I am as anti-gun as anyone can be, but I'm troubled that we are focusing so heavily on gun control  after Sandy Hook.  According to reports I heard, the killer's mother went through at least two rigorous and  significant checks and procedures to obtain some if not all of her guns.  Further evaluations of potential gun purchasers is not a bad idea, but it is not clear to me that these new rules and regulations would have prevented this particular event, no matter how much I approve of stringent requirements for potential gun owners, which I do.

I am absolutely in agreement that we need to understand and restructure the way we handle mental illnesses; however, again I'm not sure earlier intervention or stricter controls over the mentally ill would have prevented this event.  What strikes me that I am not seeing addressed so far is that we live in a culture of violence in which movies, advertisements, TV shows and video games create super exciting "action" scenarios that are replete with horrific violence.  In less graphic times a disturbed person with issues such as those which must have prompted this killer he might have taken his own life quietly and though tragic, such a taking may well have spared the other 27 people who died in this event.  What I see influencing this event much more significantly than his access to his mother's weapons "of mass destruction" is the excitement of going out with a huge bang.  Just like a video game, or like the movies or upcoming TV shows (even series)  that I shut my eyes and mute my TV to avoid the previews for.

Frankly, I can think of no other really strong reason why he should go to an elementary school and take the lives of innocent and defenseless children and their teachers.  Can you? 

Little Black Sambo

When I was a child, I recited for my class during kindergarten nap time the story we knew as "Little Black Sambo".  Yes, I too cringe at the title, but this would have been in 1943.  I am told that I did this so well I was asked to recite it for the whole school in one of the regular all school assemblies at which families were invited to attend.  My mother affirmed this story, saying that I should have remembered this story because I had made her read it to me over and over, no matter how many other stories she offered to read.  She also noted that I had recited the story flawlessly at the school assembly including the exact inflections that Mother had always used.

This memory arose as I have been reading a recent Alexander McCall Smith novel from his Isabel Dalhousie series in which the main character has a toddler son who insisted his mother read this story to him over and over again.  As the author wrote, "The current enthusiasm was a once-suppressed book about a small boy who is stalked by a tribe of fightening tigers. . . ."  I know that story.  It ends with the tigers chasing each other round and round a palm tree until they turn into butter.  In the novel Isabel in discussing the story noted "'I know it's a classic, but I really have had enough.  And it's so full of . . . well, every sort of assumptioin that we don't want people to make.'"

I can assure Mr. Smith, a favorite author, and his charachter, Isabel, that I have grown up to be no more biased than any other crusading liberal civil rights advocate. Perhaps as little children we don't recognize the stereotypes more knowledgeable adults see.  Or at least we don't adopt them as stereotypes when we are really just enjoying the thought of bright clothes and tigers chasing themselves in circles until they turn to butter.

The lamps are unplugged and the towel is in the drawer

He's not biting as much or as hard as he was a week or two ago, but he's running faster and has learned how to play "catch me if you can."  I chased him around the dining room table and thought I had him, until I saw him go a ways, then stop and turn back, knowing I had changed directions to catch him.   He is no longer showing up between my feet where I was seeing him just in time to avoid falling on my face and/or crushing his little foot.  I don't remember puppies being this energetic or relentless, but I was younger then as well.
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At first I was praising him when he peed or otherwise took care of his business during our frequent trips out of doors, but I've come to realize that this praise does not yet have any real effect on his behavior.  He  doesn't seem to process my soothing, happy tone of voice for its actual meaning.   Perhaps less soothing sounds now and then will give him a reference point.  That may well come soon.

He is less demanding when he is in his kennel, but continues to pick up with his mouth and chew on pretty much everything he can find - rocks,bugs, dried leaves, dirt, file drawer handles, corners of the couch and, occasionally, on a chew bone or treat actually meant for that purpose.

