We Thought She Was a Goner

The cat came back from death's door, and it took longer than the very next day. Our cat Boots is only just now starting to seem like her old self after nearly dying from acute renal failure. The vet does not know how or why she got sick (that would take even more money to find out!). Perhaps she got into some antifreeze (not everyone is careful); perhaps poison (yes, some people do that); perhaps she had a kidney infection.

Renal failure (the link is to a site devoted to extensive information about feline chronic renal failure, but briefly discusses the acute type, as well) is quite common in cats.

Boots is thirteen, a bitty little thing - under nine pounds soaking wet - and is not a big eater. She heads out in the morning and deigns to come in around dusk (mostly). When she stayed in her bed two mornings in a row and didn't even ask to go out, I realized that something was up. For two days, she did not eat or drink, was very lethargic and seeming to go down hill quickly.

Off to the vet where she was diagnosed with renal failure - the numbers from her blood work were extremely worrying. They kept her for IV hydration, but her prognosis was not good. 

Smart vet we have! He started her on antibiotics in addition to the IV fluids, and she responded well enough to come home. But for four days, she hardly ate anything. She would eat three or four nuggets of food from my hand a few times a day. I give her the liquid form of the antibiotic twice a day - neither of us likes it very much.

It's been an emotional roller-coaster: she's eating; she's not eating; she seems better, then worse.

Fortunately, she has been drinking on her own and, finally, has started to eat her regular amount by herself. She loudly demands to go out several times a day and has started hanging out with the other two cats again.

It is impossible to know how long she will be with us; there is kidney damage, and she's no spring chicken. Still, we have her for now, and that's really all anyone can say about any life. These times remind us to appreciate and love what we have.  

The Whoopie Pie Caper

Try as one might, it's not possible to make a whoopie pie fancy. Present them, if you must, on tiered plates; photograph them at centre stage; enhance the elegant black-white contrast. But a whoopie pie is still a whoopie pie and cannot be eaten daintily placed between thumb and forefinger

Whoopie pies have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Everyone loves my mom's recipe, and, by now, three generations have loved them, too. There were (and are) always some tucked away in the freezer.

I had no idea how much variation exists in recipes for these treats. Cooks.com offers 234 different versions - pumpkin, peanut butter, buttercream, flavoured fillings galore - and for amounts ranging from eight little pies to five dozen of them.

Mom's recipe makes two dozen. Far too many to eat at one sitting, and yet...



photo credit

 When I was about eleven, my friend Judy and I decided to bake whoopie pies one afternoon when mom was at work. (Who says that kids don't have enough to keep them busy!?) We had all the ingredients and set to work sifting and creaming. At some point in the process, we wondered what would happen if we baked REALLY BIG whoopie pies - say, four only from the entire recipe.

An idea like that cannot remain untested when one is eleven; just thinking such a thing means trying it. And that is exactly what we did. For those wanting to test this for themselves, I can tell you that it's entirely possible - the whoopie pies hold together and are very impressive.

All successful experiments must be rewarded, and ours was no exception. The only, and obvious, reward was to eat those whoopie pies - two each, with milk.  Not only could we not eat them daintily, held between thumb and forefinger, we also could not eat them with one hand alone.

Although the reward was tasty, the effects were not so great. We were both a little sick. We felt even less well when my mother came home! Whether these events have any bearing on the matter or not, I don't know, but I really never liked to bake after that.

But fortunately, our whoopie pie caper did not diminish my love of eating them. They are still one of my favourite cookies. I am just a bit more temperate when I indulge. 

My Foiled Career as a Thief

I've never been comfortable with even the smallest of thefts, the kind that others assure me is meaningless because "everyone does it." When one of our party would steal an ashtray from a restaurant, I would feel bad because it was wrong and fearful because it would be embarassing, and possibly worse, to be caught. (Ashtrays were especially popular - I wonder what has replaced the ashtray now that smoking is banned in most places.)

My foray into thievery was fairly accidental - I know, I know, that's what they all say!

I was a grad student, doing research in the university library. There was no one around the stacks where I was browsing, but there was a new, shiny, sharpened, long yellow pencil - my favourite.

That pencil called to me, and, after all, it was only a pencil -  much smaller than an ashtray and one of those things that is commonly lost, dropped, abandoned around campuses everywhere. I avoided it for the longest time, moving around the shelves, ignoring it sitting there in its perfect yellowness.

To this day, I'm sure that my search took me to every stack in that area of the library, and there simply was no one else nearby. The pencil was clearly abandoned (and still calling to me!).

Finished, I had to walk by that pencil, sitting there, sad, waiting for someone to pick it up. So I succumbed; I mean, everyone does it; it's only a pencil; it's abandoned; someone else will take it anyway.

