Goodness, I feel sorry for the poor man in red his weary reindeer and sled Don’t blame me cuz I’ve never participated in dragging that man from his bed The worst you can say is I’ve not enough candles and therefore can’t light All my eight menorahs, yes, count ’em, eight Hanukkah for eight days of light Tell Santa to give up the late ride and eat chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil Safer to spin driedles, tell stories of brave Maccabees and the miracle of oil And he’ll feel much better when he rises well rested at the end of this year Not having delivered gifts heavier than a wish for peace and good cheer
*Disclosure: Printed without permission from the author . .
“Third Man Records is pleased to share the genius surprise gift they received from their friend MICHEL GONDRY. On his own and without anyone’s knowledge, the legendary filmmaker shot a video for “City Lights,” which he sent them the other night. The video is Gondry’s fifth visual collaboration with The White Stripes. “City Lights” was written for The White Stripes’ GET BEHIND ME SATAN but then forgotten until White revisited the 2005 album for Third Man’s Record Store Day 2015 vinyl reissue and finished the recording in 2016. The track is the first new, worldwide commercially released song by The White Stripes since 2008.”
“PET owners beware — new research has revealed that dogs don’t like hugs from their owners, which can make them (the owners?) more stressed out.” “According to new research published in Psychology Today, Stanley Coren from the University of British Columbia, said dogs respond differently to humans who seek comfort from hugging others.” “Coren, who studies canine behaviour, analysed a random sample of 250 pictures of humans hugging their dogs that he could find online through Flickr and a Google image search.” (skewed data – he left out Pintrest and Instagram where the animal pictures are more photogenic) “In using photos where the dog’s face was easily seen, he looked whether the dog appeared to be anxious or distressed, relaxed, or showed a neutral response to being hugged.” “He found that around 82 per cent of the photographs showed “unhappy dogs” receiving hugs from their owners or children.”
He said that dogs show signs of distress when they bare their teeth (called a smile when humans do it), turn their heads away from something ( just being bored and looking around), or they partially close their eyes (doesn’t everyone close their eyes when ecstatic?). Another sign of anxiety is when a dog’s ears are lowered or “slicked against the side of his head”. (Stanley, it’s just our coiffure) He also said that licking lips or licking a person’s face can also be a sign of anxiety, like yawning or raising a paw. (I lick when it’s tasty) Coren said the fact that dogs don’t like being hugged can be explained by their behavioural nature.
As “cursorial animals”, (cursorial? I swear I never curse) they are designed for swift running. When stressed, a dog’s first instinct is to run away. It is believed that when they are restricted from moving with a hug, it can increase a dog’s stress level and potentially cause them to bite their owners. (or bite researchers)
It’s not the hugs that stressed the dogs out it was having their pictures taken WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT to be displayed for all the world to see.
So hug away you human-beings and always follow-up with a treat for us dogs (you got your treat with the hug)
Freddie Parker Westerfield, CDT RET, CDB
Canine Dog Therapist, Retired and Certified Dog Blogger
Want to monkey around? just blow with your nose to create a sound that tingles the toes
However, it’s said if a monkey you bed your kids will be hairy swing from the trees blowing their noses and hang by their knees
“Unfortunately, like many of this unusual creatures, this species is classified as endangered. Though an odd face, they’re generally good natured with each other, but due to extensive loss of vegetation, there are only about 1,000 of them left. The government of Borneo has instituted strict penalties for those who kill them in an effort to protect what’s left of the dwindling population.”
If you want to see the PROBOSCISMONKEY’S picture you will have to click here: DOODLEWASH
The Peacock mantis shrimp
is no wimp.
Its rear sways
while the front prays
that its glow
4 inches is enough
to strut it’s stuff
“Some mantis shrimp species are rather romantic, meeting their dream shrimp and staying together for life, which is up to 20 years. These lovebirds share the same burrow, protect their eggs, and help each other in hunting. When particularly aroused during mating rituals, the mantis shrimp will start to fluoresce. This means, you guessed it, they have glow-in-the-dark sex, which more than qualifies them as an uncommon creature.”
