Leafy

Posted on February 15, 2018 by tosabarbell
leafy

A park bench bolted to the ground so it can never move while leaves are blowing about. Hmmmmm…

A few summers back, the hubs and I went to his Uncle and Auntie’s house for a summer garden dinner. What that meant was that most of the evening was outside on the patio surrounded by various gardens. One being a Disney garden so amongst the plants and flowers were Disney figurines bobbing in and out of eye sight. It was adorable. In fact, I left my Hawaii Donald Duck there to live among his peeps.

We had cocktails and Port (in fact, they opened and shared their very last bottle of Port bought when they got married. It was very sweet) and amazing food and lots of laughs. Matt’s Auntie is Greek and the Uncle is Lithuanian/Scot/European and together they make a very good mix. Both fun loving and two of the kindest people I know. It pains me that we haven’t made it back there since but the nearly 3 hour drive each way is enough to drag our feet a bit on getting another date on the calendar.

One of the more interesting caveats is that Auntie is a far left Progressive liberal and well, we’re not. Which means that we are subject to listening to her views but since we’re guests, we don’t get to share our rebuttal. Ah well, a small price to pay for grilled shrimp and steaks. The outrage of the day during our dinner was the topic of the Confederate flag. Auntie was outraged. And I mean OUTRAGED! How DARE they fly such a racist symbol of racism and oppression and fok them those backwards racists. Racism.

Uhhhhh, okay. I mean, were you outraged last week about the Confederate flag? Last month? Last year? Or were you just outraged cuz the media is telling you now to be outraged? Here’s my take on the Confederate flag…I give no shits. I’m not from the South. My great, great uncle and 14 cousins weren’t killed fighting for something they believed in under that flag. I have no dogs in this fight. I chose not to be outraged by things were I have no dogs in the fight. I whill say that while spending time up north in Connecticut (I actually spelled that correctly the first time out, I’m pretty proud) at a cemetery, there were headstones for sons and fathers who died on some Southern battlefield during the Civil War. I imagine there are many of those stones in the South also. It is extremely moving. I believe any time we can dig deeper and make issues personal, we find that we’re actually not far off agreement. Those headstones spoke for loved ones gone but not forgotten, no matter which flag they fought for. So if y’all in the South want to wave the flag that your ancestors fought and died for, well, you just do that and know that others won’t understand. Especially Greek Auntie’s in Chicago.

While I get very tired of the “Flavor of the Day” outrage, I’m pretty good at insulating myself from it. I guess there was some uproar about a snowboarder yesterday who won a gold medal and then dragged the American flag on the snow? Dunno. Like I wrote yesterday, I’m not getting dragged into the cesspool of the MSM and their Olympic coverage (see what I did there? Heehee.) I DID happen to watch the greatest Women’s hockey game of all time between the US and Canada. I wish Coach Stauber would have challenged the second goal but whatev. If these teams meet again in the medal round, it will be amazing!

But none of this, well very little anyway, has to do with my point today.

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New Hampshire leaves

Leaves serve amazing functions in our world. There is a reason folks flock to thick forests that have clear lakes smack dab in the middle of them. We breath in the fresh air; we can be still in it’s thickness and enjoy the sounds of the water lapping about the lakeshore. Time can be lost sitting on the rocks of streams, should be lost actually. Very few things are emotionally satisfying as just sitting on rocks and listening to water while looking up into the forests. This is why the Steven’s Pass road in Washington is one of my most favorite drives. Sharing it with Oz a couple of years ago was incredibly special and I know I’ve told it before but I’m telling this story again…

While we were driving, I told  Oz to keep a lookout on where we could pull over and go climb the rocks in the stream. He says, “We can do that?” I says, “Oh ya.” Tell you what, seeing my 16 year old son who so often has maturity beyond his years  and tends to put the world on his shoulders play on those rocks like an 8 year old was one of the best moments of the entire trip.

Anyways. Back to leaves.

As most of us know (I assume nothing), leaves will eventually fall and die to prepare for the next batch in the spring (assuming you’re not an Evergreen.) This is why so many of us love the Fall season. Leaves are turning color which give tree lined streets a beautiful orangey/red-y glow. Leaves are raked into huge piles for the kids and dog to jump into or, if you’re lucky, blow into your fucknutt neighbors yard who spends his days trying to make his space leaf free.

