Tidbits...

*I have an acquaintance from the creek who is moving to the South. Her
husband, a rare native Californian, has a deep fear that no one will
have teeth. I have done my best to assure him that many people in the South care about dental hygiene and do in fact have teeth.

I thought I was been forced to eat my words when I got off the plane in
New Orleans. The first six people I saw... yep, no teeth.

*Mabel Lou is a very jealous girl. But she really shocked us all two days ago. I was feeling very under the weather... probably a combination of Mom's attitude and the fact that she really has no clue how to operate her wood burning stove and her house was filled with smoke... Anyway, Mabel & I trekked to the drug store for some sinus meds and decided to check on my nephew, Bailey - a corgi, who was home alone.

He had thrown up in his kennel and pee was everywhere. So I called mom and asked if it was OK to bring him home with us (not taking any chances on making her any madder.). When we got to her house, I was horrified to find a blood vessel had burst in her eye. The white of her eye was entirely red. I freaked and tried to reach a college buddy who is a nurse. When that failed, I decided to drive back to my sisters and jump on the Internet. Turns out this is rather common and nothing can be done.

While I was gone, Mother gathered Bailey into her lap to rock him. Miss Mabel - who is very "pawsy" - reached up and slapped him! Then did it again and again! She made it clear that Granny belonged to her and no one else. Mom had to put Bailey down because Mabel was so upset. Mabel really loves Bailey but we now know where she draws the line.

* Sometimes I fear I am becoming my own miserable mother. She is so quick to speak out and so am I. Last night, my college room-mate (the nurse) drove down from Poplarville, MS to visit and we went to Sonny's Barbeque for a little quiet time away from my mom. As soon as we parked, a guy in a Mercedes pulls into the handicapped spot. No placard, no symbol on his plates.

Not only did I feel and uncontrollable urge to give him my best "Smith Look" (I come from a long line of people who have a very jarring death stare.) I proceeded to tell him he was evil and that I sincerely hoped he would actually need a handicapped spot one day may there always be someone like him parked there.

Just why do I feel the need to confront??? And why do I think it's better to say something than just stuff it???

Christmas update

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I've read a few posts tonight - all seem to be about the wonderful Christmases everyone has had - and it reminds of the thing I have prayed the most for since I was a little girl... a family that actually liked each other and hopefully, liked Christmas too.

My mother has been in exceptional "I hate the world" form and just making everyone miserable. If I had $400 bucks extra I would've been back in LA before Christmas. But I don't, so I'm sleeping a lot and trying to keep my head down.

I have no idea why she hates Christmas. My sister's theory is that mom is always alone and there are more parties and dances this time of year. But dang, it's been 40 years... Get over it already!

At times like this, I realize why I so desperately wanted children... to have an acceptable excuse to be elsewhere at Christmas. Alas, I think God knew what he was doing...this kind of dysfunction should not be passed on.

I do wish everyone a very Happy Holiday! Have some fun for me!!

P.S. Mabel seems to be the only one Mom isn't mad at...she's getting platefuls of roast and ham and turkey! I'm really afraid she may not fit into her kennel for the trip home!

Snow on Cactus

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Hi, I've written a least ten posts in my head in this frantic week... not exactly the same as actually posting. Suffice it to say, it is very difficult to shut down a business for 2 1/2 weeks.

So, I'm off to Baton Rouge, hopefully with the pup in tow. She still has not been in the crate. So, I've got drugs and little steak.

I'll leave you with a photo of snow on one of the plants near the creek called "Our Lord's Candle." (There is a picture of the top bloom of this plant in Creek Photos.) This was taken after a freak snowstorm we had in late January.

Happy Holidays!

Hypnotizing the Dog

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Just how do you hypontize a dog??? I am seriously getting worried about Miss Mabel and the crate.

None of my dogs have ever liked being locked up and all of my girls have had a history with the doggie criminal justice system. Poor Maggie was in doggie jail for a bit and then in rescue for over a year because the rescue lady wouldn't give her to just anybody because she liked her.

