Ceilidh

My parents got a new dog last week. My mother is completely enamoured. Their 17 year old Australian cattle dog, Butch, died several months ago, and my parents wanted a companion for their 12 year old and still very active border collie, Duffy. They have had Border Collies most of their married life (close to 50 years), and my mother started searching through the Border Collie rescue sites. Duffy is getting older, and has always been at the bottom of the pecking order, so she wanted to make sure he wouldn't be picked on by any new dog. One that caught her eye was a little female who had been hit by a car and had spent weeks at the vet's and months recuperating. She's only got three usable legs, and she's really still recuperating. She's possibly been a little stunted by the accident, because she's half the size of Duffy, but apparently he's being a perfect gentleman to her. My mother named her Céilidh (Caylee), which, as I said in my last post, is a Gaelic dance.
One of the first things my parents did when they got married was to get a Border Collie. Gammon was three when I was born. He was more like an older brother to me, and being a Border Collie, of course looked out for me. One day when I was a toddler, my mother looked out in the front garden, saw that I had somehow managed to open the front gate and that Gammon and I were gone. She rushed out, looked down the street, and way off in the distance there we were. Gammon was slowly walking next to me, leaning into me and herding me out of the street. Most other dogs would have bolted for freedom, but he stayed right with me. He, of course, could have stopped me from leaving at all, but he was always up for a walk.

Another time (when I was even younger), we were camping, and I crawled into an adjacent field full of cows. Cows are fairly curious, and so they all started crowding around me to have a look. Since we were in a campground, Gammon had to be chained up, but he actually became frantic, broke his chain, and flew into the middle of the cow herd, scattering cows in all directions and protecting me until my parents could get there a few seconds later (my parents really weren't nearly as careless with me as this all sounds. Really...).

When I was older, I would try and order Gammon around and I swear he would just raise one eyebrow and look at me. I could actually see him thinking, "Hmph. Like I have to do anything you say." Gammon owned, to borrow a phrase from 101 Dalmatians (the book NOT any of the lame movies), one of the keenest brains in Dogdom. He died when I was nine, and I'm not sure my parents have ever completely gotten over it. He was their first child.

After Gammon, we got a half St. Bernard half Weimeraner. She was the size of a Great Dane, and looked a lot like a giant Rhodesian Ridgeback (especially when she had her hackles up). Poor Shandy was probably very intelligent in her own way, but she could never live up to Gammon. She lived in his shadow for 15 years.

Other Border Collies they've had:
Whisky — who was found near a rest area (I think) by a friend of the family who knew of my parent's fondness for Border Collies. They thought she may have fallen out of a truck. I think my parents had her for 13 or 14 years.

Heidi — She was the sole survivor of a head on collision. Again, my parents got her because someone heard (through me, actually) that they were fond of Border Collies. She was about 11 when they got her, but she lived another 4 or so years.

Vixen — wasn't really a Border Collie, but she was a collie mix. She looked like a giant fox. She came from the Humane Society and had been kept in a basement for the first nine months of her life.

They often seem to name their dogs after food. Duffy is Plum Duff, Gammon is a cut of bacon (their cat was named Streaky - another cut of bacon), Shandygaff is a beer flavoured with ginger beer (can I just interject? - blech! I don't like beer OR ginger beer), and Whisky was Black and White Scotch.
I think they're lucky to have Ceilidh, but she's also very lucky to have them. Note - That is her tail and a chew toy, not her bad leg...

Scenes from Scotland: Edinburgh or More Photos of my Brother

Scotland is very welcomingUnless that part in Gaelic actually means Now Go Home.

We only had about three days in Scotland, so we spent most of our time in Edinburgh on and around the Royal Mile, which runs between Edinburgh Castle and the Palace of Holyroodhouse (Holyrood Abbey, to be more specific). Holyroodhouse is the Queen's official residence in Scotland.

Of course we first had to find the statue of Greyfriars Bobby. We almost tripped over it, actually. I think every bus we took went past it. It's entirely possible we might have been breaking the law if we hadn't found it AND taken a photo.

View from Greyfriars Kirkyard.

St. Giles Cathedral. St. Giles is the patron saint of cripples (just doesn't sound PC anymore) disabled people, lepers and Edinburgh. And horses, breast feeding, mental illness, rams, forests, sterility...He was apparently a very popular saint.

St. Giles front door, the very impressive stonework of which I believe dates to a restoration done in the late 1800s. Phil managed to get in the way, of course.

Holyroodhouse gate. And Phil.

A lion, the symbol of England, holding St. George's Cross.

