everything the magats hate and fear. Biden's withdrawal and Harris's ascension already have some pundits wondering what excuse the former president will use to avoid debating her.

The first 24 hours after Biden's withdrawal saw the Harris campaign raise $81 million dollars. People are energized. People are excited. I hope her role in the race will energize women, minorities and people of color, as well as younger voters who had been disenchanted by the old white male candidates.

Go, Kamala!

Friendly Ghosts

My house is filled with ghosts -- the friendly kind who remind me of the dogs I have loved and lost.

I have photos of my dogs in my office, watching me as a type or read. I have photos of some of my ghosts in my bedroom, watching over me as a sleep.

And yes, I talk to my ghosts, telling them good morning and good night. I tell them I love them and that I miss them.

My current dog, Jenny, let's me know when the ghost of my recently lost dog, Jett, is in the house. Jett died of bacterial meningitis last month, after being with me just under a year. When Jenny stares at a particular area of the house and growls softly as she did when Jett was alive, I know he is paying us a visit. I can't see him, of course, but dogs have senses that are so much more keen that ours. So I have no doubt that Jett is paying us a visit.

Having photographs of my dogs in my house makes me sad to realize the dogs are no longer here in physical form, but the images help me remember the love we shared, regardless of how long that way.

I hope you have some friendly ghosts in your house as well.

Say No To A King

Today is American Independence Day, that day in 1776 when the new United States of America declared its independence from its English motherland.

Now, some 248 years later, we are facing a tremendous threat from inside our nation. We fought, and many died, to secure the future of a democratic republic, free from the tyranny of a king. Now, a convicted felon wants to again assume the powers of a king. Now his dictatorial tendencies that were evident during his last term of office have become so much more obvious.

He has pledged to be "a dictator from day one." He wants to replace non-partisan civil servants with sycophants loyal not to the constitution, but to him alone. He wants to use our justice system to punish and imprison those he considers to be his enemies. He wants to convene a military tribunal to try former Rep. Liz Cheney, who co-chaired the congressional committee that investigated the attack -- that he instigated -- on the US Capitol on January 6, 2021. His fellow dictators Putin and Xi will gain more control over the US and be privy to even more of our most essential highly classified national security information.

Women will lose even more rights. Abortion is now banned in many states, but control over women isn't stopping there. Access to contraception is next on the list. 

Numerous diversity programs have already been eliminated. He plans to round up and deport illegal immigrants. He wants to eliminate our rights to peacefully protest. The Christian nationalists will gain even more right to force their brand of Christianity on everyone. 

And with the bought-and-paid-for majority of the US Supreme Court, trying to stop this mad traitor and dictator-in-waiting, he and his minions will be well on their way to destroying everything great about this county.

My father, uncles and former son-in-law served this country in the military, proudly defending us against the threat of fascism.

I hope this isn't the last true Independence Day we will celebrate in a land that truly is the land of the free.

Take the Picture

That's right. Take the picture.

It doesn't matter whether you're an accomplished photographer or use a cell phone. If you see something you want to photograph, do it! Take pictures of your family, your friends and your pets. There will almost certainly come a time when you will treasure those photographs.

I am an accomplished photographer. I love taking pictures of the world around me, including my dogs. And when those dogs die, as they invariably will long before me, those pictures bring back such wonderful memories.

I always tell myself I will remember how a particular dog's coat felt, how the ears felt, how the dog smelled (and not in a bad way. Each dog, like each human, has its own particular smell). But such details invariably fade with time.

So take the picture! I love looking at photos of my pets from decades ago. My office is filled with dog photos. And when my 2-year-old golden retriever died suddenly of meningitis, I ordered prints of some of my favorite photos of him. They make me sad to know he is no longer here, tearing through my back yard as he chases after my other dog. But they also make me smile, to recall the time we spent together.

There are three pictures I regret not taking. The first was when he stood at the wrought iron gate to my enclosed courtyard, looking through the openings and watching me. I never had a camera or a phone with me. "I'll get that photo later," I thought. And then he died. Later never came.

