Shani, second offense, misdeameanor for destruction of personal property
Over Labor Day, my Sheltie, Shani carried out a successful panty raid on my daughter’s slumber party (greatly angering my daughter). Shani’s most recent offense was much closer to home. I have been working on paper mache hands for Ms. Bewitchingly Boo-tiful described in last week’s blog. I placed the hands outside on the three-feet-high fire pit to dry in the sun. The height of the pit provides a convincing alibi for Violet, the rat terrior, nicknamed the Terrorist for her ability to shred anything in a matter of minutes.
When I came home to check on the drying progress, the hands were missing. I was mystified. At first, I thought the wind had blown the hands off the granite ledge. Afterall, what could be appealing to a dog about something made of flour, water, and paper, surely this combination does not emit a wafting odor tantalizing a dog’s olfactory lobes. But alas, the wind was not the culprit. I wasn’t going to be given the gift of finding intact phalanges. My search through the yard uncovered a few small remnants
Remnants of paper mache hands found in yard.
I was very surprised that both hands were gone. I mean one good chew and yuck! But this is where the accomplice comes in. My rat terrier, Violet, gets great joy in tearing up anything. Shani has been very discriminating in her destructive tendencies, limiting her tastes to extremely expensive Victoria Secret panties. Violet will grab whatever is handy and shake it violently while growling and then shred the with her teeth. I vision the hand dismemberment as a two dog crime. The dog with superior height and extremely long snout identified and retrieved the hands. The terrior gleefully shredded them as the sheltie ran in circles joyfully barking and egging Violet on.
Violet, accomplice to crime. Armed with sharp teeth to annihilate almost anything.
The crime set back the paper mache project three days:
One to recreate both hands. I start with pipe cleaners and cardboard.
Two days for drying.
Two more days for painting and decorating.
Three days for Marine varnish to paint and dry
Final three days for varnish to cure.
cardboard and pipecleaners to start
painted hand
Finished hands
All this has led me to develop the Pinocchio Theorem:
If you have a long nose, be careful it doesn’t lead you astray.
While innocently reading my email, I opened a challenge from the Idaho Botanical Gardens to create scarecrows for their annual scarecrow crawl the first weekend in October. Since retiring last year, I have been expanding my craft activities. This email literally shouted at me, “Do it! Make a paper mache scarecrow!” The Botanical Garden Theme was Idaho history and I immediately thought to make Sara Palin. Ms. Palin attended the University of Idaho so met the Idaho history criteria. But farther down in the rules, it stated scarecrows would not be allowed that had any political theme or were derogatory. I don’t have an expansive enough imagination to link scare crow, Palin and paper mache into any type of positive image. I immediately rejected the Palin concept and moved on to a scarecrow witch. I thought I could handle dressing some type of large doll and making a paper mache face and hands. The real challenge was getting the doll to stand up on a pole. The entry materials warned that the scarecrows would have to last seven weeks through potentially vile weather including rain, wind and hail. The apparatus to support the doll had to be substantial. Fortunately, I have a friend who does wood working and agreed to help me suspend the doll once decorated. So my entry went in as “Bewitching”. As the project grew in scope and scariness, I later added Boo-tiful. My final entry was the Bewitching Ms. Boo-tiful!
I researched online “big dolls”. I discovered there are many variations of inappropriate life-sized sex toys. I also discovered much to my delight that Mattel makes a My Size Barbie which stands over 3 feet tall, the perfect form to make a paper mache witch. I ordered my used Barbie princess on EBay. The big doll came in a golf clubs box. The shipping cost more than the doll. My daughter, Kayla, informed me she didn’t like large dolls and didn’t want the doll in the house. So when Barbie arrived, I invited her to sit with us for dinner a few nights in my son’s seat (he’s away at college).
Kayla was incensed to have Barbie sitting across the table at meal (this just proves that I am fundamentally a wicked mother).
I had planned on dressing Barbie in a black plastic garbage bag because of the weather concerns. I had years of 4-H many moons ago so I felt I would be able to sew a credible dress from a plastic bag. However, I discovered at Wal-Mart that My Size Barbie fits perfectly into size 2 toddler clothes. I bought her black hot pants, silver Lycra leggings, little tiny, black leather boots and a black lace shirt. A black cape, red wig, Halloween socks, black children’s mittens all came from the Dollar Store; as did glittery orange and black spiders and a flying bat. I ordered online a child’s witch’s broom for the cross bar of the scarecrow along with child’s witch’s hat. The broom arrived all bent up with the straw broken but it was too much bother to return so I taped on the little pieces of straw with black masking tape. I learned on this project that masking tape is a cure all for all sorts of production problems. When we had a week of rain as the project was coming together, I cut an orange cape out of an old plastic table cloth to keep downpours off Ms. Boo-tiful’s back (only the best for my witchy fiend).
