All posts by J. Stern

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Pug McSnore

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I walked in the door and the little old pug was snoring on the carpet in the entryway. It was a very exposed place to be sleeping and seemed a bit odd. She was a loyal little girl and probably fell asleep waiting for me. Her snoring was somnolent and every time I listened for more than a minute, I became hypnotized and started to doze myself. She was in a deep sleep and I called her name. She didn’t stir. I bent over and said her name more loudly and still she didn’t move an eyelash. I nudged her and she snored on. Then she stopped breathing. I pushed her and her body moved like a soaked sock full of sand. The thought rushed to my mind that she maybe she had passed, but hadn’t she been breathing just a moment ago when I walked in the door? Suddenly her legs stretched and she inhaled a deep noisy breath and got to her feet. She looked at me and wagged her tail. I proposed to her, “C’mon, let’s get something to eat.” She was off like a rocket and shooting to the kitchen.

mcsnoreThat’s a pug.  They love food.  They love fun.  They most definitely must have descended from the Sybarites.  My sweet little pug even has my scheduled memorized so she knows when it’s the best time to head into the kitchen.   She knows the routine and as soon as she hears my footsteps she’s there to greet me with her huge soulful eyes and dog smile. She spins with joy and snorts to the heavens that it’s time to eat!  She’s expectant and watches my every move. Anticipating a small morsel of something, anything.  She believes in equal opportunity. No food is discriminated against.  She gets chubby quick, so I hold back.  It’s so fun to feed her, but when she gets too round, she can barely waddle.

Ms. Pug McSnore likes to cuddle too. She makes a warm companion,  with a thick coat that feels like velvet. Her little body is warm and comforting and she makes a great winter cozy.  She’s the antidote to insomnia.  Take her to bed and you will quickly find that her deep breathing would seduce any insomniac into the  shadowy land of Nod.  If only physicians could prescribe pug snores rather than sedatives.




Taking a pug out in public like having a living  social network follow you everywhere you go.  Constant exclamations of “Oh, she’s so cute!”, ” I love pugs!”, “She’s so funny!”, ” Can I take her picture for my girlfriend?” follow you as you move through the store, the groomer’s, the dog park and even the parking lot. People are happy when they see a pug and by the end of my errands, I’m smiling unconsciously and I’m happy too.   The world is happy because of this one little Ms. Pug McSnore.

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Salvage

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash




I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to attend the Redlands Historical Glass Museum auction some weeks ago. I wandered through the coolness of the host’s dark, ancient house. The air was calm, but gently stirred by the other guests attending the function.  We all moved quietly and carefully, navigating spaces between ancient furnishings, books and each other.  Long tables were set out with small delicate glass dishes that sparkled and caught the faint rays of light permeating the room. Beautiful antique furniture, carved carefully and with love, stood sturdily and elegantly in their places.  The dark wood glowing and emanating a warm and earthy smell with hints of oil and polish.  The walls reached upward toward lofty ceilings coated with glossy dark paint, the color of an overripe strawberry.  I gazed upward at the vaulted ceilings coated with ancient plaster. Small rivulets of cracks twisted indiscriminately across the palette of plaster. I knew the air was cooler up there, because I could feel it circling softly around my head.  Burnished mirrors hung strategically around the room to reflect  light that managed to make a path into the dim room. This was salvage.  Preservation.

When I moved into my old house over a decade ago, I was entranced by the thought of waking up everyday surrounded by old wood, wavy glass, carved molding and soft wood floors. The essence of many lives lived, were within the walls and permeated the old structure.  The home had been well cared for and loved and that’s why she stood so solid and still as the decades past.  Her joints and fittings holding strong and true.  Her foundation rising  rock solid from the old farming dirt she stood upon.  She had been cared for well.  This was preservation.

Part of preservation is salvaging.  It’s hard to find new parts for old houses of the same quality from hundreds of years ago.    If you get into the process, it’s important to connect with resources and delve into it.  Preservationists are a unique breed.  They usually love history and everything left that’s still tangible and connected with it.  Every part is valuable, even old nails, fittings and broken tile.  You never know where that odd piece might fit.  To connect with another likeminded salvager is a joy. To know another person that understands the joy of finding that perfect piece or working on something until it becomes just what you need to complete a project.   Salvagers often pass pieces back and forth just for the joy of sharing a find or finding it a safe home.

