Our Own Private Idaho

 

This weekend Bob and I went to a wedding of someone who has been very special in my life.  She is almost a second daughter.  I worked with her on my first pilot, and for 4 seasons of a TV show about a "girl and her horse."  When we met on that show this beautiful young lady and I would develop a deep lifelong bond.  Only for her would I have gotten out of bed after being sick (still sick) with bronchitis all week.  I was too sick to shop for my perfect ensemble. For me...that's sick!   So I packed all my meds, inhaler, and some recycled wedding clothes at 10pm the night before we left.  I really had no business getting on a plane.  "I'm going even if it kills me." I had told the doctor the day before.  When Bob and I got married, this young woman had come all the way to Rome.  So what was Sun Valley in February, with bronchitis compared to that?

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Bob and I flew to Boise.  We could have flown to Sun Valley, but we were told weather canceled 50% of flights.  It was my first trip to Idaho, except for the movie. :-)  The rental car office had all of one employee in Boise Idaho.  She told us to "take the long way" as it had snowed and she wasn't sure about the roads.  We got into our Chevy Equinox (what kind of name is that for a car?) and headed to the only mall in Boise, Idaho.  We had to buy Bob a tie.  My dear husband didn't own one, which he proudly told to every Dillards employee who would listen.  I had to get pantyhose.  I had a pleasant surprise of running into a full sized, fully dressed skeleton in the makeup department.  

Our 4 hour trip began from Boise to Sun Valley.  It was gray and brown, and dismal.  In the distance we could see white peaks.  I learned they had lots of cattle farms.  Some not up to Temple Grandin's standard of care, or mine.  There was a wind advisory...and we saw many a "wind break" of trees.  It was desolate in parts.  I am always thankful when I drive through rough country that I was born in the time of history where I can drive or fly.  I had visions of wagons stuck in the mud, and long skirts, and cold cold nights.  The last 75 miles was like driving through molasses.  25 miles an hour on a 2 lane road.  I was texting my friend Claudia who was waiting for us there, and staying in the same hotel.   We got to Hailey.  Claudia was a welcome face to see after so many years.  The last time I had seen her was at her wedding in Vegas at the Graceland Wedding Chapel. 

So here we were, together again.  No Elvis this time to walk the bride down the isle.  No "Love Me Tender" sung by an Elvis Impersonator. When Claudia got married we were being picked up by a limo from the Wedding Chapel.  We stood in the busy drive of the Vegas hotel.  Claudia pointed to the white stretch limo....we all hopped into the limo.  Then someone realized it was the WRONG limo (they kinda look alike) and we all had to get out and into a different white limo!!! This one was a bit smaller and we were told by our driver that there were too many of us.  Oh Boy.  As you can tell by the photos above...we worked it out and we got to the chapel.

This Idaho wedding was a complete winter motif.  From the "save the date" postcard of a couple sledding down a snowy mountain, to the letter press invitations, ski lift tickets were our place cards, and table assignments named after Sun Valley ski runs.  Yes, at the lodge there was a moose head over the fireplace.  We were asked to sit in a heated clear enclosure that faced the snowy landscape.  The groomsmen filed in, and the groom followed and turned to see where his bride was.

As Gen came around the corner I was watching Jared's face.  He had tears in his eyes.  When their eyes met they both began to cry.  At that moment it was clear what all the songs are written about.  There wasn't a person in the room who couldn't feel their love for each other.  I cried through the entire ceremony.  I cried on and off all evening.  Because I was so happy for Gen. She didn't "settle", she picked.  There's a big difference.  I am so glad to be included and to witness their marriage.  Jared is an amazing man, and they are so good together. 

The evening flew by.  Below are photos of dancing.  The band even played a Black Eyed Peas song that Bob and I danced to: "I got a feeling."  Bob and Claudia danced.  One of the last songs the band played was Amy Winehouse's "I don't want to go to rehab!" Pretty funny, and we had a blast. Bob made sure he told everyone he'd never wear his polkadot silk tie again. Don't ask me what Bob is doing in the picture dancing with Claudia.  He's having a great time! As you can see in the last photo, it was time for me to go home and to sleep. 

 

 

  

 

Our time was too short together.  I wanted to talk to everyone more.  I am told they are coming through town this spring.  I can't wait.  Jared had to go back to finish shooting the rest of his TV show. Claudia was working on a commercial on Monday.  Our "own private Idaho" came to a bittersweet close.

