Life

A Short Film – to Touch Your Heart, to Change the World

/ still a dreamer / 8 Comments

That’s a pretty big promise, I know. But don’t take my word for it. Take a mere 10 minutes from your life and be moved by this amazing film, “Change for A Dollar,” by Sharon Wright. Don’t miss this. Watch here, or for a bigger view, just click the link above.

 

 

 

The Candy Cane Cartel

/ still a dreamer

One of the items on my Christmas shopping list was something my girlfriend’s son can enjoy – traditional peppermint candy canes. He has many allergies, but this is one treat that is worry free. Even so, I wanted to check the package label to hopefully find that they were not made in a facility that also processes dairy and tree nuts, (two of his allergies.)


I was at Target and picked up a nice jumbo-size box of candy canes and looked at the label. Product of Mexico. What? I picked up a different kind, to find that they were by the same manufacturer. And … Product of Mexico. I was floored. Really? Then I looked at an obviously different brand that had a real old-fashioned look and feel to the packaging. On the label … Product of Mexico. WHAT? (If I were the kind of person who said OMG, you could now imagine some strange woman maniacally grabbing every kind of candy cane in the aisles — regardless of ridiculous flavor — and yelling OMG, OMG, OMG.)

But I didn’t. And I didn’t buy any candy canes. I went to my local Shop-Rite. And there, the same old-fashioned packaging again and … Product of Mexico. Since when did the quintessentially traditional Christmas candy start getting made in another country? In truth, I’d rather they be made in Mexico than China, but still … does no one make candy canes in America? I bought a small package of these – the brand is Bobs – in the event I never found anything else.

Then I went to a local shop, (This `N That on the Corner), and checked out some larger individual candy canes. Yes! Made in Ohio! And the manufacturer, Spangler, (see candy cane below right,) had right there on the display box, the simple ingredients and that the candy canes are made on a dedicated machine, (which means no cross-contaminants of potential allergens.) So I grabbed a big handful and was happy to pay a wee bit more, knowing that I’d gotten a safe gift and helped support an American worker and company.

Now here’s the kind of sad thing. I read online the long and detailed history of Bobs Candies. They were established in 1919 in Georgia. They survived the Great Depression, a devastating tornado in 1940 that destroyed their factory, and World War II shortages. Bobs actually introduced the crook in the candy cane. And at the end of this proud history is one line: In 2005, Farley’s & Sathers Candy Company, Inc. acquired Bobs Candies and nothing more. I’m guessing after that is when they started outsourcing the manufacture of their candy canes. Sad, eh?

But there still is Spangler’s, and I suspect there are more American companies making traditional Christmas candy canes. It only seems right.

Update: Christmas 2012 had me looking for Spangler’s again because they’d been made in the USA. On their label this year was “Made in Mexico.” In looking at their web site, I see they “operate a co-manufacturing facility in Juarez, Mexico for the production of commodity candy canes.”  Other items are still made in Ohio such as Jelly Belly jelly beans, Skittles and more. The American made candy cane search is on again.

How Do We Know If They’re Meant to Be Ours?

/ still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Times come in our lives when we are ready to open our hearts and homes to a new animal. But how do we know which is the right one for us? The one that is truly meant to be ours?

A little over 13 years ago, one of my two pit bull terriers passed away from complications of cancer. She had been starved and brutally abused. She’d had a very high prey drive and was dog aggressive, but she thrived in my care, and in time, also did so with my other pit bull terrier, Chloe. Chloe was at the opposite end of the spectrum; she truly loved ALL animals. With Chloe then twelve years old, I wanted her to truly enjoy her golden years with me and without the competition of another dog. But I knew she’d love a cat, and I began my search.

Every day that I was at work in the large city shelter, I took my lunch time to look at the over 200 cats awaiting adoption, asking that I please be shown the cat that was meant for me. That cat wasn’t there. Or at least not yet. Not so coincidental to this story, by the way, was the fact that in the office adjacent to mine, worked a lovely man in his 60’s. He was about 5’4″, and his wife was about 4’11”. They were a petite and adorable couple, totally devoted to each other from the days of their young marriage. I told him how happy it made me to see a couple still so in love. He told me it was bashert, i.e., “meant to be” in Yiddish. What a perfect word, I thought, and how perfectly fitting for them. I, too, was on the lookout for bashert, but on a much smaller scale.