I was delighted to find that he did not like the taste of the bitter apple spray that is meant to discourage his eating my furniture.  There is hope that some or all of that might be spared.  The kitchen towel is in the drawer so that he does not tug it down from its hanger and race around with it enticing a good game of tug with one of his relatives.  Some of the lamp cords have been generously sprayed with bitter apple and others are at least safe from conveying a dangerous shock.  He has started climbing the three back stairs to the kitchen from the back door and is trying hard to figure out how to get in through the dog door.  And he has earned his first title.  He's officially an LLM - Little Loud Mouth.  Eventually, I suppose, he will be a BLM - Bigger Loud Mouth, like his cousins.  I'm sure he'll frighten off all intruders and be well worth his keep for saving us all.  Right now his LLM is used only for self gratification, and I am trying really, really hard not to reward this behavior by letting him out or otherwise responding.  It is helping, but we have a long way to go. 

On at least one occasion, the little loud mouth was removed from the bedroom to the downstairs kennel, so I could sleep.  He wasn't fussing, just playing with his blanket and toy and thumping on the crate in intriguing  and unexpected intervals.  He seemed well rested in the morning, and, thankfully, so was I.  He's actually been good at night.  For all the disturbances, funny, scary and sometimes annoying tricks, this little sweety has added to my already joyful and love filled life in a very positive and delightful way.  Just one look with a few energetic licks from him for good measure and pretty much all of life's worries and stresses simply evaporate.

Rediscovering my Inner Woman

Yesterday I went shopping, somewhat spontaneously.  At the Hanes outlet store, I bought what I had come for, then I stepped across the street to wander around the Ann Taylor factory store.  For the past probably 30 or more years I have not set foot in any stores selling dresses and feminine blouses and general women's stuff.  This is the logical outcome of the fact that I rarely wear anything but t-shirts and elastic waist pants; however, I am looking forward to showing a Boston Terrier that I co-own at our National Specialty Show in Houston next month.  I want to look my best in hope this beautiful dog will be taken seriously.

After some tryings on and consideration, I bought not just one, but two pretty dresses (40% off)  in styles I don't remember ever wearing before.  Chuckling to myself  about my uncharacteristic purchase, I headed back to the Hanes shop for some "shaping" undergarments.  With some trepidation I explored the depth of this odd impulse to see if it might be strong enough to take me to the make up counter at Walgreens or the high heeled shoe section at Dillards or, heaven forbid, to both.  With a sigh of relief I realized I am not interested in that - yet.  Then I remembered that I have been taking Estrogen for almost two months and am directed to continue this indefinitely.  I will have to be very careful in the future when these impulses come along.

Bad News! Good News!

And so it came to pass on the 30th day of December, 2011, that I decided to look more closely at this odd occurrence on my left tit; and soon discovered that it clearly was a "lump".  That left me with Saturday, the 31st, Sunday the 1st, and Monday, the legal holiday, to anticipate the end of my life as I've known it.  First to adjust to living with only one tit - ok, that's not too hard.  Then to adjust to the idea that I might have treatment that would destroy my hair and make me even more noticable in a crowd - ok, I can handle a little attention.  And finally, to wonder "what about if it is really bad and gets worse, how much time would I have to mend my friendships and finish all that I still wanted to do in my life?"  Ok, that was a little hard.  Bottom line, it was a long three days.

But, eventually, Tuesday rolled around and I had in quick succession a mammogram, an ultra sound and a biopsy.  By Thursday I knew there were cancer cells in that little lump, and I had an appointment with a really good breast specialist the following Tuesday.  After an MRI on Wednesday of that week, I was scheduled for a lumpectomy on Friday, the 13th.  In that successful operation my surgeon removed the lump, checked the lymph glands (they were free of cancer) and sent me home to recuperate.  I'll be having radiation in the near future and then will move on with my life.  An interesting two weeks, but the outcome could not be better in the circumstances.  I have a new respect for life and the challenges we face.  And I have an awesome number of good people who are my friends and very, very much for which to be grateful.

My advice: If you are at risk, or if you find a lump, for which you should be regularly checking, DO something right away.  Get your mammograms regularly as recommended.  Don't sit around worrying - that accomplishes nothing.  Move forward and take charge.  The best way to assure good news is to act quickly and early.  Life is short already - don't make it shorter by putting off what needs to be done.