Fun with Food and Pets

We have two cats right now. We used to have dogs as well, but we travel so much it is just easier to care for cats. The difference in our two cats is phenomenal since they eat side by side and one is a truly skinny, and we refer to him as our “black and white ‘unit’” (after a colloquialism for a police squad car) named Albie, and the other cat is a  twenty-three pounder (which is a huge size for a cat) grey-striped fatty named Moses.

Whatever Moses eats, Moses retains, thus his hefty profile. Moses still runs very quickly, but only when it is meal time and then he is like greased lighting, racing to the food bowl. Albie likes to eat, but he is, for lack of a better word, bulimic. When Albie eats, he eats so quickly that eight out of ten times, as soon as he is finished he will “throw up” this meal in a neat long tube which we are forever cleaning up. Albie is, therefore, a sleek, lean “little guy”.

Albie is currently being treated for a digestive irritation with steroids, with wonderful results. What got me thinking about this article is that the steroids are delivered to Albie mixed with a tasty, chicken flavored cat food. Albie has always loved chicken, therefore he is very compliant with this therapy.

This brings me around to our two collies, Cubby and Trixie. Trixie LOVED a “Milk Bone-like” doggy treat called “Bonz”. She would do anything for a “Bonz”. If you said, “Trixie, would you like a ‘Bonz’?”, she would race into the kitchen and sit like a stone statue until you took one out of the box. Even though she was already sitting you could say, “Sit”, “Now, Sit” and “Sit, girl”, and each time she would scoot her hind quarters as if trying to obey you by sitting deeper into the floor. She would obey any demand (“Speak”, “Lye down”, “Roll over”, etc.) for a ‘Bonz’. Trixie even got so desirous for this treat that we could not even spell “B-O-N-Z” without her knowing what was coming.

Cubby was the “catch it in the air King”. Whereas Trixie was somewhat near-sighted and couldn’t catch anything tossed to her (it would bounce off her nose while she has trying to grab something tossed to her in the air), Cubby could catch ANYTHING tossed to him, pieces of doggy treats, meat, bread, anything that was within a foot of his head, Cubby could catch it in his mouth.

The family still chuckles about Cubby and the piece of fish. As I said, Cubby could catch anything out of the air, and the end result was one “chomp” and he had eaten the morsel tossed to him. One time I was cooking fish, and as usual the dogs were around the kitchen. When dinner was over there was a small piece of fish on the serving platter. I said, “Cubby, come here boy!”, and tossed the piece of fish in the air. Cubby caught it, as his usual, and once he closed his mouth he tipped his head downward towards the floor, opened his mouth and dropped the piece of fish on the floor, and stared at it. And then he stared some more. Once it registered in his doggy brain that, “This ‘stuff’ is not part of my dog world, EVER!”, he looked up at me with a superior look as if to say, “You have GOT to be kidding!”

He glanced once more at the fish with doggy disgust, and once more at me as if to say, “Would you like to try again?” “Some steak, perhaps, this time?” Our children started making up Cubby statements after that (as if Cubby could speak them in; a deep low voice) like, “I don’t eat fish”, or “I don’t eat anything that lives in the water”, “I don’t like things that have fins.”

Pets are wonderful, and everyone who keeps one knows the joys (and trials, too) that pets bring to the life of a family. I can’t ever imagine being without at least one pet. They can bring humor as well as joy into your life.

Grandson Gabriel and the Video Game World

Our grandson Gabriel Paulson visiting Grandpa and Grandma Paulson for a couple of days. He is four (and one-half) years old. He likes activity. He is engaged all of the time from the moment his feet hit the floor until he falls exhausted into bed for a nap, or at nighttime.

All grandparents are, or this is true of every grandparent I have talked to thus far, familiar with this story. Gabriel simply likes to play, and he likes someone to be with him at all times, if possible. Gabriel is a people person. Some children can find time to engage in “self entertainment” for a while. And, Gabriel can do this for a short stint. But, if you leave him to, for example, change a load of laundry, or clean up the kitchen, or fix a bed or two, Gabriel begins to beckon you to “come and play with me”.

Right now Gabriel is at Vacation Bible School (VBS) enjoying the camaraderie of other children his age while they learn about the love of Jesus and how to love one another as He taught us to do in this world of pestilence, famine and other concerns the world brings to its inhabitants.

But a few hours before he went to VBS his Grandpa and he were enjoying playing the Wii video games on our home entertainment center. The Wii system allows you to make a computer animated likeness of yourself. You can pick the face contours, eyes, nose, hair color, body size (tall or short, thin or wide), and you can even add glasses if you wish.

Gabriel was playing Wii sports. He would bowl or play tennis with other Wii likenesses that had been developed by our family members. So, for example, he would bowl as his father, Michael, or his uncle Tony. Later he was playing tennis as his aunt Erin. His opponents were a true diversity of individuals that included other females and even an African American person.

