Snow bunnies!

It all started with Dog Appreciation Month (April). I was carefully eating matzah ball soup at the nursing home with my grandpa, and I saw a sign in the cafeteria for Dog Appreciation Month. It gave me the idea: why not bring the polar bear Cooper to visit the residents? 

So the past couple weeks, I have been bringing the dogs to visit the residents of the nursing home down the street.  I had absolutely no idea what kind of impact I would have there until my first visit. Since my first visit, I can’t get enough of it.

 At my grandpa’s request, I brought Cooper, the 75 lb goldendoodle, a couple weeks ago. He was delighted to see him; yet was even more excited to escort me and Cooper around to visit the “old people” (as he, at 88, refers to the other residents). We knocked on doors and asked each person if they would like a visitor. I’ll admit, it was somewhat depressing observing the state most of the residents were in: hunched over in their wheelchairs, sleeping.  But when they’d see me at the door with a dog – an especially large and sweet dog – they would immediately perk up, smiles on their faces – and warmly invite me in.  Their hands would cautiously reach out and pet Cooper (it’s especially easy since he is at waist height when he stands). Huge smiles, lots of petting and offers of doggie treats, some would ask what kind of dog he was, others would ask what his name…and one of them even asked what my name was! And nearly all of them asked me to promise to bring him back again. 

So I miniaturized him and brought Ozzie, the westie, earlier this week. Most of the residents didn’t remember I came by before with another dog, but this didn’t bother me one bit. I can’t tell you the feeling I had as Ozzie and I walked room to room, with Poppa in tote, and greeted everyone.  

It seemed to make people’s day, to see dogs..and probably youth. We sat and people told me stories of their past, of their dogs, loves, travels and family. I again left the nursing home with a warm heart and happy – mostly happy because I saw the positive affect our visits had on the residents – but also happy that neither of my dogs did their business in the home. Again, my grandpa and other residents asked that I come back with the dog. 

Today I returned with Cooper. We first went to the dog park, which effectively drained him of all puppy energy and presented a perfect opportunity to bring the calm dog to the nursing home.  Our typical routine, we started in my grandpa’s room (he was waiting patiently to see Cooper) and then headed across the hall to visit a woman from Florida, then down to the end of the hall to visit my next-favorite resident. She was the only resident beside my grandpa that remembered a) what kind of dog Cooper was, b) that I had come before and c) that I brought a different dog last time. Needless to say, she was amongst the sharpest.  

Again, Cooper was the star of the show – residents, nurses, staff and volunteers emerged from their rooms to see him. He got new nicknames, like: the pony dog, shaggy the rug, and the grand-dog. People could see him strutting from down the hall, and I could see their faces light up as he approached.  My grandpa is (hopefully) going home next week – as he says, he’s bee “institutionalized” for 3 months now. I’m planning on bringing Ozzie and Cooper back again this week to see Poppa.  And even though he will be at home after that, I still hope to return every week.  

So people – if you have a dog and some extra time on your hands, go make a difference in someone’s life, even if it’s just for day. Take your pooches to the local senior center, assisted living, nursing home – whatever – and see what just a few minutes of interaction will do for these people. You will truly feel something so strong and amazing – and then let me know how you describe it. Clearly it’s been difficult for me to describe the feeling of a warm, whole heart. It’s something you need to feel for yourself.

Some pictures of the dogs: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2424602&l=e4f69&id=6814926

Tonight was an interesting one, starting with me finding myself in my first exercise class at the gym: Body Flow. Body Flow is “the yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates workout that builds flexibility and strength and leaves you feeling centered and calm.” I’ll note that this description is only relevant when your class isn’t cancelled in the middle of the ab workout due to storm sirens, as mine was tonight. I was actually enjoying the class. Lots of good stretching and the promise of Leawood arms. Then a woman came in, announced that everybody was being moved to the locker rooms because the storm sirens were going off. I’m no dummy…I would rather take my chances and speed home than be hurled around in the tornado with weights, treadmills and rowing machines (those fans could be dangerous).  I threw on my shoes and sprinted out the gym to my car, with the few others smart enough to get out and try to make it home. The sky was an eerie shade of green, indicative of tornadic action.  

My house is a short 5 minutes from the gym, which I learned tonight can be cut down to 2 minutes, especially when there was nobody on the road and I was cruising at 85 through the streets of suburbia. After all, I had to get home to save the dogs! I’ve seen the Wizard of Oz countless times, and I feared the fate of myself and the pups. I pulled in my garage safely – thanks to my roommates being in Lawrence, I got to use parking space temporarily during the storm – and literally seconds after I stepped inside the house, the tornado sirens screamed. 