Click here to find out why the shrimp is no wimp: doodlewash
“Along with its spiky reddish-brown hairdo, it’s quite a sight to behold. It’s also a bird that you are better off viewing from a safe distance due to its other key characteristic that has earned it’s rather insulting nickname. But it’s an accurate one, as the stinkbird actually does smell like poop.”
judy’s stink bird pome
The Stink bird, if you will is a walking, pecking still Its cow poop smell is just a cover for a liquor lover.
Found a grrrrrrrrreat new blog doodlewash. The artist CHARLIE O’SHIELDSis good AND his subjects are weird and wonderful critters (at least the ones I’ve seen so far) My kinda guy! To make it even better the information he posts about the animals he draws is fascinating.
As those of you who follow my blog know I’ve been in a slump – physically, mentally and creatively. The minute I saw Charlie’s drawings and read about critters . . . well . . . it inspired the poet in me.
judy’s jerboa pome
Long-eared jerboa picky diet of insects nibbles on their feet but spits out their toa
“Caught on video for the first time in 2007, this little creature may look like an odd little rodent, but it’s really quite distinct. There’s no other animal of its exact type on the planet. Looking a bit like a mouse-sized kangaroo, it’s humorously long legs give it the ability to jump over 3 feet (1 meter) high.”
To read the part that inspired my pome ya gotta click here: DOODLEWASH
(Oh yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees – days and days and days and daaaaaaaaaaays of celebration. You can send me gifts in lieu of flowers or cake per my birthday season RULES, #3).
To celebrate I slept-in late . . .
Oh nooooooooooooooooo – I have vertical ridges in my fingernails. So, of course, I googled “fingernail ridges”:
“There are many reasons for ridged nails but the most common is aging,” says Dr. Phoebe Rich, M.D, clinical adjunct professor of dermatology at Oregon Health Science University. “As we age the nail matrix becomes atrophiedin areas resulting in longitudinal ridging of nails. I tell people they are like wrinkles in the nails.”
It’s bad enough that my face is wrinkling . . . my neck is wrinkling . . . and now! my fingernails are wrinkling!
The next thing I know I’ll wake up and I will look like a Shar-pei.
After 71 times it’s getting a bit boring . . . another birthday . . . Now don’t get me wrong I’m grateful I’m still around to celebrate but as Groucho Marx said:
“Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.”
The good news is my birthday SEASON** is getting longer . . . and so is YOURS. In case, you’ve forgotten the rules (because you are getting old and forget a lot of things) and want to celebrate your own Birthday Season I’m reposting my repost from my reposted repost that I repost every year.
Birthday Season Rules:
Beginning on the day of your birth your season lasts the number of days you are old. Consequently, every year your Birthday Season is one day longer. With me so far?
You are to celebrate your birth the entire season by choosing whatever you wish to do, or NOT do, each day. So far so good!
People give you presents the entire season. SO GOOD, so far!
You must be over 50 to qualify for Birthday Season status. (Over 50 you need more time to celebrate because it takes you longer.)
You may start your Birthday Season before the actual date of your birth. But you cannot exceed the number of days you are old.
Those who are under the age of 50 can celebrate a Birthday Season as long as they don’t tell anyone or demand presents.(Gargle thoroughly after breakfast to eliminate tell-tale “Birthday Season Breath”.)
You must eat doughnuts everyday for breakfast during your season. (If you don’t like doughnuts you can choose anything you want as long as it isn’t healthy).
Every day of your season you must be grateful for being born and still being alive. (After your Birthday Season is over you can revert to moaning about your age).
**In case, you’ve forgotten how the
Birthday Seasons Rules came to be
(because you are getting old and forget a lot of things)
here’s how :
Many years ago my good friend Bernice and I were sitting in a motel room (don’t go THERE – we were at the motel, attending an imagery conference) eating doughnuts for breakfast. We picked this motel because it had FREE doughnuts and coffee every morning. It was just before our birthdays which are a few weeks apart.
A bit giddy from not sleeping well on motel mattresses and slightly inebriated on chocolate covered doughnuts, we decided that if we were going to get older each year we would at least take advantage of our accumulating age. We created OUR BIRTHDAY SEASON.