Leaves blowing about can be fun to watch, even mesmerizing. But it always made me a little sad. The reality of another summer gone; no more cabin trips; no more softball games. Just cold and ice and snow for the next six months. It was always a little confusing for me because I love winter. Absolutely LOVE IT! I love the snow and the cold and, well not the ice so much, everything winter brings. Soups and shoveling (Mother Nature gives no shits that you have a meet on Saturday. You will shovel that foot of snow she dumped or be stuck inside.)

What I’ve learned is that I don’t dislike fall, I just don’t like the uncertainty of it. Will it be 70 degrees or 30? Will it rain or snow? If I rake today will I be done for the year (the answer to that is always NO.) Watching the leaves blow about in the winds chaos is unsettling. There’s no direction, no purpose. And if you’ve known me for more than 4 minutes, you know I have direction. Not even sorry.

Here’s the crux of the day, how many people do you know who allow themselves to live like leaves? Without direction or purpose? And this, my friends, is my biggest issue with those who choose to be outraged by the flavor of the day. You’re like leaves, just blowing about waiting to hit the next light pole to briefly stop and complain and move on. Distractions are easy and moving quickly to fill social media with outrage that, if you just give the wind a moment, the issue will blow over.

And it’s not just politics. It’s work; it’s training; it’s relationships. How many people do you see on Social Media who are trying the next best thing that avoids the most important steps of laying down a solid foundation? Diet fads; lifting timing schemes; training programs. Blowing in the wind just waiting to latch on, however briefly, to a cool thing until it becomes work and then moving on. I’ve fired people from my gym for this attitude. Get your uncommitted energy out of my gym. You’re full of shit. You live your life saying one thing and doing another. I’ve fired people from my life for this.

I cannot be around people who lack direction for a significant amount of time. To be honest, many Master’s Highland Games women are like this. (That’s going to sting a few folks. Sorry not sorry.) The Games are oh so fun and let me be so energetic and entertaining…until the 4th event. The fourth event (watch for it at your next Games) is usually when the leaves start falling. You realize that you probably have three more hours of this stuff and it’s only getting harder. You start wandering over to your tent and need to be called over for every attempt not even caring that your group of fellow throwers are waiting on your ass. You’ve taken your FB pictures and drank your scotch and really, that’s all we need to do for the day cuz this stuff is only supposed to be fun. If only we could rake you into a pile off the field and move on.

Non throwing related, our close friends have purpose. They have drive. We can disagree on politics but show an understanding of the other side’s reasoning and at the end of the day, politics are never more important than friendship. February has been filled with almost all of our closest friends and that, my friends, makes for a very good month. Quite honestly, never in my life had I ever believed we would be surrounded by such good people who accomplish so many amazing things and so freely share their gifts and love. Not one of our closest friends are leaves blowing in the wind. They are solid. They strive to live their best lives possible. I am so proud of each and every one of them.

It’s so easy to be leafy in our world because, mostly, our survival doesn’t depend on being driven. If mommy hasn’t kicked you out of her basement by your 30’s, well, you just know you’re going to stay attached to that teat until she’s six feet under. If you were the son of my Grandpa’s, you got a suitcase for your 18th birthday. Not even kidding. You’ve done well, now get out. No leafs in his bloodline. The Olympics? See, stupid NBC commentators, we don’t need to ask how it “feels to be there” cuz there are no leaves at the Olympics. It’s not like they woke up in November and said, oh hey, maybe I’ll just blow over to that speed skating rink and skate and then go to the Olympics. No. They’ve been driven for a very long time. OH! One of my FAVORITE moments in figure skating stupid interviewing came when Andrea Joyce asked the German woman pairs skater (skating in her 5th Olympics) what “current you would tell 18 year you on your first Olympics to make it better?” The Fraulein just looked at her blankly and after about 10 seconds admitted she didn’t understand the question. AJ went on to say, “I imagine experience helps” where the German visibly tried not to roll her eyes and said something to the effect of, “obviously.” Don’t like it when other countries athletes don’t fall at your feet in worship, do you NBC?

One of the hardest things in life is to stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. Stop blowing around in chaos and be still. There is no scramble, there is a plan  (then shut up about it and just do. My gawds, the amount of declarations made on social media boggles the mind.. I’d rather see video of someone curling their hair.) While leaves can be beautiful, structuring your life in alignment to theirs is a bad idea. You wonder how your life got raked into the gutter when you’ve been so busy at so many things. Stop believing that blowing about in life is going to get your goals accomplished. Stop looking at others wondering how they’re doing it and you’re not. Just stop. Breath. Plan. And then put on those blinders and become undistractable (totally a word.)