It’s not easy work.  Old house parts are musty, dirty and old chemicals often cling to the pieces.  The parts of an old house are put together so well that it’s difficult to wrench pieces free.  Besides using brute strength, you have to use grace and coordination to make sure you twist and pull just so, or the piece maybe fatally deranged beyond repair. You must pry and  tap with just the right amount of pressure as not to leave marks in  old wood grain or on old metal pieces. Why do it?  Why expose yourself to hot old houses caked in grime and toxic chemicals from the past?  Because beneath it all lies the treasure and a legacy.  A legacy of craftsmanship that stemmed from people being proud of their trade and working hard in every sense of the word. Craftsman, who worked with their hands and crude tools to create beautiful and incomparable pieces of a caliber that is little seen today.




Among my travels perusing the various local events that offered to lovers of history  I ended up at the Peter Weber House in Riverside the other day. I had some vintage light fixtures I’d found abandoned in my alley and thought they may come of use to  a local restorer. The Old Riverside Foundation manages the salvage program there;  they  have a great collection of salvage and I needed a front door too.  The Weber house is a work of art and a fine example of old world craftsmanship.  Weber, a local architect; who built his home from scratch in the 1930’s, created artful patterns using brick and carved wood.  Every inch of the house, from floor to ceiling has a creative flair. Many of the designs are Moorish in origin and inspired by his travels abroad.  He brought back a treasure trove of design inspiration which he incorporated into his home. Stars carved into wooden panels,  painted turquoise, coral and green, punctuated the panels in strategic locations.   It’s a tiny home, but completely magical in form. As I walked through the home, inspiration hit me and I tried to picture myself carving intricate wood paneling and placing brick in unique patterns to build my walls. Luckily, I had the morning free to daydream and take my time walking through the home.    On the way out, I picked up a really cool bumper sticker for a dollar to help save the Riverside Chinatown archaeological site.  This was a perfect morning to me, this was preservation.




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Paint Now




This is my mantra as of late.  I’m trying to be decisive about the colors to paint my house.  It should be easy, right?  Maybe, but maybe not.  I’ve learned recently that there are a lot of factors to consider.  I’ve also learned it’s easy to get caught up in the minutia.

First color. So many colors. More than ever before.  Over the past ten years, paint companies have become quite sophisticated and broadened their perspectives.  The last time I painted my house, the choices were definitely more limited.  There were the appropriate colors to use and that was it.   There were a few breakthroughs along the tropical lines, but mostly the palettes were sedate.

It’s exciting and beautiful to experience all  of the new pigments and I’ve found myself diving into color psychology.  Color has the ability to conjure up emotions and create ambiance.  I’ve been noticing that most houses are pretty sedate.   I’ve done some research and experts recommend that you blend in with your neighbors and not disturb the neighbor with distracting colors.   I’ve driven through countless neighborhoods to derive inspiration from the available palettes.  Some neighborhoods are quite colorful.  People using color liberally.  Bright colors abounding and calling out like colorful jungle birds. One colorful neighborhood in particular was colorful neighborhood in a historic downtown where people collect antiques and hot rods.  The culture here is patriotic and fun and a celebrated university is nearby.  Some other neighborhoods are subdued and tasteful. The colors make sense and blend seemlessly with the environment. This sensible and clever neighborhood was another historic university town. But the University here is private, well established and ranks beside schools such as Yale and Harvard. The top minds in the world gather here to be trained.




I live on a alley, so what is my environment? I have black pavement lined with green bamboo. Some broken fences, occasionally garbage, an old shed with a two tunnels running under it. One of the tunnels is  used by my cat, possums and squirrels and the other tunnel is inhabited by lovely bees.  My house is historic, a teacher built it and loved it.  She built a house for her sister across the street and there used to be a well worn path between the two. The houses were painted white then; as all middle class bungalows were.   Should I stay true to the era and history or go for something new and entertaining?