I imagine there are millions of you (I have a big imagination)who wait with bated breath and quickening heart beats for my posts – I shall call you Group Numero UNO. You are keenly aware (due to your breath and heart rhythm) I’ve been bloggingly absent. The rest of you (group 2, small “g”) are scratching your heads (or other parts) and wondering what I’m talking about because your lives, breath and hearts have gone on nicely without my posting.
For Numero UNO: I just have lost my mojo, my energy, my focus – not interested in writing, reading, gardening, e-mailing, blog posts started and abandoned . . . I’m giving credit to a fibromyalgia flare-up because fibromyalgia should be good for something.
For the second group: I am LOST, DEPLETED, SUFFERING and you probably don’t care . . .
On a serious note (not that I wasn’t serious before)fibromyalgia along with many other chronic conditions has a mind of it’s own and takes over at unexpected and unpropitious times. After over 20 years of living with this condition I’ve still not got the hang of it. When I feel decent I go, do, get overly involved and then crash for days, sometimes weeks (or months, but who’s counting).
To better manage what energy I have I’ve decided to do half of the ten things I currently need or want to do:
Complete half the alphabet for the on-line daily blogging alphabet posting challenge. (I’ve half a mind not to even do the challenge this year and repost what I wrote LAST year).
Brush half my teeth each day (I’ll alternate halves – half in the morning and half before bed)
Clean and dust the half of the house I can’t reach.
Stop watching the Super Bowl at half-time.
Eat half the pan of brownies I’m making (half today and half tomorrow).
That’s half of my plans so I’m not going to write the other five.
My New Motto (you can borrow it):
Live half my life with gusto, let the other half rest.
Did you know you can train your brain not to wake you up at night to go to the bathroom? When you get the “full bladder” signal in the middle of the night ignore it. Trust me you won’t wet the bed. In about 2 nights your brain will stop signaling you that your bladder is full.
If you don’t trust what I’m saying, try painting your floor!
“Each of us carries around millions of microorganisms – including bacteria, fungi and viruses— on the inner and outer surfaces of our bodies. Most of them aren’t dangerous. In fact, growing evidence indicates that they help us in lots of ways. Scientists call this collection of organisms our microbiome.”
‘”A lot of the recent work on the human microbiome has revealed that we’re kind of spilling our microbial companions all over our houses and our offices and the people around us,” Meadow says.”
“Meadow says the findings raise a number of possibilities, including, maybe, one day being able to identify a criminal by analyzing the microbial cloud he or she leaves behind at the scene.”
“We know that if you live with people, and even if you just work with people, your microbial communities come to resemble theirs over time,“ Knight says. “And in the past we used to think that was due to touch. It may be just that you’re releasing microbes into the air and some of those microbes are colonizing the people you’re with.”
“Nanoengineers at the University of California, San Diego, have developed 3D printing technology called “microscale continuous optical printing” that can print hundreds of microrobots within seconds, each one smaller than the width of a single hair.“
“Wei Zhu, a nanoengineering Ph.D. student who co-authored the report, wrote that “the microfish can doubly serve as detoxification systems and as toxin sensors.”When the researchers incorporated toxin-neutralizing nanoparticles into the microfish bodies, they found that their powerful swimming ability allowed them to efficiently clean out toxins from the solution. When the particles interacted with toxins, they emitted a red glow; the greater the presence of toxins, the greater the intensity of the glow.”
“The researchers are exploring the possibility of using this as a medical tool.They want to incorporate medicine into the microfish so that they can be injected into someone’s system in order to distribute drugs.”
Since I spend a lot of time (off and on) writing this blog and attending a writing critique group I figured it’s time to learn the tools of the trade. I signed up for a free Emeritus writing class from the local junior college. (“emeritus” is a sophisticated word for anyone who qualifies for Social Security.)
The first assignment was to write a two page SHORT story about being unfairly treated or treating someone else unfairly.
(Names have been omitted to protect my image)
Unfair Treatment – Body, Mind & Me
By Judy Westerfield
“More! More!” my mind screams at me. Her desire reverberates throughout my body. Once again, I’m caught in the middle between body and mind, between hedonism and health.
The three of us — body, mind and me — have been together a very long time. Over the years the mind has grown bolder, louder. To keep the peace I usually do what she says, even though it’s often based on want rather than need. Today is no exception.