First I shake the whole apple tree, that the ripest might fall. Then I climb the tree and shake each limb, and then each branch and then each twig, and then I look under each leaf.

Martin Luther

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Vicious Queen: The Sad State of Affairs of USA Figureskating

Posted on February 14, 2018 by tosabarbell
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Terry Gannon (I adore the look on his face here); Tara Lipinski, and Johnny Weir. (The first person to comment his name as Johnny Queer gets blocked from fake social media life and real life. We’re going to be better than that today.)

This post will be very, Get off my lawn. Cuz I get it. I’m old. I’m extremely traditional in what I’m looking for in Olympic commentary and review and I am most likely in the minority here. That’s okay. I can deal with that.

Anyways.

Years ago, my daughter and I were jonesing for a burger. It was a Saturday night so not the greatest time to head out on the town for a meal crowd wise, but we decided to go for it. We picked our favorite hamburger joint, Hamburger Mary’s in their old location in Bayview.

Now, we’d been to HM’s many times and in fact, before the gym went up here, it was our post lifting Saturday spot and we always had good luck with the food and service. Now, I will admit, we were the lucky ones. We did see others walk out when they had to sit for 15-20 minutes without even a glance by wait staff but we’d been spared that. One Saturday, Oz and his dad were tooling around town and decided to meet us there. Well, they took longer than expected and we were all finished by the time they got there. We said hello and goodbye and left them in the good hands of our waitress…we thought.

Turns out our waitress was done for the morning and headed home for a break before the night shift. So they got some guy who had just been dumped by his boyfriend and sobbing in the backroom the entire time they were trying to get a burger. After 30 minutes with just a glass of water sitting in front of them, they left. I felt bad.

HM is also known for their drag shows and drag Bingo. I hadn’t made it to either but one burger Saturday, one of the Drag Queens was tooling about (I think her name is Dear Ruthie or something like that) and I asked if she’d take a picture with Matt. She was very gracious and when Matt stood up, her eyes got wide and she commented on how BIGG he really is. It was a cute moment and a great picture. It’s over on the FB somewhere.

Because of our good luck and their tasty burgers, Zandra and I took on HM’s on a Saturday night. While there was a lot of people waiting, it turned out that they were big groups and none could fit in the open 4 top so Za and I were seated right away. SWEET!

Our waitress was busy but did her best and we had a nice meal. There was a group over in one corner who was a bit discontent with their waiter and getting louder by the minutes but we were finishing up and didn’t really pay attention, as much as that was possible. For some reason, their waiter came to OUR table and made a nasty comment while giving us our check and told us to get out of there. Uhhhh, what? WTF dude, we have nothing to do with you. Why you mad bro at us??

I had paid in cash so was waiting for our change from our waitress who had come back and was surprised to see our check at the table. I had told her that a very rude waiter told us to pay and get out. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time that this had happened because she looked sad and apologized profusely. Whatev, no worries, just get us our change please so we can get out of here.

I guess she had told the powers that be that crabby dude had overstepped at our table and I wasn’t happy about it because he quickly hot stepped over to us, grabbed my shoulder and squeezed for a few seconds and said something more nasty. Dude, you just put your hands on a customer who had nothing to do with you. Well, that was enough to get Zandra fumed and she instantly stood up and started barking at our waitress (who must have known this wasn’t going to go well because she was lurking behind our table) that this was completely unacceptable. The waitress apologized and I asked to speak to a Manager.

A manager came over and I asked to speak to him privately and we moved off into a corner. I started to tell him about this bizarre treatment when suddenly, crabby waiter man RAN over to us; brushed me back with his chest and got nose to nose with me screaming at me how I’m a complete homophobic bitch/cunt and fuck me and get out of his restaurant. I just looked at the manager and asked if he were seriously going to allow this and he said nothing.

We left. Obviously. And I torched them on Yelp and sent an email to their management group. But the hits just keep on coming. By Sunday afternoon, they had commented on my Yelp review that they watched “the video” provided by surveillance and actually it showed that I had become aggressive with the waiter and pushed him around. Of course, I couldn’t see such video because it belonged to them. Also, because they were lying.

Needless to say, it was quite distressing. I started to look back on the Yelp reviews and yup, our friend had made impacts such as this for years. There was complaint after complaint about him and how aggressive and mean he was. Uhhhhh, okay, why is he still there?