Sweet. Just the sound I have always hated. Only when I was younger, it wasn’t so bad because my parents were home, and I’d bring loads of goodies into the unfinished part of the basement for entertainment during the storm. Being a big girl wasn’t as fun. I had to corral my dogs, who were miffed that they couldn’t go outside to do their business. I forced them into the unfinished part of the basement, near all the scary undergoings of the house, fencing them in with a gate so I could both listen to the TV and also keep an eye on the weather outside. This was not fun.

The sirens stayed on for a good 15 minutes, the weatherman saying to get in the basement and take care of your family. I clenched my dogs even tighter – I wasn’t Dorothy with Toto, but I sure felt like it (I don’t think Dorothy was toting her MacBook). 

Mr. Weatherman tracked the storm that was producing tornado-like effects (shelf cloud, hail, rain, winds), and pointed out that it was on a straight-shot to Leawood. This was especially shocking to me, as the small town of Leawood is rarely explicitly called out like that. Overland Park, Olathe, sure. These neighboring cities are about 55 square miles each; Leawood is a puny 15 square miles. Neither were mentioned, just my little ‘burb. Gulp. 

The sirens rested, though the tornado warning was still in effect. Hail shot down from the sky, lightening streaked and then there were moments of sheer silence. A native Kansas Citian, I know what that means. Ever heard the calm before the storm?  Clearly, in this case it refers to my natural state during Body Flow. I wasn’t exactly calm at this point, especially when the TV screen again lit up with tornado warnings hovering over Leawood, and the sirens broke the silence once more. 

After several various mental renditions of how “it would go down”, to my amazement the sirens quieted and the TV indicated the tornado warning had softened to a watch.  Phew. The storms moved to Missouri, and after staying downstairs for another 30 minutes just to be sure, my dogs and I left our captivity. All I could think of was poor Dorothy and Toto. They were relegated to an old house in the middle of boofoo, with their families hidden in some underground shelter outdoor. At least life in Leawood demonstrates progress.

Ok, not really. But just in case there ever is a fire, the lovely Bucyrus Fire Department kindly graced the office with their presence this afternoon. A fire truck and ambulance pulled up and two from the department came in to talk with the building owner (a.k.a Dad).  

It was just a “courtesy call” to walk the tenants through some precautions to prevent fires and understand what to do in case of fire. It’s a really good thing they came by, as I fear I would just keep on working right on through a fire alarm just like I always have.  Apparently what I learned by doing all these years – from alarms in college and on the job at my previous employer – is not really in one’s best interest in case of a fire. Working through the alarm because “it must be a test” is not a best practice endorsed by fire departments. 

The walk-through was quite thorough. I was really hoping for demonstration of “stop, drop and roll” - unfortunately, that was not part of today’s visit. The guys were very nice, even though they did not entertain my request for a fire pole that would assist me in getting down from the second floor in a hurry in case the place was up in flames. Oh well, as the Stones say: You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need. I did need a refresher on what to do in case the alarm sounds – immediately stop what you are doing, and go outside, far far away from the building. Personally, I may just take that opportunity to run through the fields across from the office, Fraulein Maria style.  

I wonder if my startup was in San Francisco, would I get the same personalized attention in life saving techniques? Probably not. It’s a good thing I moved back to Kansas  

Wow – last night, what can I say. I was tired all day yesterday, namely not being able to sleep because my sister left me with a terrible cold and I couldn’t breathe out of my nose. So I really didn’t feel like doing much at all after work, but my grandma asked me over to help her with some things around the house and then for some Bingo! I lost every game – was not even close to winning – but had a good time with all the cute grandparents.   

Then came the fun. I slept with two of the cutest guys last night. They are very close to being my best friends, though last night I could have killed the younger one. He kept me up ALL NIGHT. I awoke to the older one licking my ear at 3:30 am…he wanted to go for a walk. So I threw on my a sweatshirt and took a stroll at the wee hours of the morning in my PJs. All this adrenaline rushing, I couldn’t go back to sleep so I turned on a movie. Finished that, then kept tossing and turning.  Meanwhile, I began plotting my morning. I’d get up, watch the sunrise, then go to the gym, then go to work. Great plan, since I couldn’t sleep one wink. 