The second image, which I tried to capture, was of him bursting through a large hedge in my back yard as he chased my other dog in a big oval. I tried to get the photo, but my shutter speed was too slow and the picture was blurry.

The last photo was of both dogs standing at the back wall, on their hind legs, looking to see what the neighbors were doing.

Three missed opportunities. Three missed photos I will never be able to get. Three missed memories.

So grab your camera, or grab your cell phone, and take the picture!

Love and Loss

 I have loved, and lost, more than a dozen adopted dogs in my life.

And while I mourn the passing of each dog, some more than others, not until Jett's untimely death have I had a visceral, physical reaction to a death.

I have thrown up. I have had pain in my back. I have forgotten to eat lunch. I forgot what day of the week it was. I forgot to use the prescription eye drops I have used twice/day for several years.

Jett was with me less than a year when meningitis -- an inflammation of his brain -- took his life. He was just 2 years and 3 months old.

I was saddened but holding myself together until Jett's veterinarian called with the preliminary results of his necropsy (animal autopsy). Jett died of meningitis, an inflammation of the brain resulting from an abscess behind his left eye. How he got the abscess is unknown. But hearing what killed him at such a young age brought relief to finally have answers, while also bringing on a lot of tears. Even his veterinarian was crying.

When I finished the call, I unleashed a torrent of tears along with sobs and screams. Just thinking about Jett and knowing he is gone brings me to tears.

This is a deep, raw wound that is going to take a very long time to heal. I suspect the scars will last forever.

The Aftermath of Grief

Let's talk about what not to do when someone loses a beloved pet.

My 2-year-old dog Jett died suddenly last week. Although he had been with me just 11 months, his sudden loss was traumatic. I am still in a fog. Since then, several friends have reached out online with words of sympathy and condolences. And I appreciate that.

Two other friends -- both of them great friends and good people -- said things that were not helpful at best, and hurtful at worse. The first thing that shocked and hurt me came from the friend who came to my house minutes after I reported Jett's death. She was kind and attentive, gently covering his body with a blanket, leaving his head uncovered. When I replied that I felt as if I failed him , her response was "You did fail him." I had taken Jett to the veterinarian at the first sign something wasn't right. I followed directions for giving him his prescribed medication exactly. I returned to the veterinarian two days later, the day he died so suddenly. So how, exactly, did I fail him ? 

Later, she became convinced that Jett died of an overdose of one of his medications. If he overdosed, it was not because of anything I did. I followed the doctor's instructions exactly. I am having a necropsy performed on Jett, and I hope that will provide some answers. In the meantime, speculation or comments about how he died of an overdose are not helpful or welcome.

The second friend, who had been responsible for me rescuing Jett and for arranging for him to be driven to me halfway across the country, after being stunned that he had died, told me that Jett is still here, in my house, his home, and that only Jenny (my other dog) can see his presence. That was a helpful and welcome comment.

But then she started in on how my dogs must be picking up something from the boarding kennel where the dogs stay when I travel, telling me that all my dogs have died after being boarded. I told her that was not true. Only Bailey died shortly after boarding. Bailey was 11 years old. Layla died of cancer at age 12. Benny died at age 12 after struggling with an unknown health issue for a couple of years. Jenny has spent a lot more time in boarding than Jett did, and she is fine. Jett spent only 2 -3 weeks in boarding; his most recent stay was less than 2 days.

I told her I will wait for the results of the necropsy before making any claims.

She's a wonderful friend, but I don't need speculation about such things. I don't need suggestions about what might have happened, or about how the veterinarian who treated Jett (not our regular veterinarian, but at the same animal hospital) must not know what she is doing.

What people in my situation need are supportive words. They need to know that we need support and an acknowledgement of our loss and our grief. Everybody grieves differently. Grief lasts different lengths of time. Getting through grief takes as long as it takes.

Talking about the deceased animal won't make the person sad; they are already mourning the loss. Let them talk about their cat, dog or horse. Share funny stories about the animal.