I asked that question to my Hawaiian clients who have been in the food biz for a combined 80 years and they had two answers: 1. Because he’s probably sleeping with one of the owners and B. HM’s is KNOWN for having vicious queen’s in their restaurants. Uhhhh, what? What’s a vicious queen?  That, they replied. Just what I experienced emboldened by the fact that they get away with it every day.

Yuck. I don’t like vicious queen’s. Nope, they said, no one does.

It was my first experience (not my last) being called homophobic. What was worse, I was physically assaulted by a man who believes that he can do whatever he wants because he’s homosexual and if someone fights back, then THEY’LL be in the wrong for beating on a homosexual. I can tell you this, as a woman who rarely backs down, it was a very distressing situation. I should have called the police, turns out I wouldn’t have been the first.

Fast forward to 4 years ago. Actually, we’ll fast forward to about 45 years ago. That’s when I first remember loving figure skating. I loved everything about it. I loved flying around the ice; I loved watching it; I loved the smell of the warming house; I loved grabbing a shovel and being the first on the ice and having to push the snow off to the side into a big pile you could jump into. I loved the sounds of the hockey game going on next to the skating rink and I loved the tinny music blaring over the outdoor speaker.

I loved making pom poms for my skates and giving them to my friends. I loved skating with friends, and I loved skating alone. By the time I was 8 or 9, I could walk to the rink by myself (which I’m actually kind of surprised about because I had to cross a four lane super busy road but such is life growing up in the 70’s) and I’d spend hours there. One evening, it was too cold to skate and the warming house was closed. So I just laced up in the snow and did my thing. I don’t know how long I was out there but I DO remember my mom pulling up and screaming at me to get off the ice and into the car and do I want to freeze to death?!!!! I mean, no I didn’t. I just wanted to skate.

Of course, my favorite days were the Olympics.

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Dorthy Hamill. I always loved how athletic she seemed.

A whole week with skating on TV. With commentators Dick Button and Peggy Flemming. Maybe even an appearance by Janet Lynn. They’d talk about the beauty of Sonja Henie in hushed, revered tones. You knew when Dick Button gave compliments, they were special. Cuz Dick was tough. I remember that. It’s probably why they sat Peggy Flemming next to him. To soften some of his criticism. Before that, Chris Schankle gave his calm play by play while Dick kept us abreast as to what was happening style wise. (Also, I miss the easy scoring of 5.8 or 6.0. The “new” scoring takes the audience out of the excitement. Again, GET OFF MY LAWN.)

But he was always succinct in his criticism. He always explained WHY a skater stumbled without stumbling. You understood what he said and could go back and watch the rerun of the skate and it made sense. He was never unkind, he was a technician. Still is actually. More on that in a minute.

Okay, back to four or so years ago in Sochi. I was instantly put off by the over the top pair of Tara and Johnny commentating. I dunno. They just seemed young and immature and wanted ALL the attention that belonged to the skaters. They were mean, but more importantly, they didn’t explain their criticisms. They said things like, “that was just horrible.” Okay, that’s not helpful. WHY was it horrible? Was the whole thing horrible or just the obvious fall? Basically, they took substance and threw it out the window and we were just supposed to be entertained by his lipstick and pearls and jabs at overweight skaters.

No thanks. See, the vicious queen from HM’s had the same qualities. You have to respect me and listen to me because I exist and if you don’t, you’re homophobic. Uh, no Johnny. I don’t like listening to you because you are mean and unhelpful and want to hog all the attention only because you ARE a vicious queen.  I chose not to watch.

So I don’t. Or at least I try not to. I did watch some of the US Nationals and I will say that both Johnny and Tara were far more subdued than past “performances.” One of my favorite Sochi ice moments was in studio when NBC gave Doc Emrick head mic with Tara and Johnny relegated to side chairs and clearly looked out of their element around real, respected commentators. Also, Tara looked as if she had been drinking hard for the past 12 days and didn’t even try to hide it anymore and Johnny just looked scared. I loved it. See, they KNOW that they are head queens in just one avenue of sport. But Doc can walk in and take over not because of his ego, but because of his skill. Well done, Doc, well done.

Any of my Olympic watching this year has been on NBCsn. Where the commentators explain the sport and what to look for. Where stupid interviews that begin with either, “What does it mean for you to be here…” or “Tell me how you’re feeling…” are non-existent.