Probably not.  It wouldn’t suit the tastes of modern America where we have a myriad of choices for everything.   Not saying that’s a bad thing.  It’s all part of the process of advancement.  Evolving as Darwin would put it.  So where are my Darwinian inclinations taking me to?  To all kinds of colors and wishing I could use them all. I have at least three favorite themes; western, tropical and psychedelic, but probably western is the most acceptable for a house built in 1916 in a quiet family neighborhood. So this would lead to browns, tans, greens, reds, blue and maybe patriotic purple. The choice is there and I’m warming to it, but it’s not like the first time I chose a theme for the house. The first time, I was trying to bring out the best bungalow characteristics of my bungalow at that time. I was trying to incorporate elements of history while making a new statement.  For the green, I chose a deep forest green.  It represented health and growth.  A great color for that stage of my life, when I was raising two children and working on my career. I had four colors to create with rather than the standard three. I chose claret red, a blush tone and white for the other three. I tried to choose colors that struck a chord with earth elements. I ended up with one earth color, the green.  Bungalows were conceived as a new form of dwelling that was simple, practical and closer to nature.  The bungalow lifestyle was to inspire health and honor are connection with the earth.  Wood moldings and flooring were the major elements and the outside siding was often not painted and the wood stained  As America grew and prospered, painting became the trend and if you could afford a tinted paint, you were declaring your affluence.




The question is, should your house color really be some personal quest to reflect your personality? Or should it just be a practical process that’s not emotional in any  way. It’s funny  how some of us would never really think to deeply about a house color choice and then those of us who analyze, ponder and consider endlessly.  I found myself kind of tortured by the whole thing, which is such a contrast to how I felt about picking house colors a decade ago. I used to be excited by the idea and was very sure of myself and the statement I wanted to make to the world.  I wanted  to make my little craftsman, the best restoration possible on a single mom’s income.   This time; having lived through aging, menopause, children growing up, going away, getting married, family deaths, sickness, a tumbling economy, the emergence of the internet, a war and significant changes in the fabric of daily life, I found myself questioning a whole lot of things that didn’t even have anything to do with painting a house.  Somehow each color would stimulate my thoughts and my brain would be off on a jaunt contemplating the ways of the world and my place in it.

Photo by Talles Alves on Unsplash

Finally, the process was wearing me out.  I decided to drive through more historic neighborhoods and just pick a theme that looked nice and that I could picture myself going home to everyday.   Once home,  I looked everything over and then cut swatches from the paint store color wheel.  I  picked colors that felt good and would blend harmoniously with the neighborhood and nature.  I decided to pick and stick no matter what. My stomach churned and my throat muscles clenched.  I did some deep breaths and convinced myself this anxiety was ridiculous.  I smiled my brave smile; my everything is always OK smile.  I conjured up my family member’s voices in the back of my head, coaching me and telling me I could always paint over it and start over if it didn’t work out.  I buckled down and picked.

The next day I handed the colors over to my painter with my deepest apologies for my indecision and delay. We went over the scheme and where the colors would go.  They were kind.  I played it cool.  The deed was done and I prayed secretly that I’d figured it out.

 

 

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Drive of The Artists


Photo by Rob Morton on Unsplash




Being a field nurse definitely has it’s perks. Especially if you enjoy getting out and seeing the sights and the land where you live. The other day I had an appointment  out in the East Valley beyond Moreno Valley and decided to take the back roads from Corona. This means taking Old Temescal Canyon Road to Cajalco Road and then heading up towards Lake Mathews and then traversing along  a two lane highway that passes Perris and then feeds into the East Valleys. The best part of this drive is when you reach the top. The air is cleaner and cooler up there and the sky a clear, happy shade of blue. Hawks and assorted birds are abundant. The view is spectacular. On a clear day, Mount Baldy is magnified and visible. Defining characteristics are easily made out. The cities of Chino, Ontario and Rancho Cucamonga sprawl before the mountain base and street grids lay like a tattoo against the valley floor.

Back in the 80s the Inland Empire was still a sleepy and slower kind of place. Downtown Riverside was filled with antique and thrift stores throughout the historic downtown. It was a treasure trove of history. Historic buildings remained untouched by progress. Many without plumbing to the upper floors. The shops were jam packed with vintage dating back to the 1800’s.  The Mission Inn, the historic gathering place of auspicious city fathers and visiting presidents,  was struggling to arise to it’s former glory. The Inn rested, waited and hosted the public in the truest sense of the word. A restoration and fight to preserve the unique national landmark was underway.




The shops were filled with old paintings that depicted the landscapes and vistas of the Inland Empire. a consistent theme was one of the mountains and valleys in varying shades of dusky blue with a hazy purple and pink sky. I always thought these artists had  great imaginations and were embellishing what they saw. Now having lived in the area for more than 30 years; I realize I was wrong. At certain times of day the landscapes do become an assortment of dusky shades and of blue and green and the skies morph into a purple and pink haze.  It’s absolutely stunning and moves the soul. These views beckon the past often depicted in old cowboy novels and a past that is not really that far away. Riverside had managed to stay lightly developed until just recently due to it’s distance from Los Angeles. I love that these paintings appear to embellish and veer off into fantasy, but are in fact a realistic interpretation of how the valleys and mountains appear here.

