Currency Wars - Before I Begin Reading

In addition to training Lola to sit, stay, and fetch, we are also teaching her about the economy. Shand reads her a chapter from James Rickards' Currency Wars. In the past we've feared nuclear war and biological warfare. Now we must fear currency war.


Excerpt from the book summary on the Penguin website:

"In 1971, President Nixon imposed national price controls and took the United States off the gold standard, an extreme measure intended to end an ongoing currency war that had destroyed faith in the U.S. dollar. Today we are engaged in a new currency war, and this time the consequences will be far worse than those that confronted Nixon.

[...]

As James Rickards argues in Currency Wars, this is more than just a concern for economists and investors. The United States is facing serious threats to its national security, from clandestine gold purchases by China to the hidden agendas of sovereign wealth funds. Greater than any single threat is the very real danger of the collapse of the dollar itself."

I've yet to read the book, and I will do so as soon as Shand is done reading it. (We are borrowing it from the library - because of the currency war, we can no longer afford to buy books.) I think this book will help me better wrap my mind around what's going on with the economy. But I have noticed this - within the last few weeks, the cost of food and fuel have both been rising dramatically.

It's getting to the point that for the first time in my life, I am seriously doubting being able to cover my costs of living, unless I start going into credit card debt (which I have avoided all my life, except for a stupid 1-year period). To cut back on our expenses, we are also keeping our heater running at 65 degrees (instead of the usual 68), not going out to eat or drink except on very limited occasions, and generally reusing as much as we can. What are you doing to be financially sustainable?

Why I Never Dated a Latino (Or If Only They Had Actually Paid Attention)

I never consciously chose not to date Latinos. It just happened. My first major crush ever was on a Latino — I suffered a horrible case of unrequited young teenage love, from the age of 10 until I was 16 years old. He was smart, cute, funny, read J.R.R. Tolkien, played classical violin, was 100% bilingual, and he had no idea that I longed for us to magically fall in love one day. (Actually, that’s not true, one bored Saturday afternoon, my best friend in the 8th grade thought it would be a good idea to call his younger sisters and tell them I had a crush on their brother. I did not think that was a good idea.)

Eventually, I got over him. I met another smart, cute, and funny classical violinist at my first day of a pre-college summer camp in Pittsburgh, right before my senior year in high school. He was Jewish (but not religiously Jewish). It might have turned out happily ever after, but I returned to California and he to Vermont. We intended to maintain a long-distance relationship until we were old enough to get married. We wrote each other several letters each week from September through March — mine were full of tortured heart poems, his full of charming drawings (as he also happened to be a talented visual artist).

I was never tempted by other boys. I went to a mostly Mexican-American high school bordering East Los Angeles, and even though I had slight crushes on a few, they went after the pretty, popular girls. I was brainy, awkward, and slightly weird. The only Latino boy who ever took any interest in me was a spastic dope-head my friends tried to set me up with. He seemed genuinely kind, but I did not know how to react to his non sequitur babble, or the pillow in the shape of a stuffed joint he brought me one day as a gift. It wasn’t until I went to visit my first choice college for a “sleeping bag weekend” — all the way back to Pittsburgh — that another boy paid attention. This one of Irish and Native American (1/4) heritage. That marked the end of my adolescent romance with the Vermont violinist.

There were other boys in college of course. None of them were Latino, unless you count the one Mexican national, and that only lasted about 48 hours. It didn’t help that not a single one of my friends in college were Latino, unless you count the one Mexican national. (Yes, if you’re wondering, that was an accidental friends-turned-more fling — unfortunately, in retrospect, to get over a very Anglo, non-Latino boy from Virginia who introduced me to Pavement, The Waterboys, and existentialism.)

To make the rest of the long story short, I moved to Austin with another non-Latino boyfriend of Polish and Italian descent (but culturally very American), and I didn’t have any Latino friends, or meet any crush-worth Latino men, until 2008. But by then, it was too late. I’d already fallen in love back in 2005 with a talented musician, handsome, reddish haired, slightly freckled man of Scottish and Prussian heritage, who — as it turns out — has greatly schooled me on the history of Mexican history, border politics, and music. We are still together. Still in love.

So there you have it. To any Latino men out there wondering why I’ve culturally strayed, that’s my story. Can’t say I didn’t try.