When I brought Maggie home, the first time I left her alone, I parked around the corner and ran back home. Maggie was beating her head against the gate to try and break it. I scared her and it stopped. I learned that scaring the crap out of her was a great way to to train her instantly.

Mabel is a little better at being shut up than Mags was. My guest bathroom has the scars to prove that. We had lived in this house about a month when I was headed out to dinner with the host of the t.v. show I was working on and made the mistake of using the guest bathroom on the way out. Maggie had never given the room much attention...it's small and narrow. The dogs always seem to know they have my undivided attention when I'm sitting down in bathroom and take that opportunity for a little lovin'. So I petted her and left for dinner.

I was stunned when she didn't greet me in the living room. I noticed the door on the way to my bedroom. That door isn't level but it was never shut all the way. I threw the door open and found a very traumatized Maggie... and a destroyed bathroom. Blinds shredded, wall paper peeling, custom paint job scratched to bits. The door has a "kick stand" now. (And, can I say that in six years of visitors to this house, when I explain what the door blocker is for, only ONE human being has had the courtesy to put it back in place after using the restroom!)

Between hating to be locked up and having a tummy that didn't digest properly, Maggie May was not the best traveller. The first time I took her to Baton Rouge, the nurse told me, "Give her one ACE (knock out pill) when you get up. If she's not woozy when you leave for the airport, give her another. If she's not woozy at the airport, give her another." So I did...three pills.

Cut to 7 hours later in Baton Rouge. I get Mags out of the crate and she races out of the airport, me in tow. Runs around the grassy area that was there at that time, sees my family, jumps in the car, doesn't sit down all the way to Mom's, checks out the yard, chases squirrels. Finally everyone leaves and it's Mom and I talking. Maggie walks into the foyer to peer out the front door, turns to come into the den and...SPLAT. All four legs in four directions and she's unconscious! She slept there for nine hours! My mother was screaming the whole time, "Your gonna kill my baby with those drugs!"

Mags never travelled on drugs again. But she did travel.

The time I remember the most was a Christmas when Maggie did not want to get in the crate. It is this event that I think is freaking me out about Mabel and the crate this year.

We were in LAX and it wasn't terribly crowded. We had our tickets and the baggage guy had come for Mags. It was time to get in the kennel. And Maggie wasn't going to do that.

She took her powerful head and swung at the crate. She managed to knock the thing 20 feet away! I marched with her in tow over to the crate and drug both back to the ticket counter, feeling every eye in the place on me.

I tried to get her in again and again, she put on the brakes. I whipped her body around so I could look her in the eyes.

"Look, here's the deal. Six hours in the crate and two weeks at Granny's all-you-can-eat buffet or two weeks in doggie jail. Your choice Tuts."

She hung her head, walked right in and the ticket counter erupted in applause!

I don't think Miss Mabel will be as easy. I've been hiding treats in there. She leaves them alone. Which reminds me, both Maggie and Mabel have a very subtle way of letting me know they don't like this.

I always attach a Ziploc bag to the top of the crate with Velcro. Inside is really bad poetry containing the name of the dog and any instructions for the ground crew and a few cookies for them to give the girl. When we are all set at the ticket counter, I will give the pup one of the cookies and I always pick the most unusual one... say if there is one red cookie, that's the one I give her.

Inevitably, when I get to Baton Rouge, that is the ONLY uneaten cookie. Both Mags and Mabel traditionally eat that cookie after breakfast on the the second day at Granny's! I think they're trying to tell me something.

So, I'm trying visualization. While lying next to Mabel, I picture my mom at the kitchen table, Mabel under her arm and eating off her fork. Mabel running around with her cousin Bailey, the corgi. Mabel playing with my little cousins. Mabel chasing squirrels in Granny's big back yard. Mabel curled up in the dog bed by the ever-burning fireplace. Mabel loving Granny's extra large bedroom where she has about 15 feet to get a running start to jump on the bed. Mabel opening all the Christmas gifts her Auntie gets her.