Gen, Clauds, Jared, Bob:   LULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                           (love you long time is what we always text to eachother)

xo

Suz

Thanks for reading.  I'm still amazed that you do.

Next blog will be about the Groomsman Knives.

Good Hair: Don't say the "N" word.

My Father at 19, with hair.

At about eight years old I heard the word... "Nappy".  Irma said: "you got the nappiest hair for a white girl.  I think some of my people musta mix up with the massa."  From that day on- my quest began.
I was looking for that long and silky straight hair.  Peggy Lipton had the straight blonde shoulder length hair.  The kind that has a wide brush stroke of highlight.  I wanted long, straight and shiny hair.  Run your fingers through it, turn my head and it swirls through the air. I wanted to be the Breck Girl, Lady Clairol, and Lady Godiva.

It started long before I would be sent home from school for wearing corn rows.  Long before cream rinse had been invented.  My mother pasted my short curls to my head.  There are a few baby pictures of my curls.  But for as long as I can remember she was trying to "relax" it.   She gave up and pulled it as tight as she could into a pony tail.

I hated having my hair washed.  Afterword, the painful comb out using a tiny toothed black comb. This certainly is a form of torture that is under used. I'd beg my Mom at breakfast to leave the rubber band in and I'd smooth down the fuzz around my face. One day I took matters into my own hands.  I took the kitchen shears and cut off my pony tail at the rubber band.  Yes, the green or red rubber band that came wrapped around the newspaper every morning.  I was sent to my room "until it grows back."  That seemed like it might be an eternity even if it only lasted for one night.  But I was liberated!!!

When my Mom would do the comb out, I would hear the same litany.  "You got your hair from your Father's side of the family.  You were a bald baby cause it was hard for this kinky coarse hair to poke through your scalp.  Get over your tender scalp.  Some day you will be grown up and have your own hair dresser to manage this."  "Comb your hair!" She'd say when she picked my up from school.  Was she crazy?  The last thing I wanted to do was run a comb through this dry kinked up blonde mess.  She spoke to me as if I had a deformity of some kind.

Mom and Dad back in the Day!

As I got older I tried ironing it with a clothes irons, on the ironing board.  I had Irma bring me a jar of "relaxer"(sodium hydroxide).  Put that stuff on, and burned the living daylights out of my scalp.  I spent most of high school and college with a pony tail on top of my head, and a large empty frozen orange juice can  with my hair wrapped around it.  I left it in until the last second before I met my public. My father would say: "How many stations you get on that thing?"  :-)

 

1982 a "good hair" day

Occasionally I had my Jimmy Hendrix and Janis Joplin natural woman moments.  But they always felt bad.  I'd catch myself with some strange shaped shredded wheat looking stuff on my head. Recently I let it be curly for a few weeks.  I'd get that glimpse in the mirror and gasp.  It's not my best look.

Turns out Irma was a little bit right.  A genealogy search found me to be about 1.5% black.  And not from my Father's side.  I guess I knew it all a long.  Don't be fooled by the blonde hair and blue eyes.  My black friends called me "the dropper."  That cracks me up.

My Aunt with her French Bob 1920ish

Bob always says: "I never had good hair."  He's talking about himself.  In the days of having hair, it was brown and curly...not much different than my father's look at that age.  Things really haven't changed over the years.  Look at the models in today's magazines, they all have straight long shiny hair.  The same stuff I coveted in my youth, 30's, 40's, and now in my 50's.  I have a flat iron today...that does the trick.  Don't think I haven't thought of getting a weave.  But my budget won't allow me to buy that kind of ticket that needs maintenance and upkeep.  I like water far too much to get a weave.  Living in the dry Southwest has helped greatly.

When my daughter was about 3, my Mother took ownership of her hair: "thank God she has hair like me."  And breathed a sigh of relief.  Below is a silhouette my mom had made of me at 12.  She asked the artist to "smooth out' my hair. 

I saw Chris Rock's "Good Hair" special and it brought it all home again.  I recommend this HBO special to all with nappy hair like mine.

So I wonder: will today be a "good hair" day?  We'll see.

