How to Find a Lost Cat

I hate to think of what I would do if one of my two beloved cats went out and didn't return. It's safe to say it would involve plenty of sobbing, no eating, and a net loss of five or six pounds. Chances are those actions would not do the job and get the cat back. So it was with great awe that I heard how a dear friend found her wayward cat, Dillon, lost in the hills above Phoenix. 

Carol has always been fiercely devoted to her animals, including a dog, two horses and of course, the cat. When the latter went missing last month she sprang into action, and I don't mean just nailing one of those sad "Missing Kitty, Answers to Fluffy" signs to every telephone pole within a two-mile radius of her home and emailing the entire community in her Homeowner's Association. (She did that too.) No, she went the extra mile. Here's how she explained her ingenuous technique to me in an email:

" A search and rescue dog had followed his scent to a culvert and then lost it, but we never found any remains so I kept hoping, setting traps for him every night. I never gave up hope. Finally, after 20 days surviving in the wild, Dillon was spotted one evening by my neighbor and his dog near Hole 4 of a nearby golf course . They came to get me and I set up another trap under a bush with his favorite food, a towel with my scent on it and a tuna oil trail leading from the culvert he was hiding in directly to the trap. He was in it the next morning! We were thrilled and he was so happy to be home.  Success -- Dillon is back!"

I am now even more impressed by Carol than I already was, and that was a lot. Some people just don't take things lying down. Perhaps I'll come back as one of those in my next life.

Rubber Duckies' Lives Matter

We have a swimming pool at our shared vacation home in Rhinebeck, New York. It is there that I keep my two extra-large rubber duckies. They spend most of their time in my clothes closet, safe from forest predators and visiting children, while I am away. Then when I arrive I toss them in the pool and they spend their days and nights there, happily paddling about.

This morning when I went out to the pool I knew immediately that something was wrong. Then I understood: only one ducky was swimming around. I panicked. I suspected foul play. Then I realized that the missing ducky must have gotten stuck in the pool's filter. I rushed over, lifted the cover, and there he was, partially submerged and gasping for air, surrounded by many beetles and one tiny frog who happily hopped to freedom. Phew! That was close.

To me, rubber duckies' lives matter much more than the lives of stuffed animals. While I know in my heart that the lives of all inanimate children's toys should matter equally, I simply don't feel that way and you can't legislate feelings. Sure, teddy bears are cute but you can't take them swimming. I have several of those in Rhinebeck, and they just sit there on the guest beds looking cute, doing nothing day in and day out, whereas the duckies go in the bath and the shower, or even the ocean if you have them tied to you properly. I like them best. Sue me.

The Value of Plain Talk

You've got to hand it to The Donald. He really does just say what people are already thinking but won't say because of their desperate desire to be liked, to be politically correct, to not stir up a fight. Trump doesn't  care, and oddly enough has still earned 8 billion dollars despite nobody liking him. It seems clear that plain talk has at the very least financial value.

Trump's latest foot-in-mouth moment that has the media foaming was when he said Senator John McCain "is not a war hero" just because he was captured by the Viet Cong and held in a Saigon prison for five years. I too have always wondered why someone who gets caught and survives is considered a hero, yet you never hear a word, congratulatory or otherwise, about the rest of the platoon who were quick-footed or smart enough to get away.

Donald Trump is certainly no diplomat. But then again, I am positive he is not a Muslim terrorist sympathizer like some people seem to be.

Eating Bugs

I think I am not alone in saying that I hate bugs. Many people do. They ruin picnics, not to mention many other events that take place outdoors like weddings, kiddie birthday parties, graduations and funerals, and although funerals are pretty much ruined by the dead person, still, bugs can make the day even worse. In fact, I cannot think of one good thing to say about insects. Sure bees make honey but there is always sugar and what's the difference? (If you ask me, honey is too sticky anyway.)

So I was stunned to learn that the practice of eating insects, which is called entomophagy, is a pretty big deal. A report issued in 2013 by the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization stated there are 1,900 edible insect species on Earth, hundreds of which are already part of the diet in many countries. It suggested that roughly two billion people eat a wide variety of insects regularly, both cooked and raw, and have been doing so since the dawn of man.