Send an e-mail or a text message, or call, and ask if the person needs anything, or needs a ride somewhere. In my case, I don't feel up to a phone call unless it's a family member. I am tired of telling the story about what happened before and when Jett died. When previous dogs have died, I appreciated receiving a sympathy card or other acknowledgement of my loss. I don't know what happened, so please don't speculate or offer suggestions unless you are a veterinarian.

As an avid photographer, I have a lot of photos of Jett. I'm having prints made of my favorites, and I will make a wall calendar to hang in my office. He will not be forgotten. Ever.

I felt, and still feel, like I have been kicked in the stomach. There is guilt that I was unable to prevent Jett's death, although deep inside I feel as if I did everything I could to prevent it. I feel guilty that I didn't spend more time with him, or give him more attention (he was a very needy dog), or show him more patience.

But deep down inside, I know that I gave him a wonderful home, with a canine friend he loved, and that he knew, for the first time in his life, that he was loved.

Grief

When my two year old golden retriever died very unexpectedly at home Thursday evening, I was stunned. I was shocked. I was in total disbelief. 

A friend came over and gently wrapped Jett’s body in a blanket. I looked at him, and expected him to look up at me, or to wag his tail, or to do something. I was in disbelief.

I had a few tears in my eyes, but I held myself together until I went to bed that evening. And then the tears started, but I wasn’t sobbing, and I wasn’t crying very hard. I think I was numb, and some gentle tears were all I could manage. Since then, I have cried more gentle tears a few times as I went through my days in a fog. 

I was in such a fog that I cut up my credit card by mistake, thinking it was my old debit card that had just been replaced. I forgot to take my prescription eyedrops, which I have used twice every day for several years. I don’t remember things. I forget what day of the week it is. And now, I find that the smallest things make me cry.

My other dog, a three year old mixed breed named Jenny, loved Jett from the moment she met him. They had so much fun together, wrestling and chasing each other through the backyard. I laughed when he ran behind a large hedge, emerging through the hedge to resume his race around the yard. 

I often called him doofus, because of his silly antics. I know Jenny misses her buddy, because she has been growling and staring at my front door much of today. She used to growl when Jett would walk down the hallway from my bedroom to the living room. I don’t know why she growled, and she wasn’t aggressive. But her behavior today makes me think he is here, and only Jenny can see him. I friend, who made it possible for me to rescue Jett from a life of neglect, told me that "Of course Jett is there in your house." That was his home. I may not have shed a lot of tears so far, but I had to hurry to the bathroom last night to throw up.

Jett is the 15th dog I have adopted, and the only one to die so unexpectedly and so young.

I realized a couple of things in the two days since Jett died. The first I already knew, and that is the importance of having good photographs of my dogs. I am an avid hobby photographer, so I take a lot of pictures. Those are so meaningful when one of my dogs dies. I’m lucky to have a really nice headshot of Jett, which I will have printed. 

The other thing I realized is that grief takes a variety of forms and intensities. Grief can be like a volcano, loud and explosive. Or it can be like smoldering embers, just waiting to catch fire. My grief is the latter.

Grief also moves at different speeds. My grief at losing Jett did not take the form of overwhelming tears and sadness. Instead, it is there, just below the surface, eating at me. I know the tears will really flow when I retrieve his ashes and when I place his remains with the cedar boxes and other containers that hold the remains of other dogs who have left me. 

How I wish our dogs had longer lives. 

So no matter the age of your dog, make sure he or she has a wonderful life filled with love. We never know when they will be snatched from us without warning.

Remembering Jett

Jett was a quick learner, aside from resisting to heel during our daily walks. He knew were he was supposed to be, but he always wanted to walk about half a body length ahead of where he should be. But he knew where he was supposed to be, because if I stopped walking, he quickly backed up and got in a perfect heel position next to my leg.

He was a happy boy who very quickly came to love me and my other dog, 3-year-old Jenny. And Jenny, who doesn't much care for other dogs, loved Jett from the moment they met.