A unicorn, the symbol of Scotland, holding St. Andrew's Cross. And if you superimpose the crosses and add St. Patrick's Cross (British readers please bear with me for a moment — this isn't generally taught over here), you get the Union Jack (Poor old Wales is just lumped under the Cross of St. Andrew). Image snagged from Ward's Book of Days

Meanwhile, at the other end of the Royal Mile:
Edinburgh Castle

Phil and Bill. I prefer not to stand under a portcullis, myself.

The medieval seigegun, Mons Meg. And Bill. And Phil.

Do I have to even say?

The Lion and Unicorn fighting for the crown.

A view of Edinburgh and the Firth of Forth (a fjord) from the castle.

And just so Lesley doesn't feel gypped:
Me eating haggis (you probably don't even want to know. But it was good) at the Royal McGregor pub on the Royal Mile, which is a tourist trap according to Mr Farty. He prefers the Worlds End pub down the street where he can get a really good Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. Also check out the photos on Mr Farty's sidebar at Better Oot Than In for better views of the entire area.
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I remarked that I was posting some photos of Scotland, so my mother wants me to mention that they got another border collie yesterday (they have two now) and named her Céilidh (pronounced Cay-lee) which is a traditional Gaelic dance. She promised to send me photos.

So Bob, did it work?

On being alone

UPDATE: Being alone is all well and good, but sometimes it would be nice to have another person in the car when I'm going skiing and have to put chains on the tires to get there...

At the age of about 8, I was lucky enough to have a horse-crazy mother who was finally able to fulfill her lifelong dream by getting me a pony - Paleface - and then later, a horse - Najmah (she also got herself a horse for a while). By the time I was a young teen, I was doing things like riding Najmah through the Dairy Queen drive-thru and sharing a hamburger with her. I ate the burger, she ate the bun. This was Texas in the '70s, so the only really unusual thing about that was that I was riding English style instead of Western. Although I often rode with friends, we lived in a rural area where I was also able to just saddle up and ride off by myself pretty much whenever I wanted. It was very liberating.

It would be just me and Najmah. Usually Whiskey, our border collie, would come — ostensibly for protection, but in reality she mostly just chased squirrels (she did attack and drive off a much larger Keeshond who was trying to bite Najmah's heels once). I had a feeling of exhilaration and well-being and thought I never felt alone or lonely because I was enjoying the company of other beings. I had these same feelings years later with my horse, Sandpiper.

The weird thing is, I get the exact same feelings when I'm skiing, and I'm almost always alone when I ski. I even prefer to ride the lift alone if the resort isn't too busy. Making conversation with a complete stranger on a long lift ride can be interesting, but is sometimes just too stressful. My mother actually recently asked me if I get lonely skiing. No, never. It doesn't bother me to have lunch at the resort restaurants alone, either.* I have more recently started riding my bike regularly, and yes, I get those same feelings. I often ride with friends, but far more often alone.

I actually kind of find it sad that the "company" was all in my head. This, of course, doesn't mean that I didn't love the horses. When we left Texas for California, we had to leave them there, and I missed them terribly and cried for weeks (that was back in 1979, and I'll still get choked up thinking about it). Or perhaps I should say that I WAS enjoying their company, but that wasn't why I wasn't lonely.

I like company, but I guess I'm also just comfortable being by myself.

* My mother told me once that she had never eaten in a restaurant alone. I was flabbergasted. I've even been to movies by myself.

Lolcats, birds, horses, elephants, goats...

I know. Lazy post. Hey, I did all the hard work of weeding through icanhascheezburger.com for you!

Yah, I would have been right up there with them. Srsly.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures


see more Lolcats and funny pictures


He might actually be able to catch that starling...







If I know horses, he's actually just about to rip out the spark plug wires.



If my mother reads this (highly unlikely), she's just going to worry in case he hurts himself. She's probably worried about the upside-down starling, too.

Zombies are more of a problem in our front yard.

My brother actually sent this one to me.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Proof that I've been to Scotland

I took Bill to England two years ago last October/November for my grandfather's 99th birthday. Since this was the second time Bill had ever been off this continent (he went to Hawaii once), we decided to cram as much into the three weeks as possible. After heading down to Devon with my parents to see my grandparents, my aunt Hilary gave me a few driving lessons (it was very nice of her to put her car at such risk), and Bill and I rented a car (well, I rented a car. Nobody wanted Bill to try and drive on the other side of the road, including Bill) and headed back to London (with a side trip to Stonehenge) where we met up with my brother. After a few days in London, we took off on a road trip that went up the M1 up through Leeds (I might do another post on the Royal Armory at Leeds) and then cut across through Jedburgh to Edinburgh. Bill was in archeologist heaven the entire time.