Apparently this is true not just in underdeveloped countries where they don't have Pizza Huts and Chipotles on every corner but even here in the United States. Today I saw the following items for sale in a hardware store in Rhinebeck, New York, right next to the gum and Tic Tacs. When I asked, the clerk said they are "pretty popular." Check them out:

Worm lollipops

White chocolate wafers with ants inside

Crunchy crickets

Caitlyn: Silliest Thing Ever

Bruce "Call Me Caitlyn" Jenner recently accepted the Arthur Ashe Courage Award for bravery, which he apparently earned for appearing in a bathing suit on the cover of Vanity Fair with his penis taped down to avoid a distracting bulge. How much more ridiculous can life get?

FILM REVIEW: Amy

Amy with an odd tattoo and her creepy husband Blake.

Totally unfamiliar with British singer Amy Winehouse while she was alive, I went to see this film based solely on published, professional reviews I read praising the film to the skies. Besides, I like documentaries and almost always learn something. This one broke that mold, unless you count how to slowly commit suicide through the use of crack cocaine, alcohol and bulimia.

What the reviews don't share with the public is what a downer Amy is. A microscopic look at the rise and fall of a talented celebrity, something we have all seen before, it adds little to the genre. Much of the time the screen is filled with images of Winehouse singing or boozing or just hogging the camera, sometimes joking around with her friends, eventually chased by the unforgiving paparazzi and falling down drunk onstage. There are also too many close-ups of her numerous odd tattoos and unappetizing shots of sloppy kisses with her creepy boyfriend who later becomes her creepy husband, the man who turned her on to crack in the first place.

On the plus side, there is plenty of intimate footage of her performing. With a fabulous voice and an incredible singing style, Winehouse was truly one of the all-time greats, making her death at age 27 even more tragic. But the film sheds no light on her inner demons and we never understand why she was so driven to lose herself in drugs and drink despite deep friendships, an enduring love, and what appears to have been a steady rise to fame, fortune and formal recognition by her peers, with almost no stumbling blocks on the path other than those of her own making.

Her death finally comes after more than two hours, and when it does it's a relief. She's finally out of her pain and you get to leave.

Dirty Title Goes Here

Yesterday I wrote an innocuous post about how dogs live and called it "Doing It Doggy Style." It seemed like a good title at the time, but I was forgetting its other meaning. Not so my readers, who clicked with abandon. The post got far more readers much more quickly than all others I've written, except the one about the attractive young woman named Jodi Arias who stabbed her boyfriend 37 times after they had sex.

What is it with humans and their overriding interest in sex? Why would anyone want to read about doing it "doggy style" anyway? It's one thing to do it but quite another to read about other people doing it, in fact, in any style.

This is my main beef with pornography: Why do I care what other people are getting paid to do when I'm just sitting home alone watching them and earning nothing? But apparently that's just me. Pornography is a thriving multi-billion dollar industry, so I'm pretty sure a lot of folks like it.

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Getting Into "Om"

The longer one lives, the greater one's wisdom. This is sad since many people die so young. Imagine how smart the world would be if our leaders lived longer, or if old people were given a shred of the respect they deserve. Instead, when someone like Bernie Sanders decides to run for office, the cry goes out, "He's too old!" Maybe he's smart, but so what; youth is everything in these superficial times.

But that's not what I'm talking about. Wisdom is. I am getting to the point where some of the things I deemed boring or silly when I was younger, busy earning a living, listening to acid rock and smoking pot, have become the crutches I use to support my crumbling interior. Prayer, meditation, yoga and that silly "Om" chant are effective tools for dispelling bad moods and extinguishing fear, both common situations we all experience every day and which are the root cause of every addiction: overeating, smoking, drugs, alcoholism, anxiety and depression. I include depression because I think it is addictive: the more depressed we allow ourselves to be the more depressed we become, deepening those ruts in our brains. And everyone knows, getting stuck in a rut is bad. You've got to work really hard to get out, and sometimes you might need to call for help.

Early this morning, feeling that tightening in my head that signals anxiety, I listened to a guided meditation on my cell phone by a psychologist and teacher of Western Buddhist practices named Tara Brach, whose podcasts are available for that very purpose. Sitting quietly, eyes closed, feeling safe, breathing in and out: Now that's a good time! She even got me to put my palms together and say "Om," along with the hundreds of people who were there with her in person.

Om has its own Wikipedia page, but roughly it means "the totality of sound, existence and consciousness." Saying it aloud felt good. Much better in fact than hearing the bleak news of the day delivered by those silly morning news teams. I think I'll try it again tomorrow.

Doing It Doggy Style

Animals are definitely onto something. Pure and simple, they just know how to live.