At one point Gabriel switched to boxing, and as his aunt Erin or later his Grandma, they were pummeling opponents to the mat which truly delighted his Grandpa (I love boxing, as my father did before me). No sooner did I suggest to Gabriel that we develop a character that looked like him (blond hair, round face, smallish nose, and, at his own suggestion, the perfect pair of sunglasses) we were into our first round of boxing where GABRIEL was defeating these computer animated “bruisers”.

Grandma came downstairs, after hearing our chants of, “knock him down”, and then Grandma stated that Gabriel’s mother had said, “No boxing!” So Gabriel went back to tennis. This time he made all four players be a computer image of him. You saw four Gabriels playing doubles tennis. I said, “Don’t you want to try to beat someone else?” Gabriel said, “No, this way I will win all the time.”

I a way, however, Gabriel had created a perfect Wii world, he could win, but nobody else had to lose really. No one had to suffer defeat at his hand. I only wish the world could be a little more like this for everyone, everybody wins; nobody loses.

My Wife

My wife is an amazing person. I love her. The thing that amazes me, and always did from the days after we got beyond the superficial pleasantries of the initial dating phase, is that she loved me too. You cannot be married to someone for thirty-six years and not know everything about them.

One of the things that stuck with me from the book, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten”, author Robert Fulghum talked about “the committee in your head”. He said that most people (and I am paraphrasing, because it has been years since I read the book) have a “committee” in their head that keeps you from, for example, running down the street naked. He mentioned that you may think that is something you consider doing, but the “committee in your head” says to you, “That is NOT a good idea”, so you don’t.

As I remember the description of “the committee”, the author went on to say that it is made up of respected people in your life such as parents, grandparents, and other people who you really respect, and in most cases, who know you personally.

I have never stopped to really assess my “committee”, although I am sure one exists, and if it does, my wife would have to be the chairperson of that committee. If she is not the chairperson she is certainly the chief legal counsel who brings not only her own experience and background to issues, but an intimate knowledge of everything about me to ANY discussion.

The point is, she really knows me, that is, all the really personal stuff, and still she loves me more than anyone I know, or will ever know in my lifetime. This is a forever thing; someone I WANT to spend an eternity with.

We have had what we call a “twenty-four, seven” (i.e. twenty-four hours a day; seven days a week) conversation going since we’ve known each other. Sometimes it get into little bogs about this or that, but generally speaking we have real conversation about what is going on in our life about, ourselves, family, religious beliefs, financial security, intimacy issues, and of course, that physical, wonderful love part that transcends into heaven’s realms. Have to say it, because it’s true. And, cannot ignore it regardless of what my “committee in the head” tells me.

All I know is I could write a book about her, because there are so many wonderful dynamics to her which I admire. But I will always come back to one basic, undeniable truth. “I love you, Julie!”

A Squeamish Male

Before I get into the central theme of this article, I have to assert that I consider myself a pretty “tough” guy when it comes to physical confrontation, in sports for example. Growing up with four brothers, whom I loved as a child and love to this day, you learn how to stand tough in confrontation, and that includes fighting. I have been known to fight much older, bigger opponents, as a youth over the honor of my mother when they called her a derogatory name, for example. I played football and wrestling in high school and literally never feared my opponent, because, regardless of their size I just always considered myself tougher, and certainly more aggressive; always feeling that I would “win” any battle.

Having said that I have to say quite honestly I don’t like to change diapers. Actually I don’t like to have to deal with anything that comes out of a child from either direction. I am not going to mince words, vomit is a +10 on the disgusting scale (that is where +1 is not disgusting at all, and +10 is just, well, nasty, vile disgusting) I’ll give “poop” a +7, but it is still up there.

I remember during the raising of our own three children (two boys and a girl), that I only had to clean up vomit once. My wife was a great “nurse”. She fairly leapt to the challenge when that deed occurred, certainly having great concern for her child (the child was hers for the moment, and she could own it,) and she would bark out orders like, “Get me a bucket of water with some Lysol cleaner”, or “I need a couple of rags here”, etc. I was more than happy to be her “stand off to the side” concerned, but silent, distant-helper.

I remember very vividly, as if it were yesterday, when our oldest son Michael (he was probably 8 years old) was sick with the flu, and so was my poor wife. We were all in bed at night and we heard from down the hall that signal from the child’s room, “oh-oh-oh!” Julie was so feverishly delirious (I knew how she felt, having just recovered from the same disease) that she physically and mentally could not move. I knew I had to move fast. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me to get Michael on his feet and scurry to the bathroom.