Before we got to Scotland, we had to stop at Hadrian's Wall (Phil, does this count as another post about you? It does have photos of you...). You can see in this photo that the wall was built as two parallel walls, and then the interior was filled in with rubble and concrete: There were several forts along the wall. This is the ruins of Vercovicium (Housteads) The pillars supported a raised floor (some of which is still there). Hot air from wood burning stoves circulated under the floors for central heat. The Romans were big on comfort. The granary:The latrines:And an artist's rendition of what the latrines probably looked like:We could tell we were getting close to the border, because we met a large Border Collie. He looked very similar to and was about the same size as (huge) the one my parents had for their first 12 years of marriage. We finally made it to the Scottish border, and took the typical touristy pictures:Bill is in the Vauxhall Astra in the background because it was cold and rainy and he's a wuss.
Next post - maybe some actual photos of Scotland....
All photos taken with my Canon PowerShot A540.

Kiva - Loans that change lives

Over the past year or so, several atheist blogs I read (but mainly the Friendly Atheist) have mentioned a microfinance site where you can loan money to specific low income entrepreneurs throughout the world as a way to fight poverty. A couple of months ago, I wandered over to take a look.

It sounded like a good idea, so I joined the Atheists, Agnostics, Skeptics, Freethinkers, Secular Humanists and the Non-Religious (AASFSHNR) team but didn't make a loan for a while. Via a lot of blog promotion, the AASFSHNR has become the number one lending team on Kiva, but I felt I had to research more about it before I actually gave Kiva any money.

The way it works is you loan to an individual or group somewhere in the world and the loan gets paid back over a specific period (like any loan, of course). Then you have the option of either loaning the money again, donating it to Kiva to cover operating expenses, or withdrawing it. Although Kiva does not charge interest, the loan goes through a field partner in the borrower's country, and they do charge the borrower interest. The loans you make are interest free, so this is not a way to make money, and in fact, there is a chance you will lose it if the borrower fails to repay. Researching what might be going on (e.g., political or economic problems) in the part of the globe to which you're sending your money, and the microfinance field partner is probably a good idea. Over $99,700,000 has been loaned worldwide through Kiva so far.

Then, Bobby Henderson, founder of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, made a plea on the AASFSHNR message board because the FSM team was getting close to the $100,000 mark (note that, although the AASFSHNR name is rather long, and in fact might possibly be the longest team name on Kiva, it does NOT include Pastafarians). I went over and checked, and found that the FSM team is the number two lender in the religious organizations category! It seemed as though I was being tapped on the shoulder by His noodly appendage (or maybe I just had an itch. I don't know), so I, of course, had to make a couple of loans (Ok, if you click that link, you'll notice 11 so far). I figure that I can afford a few dollars better than most of the people on this planet. I've already been able to re-lend a substantial amount of the money I've loaned, so my "investment" is fairly minimal.

On October 7, the AASFSHNR team became the first group to loan over a million dollars (the number two team is still over $300,000 away). Here is a press release regarding the event. We are currently over $1,100,000.

Twenty-five dollars is the minimum you can loan, but you can re-loan it as often as you like. That $25 can turn into $50, $75 or much more. Go and loan now. Join any of my teams, or a competing team (we like the competition! It means more loans!). There are plenty of them: GLBT, Team Obama, Animal Lovers, and even Beer Goggles Never Lie...much. Or you can start your own team. It doesn't matter what team, or even if you aren't on one - for a minimal amount of money, you can help change lives. This may not be an investment for you, but it is an investment in the world and our future.
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Paraphrasing LeVar Burton, you don't just have to take my word for it:

'Revolutionising how donors and lenders in the US are connecting with small entrepreneurs in developing countries.' (actually, there are lenders from all over the world)
-- BBC

'If you've got 25 bucks, a PC and a PayPal account, you've now got the wherewithal to be an international financier.'
-- CNN Money

'Smaller investors can make loans of as little as $25 to specific individual entrepreneurs through a service launched last fall by Kiva.org.'
-- The Wall Street Journal

'An inexpensive feel-good investment opportunity...All loaned funds go directly to the applicants, and most loans are repaid in full.'
-- Entrepreneur Magazine

The Prince's Rainforest Campaign

Not much of a post, but this wouldn't fit in my sidebar. I was floored at the speed of the counter at the top of this page displaying the m² of rainforest that has been destroyed since the page is opened. It is really, really depressing.



On the other hand, Princes William and Harry are really cute in this video.

