Taste and See
In Psalm 34 of the bible is this verse that has always fascinated me:
O taste and see that the LORD is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
What do you think God/Allah would taste like?
I imagine a taste somewhere between caramel and French vanilla, something so sweet and tasty you barely have words to describe it, but some might think of apples or peaches or apricots –
what do YOU think?
“I’ve Never Seen a Diabetic Cat Before”
I arrived in Qatar with my diabetic cat, and quickly had to find a vet who could help me keep her blood sugar stable. I had been working for a year with a German vet who had all the latest equipment, but we were never able to fully stabilize my little kitty.
I was told there was a vet in Qatar, and fortunately, his office wasn’t too far away. We made an appointment and went for a visit.
“I’ve never seen a diabetic cat before,” he said. “I’ve seen one diabetic dog, and I will go on the internet and find out what to do.”
Diabetes in animals is relatively new, and most of the vets think it is a combination of more people having housepets, the pets living long enough to develop these illnesses, and the poor quality of the processed kibble we buy them. My little cat had been put on special foods, those expensive cat foods which have a guaranteed formula.
He was a very friendly and open vet – always had lots of customers. When my cat would have a diabetic crisis, he would take a blood sample and run it to the lab across the street himself, even with a waiting room full of people and their pets. He loved his job and he was very open.
On yet another visit when my cat was in crisis (it’s not easy to give enough insulin and not too much insulin, and that can vary even day by day) he took her into his surgery, and the floor was littered with dead cats in nylon net bags. Dead cats everywhere! All over the floor! I was horrified!
“It’s spaying day,” he explained briefly. The cats were not dead, just anaesthetized, and kept in nylon string bags to keep them contained if they started to come out of anaesthesia. Believe me, there are sights you don’t want to see. That is one of them.
Eventually, my little sweetie gave up the fight. She died in the car on our way, one more time, to the vet. Diabetes is a terrible disease, and when the body fails, it just fails utterly. It can only manage so much destruction.
The vet suggested another cat – he always had cats that needed homes – but we weren’t ready yet. We needed some time to grieve our little sweetie. Adventure Man said “NO MORE CATS” because his heart breaks every time we lose one.
And this was the same vet who, when we were ready, gave us the Qatteri Cat. He said he thought the Qatteri Cat looked like me!
If you have a cat who develops diabetes, it is not a death notice. First, go online and gather all the information you can. Thousands of people have diabetic cats who are living fine, normal lives, they have formed an online community, and they can give you support and information. There is special animal insulin made for cats, and special small syringes. Some diabetes can be controlled with diet alone, other cases require one, two or three shots a day. The cats mostly don’t mind. (Mine did.)
My sister has a diabetic cat, too, and she tells me that he KNOWS when he needs another shot and comes to her at his injection time. He doesn’t resist, he seems to know the insulin helps him. You will think at first that you can’t give injections, but you can. It’s amazing what you can do when you have to.
Qatteri Cat Gets Restless
Most of the time I am a morning person, but not this morning. The Qatteri Cat got restless around 3 a.m. He could come in, snuggle up, then run away and YOWL. He would jump at the door. He just couldn’t settle down.
I was sleeping the sleep of the just. I would half-hear him crying and pat the bed, which is our signal for “come snuggle up” and he would – for a few minutes, and then he would get restless again. I could not rouse myself to get up. Maybe a part of me knew there was a problem, but I couldn’t get past those sleep-waves.
Finally, around five thirty, I got up, did my morning things, fixed a cup of coffee and QC is nibbling at my ankles. Uh-oh, I know what that means.
I head for the Qatteri Cat’s small room and sure enough, I forgot to check it last night before going to bed. It is bone dry, there isn’t a single nibble left in the bowl. Qatteri Cat is hungry, and it IS hard to settle down when you are hungry. I filled his bowl, he ate ravenously, and now QC is snoozing blissfully, but I am wide awake.
“Madam, This is MY Job”
I had all kinds of ideas for my new garden – new climate, new challenges. Yes, I had been told that the climate was too hot for orange trees, but I want to give it a try. Yes, my gardening friends haven’t had much luck with lavendar, but maybe I will have better luck. I toted huge pots and bags of fertilizer, clipped bougainvillia and started more plants, wanting that half/half color, rising early to work in the cool of the day. Rosemary! Basil! Lemon trees! As soon as the weather began to cool, I planted my seeds to see what would sprout, what I could transplant, what would thrive. I’m willing to risk a little failure, but I was hoping for some spectacular results.
Inside once the sun had risen, having a glass of water, my front doorbell rang. Who could it be at this hour of the morning? I checked the security peephole, and it was the compound’s chief gardener. With him was the man assigned to take care of our house. He really didn’t know a lot about gardening.