Barbie dressed for Halloween
Ms. Boo-tiful’s face and hands were the reason I started this wacky project to begin with. I wanted another venue for my paper mache crafting. The big concern was how to keep paper mache from dissolving when it has to be outside for seven weeks. Of course, the internet is full of advice on how to sustain paper mache. My favorite video was a research project conducted in England by a man who made paper mache creatures out of balloons, coated them with different varnishes and placed them outside to see which if any of the balloon people could survived England’s’ notorious wet climate. Regular varnish vanished into a caved in puddle of cardboard within a week but the balloon man coated with marine varnish (used on boats and quite expensive) made it through England’s winter looking largely the same only a little more yellow with age. Ms. Boo-tiful’s face and hands were coated four times with marine varnish and left to cure 4 days. Hopefully, this keeps her together through October.
The most enjoyable part of the project was assembly. My friend, Henry Reents, mounted Ms. Boo-tiful on a 4 foot pvc pipe using a large toggle bolt in the back. Her broom stick was also screwed into the CVP pipe. Her paper mache hands were screwed into the broom. She is wired at the waist to the PVC pipe. Her wig is screwed on and her hat is held in place with push pins Henry pounded into place with a hammer. We spent two delightful afternoons assembling Ms. Boo-itful. We found ourselves giggling evilly together as Henry continued to put screws and wires into the transformed Barbie. Who knew creating the perfect witch could be such devilish fun.
Ms. Boo-tiful went out to the Idaho Botanical Gardens on Thursday, September 29th. The Garden provided a rebar pipe in the ground and I just popped Ms. Boo-tiful on it. Sue and Henry Reents and my husband and I went out to see her at the Botanical Harvest Festival on Sunday. It was a beautiful fall day. There was music, arts and crafts booths, food vendors, and a beer garden. The place was packed with little children, running wildly about. A couple accidently tumbled into us as we strolled. There were 16 scarecrows entered in the Scarecrow Crawl. They were eclectic group and ranging from objects made by kindergarteners to gorgeous displays from Boise’s largest family-owned garden shop. After viewing Ms. Boo-itful who truly is a fantastical, scary, scarecrow, we spent time sitting in the shade watching all the activities. The Harvest festival is a “must do” for families in Boise the fall.
Ms. Boo-itful has to be removed between November 1 and 3. At that time, I’ll get to see up close how the marine varnish worked. I will hazard a guess now that she will be frightening indeed after being out in the Idaho fall weather for six weeks.
“Happiness is there for the taking–and making “ Oprah
When was the last time you did something just because it was fun? I was out to dinner last weekend with my husband, long-term friends and a new couple (guests of our friends). The female newcomer was also recently retired. She shared with us that she was giving up bocce ball because she was too competitive. She couldn’t sleep worrying about matches. Her angst over games had started interfering with her marriage. The bocce team she and her husband participated on won the city championship this year. They brought home a gold medal to join a room of gold medals from previous years. In other words, bocce was a shared activity at which both she and her husband excelled but her competitive spirit had taken away the fun. Unable to harness her competitive ways, she chose to quit the sport.
Also, this week I received an email from a disgruntled parent about my daughter’s coed soccer team. The parent didn’t feel our volunteer coach was providing adequate guidance and we weren’t winning enough games. To be accurate, I don’t think the team has won any games. I was astonished to receive this email because I feel fortunate to have a “volunteer” coach. The team can’t play without a regular coach and the rest of us are either too old, too unschooled at soccer, or too busy with work to volunteer. Independent of the notion of complaining about a volunteer when the rest of us hid in corners when asked to help out, co-ed soccer is to be played for “fun”. Unlike club or school soccer, co-ed is intended to provide an opportunity for young men and women to interact on the field and learn to play nicely together. My daughter has been attending practices regularly, even though she can’t play because of a major injury last spring. She goes because she has fun.
Many years ago on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my husband and I were driving from Disney Land to Sacramento for a traditional family celebration. We had driven for four hours with two little kids in the backseat whining all the way and we hadn’t even inched half-way across Los Angeles because of the holiday traffic. My husband, Pete, looked at me and said, “Are we having fun yet?” The answer was a clear, “No!” But we were certainly trying hard to get to “Yes!”
We all have the human capacity to pursue fun for the pure joy of emotional escape. We know the heady feeling of spontaneous laughter and the calming quiet of rest after an exhilarating day. But we seldom ask ourselves are we having fun? We execute our careers successfully moving towards clear goals. We strategize about which people to meet and network with to get ahead. We watch and play games to win. We make bucket lists of what we want to accomplish before we die. We carefully plot out expensive trips to foriegn locales. But we infrequently say to each other let’s just be silly. Let’s have fun.