Once there, I figured we were home free because the toilet was in sight. At that moment, however, he stopped as if possessed, and just like Linda Blair in the movie, ""The Exorcist (minus the head moving on his neck), he stepped in 360 degree circle vomiting everywhere in the bathroom and missing the toilet altogether. I remember leaving him briefly to go into our bedroom to quietly say to Julie that Michael didn’t make it to the toilet. Julie could barely lift her head off the pillow and whispered, “Pete you’re going to have to deal with it.”

I got Michael cleaned up and changed into new pajamas and to bed. I returned to the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my nose and mouth, and squinting my eyes (because I didn’t have safety goggles) and cleaned up, what I considered the equivalent of a radioactive, nuclear spill.

Now I have more grandkids on the way. Graham is our newest grandson and our daughter and son-in-law's first child.  He is four months old and lives with his parents in Texas. My oldest grandson, Gabriel, is four-years old. I was able to avoid the whole diaper thing for two and one-half years. Whenever he, as a baby, had a “movement”, I also had an deft movement out of the room to “do something important” as Grandma or Gabriel’s Mom or Dad took care of Gabriel's diaper.

I LOVE my grandkids. My grandson Gabriel knows it (as will Graham, as he comes to know me better) and so does the rest of the family. I love to play games, go to the park, watch videos, sled, build snowmen, etc. I even love to baby-sit. But when Gabriel was two and a half , my wife was going to the office with Michael and Rose, so I was the designated baby-sitter for the morning. Gabriel and I had a blast watching his favorite videos and “chilling” on the couch with a bowl of Grandpa’s famous, popcorn.

Gabriel was fairly adept at doing the bathroom thing on his own now. All I had to do was get him into the bathroom, lower his drawers and place him on his potty chair, and “Voila”, everything was accomplished. If there was nothing “solid” in the toilet, we reversed the process:  up with the drawers, wash the hands and we were done. I even remembered that Mom and Dad gave Gabriel an M&M chocolate candy piece for a “Job Well Done” treat. Gabriel would ask me for two M&M’s and I, being the model of restraint, said, “Only one.”

Thirty minutes later, Gabriel would announce, “I have to go to the bathroom”. Into the bathroom to repeat the above described process, only this time there was nothing in the toilet. After the washing of the hands was over Gabriel asked, “Grandpa, may I have an M&M?” I said, “No, you didn’t do anything” (I knew the game he was playing now—I wasn’t born yesterday). Twenty minutes later, “Grandpa I have to go to the bathroom.” I said, “Are you going to DO something this time?” “Yes,” came the reply.

We repeated the process once again, and success, actual “poop” this time. I had to add wiping his tiny tush to the ordeal, but that wasn’t too traumatizing (for me that is). An EXTRA special washing of hands followed all of this, and then, “Grandpa, may I have an M&M?” I said, “Yes, and you may have two this time.” It took awhile because he couldn’t decide what his favorite colors would be.

When Mom and Dad and Grandma returned for lunch, I told them about our great morning. I announced that I even remembered to give Gabriel an M&M for a reward for successful bathroom accomplishments. My son Michael said to me, “Dad, Gabriel was ‘playing you’.” He continued, “We haven’t given Gabriel ANY M&M’s as a reward for the bathroom for the last six months.”

OK, Grandpa was “out of touch” here. And, now, by Christmas we will have everyone home. Gabriel will be almost 5 years old, Graham will be 10 months old, and we will have Elijah, who is to be Gabriel’s little brother, and Tony and Erin will also have a baby (the same age as Elijah, four months); as yet un-named. What a great time we will have! Maybe there will be a little snow on the ground, or ice on the sidewalk that Grandpa can deal with when the “diaper detail” begins.

The Committal

“If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to serve as a horrible warning.”Catherine Aird

I saw this statement on a plaque, which I did not buy, in a shop of my birthplace, Stoughton, Wisconsin. I laughed when I saw it, and realized there are aspects of probably everyone’s life, if accentuated, that could serve as a “horrible warning”. Hopefully, when we die, people will remember the good things we did; not the “stuff” that creates the horrible warning.

There are enough “horrible warnings” in every family that will keep you titillated when you hear the stories (and I heard some from my aunts and uncles that certainly raised my eyebrows, once or twice). This is the opposite, or flip side, to that kind of story. If you like, need, or desire a good feeling at the end of the day, read on.

When my wife Julie and I attended the committal of my father’s ashes to be buried in Stoughton, Wisconsin, next to the ashes of my mother who died only four months earlier, I was with my three brothers. We all gave “testimony” about Dad and the significance of his life.

My brother Jim (named after our father James Lloyd Paulson) said most aptly, that his parents had been married for nine months more than his own life of sixty-two years. My brother’s conception happened as a honeymoon event of my parents wedding togetherness. My brother was born on February 28, 1948 and my parents were married on June 7, 1947, and if you count the months until Jim’s birth it equals eight (nine months for a pregnancy).

