Please go check it out. I know some people may be skeptical, but Polly is the real deal. I would be happy to answer any questions you might have about her.
Animal Communicator Polly Klein ‘Talked’ to My Late Dog, Lily
Please share this post with your animal-loving friends!
I will just go ahead and confess that I have been depressed for several days, and that’s why I haven’t posted something new here.
It may not make sense to some people that the death of a musician could make someone so upset.
But the death of Prince has hit me hard.
Maybe his death is hard for me because it follows some other musicians that meant a lot to me, like David Bowie and Scott Weiland.
Then again, maybe it’s because of where Prince’s music fits into my life. I was a teen when I first heard his music, and it had a huge impact on me. The film “Purple Rain” was one of which I and my like-minded friends could not get enough.
I remember my first love happened at about that time, and I clearly recall riding on the back of his motorcycle, thinking about a scene in the movie where Prince and his love were doing the same.
I swear I can smell the air and feel the wind in my hair to this day.
Every time I was on that bike that summer, the song “Take Me With You” ran through my head.
“I don’t care where we go, I don’t care what we do. I don’t care, pretty baby, just take me with you.”
First love combined with young love combined with summer love. Was there anything better?
My life now is much different from those idyllic days. Things haven’t turned out the way I hoped or thought or even imagined. But even when your life goes great, like mine has, I think no one can help sometimes being wistful for a time that was simpler and more innocent.
I don’t know that I can put into words why Prince mattered so much to me, but he did. He mattered a lot.
Because I met so many stars during my newspaper career, my dad assumes I have met everyone. I was at his house this weekend when something came on the news about Prince.
“Did you know him?” my dad asked innocently.
“No. Yes,” I said as tears fell down my face. “It’s hard to explain. I never met him, but he meant a lot to me.”
My dad looked thoughtful for a moment, and then didn’t press the issue.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It seems like he meant a lot to a lot of people.”
Indeed.
Do you have a special Prince memory? Share it with me. And if this post speaks to you, please share it.
Being a newspaper reporter is one of the worst jobs you can do, according to a report released by Career Cast.
The report cites “fewer available jobs, a worsening industry forecast and paltry pay” as reasons for the ranking.
Those are real conditions and fears. Other studies cite the danger faced by reporters, some of whom are killed while doing their jobs.
I mourn them, and agree that the newspaper landscape isn’t as rosy as it once was. But even though I was in some dangerous positions and did deal with low pay as a newspaper reporter for much of 30 years, I am here to tell you, that job has been awesome.
There was the time I spent covering NASCAR for a small community weekly paper. Going to races, and being in the pits with the cars, drivers and crews, was so much fun. Tell me you wouldn’t have gotten a kick out of walking by drivers like Davey Allison, Darrell Waltrip, Ernie Irvan and Kyle Petty and having them call you by your first name.
There was the time I got to spend weeks with a police officer and his new K9 partner, attending their training sessions and learning about the bond dog and man form during that precious time before the pair puts their life on the line in the streets.
I even got to take my German Shepherd to a world-class K9 training facility and get instruction on how to teach my pup in German, something I have done with every one of my shepherds since.
The night R. Cork Kallen taught me about mind over matter, and I then walked on a bed of nails and on a bed of red-hot coals, changed my mindset about my limits. If I could focus and do those things without being injured, I could do anything. I still believe that to this day, and that one experience has allowed me to be brave enough to try things some people will never have the courage to try.
I was a “celebrity judge” at events too numerous to count, but they included pies, cakes and ice cream; singing and dancing; and counting nudists at a Guinness World Record attempt for the most people at a naked skinny dip.
I reviewed concerts and restaurants, and covered and/or met celebrities, rock stars and two presidents.
I got to try my hand at beekeeping, indoor skydiving, roller derby, race car driving (NASCAR again!), stand-up comedy, and making ice cream and butter just by using ingredients and a glass jar. I got to be the grand marshal in parades and the girl who waved the starting flag at a race. And I became what I call an expert for a day on many topics, including maple syrup making, cake decorating, quilting, base jumping, breakdancing and skateboarding.
I got to write about and participate in the search for a little boy who was missing in the freezing cold overnight. I cannot to this day describe the jubilation we all felt when he was found curled up with the family’s Golden Retriever.
I wrote stories about a man who lost his legs in a fire – how he lost his job and home after that and how he needed help. The day he drove up to my newspaper office and got down out of a van donated and equipped with hand controls by a local dealership, and came in to thank me for changing his life, still makes me cry.
I covered the aftermath of the Oklahoma City Bombing, arriving on the scene less than 12 hours after it happened, when you could still walk right up near the front of the building. No pictures, and not even video, ever did the destruction justice.
In my years covering crime, I got to meet and help many victims and/or their families with the way I treated them and my stories, and I was privileged to have their trust.
With much investigation and several factual stories, I helped keep a wrongly accused man from going to prison. And I will never forget him leaping toward me, picking me up in the courtroom and swinging me around, calling me his angel after the judge announced he was free to go.
I met and interviewed killers, some of them who had committed absolutely horrifying crimes, in my attempt to understand why such things happened.
I covered the entire case of Green River Killer Gary Ridgway, from his arrest to his sentencing. I even have a copy of the book I co-wrote about him with his signature and a message from him inside it.
So, when someone announces that the job of a newspaper reporter is one of the worst jobs, I just shake my head. In my opinion, it was the best job anyone could ever have.
Please go check it out. It was hard to write, but the message is so important.