My son, Scott, excels at having a good time. This summer he entered a pinewood derby race at a local pub “just for fun”. He brought home the small cardboard box with a chunk of wood and four wheels the night before the race and transformed it into the “Weenie Wagon” with a few hours effort.
Scott and the Weenie Wagon
My husband, Scott’s friends, and I all went downtown to see the big event. When we got there, I learned I could buy a pre-made red car, “Robin Red” for $10. Scott’s best friend from grade school, Daniel, piloted my vehicle. Both cars won one heat and then we were up against each other. The “Weenie Wagon” with it’s outrageous design beat out my more traditionally styled racer (no wonder it was so cheap). The Weenie Wagon went down to defeat in the next heat. But spending a glorious night in Boise outside racing cars with young men was FUN! Later, Scott won the award for most creative vehicle name and a $100 gift card much to our delight (Good Karma runs on the male side of our family).
Robin Red goes against Weenie Wagon on a beautiful night in downtown Boise.
Also, this week I received a picture of Scott’s new hair do. He moved from a man bundescribed in a blog this summer to a bird’s nest. He texted that several freshman have opted for similar hair cuts. You know the old saying “Birds of a feather flock together.” When I opened the my son’s text it made me LOL.
In retirement, I am trying out new activities and undertaking lots of silly ventures. I get asked a lot “Why are you doing THAT?” My answer is, “For fun”.
I am finding out where my joy resides. I am taking Robert Louis Stevenson’s advice and giving joy “a voice”. This week I might soak in the sun, smell the coffee, listen to the rain, read a good book, play with pets, visit friends or go to a movie. My one promise to myself is to have fun.
Balloons rising over Boise at the Boise Balloon Festival. A great way to greet the day!
Recently, my sister encouraged me to start streaming a series on Acorn TV entitled “800 Words”. The star of the show, George Turner (played by Erik Turner) is a writer who turns out weekly columns of exactly 800 words. He originally lived in Sydney, Australia. On a whim, George sells his house, buys a new home sight-unseen in Weld, New Zealand, and moves he and his two teenage children overseas. The rationale behind the move is that in a place he cherished as a child on family vacations maybe he and his children can find solace and eventually heal from the sudden accidental death of his wife.
The show is a human interest comedy so not surprisingly in the first episode his decision, which everyone including himself questions, is fraught with humorous accidental encounters, snarky real estate deals, natural disasters and extreme bullying of his teens as they try to get acclimated to a new school. George has unwittingly bought the wrong house in need of massive repairs without the promised view. The rental car is destroyed by a random piece of art, resulting in a major community event. George insults the entire village by writing about how Weld is a “dead end”. George rescues himself only by attending a community gathering and stumbling through a message about his dead wife and how a dead end can serve as a new beginning.
The theme of dead ends providing new directions reminded me of a stickie note, I keep posted on my computer. “The farthest road to take is the road back to yesterday.” Our antecedents no matter how accomplished, guilt riddenaumatic and/or regretful are behind us never to be recovered.
In this week’s Bible Study, the irretrievably of the past reached out from the Old Testament story of Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot’s wife is ordered not to look back at Sodom as she and Lot escape destruction. Yet even with a stern warning from God, she can’t comply. Because of her backward glance, Lot’s wife is turned to stone, symbolic retribution, a rock stuck in the proverbial “hard place” unable to choose the future. Part of the human condition is to cling to traditional patterns and past habits.
Rationally, we know we can’t recreate or return to “Happy Days.” But emotionally, moving forward when faced with life’s challenges may be the hardest calling each of us faces. Alcoholics are asked to give up drinking and this may mean giving up friends and changing life patterns, such as transitioning from socializing in bars to extreme sports and regular meetings.Women in violent relationships may need to flee their homes in the dark of night with their children and nothing else to a shelter and uncertain future hoping to find safety. Refugees cram into small boats sailing to unknown places that promise a better future. The boat may capsize. Too many foreigners may have come before. The welcoming vision may transform into a nightmare of fences with barb wire surrounding camps. Life’s journey is thwart with the possibility of dead ends and the siren call to return to what one knows, no matter how intolerable.
Human progress can be traced to those who are able to see what appears to be a dead end as a culdesac, a bend in the road, an opportunity to move in new untried directions.The miracle of human creativity is our ability to seek new directions when all seems hopeless. We have created a term for this ability, “resiliency”, the ability to overcome adversity and move on. We do not have to remain rooted in one place emotionally like a stone or spin wildly out of control as if we were clinging to a rubber raft launched on white water without any oars or life jacket. We can make choices even bad ones and recover. We can’t go back but we can stride forward in an uncertain world with a hopeful heart.