For the second time in less than an hour I retrieve the half-gallon carton from the freezer.
“More! More!” She is unrelenting.
“Calm down. “I’m scooping as fast as I can.”
I ladle from the carton to the soup bowl – 1/3 less fat, 120 calories, $2.99 on sale — spoonfuls of vanilla, chock full of chocolate chunks and ripples of golden caramel. Hard, too hard. I like it soft, just this side of starting-to-melt. Ten seconds in the microwave will do it. I’ve perfected the timing.
“You will just have to wait 10 seconds.” I can be firm.
It’s creamy, cold, sweet and glides deliciously from the lips all the way down to the stomach.
“Ahhhh. Mmmm,” she purrs and declares it to be an invention ranking right up there with the discovery of fire, the wheel and Tampax.
The bowl is empty. She points out that there’s more in the carton, purposely left out on the counter, which is now just the right soft consistency.
“120 calories per serving . . . 12 servings per carton . . .1,440 calories,“ she calculates. “We’ll just skip dinner.”
* * *
“Why? Why?” My distended stomach cries out, pushing painfully against the waistband of my pants. Hips expand, thighs grate together, intestines grumble while impolitely relieving themselves of gas as I walk to the trash to throw away the empty carton.
The body unfairly treated, yet again, by me. And the mind . . . she’s still screaming . . .
fast-casual, adj.: denoting or relating to a type of high-quality self-service restaurant offering dishes that are prepared to order and more expensive than those available in a typical fast-food restaurant
cakeage, n.: (informal) a charge made by a restaurant for serving a cake they have not supplied themselves
beer o’clock, n.: an appropriate time of day for starting to drink beer
hangry, adj.: (informal) bad-tempered or irritable as a result of hunger
wine o’clock, n.: an appropriate time of day for starting to drink wine
snackable, adj.: (of online content) designed to be read, viewed, or otherwise engaged with briefly and easily
barbacoa, n.: (in Mexican cooking) beef, lamb, or other meat that has slowly been cooked with seasonings, typically shredded as a filling in tacos, burritos, etc.
cupcakery, n.: a bakery that specializes in cupcakes
The Two-Way challenged their colleagues to see who could use the most new additions in a single sentence. Here’s Lauren Hodges, THE WINNER!!!
“Hey bruh, NBD and I don’t want to bants or act all butthurt, but I will straight-up rage-quit our lease over your fur-baby, who is rly not awesomesauce, despite your repeated attempts to mansplain its resting bitch face as “pensive,” or its constant theft of my frozen barbacoa burritos because it was hangry and craving something melty even though you get all cheffy for it three times a day, or its butt-dialing my ex because you didn’t see my phone sitting there while you were getting it to kayfabe all over the table for your rando friends, or my swole eyes being from my constant celebrations of beer o’clock and wine o’clock because we both know that dog manspreads all over my pillows when I’m not home, so stop with your weak sauce deradicalization and attempts to make this a skippable topic and by the way, you might want to get it to stop chewing my shoes before it gets hit on the head with this mic drop, mkay?”
For the complete list of new words – tech related, silly, political/social developments AND other mouthful-entries clickHERE
Although it’s officially National Dog Day I am celebrating National Human Day. (Have to toss humans a “bone” every so often)
Human-beings are weird crittersbut we canines love you anyway. We try to take good care of you but, as you know, humans can be stubborn, arbitrary and difficult to train. That’s why most of us prefer to adopt those of you who are already toilet trained, like to walk and can open the refrigerator. But humans who drool, roll around the ground and babble can be fun playmates even when they are as old as my human-being.
A Daddy-longlegs spider lives in my bathroom.It might be a Mommy-longlegs as she’s quite petite. My eyesight isn’t good enough to tell her gender. Even if I could I’m not sure what to look for . . .
I let her live there peacefully since we have a lot in common. She’s discrete,I’ve never seen her entertain overnight visitors and quite tidy as I’ve never found any droppings of left-overs from digested meals. She leads a very monastic existence as do I (on occasion).