Your dog does right by you every day of his or her life. When the time comes, do right by your dog.
Photo by Pixabay
Sexual assault comes in many forms.
Of course, we all know what outright rape is, right? But what about all of the other forms and grades and shades of acting out in a sexual manner against another person? Are those assaults?
I was thinking about this when I read an Indianapolis Star story about an Indiana bar co-owner who banned a patron from his pub because the 60-year-old customer kept making sexual remarks to female staff members.
The man said his remarks would have been OK 20 years ago. But were they really? Or did men just think they were?
I’ve waited tables and have experienced many types of sexual behavior from patrons. When I was 16 years old, I was a junior waitress in a small-town restaurant. Being a junior waitress meant I did all of the other things the regular waitresses did, but I couldn’t carry alcohol to and from tables.
I can’t count the number of times men said or did sexual things to me. One man asked if I was “wearing underwear under that cute uniform.” Another grabbed my butt as I took the order of those at his table. Another patted me on the butt every time he came in. And yet another would lean back in his chair every time I squeezed by so his back brushed against my chest. And all of those things happened when I was 16!
I’m not happy with myself that I didn’t report all of those things to my boss. I’m sure he would’ve behaved like the above-mentioned bar co-owner. But I was afraid I would lose a job I desperately needed. My father had been laid off and I was literally helping pay the bills for a short time. (I didn’t mention those incidences to my dad either, so don’t blame him for anything here.)
People who wait tables are supposed to smile and be friendly, no matter what. Your tips depend on how you interact with the customer. And your tips are basically the majority of your pay. Besides, the customer is always right, right?
“… the dark side of this business is we run into some pretty horrible goblin people,” Black Acre Brewing Co. co-owner Jordan Gleason said in a Facebook post he wrote that has gone viral. “Folks who think that just because we’re serving, we don’t deserve any basic decency or respect…Here’s the thing though, women in this field get infinitely more disgustingly treated. The sheer number of times they get groped, or harassed, or treated like objects would blow your mind. The worst of it is how normal their harassers think their behavior is…
“Men, we often don’t see the level of filth that our friends, sisters, and mothers go through every day. We hope to surround ourselves with people who would never treat a woman like that. We live in a safe little bubble. But the reality of this thing? It’s an insidious disease that’s happening every single day…”
I’m so proud of this manager for standing up to this customer and for the female staff at his establishment.
It’s time for all men to stand up for women, stop treating us like objects and stop making unwanted sexual remarks and advances.
Don’t you agree?
If this post speaks to you, please share it with others.
I clearly remember the first time I saw her, all sleek and scarlet under the portico of the dealership. She was a bright slash of color upon a dreary winter landscape. It was the day before Christmas and I was immediately in love.
It took three long days to make her mine. That was 20 years ago and we’re still together, my Camaro and me. It’s the best relationship I’ve ever had.
I was down and nearly out. It was the holidays and I had never been so lonely. And then there she was, calling out to me in a way that my soul heard and answered.
Cam, who I lovingly call my “autonomous mobile,” has taken me places I never thought I would go. She has carried me to awesome people and events, and away from bad people and places. She has protected me and been a place of refuge, serenity and joy. She pulled me out of the dark and continues to show me light. She has been more than a car for so long that she’s like a person to me and the other people in my life who love her.
People ask about her wherever I go, and I can’t count the number of times people have linked her with me.
“Oh, that beautiful red car that I’ve seen on Front Street?” I was once asked by a pharmacist who knew where I worked when I told her I had a sweet Camaro.
I’ve been asked about her at the dentist, the doctor, the post office, the grocery store. I’ve had people tell me they have seen her driving places and asked where she was going. How could you not smile at that?
Children especially love my car. Maybe it’s her face, which always looks like she’s smiling. Maybe it’s the Transformers Autobot logos on her front fenders. Maybe she just speaks to them like she spoke to me all those winters ago.
I love to talk about Cam and answer questions about her. I once met a young boy at a car show and he was drawn to Cam. He told me he was always being picked on by other children. He talked with me about being different, and I told him how I understood that and that you can find someone who is like you if you keep looking.
The following year, I was polishing Cam’s taillights at the annual car show when I heard an excited group of children near her front end. I looked up and there was that boy, with five other children. They were all talking about the Autobot emblems and how cool my car is.
“Yeah, but I know her,” the boy said. “This is Cam. She’s my friend.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as the other children whooped and hollered, clapping him on the back and giving him high fives. He launched into details about her that I had shared with him the year before and then he introduced me to his new friends. Their respect for him was apparent. I was so proud.
That’s my Cam, making friends and mending hearts.
Another time, I came out of work to see two young girls hanging out by my car. Now, I’m a little territorial about Cam, but it was obvious pretty quickly that the preteens weren’t up to no good.
Their eyes widened as I put my key in the lock and opened the door.
“This is your car?” one of them asked me. “We never thought it belonged to a girl!”
The other girl looked down and the one who spoke continued.
“We come and visit your car some days when we’re down,” she said. “It makes us feel better.”
I told them about meeting Cam and how she always makes me feel better, every single time I see her, all these years later. Then, the quiet girl spoke up.
“I’m glad you have her,” she said. “I don’t really have anybody.”
I told her and her friend that they could come and visit Cam anytime they wanted to. The girl who did most of the talking then hugged me. And when the quiet girl looked at me questioningly, I hugged her. Then they skipped down the street.
Cam strikes again.
Do you love your car? Tell me in the comments below. And if this post speaks to you, please share it with others.
katsuniverse 