OH, and to the little Johnny in training who, honestly, wow’d me with his program at Nationals but when announced to the Olympic team instantly started bashing politicians for being Anti-Gay but then when said politicians reached out to them to sit down and talk about accusations, quickly retreated to the “this is about the athletes” and then went on to joke about needing booze and Xanax from the judges to relax before his program…well, I’m just out. By the way, those are banned substances. So you know. So joking about taking banned substances on a live interview was super funny. You funny guy. Of course, if any weightlifter had publicly joked about needed booze and blow before they lifted AFTER they lifted, well, that may not be so adorably received.

But such is the state of affairs. As long as you’re not intolerant (which I am), you can accuse and joke about anything and are untouchable by the compliant media who just want to talk about how good North Korean dictators actually are and really anything else that is Anti-American.

OH! One perk of the Olympics is the heat the American media keep getting into because they say such moronic statements like the Dutchies actually skate on frozen canals to work or the Koreans really respect the Japanese in spite of brutal occupation. See, this is our snowflake media who are used to saying whatever they want in America and as long as it’s Anti-American or Anti-Trump, they are never called out on fact checking. But when exposed to the world, well, not so much. Then other countries have something to say about it. Hey Dutchies, welcome to our world.

So the vicious queens have ruined hamburgers and figure skating for me. Oh well, I’ve enjoyed luge and curling and biathlon and cross-country sprint races. Last night NBC had the audacity to barge their way into NBCsn for pairs figure skating so I had to listen to moments of the dud duo for seconds while I searched for the remote to turn the channel.

And oh, by the way? Dick Button is still teaching…

Get ready for the live events tonight. If you’re watching the ladies or the ice dancing, try to watch their feet instead of their fannies. It’s the edging that counts!

He threw this out there on his FB page on Saturday. Also, Scott Hamilton and some blonde have great preview commentary on NBCsn. But I guess great commentary isn’t what NBC is looking for.

 

 

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Why We Should Love the Russians

Posted on January 25, 2018 by tosabarbell

I grew up during the Cold War (I added a link to that term for any Millennials who may be reading. I once trained a woman who had no idea what it meant to defect to America. I now assume nothing.) What this meant was that I was trained to fear the Russians. Politics; sports; punishment…didn’t matter what, fear the Russians.

But then Reagan, Gorbachev, and Glasnost appeared and many of us got to watch the fall of Communism and imagined Breshnev turning in his glass casket and the ghost of Lenin was finally snuffed out like Sandra Dee stepping on a ciggy. Suddenly there were food shortages and chaos in “The former Communist state of fill in the blank.” Not awesome and we went from fearing the Russians to feeling sorry for them.

Well, Putin changed all that and we’ve gone back to a, “Russia bad, America good” Rocky IV mentality. While that’s all well and good, we really are missing out on a lot of good shit over there in Commieville. Here are just a few reasons why you just gotta love those Ruskies…

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Mink with Silver Fox trim. I want this coat so hard.

Fur A.F.

Last Sunday, instead of watching the Viking game (in the pit of my stomach I knew this wasn’t going to end well for our purple boys and I.Just.Can’t. watch them lose when just the week before I was screaming in joy with the rest of our new friends in an Atlanta hotel bar. I wanted that moment to be our last memory together. Heh) I watched the European figure skating Championships held in Moscow. With every scan of the sold out arena, I quickly noticed the multitude of fur coats. WHAT? Someone stands up to the PETA thugs? Figures it would be the Russians. Kudos. Now, you could say that those Russian winters are fur necessary but really, if you’ve ever visited Minnesota anywhere from October to April, you know that our winters are totally fur worthy.

I’d always wanted a mink coat. Ya know how some little girls in the 70’s cut out and taped pictures of Scott Baio and Leif Garret up on their walls, I cut out and taped pictures of fur coats. Totally serious. Fur coats were a mysterious luxury that I could only dream about in the quiet of my room. A woman wearing a fur coat didn’t have my problems. She was up on a pedestal where she remained untouched by others’ fuckedupedness and ruled the world in her fur coat. I wanted to be that woman.

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A long fur coat meant that you could meet your husband at the airport in nothing but sexy undies and your fur. Someone make sure Matt see’s this please to increase my chances of a fur coat.

But then I guess we started feeling sorry for those cute little ferret type minks and we couldn’t wear fur anymore. JHMFC, I can’t say fag OR wear fur, what fun is life? But those Russians? Fuck the world, they’re wearing their fur. And if they can, I can. Fur is back on the dream list. Years ago, Matt’s mom offered me his Grandma’s fur coat. I so wanted to take it but short and stocky me didn’t fit into tall and graceful grammy’s coat (at 90 she’s still taller than me. That gives a hint as to how tall she was back in the day.)