I don't think she's buying it, but I hope, I hope. Seven days til lift off... wish me luck!

The Pity Party Continues

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Don't worry, I'm not in too pitiful of a mood. Just frustrated and feeling small.

My cell phone, a Cingular Go phone, is no longer up to code with Cingular's equipment. So I must replace it. They offered a free one but, we have a new law taking effect that means we cannot use hand-held phones in the car. The free phone is not hands-free. Which means I have to buy a phone. And the phones I can find that are hands-free only work with month to month plans.

I really don't understand those... I have had my phone for two and a half years. It has cost me just over $200 TOTAL. I just don't know where people get all this money. I certainly don't have it and don't see the point in giving even more to the phone company just so I can feel safe driving around LA LA land in my old jeep.

So, 9 HOURS later, I bought a Blue Tooth Razor with head set for $200 bucks and still have to load it with minutes. But that's still about $500 less a year than most folks blow on a cell phone. Thank you T-Mobile and Wirefly.com.

My other source of frustration came a couple days ago in dealing with my Christmas travel plans to Baton Rouge. Since American flies Burbank to BR, I found a good deal online (heaven forbid I need to speak to a human for another $20 bucks!), bought the ticket and called up to reserve a spot down below for the fur-child.

I was absolutely shocked they no longer take dogs and kennels over 100lbs. The lady on the phone says this has been going on for "quite some time." Mabel flew American last Christmas and she's got the "wings" the ground crew left in her treat bag to prove it. (Maggie has several sets in her scrapbook.)

I spent another 8 hours calling every airline that flies from Burbank / LAX / Long Beach / Ontario to Baton Rouge / New Orleans / Jackson. Basically, if you have a big dog, you're screwed. Finally remembered my cousin always raved about the direct flight from LAX to New Orleans and called United. They are the ONLY airline willing to fly a big dog... for $200 each way. (Used to be $50).

The nice man at United explained it's both weight (over 100 lbs) and kennel size (series 500) that earns that ticket price. I bought my ticket ($300 + $20 "human fee"), made the $400 reservation for the pupster, and said a few choice words to the manager at American who didn't want to give me my money back.

All these phone calls and run-around just have me exhausted. I'm going to couch it and watch some t.v. while eating the delicious barbecue chicken pizza I have in the oven. After weeks of eighteen hour days, I need a night of nothin'.

Oh, I should mention that since Mabel had a series 400 kennel, I splurged and bought her the bigger one. Anyone have any ideas on how I can get her to go in it?

Have a restful evening.

Having a Pity Party. Join me, won't you?

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Ring, Ring.

"Creekhiker can't be reached right now. She's out taking a class on how to say no."

That's the message I wish I had the guts to put on my answering machine. But I don't.

I'm just feeling very taken advantage of. A woman I barely know...met her hiking... has talked me into dog sitting for a week. And though I've tried to tell her no in my spineless ways... "Twice a day, that's a lot!" - "You want me to play with them too? That takes a lot of time." "Can't make it Friday, I'm teaching. Can you get someone else?" "Could they do it the whole time?"

I've tried every excuse...it's my busy season in the shop (very true); I'm working on a HUGE wholesale order plus the restaurant has me shipping international kits and Valentine kits this week (true). I've been working 18 hour days (truer than I care to admit); I only leave my shop once a day (mostly true). No matter what I said, this woman just barrelled through.

In the end I fell for it. "But my dogs don't like anyone the way they like you." ARGHH!!

But the thing that really pisses me off... she PROMISED to come help me in the shop to make up for the time I'll lose caring for her animals... and didn't.

I'm 42 years old and I still get so disappointed off when a human being says one thing and does another. I should know better by now. But still I believe. If she just would have said "Thank you" and nothing else, I wouldn't be so mad. But don't promise something and not deliver.

I guess I have no one to be pissed at but me... anyone know where I can buy a spine?