Undercover Mexican Girl's Senior Prom

Aviophobia

Undercover Mexican Girl with little brother Coco

The winter holidays are the time of year we spend with our families. But for many people, it’s also the season of airplane travel. From the time I was born, throughout my early twenties, I traveled by airplane several times a year. It wasn’t any different than getting into a car, and I even enjoyed it – ascending into the sky and seeing the buildings and landscape turn to miniatures, surprise deluxe meals and dessert served right to my seat, the roller coaster feeling as we were touching down on the runway. When my brother and I were little, we even got to visit the captain’s cockpit and see all the levers and buttons.

Between 2008 and this year, I didn’t travel by plane at all. It wasn’t until April 2011 that I had to go on a plane again, for a work-related conference. And I was nervous about flying for the first time in my life. My flight from Austin to Los Angeles was bumpy. My muscles tensed up, my teeth clenched, and I gripped the armrests each time the plane took a little dip. I wanted to grab the arm of the guy next to me, but he was too absorbed in his laptop. Evidently, he was not afraid of dying on this flight.

The next time I had to fly, in November 2011, I was self-conscious about my recently developed phobia of flying. On the car ride to the airport, I was queasy and thought about having a few Bloody Marys for breakfast. But the flight was so uneventful, I felt silly having been so anxious. There’s nothing to it. Airplane travel is safe. You’re more likely to die in a car accident, or of heart disease.

The thing is, it’s not natural, being way up in the sky, with no easy way to get off. On my return flight this last time, from Chicago to Austin, I was extremely exhausted. I had spent two and a half days attending a very busy conference, and then several more days spending time with relatives I hadn’t seen in fifteen years. I fell sleep before the plane even took off, hoping not to wake up until the plane had safely landed.

Soon after we received our complimentary beverages, the lady next to me started talking to me. I tried to keep the conversation brief. I wanted to finish my Cran-Apple cocktail and fall back asleep. Still, she kept asking questions and telling me random things about herself. Are you from Austin? Here’s a picture of my adorable grandson! What do you do? I love music! I’m a music teacher. I raised six kids as a single mother. I love Austin! Do you have children?

Although I was beginning to enjoy the chat and was curious to know more about her, I was fixated on sleeping throughout the rest of the flight. I politely let her know I needed to catch up on rest, since I’d been awake since four in the morning. As soon as I felt myself starting to drift off, the captain announced we’d be ready to land. I stowed everything away, happy to know the flight was almost over.

Then it got darker outside, and the sky became thick with clouds. The energy in the airplane changed. The flight attendants looked preoccupied with something more beyond collecting napkins and plastic cups. The captain announced that “due to the weather,” traffic control instructed us to delay landing for thirty more minutes. He firmly reminded us to fasten our seat belts and stay seated. We’d be circling for a while. There were five or six planes ahead of us.

The plane shuddered, as if it were made of paper. The ceiling shook from side to side. The engines beneath roared against the fast winds. Then they’d stop, and we’d float like a little leaf in the sky, suddenly losing ground. Hail pummeled the plane like shards of broken glass. I felt as if nothing were holding us underneath. The woman next me, whose name I originally heard to be “Joy”, started to get nervous as well, even though she said she enjoyed airplane travel.

At first, she held on to my arm to make me feel better. I was hyperventilating a little, trying to take deep breaths. To distract ourselves from the turbulence, I started telling her stories about my great aunt’s youth in the mountains of Durango, Mexico, where she camped out underneath the stars, during a journey on horseback, and had been caught in a downpour. Suddenly, I began telling her all my greatest fears, doubts, and secrets. How I had rejected my childhood religion of Catholicism, but now felt a bit of security knowing my great aunt had sent me back to Austin with a bottle of holy water. She had told me so much about herself – I did not feel strange telling her so much about me.

When I was nearly to the point of tears, she took my hand, the same way my mother would when I was a little girl and we were about to land. Joy’s hand was cold and shaky, and warm and firm, all at the same time. She did not let go of my hand, even when a flash of rationality crossed my mind, and I wondered if it was all in my head – that I was simply overreacting, the captain had it all under control, bad weather happened all the time during landings, and I was being plain ridiculous.

Looking back, I’m not really sure if we were in any kind of real danger. But I did walk away with one realization – no matter how tired you are, you should never sleep your way through life. Wake up. You might make a new friend, learn something new, or simply be glad to see the sun.

Sustainable Living Isn't Just for Treehuggers

The other day, I was asked to give a presentation about proper recycling in the office. My audience consisted of small business entrepreneurs and professional freelancers. Everyone held a college undergraduate degree, and it’s likely many of them also had a master’s degree. The reason I was asked to give a presentation is not because I work in the environmental industry, but because I’m passionate about recycling and being resourceful.