Earthquakes

The first earthquake I ever felt was a small one that barely shook the stage while I was in band rehearsal a couple of months after we moved to California. The Drum Major screamed, "Earthquake!" but the rest of the band just sat calmly as the room swayed back and forth a little.
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I was also in class at UC Davis when the 6.9 magnitude Loma Prieta earthquake (otherwise known as the earthquake that interrupted the World Series that almost nobody cared about anyway) hit the San Francisco Bay Area on October 17, 1989. Davis was about 100 miles from the epicenter, and we actually felt it quite strongly. I was in Human Physiology in the largest lecture hall on campus, and everyone in the room thought that the person behind them had kicked the back of their chair. Hard. The professor was standing, and couldn't feel it, but slowly realized that he had suddenly completely lost everyone's attention. Finally the class managed to point out to him that 1) his bike was rolling back and forth behind him, and 2) the trees outside were whipping back and forth without wind.

I got out to my car after class, and KGO, the Bay Area talk radio station to which my radio was always tuned was off the air. That's when I started worrying about my parents, who were living in the Bay Area at the time. By the time I was able to get home and call them, the phone lines were completely overwhelmed and useless.

Cut to my parents:
My parents were sitting on the couch watching everything swing and sway around them, and after a while, my mother said to my father, "Do you think we should get in a doorway or something?" by which time, it was over. They sat and watched as a large vase on the wall unit spun around and around on it's base, but eventually righted itself rather than falling over. My collie, Robin, was staying with them for a few months, and had had a couple of dizzy spells. They said he stood in the entryway with his legs splayed, obviously thinking this was another one.

KGO was off the air because their radio transmission tower...broke and fell into the bay.
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I happened to be in Redlands, CA when the Landers and Big Bear twin earthquakes hit, June 28, 1992. I was doing field work for the consulting firm for which I worked and I had dragged one of our field technicians, Burt, down to Southern California to help. We had fyke nets in the Santa Ana River and Big Bear Creek up in the San Bernardino Mountains that we were checking a couple of times a day.

Unusually for me, just as I was falling asleep on the 27th, I thought to myself, "What would I do if there's an earthquake tonight? I'll get under that table." No, I had never thought anything like that before. No, I'm not psychic. I either felt one of the pre-shocks, or it was just a coincidence. I was literally thrown out of bed when the 7.6 magnitude Lander's quake hit at 4:58 AM (Redlands was ~40 miles from the epicenter), and woke up under that table thinking, "Damn! I should really wear more clothes to bed. I can't run outside wearing this!" Yes, if the building had collapsed, I would have been killed due to modesty.

I wasn't really frightened - more excited than anything. When I finally got dressed and outside, it was mostly over, the water was sloshing around in the pool a little, and the completely freaked out Burt was at my door with his bags packed, ready to leave. I convinced him that we should at least eat breakfast first. I also called my parents to tell them I was OK even though it was 5:00 AM, because I knew from previous experience that the phone lines would soon be overwhelmed.

A fairly strong aftershock hit while Burt and I were eating, but I convinced him that we should just stay and finish our job. We couldn't just leave the nets there, and "What are the chances that there will be another earthquake," I said, rolling my eyes. I remember saying this several times.

We left to go up into the San Bernardino mountains and a really strong aftershock hit while we were gassing up the truck. This helped him convince me that we should go back to our hotel and at least call in to see what our supervisor said. While we were on the phone, the 6.7 Big Bear earthquake hit. Although it was a much smaller earthquake, it was also much closer (~25 miles away) and a MUCH sharper jolt.

It was probably one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me. Burt and I were taking turns yanking the phone out of each other's hands and relaying the earthquake to our poor supervisor blow-by-blow. We were on the second floor, and had a pretty good view.

Large amounts of water in the pool started sloshing out, which was just amazing to see.

The television in my room kept tilting forward until it was caught by the cord, and then thrown back onto the table.

The hotel we were in was right next to a freeway overpass, which was swaying violently back and forth. The teflon-lined joints in the road bed were doing their job, and sliding against each other - one half of the overpass was going one way, and the other the other way. The friction was so great, the joint started smoking. Although it was only offset by a few inches, it was incredible to watch!

It was an unusually clear day, and as I looked out at the mountains, it suddenly looked as thought they had spontaneously burst into flames. What looked like smoke started billowing up all over them. I realized this must be from numerous simultaneous land slides and relayed this to my poor supervisor.

Everything calmed down fairly quickly, and Burt was finally able to convince me to leave. Before we left, we drove out to explain to our client's office to let them know we were going and ask them to pull the nets when they got a chance. They told us that they had several work crews stuck up on the roads unable to move because landslides had blocked them on either side. Yes, the very same roads we would have been on if I had had my way. Later, we also found out that the nets had actually been buried under boulders. THAT would have been exciting had we been there... The nets were only a few miles from the epicenter of the Big Bear quake.