These lands are the high desert.  Sometimes receiving water and sometimes not.  More than a hundred years ago, brave men and women came to seek a new life, better health and opportunity in this harsh, but forgiving landscape. Leaving cold and crowded cities for the sun and room to grow.  The air was dry and clean and the land unspoiled by industry and harsh chemicals. It was a place to start new and become great if you wanted to.  If you worked hard enough, success was yours.  The climate was warm compared to the frigid climate of the East.  Muscles and tendons relaxed and the lungs opened.  It was relief not to have to fight off the cold. The energy freed from the burden of fighting against the elements was directed into new and exciting adventures.




Moving across the ridge, I drive through countryside dotted with small developments. It’s scrubby and green at the same time and birds soar overhead relishing in the clean, clear currents. As I drive, I wonder how long these areas will remain fairly unspoiled and host this relaxing drive. I  quickly remind myself to stay present and appreciate this. This is the best gift that anyone could receive and it’s ongoing and there for the taking.

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Mockingbird Miss You

Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash

There was time that I was lying awake at night for several hours in the middle of the night. It was a real bonafide case of  insomnia, caused by many things, but once I understood the physiology of it, it didn’t bother me too much. I always feel calmer when I understand a process and why it’s happening. I committed myself to rolling with it and figuring it out. It was new foray into human psyche and physiology; a couple of my favorite subjects. I figured that if I got really tired anyway, I would eventually pass out from the fatigue and my body would sleep. So I decided to make the best of it. Sometimes I’d get up and clean. For some reason it really made me feel clear as if I had cleaned my own inner psyche. Most of the time this would result in a fall into the restful crevice that I craved. I would drop off, my obsessions worked away with a dust rag and mop.

Another favorite was listening to complete albums. When I was young, before the internet, this was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Once the internet arrived and civilization moved into high speed living, I seemed not to have those hours anymore. Hours to just lay back and passively receive the magic of taking in a musician’s journey. Lying awake for hours in the night was the perfect setting for intense musical appreciation. I could float along on a timeless wave of notes drifting over my staring eyes and weighing down my eyelids until they were too heavy and closed with sleep.

The one thing that I enjoyed the most about this time, was a bird that took up residence in a tree near my window. My new guest was a mockingbird and he literally sang the night away. He would start his song at about midnight and carry on till about 4 am.  At first I didn’t realize it was one bird. Mockingbirds imitate other birds and don’t repeat a song during the course of their concert. It was amazing to listen to the endless variety of birdsong. His voice was loud and strong; so strong that he kept my neighbors awake too. The mockingbird made being awake in the middle of the night fun. It was wonderful just to lay back and listen to the endless birdsong and contemplate the mysteries of the world. As the spring progressed, his skills became more adept. His song became louder and more precise as he matured. He seemed to be somewhat of an opera star, loud and proud. I pictured him with a puffed up breast, his beak raised to the sky as his song rose into the night air reaching for the stars. He was really demanding, but seemed to deserve the attention he worked so hard for. He was consistent. He showed up on time. He was talented. I felt lucky.

Photo by Linh Pham on Unsplash

It went on like this for at least a month. My neighbors wearily complained that they were losing sleep and they didn’t love this bird like I did. I got it. I know not everyone appreciates gifts; even when it comes for free and has been there all along. I knew that most people when awakened in the middle of the night were disturbed and not delighted; unless it was a lover. Then suddenly, one night, the air lay silent. The night had been  abandoned by birdsong. The music that had provided entertainment through the wakeful early morning hours when most of the world slept and dreamed was no more. I was disappointed and a little disoriented. I really wished that he would come back. My ears seemed to ring with the silence that had once been filled with music and entertainment. Now I would have to move on and let the insomnia roll once more and take it’s course.

The next year another young mockingbird appeared, but his song was not as confident and his range seemed decreased. He sounded smaller and he progressed with time, but not to the heights of his predecessor. The  year following that, there was no return at all. Pretty soon I forgot about the bird. I forgot I had insomnia and life fell into a normal routine again. But sometimes, out of the blue, just like the night he appeared in my tree, the memory of him returns and those wakeful hours we spent together.  Him, joyfully entertaining the neighborhood and me, enjoying a concert when I needed it the most.