My mother always said, “That we were married on June 7 (the beginning of the month), and Jim was born on February 28 (the end of the month, and that he was due in March) therefore he was a ‘honeymoon’ baby”. We accept that point, and “who really cares”, as they say. He was conceived in love and raised in love, and that is all that counts. Jim said, “…and now they (Mom and Dad) are together again”, referring to the final resting of Dad’s remains next to Mom’s ashes. As my wife often says, “This was their (his, her) story”.

All the brothers, James, John, Peter and Philip, spoke the words at the graveside service. Many spoke of the significance of Dad’s faith and the importance of the legacy he brought to many as a United Methodist minister. Dad loved God and Christ, his wife Vina, his boys, family, continual reading of books, knowledge, discourse and discussion of ideas, the ocean (any body of water), the sand, his new cars, movies, and laughter. It was uplifted, in many accounts, that Dad (and Mom) had faith in God and Christ, and that it was important to persons having a vibrant existence in this life, to know that there was a true hope in an eternal life after this earthly time was ended.

But there is a legacy that continues, for us that go on in this life, which must be uplifted which is hugely important. That is the love between the remaining brothers. Dad and Mom loved us of each equally. Yes, we are typical of any psychological discussion about “birth order” in that our oldest brother was to be the most responsible, the middle children “scrambled for attention”, and the youngest seemed to have more privilege, etc.

However, we have transcended the norm, severed the grip from the obvious, and are freed to continue a relationship together which has been forged by love. This love of brothers began by caring for each other since we were children. Jim was our “protector”. He would mete out “justice” to anyone who would be lording over another younger brother with a vengeance.

John and I were the best buddies because we were so close in age. John was always more athletic; better at everything (from rolling newspapers, to wrestling, strength endurance, etc.). We challenged each other, but he was always gracious and magnanimous in my defeat.

Phil was the endurance expert. He became the epitome of athletics. He would not yield to any pain inflicted to him by an older brother by ever yelling, “Uncle” (a word you would utter to let the other person know that you had surrendered to their will). Phil was strong; we all came to respect that.

And through it all, when we do disagree on something, we have argued, bartered, screamed at each other (that is the way of the Paulson family; we are a loud bunch), and then when we finish an argument, it is OVER. Whenever we have an argument it is over an issue; it is never directed at each other personally. We have learned to be respectful of each other as a great person of worth, talent, and independence. At the end of it all we are still brothers. We respect each other. We know each other’s strength. And above all we love each other.

We don't argue much. When we encounter each other, we hug. We are huggers, and we learned that from our Grandfather Carsten Paulson. When we were teenaged boys, and reluctant to show affection at family gatherings, our grandfather would shake our hand, and then pull you close to give you a hug, and say, "Come here!", and squeeze you in an embrace as if to say undoubtedly, "I love you so much!"

But, we learned to love each other, that is EVERY brother, from our parents. What a legacy! Thank you, Dad and Mom. The committal service is over, but you will live on visibly with your sons, the brothers. We will try our best to live up to what you taught us, and do our best, by example, to pass it on to others.

I’ve Always Seen Your Wondrous Tree

***

I’ve always seen your wondrous tree,

And know it’s made by your design,

In veins within the leaf I see,

A pattern of the true divine.
*

I’ve walked in garden where you are,

In rose and daffodil you show,

That you are here, and not so far,

From us the ones who love you so.
*

An aged one I am this hour,

I cannot move this strut or arm,

I strive to be the marvelous flower,

My smile; a glance will be my charm.
*

But still I live; this is your will,

E’en now a watch guard in this place,

Oh wondrous tree, in youth my thrill,

I live as you, in solemn grace.
*

To all the ones so dear to me,

Who stay so close while in this state,

I cherish you, because you see,

You cannot choose your end time fate.
*

Yet every life has power to bring,

If century or blink of eye,

An angel’s chorus offering,

A gift to earth as life goes by.
*

Now winter comes my bloom will dim,

And life within me further fades,

I want to know I’ll be with Him,

To flourish fresh in Heaven’s glades.
***

Peter Lowell Paulson

May 22, 2010

This is a poem about my wonderful 'adoptive' Mother, my Mother-in-law, Ethel Van Cleve. One of the most intelligent, vivacious, gracious, and loving persons I will ever hope to know. Although she is in the nursing home, this poem, hopefully, embodies the essence she gave to me, and still gives. One only has to sit by her, and know that she loves you. But, she LOVED nature, too, and God was alive in the nature she loved.

She would not fail to pick up a leaf and show me its veins or a flower and show me the beautiful cascade of the bud or flower and remark something about God.

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