I’m not afraid of spiders (except those bigger than my thumb). I try to steer clear of them because when I get bitten by one I have a painful, very painful, allergic response. There is a legend that Daddy-longlegs are deadly venomous spiders which, after careful research, I found not to be true:
“Daddy-longlegs spiders (Pholcidae) – There is no reference to any pholcid spider biting a human and causing any detrimental reaction.If these spiders were indeed deadly poisonous but couldn’t bite humans, then the only way we would know that they are poisonous is by milking them and injecting the venom into humans. For a variety of reasons including Amnesty International and a humanitarian code of ethics, this research has never been done. . . . Therefore, no information is available on the likely toxic effects of their venom in humans, so the part of the myth about their being especially poisonous is just that: a myth.”http://spiders.ucr.edu/daddylonglegs.htm
I hesitate to get too chummy or name her because one day, should she decide to venture down from her post on the window near the ceiling and try to share my counter space, I might have to kill her.
(And with that, I sound like much of the world fighting for and protecting territory. Perhaps it’s not so mysterious why we don’t have world peace?)
Penelope and I met a few years ago. I went for a carton of milk and there she was, an albino pig, in a grocery store. She was in a dangerous situation – it was only time before she ended up on the meat aisle. (OIY VEY) So for $9 I took her home with the milk.
I gave her a bit of color and a bow and she went to live in my therapy office.
Very few clients ever commented on her.I always suspected new clients didn’t quite know what to say and my long-term clients knew me well enough that they didn’t need to say anything.
Penelope retired the same time as Freddie Parker but she still has a lot of good advice:
How to Live Life to the Fullest
by Penelope the Pig, CPT, RET
EAT greedily all the delectable things life gives you.
Those of you who are regular readers know I’m a fragile flower. I blame it on the fibromyalgia (at least fibro is good for something). My system goes on overload if I watch, read, see, hear ANYTHING that is violent, sad or frightening. I went to the Minion’s movie and it was too violent . . .
So when I watch TV it’s either HouseHunter’s International (lookie-loo travel), The Hallmark Channel (always a happy ending) or the Golden Girls. Sophia is my new role model. She is wise beyond my years . . . and we have similar taste in food:
“I hate Jello. If God wanted peaches to be suspended in mid-air He would have filled them with helium.”Sophia Petrillo
“It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”
The class will run the week of July 27-31, 2015. It’s for kids (especially!), but also teachers, homeschoolers, parents, grandparents, or anyone who has access to a child and/or wants to tap in to the child inside!
If you sign up, no questions asked about your age!
The next time you come please do not make me look like a hedge-dog*.
Cutting dogs’ fur into perfect cubes, is the latest dog hairdressing trend to sweep Asia. “It is not known where the inspiration for the trend originated, but the look has been cropping up at dog shows around Asia in recent months.”
“Hairdresser Tain Yeh, who runs a parlour in Taipei told the Daily Mail: “It came about because people were always looking for more impressive haircuts, and somebody came up with the idea of shaping the dog like a hedge.”’ (HEDGE!, sounds like the Organic Green Revolution has gone to the dogs) . . . “The dogs don’t mind, (humph!, we are just too polite to complain) and the owners keep coming back for more. This sort of haircut needs a lot more maintenance than the regular type.”
“She warned that the look isn’t one which works for all dogs and has this advice for any British dog owners seeking to emulate the slick cubes: “It is also not suitable for all breeds. The dog needs to have plenty of hair to play around with so that you can shape it around the face and body.” (I’d love to get my paws on a pair of clippers and trim human-beings to look like a poodle . . . or a HEDGE . . . or a . . .)
Dear Human-beings and other creatures,Those of you who follow my posts know how frank and fundamentally illuminating they are (not to mention how fantastically informative about the human condition). This post is no exception as my story The Tree has an important lesson for all to heed.
Here ismy first (and possibly only) draft of the story. Those of you who appreciate and are knowledgable about this genre your “critique” would be appreciated before I am sought out by publishers.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a tree. (I frequently start my writing with “Once upon a time” as it lends a universal appeal to readers young and old) Its trunk was crooked and all its bark was peeling. Big roots spread all around the tree, some deep in the earth and some growing above the ground. The Tree lived in a park with other trees of its own kind on the far edge of town. Every day many dogs of differing sizes and persuasions came to claim the tree as their territory.