How Did She Know?

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For days now, Mabel has been wanting to head over to the big creek {Big Tujunga (ta hung ga)} on the north side of the valley where we hike. This is actually the area I prefer to hike. I get more of a workout and, when the water is flowing, it's so pretty there.

Mabel usually prefers "dirty creek." It is actually a run off from behind our house and flows along the south side of the valley. There are lots of critters: a blue heron, an egret, plenty of mallards, lizards and lots and lots of "runny babbits." There is also mud and lots of trash. But, in addition to the many breeds that fill Miss Mabel Lou's pedigree card, I'm am almost certain she is also part pig because she loves to wallow in mud. The stinkier, the better.

This time of year, when there is no water in Big Tujunga, it's dirty creek every day for us. The dogs just play better when there is water. And for the past few days, when we reach the shortcut to Big Tujunga, Mabel has headed down the path. It has be me who insisted, "No, Dirty Creek." She hesitates and then follows.

Today was no different. I usually allow Mabel to decide where we hike most days but the past few, we've had friends along. Today, I warned her, "There's no water and Mom's busy in the shop so, you're just gonna be hot, Missy. No complaining."

She started to turn around but realizing I was going to follow her, she dashed ahead.

When we got to the top of the levy, I could see a dark brown stain where the creek usually is. This is often an indication that the damn released water in the past few days. I stood there trying to process it...that's sort of strange this time of year...and then I heard my favorite music. WATER!

It's been a month since the water was there. The last time was also a full moon. Here's a few pics:



We dashed down the levy to the shoreline, water, water everywhere. And I started to wonder about my pup. How long has the water been here? Is that why she's tried to come here for three days? Did she know all along?

We hiked to the end of the water about a 1/2 mile down. I plopped on a boulder in the middle of the dry stream and waited. The music of the water over the rocks is just mesmerizing. The high notes of shallow water being forced over two rocks. The low notes that happen as the water gets deeper.

Within minutes water was flowing on both sides of my boulder. Mabel busied herself with a few lizards and kept coming up to me happily and checking on the progress of the stream. We left our stream and pray it's there tomorrow.

Scrooge Lives Here

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I am my own neighborhood Scrooge. Not that I'm cheap or selfish or don't want others to enjoy Christmas. I just don't decorate.

In my old neighborhood, that would not have been a problem. But add to the lengthy list of things the previous owner of this house did not tell me: I live on freaking Candy Cane Lane!

Every house around here doesn't merely decorate. They go over the top, trying to outdo each other. Lights hanging from every possible position, elaborate yard displays. There is a constant parade of traffic and pedestrians from Thanksgiving to New Years. Except in front of my house.

It's not that I don't want to decorate. I just have a litany of excuses. I'm not able to get on my roof or hang from a ladder. I don't know where my decorations even are. I work in my shop until 9 or 10, come home and fix something to eat and allow myself a few minutes of television only to find myself startled awake at midnight and needing to stumble off to bed...so just when would I plug in the yard display? Or turn it off?

Furthermore, I usually travel during Christmas and tend to stay gone for quite some time. If I start lighting my home and then suddenly stop, isn't that a fairly obvious invitation to theives??

Oddly enough, this is the first year I've wanted a tree in probably 10 years. My sister too. She already has hers up. We used to have such a large extended family full of kids - my sister and I never had any. But now those kids are all grown and it's just us four old foggies: Me, my sis, bro-in-law and mom. It seems like too much fuss for just us.

The need for a tree and some effort this holiday is probably due to my sister finding a new tumor in her back ( non-cancerous...but, it has a high sugar rating). So pretty soon, I will be in Baton Rouge and in charge of decorating Mom's house. We'll get out the tree and lights and tinsel and make it really warm and merry.

Just don't tell my neighbors. I have a reputation to uphold.

Confessions of Coffee

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It's all Randy's fault. Or maybe the fault lies with my own inability to listen to the warning bells set off in my teenaged brain, wise beyond my years at the time. Regardless of fault, it's a fact. I have an addiction. Coffee.