As I walked away, a voice from where I know not said, "That's my pencil."

I put the pencil back down on the shelf and slunk away. I felt like the biggest thief ever -  caught, guilty, wrong, embarassed. I'm still not sure that I wasn't the "victim" of a psych or philosophy experiment or of a joke.

But I knew in that moment why I was never, and never would be, comfortable with people stealing things - small, big, meaningless, or anything else . My very short career as a thief was over before it really got started.

Play It Again, Sam

Unfortunately, playing the piano is not like riding a bicycle. We do, indeed, forget. The fruits of all those years of practice, music festivals, and Royal Conservatory exams have not stuck with me. 

Memories of going blank in the finals of a festival have stuck with me, and I still get a flutter in my stomach when I pass by the signs around the college for the Royal Conservatory exams. But, I now have an only slightly better than vague familiarity with key and time signatures, music theory, and the names of the notes farthest afield from middle C. Also,the hands aren't as nimble as they used to be.

A few years ago, I got a very nice keyboard, and thought that I would sit and play for the sheer enjoyment of it as I used to - perhaps I would have to back up a grade or two, maybe start with seven or eight, but as I backed up farther and farther through my old music books, I realized just how rusty I was. I couldn't believe how much I had forgotten, how much work it would be to bring back the skills and knowledge. Serious practice.

I have decided to play it again and have ordered some books, dug out some sheet music and practice books and am going to sit down to play scales and chords and figure out those keys again - how many flats in that piece?!?!

Tasty Soil Granules, Acrylic, and Glue

We intuitively know the power of images- one picture is worth a thousand words. Poets know the power of images - they create visual impressions with language. Advertisers know the power of images - they invoke desire for products through pictures.

Food images can actually make us salivate.  Interesting, then, that what we salivate over and crave is often not real food, but effective stand-ins that look better on camera than the real thing and stand up to the hot lights.

Images can make us desire food, and it's humbling to know that what creates that desire is not only often unpalatable, but also often dangerously inedible.

How cooling does that image of a glass of iced tea look on a hot summer's day or that icy, slushy margarita? Mmmm. How about a glass sprayed with dulling spray, some tasty acrylic ice cubes, and corn syrup droplets on the outside? The iced tea is probably not really iced tea because brewed coffee diluted with water photographs better. That beautiful, green slushy margarita may well be an inviting glass of Soil Granules and colouring.

Ice cream is difficult for photographers to work with - hot lights don't mix well with anything that melts. No problem. A nice mixture based on instant mashed potatoes or shortening with food colouring works well. Maybe some purchased icing with lots of confectioner's sugar added. Well, that doesn't sound so bad, but then they go and spoil it with Elmer's Glue-All to simulate those nice melty drops!

Dying for a piece of that mile-high cake with fluffy, thick icing? The icing may be icing, but the cake may be mile-high Styrofoam. Maybe the cake is actually cake, but watch out for the cardboard separating the layers; it's not so tasty.

Not all food in photographs is fake; in fact, in advertising, the actual product must be shown. The fake food is food in a supporting role in the ad or in editorials and other food shots.

So the ice cream featured for sale is ice cream, but the ice cream underneath the topping (the actual item for sale) is most likely fake. The fast food hamburger is really the item, although it may well be browner from a combination of hoisin sauce and Angostura Bitters.

Spritzed with oil, dribbled with glue, food in photographs looks yummy, refreshing, satisfying, tasty. But it's no wonder that the real fast food burger never looks as good as the one in the ad. The ad is all about the image, and that poor old burger is just a burger.




My source is a book by Linda Bellingham - Food Styling for Photographers

Food photos are for interest and not to demonstrate fake food.
(iced tea photo - Arbor Teas)
(cake photo - Epicurious)

Footloose and Fancy Dancing

Penguins and rap stars, nuns and Greek housewives dance -  in the rain, on the street, on stage, and in fitness classes. Dancing is older than Homer and as current as Dancing with the Stars.

Whether it's ballet or breakdancing, we humans love to soar, jump, tap, and move to the beat. And we dance solo, in pairs and groups, in front of an audience or alone in front of the mirror. Dance, dance, dance.

High art and pop culture reflect our love of dancing. Dozens of movies, even from the days of pre-cinema and silent film, are either about dancing or feature dance routines; Broadway musicals celebrate dance; ballet is dance, visual artists paint and draw dancers. Countless street festivals, clubs, pubs, and bars are dance havens.

Our love of dancing is captured in a great video, put together with clips from nearly 40 movies, all to the song "Footloose" by Kenny Loggins. This is one of those videos that I have to admit to playing over and over - it's so upbeat and fun to watch. Also amazing is how well all the dancing fits with the music - very smart editing. Enjoy!