Right, so I dozed again and an hour later, was awaken by a “squeak  squeak squeak whiiiss.” My eyes opened, and on the floor were the remnants of the night. It looked like a small colony of bunnies had been torn into a million pieces.  Yet I struggled to find what had been torn apart in the first place. Bedding was in check, pillows were ok, and the eldest was breathing in the curl of my legs.  In the light of day, I have yet to figure out what got destroyed last night. 

I guess this all comes with the territory. My roommates / parents are out of town, and since my dogs won’t sleep anywhere but in their bed, I relocated my sleeping quarters to the master bedroom. I guess that’s a good thing in retrospect; all my stuff is safe and sound and in one piece upstairs. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for my parents room.

Yesterday I was asked by a really cool and super sweet neighbor to watch her kids as she belted her heart out to “Living on a Prayer” at the Bon Jovi concert tonight. Tight on cash and always willing to help thy neighbor, I of course accepted. And since the last time I babysat was probably circa 1997, I spent some of my idle brain time today reminding myself of babysitter-esque things. The question at top of mind was: What on earth does one do while babysitting? With a little help from my friends, we came to a list of things we could do, listed in order of thought processing:

• Order pizza
• Do homework
• Play a game
• Watch a movie

Even though three of these actually took place tonight, it wasn’t as dry as you may think. Come on, me as a babysitter – pshah! We played several games of H-O-R-S-E, TIPS and knock-out. Ordered pizza. Inhaled pizza. Jumped on the trampoline. Went to visit Cooper and Ozzie. Did some homework. Watched some YouTube. Played with the Photo Booth on my Mac…all good things.  

I got to thinking: some things in life/babysitting never change, like the double-bounce on the trampoline or the pizza delivery options. Yet today, the babysitter has so much more technology on hand. For example, two of the three kids had cell phones; and they all knew about the MacBook Air. When we called Pizza Hut, we were routed to a centralized call center that took our order, then sent it out to our local Wing Street. This I know because at the last minute, I wanted to add a side of ranch and she said she had already submitted my order, but she’d be happy to transfer me to customer service. What ever happened to just adding it to the order slip?! I guess I’m just getting old and relishing the good ole days.

Tonight the kids asked me what I wanted to do when I grow up. Um…I guess I’m doing that, but am I grown up? It took great convincing for them to finally believe that I in fact have my own business, and thus am my own boss. They thought it was really cool that their “babysitter is a boss” – now if I could only convince them to watch the really cool old school movie Richie Rich.

Last night we went to the boats – or shall I say, the near-river-captained buildings with casinos in them. You see, the Kansas City Metro Area has some strange laws. I think everyone by this time is now familiar with the “you can’t teach evolution in schools” (unless you teach it along side with creationism) thing. The legislation was passed when I was in high school, and it was quite entertaining to see my bio teacher mock creationism and go ahead with the teaching of evolution as an “optional-but-you’re-an-idiot-if-you-don’t-read-it” section of class. I’m fairly certain most of us neanderthals read it.  

I’m not sure when the legislation around riverboat casinos passed. But I’m guessing some of those crackheads may have had  a hand in the evolution bit. We pulled up to the boats, which are actually just a building near the river. The law states that riverboat casinos can’t actually be on the river, but they must be surrounded by a moat of water from the Missouri River AND be captained by a licensed riverboat captain at all times. I wonder if this captain can just meander about, gambling, schmoozing – heck, he can probably be the one excuse of a drunk captain that is not even endangering anybody on the body of water which he navigates.  

Needless to say, last night there was no sign of a drunken captain. That was quite disappointing, too. With grandmas in tote, The Fry & Hinderks families hit the riverboat-buildings looking for adventure. All of us were disastrous evidence of looting, except my Dad. We’re going to start calling him “Go Lucky” – the man rarely gambles, yet provides wonderful advice every time we go: “remember, it’s for entertainment, not investment.” It’s too bad he couldn’t get on the PA system last night and recite his saying to all the financially distressed patrons, and ask that they repeat after him whenever they are at the casinos. Mr. Go Lucky was the only one of our party of eight that walked away with some of the captained-riverboat building’s money. I’m wondering if after that night of entertaining investment, he may evolve into a more frequent gambler. Until then, I’m going to start working on my card counting.

My business now officially has office space. No DVD player, but an office with a door, desk, cabinets, drawers, monitor, speakers, whiteboard…the list goes on and on. To many, this is a “woop-di-doo”, but for me it is quite a huge step. And I’ll have to say, it’s an incredible feeling to come to work and have a proper office. Not a conference table, not a make-shift-closet-into-space-for-consultants. But a real office all to myself! And the office building itself is beautiful, spacious and tastefully decorated – reminds me of home, actually. 