Recently, I heard someone use the word “eco-nerd” to refer to himself. He got excited that the Asian restaurant we ate at had real, non-disposable chopsticks. And on top of bringing re-usable bags to the grocery store, he kept track of the bulk item identification numbers on his iPhone to save paper and ink, by avoiding having to print out the adhesive labels.

My particular eco-nerdiness comes from my partiality to minimizing the use of plastic in my life. I will wash and re-use the few plastic bags that make it through the front door of my house. I’m on about my 12th use of a microwave and dishwasher safe to-go container that I keep taking back to a restaurant I frequent often for lunch, since it’s down the street from my office. Fortunately, they allow me to keep bringing it back, and they even offer me a 50-cent discount for my environmental consciousness.

When you’re as excited about something, as I am about reducing the amount of waste I produce as a human, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else feels the same way. Doesn’t everyone get giddy about recycling, reusing, and maybe not even using it in the first place? I discovered that the answer was no. I had also assumed that fellow college-educated, intelligent, liberal-minded, business-savvy people would be as ecologically enthusiastic as I was. But my assumption was wrong. At least in the office place.

My passion for recycling became apparent at work because I was constantly commenting on how the recycling wasn’t properly being done – sometimes, it wasn’t even done at all. The recycling bins are about ten steps from the kitchen and down a half flight of stairs. It’s easier just to throw the can or container into the trashcan next to the kitchen sink. But it’s also not that difficult to take the extra 30-45 seconds to make the short trip to the bins. (Plus, it’s a good stretching exercise for most of us who sit in a chair 6-8 hours a day.)

The presentation I gave was quite simple. I showed how only the following items are acceptable for the blue “clean paper” bin: office paper, envelopes, cardboard, cardstock, catalogs, magazines, newspaper and junk mail. The following items are acceptable for the plastic, glass, and aluminum “commingled” bin: cleaned and/or rinsed glass bottles and jars, plastics (#1 though #7), and aluminum and steel cans. This is pretty much the standard for recycling most everywhere in Austin.

I got all kinds of interesting questions during the presentation. How do you know if it’s recyclable? (Look for the little number inside a triangle, usually at the bottom of the container.) Why do I have to remove the lids and caps? (Because they are made of different material that doesn’t recycle well, or at all in some cases, plus it jams the recycling machines.) Why can’t I just put the empty beer bottles in the cardboard holder and put them in the recycler that way? (Because the recycling people ask us to separate paper and glass.) Why can’t the recycling people sort it out for me? (They ask us to do things a certain way for a reason, the same way we ask our clients to present information to us in a particular way. It makes the whole process more efficient.) The recycling bins are too out of the way. (Do I really have to answer to that?)

I removed styrofoam, plastic bags, dirty pizza boxes, and glass bottles from the paper bin. I removed paper, soiled plastic containers, bottles still filled with (now rancid) liquid beverage, and outright garbage from the commingled bin. After the presentation, I showed a funny home video I made about the things I do at home to be more resourceful – in hopes of adding a bit of humor to my schoolmarm lesson about saving the earth.

In the end, I don’t know if I was able to change anyone’s mind, or even slightly inspire someone to think about how much unnecessary waste we produce in society. Maybe everyone just went back to their desks and promptly forgot everything I said. But I did walk away with one thought – I will continue being an “eco-nerd” for the rest of my life. I figure, if I keep at it, maybe it will catch on. After all, trendsetters don’t wait for everyone else to do the same.

A Month with Lola

(Note: It has now been two months with Lola. I haven't had much time for writing lately, but I hope that will change from now on.)

I meant to keep a daily, or even weekly journal, of our experiences with a new puppy. In fact, other than when I was a very young child, I'd never had the experience of raising a puppy. We didn't exactly plan on getting a puppy. It was a happy result of unfortunate circumstances (see Death Brings Life).

When we did set our heart on rescuing Lola (she was unnamed at the time) from a shelter northwest of Dallas, in the small town of Decatur, we had no reliable means of transportation to make the 400-mile round trip. I posted frantically on Facebook through my status updates, seeing if anybody was by chance making a trip from Dallas to Austin on Saturday, September 10, or even to Waco. I called and texted a few friends. We made calls to the staff at the shelter, someone affiliated with Catahoula Rescue South Central, and finally, I posted to every page and group in Texas that was involved in rescuing dogs and cats from shelters and helping them get placed in new homes.