Thanks for reading.  I'm amazed that you do.

xo

Suz

PS. Those who read this post know "N" is for "Nappy."

Home Sweet Home

 

our kitchen table: a sight for sore eyes.

When we left the show hotel Sunday afternoon for Newark...IT started.  Our cab driver missed the exit for the airport, and got turned around on side streets.  His GPS screen dark as we meandered our way to American Airlines.  I saw the weather report for Chicago, our connecting city.  Not promising.  We boarded, they closed the doors and we "pushed" from our gate about 5 feet and stopped.  Our pilot came on and said we'd be sitting as Chicago had low cloud cover.  It took almost 2 hours to take off.

What do you do when this happens?  Nothing.  Years ago I went on a winter trip with some friends from Chicago to Michigan.  While at an Indiana rest stop gassing up, my friend locked his keys in the car.  We went into the restaurant and called a surly lock smith who wasn't too happy about meeting us, but agreed to come.  I saw a pinball machine and looked for change in my purse.  I was merrily flipping away when the "key locker" friend exclaimed: "what are you doing?!!"
"Playing pinball."  I stated calmly.
My friend was so upset at himself.  These things happen.  I handed him a quarter and said: "you play."
He was bewildered by my lack of suffering.  I was impressed by his need to suffer.  We both had a good laugh.  The lock smith hadn't shown up so I walked into the restaurant and asked the staff if anyone had a "slim jim."  No one did, but a cook from behind the counter that looked a bit rough around the edges said he had a coat hanger.  The man skillfully, in the freezing temperatures glided the hanger in and popped the lock.  10 bucks tip, thank you's,  and we were out of there.  The lock smith had over an hour to arrive and didn't.
So sitting on the tarmac I got to know the two women in my row.  One was a foreign exchange student from Portugal.  The other, a young mother on a business trip.  We had a blast.  The young mother asked what I had been playing (Wurdle) on my iPhone.  I handed it to her as I have to many an innocent who soon would be addicted.  She was up to 2400 in 15 minutes.  Hooked, and said she would be visiting an ATT store in Chicago ASAP.  I nodded knowing she meant it. We played a few games of "Set."  My time flew as we eventually flew.

As we got closer to Chicago I could see nothing but white.  I was resolved at this point to having a sleep over in my home town.  The Hilton O'Hare gave us a discount.  We had a lovely dinner, a movie in our room.  We made the most of it.  It was the same as being stuck in Indiana and playing pinball.  It just cost more quarters.  A toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and razor...$7.  What a deal.  No shower, no clean clothes, lots of rescheduling, and we boarded a 10:30 flight the next morning...at 11:30.  The snow was still falling, heavy clouds prevented any last views of Chicago from the plane.  Thank goodness JP our friend and animal sitter was able to stay.  xo to you JP!

A few last photos of NY knife show.  I got my meteorite hookup.  Above is a photo of Bob and the Meteorite man: Charles.  The Papa Smurf look is compliments of Niel from True North Knives.  He's a proud Canadian and gave Bob the Olympic hat.  When Bob saw the picture of himself he said: "oh God."

 

Above Steve D'lack in the middle presenting the Buster Warenski award to Koji Hara and a Swedish knifemaker, Anders Hedlund.  In the back to the left is my new friend Scott who showed me some of his Torelli Pens, watches, and flashlights!  He happened to be at our table when Rick and Lindsey came by.  Scott and Rick bonded over an LED flashlight that is called something very Star Trekish...right Lindsey? :-)

 

Above are two other "knife wives":  Joyce Minnick (R) from Indiana who works with her husband and does all the decorative engraving, and inlays on their knives.  She is a fabulous bronze sculptor.  I got to see her newest American Indian piece in the clay stage.  On the left is Nicole Reverdy from Paris.  She too is a bronze sculptor married to knife maker.  She is a "glassaholic" like me...always wearing kicky spectacles...a woman after my heart.  

We have a new table location.  We moved into the honored spot Frank Centofanti had for as long as I have been coming to this show.  I would have given almost anything to have Frank back with us.  I really miss him.  He constantly teased Bob and made me laugh.  On Friday I went to the hotel gift shop and bought a pack of green Extra gum in his honor.  But it just wasn't the same without Frank. :-(

The lovely Lydia delivered the "knife wife" illustration.  Now I can get t-shirts, etc. made.  She got to meet some of you. I loved seeing all the people I know from the USN forum.  Barbara and Scott Slobodian were there after a long absence from our show lives.  I met new people too, and I'd like to name some.  But if I forgot a name, I'd feel terrible. SO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!   Time runs so fast at these shows.  Until the next one, and we meet again...