When I was in my early 20’s, I mustered enough courage to walk into Dayton’s Oval Room and try on a few mink coats under the watchful eye of no less than three employees who, of course, knew I couldn’t afford to even be in there but let me have my fun anyway. Thank’s Oval Room employees, you let a young woman live out a fantasy, if only for a few moments.

Score one for the Russians, Fur A.F.

Strength

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If you can name a strength sport, chances are high that not only has Misha done it, he’s done it at it’s top level. Also, power belly x a gazillion.

If you close your eyes and imagine the ultimate strength athlete in terms of raw talent; work ethic; camaraderie; charm; a joyful spirit; comfortable ego; a showman, and a zest for life, you would conjure Misha. It may be a different face, but it will be him nontheless.  He is one of Matt’s favorites among the Champions League days and he has quite a few stories that make you like someone you’ll probably never get a chance to spend time with (as a mortal anyway;)

Many Russian athletes just seem to have fun. I like that. They don’t put on some silly show for their eight or nine Instagram followers, they just show themselves. Usually pranking each other in some way with lots of deep laughter afterward, they remind us to always have fun. But when they are working or training, they go hard. That gets lost on many around these parts. There is always fun to be had, but goofing off while attempting a lift or a truck pull or a stone load is given the respect it deserves. It’s why I only watch a few weightlifter video’s. A) I learn from them but mostly, 2. these people just work gawdsawful hard and it shows all over their face. The fun will come but during the lifts? Business. They’re there to get better. To be better.

And then it’s time for fun.

World's Strongest Man 2010 - Sun City, South Africa

WSM 2010 Powerbelly twinsies. Scrumptious.

There is a video of Misha singing with other’s the Israeli national anthem in the gym while he plays his accordion. One of the greatest moments of this video is when a young woman walks out behind him with her coat (not a fur coat but she’s pretty young so maybe she’s still saving for hers) and hat on. At that moment, Misha playing his accordion and singing is so everyday in her life that she feels comfortable walking out during it. I love that. Lucky girl. If you have 10 minutes to four hours to waste, hang out on the Youtube and watch Misha videos. The beauty of them is that you never know what will be next. Strongman? Weightlifting? Shooting guns? Throwing his daughter in the snow? Singing with his shirt off?

Time well spent IMO. I can’t think of an American counterpart to Misha. One who can display charm as well as strength that spans his success. Also,

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Tatiana Kashirina

Tatiana Kashirina is unarguably one of (if not THE) strongest women in the world. She approaches a 193kg clean and jerk with a methodical determination that shows no fear. I cannot imagine that kind of lifting. And don’t even think of being so stupid as to bring up drugs. Because drugs don’t get you a 193kg clean and jerk folks. If they did, this would be happening a lot more often. And it doesn’t…so shut up.

I miss seeing her on the platform. Her quiet confidence. Her strength.

I’m not saying Americans don’t have strength, obviously. What I AM saying is that if you admire strength, you’re going to have to include the Russians in that admiration because if you whimsically dismiss them to drugs, you are a stupid person who doesn’t understand how the strength world works. Don’t be a stupid person.

The National Anthem

Now, look, I love our National Anthem (I don’t know if I’m supposed to capitalize that or not so I will and then I won’t and one of them will be correct.) The flavor of the day protests against it at NFL Games were complete and utter bullshit. But we all knew that, right? That these slacktivist actions of few were an attempt to stay in the news cuz lawds know you’re playing wasn’t doing it.

Anyways. Moving on.

Growing up as the Russians won medal after medal at every Olympics meant that I would hear the national anthem no less than four bazillion times in two weeks time. I think it’s kind of funny now, looking back, how often my dad would stomp off in disgust saying that these athletes were robots and the gold medals didn’t mean anything to them. I mean, I dunno. They looked happy. I was just happy I got to hear their National anthem (see what I did there?) again. It’s loud, and majestic, and usually sung by men’s choirs and I don’t care who you are; when Rocky stood so small and bright in the boxing ring among all the uniformed spectators and politicians during the anthem, wasn’t that a moment?

In general, I really enjoy how European men like to sing folk songs. I think it’s awesome. A love for music and usually country unashamedly sung loudly…usually with alcohol. To me, this is very manly. Even without alcohol. We have a polka joint down the road here in Milwaukee, I’d really like to go. But they keep getting held up so I dunno, not. The owner did shoot a dude who was trying to rob him once though, that was cool. I’d just kind of like to go somewhere that gun shots aren’t the norm.

