The Wildcat Sanctuary

Yesterday, a friend and I took the long drive out to the Wildcat Sanctuary in Sandstone MN. I was really looking forward to visiting the facility on its 10th anniversary.

I prepared by buying a cap with a long bill to keep from getting my nose sunburned (as it is prone to do). I bought a big tube of sun blocker, plus water and snacks. Most important of all, I bought new batteries for my digital camera so I could take lots of pictures of my favorite animals, the cougars. I dearly love cougars (or mountain lions, if you prefer).

I was very impressed with the beautiful place they have created for all the rescued cats that have been treated so badly. The cats, born in captivity can't be returned to the wild so the Sanctuary provides habitat as close as possible. Many of them arrive at the Sanctuary sick or injured, distressed and hating humans. Some spent their lives confined in garages or basements, some were housed in cramped filthy cages and rarely fed. But with kindness and good care, they eventually begin to experience the joy of sprawling in the warm sun or in the shade of a tree, they can experience the fun of splashing in a pool or opening an "enrichment package" to stimulate their senses.

I really want to take some good pictures of the cougars. We were guided into the section called Cougar Cove which is still under construction. It's going to be fabulous when it's finished!

I was all ready to take lots of pictures to post on my blog. Well, as it turns out, digital camera screens are totally washed out by full sunlight. I couldn't see if I was aiming correctly, or if I needed to zoom in or if the subject was even in the picture. The pictures I wound up with were useless.

I think I had better luck using cheap "throw-away" cameras. At least, you had a view finder you could see through to snap a picture. I resorted to going on the Wildcat Sanctuary website and using some of their pictures for this posting.

Ignore the woman behind the flowers

Every year for Mother's Day, my daughter gives me a potted mandevilla. They always do very well out on my tiny patio. This is me with last summer's plant in full bloom. I stood behind it so I wouldn't detract from its beauty.

The sad-looking plant next to it is a cherry tomato. My housemate puts out patio tomatoes and various herbs each summer. The herbs do well but the tomatoes never thrive. The leaves turn yellow and drop off. This plant produced a fair number of cherry tomatoes, but they weren't very tasty. Much as she has tried, the plants bearing bigger tomatoes haven't done well in past years either-not even when she bought expensive started plants. So, this year she got some Minnesota-specific tomato seeds and started the whole packet in plastic tubs on the dining room table (which made for much finagling when we had guests). They are outside now, scrunched together on the patio behind all the herbs. Time will tell if they produce-- but I'm not getting my hopes up.

The really odd thing about all of this is--she doesn't even like fresh tomatoes! Go figure.

In a perfect world, I would have been...

Once in a while, you hear people say that they love their job so much they can't believe they're getting paid to do it.

I spent my life doing a wide assortment of jobs: working in factory boning chicken for Campbell's Noodle Soup, working in a freight company office, hospital business office, and in an insurance company (interspersed by about 20 others over the years.) None of these were what you would call a "perfect fit" for me. Looking back and taking all of my interests into account, I've finally realized that in a perfect world, I would have been a world traveler and producer of wildlife documentaries.

I might have sat on a Rwandan mountainside with Dian Fossey and watched gorillas. I could have trekked through the jungles of Gombe with Jane Goodall to observe the chimpanzees. I would have gone on National Geographic Expeditions to exotic places to do award-winning films about thought-to-be-extinct animals.

Of course, this would assume that I was strong and athletic, that I had photographic/cinematic skills and that I had no family obligations. Oh well, it would have been great fun. So, tell me, what's version?

WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN YOUR PERFECT LIFE?

Why I won't get the H1N1 flu (maybe)

Good news! A recent news article states that blood tests on older people (over 52) show we have antibodies from previous flu epidemics that protect us from this new virus. Well, Hot Dog!

The first H1N1 flu epidemic in 1918 was called the Spanish Flu. Every flu virus descended from that strain until 1957 when the Asian Flu (H1N2) came along. I caught that version while I was in the early stages of pregnancy and had a miscarriage a few months later. I escaped the Hong Kong Flu (H1N3) in 1968 but was laid out for three days by the Swine Flu in the 70's.