One day in early August, I needed to go into work on my day off. Traffic on my usual route was at a standstill, so I took the back way through the neighboring town. As I drove over the familiar railroad bridge, I passed what looked like a crumpled piece of paper, but intuitively I knew better. I backed up and spotted a 5 week old tuxedo kitten, waiting to be hit by a car or plunge to his death 100 feet below.

I managed to catch the terrified and elusive kitten, brought him to the medical department for a gentle baby bath for fleas, and then to my office. Too young for inoculations, he wouldn’t fare well in a shelter with so many animals, so I decided to foster him until he was stronger – in my office on workdays, otherwise, home with me. He was so tiny, I was afraid he’d got lost or stuck in the house, so I set him up in my bedroom in a large Great Dane crate, complete with bed, blanket, litter and food and water. He screamed bloody murder.

The next evening the same. I closed the bedroom door and let him out. He made a beeline for a comforting spot under my Chloe’s chin. Mom! For two more weeks I followed this routine, everyone suggesting I keep him. My reason for not wanting to do so was that everyone will adopt a kitten; I would take a middle age or senior cat, a bonded pair, a cat with feline leukemia, i.e., a hard-to-place cat. Someone would surely fall in love with him quickly.

Then it happened. I looked at this very verbal little pipsqueak of a kitten, nestled with his new adoring mom, and found myself saying things like, “Now appearing in the Shakespearean production of I Claudipuss ….” or coaxing him with Monsieur Claude, or “Where’s my Cloudy Paws?” You get the picture.

I had asked to be shown the cat that was meant to be mine, and it had nothing to do with what I thought I wanted, but everything to do with who needed me. And so we need to be open to our choices in animals. I do believe every animal that I have had was truly meant to be mine. Perhaps I saved his or her life, perhaps in some other way, she or he saved mine. Animals are our teachers and guides, and may come to us in the most unexpected species, breeds, time and manner. They may be brought to us, or we to them, but we must always listen to our hearts.

Today that teensy feral kitten is a long and lanky 16 pound cat with tuxedo markings, but with all the features of an Oriental breed – short, smooth coat, long face, body and tail, and oh, yes, the (sometimes very annoying) vocalizations. His names today are Claudie the Dog Boy, (for all the dog tricks he happily performs), Mr. Freshy McFresh Face, and just plain Claude or Claudie. But it was those first silly names that were the tip off,  (that and his instant attachment to Chloe), that he was meant to be mine, kitten or no.

It was simply bashert.

Re-Finding Ourselves

/ still a dreamer

I woke up this morning not feeling fully awake – I remember waking at 12:40, then 1 something, then 5:40 with a jolt – a disturbing noise that may have only been in my dream. When I finally got up at 6:30, I hardly felt rested.

In the kitchen, I found that one of my cats, who has recently returned to dragging food out of the bowl with his paw, had dragged the entire bowl to the center of the kitchen floor which was now littered with many small pieces of half-eaten food. Are they trying to attract mice?

With coffee in me, I was thinking of work, how much I had to do right now, and how much time I was spending in my office. The open doors and windows brought in a breeze and drew me out to the porch, where I sat down and realized what an absolutely gorgeous morning it was.

I watched a little spider on one of the yews valiantly mending her web as fast as the breeze would blow a bit of it away. Sunlight glistened on web strands of larger spiders, and as the breeze would move them, it seemed as a scintilla of light traveled a diagonal from the porch rail to the roof.

I heard birds I didn’t recognize – I heard what sounded like the high pitch of a seagull, but I’ve never once seen a seagull in this area. Perhaps it was a late-summer baby clamoring for food, or maybe one of the numerous catbirds had mastered a new voice.

Sitting there, peaceful at last, I wanted to stay … to delay the inevitable, and just enjoy a cool summer morning and do nothing. I am always amazed at the healing power of even a few moments spent appreciating nature, if only from my porch. We can usually re-find ourselves by taking a little time away from our many demands and just being with the simple wonders of the natural world.

And then I saw him. It was a seagull, indeed, circling in the sky. I wondered if he had lost his flock and was calling out to be found. His cry had such a desperate air to it, and he flew in wider and wider circles, but still in view. I hoped someone would come looking for this seemingly lost soul. I returned inside, having found myself, and hoping that he, too, would soon find himself where he needed to be.

Building Your World on Your Dreams

/ still a dreamer

Morning by Maxfield Parrish

“Cherish your visions; cherish your ideals; cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts, for out of them will grow all delightful conditions, all heavenly environment; of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will at last be built.”

– James Allen from “Visions and Ideals,” As A Man Thinketh