Jett loved meeting up with his friend Ralphie, a medium-size black dog we would sometimes see during our daily walk. He loved meeting Ralphie. His other canine friend was an 8-year-old yellow Labrador retriever named Aspen.

I used to call Jett ‘nosy Ned’, as he loved to stand on his back legs and look over the back yard walls to see what the neighbors were up to.

Jett could never, ever, get enough attention. He was the personification of a Velcro dog. He never got a lot of attention during the first 16 months of his life, and he spent his time with me trying to make up for the lack. 

He loved his morning walks, driving me a bit crazy sometimes if I didn't get ready quickly enough to suit him. He would pant. He would pace. He would whine. He would run in small circles.

Jett didn't know the meaning of personal space. He followed me everywhere, even when I was sitting on the toilet. He would come in and sit very close to me until I told him to back off a little bit and give me some space. He was usually stretched out on the bathroom floor just outside my shower, so he could keep an eye on me and make sure there wasn’t a secret exit in the shower.

Jett was an extremely gorgeous blond golden retriever. He had the softest, silkiest ears of any dog I’ve ever known. He was my seventh golden, and none of them ever received the complements he did as we would walk through the neighborhood. One woman driving by actually stopped her car, rolled down the window, and told me what a gorgeous dog he was.

Jett died at home last evening. A good friend came over, and she took an old blanket I had and wrapped him carefully and gently just where he lay. It may sound strange, but after I kissed his head, as I did every day, I left a light on for him in the living room all night. This morning, as I took my other dog for her daily walk, I left the radio on for Jett, as I did every day. He didn’t really like being left alone. 

My friend came over again this morning, and together we struggled to get my 62 pound dog from my living room into the back of my car. It was not an easy task, but working together, we got him loaded in the back of my little SUV. I commented that if this weren’t such a sad and tragic situation, it might be funny to onlookers to see two elderly women struggling to get a body wrapped in a white blanket into the back of a car.

My plan, my hope, was to give Jett a lifetime of love and companionship for many years to come. Sadly, I won’t get that chance now. I hope he knew how loved he was.

It Isn't Fair

It just isn't fair.

Many things in life aren't fair. But something happened last evening that really brought home the unfairness to me in a very personal way.

My 2-year-old golden retriever, named Jett, died. He was diagnosed just two days ago with an autoimmune disease called masticatory muscle myositis. In simple terms, this means his body was attacking the muscles of his jaws.

MMM is not common, and none of my golden retriever-loving friends had ever heard of it. And as with so many other health issues that plague goldens, goldens are among the breeds more frequently afflicted. Still, MMM isn't common.

Jett was seen by a veterinarian on Tuesday and again yesterday. He was prescribed steroids to reduce pain and inflammation, and gabapentin to help with pain. Something happened, and Jett acted drunk. And then he died. I hope a necropsy will provide some answers.

Jett was young, and he had joined my family less than a year ago. So needless to say, this all came as a real shock.

What struck me as so unfair was the fact he was so young when he died. It was unfair. It was unfair that after a life of neglect, he found love and stability with me, only to have everything go horribly wrong. It was unfair that he never got a chance to really live. 

What else was so unfair was that my dog Jenny, not a fan of most dogs, loved Jett from the moment they met. 

It was unfair that golden retrievers, the most wonderful breed in the world, are beset by so many health issues. These intelligent, beautiful, loving dogs, once referred to by a man with whom I used to work as 'America's dog,' typically live only to the age of 10. Only one of my six golden retrievers made it to 15 years old.

It isn't fair that Jett was finally with someone who not only loved him, but who also had the desire and the financial resources to provide medical care for him. And it is so unfair, that despite that advantage, he died.

It isn't fair that my other dog, Jenny, has been deprived of a friend she loved and with whom she loved to play and chase. It isn't fair that this big blond boy was taken so soon.