I’m picky that way.

 

But that National Anthem gets me every time. No, it’s not as great as ours. But when they play it, people stand. Every people. And you can joke that if they don’t they get shot. See, another reason why you should love the Russians.

I kid. Kinda.

Revolution

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The cellar where the Romanovs were executed.

Yes, America has a revolution. All the cool countries do. And I’m incredibly proud of ours, especially after learning so much more of it these last few years. Many died, still do in efforts to keep our country free. I am proud of that.

But Russia murdered an entire family in the middle of the night and then lied about it for 80 years and was then drowned into communism. I wonder when the Bush like Billboards went up along the roads of Russia with a picture of Tsar Nicholas that said, Miss Me Yet? Probably not ever but still, missed opportunity there.

Matt has had amazing visits to Russia. That’s cool and it’s definitely on my bucket list. He got to tour one of the Romanov palaces and even sent me a post card which only took about 6 months to get here. True story. His rep even took him to an Army museum and insisted on buying Oscar a true Russian Tank helmet. Yup. Oz has a true Russian Tank helmet in his collection thanks to the generosity of a Russian.

Score one for the Russians.

Putin

russian7

Bo-fucking-dacious.

Now, really, I don’t want to see a world power leader shirtless while fishing but COME ON! Fucking Putin…fishing with his shirt off!

My fellow Americans, I’m pleased to tell you today that I’ve signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes.

President Reagan

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Be a Horse in a Dog’s World

Posted on January 18, 2018 by tosabarbell
taszer

It only took about 24 takes to get this picture. Clearly Taszer had a blast. Dazzle? Not so much.

It’s been three and a half years since we had to put down our old boy, Preacher. At the time, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get another boy again. Preacher was it. He was the Walrus. He was The Man. He was on duty from the moment we met him until the horrible day we had to say goodbye. While Dazzle was our sweet and silly little girl that came to give him some pep in his step, Preacher was our forever dog.

And then almost a year later, after a visit to Minnesota which included spending time with our Kuvasz breeder family I got a text saying that a boy named Taszer (they spelled it “Tazer”, I added the sz for the full Hungarian feel;) had fallen in love with Zandra and told her that she needed to take him home. Home being my house at the time as she was getting on her feet after stumbling a bit. Hmmmmmm, am I ready for another boy? Will he be as perfect as Preacher?

Well, no. He wasn’t. Of course. But I tell ya what, he was many things that Preacher wasn’t and most important of all-he loved his new girl and loved us. So eventually, he came home. Home being MY home. Now, Taszer was already 5 years old so some of the house noises and goings on were a bit foreign to him. He wasn’t afraid of the vacuum until Dazzle talked him into it. He wouldn’t eat cheese treats until Dazzle called him a moron enough times that he’d finally take it as a treat. To his last days, he’d still carefully take the first bite back to his bed and munch it and then run back to the kitchen for more. Which was usually gone because Dazzle was all, “move your feet lose your cheese, dude.”

Around his first Christmas here, Zandra and I were having an argument and I yelled at her. Afterwards, Za went to work and I had a session out in the gym. When I came back to the house, Taszer had literally shit and pee’d all over my floors. From the kitchen to the living room to the back room. All. Over. And as my head nearly exploded, he just sat and looked at me with a “Do not ever yell at my girl again” face. In which case, I calmly looked at him and said, “If you ever do anything like this again you are fucking gone. Got it? Fucking. Gone.” I’m pretty sure he gave a slight nod and walked away feeling as if he had won that round. Tell ya what, Working Dogs are no joke. Of course Zandra thought it was hilarious and probably gave him treats for sticking up for her.

One of the more endearing attributes of Taszer is that he thought he was a horse. Now, I’m not just saying this. See, the breeder’s live out in the country and for a long time have had horses living on the other side of their fence. My theory is that Taszer saw them run and said to himself, ya-that’s me. That’s what I look like when I run.

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Secretariat. One evening the Disney ‘Secretariat’ movie was on the television and during the middle of it, Matt motioned for me to look at Taszer who’s bed was always right next to my chair. Sure as shit, he was watching intently and I’m quite sure recognized the horses as his brethren.