Over Labor Day, my beloved Sheltie, Shani, raided the teenage girls’ bathroom and bedroom at our cabin. While she is usually sweet and shy, when left to her own devices her nose can get her in trouble. In this case, she destroyed a variety of feminine hygiene products. Five teenage girls and one bathroom provided a wild array of new scents and textures to explore. The pièce de ré·sis·tance of the crime was that when snorting through the bedroom clothing left on the floor, the only underwear Shani chose to destroy was my daughter’s very expensive Victoria Secret panties. My daughter, Kayla, does not like the word “panties” but one must call a spade a spade. In this case, Shani’s panty raid was restricted to her owner. Upon reflection “panty” as a descriptor of the little, tiny swaths of brightly colored lace, nylon, and spandex Kayla wears is generous. When I was a teenager, my mother would have described these itty, bitty pieces of fabric as “obscene” or cut them in half and used them as hankies, no wonder Shani put her nose in it. Victoria Secret has a new term for them “cheekies or cheeckini” presenting in seductive colors such as “purple rapture,””neon nectar” and “Bella Donna Pink.” Cheeky indeed! in all the many senses of the word.But I digress from the action in order that you might better understand the impulses of the perpetrator, just look at that long, soft nose and inquiring eyes designed to hunt out the single most tasteful, skimpiest, fragile, exquisitely expensive garment among many.
I was alerted to the crime when we all came home from dinner and I heard screaming and shouting upstairs. Over the balcony, reverberated, “GROSS!” “SHANI!” “Who left the doors open?” This query was from my daughter searching for the co-conspirator so she wouldn’t have to help clean up the mess. I, of course, was Shani’s defender and blamed the entire incident on the girls. Dogs will be dogs. Leaving attractive nuisances available for sniffing, thus enticing a dog’s olfactory lobe is bound to lead to chewing and wanton destruction.
The accusers
I must admit that Shani once rooted around in my laundry basket. But I wear cheap cotton panties from ShopKo (the Bridget Jones memorialized as big panties, meaning full coverage in Bridget Jones Diary). One bite was all Shani could muster, though there was plenty of material, probably gave her that dry, cotton mouth taste.
A single bite is all ShopKo panties is worth
I salute Shani for a valiant effort not to make me feel totally without appeal. The single bite suggests that one taste was all it took for her to take my cheap underwear off her list of chewable delights.
My daughter is always talking about how much better her dogs will be trained than ours when she leaves the house and gets a dog of her own. I am sure this is true.
My first dog when I was single was also a Sheltie, named Ginger Rogers because she loved to dance. I participated in a dog training class with my boss at the time, Dr. Cohen, who owned a big red setter. Ginger would prance gaily around the ring, sit, stand, lay and come when called. Dr. Cohen told me he’d never seen a better trained dog. But of course, since I was single, I had lots of time to work with the dog. We went everywhere together and had a very strong bond.
Ginger, my first dog and constant companion
I have learned over the years that children change everything including dog training. Our next sheltie was Sparky. We got her when Kayla was little and Scott was in second grade. We all loved Sparky. But I remember eating dinner at the kitchen counter and saying to Kayla, “We don’t feed the dog at the table.” Kayla said, “Mommy, I don’t feed dog.” Just then Sparky ran under my feet with what looked like a cup of cooked spaghetti on her head. When I asked Kayla how the spaghetti got there. She said, “Fell off spoon. I don’t feed Sparky.”
Sparky with Kayla, Scott and I. Training dogs with young children is more difficult.
Dogs are one of the great joys of my life. Unlike teenage girls, they thrive on your attention and don’t push you away. Shelties are bred to watch sheep, so they love their home and guard their yards, no demands of freedom from them. A homebody when Shani gets out of the back yard (infrequently), she runs around to the front door and waits for us to let us in. Unlike my daughter pushing hard to bust free of the confines of home, Shani is contented to stay with us always.
I don’t like to think of a time when I might not be able to care for a pet of my own. My dogs are not my whole life, but over the years and through a number of dog lives, dogs have certainly helped make my life whole.
Kayla and Shani.Forgiveness and Reconciliation are words to live by
Rollout those lazy, crazy days of summer…You’ll wish that summers could always be here (Nat King Cole, 1963)
2016 was my first summer of retirement. What a glorious time, I have had! Pete and I opened summer with a grand circle tour of the Wyoming and Colorado Rocky Mountains.