Amazingly enough, there were only three casualties from these two quakes, although sadly one of them was a three year old boy.

I haven't written enough posts about my brother. Apparently.

Ok, I've tried to keep several members of my family pretty much out of this blog. My father has really been the only one that reads it regularly, and he never comments except in person (well, usually on the phone since they live thousands of miles away). He does send me blog material occasionally. He's a retired helminthologist, and when I was growing up, dinner table conversation often turned to such interesting things as parasitic nematodes and tapeworms. This was sort of an unofficial litmus test for potential boyfriends (and girlfriends in my brother's case) — if they didn't run to the bathroom and vomit, they had promise. If they joined in, even better.^[1]

My mother is terrified that I will be found and shot or harassed or lose my job or something because she feels that the religious nuts in this country are highly unstable and I shouldn't be putting myself and family in danger by actually coming out as an atheist. I've told her that there are a lot of far more prominent atheists out there, and I would be way down on the list if people started gunning for us. I think she doesn't read my blog for the same reason that when she's a passenger in a car, she won't look over the edge of a cliff in case the car goes off.

It's also partly because she and my father are really busy as licensed wild animal re-habbers. When my mother sends my father out on a wild goose chase, he usually comes home with an actual wild goose. No, they don't get paid, they do it for the animals, and yes you do have to have both federal and state licenses to do it, so don't try this at home. Oh, and thawing rats (to feed the carnivores) on the kitchen counter can also be a BIG turnoff for potential dates for both me AND my brother.^[2] Just sayin'

In addition she's...well, lets just say my brother and I both got her the same birthday card this year:

Outside - Mom, This year I'm going to program your phone to play Happy Birthday whenever it rings

Inside - And you won't be able to do anything about it, will you?

My brother Phil, on the other hand, actually has commented several times, but wanted to remain anonymous due to what I can only assume are some shady dealings at some point in his life. He did at one time frequent a speakeasy, after all. Or maybe it was something about not wanting any of his ex-wives to find him. Whatever. He also has stated that he doesn't want to be associated too closely with me when they start rounding atheists up and putting us into concentration camps. SORRY PHIL. Too late. They have a file on you now, too. Not that he's paranoid or anything, but then again, he used to be a registered Republican. Which could possibly be a symptom of mental illness in itself. Luckily, the previous administration brought him to his senses. Now he's in the Prohibition Party, AND the Marijuana Party, which causes him a lot of cognitive dissonance.^[3]

When he discovered he wasn't exactly internet anonymous, he started commenting more and suddenly became REALLY NEEDY! For example:

See why I don't spend much time reading this blog? It has nothing about me in it. The whole page and nothing. She took days to write about her whole life, tomatoes, hives, horses. Me? Nope. Oh, wait. She mentions me in a reply to a post. Here. On this little backwater of a page. Humph.

Did anyone who reads this know I had a brother? (PLEASE SAY YES, OR I'LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT!) And congratulate him. He's getting married soon! Again! Hey, wait. Do I have to get him yet another wedding present? I can only assume she passed the dead rat litmus test already.^[4]

He's my younger brother, and I was always really mean to him. For instance, I slammed the door shut in his face once. Unfortunately, the door was exactly the right height to rip the toenail off his big toe. I also pushed him down a vine out of a tree. Unfortunately, the vine had a broken offshoot which caught him in the groin area. He had to have several stitches. I'm sure he still has that scar. Considering how I treated him, he's always been really nice to me. I don't know why...

He's actually posted a picture of himself on his profile (Yes, it's the same link as before. He doesn't give me much to work with).^[5] I like this photo better, though.And you thought I was odd. Obviously the orange peel should go the other way around. Sheesh.

^[1] Both Bill and David passed with flying colours

^[2] Again Bill passed with flying colors. He was also accidentally fed rice that had confused flour beetles (they WERE cooked!) in it. Well, it wasn't actually accidental. My mother and I looked at the rice and then at each other, and quietly and quickly started picking the small black things out. We didn't tell my father and Bill until AFTER dinner, and Bill STILL married me two years later. It didn't bother either of them at all. But now nobody is ever going to come to my house for dinner again. Especially not my son, who has an irrational fear of insects (No, William. You were not there. As far as YOU know).

^[3] I suppose I should put a disclaimer that, no he is not in either the Prohibition or the Marijuana party. Especially not the Prohibition Party. I don't think...

^[4] Getting to Wallis and Futuna for the wedding is going to be a pain in the butt.

^[5] Contrary to what his Blogger Profile name might indicate, my Brother Phil is definitely NOT a monk.