I am home sweet home: Buddy at my feet, Columbus the cat head butting the laptop, two other cats watching my every move, and Bob is out in the shop grinding something...I can hear it. 

Thanks for reading.  I'm still amazed that you do!

xo

Suz

New York New York

 

Drew Barrymore's Grandma

We were up at 4:30 AM to fly from Albuquerque to Chicago.  Two and a half hours in a commuter sized jet would have been unbearable.  But Bob and I were so tired...we slept the entire way.  I woke up and looked out the window on a ground covered in white.  My phone dinged to tell me I had a text message.  Our connecting flight had been switched to another gate.  At O'hare...that can be quite a hike.  When I exited the ramp, I couldn't find Bob.  So I walked at quite a clip to make the next flight at the new gate.  I was in the next terminal and looked up at one of the screens to double check the gate.  It had been changed to another terminal. All the while calling Bob on his phone to ask him what his 10-20 was...no answer.   So I high tailed it to the next terminal and saw passengers boarding.  I rummaged through my purse and carry on bag.  No boarding pass.  But the woman at the gate said she'd get me another one.  I continued looking and found it as she printed out the new one.  Of course.

I was one of the last passengers to board.  I came to the seats on the boarding pass, both empty.  Where was Bob?  I put my bag in the overhead compartment.  Sat down and buckled up and tried Bob's phone again.  A young man came and sat in the empty seat.  He told me I was sitting in his seat.  I said I had misplaced my husband, which made him smile.  Then I looked at my boarding pass again because I knew something wasn't right here.  I had the last flight's pass and was in the wrong seat.  I apologized and gathered my things to go to the correct seat.  The young man said he hoped I found my husband.  I walked to the back of the plane and there was Bob standing at the right seats.
"Why were you sitting with that strange man?" he asked.
"I really don't know. I had the wrong boarding pass.  Never mind...where were you? I've been trying to call you?"  I said with fully ruffled feathers at that point.

We took off and flew over the North Shore where I had grown up and lived most of my life.  The lake was glistening and blue.  I could see every skyscraper.  I even saw the Evanston Lighthouse.  Seeing the Lake and familiar landmarks calmed me.  I always feel a sadness when I leave Chicago.  It will always be my home, no matter where I live.

We arrived on schedule a LaGuardia.  The sky was grey and soupy looking.  No line at the cab stand....we were on our way to midtown in minutes.  No traffic, no crowds, it was amazing.  The hotel lobby was filled with "fashion week" guests and "knifemaker guests."  Glaring dichotomies...at best.  So many knife folks and we were happy to meet and greet.  Up in our room the phone rang, friends knocked on our door, and so it begins.  The next 3 days will be a whirlwind.

Tonight we went with Scott and Barbara Slobodian and Niel to Gallaghers Steak House.  The painting above hangs by the coat check.  Framed photos floor to ceiling of celebrity.  I love to see the vintage ones.  Red and white gingham table cloths await platters of meat.

 

When you come in the front door there is the "room of beef!"  It looks like library shelves from a distance.  I shared my prime rib with Barbara...and here's what 1/2 and order looks like.

  

A mural on the wall of sports famoso.

Bob and Niel after a martini and glass of wine.  We had a great evening.

More tomorrow!

----------------------------------------❊❊❊

FRIDAY: Day 1 of knife show

Today the show opened at noon for VIP's and dealers, and at one for everyone else.  As usual there was a swarm at the table to see Bob's knives.  I had posted photos of the new "Athena"  on the USN forum.  I got to meet so many people who I have only known on the internet, and visit with others I have known for years.  

Above is the "Athena" as a frame lock.  

Lydia  who is the young woman that drew the "knife wife" graphic came to the show, and I got to see the original drawing for the first time.  Which I am taking home for t-shirts and other graphic goodies.  I introduced her to as many people as I could.  I am so proud to have her art on my blog.  Thanks Lydia.  She's in her last semester at SVA,  and has an incredible future ahead of her as a professional artist.  I asked her to please scan some of her work so I can share it on the blog.  I can't wait! 