Jackson Hole biking
CSU Ram, Cam
Buffalo, Wyoming
Rockies Game
Driving from Boise to Jackson Hole, the Teton’s highlight was biking at twilight along the Snake River. Then on to Buffalo, Wyoming to visit family and enjoy Wyoming’s wonderful summer weather where cool breezes keep the air moving and the need for air conditioning down. In Cheyenne, Wyoming where I grew up, I am still blessed with many long-term friendships. These friendships have remained strong over 20 years of living in different cities with annual visits home. All but one friend and my husband beat me to retirement. Some of my friends have had health struggles. One friend is recovering from a stroke, another a heart condition, another just getting over a knee replacement surgery. All have new grand children to report on. When I sit down with my Wyoming friends, it feels like yesterday when we left. Over the years and across the miles, our shared adventures and linking life lines have kept us together.
We finished our roadtrip with our annual visit to a Colorado Rockies game, a must for us and plans to meet Wyoming friends in Arizona next year to watch spring baseball. Our final stop before heading home was Golden, Colorado where Pete has family and the hops from Coors Brewery fills the air. Clear Creek runs through town, like the Boise River but much smaller. These rivers provide the focal point for both communities though their original historical roots are quite different. Golden was a mining town and Boise was the Lewis and Clark route, the Oregon Trail and home to Fort Boise. Our drive home took us across Utah, setting of glorious rock formations. Traveling in Utah always leaves me thinking about Mormon families pushing their hand carts across the vast landscape, a hardy group for sure.
The friendship/family tour was our only trip this summer. Boise (consistently ranked as one of the top outdoor cities) is a fabulous place to spend the summer and we also own a cabin in McCall, Idaho welcoming us over the long holidays including Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, a late July family vacation and most recently Labor Day. Labor Day trills the siren call of summer’s end. The air is starting to turn and Boise hosts the fabulous Boise Balloon Festival.
Our cabin in McCall is tiny (about 1200 square feet) but it has big arms, welcoming 5 co-ed college students (guests of my son) and Pete and I two weeks ago. Labor Day we hosted Kayla’s 17th birthday extravaganza with 4 of her friends. Kayla’s birthday is September 6th. We celebrate her birthday every Labor Day in McCall. In recent years, neighbors from Boise have bought a place too. We share or more accurately mooch dinners and boat rides from them. Our kids are together in college and they have a daughter from China who is a freshman in high school. The weather never cooperates with our beach and water plans. But somehow we manage to get out on the water. One Labor Day, we were wrapped in blankets on a boat. This year I actually got a brain freeze as I shot across Payette Lake on a jet ski.
Kayla’s 17th birthday
Girls being girls, McCall
McCall cookout
Scott on pink flamingo jet ski
So what I have I learned from my first summer of retirement?
Family and friends matter more as one ages, make the time to cultivate and grow existing relationships.
Good health is a blessing and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Exercise regularly, eat right and make time for preventive health visits.
Be thankful for every day God has given me. Jump out bed and enjoy the day!
My sister, Jane, at her 50th high school reunion in Cheyenne, Wyoming with our 1965 Ford Mustang.
I grew up in Wyoming, the cowboy state. Wyoming has a population of about half a million; spread over approximately 100,000 square miles (about 6 people per square mile). Winters are long and cold. The wind blows most of the year, great in the summer for blowing away mosquitoes. Wyoming cowboys and girls (the few there are) are a hardy, independent, eccentric group.
I was reminded of how quirky Wyomingites are with a story my sister shared from her fiftieth high school reunion last week in Cheyenne.
First, she sent me a picture of a 1965 yellow Ford Mustang with a black faux leather roof. Her note said, “This is our car.” The picture did look amazingly like the car Jane and I drove in high school and college. I texted her, “Does look just like our car.” She texted back, “It is our car.” A guy at her reunion had bought the car from our dad for $600 in about 1977, refurbished it and kept it in pristine condition all these years. Only in Wyoming with such a tiny population would you run into someone who knew you and owned your car for almost 40 years.
I remember the day in 1965 when, Dad brought the mustang home. He drove up in front of our house in Cheyenne. I looked out the picture window and was thrilled. The car was only a year old, very few miles, yellow with a hard top, automatic gear shift in the center console, creamy leather interior smoothed like butter over bucket seats. Quite a “ride” for two girls from Wyoming! The mustang went back and forth to high school though we lived about four blocks away from school. Then it traveled to college when my sister needed a car her senior year for student teaching. I was a freshman at the same school so I was one of the few freshmen on campus with access to “wheels”–a literal joy ride!