I get a flu shot every winter, take lots of vitamins and supplements and take my prescriptions faithfully. Still, I spent my winter suffering with a persistent bad cold, followed by the flu, in addition to having a massive cold sore (on my nose of all places!) and a stye (for the first time in decades). These are all caused by different viruses so it seemed my immunity was unusually low. I asked my doctor why I was catching everything.

She smiled at me and said, "It's because you're diabetic."

It wasn't until later that I realized she had considerately refrained from saying, "It's because you're getting old."

So even though I'm happy to know that my age will protect me from the new H1N1 flu, all the other viruses are out to get me!

This is not a horny toad

In reading yesterday's post, I realized that I gave the impression my dad left his family behind when he went to California during WWII. Actually, my mom and I also went. During the four+ years we lived there, my three siblings were born.

Even though I was five when we moved back to Minnesota, I have a lot of memories of California. Especially Walter Harrison Moore. Walter's dad was in the Navy and while his dad was away, he and his mom lived with his grandparents next door to us. Walter and I were the same age and great friends. We were going to get married when we grew up. I haven't heard from him since 1948 when he lived in Santa Barbara, so I think it's probably over between us.

My memories of the house in Van Nuys include the lemon tree in Walter's front yard and the fig tree across the street. I once picked a fig and bit into its gritty center--now that's a memory that lingers!

I also remember the dead horned toad in the gutter by the curb in front of the house. And I remember well how sternly my mother would correct me when I called them horny toads. It was many years later that I figured out why she was so adamant about it.

There was a big playhouse in Walter's backyard and my dad built a slide, swings and sandbox in our backyard. We had sturdy steel tricycles and concrete sidewalks to ride them on. That was a great time to be a kid. (So what if there are hundreds of glitzier toys on the market today? We had it good.

Recently I was going through some old documents and found a letter sent to my parents in Van Nuys with the street address. Out of curiosity, I went online and was able to get street level pictures of the neighborhood. What was once a quiet, tree-lined residential street is now blocks of adobe style condos and apartments, broad busy streets and no trees. It's certainly not a place where you'd want to raise your kids.

Memorial Day

My dad was never in the armed forces. He was a child during WWI and over 30 with a wife and baby when WWII broke out. He worked in a lumber yard in a tiny Minnesota town at the time. He decided to move to California and work at the Lockheed Aircraft plant after Pearl Harbor. (They needed workers badly and had even stooped to hiring women!)

I never knew what motivated him, whether it was high paying jobs, patriotism or restlessness. Probably a little of each.

After my parents died, I inherited all the small black and white pictures taken during the 40's in California. There's one of my cousin Norma looking really sharp in her WAC's uniform, another of my dad's cousin Leo in his Navy uniform, and my uncle Wes in his Army uniform.

Wes married my aunt Leona during the war and then shipped overseas. He was captured and held in a Japanese POW camp. I'm told he never talked about the experience. He went on to become a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy who died of lung cancer from the cigarettes he started smoking in the service.

Some years later, his son Steven went to Viet Nam and came home with his body and his psyche intact. He married and had a son, Troy, who has now served three tours in Iraq.

War touches every family, all generations, through all time. And it never stops!

Pic-a-nic time

Here's my recipe for potato salad. Everybody says it's really good (although I suspect they say that so I'll be flattered into bringing it). It's time-consuming but lasts several days in the refrigerator--and even tastes better with time.

MY POTATO SALAD

5 lbs cooked, diced potatoes (I prefer Yukon Golds or Red Pontiacs)

2 to 3 bunches green onions, chopped

2 to 3 ribs celery, chopped

6 to 8 hard-boiled eggs

3 or 4 c Miracle Whip

1/3 cup each vinegar, yellow mustard and sugar

1 t salt and pepper to taste

Method:

Peel and boil potatoes in salted water till done and cool completely. Finely chop onions and celery and combine with diced potatoes in a large bowl.

Peel boiled eggs and cool completely. Place egg whites on a plate and egg yolks in a medium-size bowl. Chop or mash the whites and combine with potatoes.

Mash yolks with a fork in the bowl and add vinegar, mustard & sugar, salt & pepper and the Miracle Whip (not mayo). Stir together and refrigerate.

(I often add the chopped onions and celery to the diced potatoes the night before so the flavors combine. Then I boil the eggs and add the rest the following day.) This recipe feeds my whole family with leftovers.