There was nothing “Dog” about Taszer’s run. He would trot; cantor; chuff when annoyed or tried to intimidate you; his little doggy feet would sound like thunder when he got a good gallop on in the back yard which was pretty impressive because our back yard isn’t very big at all. Basically, Taszer lived his life believing he was a horse. When we’d pass other dogs when out walking he wouldn’t give them the time of day. He wasn’t rude about it, he just didn’t believe he needed to associate with them. He was very sweet with Dazzle but maybe she looked enough like him to know that while she wasn’t a big, beautiful creature like him, she was okay.

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Taszer always had smiles for his girl.

When Zandra moved back to Minnesota we kept Taszer here to make sure she could find a place and get situated. Then a funny thing happened: Taszer became MY boy. Pre-Christmas shitting was forgotten and I came to rely on his majestic attitude and overall silliness. Taszer never got enough pets. If you were sitting on a chair and had your hand available, he’d come up underneath it with his head and keep bothering you until you started petting him. The wood floors were always a bit of a challenge for him and at times when he was slipping about he would just look at me and say, “Would you just get horse stall mats like all the other horses have, Mom?”

He was family, not just Zandra’s dog. Ours. Mine. Dazzle’s. Family.

We “joked” with the breeder’s after bringing Taszer home that he would keep Dazzle young and when Dazzle finally passed on we would get another little girl to keep Taszer young and the cycle would just continue through the years. Taszer turned 8 this fall and Dazzle 10 but both of them were in great health and I felt comfortable that saying goodbye was a long ways off.

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This picture was taken in mid-October. Right after Taszer’s 8th birthday. He and Dazzle were on a field trip to my son’s house for the weekend and Zac’s girlfriend’s dog kept trying to snuggle up to Taszer. She finally won and there ya go. Adorbs.

But then he wasn’t. Taszer had a very fast and devastating brain tumor that took him in under two months. It was horrible. Two days after Christmas, Matt already on a plane for a quick work trip and the kids packing up to head back to Minnesota and I knew Taszer had taken a turn for the worse. I told Oz and Zandra to say goodbye and then, even though my house was trashed from a week of Christmas fun, I laid on the floor by his side and didn’t move. I tried to force some water into his mouth and just cried. No. Way. It’s only been two years. You’re only 8. We have more years we’re supposed to spend together. This cannot be our ending. Even though I knew it was.

Our vet was supportive and we made an appointment for the next morning to say goodbye unless his condition improved. But we all knew it wouldn’t. I talked to the breeder’s and let them know what was happening and they were supportive and loving. I had a plan in the event he went into distress during the night and slept right by his  side on the floor to make sure he was comfortable. We watched the Hobbit movies, something that will always remind me of him. I didn’t want to even close my eyes knowing that 9 a.m. the next day is looming.

Taszer had a relatively comfortable night but around 5a.m. he started to visibly be, “not awesome.” I knew this was the right thing to do but seeing him jump into the car for his last time and especially out of the car at the vets absolutely shattered me. How can this dog who seems to healthy getting out of the car be dying today? One look at him by the Doctor when she came in the room and said, “Yes, it’s time” gave me very little comfort. I know it’s the right thing to do, but still so very difficult.

I’m thankful for our time together but still so sad that it wasn’t long enough. I’m sad that I lost a family dog to disease rather than old age. I’m sad that Dazzle doesn’t have her buddy. I’m just so sad. OH! Here’s a fun Taszer story; while digging isn’t a huge problem with our Big White Dog’s, Taszer had dug a hole so deep in our back yard corner that prior to a cold spell before Christmas, he was in the hole so far that for a minute I couldn’t see him. When I started to call for him, he butt up’d and happily strolled to the door. Filthy, which was fun because he’d just had a bath, and satisfied. I’d joke with our neighbor that some day our dog is going to find the dead body he’d buried in our yard and he’d laugh…I think. I’ll always believe Taszer’s one regret in life was that he never found that dead body. Now we have a hole about four feet deep in our yard. I dunno, plant a tree? Big boy, I miss you so much.

But here is Taszer’s legacy: be a horse in a dog’s world. Be bigger and better than everyone around you even if those around you are already big and good. Strut your shit because you are a magnificent beast, errrr, person. Don’t get distracted by those little dogs, errr, problems that are insignificant in the long run. Be a horse in a dog’s world.

As I opened the back of the car to let him out at the vets, I snuggled deep into his fur and said, “You are the greatest horse I have ever loved. You are irreplaceable. You will never be forgotten.”

If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans 

James Herriot

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