“Madam,” the chief gardener started, with a wave of his hand indicating all the new potted flowers on my entry stairs, “this is MY job.”
I stood there, looking stupid.
“Madam, your job is to tell us what you want. You don’t want to take our work from us.”
I was stunned. People who garden, all over the world, share a sheer love of getting our hands dirty and watching gardens grow and thrive, we love the patterns, we love the floozies who get all the attention, we love the characters who give depth and texture, and we create the backgrounds, the stage, on which they dance.
Slowly, slowly, we worked out an arrangement. I would bring in pots and plants, the gardener would actually pot them – but I would show him exactly how I wanted it done. From time to time, I would pot one up myself, late at night when no gardeners were around, and he would pretend not to notice. I would do the starts from seeds, he would tend them. On a hot afternoon, he would occasionally drop by and take a rest in the garden, and I would pretend not to notice.
I didn’t achieve spectacular. I had some failures – lavendar and orange trees. I sometimes wonder whether we form the garden, or the garden forms us? My results were not what I had envisioned, but it had its’ own beauty.
Working together, the gardener and I created a lush paradise, a backyard retreat where my husband and I would sit in privacy and enjoy the bougainvillia, and the lemon trees, the pots of rosemary and basil and jasmine, making the garden aromatic as well as beautiful. The Qateri cat would enjoy the marvellous smells, and track the occasional bird who dropped by.
With the cooling temperatures in Kuwait, my hands are just itching to get dirty. 🙂
P.S. Those are illustrations, not my real garden.
Cretan Olive Oil
This response is to a post I wrote October 25th on The Olive Oil scandal, that even when you buy a brand you have thought is reliable, you may not be getting what you paid for. For me, it was particularly horrifying to discover they were adulterating the olive oil with hazlenut oil – I don’t have a severe allergy to hazlenuts, but they make the insides of my ears itch. I avoid hazlenuts!
I keep getting such good responses to the post – and I have a partiality (disclaimer!) to small producers of anything, from olive oil to soap to pecans . . . I love buying from the entrepreneur.
Which is why I have taken this response from the comments page and made it an entry. Thank you, Mr. Sassone, for your thoughtful addition to this subject:
It is indeed a shame that the majority of the olive oil on the American and world market has been adulterated by unscrupulous sellers looking for enormous profits.
That is why I started growing olives on the island of Crete, making extra virgin olive oil-EVOO, and importing it to the US. I personally observe all steps in the process from the time the olive flowers bud on the tree until the EVOO goes in the can. I know it is the cleanest, freshest, highest quality, and most healthful EVOO you can buy at any price.
I also offer all customers copies of test reports from independent laboratories that show the exact quality. Acidity is 0.17%. Total polyphenols are 165ppm. Peroxide value is 6. Nothing can compare at any price.
When people buy EVOOs that are labeled as a mix of oil from several countries, they must take this into account: How clean was process to gather the olives? How clean was the factory that processed the oil? How clean were the trucks that transported the oil to the ship? How clean was the ship that transported the oil? You can see where this is going. At any one or more of dozens of steps in the process, contamination can occur. Some of the olive producing countries do not have food the safety standards like the European Union or US Food and Drug Administration.
My curiosity got the best of me. Recently, I sent samples of 13 EVOOs sold in the US for lab testing to find out just how good or bad they are. I dont have a web site just yet, but will publish the results as a comparison to my oil. So long as I keep complete control of the entire process, I can improve the quality of my oil each year.
My EVOO is now available in the US. It is the finest quality and most healthful EVOO you can buy at any price. Send me and email if interested. kretareserve@cox.net Thanks. Tony
Grandma’s Ginger Cookies (for 3baid)
This is a very soft dough. It is easier to work with if you chill it before rolling, but even then the rolling pin and rolling board should be well floured, and you need to work fast, before the dough gets too soft again.
Preheat the oven to 400°F / 200°C
1 cup molasses (Brer Rabbit Green Label)
1 cup sugar
1 cup hot water
3 teaspoons baking soda
3 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
5 cups flour
Add hot water to molasses, sugar and shortening. When well mixed, and cool, stir in sifted dry ingredients.
Roll out to 3/8″ thick, sprinkle with sugar and cut with cookie cutters. Place on lightly greased cookie sheet.
If you are making gingerbread boys and girls, use raisins or small hard decorations for eyes and buttons, and a small slice of candied cherry for the mouth.
(Grandma said use Brer Rabbit Green Lable Molasses, but here in Kuwait, use whatever molasses you can find! I have seen some honey-molasses that looks like it would make a good gingerbread cookie.
Pop in the oven, bake for 10 minutes – maybe a little longer if your cookies are thick. They should be soft and chewy, but cooked through.