Granted, it’s a 15 minute drive to work, but totally worth it. It is quite far south (from anything really), but especially civilization as I know it. So, I’ve decided to compile a list based strictly on my experiences working in the waaay outskirts of town. The following are all a true representation of my own personal experiences… 

You know you’re in a small town when: 

1. The major crossroads are controlled by a single flashing red light
2. The gas station on the corner (1 of 2) serves up a mean breakfast sandwich
3. Said gas station also has delish BBQ, using it’s own smoker, for lunch
4. You look out the window and there is nothing but soy fields as far as the eye can see
5. The sheriff comes into your office building to let people know someone left their headlights on in the parking lot; also inquires as to “what goes on in this place”
6. A woman stops in unannounced looking for Cindy (a new hire in the company that owns the building). She heard Cindy has a new job, was driving by and saw her truck outside – thought she’d stop in to say hi to Cindy and see “what goes on in this place” 
7. The closest sustainable lunch spot – aside from the gas station BBQ – was another smokehouse (for those unfamiliar, a.k.a. BBQ restaurant). “Was” is the correct tense; it burned down a couple weekends ago
8. Due to the lack of lunch choices, or anything for that matter within a 15 minute drive, the office fridge is stocked with various lunch foods. I have been living off PB&J
9. The post office is marked by a hand-painted sign; the post master knows everybody by name and PO box
10. The land where your office is now was once a blackberry farm owned by the Black family; the blackberry house is still a standing structure. Thinking about converting it to a cafe or lemonade stand come summer

Ah, there is a sense of relief in the air. I did it – I flew solely for personal reasons, not because some client was paying me to fly in to get some work done. Nooo..rather, me coming out to LA to chill with some friends. Not to mislead, I will be (and am) working on some stuff now.  

Also relieving, it is sunny and warm outside! Coming from the buckets, cats and dogs of rain, I now find myself in a wonderfully cozy apartment, now my temp workspace. But it didn’t come without trial last night – after a long and delayed flight from Vegas, I was swept from Burbank into one “mexicali” where the was a drive-by.   

And by drive-by,  I mean, straight up two cars were cruising down Ventura, coming to this light that was adjacent to us on the street. As we sat corner table outside, the two approached the light, then each came to a disgruntled halt. The driver got out from the truck in front with fists of rage, and started walking to the car behind him, from which people were exiting. 

 Then like a small crackerjack firework, all retreated back to their cars. The cars sped off, a gal yelling “ha, it was just a joke…we’re kidding, haha..” Yeah, so typical LA I guess. 

Last night was so crazy. I was smuggled into Colombia, came under ownership of a drug lord, and lived in the dusty yet muddy hillside of something resembling a Bid Laden hide out. It was not fun. Fortunately, my captor showed some mercy and let me take a little vacation…little did he know of my plot to escape his captivity and run to my freedom.

As I ran and swam into the the safe haven of Costa Rica, I wondered if my application that fell into his hands would lead him to me. After all, I had put my home address, used my parents home phone, and convinced myself he did not have my SSN because you should “rarely disclose that information” – especially to a drug lord. Mind you, I have no earthly idea how my application fell into his hands!  

The evening progressed and I was traveling solo in search of Costa Rica, Punta Cana precisely. I ran into a (hot) guy driving a pick-up and asked him for a ride to Costa Rica. Since he was going hang gliding, he couldn’t take me. But he pointed me in the direction of the path that would lead to my freedom. I then noticed I didn’t have any shoes on. 

Nonetheless, I found myself in a tree camp, ran into a few old neighbors, and asked them for help. Lucky me, they were leaving on a tour to Costa Rica as soon as the group returned from the castle, so I could join them in their journey.  We wound through bushes, traversed rope courses and crawled through Discovery Zone-like tubes. Oh yes, and my obedient dog Cooper was there with me at this point. We went along with the group, and just as things were starting to make sense…I woke up.  

I guess that is what I get for sleeping in until 11 – horrific nightmares. I woke with sleep marks creased into my body, a newfound love for Cooper, and a desire to be outside in the beautiful weather (since I was held captive for so long in a swamp in the desert in Colombia). In honor of my freedom and the beginning of spring, I’m wearing a joyous outfit today. My beloved polka dot Vans, capris and a bright green sweatshirt (part of my shopping escapade yesterday at the mall).   

So friends, I ask you, beg you – if someone from Colombia looking like a drug lord comes looking for me, tell them I moved to Switzerland.