And it isn't fair that I have lost a sweet, loving dog who used to put his head on the side of my bed every morning for his daily ear rub and kiss on the head.

That was our daily early morning routine. It isn’t fair that I will forever be deprived of this gentle early morning tradition.

How's the Weather?

 I follow a couple of therapy dogs online, and today's post made me think.

"What's the weather like inside you?" was the topic.

We hear a lot about the weather -- extreme heat, floods, drought, tornadoes -- but there isn't anything we can do about it. And as climate change continues to worsen, the weather will become even more extreme. We humans, who think we are all-powerful, are unable to do no more with the weather than warn of upcoming weather threats.

But the weather inside us? That's something we can control. We have the power to minimize or remove angry storm clouds. We can minimize the amount of rain (tears) that falls. We can control how we react to the weather inside us. We have a choice: we can either give in to the turbulent, stormy weather, or we can push it away in favor of calmer, more placid weather.

Unlike our world's bad weather, which will eventually go away and turn into something else (sunshine after a rainstorm, for example), our internal weather likes to hold on for a very long time -- unless we do something to send it away.

This is something I, like most people, have struggled with. Remaining very angry at someone who hurt me badly didn't hurt him. But the storm inside did hurt me, until I let it go.

So let's work on looking forward to a brighter, sunnier forecast, regardless of the weather Mother Nature throws at us.

Out of Warranty

I recently saw a meme on Facebook supposedly from an old, out-of-style refrigerator. 

The refrigerator was telling the people to whom it belonged that it would still be going strong long after the people had passed on.

That reminded me of the old refrigerator my parents used to have. It was their only refrigerator for many years. It didn't hold a lot, and it had a very small freezer section that had to be defrosted manually. When my parents got a bigger, more modern, self-defrosting refrigerator, the old one was moved to the basement, where it was used to keep soft drinks and beer cold.

This made me think about how durable appliances used to be, and how poorly made they are today. A few months ago I had to have work done on the freezer section of my 14-year-old refrigerator, which stopped freezing. I was grateful to find a repair man who came to the house the same day, quickly identified the problem, and returned the next day with the replacement part. 

I replaced a 16-year-old clothes dryer that stopped working. I figured that even if I could get parts for it, the cost of parts and labor to repair the unit would be close to the cost of a new one.

Things are not as well made as they used to be, in the era when appliances were repaired rather than being taken to the dump. Let's face it: we live in a disposable society.

A couple of years after I moved into my current house, the well pump died. It cost $2,500 to have it replaced. When I asked what the warranty was on the new one, I was told it was only 1 year. (Each house in my part of town has its own well and septic system). Luckily it still works some 12 years later.

I figure I am a lot like that old refrigerator: small, showing my age, but still working. I may not be as efficient or as good-looking as I used to be, and the warranty has likely expired, but I still have all of my original parts and I'm still working!

A Harsh Reminder

The southern New Mexico village of Ruidoso -- all 8,000 inhabitants -- has been evacuated due to two wildfires nearby.

People were given just 3 minutes to grab what they could and get out. 

Firefighters still struggle to contain the two blazes. 

The sight of the area in flames, and the stories of lost homes and businesses, are heartbreaking.

But despite the painful losses (including the loss of two local residents), there are signs of hope. People from throughout New Mexico and west Texas are stepping up to help. People with horse trailers and fenced land have offered to bring horses to their property for safekeeping, offering hay and water to the frightened animals.

Two humane organizations have driven to the burn area to remove animals from the local humane society. Members of the Mescalero Apache tribe have opened a shelter to those currently without a place to live. Drives are ongoing in the Albuquerque area to collect non-perishable food and snacks, bottled water, hygiene supplies, pillows, blankets and towels. Someone offered an apartment to people needing a place to stay. The Albuquerque police department accepted donations at all of its substations. A local television station set up a donation drive at some local Albertson's grocery stores for the benefit of those impacted by the fires and for firefighters.

Now the area is facing threats of flash floods as the burned areas are unable to soak up the much-needed rain.