One day, after years of being claimed, the tree yelled at a big black dog with pointy ears and a black nose sniffing around its roots, “I am NOT your territory!” The big black dog didn’t care what the tree thought, claimed it for its own and walked on looking for more territory.
Within minutes a little white dog with floppy ears and a wet nose sniffed out where the big black dog had been. “I am a tree not a fire hydrant!,” the tree yelled at the little white dog who ignored the tree, claimed it for its own and walked on looking for more territory.
The tree, ever alert for impending indignities, spotted a medium-sized dog with shaggy brown hair and a pink nose approaching. Finally, after many years of being claimed by many dogs, the tree figured out that actions speak louder than words. So it picked up its roots and walked away.
The end of my tail
Frankly & Faithfully yours,
Freddie Parker Westerfield, Canine Dog Therapist RET, Author
Never heard of “eggcorn”? . . . neither had I but now it’s a new favorite:
“A word or phrase that sounds like and is mistakenly used in a seemingly logical or plausible way for another word or phrase.” Merriam-Webster, which included eggcorn among the more than 1,700 words added to its dictionary this past week
“Spread like wildflowers” is an eggcorn when used instead of “spread like wildfire.”
“Coldslaw” is an eggcorn if you meant “coleslaw.”
“Self phone” is an eggcorn of “cellphone.”
A very smart 4 year old was telling me about getting ready for school each day and he had to remember to take his furnace bottle with him. “Furnace bottle?” I asked. “Yes, you know, a furnace bottle………keeps your soup hot until lunch time………
She seduced him using her “womanly wilds” (womanly wiles).
For those of you new to my blog read the beginning of the story below to learn how Stroppy and her lonely astronaut ended up in the black abyss of outer space.
Writing challenge #3 – A 10-word story using the following 5 words: Fedora, Patagonia, pink, melancholy, and Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (apparently the longest word in the dictionary, meaning a lung disease caused by inhalation of very fine silica or quartz dust –which, as we all know, is easily contracted should you find yourself untethered in space)
Patagonia*, adjusting her pink fedora, cured her melancholy astronaut’s pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.
*”Patagonia” is one of Stroppy’s nick-names, which she often uses when feeling a bit frivolous.
Writing challenge #1 – A 20-word story, using the words, ‘fairy’, ‘tomato’, ‘stroppy’, ‘nuzzling’ and ‘astronaut’.
Nuzzling the alien Stroppy, the lonely astronaut watched the tomato-earth rise. Stroppy comforted him. It’s no fairy-tale in space.
Writing challenge #2 – use the following sentence in a story of any length: “I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this, I thought.”
Stroppy eyed her lonely astronaut tethered next to her in space I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this, she thought. Now that we’ve nuzzled it’s time. She bit cleanly through his safety tether and taking his gloved hand in hers pointed the jet thruster toward home. With a twinkle in her eye and terror in his, they zoomed off into the vacuum of space to meet Mom and Dad.
A strange and wonderful place this internet . . . Here’s a site which plays the song that was Number One on the day you were born. If there is a video available with the artist, it will play it for you.
The Pacific Northwest tree octopus (Octopus paxarbolis) apparently was first sighted in the temperate rain forests of the Olympic Peninsula on the west coast of North America.
However, since octopi, or more grammatically proper, octopuses (crediting Maggie Wilson , The Zombies Ate My Brain, for this important research) , are extremely intelligent (“Some evolutionary theorists suppose that ‘arboreal adaptation’ is what laid the groundwork in primates for the evolution of the human mind.”) it appears tree octopuses are acclimating to harsher and milder climes in their quest for survival.
I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this, I thought, as I wrote Stroppy and the Astronaut, part II for this writing challenge from Esther Newton. The sentence (in red) has to be included somewhere in the story:
Click here for my first “Stroppy Story” which might, or might not, help you understand this one.
Stroppy eyed her lonely astronaut tethered next to her in space I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this, she thought.Now that we’ve nuzzled it’s time. She bit cleanly through his safety tether and taking his gloved hand in hers pointed the jet thruster toward home. With a twinkle in her eye and terror in his, they zoomed off into the vacuum of space to meet Mom and Dad.