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My Bees

Bees are truly amazing. They are supposed to be insects, but they seem to be far evolved from an average insect. They have an advanced animal kingdom form of communication that indicates they have intellect and cognition. They are choosy who their friends and enemies are and base this on a variety of factors. For their friends they will make delicious honey and for their enemies they will terrorize them, to keep them away from their colony.




I was so excited when I found I have a colony of bees living under my shed. One day I opened my back door and looked down my alley, to see a swarm of bees furiously buzzing and colliding. After sometime the chaotic activity diminished and only a small portion of the original swarm lazily flew around the same location. Later on as I was walking past my shed I noticed them flying in and out of the bottom of the shed. This continued on for days and then finally honeycomb could be seen peeking from beneath the wall. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any honey coomb I could harvest. First, I didn’t have a bee suit and second, I knew nothing about gathering wild honey. But it was amazing to think that there was actually a thriving bee colony in my own backyard.

I thought about the new colony and what it meant. People liked to walk by my shed which was situated on a pretty alley in the center of the historic district of town. Would the bees chase them or would some person, thinking they were helpful, remove the prized colony?




It worried me. I knew that that honey bee populations were rapidly diminishing due to loss of habitat and farming practices in the United States. I didn’t want to be responsible for losing even one more of these small precious workers. I treasure the sweet treat they produce that’s loaded with immunity boosting properties. I use bee byproducts myself to prevent colds and infection. Propolis was one of my favorites. Propolis is derived from the materials that a bee deposits to build and protect the hive. It contains proven antimicrobial properties. It always gave me a boost, especially if I was feeling fluish.

Another great attribute of bees is their venom. One time I actually stepped on one of the bees that had scurried under my back door during the night. At first, I didn’t feel anything except anger and wanting to pulverize the small aggressor. How dare he come in and attack his host for the night?  Then suddenly a deep throbbing pain shot up my calf from my foot.  The next feeling was an odd numbing sensation and then the arthritic pain to my knee disappeared. For a full day, my knee was pain free.  My anger quickly morphed into bliss and wonder and  the miracle of that  little sting. I researched the phenomenon and discovered bee venom therapy; known as Apitherapy. I found out it had been around for thousands of years. Patients must be clear of venom allergies first and then it can be used to treat painful medical conditions. It has been proven to be quite successful for the relief of pain. Mellatin and Adolapin are two factors found in venom. Mellatin decrease inflammation.  Adolapin decreases inflammation too; but also contains pain blockers. The bee venom also increases the circulation and decreases swelling. I felt wistful and wished that people could understand how amazing bees were and what important contributions they make to our world.

Pretty soon the bees were making nightly visits to my house. They would crawl under the back porch door during the night. They were attracted to the light I left burning at night that cast a warm golden glow. They would crawl under the door and fly to the light, some would make it as far as the inner rooms of the house. At first I was a little frightened. I had seen old abandoned homes where whole walls had become a giant beehive. I knew that there had been several honey farms located in this part of town at the turn of the century and maybe their ancestral instincts were guiding them to reclaim their territory. I learned to capture them without causing harm and send them on their way.





I really love bees. I love that they make honey and I love how they are yellow like sunshine and soft and fuzzy. I think their stinger is cool and amazing- the perfect weapon. I could easily become a throwback from the agrarian days of my city and participate in telling the bees; a ritual believed to bring good health and fortune. Families would ritually tell the bees of new babies being born, deaths in the family and other significant changes to the family. If the bees were kept in the know, they would stay and continue to make honey. But I knew I couldn’t let them start living in my house. So I learned how to block them. I found a way to block their entrance and they don’t come in anymore.

So, I had bees and I love that. I say had, because since I published this article, the bees were removed.  Occasionally, I’ll see one small lost bee hovering about, but the colony is definitely gone.  I’m glad they were here though and proud they chose my shed and  built a thriving colony. Luckily they were under the shed and not in it. I wish they had been capable of being domesticated and viable companionship like a cat or dog, but they are what they are and close companions they are not. So I enjoyed them from afar and helped them as much as I could.  Hopefully they were moved to a bee farm where they can fly through the sunlight on warm lazy days and be free to  make honey without being threatened.