And then there's this: the FBI is offering a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the person or persons responsible for setting the fires. 

It's hard to accept that there are people so evil that they take pleasure in setting fires in a bone dry area, fires that have destroyed lives, killed people, and incinerated homes and businesses.

I hope those responsible are caught and severely punished. There is no excuse for such acts of cruelty.

Dogs Enrich Our Lives

I don't understand how learning of the death of a dog I have followed on Facebook can make me so sad that my eyes fill with tears.

Spike Taylor. Anabelle. Ricochet the surfing dog. Juno of Juno's Place.  And now Zoe the therapy dog.

I have never met any of these dogs, and I know that their pages are authored by their human moms. But their personalities shined through in words and photographs, and losing these dogs feels like losing a friend.

I have loved and lost 13 dogs during my adult life, so I understand too well the pain and overwhelming grief of losing a beloved dog. I looked forward to reading these dogs' posts every day. They were bright spots filled with love and kindness in a world sorely lacking in both.

Zoe was more than 15 years old, and she had heart problems. Exactly what happened has not yet been disclosed as the pain is too new and too raw for her human mom to talk about it. 

For everyone blessed to share your lives with dogs, please remember to cherish them every day. Your dogs may not be Facebook famous, they may not be therapy dogs or have ribbons or awards. But each dog is special and precious.

Dogs' lives are so much shorter than ours. We have outside friends and activities. For most dogs, their human families are their entire world.

Give your pups a hug and tell them you love them.

D-Day Eighty Years Later

Eighty years ago today, members of the American military, along with Allied troops, took place in an action that literally changed the world.

On June 6, 1944, the invasion of Normandy, on the coast of France, began. It was a bloody battle with numerous Allied casualties. I’m not one who has studied World War II very much, but D-Day is special. 

Among the nearly 133,000 troops from the United States, the British Commonwealth and other allies that landed on the beaches of Normandy that day was my father.  Casualties reached some 10,300.

My father, who was just 19 years old, was a gunner's mate on a destroyer off the coast of Normandy. The USS Corry, the lead destroyer of the Normandy invasion task force, had been given the assignment of drawing fire from the German gun emplacements high on the cliffs above the beach. The goal was to get a better idea of where the guns were located. The Corry did its job well. It was sunk, and 24 sailors were killed, with 60 others injured. My father spent a couple of hours in the 54 degree waters of the Atlantic Ocean until he and his surviving crewmates were picked up and rescued by British warships.

He never spoke about his D-Day experiences, but when he died, a Navy honor guard attended his burial.

I visited Utah Beach, off the coast where the Corry was sunk. Like my father, many of the Allied forces were young men. He had lied about his age in order to enlist and serve his country.

The most moving part of the trip was a visit to Omaha Beach, where Allied forces won a hard-fought battle against German guns, land mines and machine guns. The D-Day invasion changed the course of the war. It marked the beginning of the end of Nazi Germany.

At either end of Omaha Beach are 300-foot-high cliffs of rock. Due to a series of errors by the Allies, the first troops to reach the beach were mowed down by German machine gun fire. Bombs had missed their targets. Tanks sank in the ocean. Engineers tasked with clearing the beach of land mines were unable to complete their mission. Soldiers deployed in deep water found themselves sinking under the weight of their 80-pound packs. Guns got wet. Reports were that it was impossible to walk on the beach without stepping on bodies. But by the end of the day, the Allies were able to gain two tenuous footholds on the beach. 

Our French guide (my visit was part of a hiking trip in France) did a great job of explaining what happened on that beach. A German gun emplacement was visible nearby, as was a fortified machine gun nest. Because the tide was out, we could see remnants of a temporary harbor. The brainchild of Winston Churchill, the harbor is considered one of the greatest engineering feats ever. Two temporary harbors were built, one on Omaha Beach for American forces and one on Gold Beach for British and Canadian troops. This harbor allowed 220,000 men, 50,000 vehicles and 600,000 tons of supplies to be landed on the French beaches.