You never see a dog or cat with a book in its paw. They don't cook, watch TV, go shopping, or engage in any of the frivolous pursuits we do, yet somehow they endure, and in relatively good spirits. There are no pet suicides, or at least none that you hear about. A lot of them actually seem quite happy to just lay about, or wait patiently while their master is in the supermarket or the bank. How do they do it, and why can't we, I wonder.

It seems that humans need to be busy to justify being alive. I, for one, am always looking for something to do. Reading, writing, meditating, painting, exercising, cooking, playing games, filing my nails, almost anything will suffice besides just sitting and staring into space, like I saw a golden retriever doing today at the post office when I went to pick up my mail. He was in the passenger seat of a Volvo station wagon, and he seemed to have the patience of a saint. He didn't bark or even yawn, he just sat there, with the radio off, barely moving, and when I greeted him as I passed by his open window, he turned his head and looked at me for a split second and then went back to staring straight ahead.

I can't do that. When I have nothing to do, I find something: clean the rugs, wash the gunky condiment bottles in the fridge, alphabetize the bookshelves. Maybe that's why I have high blood pressure. From now on I will try staring into space.

Jumping on the GMO Bandwagon

Many people have a tendency to accept whatever kind of nonsense they hear if everyone else thinks it is so. For example, the whole "saving paper" thing, as if that will save the world. Yesterday morning, after I paid for a ton of groceries for a dinner party that evening, the checkout guy asked, "Would you like your receipt today?" Thinking it would be silly for him to mail it to me, I said, "Of course, why do you ask?"

He then explained that many customers at this particular upscale, trendy little market are no longer taking receipts, opting instead to save paper and ultimately save the planet from total destruction. I asked him if he was worried about Iran getting a nuclear bomb and he shrugged, not seeing the connection.

Another bandwagon that is almost overflowing already (so if you're hoping to jump on do it today) is Fear of GMOs. That stands for "genetically modified organisms," and the thinking is that they will kill you. This fear is quite widespread at local farmer's markets where almost every vendor displays a huge sign proclaiming proudly that their goods are 100% ORGANIC!!!!! NON GMO!!!!!   

The truth is it's the organic stuff that can kill you. As reported in today's Wall Street Journal: "A meta-analysis from Stanford University of papers published on the subject over a 50-year period concluded that there was no significant nutritional difference between conventionally and organically grown foods. However, organic produce is 10 times more likely to be recalled for bacterial contamination than conventionally grown food. That's a far worse track record than genetically modified food, which has never caused a health problem because of its modifications."

Film Review: ALL IS LOST

Things do not go well for Our Man out on the open seas.

For the past two nights I watched a movie that may be life-changing; only time will tell. "All is Lost" tells the story of a doomed sailboat adrift in the Indian Ocean with a lone sailor on board. Even though I watched it sitting on my completely dry couch in my land-locked living room, the tension from the very first scene freaked me out so much that I had to turn it off and pray for sleep. Next morning I woke up thinking about it and so last night I clicked "Resume Playing" and finished it off.

Since it was released in 2013 and has been reviewed to death by everyone and their uncle, I hardly need to add my two cents concerning its considerable merits as a piece of convincing film-making chicanery. Virtually mute throughout, the film's only actor, Robert Redford, does a good job as the victim of his own miscalculations, even if you can almost hear the director yelling through a bullhorn which emotions to display on his craggy face every second. And the production crew and photographers succeed in making you believe the unfolding disaster is actually occurring in the open ocean and not in a man-made water tank the size of three football fields in Mexico, the very same tank built to shoot parts of "Titanic" years ago. Still, we remember "it's only a movie."

The creeping horror comes as we watch Our Man (as he is listed in the final credits) engage in the timeless struggle of Man vs. Nature. His unflagging determination to undergo the severe discomfort of thirst, hunger and loss of vitality despite the certain brutal outcome, his refusal to let go of this thing called "life" despite how unpleasant it has become, makes one see the minor setbacks we all experience, from a splinter in the toe to a nagging toothache, in a new light. And his incredible ability to stay organized and not panic made me especially queasy, knowing I would not behave that way at all but would instead dissolve into a sobbing mess within the first five minutes and stay that way until I drowned.

This realization did not please me, and so this morning as I made my coffee I was careful to grind enough extra beans in case we lose power today. I ate a hearty breakfast and took all my healthy supplements in case I am swept away in a tsunami this afternoon and need my strength, even though I don't live all that close to the water and fair weather is predicted. But you never know. You've got to be ready. You've got to fight, or all will be lost.

Great movie, by the way. Haunting music, stunning footage of beautiful skies, amazing underwater photography of schools of fish. Worth repeated viewings. Take notes.