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Parisienne Breakfast, natural and healthy

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Later in life and once I had enough resources, I made it my mission to recreate a breakfast that defined my initiation into the ways of the world, literally. When I was 20, I moved to Europe and my first stop was Paris. After a very long transatlantic flight and taxi to the our hotel located on the border of  the red light district, I would be ushered into the breakfast room that changed my life and beliefs about the world completely. That first European breakfast would be a vivid memory for the rest of my life.




The breakfast room was a small bright room with huge old windows hung with lace curtains. The morning light of the gray Parisian morning filtered through the backwards lettering that spelled Hotel Des Arts. The tables were old, with linoleum tops, the table legs resting on a painted floor. The room was old, vintage, but one of the cleanest rooms I’d been in.   The aroma of fresh robust coffee filled the air with underlying tones of fresh bread and steamed milk. I felt incredibly fatigued by jet lag and hungry from lack of a real meal for about 24 hours. A waitress came to the table and asked for my drink order in French. After I gave her my order, a basket containing a fresh baguette and croissants were placed on the table with fresh butter and a pot of strawberry preserves. Small containers of plain white yogurt were placed on the table and then a pot of steamed milk and a silver teapot filled with steaming coffee. It didn’t seem like much compared to the choices I had at home, but once I partook of the this Parisian repast, I found it was delicious and satisfying in a wonderful way. It was simple, but completely gratifying. I was  full and the fatigue was slipping away. The flavors of coffee, hot milk and patisserie with fresh butter and jam blended perfectly. Later, I found out that this was the way the French lived. Creating their own unique blends of delicious and natural foods from ancient recipes and traditions. Cuisine that satisfied the soul.

That started a train of thought that would not leave me for the rest of my life. I was determined to recreate that first Parisian breakfast. Once I returned home, I would seek out bakeries in grocery stores, restaurants and freestanding establishments  to find the perfect croissant and baguette. Thankfully about 20 years into my search, French culture hit the US with the opening of a famous coffee chain based out of Seattle and specialty grocery store that went national. The grocery delivered the patisserie, pain au chocolate, in particular, via the frozen food section. I could buy the frozen treat and have it baked and ready by the next morning. Of course, it was nothing compared to the real thing found only in the morning in Paris, but it was amazing how after eight hours of rising through the midnight hours that buttery, flaky crusts actually came out my Southern California  oven. It seemed there were a thousand layers of delicious buttery  dough that melted in my mouth. The last layer, a thick ribbon of dark chocolate lay slightly melted but holding it’s form. The perfect ending to the delicious pastry.




For the coffee, the new coffee chain opened, bringing espresso to the United States. So finally I had most of my ingredients for that mystical French breakfast that plagued my memories and created a longing that went on for years. The last ingredient was a plain, unbelievably creamy and tangy French yogurt. I found that most of the plain yogurts here were Greek and too thick. The European style yogurts didn’t really capture the simple and pure style of those first yogurts. I tried Kefir, goat yogurt, you name it, I tried the gamut.

Then finally and unknowingly, the yogurt that I had dreamed of for 30 years was in my fridge and I had no idea it was there. I knew I had just bought yogurt, but I didn’t  think it would be ‘the one’. I was having a lazy day and didn’t feel like putting my glasses on at the grocery store. I asked the young clerk if he saw a plain cup-sized yogurt in the case. He found me one and said , “this is the only one that we have left, it’s our store brand and I’m not too sure you’ll like it. It’s low fat too, so I’m not sure you want this. ” I really wanted a plain yogurt in a cup, so I took  a couple of cups from him and stored them in the fridge without a thought when I got home. The next day, I sat down to breakfast and opened a cup of that very American, no frills plain cup of low-fat yogurt. I  looked into the cup and immediately felt a twinge of nostalgia and faint feeling of recognition. This yogurt appeared runny, but creamy and it clung thickly to the sides of the cup. An aroma similar to a dairy milking room wafted up from the cup. Memories of the Parisian breakfast room began to appear. I dipped my spoon and tasted the French imposter. The yogurt slid over my tongue with satin creaminess and tanginess that I hadn’t tasted for 30 years! It was ridiculous the joy that I felt over that generic yogurt. It was one of those funny little jokes that life  will play on us every once in awhile. Searching everywhere in vain for something that was right under my nose.   Maybe, over the years, I just didn’t recognize that taste from that long ago, but for some reason, my mind wanted to believe it and that made me really happy. I decided to go with it and the wonder of discovering the missing link I needed to recreate that life changing experience from years ago.