She Did Everything Right
When I was a little girl growing up in Alaska, we had neighbors who lived just across the creek. Our neighbors had a daughter 6 years older than me; she was my first babysitter. Growing up, those six years made all the difference – we didn’t know one another as friends, the gap was too great. Our families were very close, however, and when my parents would go to parties at her parents house, they would take us and put us to bed in her bed.
I saw her now and then through the years, but our lives were in different places. When I was just getting married, she had big boys, by the time my son was a teenager, hers were getting married and going to college. We reconnected in Florida, of all places, where we both ended up at the same time due to our husband’s jobs.
Having our Alaska childhood in common, having grown up together and knowing each other’s family through all the years created a strong bond. We saw each other often; she was like a big sister to me.
She always had it all together. She had a group that bicycled together every morning, and then had outings later in the day. She was a fitness buff, and ran in the mornings before she bicycled. She kept herself thin, and she loved to cook, but she could eat what she wanted because she exercised it all off.
She was a reader, and would pass along the really good books to me. She and her husband were also news buffs, so when we would get together with our husbands, there was never a dull moment at the dinner table.
She and her husband were sent to Egypt, and to Rumallah, and to China, and they made the most of every minute. They loved traveling, they loved their sailing boat, they loved their family. They would come to visit us in our places of the world, and we would have great reunions. They were so alive.
She could be annoying. She would chide me about not exercising enough. She would comment on how much food people ate. She always knew the latest in medical research to back herself up. She kept her mind active, and she kept her weight down. She exercised, she travelled, she took care of her parents, she did good works for others. She did everything right.
A couple years ago, we joined her and her husband for dinner. She hadn’t combed her hair. She weighed about 20 lbs more, and didn’t seem to notice. She couldn’t remember the last book she had read, and she couldn’t remember her recent trip to Mexico, or an earlier one to Spain.
It’s been downhill since then. Her loving husband is strong and able to care for her, this once-beautiful, sprite-like, spirited woman. I think she still knew me, when I saw her last summer, but she can no longer really express what she is thinking. She is restless, up and down from the table, and not able to participate in the conversation.
I am haunted. I am so much like her; I tried to live up to all that she has taught me. A part of me wants to scream at God “This isn’t fair! She did everything right!”
Perhaps doing everything right gave her a few extra years, and I am just not seeing things from the right perspective. Meanwhile, I get no answers, and my heart breaks when I think of her.
Hokey Pokey Cat
My latest giggle from I Can Has Cheezburger? I know it looks like the Qatari Cat, but it is not.
moarfunny pictures
Time for a new Mac
Last night, as I checked this blog, all of a sudden everything froze. Now and then that might happen. I turned it off, and rebooted. Nothing.
You know that feeling of sheer panic when you think you might be cut off?
I let it rest – sometimes when you walk away, it fixes itself. And sure enough it came back on, and I could log on and even picked up some e-mail. Maybe four minutes in, it froze again.
I bought this Mac in April of 2004 – I know, because I was back in the US for Sporty Diamond’s wedding, and I uploaded my first photos into iPhoto. I was IN LOVE. iPhoto lets me manage all my photos so easily, lets me organize, helps me in so many ways.
I have never had a moment’s problem with this computer. I’ve upgraded the operating system a couple times, tweaked things here and there, and never had a problem.
When the new Macs came out recently with the new operating system, I was feeling envious, but honestly, my current Mac is running so well . . .
Now, however, Adventure Man says “hey, this sounds like a great time for a new computer!”
He he he he he – I think so, too!
I hate to leave my current Mac behind – he has worked so hard, we’ve been partners, we’ve had so much fun together! Seems like he’s had enough, though, and it’s time to move on.
Wind Up Lights for African Homes
My husband gave me a wind-up flashlight (British English = torch) and I love it. In movies like The Blair Witch Project or crime movies, the flickering and dying of a flashlight always foretells something really really bad is about to hapen. I love it that I have a flashlight I can keep winding up.
In our national legends, we have Abraham Lincoln doing his schoolwork on the back of a shovel, next to a flickering fire. That must have taken real dedication. Imagine what your own life would be like if we had no light after sundown. . .
From BBC News AFRICA:
The technology behind the wind-up radio could soon be helping to light up some of the poorest homes in Africa.
The Freeplay Foundation is developing prototypes of a charging station for house lights it hopes will improve the quality of life for many Africans.
The Foundation said the lights would replace the expensive, polluting and unhealthy alternatives many Africans currently use to light their homes.
Field testing of the prototypes will start in Kenya in the next few months.
Light and life
Kristine Pearson, director of the Freeplay Foundation, said few Africans in the continents most vulnerable areas had access to electricity to light homes.
“Their life stops or is very narrowed when the sun goes down,” she said. “Two extra hours of light would make a big difference to their life.”
You can read the rest of this article about developing this technology for Africa HERE
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