I have lowered the fencing… well, actually, Lenny did but he did so at my request. I have built little hills of rocks at every place where it seemed the dirt was separated from the bottom of the fence enough to entice a small dog to attempt to make a break for it. I’ve had Lenny nail sheets of metal over openings too big to cover with rocks. I’ve pulled wooden flower tubs in front of gate areas. I’ve done everything but wrap the house in shrink wrap to make it escape proof. So how does Carm still find a way to slither under the place with even the slightest opening showing and get out? Sigh....

I was out of state when Ron Paul followers, ably aided by the ever charming Joe Miller, took over the Alaska Republican Party so I might not have remembered to say thank you. Thank you… Thank you… Thank you. The columns all but write themselves.

Bristol Palin had strong negative words regarding Obama’s belief that same sex marriage is ok and all I could think was, “Who gives a crap what Bristol Palin thinks?” Aside from having a baby out of wedlock and losing on some TV reality show, what has she done that anyone should pay attention to anything she thinks or says? 

Because Barbara Brown is just that good at convincing me to do things, I ended up as the last-to-be-picked substitute on a summer bowling league. The first and only time I ever bowled I was about 10 and my mother made my father take me with him so she could get a break. Dad was a big time bowler. Won the New Jersey State Championship one year as a member of the Knights of Columbus team.
I didn’t do as well. My high score of 75 went down with each succeeding game. I found I didn’t have the strength to throw the ball with one hand so had to stand at the line and throw with two hands from between my legs.
I must say that in general, bowlers are very nice and helpful people. None of them tried to run me out of the place for what I was doing to a game they clearly loved and did well. They even offered some helpful hints… like, who knew there was a foul line?
I’ll be taking next week off in the hope that my arms will be better if I give them two weeks to heal. Typing today is happening only because I’ve taken four tylenol and am resting my hands on the keyboard so my arms are not being asked to bear any weight.
How I never won an athlete of the year award will always be a mystery to me.

Michele Bachman has been granted Swiss citizenship. Pray god she plans to move there… and takes Sarah Palin with her… and Rick Santorum to carry their bags.

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.But for now, you’ll be seeing a lot of dog pictures because I think they are that darned cute.

You know what one of the hardest things to do is when working with troubled children? It’s holding your tongue and your temper as the child explains to you just how wonderful their parents are. Because apparently, no matter how horrible and horrendous their childhood was, mom is mom and dad is dad and it seems as though the only way these kids can survive emotionally is to convince themselves that mom and dad were pretty special. The fact that they are in state custody is just an inconvenience to be brushed away as something the state has done to deliberately make them miserable and separate them from those loving parents.

I sometimes find myself staring at the children making these statements with a look of incredulity that they would not be able to miss if they weren’t so wrapped up in denying reality.
The second hardest thing to do when working with troubled children is being civil to parents who continue to screw up their kids even after they are in state custody and the state is giving the child every form of therapy, counseling and emotional assistance possible. It sometimes seems as though we can’t dance fast enough to keep up with what the parents can throw at the child. So I often find myself having conversations with parents in which my jaw visibly shakes from the effort I am making to control my temper and my tongue – to keep from screaming at them, “Are you friggin’ kidding me?!!!”
I know that many of the parents I work with are themselves the product of abusive families. Having never been parented in any healthy fashion, it should come as no surprise that they are not capable of parenting their own children in a healthy fashion.
So when I read a story about two sisters supposedly rescued from abusive parents who were placed in equally abusive foster homes, I can only react with total disbelief that they were able to come out in any way as healthy human beings. The resilience of the human spirit is quite miraculous when viewed through that spectrum.
The question that I still find myself asking after thirty years of work as a Guardian Ad Litem (GAL) with these sad, and often irretrievably broken, children is when are we, as a society, going to find the nerve to say enough is enough. We pass laws meant to safeguard the sanctity of the family without bothering to note that often we are not dealing with a real family. More likely, a couple of abusive/abused, often intoxicated adults are living in the same space as children they somehow managed to conceive and bring to term. They are no more a family than Charlie Manson’s collection of misfits and murderers were.
I agree that we need to make initial attempts to heal this collection of people living together in the hope of creating a family strong enough to take care of each other. But when a child has been in custody for six months and neither parent has done anything significant to address their issues, I think they are sending us a clear message that they don’t plan to.  When a child has been in foster care for a year, that child needs the stability and security that is not found in a temporary placement. Children simply should not be raised in foster care if there is a viable alternative.
When you place a child or children back with the adults they refer to as mom and/or dad and then have to remove them again and again, efforts to help the adults should take second place to finding an adoptive home where those children can bond with caring adults who can help heal their wounds.
I recently adopted two dogs. We refer to my house as their “forever” home because the commitment I’m making is to care for them for the rest of their lives. Surely we owe these children a forever home too, a home where they are not bounced around and emotionally torn apart by visits from people who never really plan to do what it takes to raise them.
Surely, at a minimum, we owe these children a chance at a “forever” home while they still have a chance for a good life.

Carm climbs on top of whatever body part of mine that seems the most comfortable and starts to snore almost immediately. If I move, he immediately gets up and politely waits until I’ve turned and then finds another spot on top of me that works for him and goes back to snoring. Bubba takes the path of least resistance. She sleeps with her butt firmly planted against my leg so that when I turn, all she has to do is slightly rearrange her butt. Meanwhile, I try to fall asleep in one position so as to not disturb them too much and end up with tingly hands and arms.
And I am deliriously happy about the whole situation.

The dogs pooped their first bird seeds today. They are officially part of the household now for sure.

When I was young, I could fly 20 hours back from Asia and be at work the next day with no more problems than perhaps a slight sense of being tired. Now I travel back from the East Coast and need a week for my body to catch up. I’m still not sure when my mind will follow. And then I wonder… is it my age or the joy that air travel has become?

My plan to fund my retirement through my winnings at the penny slot machines has fallen slightly short of expected. I either have to die in the next five minutes or find another source of funds.

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I think these pictures make it pretty clear that I’ve won the doggie jackpot. Carm and Bubba are amazing. How lucky am I that they came to live with me?

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