So that’s how I managed to recapture that wonderful first morning in Paris. The quest is over and the idea no longer plagues me. I didn’t have to leave that wonderful memory behind and now every morning I can have a little bit of Paris.

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Nursing A Dog

How I helped Bella, my dog,  live a good life with Displasia.

My first blog about nursing a dog and not a human.

About 4 years ago, I was grieving over the loss of the best dog ever, Rocky.  I think I still am in a way and I’m starting to wonder that as we age, maybe we are all constantly grieving the people and things we’ve lost as time passes.  But that’s another story and now on to Bella-It had been a year since I had to put my beautiful dog Rocky to sleep. He got the Big C and we had to put him out of his pain when he got to the point that he couldn’t tolerate his own breathing.  When I started to get over his departure from us, I decided to get a  new puppy and that’s when I added Bella to the family. I ‘d always wanted a Chocolate Lab, but couldn’t afford a pure bred, so I went to the local ad sheet  delivered to my house.  I didn’t know at that time, but occasionally the breeders that advertise  in these ads tend to over breed to increase their profits. I’m not trying to disparage this fair trade and many of these breeders are excellent,  producing beautiful and healthy puppies.  I found Bella via these ads. She’s a  beautiful, huge, chocolatey dog with a luxurious, soft coat meant for sinking your fingers into.  She’s outgoing, friendly with zero aggression in her demeanor. She smart, easy to train and the best companion anyone could ask for -and she’s had health issues ever since she turned one.  She’s way too young for this and that’s why I’m almost 100 percent certain it’s due to overbreeding.

It started at about the time she turned one.  I noticed she wasn’t sitting on her hips. She had a really cute posture and sat just like a human on a comfy couch with their legs to the side displacing the weight from the hips.  I also noticed that when we went for walks, she came back exhausted and would pant for at least 15 minutes before her breathing became deep and relaxed again.  When she ran she hopped like a bunny with her hind legs.  I started to do some research and found out that these were classic symptoms of Degenerative Hip Disease or as Vets call it Dysplasia. I couldn’t believe that such a happy go lucky puppy could be struck with this disease.  I took her to the Vet and they confirmed my layman’s diagnosis.  The vet completed a very painful exam, which I had to abruptly request that he stop,  due to her whimpering and squirming. He offered expensive hip surgery and he ordered medication. I couldn’t afford a 2,000 thousand dollar surgery at the time-especially when there’s no guarantee that it would relieve her pain.  I decided to give the medication a go and explore holistic options.  The medication gave me hope, but when I gave it to her, she would become lethargic and listless. I thought what is the point if this will be her life? This isn’t a life for a puppy, doped up and unable to play.




So I went back to internet and started to research natural treatment for Dysplasia.  I found out that with gentle exercise, supplements and a lot of love that Bella could live a fairly decent life.  I started a relaxing exercise regime of once around my small block a day. This small, but effective walk is enough to loosen her joints and stimulate her senses.  Studies show that dogs need to smell, sniff and explore to stimulate the pleasure centers of their brains. The next component of her regimen was adding  joint supplements in the morning.  The supplements are all natural, full of vitamins and  contain glucosamine from animal by products of shellfish and chicken liver.  The supplements are supposed to support her cartilage, lubricate her joints and maintain her muscles and I really believe they do.   When I run out for a couple of days, she becomes quite stiff again and whimpers when she gets up. The last step  was a diet to remove the excess weight and take the pressure off her joints.  The diet is simple-decrease the amount of dog food,  add fresh veggies and fruit. Since I make fresh veggies and fruit for myself everyday, this was really easy. Just a few bites seem to do the trick. She quickly lost weight. All of this combined is working really well so far.  What started out as a sad dilemma is now a success story.  Bella is three now and I posted a photograph, so everyone can share in the beauty of her glossy coat and gorgeous form. Would you be able to tell something is different about Bella? Maybe if you’re really familiar with dog behavior and form.  She’s still a typical lab- perpetually playful, except that she tires easily, sleeps a lot and cannot pursue athletic Labrador sports such as frisbee chasing or making a hike with me. Her muscles are somewhat flaccid and her coat is unusually loose and soft like a velvet rug. The trade off is fine. I still have my Bella, we’ve been lucky enough to avoid a costly surgery and she’s always excited to be boosted into the back seat for  a trip to the dog spa or dog park.  She loves everyone and is our ambassador around here.  





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