Oct 2, 2006 by Naomi.

The day began with fog but cleared off soon and became a
bright sunny California day that I had come to expect. While in the
shower as the introduction to JUST A MINUTE implies I thought of the
way muscles are tied to the frame – my skeleton. Somehow I never
realized the connection of bone to muscles and blood. As if the
skeleton was only there to hang the vital parts of me. Well in truth
that is what the bones are – spars on which to tie the rigging.

But my rigging is not tied to my bones as in tying a rope to a
life saver donut. Not tied at all. Muscles and tendons grow right out
of, or into, the bones, nurturing and sustaining every cell with life
giving blood. Even the scalp, as thin as the skin over it is the bone
must be stimulated to encourage capillaries to transport sustenance to
the brain. But then is the brain tied to the skull? I must look that
up.

How to stimulate the blood to flow into the netherlands of
tiny capillaries? I watched my overweight sister suffer with an aching
spine and painful knees. The knee cap was replaced with an acrylic one
to take care of that problem. I opted for a different solution. I
decided to stimulate the blood flow to my knee caps by scrubbing with a
hard bristled brush. Whether that helped or not, my knees are still
operating very well thirty years later.

But health aside, I have an obligation to meet the boy friend
of granddaughter. Since she has a driving permit she must practice her
driving on the way to Jonathon’s. Not a far piece away but an
interesting and scenic drive. Houses in this neighborhood are
surrounded by trees and bushes - very green. And since the beautiful
California weather beckoned I drove back to my place on Wildwood avenue
and got out and walked. I should practice what is good for me.

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Oct 2, 2006 by Naomi.

What a great relief and pleasure to settle in to my destination, relax and enjoy conversation and recollection of times long past; enjoy anticipation of things to come. This family’s routine was interrupted but not by much. And I met Steve. His past contained tragedy. Hit by a car some months ago he was sheltered by a compassionate man who saw not only to his comfort but to reconstructive surgery which restored his physical self to normal activity. He was adopted the moment he was released. Steve is a dog, a Chihuahua, weighing in at around 5 pounds.

History of the original development of the breed is unknown, having been brought into Mexico about 100 years ago from China, descendant of an ancient Egyptian breed. Discovered by American tourists it was brought to the USA named for the Mexican state of Chihuahua. Steve, as most Chihuahua’s, is alert, intelligent, playful, affectionate and loyal. I have only seen short haired chihuahuas but the coat comes in both long and short variations, and may be any color. Steve is an overall medium tan.

The first Chihuahua I come to know was the “baby” of the caretakers at a summer resort where I worked as a cabin cleaner in the great summer destination - the cool land of Ten Thousand Lakes. I do not recall the dog’s name, only that it was in the arms of Ruth Frank, the resort cook, during all her off hours. While she was working, the dog was confined to a small cabin she occupied. The cabin next door was home to me and other cabin girls. Nights in Minnesota were cool and we had to stoke our own pot bellied “air tight” stoves. One morning I over stoked. Before anyone was aware of a fire, flames had engulfed my cabin and Ruth’s too late to save the dog or any thing else.

For years I was pretty much free from Chihuahuas until I undertook a census and walked from house to house recording eligible school children for attendance in Stearns county schools. I was not afraid of dogs that loudly announced my intrusion. They came out to greet me and I was nonchalant and got the information the school district required. Dogs often ushered me out to the street and saw me merrily on my way. A chihuahua was more attentive. It was unwilling to let me go too easily. It nipped at the tendon of my departing ankle.

Not bringing forth blood, the sharp teeth brought forth the memory of the chihuahua I had murdered in my innocent youth. Was I destined to atone for the crime by becoming surrounded by dogs during my married life? Not tiny itty bitty short haired dogs but 70 pound Irish Setters with hair long enough to card and spin into yarn. Dogs that annually gave birth to 11 pups. One such birth occurred on the day the son with whom I am now visiting was born. His older brother was at home attending farm chores among which was the pregnant dog. When whelping began, the dog was brought into the living room to escape the below zero weather Minnesota is so famous for.

So much for dogs. I am not allergic to them, or cats either, but I do not welcome their tongues on my face considering what and where those wash clothes so lovingly attend.

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