I took her to the Stage Deli and we got pastrami sandwiches for all.  I got one sandwich for Bob and I to share and one for Lydia.  When the man at the deli handed her the bag she thought he'd put too many sandwiches in...cause it weighed a lot.  So I've had my pastrami fix, and sent her home with he other half.  I had a great time hanging out with her.   

After the show we went to Yoshihiro Shapiro's house for dinner.  He is the luckiest dog in Manhattan.  

His owner's Rick and Lindsey made a fabulous dinner for us.  Rick stopped at the Italian deli and we had crostini with arugala, prosciutto, parmesan and pistachios .   Then steamed fresh clams.  Followed by whole lobsters!  For us land locked New Mexicans...it was quite a treat.  And of course, I was cracking my lobster claw open and it exploded all over me.  I needed a bib!  Delicious home cooking New England style.

Pre cooking, Linds felt props were needed for my pictures.  As Rick lifted the live lobsters to put them in the pot Linds put her hand over her eyes: "I can't look!"   It was an Annie Hall moment for sure.

Yummy!

Our very tired hosts: Lindsey and Rick.  

We had a fabulous time.  XOXO

We were promised a visit on Sunday by Yoshi at the show.  I hope he can make it.  Everyone will love him.

More tomorrow!

xo  Thanks for reading!

Suz 

 

My Little Cupcake

Last year I had the pleasure of baking cupcakes with a good friend I met in the movie biz.  We worked together on Crash, the TV show.  He had told me he wanted to learn how to bake.  So we set up a time to do so which happened to be around Valentines Day. I gots to give you some background of how I met JP. He wears many movie hats: actor, stunt man, set dec.  I hope to see him more on screen in the future.

I worked with his older brother Keith on "Wildfire." I had met Keith on "Trade" a movie with Kevin Klein.  Keith was the voice of reason on the set.  He's an AD (assistant director) and AD's can be pretty gruff, and full of themselves.  But he had an old world southern politeness and I liked him immediately.  When we worked on several seasons of "Wildfire."  Occasionally we had time to talk and he would say:
"You should met my brother, you would love him." "You would get along great with my sister."  When I went to work on "Crash" both JP and Keith were working on it.  And Keith was right. I did love his brother instantly (I'm not alone, everyone loves JP).  We spent a long 5 months working on season one.  Both of them would say: "You should meet my sister, you two would get along."

Well, sister Rebekah came to New Mexico to do a public art project.  We met on Facebook first and discovered a mutual love for Lee Bontecou.  Rebekah's work reminds me of Bontecou. We had the pleasure of having all 3 for brunch one Sunday when Rebekah was here.  Each is so different from the other being fabulous in their own way.  Rebekah made the cupcake "blok" in the photo.  JP had given me a few of her "bloks" and "Cupcake" inspired our cupcake baking.  She also has a shop on Etsy:http://www.etsy.com/shop/rpotterstudio.  Check it out!

So the rest of this blog will be filled with photos of our baking day.  I taught him to make 7 minute cooked frosting and butter cream that we used to frost chocolate brownie cupcakes and coconut cupcakes.  Both recipes can be found in Martha Stewart's Cupcake Book.  JP strapped on an apron and we went to work.  Only a real man could rock a calico apron with such flair. 

 

  

  

  

 

Happy Valentine's Day to all.  Eat something sweet!

Thanks for reading.  I am still amazed that you do.

xo
Suz

Rescue Me

 New Years Day, 2009  "Buddy" came into our lives.  Bob and I had both lost our dogs within the last 2 years.  We had a new house with an acre of land that had a 4 foot fence around the WHOLE property.   We both love big dogs.  I had my heart set on a Bernese Mountain Dog.  Bob just wanted "big and friendly mutt."  Our new home and life together was ready for canine company.

We have 3 cats between us.  We love them dearly.  But they are not dogs.  My two are 15 years old.  I had gotten Bob "Lola"  from Craig's list.  I threaten to put her back on Craig's list if she doesn't behave.  My cats had lived with many dogs from our farm days, and with "Rosie" our last Golden Retriever.  So getting another dog would be easy for them.  But Lola had lived her first 4 years with one woman.  When Bob and I moved in together with my cats,  I don't think she spoke to us for 3 months.  Another blog post will be about Lola.