The Mustang stayed with me all through college after Jane, graduated. The car had two busy summers while I was in college. During that period, I was Lady-in-Waiting (1971) and then Miss Frontier (1972) for Cheyenne Frontier Days, the world’s largest out-door rodeo. I spent those summers traveling with a Native American Dance troupe, attending civic functions around Wyoming, Nebraska and Colorado, and riding my quarter horse, Debbie. The car took me everywhere “pony style”, the nickname for the Mustang’s compact design . Because the “Frontier Days Royalty” had all kinds of outfits for the rodeo, the tiny trunk was frequently filled to the gills with a variety of colored boots and hat boxes filled with expensive felt cowgirl hats. The back seat carried white silk blouses and buck skins (the official outfit), along with several hand-tailored western suits for night shows and rain gear.
The Mustang and I travelled down to Arizona when I attended graduate school at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona. The problem with the Mustang in Arizona was it didn’t have air conditioning. I only went to graduate school during the school year so the heat problem was limited to late August and early June. But driving back to Wyoming was a bear. My sister flew down to drive with me the spring I graduated (1975). The car broke down in transit back to Wyoming. Now ten years old, Dad got me a brand-new Mercury Bobcat to go to Washington State University in Pullman where I worked on my doctorate.
Bobcat and I in Pullman, Washington
After the Mustang retired from driving girls, the car was parked behind our house in Cheyenne, out in the open. Dad used it as his golfing car, carrying his golf clubs out to the Country Club every day in summer. A young man at the time cruising the alley spotted the car and stopped to inquire if Dad wanted to sell it. And so a good long-term family friend went to another apparently forever home.
If the Mustang could talk, it would have many tales to tell. Jane and I would drive from Cheyenne to Hastings, Nebraska for college and back on I-80. We were almost always speeding. The speed limit at that time was 75. One time, when we were going almost a 100 miles an hour, I could feel us barreling off the road. I remember shouting at Jane as we were heading off, “Slow down!” She calmly replied, “Too late now!” as we swerved into the high grasses. Fortunately for us, much of the road between Wyoming and Nebraska is flat plains. We just rolled to a stop, backed up and were off down the road again. Thinking of our escapades now gives me shivers. But in the late sixties we would drive like the wind, with reckless abandon, racing everywhere to the next big adventure. After all we were Mustang girls, who grew up on the wild, windy, Wyoming plains.
Trumpster paperweight, made in America, is a true collectible for your political friends.
Right before my son, Scott, left for college he came up with idea that I should create a paper mache Trump figure. Wacky Trumpster featured in this blog would make a great gift for politicos from either major party. Trumpster is a convenient paperweight to keep track of all those nasty receipts you need at your finger tips when you are audited by the IRS. If Trump had a Trumpster, we may have seen his tax returns by now. Remember Trumpster comes with real hair which you can wash and comb. If you are loosing your hair, here is your opportunity to style someone else’s hair to your heart’s content. Trumpster is made entirely of recyclable products when you grow tired of him just toss him in the Dumpster. Each Trumpser is unique and lovingly made with only the finest old, used products. Don’t wait to order yours!
More reasons that Trumpster is this Election’s trendiest gift.
Trump Supporters: Give them a Trumpster along with a carton of legos. Trumpster is entirely made in American by a 6th generation American (me). The legos are so your Right Wing friend and Trumpster can build walls to their hearts’ content at no cost to tax payers.
Trump Detractors. Give them a Trumpster to help them work off anger and frustration with the current Congress:
Made of paper, Trumpster can serve as a bulletin board to remind you of key dates. For example, the Presidential election is Tuesday, November 8, 2016. If Trump looses, political commentary won’t be near as much fun.
If you have a ghoulish side you could just push pins in Trumpster any time you are upset. I don’t think Trumpster contains any voodoo magic but punching holes in a wind bag is bound to make your day better.
To Order your own Trumpster or Trumpster for your friends and loved ones message me on Facebook or WordPress or go to:
I started working in paper mache this summer to create sellable items for a Christmas Bazaar where the funds go to charity. So far I have created assorted cats and woodland angels. These items have not proven very popular on Etsy or Facebook. I am beginning to have a craft room full of colorful cats and flying nymphs made of paper, paint and paste.
My college son, Scott, is of the opinion that anything “Trump” no matter how bizarre will sell. Scott may have a point. Trump seems to hold a weird fascination even for his detractors. All across America we wait with baited breath to hear the next outrageous Twitter or giggle at Trump’s explanation of how Obama created ISIS only to learn that these wild statements are a new form of “sarcasm”.
I took Scott up on his challenge and created “Trumpster”. Paper mache Trump is functional which is more than can be said for his real-life counterpart. He is a paper weight. Mr. Trump sits on a replica of Trump tower, a raspberry box filled with rocks(I liked both the symbolism of Trump perched on raspberries and his tower covered with a gold facade but really holding nothing but rocks like many of his failed real estate deals). Trump’s body is made from a recycled brew cup. We have lots of these from coffee every morning, might as well put them to good use.