I never drank coffee - for the most part - until I was in my late twenties. I did acquire a taste for the stuff as a teenager camping with my mother and step-father at Percy Quin Park.

We camped in a travel trailer - not much privacy. Every morning at the crack of dawn, my mother and step-father would get up to drink coffee and talk. As my bed was on top of the dining area, it was kinda hard to sleep. I'm a pretty smart girl and very easy to train. I was outnumbered so I decided to join them.

Every day for two solid weeks, I had coffee with the parents at 6 a.m. We returned home and I was looking forward to blissfully sleeping in until my summertime usual of 7 or 8. I was really angry that Monday morning to find myself wide awake at 6. I rolled over in bed burrowed under my pillow. That lasted for maybe 10 minutes. I sat up in bed and realized I was shaking. I felt queasy and weak. When I finally made it to the kitchen in the back of the house where the folks were having their coffee and told my mom how I felt, she announced, "Oh, you just need your coffee."

"NEED my coffee?"

"Yeah, your body got used to having it everyday. You're having withdrawals."

"After two weeks, I'm addicted to coffee?? No, way!"

And with that, I decided I never wanted to taste anything that made feel like I NEEDED it ever again. It took me a month to get over my two week habit and finally not wake up at 6, shaking.

I stuck to my guns for a good 13 years and would've made it further except for taking a job on the worst movie ever made. It was one of those nightmare jobs I had built my reputation on - taking over in the middle of a job for a fired crew. This particular movie, "Blood In, Blood Out" (that would be a gang reference, not a horror movie) was a few days into shooting when I was hired. I was allowed to hire a couple of my own people as per usual. I hired a secretary and my old buddy from film school, Randy.

Randy was new to Hollywood and had every thing I was looking for in a good p.a. He listened, followed directions and understood the basic rule of Hollywood: CYA. That stands for Cover Your Ass. And if you are really good at your job, it means cover the ass of the person who hired you. I trusted him and I knew he would take care of me.

The shoot was brutal and getting worse. We were shooting in East L.A. A no-man's land of warehouses, dead end streets, gang turf and homeless people. Not the kind of place I wanted to be in broad daylight, forget about dark. We were on an endless string of 16 - 18 hour days. Food was brought into our office from the set due to the lack of restaurants in the area.

One day, Randy, being the ever friendly Mississippi Chinese boy he still is struck up a conversation with a location guy and discovered there was a Cafe / Art gallery a mere two blocks away. He checked it out and returned with cappuccinos for everyone along with cookies. I took the cookie and declined the coffee.

The cookies from Cafe Vignes were a work of art. A basic chocolate chip dough with "sweep of the kitchen" nuts, dried fruit and chips. Literally, whatever the chef felt like throwing in on any given day ended up in these delectable goodies.

So every day around 3, just as the afternoon slump was hitting, Randy would take coffee orders and return with cookies and coffees. For weeks, I would comment on how good the coffee smelled but would only take a cookie.

Daily, Randy would implore me to order a coffee. By 3 p.m., we had all been at work for a good nine hours - and most likely had another nine to go. I was always exhausted and Randy - in true CYA fashion - was just looking out for me.

And one day, he approached with my cookie and placed a cappuccino on my desk. "Try it, you'll like it."

Randy, having known me since college seemed to know just how I would like my coffee. Here comes the big confession - I've never grown up. I still take my coffee the way all small children drink their "coffee milk" - milk with lots of sugar and splash of coffee.

Now that I've grown up (on the outside) I prefer to say that coffee should be like a fine lady, fair and oh so sweet.

And so, my daily habit returned. When I left that show, I bought myself a Krups Cafe Presso Espresso coffee machine. And today, she sighed her last drop of steam... 15 years of great frothy cappuccinos. Her replacement is sitting next to her on the kitchen counter. I can't quite bring myself to toss her yet.