As we walked along the beach, the four members of our group became quiet as we learned details of the battle and reflected on the bravery and sacrifices of the young men who fought there. Nearby, I could see a bit of Utah Beach. 

That afternoon, we walked along part of the path that US troops had used on their way inland. We then had a couple of hours on our own to explore the US military cemetery at Colleville, high on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach. 

The cemetery, on land donated by the French government in perpetuity, contains some 9,387 headstones -- either white marble crosses or Stars of David -- each inscribed with the name, military branch and dates of a service man who died during the invasion or ensuing military operations. Many of the graves are merely symbolic. Some of the deceased were repatriated to the US, while others were never found. Some headstones honor a soldier whose remains were never identified.

The cemetery is a place of sadness, knowing how many young lives were lost. And it is a place of beauty, with manicured lawns and a view of the beach where so many died. I was very moved as I walked among the headstones and through the visitor center. Although none of my family members perished in the war (both my father and uncles served), I nonetheless felt a great sense of sadness, as well as a sense of gratitude for their sacrifices. Our guide noted that during a previous tour of Omaha Beach, a veteran who had fought there commented that "I wasn't killed here, but I died here."

We have lost most of the D-Day survivors during the more 80 years since this history-making battle. The few living survivors are now in the 90s or 100s. In a few years, there will be no one left who took part in the horrendous battles on the beaches of France. The people of France have not forgotten the men and their sacrifices that liberated their country.

I hope the passage of time will never erase the memory of the sacrifices of those men from several countries whose bravery marked the beginning of the end of Nazi Germany. 

Please, take a moment on this sad anniversary to remember those who went to war and never came home.

.

Not Fit To Be President

He isn't your savior.

He is not the self-proclaimed 'chosen one.'

He is not going to "make America great again."

He isn't going to rid the country of liberals.

He isn't even Christian, much less a good Christian.

He does plan to assume the powers of a dictator, which he has admitted.

He does plan to turn the country into a dictatorship.

He does plan to continue to turn the country into a Christian nation.

He does plan to rain havoc and retribution upon anyone who disagrees with his rantings.

He will once again make America the laughing stock of the world.

He will turn the country into an isolated pariah.

He will again suck up to his favorite dictators such as Putin, Orban and Kim.

He will destroy our environment to gain the favor of big business.

He is a traitor who will do anything to gain and hold onto power.

He is a compulsive liar.

He is a convicted sexual abuser and a repeated misogynist.

He is a racist.

He worships nobody but himself.

He lusts after his eldest daughter.

He insults our military, calling them "suckers and losers."

He mocks the handicapped.

He insults women.

He cares only about himself, the super wealthy and anybody he can con.

He is functionally illiterate and inarticulate.

He wants to slash Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security.

He routinely insults leaders of our long-time allies.

Many people believe he is mentally ill and delusional, 

He isn't fit to be president.

He cannot be trusted to not share our nation's secrets with our enemies.

On so many levels, he is the person most unfit to hold the highest elected position in the land. And without reading his name, nearly everyone will know to whom this post refers.

A Message to American Airlines

Congratulations, American Airlines, for totally ruining my trip ... Any my birthday.

Yes, I know there was a big, bad storm in the Dallas area. Did weather forecasting fail? Did radar not tip you off that a big storm was on the way? Did it sneak up on you? Did it not occur to you to prepare for the storm and how to respond to your customers?

I expected disruptions to American's flight operations. What I did not expect was the total show of incompetence by the airline's management and its complete disregard for its passengers.

From flight delays being announced every 30 minutes until the flights were finally canceled, to keeping gate agents in the dark, with no information, to jerking around passengers who had been at the airport for hours, American can write the book about how not to handle a disaster.

Here's an example: I was booked on a 5:09 p.m. departure. Then that flight was canceled and I was rebooked on a 3 p.m. departure. Then i was put back on the 5:09 p.m. flight. I rushed to the airport for the 3 p.m. flight, sat around then waiting on the 5 p.m. flight -- without anything to eat or drink -- and finally I was told, sometime after 9 p.m., that the flight was canceled. I then was rebooked on a 9 a.m. flight. 