As Scott noted, the only things you need to denote Trump are big hair, pointing fingers and orange skin. The reality bar is quite low because Trump has made himself into his own reality TV character. The hardest part of the project was the hair. I finally clipped hair off my Sheltie, Shani, and glued it on a wig form. When I told Scott this, he worried that I had given Shani bare spots. Do not be alarmed, Shani has more hair at any one time than most dogs grow in a life-time. As you can see by the picture, Shani looks no different after providing Trump with his gilded hair than she did before my gentle clipping. Once the hair was glued in place, the wig fell off the model into a cup of water. Not to worry, made from real hair, the wig dried out and remains perfectly groomed unaffected by this potential castrophy.
Playing on Payette Lake provides a metaphor for life
I have lived in Idaho almost 22 years, a third of my life. Idaho is the most Republican state in the nation.The state where a perfectly normal question is “Have you heard of the group Black lives Matter? Well, in Idaho Redneck Lives Matter.” In rural Idaho, PETA stands for “People eating tasty animals.” (Probably shot with a concealed weapon, all perfectly legal.)
In this staunchly Red environment, I have transformed into a strong Democrat. I drive a blue car with a novelty license plate that says BLUEGRL. I am proud to be a Blue girl (Democrat)in a Red State. I sometimes worry about the car getting keyed for advertising my political opinions.
I have a Republican friend who says Idaho Democrats could hold the state convention in a phone booth if we could find a phone booth anymore. Idaho Democrats running for statewide office get consistently about 30% of the vote if the individual candidate runs a good campaign. We haven’t had a Democrat elected statewide since our Democratic Superintendent of Public Instruction, Marilyn Howard, retired in 2006. No other position has even been competitive in the 20 years I’ve lived here
The miracle of Bernie Sanders in Idaho is that thousands of people showed up for Democratic caucuses all over the state. In Boise, there are still Bernie yard signs up. Before the Democratic National Convention several hundred people marched in Boise in support of Bernie.While I still see Bernie stickers on cars and yards signs, I haven’t seen any Hilary stickers. I got an email last week that Hilary had hired an Idaho field organizer, a young woman, recent graduate of the University of Idaho. The email said Hillary could use some help in Idaho. NO KIDDING! Hillary and Idaho? Talk about an oxymoron! The fact Hillary has paid staff in Idaho shows the fundraising process of the Democratic Presidential campaign. Maybe Hillary has a field organization in Idaho to recruit Bernie fans. But the few I know wouldn’t vote for Trump. They may choose to not vote and thus the need for Hillary to have a grassroots organization.Paying to organize Idaho Democrats for a national election is like seeing how many people you can get in a Volkswagen. You can run around a lot, create frenetic energy, spend a great deal of time but in the end the number will be quite small.
In this environment, where there are no decent Democrats running for national office why do I remain a Democrat? Afterall, I will be voting for Republican Congressman Mike Simpson in my Congressional District. Congressman Simpson is a retired dentist who supported expansion of the Children’s Health Insurance Program. He recently got Congress to pass the White Cloud Wilderness Bill, designating three areas in the Owyhee Mountains as wilderness. This legislation took years of work. In other words, Simpson is a good guy. Why bother with the Democratic label at all when I am clearly the minority?
I have wrestled with my Democratic values for some time. I am forced to when I am consistently in the minority. Saying my political alliegence aloud can lead to crazy arguments and loss of friendships.
I grew up a Republican in Wyoming. I can remember standing on the tamarack at the Cheyenne airport. My sister was dressed in white holding glittery gold poms poms along with other teenage girls. I tasted the bitter bile of jealousy as the wickedly cold wind made my eyes leak because I wasn’t old enough to be a Goldwater Girl and stand with the cheering girls. Goldwater went on to win only six states, Arizona (his home state) and five southern states. He even lost Wyoming and Idaho.
Early in my early professional career I worked for both Democratic and Republican Governors. I considered myself an independent, supporting the individual rather than the party.
I capitulated to dyed-in-the-wool, bright Blue Democrat as I saw the Idaho legislature become progressively conservative giving tax breaks to business, failing to appropriately fund our public schools, repeatedly defeating Medicaid Expansion. Last year in the legislature an emergency room physician testified that at least a 1000 low-income Idahoans die a year because of lack of health care. Our Republican Governor Butch Otter’s response was, ” Lots of people die every year.”
My husband and I give monthly to Idaho Democrats. I am volunteering to stuff envelopes for state legislative races. All of this money and energy with no expectation of it making a difference. The question is why bother?