I looked on line for rescue places in the US.  I watch the "Dog Whisperer" with devotion on Friday nights.  Cesar had a story about all the dogs that had to be rehomed due to the mortgage crisis, and people losing their homes.  I wrote to 3 Golden Retriever rescue sites.  I filled out all the applications.  Some took hours to answer all their questions.  And I waited.  And waited. And waited.

On New Years Eve morning a year later I had 3 emails from rescue places.  The first was the Rio Grande Golden Retriever Rescue.  They had photos of "Buddy."  It was clear he was not a pure Golden from the photo.   That made Bob happy.  I called and set up a "meeting for New Years Day.  The lovely woman at the rescue said he was coming down from a ranch in Chama.  She would call me the moment he arrived.  All she knew is he was 3 years old, lived with small children, cattle, and cats and was neutered.   The next day as promised  the lady called and we went to meet him.

On the way Bob and I formulated a plan.  If one has never rescued or adopted from a shelter, the pressure is great to say yes on the spot.  So I told Bob we should look at the dog, and then excuse ourselves and go to the car and have "a talk."  He thought that was a splendid idea.  What if one of us had seen a behavior we were uncomfortable with.  We would have the freedom to talk and make our decision in the comfort and privacy of our car.

We pulled up to an acre property that was surrounded by chain link fencing.  It had several "yards" about 20' x 20' square to keep many dogs until they were adopted.  There were 3 lovely goldens in the house, all looking out at us.  The woman went to the back and came around with Buddy.  We were sitting on lawn chairs on her porch.  Buddy was looking all around, his eyes darting from the street, to us, and to the 3 goldens.  He was clearly lost.  The woman dropped the leash and he came up to Bob.  He put his head on Bob's lap and sighed.  Bob looked at Buddy, then at me.
"What's there to talk about?" he said.

So much for our plan, Buddy was going home with us!  We paid the woman their nominal fee.  Bob walked out to the car while I stood in the driveway with Buddy.  As soon as Bob opened the door Buddy walked to him and hopped in.  We drove home with 85 pounds of matted golden fur panting on the back of our necks.  Buddy had lived outside and his coat was heavy, his nails long, and he looked depressed.   His former owners had left a large bag of food, and his dishes.  We took those with us.  I felt he needed something familiar.

He had lived with 3 small children and his female owner for 3 years.  He looked out the windows for familiar places.  We offered him none.  We were new, and so was our home.  When he walked through the front door 2 cats stood there looking dumbfounded.  Lola came sashaying  into the living room and put on the breaks.  If a cat could say WTF, I know that's what she hissed.  She promptly sought higher ground on the back of the sofa.  In the picture below you see Lola high tailing it away from that damn dog!

Within an hour Buddy was napping in the sun on our front porch.  Lola went into hiding, and the two older cats watched from a distance.  For the next 3 days, Buddy did not eat.  He looked mournfully around for his previous owners.  Although we let him out in the yard...we kept a close watch.  My experience had been that it would take months for him to "give up" on going back to his previous owners.  Left alone he might try and find them on his own.  I had learned that they had left their ranch and were moving to an apartment.  I kept a close eye on him.

It is hard to see in the photo above, but his tail was matted into the fur on his back legs.  Besides needing grooming, he looked good.  Then I looked in his ears.  I could see cattle ticks in his ears.  So I got out the mineral oil.  Bob and I sat on the kitchen floor and I put a few drops in each ear and massaged them to distribute the oil.  This is a trick I learned on the farm.  The ticks will start to crawl out once the oil gets to them.  Sure enough, they started crawling and we caught and killed 3 very large ticks.  Grrrosss!  There was one left that didn't budge.  I would leave that  for our vet. :-)

When I took him to the vet for a check up the Vet was pretty impressed with seeing a cattle tick in a dog's ear.  He freely admitted this as he held the multi legged wriggling tick in his hemostats.  Walking up and down the hall showing it to the staff who oohed and aahhhed at the wriggling tick.   Later the Vet would find a BB under his fur on side.  Buddy had a tough life before we got him.

Those days of guarding the herd, and sleeping under the stars are over for this dog.  He is my shadow, and always sleeps with one eye on me.   His nails are trimmed, and his fur is combed.   Lola continues to put ads up on Craig's list in hopes of getting rid of Buddy.

