I have become the Cockroach

I was having a conversation with my sister last night reminiscing about our childhood, our parents, our trials and tribulations.  We, laughingly, came to the conclusion that we are like cockroaches in that we have (so far) managed to survive all the environmental hazards we experienced growing during the 50's and 60's. 
Those were the days when you never questioned what was in a product or if it would have any negative affects.  We used products with reckless abandon, secure in our ignorance.  If it was made for our use...it must be okay.   Uh huh, sure.....
My parents were always encouraging me to develop a hobby.  One of my ventures was butterfly collecting. Please remember, this was before we even KNEW the words  "environment", "biosphere", "environmental impact",  "BIO HAZARDS", etc.,
... nor was there even the thought of being reincarnated.   I hang my head in shame as I digress....
All I cared about was collecting those pretty winged beasties and mounting them on my wall on cotton batted and framed mounting boards. It was akin to the fate of those hapless fur brethren of ours that have succumbed to becoming taxonomic heads sticking "out" of a wall or full-bodied "action" figures frozen in the act of doing something when they were alive and breathing....and happy.   I had my butterfly book and my "killing jar" and I would trek through our two plus acres of land seeking the choicest, rarest of butterflies that could possibly exist in Mansfield, Ohio....okay, so I got a lot of monarchs, cabbage and swallowtails.  Yes, at the ripe ol' age of 6 I was given the responsibility of carrying a jar with a sponge soaked in carbon tetrachloride.  "Just don't breathe it!"...I can still hear my father as he handed me my newly assembled handheld gas chamber...and of course...I would catch a wisp of it every time I opened that jar to place my poor winged sacrifice.   I still cringe when I think of my actions.  I will probably come back as a Swallowtail butterfly...or a Luna moth.  YES, I killed a damn Luna moth.
So this was ONE of my environmental bio hazards I was exposed to.
Then there were those INglorious chemicals my mothered enshrouded her garden in annually.  Oh my! How we loved our herbicides, pesticides, inoculates and fertilizers.  The dusting for cabbage worms, cut worms, cabbage butterflies, tomato worms, flea beetles.  The spraying for corn "smut", black spot, brown spot, wilt, powdery mildew.... and the stuff that "makes gardens green and lush"- the chemical fertilizers - all in pretty blues, aquas and greens.  My mother sprayed and dusted with reckless abandon to get that perfect, untainted, unchewed amazon-lush garden.  And we chomped and chewed those perfect vegetables thinking they were the best thing in the world, so perfect, so "pure".  And while she demonstrated her prowess and green-thumbed savvy, our mother felt blessed that she could provide such healthy, fresh and gorgeous vegetables for her family.      cough*
Then there are those "medical" treatments that we endured that our parents sought to try and make our bodies gorgeous and our skin pure.  After all, my mission was to marry affluence.... My parents were determined that I was NOT going to have acne...genetics be damned! Despite that fact,  my face oozed and pussed throughout my post-pubescence into my thirties.  While in my parents' care I endured ingestion of antibiotics and hormones, I sat under UV treatments which gave me a perpetual "ruddiness" on top of the pustules, I did everything but go to a witch doctor.   I would be taken to the dermatologist and would sit through sessions wearing little heavy black goggles to protect my eyes as he would circumnavigate my face with  ultraviolet light.  Later, I had the luxury of having my OWN sunlamp and giving myself my own skin cancer-causing treatments.  (age 57 and nothing yet, knock on wood)  I also was put through the torture of subcutaneous injections in my inner forearms of some retinoid substance that was definitely worse than "water boarding" a terrorist.  The painfulness of the substance as it sat in a huge blip under my skin was extreme.  My father, the pharmacist, would do the injection at our home...and I would be sobbing before, during and after the treatment.  My mother finally could not bear the emotional stress of watching me go through this and, to my exhausted relief, put her foot down and said "NO MORE!"  \0/!  So, I have lived with the pitted scars anyway. Was it worth all the pain?  Was it worth all the teeth extractions? The ugly grey teeth that do remain?  I mean, I STILL have the acne scars?  I would like to still have my teeth.