Sometime early on Friday evening, I got a text message from a guy named Mike, who founded a little nonprofit called Transpawtation Texas. He said he'd be able to pick her up early Saturday afternoon and could have her to us by 6 PM, perhaps sooner. She was scheduled to be put down that day - she had maybe until Monday or Tuesday to live. There was nothing wrong with her. The women at the shelter told us she was very sweet, good natured, and in good health. The only thing wrong with her was that no one was available to give her a home.

Mike offered to bring us Lola out of the goodness of his heart, and to "do his part" - he fronted the $25 adoption fee and asked simply for a donation. When he arrived, he handed her over to Shand as if she were a little rag doll. She had thrown up inside the crate and looked bewildered. Shand took her inside the house and out to the backyard, while I stayed out front chatting with Mike, thanking him profusely, and learning more about his nonprofit.

I don't know how I had the courage to bring a puppy into our home. Our remaining adult dog (after Changa passed away), Tonka, was a 12-year-old grumpy Catahoula who had once attacked a smaller dog at the green belt. The woman with the other dog was throwing a stick out into the creek, and on the third or fourth time he went out to fetch the stick, Tonka went after him and grabbed him by the collar. Since then, I could not take the dogs out for walks, or to any public places, without major anxiety that Tonka would get involved in a brawl.

Somehow, though, Tonka understood that Lola was part of the pack. He sniffed at her, and she timidly began to explore her surroundings. We set out a dog bed near Tonka's bed in the kitchen, to give Lola her own space. At first, it was difficult to get them settled into a feeding routine. She didn't have much of an appetite. She was more curious about his food, and he was more curious about hers. I had to coax her into eating, and she'd only eat if I threw her kibbles on the ground and pushed them around. She was probably going through some re-adjusting, having come from the shelter, plus she was having side effects from the de-worming treatment. It also turned out she had a parasite called Coccidia.

After a month-long treatment with a supplement called FortiFlora and an antibiotic for the parasites, her little bony ribs stopped protruding, and she gained five pounds to her current twenty-one pounds. She loves her food now, and she wolfs it down as quickly as she can. We are feeding her Wellness puppy food, and we've switched Tonka to a grain-free dog food called Hi-Tek. Ever since we'd adopted Tonka and Changa in early 2006, we didn't know much about dog food. We figured dogs were equipped to eat whatever. We'd been feeding them generic dog food from HEB, with the excuse we were on a budget. But over the past year, we've been learning about all the contamination and empty fillers in most dog food, so we decided all our dogs from now should enjoy the same quality, nutrition we get as humans. I partially blame food for Changa's brain tumor and ultimate death.

In addition to the worry of getting Lola rid of worms and parasites, I also learned about the deadly parvo virus, only after I'd taken her to a dog park. I mentioned to our vet that I was concerned she might pick up worms at the dog park, but she explained parvo was a much bigger threat and concern for puppies. Essentially, it's a life-threatening disease that can be spread by direct or indirect contact with poop contaminated by the virus. It's very difficult to get rid of it, and it can survive in feces or organic material such as dirt for up to a year.

I didn't fully comprehend the disease, however, until I'd taken Lola to a dog park for the second time, and had taken her to other public places where contamination was also possible, such as Petsmart. Even when we finally realized the seriousness of parvo and only took her to very controlled environments, we discovered that the threat of the virus can still sneak up on you. We'd taken Lola to backyard party hosted by trusted friends, whose dogs were a bit older and disease free, and it turned out a neighbor had a puppy who had overcome parvo several months earlier. It was possible he'd tracked in the virus on his shoes. I stressed for the next few days, watching Lola closely, inspecting her poop for normal signs.

But at some point, you have to stop being paranoid. All you can do is be cautious. We take Lola for walks around the block, and even that can be a threat. But she needs exercise and activity to burn off her boundless puppy energy. The backyard simply isn't enough. And throwing the ball to play fetch with her sometimes upsets Tonka. I still have flashbacks to Tonka going after the blue heeler who was fetching his stick at the green belt.

One safe place to take your puppy to burn off excess energy and learn new things is a puppy class. Our vet recommended Buddy's Chance on North Lamar. They have a free class on Monday nights for puppies under 15 weeks of age. We've taken her once so far, and she had a ball playing with a bunch of little boy-pups. She learned how to allow us to restrain her by the collar, how to trust other friendly adults with our permission, and how to roll and tumble - without going overboard - with other pups. We'll be taking her to this class a couple more times until she graduates to the Puppy II class for more serious learning of various commands and tricks.