In the meantime, my travel agent was working to get me back on the original 5 p.m. flight. The same scene was repeated the following day after my travel agent spent several hours rebooking my flights. This was not a simple process, as American had taken control of the ticket, which included flights on another, foreign airline. She managed to get me booked on the original flights, but 24 hours later. Both of us were ecstatic.

As I was on the way to the airport in yet another ride with Lyft, I received a text message notifying me that the departure time had been delayed by an hour. That wasn't an issue, as I had a 3-hour layover in Dallas. The next text came as I was in line at the airport to get new boarding passes. It was then that I realized my flight would eventually be canceled. The announcement of cancellation came as I waited in the gate area.

We were advised to call an 800 number for rebooking. But that number was overwhelmed with calls, and I was told someone would call me in 4+ and 5+ hours. And because Dallas was expecting more storms, I figured I would face still more cancellations. 

I was a professional communications person for a non-profit organization for 8 years, and for NASA for 20 years. I know something about how to communicate bad news.

American Airlines did absolutely everything wrong. Passengers were left hanging, with no information. The public faces of the airline -- the  front-line airport workers -- were left in the dark about what was happening. Senior management, as far as I can tell, were absent. I have yet to receive an apology, or an offer to try to make things right. I paid more than $5,500 for my tickets for a trip I an now unable to take. In addition, I paid close to $200 for four rides with Lyft to/from the airport, another $200 for a hotel in Johannesburg on arrival day, that I couldn't use, money for a flight from Johannesburg to my final destination in South Africa, and $150  to board my dogs for a trip I wasn't able to take.

But I'm sure management did everything in its power to protect itself and the company's shareholders. And that's the most important thing, right?

I will never fly on American Airlines again, a comment I heard from others who were tired of being jerked around. Clearly this business doesn't care about its passengers, so it seems only fitting that the customers have the attitude.

Memorial Day

Here's a reminder for the uninformed: Please do not wish anybody a happy Memorial Day. 

That is akin to wishing someone a happy death anniversary. There is nothing happy about this day designated in 1868 to honor the soldiers killed in the Union Army during the Civil War. Two world wars expanded the holiday to include all men and women who gave their lives in service to our country. I can think of nothing more insulting than using the word ‘happy’ in the same sentence with Memorial Day.

Far too many Americans either are unaware of or choose to ignore the true meaning behind this day. It should not be just another excuse for a three-day weekend. It isn’t all about barbecues and baseball and the unofficial start of summer. And worst of all are the Memorial Day sales that are screamed about in endless television commercials.

This is the day to honor those who died defending our country and our freedoms. It is not the same as Veterans Day, which happens every year on November 11. Veterans Day is the appropriate day on which to recognize the service of all who are serving and who have served in our armed forces.

This simple distinction clearly is too difficult for most Americans to comprehend. The days are not the same. So please, this Memorial Day weekend, enjoy your barbeques and your parties. But please don't forget to honor the sacrifices of these men and women. 

Several years ago during a trip to France, my group visited and spent some time in private reflection at the American military cemetery in Normandy, This cemetery, whose land was given to the United States in gratitude for the liberation of France, is the final resting place of 9,387 American military who sacrificed their lives in the liberation of France on and following the June 6,1944, D-Day landing. 

More than 80 years later, visiting this hallowed site was an extremely touching experience. So many of the war dead were very young, their lives cut short in pursuit of a greater cause.

As an American, I find it discouraging and embarrassing that so much of our population is totally clueless about which holiday is which. If you have forgotten your civics lessons from high school, please spend five minutes doing some research so you can understand the difference.

So on this Memorial Day weekend, enjoy your parties and your barbeques. But please don't forget those who made the ultimate sacrifice, often thousands of miles from home. They deserve more on this holiday weekend than yet another 'sales event' or a barbeque.