I remember the call on a labor day weekend.  My mother, relaying the news that she just found out she had lymphoma.  She had complained of a painful lump on the back of her neck and I had told her to have a doctor check it out.  I almost felt like it was my fault that she got the diagnosis.  After all, I told her to have it looked at.  But, reflecting  back on our consumption/use of chemicals, my sister and I  are quite sure that all her gardening ventures, her arts and crafts and other exposures to chemical products led her to the cancer.  The year before she got the lymphoma she was on oxygen due to suffering hearing loss caused by exposure to the sealant she used on the basement walls. 
She died within a year of her diagnosis.  After 25 years, it still angers me.  Shoulda, woulda, coulda's....
But, my sister and I are not out of the woods yet.  We have our own health issues to contend with.  And, I do believe some of them are party to the chemical "bathing" we did as we grew up.  It's a lesson that I hope we can impress upon others.  We both have become much more cognizant of our actions.  We are more organic in our food selections and in what we put on our bodies, as well.  I just ask that everyone take heed.  Pay attention to what you do and what you use.  There is a price to pay.

My Vegan Dog

So, what do you do when you have a dog that LOVES vegetables? And you can't grow a thing because she eats it before it even gets to a ripened state?
I love Addie, she is our rescued pound puppy (one of our three furry family members)- breed unknown.  My daughter found her in a cage in the middle of a dark room at the county animal shelter.  All you could see were these very sad little eyes peering out of the darkness.  It stabbed you in the heart.  I can remember the apprehension as her eyes darted between each one of us while we all settled in the car to bring her home.  She was definitely glad to be out of  "jail".  She kept examining each one of us as she leaned into the back seat, sizing us up, trying to figure out just what was going to happen now? 
In the beginning, when she was still adapting to her new home, she would take off on us at any opportunity.   And, my poor husband would run off after her to retrieve her.  Most of the time the retrieval would end up with a bath as she managed to find the stinkiest stench and roll in it. 
Still to this day we wonder what her history was.  She shies at loud noises, she scrunches into a little ball with her tail tucked when we call her to us and she still wants to take off.  When Addie sleeps, still to this day, she has what I call night terrors.  It's not like the usual running and yipping that most dogs do when they are in deep sleep.  No, Addie barks, growls and then cries a piercing cry -  doggie nightmares?  It makes me want to get into her head to see just what happened to her.  But, all I can do is love her.  She's a good girl and she's a great companion for our other dog, Elliott.  She "mom's" him all the time.  If he gets obnoxious or out of line she is right there chewing on his ear to calm him down. 
It's hard to describe Addie.  Age - estimated.  Appearance - strange...I call her "Grover Puppy" because her coat is scraggly, snarly and of many different length.  She is not blue like Sesame Street's Grover, but black with white hairs predominantly around her eyes, mouth and between her toes.  She has little wisps of hair that hang off the ends of her ears that dance with her bouncy trot and are almost as long as her ears.  I've thought about trimming her up...but then...she wouldn't be Addie!  Her scraggliness is what defines her.  As welll as her curious canine palate.
We are currently battling over my three spindly little tomato plants.  She won last year with the consumption of my tomatoes and eggplant.   I never got one vegetable and had to put up the white flag.  I was growing my veggies in containers and would watch, in anticipation.  The first beautiful little purple oval eggplant slowly developed and I was excited and anxious for it to mature to the perfect size....and then one morning....as I went out to see it's progress... there it lay....on the ground...the ovalness distorted, the skin ruptured with innards exposed to the elements.   It was lying there, half consumed and the remains left to rot in the hot sun.  I was devastated and could not believe that a rabbit could climb up that high and steal my beautiful purple "egg".   But, I saw another eggplant higher on the plant and I felt there was a second chance! So, I monitored, caressed and watered my second fruit towards maturity and planned what culinary action I would take with this delectable orb. 
Then, one day, I came outside and found that I had been robbed again of the fruit of my labor.  But this time I found the fouled remains between the paws of my ever faithful and loving companion lying next to the clay urn....Addie?  My sweet, precious, devoted Addie?   I was wounded!  How could she do this to me?  How could she be so cruel?  ADDIE?  Then I had to catch myself.  I was wanting to make this a personal attack on me; that her action was not purely to enjoy a delectable vegetable..but directed to intentionally hurt me!  But, then, I realized that she was just foraging and enjoying the fruits of HER labor.  Addie has a unique palate.  She loves watermelon, cucumbers, EGGPLANT, mushrooms, tomatoes...she's an omnivore.
I am determined to prevail this year.  I do have to report the sad loss of my lovely perfectly round Better Boy tomato which was the most recent casualty of this war.  But, after my husband saw my despondency, he took chivalrous action and brought out a chest of drawers that he then placed my tomatoes on.  Hopefully, the higher elevation will be a deterrant and I will at least succeed in obtaining a few tomatoes this year.  My fingers are crossed!!!!  If I fail? I will have to be happy with visiting the farmer's market!