food

This blog wouldn't be complete without thoughts on food. Cindy and I had lots of jokes surrounding our eating habits, which were filled with delicious dichotomy both within ourselves and contrasting each other's. The most glaring contrast between the two of us was chocolate. I've never met a chocolate (insert dish here) I didn't like and Cindy was quite particular about the sweets she ate (which often omitted my dark lord). For her, the darker the chocolate, the better; for me, anything goes. She'd offer me the rest of her dessert because it was too rich or too sweet and I'd say, "okay Machine, thanks." She once left a few morsels in her purse unknowingly for my dog Bernie to help himself. A few hours later I was inducing the poor guy to vomit the dog-poison (for dogs, darker is deadlier).

Growing up, I confused chocolate donuts with spirituality. Why wouldn't I, since my dad's only trip to Winchell's was on the way home from Sunday Mass? I have always been an emotional eater, and with grief comes bad behavior. For the last 5 months I have not been able to get enough comfort food, only until a couple weeks ago when I finally hit bottom. Spirituality and addictive behavior make strange bedfellows.

One thing I shared with my late friend is a love of local, organic, seasonal super-foods. While I'm not the creative chef, I love packing in as many nutrients in a meal as I can. It's more functional than art, but a meal with greens makes my day. Maybe it's my secret hope that years of poor eating habits will be made clean by the blood of beets. Wishful thinking, I know.

My only question is, if we are what we eat, how come I'm not sweeter?

I don't remember the first moment it struck me, but for at least the last year or so, I've wanted Mani the Chihuahua and me to volunteer at Children's Hospital of Orange County. I guess it evolved from noticing how good the pooch was with kids to hearing stories of friends' kids who were cheered by a therapy dog while they were in the hospital, and finally (after the loss of our dear one) realizing how important it is to make a positive impact on others' lives. At any rate, I'm taking the steps and we shall see where they lead.

This week was another hurdle, passing the Therapy Dogs International evaluation test. The limited information I had received was from their website (mostly logistical info) and I got even less from my trainer who isn't associated with TDI. So I really wasn't sure how it would differ from the Canine Good Citizen test that Mani passed a few weeks prior.

When I arrived, I realized it was going to be outside in the evening on a brisk, windy night. I was nervous. The eight other dogs and their trainers seemed to have a clear grasp on what was to be expected. I later found out that they had all been taking an 8 week course leading up to and training for this specific test. I was doomed.

Mani is 5 1/2 pounds and has a naked bum that does not take to cold ground. Not only would he not sit for me, but the Pomeranian next to us was getting on his last nerve and he wasn't shy about letting her know it. I just kept telling myself, "you've been training him for the last year and a half, you can't let this stop you." The iron grasp of my handshake revealed my nerves to the savvy evaluator. She generously asked if I had something he would sit on and I quickly ran to my car to get his pad.

The commands are mostly straightforward and he flew through heel, sit, come, even an extended separation from me. Then she pulled out the big guns, a warm piece of hot dog. She wafted the succulent treat under his nose, threw it on the ground and said, "now pass him by it and tell him to leave it." I started sweating, no way was he going to listen to me. That piece of meat was his God-given right and he'd suffered through enough in this frigid debacle. The upside of controlling a 6 lb. dog is that it's not difficult to stop a forceful lunge. But it was noted and at the end of the 2 hour test, I was pulled aside. I was given one last chance to prove I could control my Man-ster and I was bound and determined. I growled the "leave it" command in the most baritone voice I could muster and the poor little guy was so afraid of that treat he went in the opposite direction. "Congratulations," the evaluator exclaimed, "you passed!"

I knew it was well earned when I saw 4 of the dogs/trainers walk away empty-handed. Almost half the class failed. It wasn't just my imagination, it was difficult!

Now we both will go through medical checks, I'll have a background check and I have no idea what CHOC even needs as far as volunteers for therapy dogs. I just know I'll follow this path until the doors stop opening, and then who knows?

The funny thing is, volunteering at a hospital is my parents' legacy. Dad wore his blue St. Francis volunteer smock proudly for a good part of my childhood. After Mom retired from the Engineering Department of the same hospital, she made weekly visits to administer the eucharist. I hope I can make them proud.

I'm sure there will be more on this later.