This photo was taken his first morning with us.  Lola and Francis both having "airplane ears" listening for any dog moves.  Columbus sits next to me as I type.

 

Buddy on his rug in the kitchen watching me cook...ever hopeful I will drop something.   One of the traits of Buddy is his howling.  He hears the coyotes and starts to howl.  If we howl, he chimes right in.  And if I'm listening to Bluegrass picking, he howls with that.   We have family howling sessions.  It feels so good to howl.  When company comes over most want one howling session before they go.  

Below is a breakfast howl with Bob.

Columbus and Buddy watch me gardening.  Buddy helped me put the 150 bags of soil and manure into the raised beds.  I pulled a yellow landscaping wagon from the car stacked with 6 bags around to the back of the house.  It was me, the yellow wagon, and Buddy.  Back and forth, back and forth.

He's the light of my life.  We are still working on socializing with other dogs.  He spent his formative years guarding the herd from predators.  More on that later.

I know we rescued him, but I feel he rescued us.


Here is  a 20 second video of Buddy playing soccer in the house with our Grandson.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6V5MTjiJ94

Thanks for reading.  I still amazed that you do.

xo
Suz

PS. (do you say PS on a blog?)  Remember the 4ft. fence that went around our whole property?
Buddy can hop over it like a gazelle.  I used to let him out the door thinking he couldn't get out.  Then one day the false sense of security was pulled out from under me.  I called him and saw him trotting down the street towards me, and then he cleared the fence by a foot as he came back INTO our yard.

Still waiting for the Mother Ship

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHxxOKnH9YE 

On Saturday night HBO aired "Temple Grandin" the story of an adult woman with autism/aspergers.  To tell the truth, I watched it twice.  Temple Grandin had been my "beacon" of hope when my son was first diagnosed with high functioning autism.  "Rainman" was the only movie about autism out in 1993.  The end of Rainman broke my heart, and I can still see him leaving on the train in the end.  So Temple Grandin's story was my focus.  "Thinking in Pictures" was her first book. It opened my mind to a world I hadn't even known existed, until "A" was here.

The first Autism conference I went to had Temple as the keynote speaker.  They introduced her and she walked up to the podium dressed in her signature vintage cowboy shirt and tie.  She told stories of her childhood, her adult triumphs and struggles.  The entire room was fixed.   Parents sitting on the edge of their seats. You could hear a pin drop.  She was the first adult on the autism spectrum I had ever seen.  Later that would change. After a morning of hearing parents complain about their schools, service providers, etc.-- she was refreshing.   When she finished, we applauded, and some stood up.  She looked away, almost embarrassed.

When we broke for lunch, there were large round tables that sat  8.  To my surprise Temple sat at my table.  A mother and her 13 year old daughter followed and sat right next to Temple.  The mother tried to engage her daughter to connect with Temple, but that wasn't happening.  The 13 year old was using her hands as well as her spoon to shove food in her mouth.  Food was flying everywhere.  Temple watched this kid.  Then, Temple turned to the mother and said: "She is eating like a pig! Just because she has autism doesn't mean she should eat like swine do!  You need to teach her some table manners.  It's gross!"  Temple slid her chair away from the table, picked up her plate and left.   The mother was stunned.  One by one we all left the table. The mother sat there trying to eat her food as her daughter reached over taking handfulls off her mother's plate.  It was gross, Temple was right.

At that moment a light went on for me.  My son was going to learn manners.  It was my job to teach him this.  That would mean work for me as well.  Most of the parents I met were so overwhelmed and focused on cures and blaming of vaccinations.  I felt it really didn't matter how "A" got autism.  He had it, and it was my responsibility to teach him things he would not learn on his own.  I also got fed up with "cures."  I tried diets, vitamin cocktails, and many other "cures."  What became clear was if I spent all my time trying to cure my child--I would not have time to teach him social skills he would need in life.  "A"'s father had the "bad hair cut" theory I saw so often.  People feeling they will somehow out grow autism.  My family wanted him placed in "a home."  Sadly my family never knew my son, as they could not accept him for who he was.  Acceptance of autism in my life came that day, and the work began.

Below is "A" relaxing with his chickens and safety glasses.