We did teach Lola to "sit" and "shake" (which she knows as "paw") very early on. When she is not overly distracted, she also knows "down." It only took about 20 minutes to teach her to give her paw. She's quite smart - intelligence is a feature of the Catahoula breed. We've also been studying a book that our friend, Chris (who had facilitated the rescue of Tonka and Changa back in 2006) brought us from the thrift store. It's called "The Art of Raising a Puppy," and it's written by the Monks of New Skete who live in upstate New York.

The book has been criticized for some by its harsh and rigid techniques. As it turns out, "mouthing" (gentle biting), is not as inappropriate as the monks say. As the trainers at Buddy's Chance explained, it's good to let puppies bite on you so they learn how to do it gently. That way, if they ever bite when they are older, it won't be a harmful bite. Although, I am sure there are a dozen different perspectives on the matter. We'll keep our eyes and ears open. Like raising a child, there is no one perfect way to do it. And that is one thing I do like about the book - it points out that raising a puppy is about developing a relationship and learning how to communicate with your dog. The communication goes two ways. You need to learn how to read your dog, and you need to understand the way the dog reads you.

All while keeping Lola disease free, socialized and introduced to a variety of environments, and teaching her manners and commands, we've also been watching her relationship develop with Tonka. At first, he seemed to simply tolerate her. He did not seem upset to have her join our home, but he did not seem too interested in her either. His only reaction to her seemed to happen when she got too close to his face or food, or when he became jealous at whatever she was doing, whether it was playing with her treat-filled toys or having too much fun with fetch. He would snap, growl, and/or lunge slightly at her.

At first, whenever I thought Tonka might have this kind of reaction to her, I'd turn or walk way, unable to deal with my fears that he'd attack her. But he never did. I eventually learned that his behavior toward her was very similar to a momma dog putting her pups in place. A momma will even pin her pup to the ground and curl her lips. All the older dog is doing is showing dominance and correcting the young pup's behavior. As long as the pup reacts in the appropriate manner, no harm is done. And Lola has been very good at submitting to Tonka's dominance. The more she submitted, the less interested Tonka became in whatever activity she'd been doing in the first place to annoy him. He wasn't trying to steal her bone or take over her game of ball. He just needed to make sure she knew he was the boss.

Today, I caught Tonka laying on his back while Lola hovered right near his face, pawing at him. He was playfully pawing back. I'd never seen Tonka in such an act of dog loving-ness. He was never even this sweet with his old lady Changa. Somehow, Lola won his heart. He doesn't seem to growl as much - or any more it seems - when she comes prancing in through the dog door while he is peacefully sleeping near it. He doesn't seem to mind when she jumps on him or follows him around. It seems they've become pals even. I think, one afternoon while we were out running errands, they signed some kind of canine pact. They figured something out between them we'll never know.

It's been an incredible month - five weeks now. For now, it's the closest thing I know to having a child. Watching a puppy grow before your eyes, developing a bond with big brother, learning new tricks and behaviors, blossoming in her personality, and learning every new thing in the world. She's discovered squirrels, birds, babies, drive-thrus with dog treats, small and big dogs, puppies and old dogs, vacuum cleaners, coffee grinders, leashes, bar patios, the joy of chewing up sneakers and cell phones, her shadow on the ground, her reflection in the mirror, how the vines grow across and through the chain link fence, and what rain after a long drought in Texas feels, sounds, and smells like.

Her favorite toy is a squeaky monkey that looks like Curious George. She squeaks on the thing with great passion, especially if I start laughing. I've never seen a dog squeak on something so fast and so hard. She cuddles with it as if it were her stuffed animal. She takes it out out to the yard and rolls it around in the dirt and grass. She goes on insane sprints round and round the yard with the monkey in her jaw.

She learned how to get up on the couch, but she also learned that it's forbidden, so she figured out how to grab a cushion from the couch and pull it out through the dog door and to the back deck. She likes to be comfortable. One day, she jumped up and grabbed her blanket from the clothesline, and she dragged it over to the corner so she could lay on it.

We approximate that this month [October 2011], Lola is four months old. (I've given her the birthday of September 10, since that is the day she came to us, and we were told she was about three months old then.) I'll check back in with progress when she turns five months.


Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up muddled up, shook up world
Except for Lola, L-L-Lola.
--The Kinks