I got the answer on Saturday at Payette Lake in McCall. I was sitting on the dock at Ponderosa State Park watching my daughter and her friend jet skiing across the lake. A woman with head covered, black leggings and a beautiful white lace top got on the back of a new jet ski behind her husband. I presume she was Muslim and the man was her husband. After bouncing across the water at full tilt, she came back to the dock sporting a huge smile. At that moment it became crystal clear to me why I am a Democrat. Jet skiing provided a great metaphor for living in our complex world. My Chinese daughter was out on the same water with the Muslin couple and behind me some black families who were speaking a language other than English, also in full dress, probably refugees, were playing on the beach and wading in the shallow water, laughing and splashing. All of us from very different backgrounds were sharing the lake linked by our human capacity for laughter and joy.
I am a Democrat because I believe all lives matter. Hurrah for Rednecks, Blacks, Latinos, Asians, Muslims, Jews, Gays and everyone else! You all matter and American should be a big enough place that we can embrace and live with our differences.
Everyone at the lake had a moment of shared joy across cultural boundaries.
My son Scott headed out for his last fall at the University of Idaho this week. He is President of his fraternity, Phi Kappa Tau and had to be at U of I early to get the fraternity house ready for Rush. Before he left he took time for our Man Bun versus Mom Bun (MUNs) head shots.
The family teased him all summer for his long hair on top, cropped short on sides.
Scott’s hair , looking great!
His hair looks great for work but for lacrosse or workouts flops down his face in a long veil unless it is held back by a bun and sometimes bun and headband. When he has his hair up, he is part of the man bun crowd started a few years back by hipsters in New York, moving to San Francisco and becoming popularized by celebrities Jaquin Phoenix, Jared Leta, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik. (both of One Direction, boy band fame).
MUNs are popular enough now that you can purchase one on Amazon.com if you don’t have enough hair. Nick Cannon has been wearing a MUN the last few weeks on America’s Got Talent. Mr. Cannon told folks on Good Morning Americathat it takes a couple of hours to get his corn rows and man bun in place. Man buns aren’t for everyone. Since many men have a hereditary tendancy to loose their hair as they age, there have been recent cautions that wearing a too-tight man bun can pull out your hair permanently, prematurely. Scott doesn’t have to worry about that. The hair loss gene comes from the mother’s side of the family. My dad had fabulous wavy hair until he died. The popularity of the man bun has moved it into the realm of humor. If you want to see politicians with man buns including Donald Trump check out this link: http://twistedsifter.com/2015/11/if-politicians-had-man-buns/
My hair is a different story. By the time I hit thirty, I was in professional jobs and kept my hair short to ensure I had some semblance of a coiffeur at work. Before short hair, I had extremely thick, long, and amazingly unruly hair. In my late twenties when I had long hair and was at a meeting of all men, I turned my head and a rocket shot across the room. Everyone in the room asked what it was. When we finally rescued the flying object from under a table across the way from me, it turned out to be an electric roller caught under my very thick mane, left in-place unnoticed as I hurried out the door to work. Turning my head displaced it and propelled it across the board room. Since the late seventies were a time when women were just clawing their way into management positions, it was essential that I look as prim and polished as possible. I challenge you to remain dignified when claiming a sailing roller from your supervisor at a major meeting. The roller incident was the beginning of my many efforts to tame my wild mane by keeping it short.
By my early thirties, I was starting to get premature white hair. Both my mother and grandfather had gorgeous white hair by 35 but I chose to color my hair to be in step with the times. I have now been coloring my hair for almost 35 years. I actually have no idea what color my hair is now. I thought about letting it grow gray when I retired but decided to wait to see my true color until my daughter Kayla is out of high school.
I started growing my hair the day I retired. My hair is now down to my shoulders but hard to pull up into a bun. It takes two small buns to make one. My hair is long enough to whip around in the Wyoming wind on vacation. I love the freedom of feeling my hair blow when we are out on our bikes or on a boat. I have also gotten my hair long enough that my daughter can braid it though it ends up with a little tiny pig tail rather than an long beautiful streamer. I plan on growing my hair to about the length of Meryl’s Streep’s hair at the Democratic convention, slightly below my shoulders. The ability to grow my hair and let it do as it pleases in retirement has been a great joy.
I miss my son already though he has only been gone a couple of days. I have no competition now in the MUN contest. When he is around the house, there are moments every day of great laughter about silly things. University of Idaho you are lucky to have him this fall and I was fortunate indeed to spend the summer growing my hair along with him.
cardboard and pipecleaners to start
painted hand
Finished hands
My Private Idaho 