I loved these conferences.  I had landed on a planet with my people.  They understood, as few others could.  I went to a MAAP conference (more able autistic persons) and met a whole group of high functioning/aspergers adults.  When they walked into the lobby people stared.   In that hotel I realized that my son was going to be an adult in an adult world one day.  I was  made painfully aware of how people stared at adults who were different.  At this meeting, I met members of ANI.  ANI was founded by Jim Sinclair and was a group of adults who had autism that hung out together on the ANI internet list serve as well as real life.  They formed their own summer camp "Autreat" that we would attend that summer.  We met "Gnat" a woman from the internet with HFA, who would be a great influence over my son in years to come.
Below is Temple relaxing with the Herd.  

The Temple Grandin movie brought back many memories.  Temple was mesmerized  by sliding doors and hated to go through them.  "A" could not handle escalators, and we knew every elevator location in every store.  At one point she lay among cows in the hay.  "A" used to lay down and let his chickens walk all over him.  The painful scene when Temple's Mother was told to institutionalize her brought a lump to my throat, and tears to my eyes.  Been there, done that.  I always say my son had angels along the way: teachers, doctors, autistic friends.  Temple had hers too.  I had forgotten about "A's" obsession with infinity, until I saw Temple ask over and over again "where do they GO?" Meaning an animal or person who had died.  He used to ask: "what is infinity minus one?"  His math professor Grandpa (also on the spectrum) used to say that was impossible.  Years later we would find an article that sort of answered the question. Watching Temple hold her ears when her teacher/angel launched a rocket.  We had lots of ear holding, and my son wore ear plugs to school for years.  "A's" first grade teacher let him make intricate machines out of cardboard boxes and tape at recess that was too loud for him.

An interview the with real Temple follows.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xy5uYqRBQU

I sent my son to special camps in summer.  I felt it was important for him to learn to live without me.  And at 22 out on his own...it's paid off.  We really couldn't afford it.  But I sent him anyway.  And he got thrown out of a few camps, and plenty of schools for hitting kids and teachers.  Temple went through the same experiences.  Do you think my son wanted to go to these camps?  Nooooo he did not.  It was a struggle, to say the least.  Temple had an Aunt who had a ranch in Arizona.  "A" had Gnat who would let him be who he was.  Teaching to those strengths was the way forward to an independent life for both of these people with autism.

I am saddened when I see parents caught in the "cure trap" and not dealing with behaviors.  One mother I knew had spent 10 years trying different cures, and had a 17 year old who couldn't go anywhere besides school and home.  I am also broken hearted when I see parents "love them to death:" who keep the child at home into adulthood protected from the world by home.  By doing so, the person with autism has little chance of making it in the world without the parent.  Even though autistic people have a higher mortality rate than normal children growing up...I believed I was going to die before my son.  "A" being able to make it without me was imperative.   I was out spoken about these issues, to many a parents and school administrator's head aches.  "He's not going to be a child forever" I would tell the school.  They reached for their ibuprofin, or asprin bottles.

Oliver Sacks wrote a book: "An Anthropologist on Mars."  In it he has a chapter about autism and Temple Grandin.  Many people with autism feel they are "aliens."  Google "alien and autism" and the list is endless.  Recently I heard a man interviewed on the "Coast to Coast" radio program who said he felt the rise in children diagnosed with autism had a reason.  He felt they were here to "save the planet."  Wow, talk about pressure to perform!  "A" told me this one morning at 7 years old when I was trying to get him to hurry so he didn't miss the bus: "You are just my host mother.  The Mother Ship will be here to get me soon."  The Mother Ship has never arrived.  I hope they don't come and get him.  I love him as he is.  In Temple's book and movie she says: "I am different, not less."  Exactly.

Below are a few links to what I have just written about.  1 out of 100 boys are diagnosed on the autism spectrum today.  Most likely you will know someone who has a child with autism, if not your own.  I included Oliver Sacks, Temple Grandin's, ANI, Jim Sinclair's " Don't Mourn for Us,"  and Wrong Planet for starters.

Thanks for reading.  I am still amazed that you do.
xo Suz


http://www.oliversacks.com/
http://www.templegrandin.com/
"don't mourn for us" by Jim Sinclair: http://www.autreat.com/dont_mourn.html
http://www.autreat.com/
http://www.wrongplanet.net/postt90878.html