In Memory of Our Husky Wolf

One cold, dark evening as my husband, David, three children, and I entered a parking lot in Wasilla, Alaska, we saw a man with a box of puppies. It was obvious he was looking for people to adopt them, and my husband and I knew we were silly to even go look since we had a soft heart for animals. But silly or not, we couldn't resist.

As we peered into the big carton, the man explained that he hated to give up the pups, but he was a sledder with dog team and couldn't afford to feed more animals. He told us the puppies were husky/wolf mix and we'd taken note that some of them had blue eyes.

One fluffy, gray pup came bounding over to our side of the box, leaped up toward us on her hind legs, her body language shouting, "Pick me! Pick me!" Before we knew it, she was in our arms licking our chins as we passed her around our family.

The man told us we'd picked his favorite, and he'd been calling her Star because of the white blaze on her forehead. We couldn't resist. We told the man we'd take her. He looked a bit sad upon letting her go, and so I assured him we'd take good care of her, and we would keep the name he'd given her. He wanted our phone number and we gladly gave it, and he gave us his. That was the beginning of 15 years of friendship with our husky/wolf.

She was a little nervous as a youngster and piddled on the floor in her excitement, but otherwise, we couldn't have asked for a better dog. Our house was almost always teaming with young people - neighborhood kids, our children's school friends, and later, after Star had grown out of her piddle problem, I took in regular babysitting as well.

There was never a question as to her love and loyalty with the exception of two people. They were adults that somehow made her uncomfortable, but her reaction was to lay down at a distance and watch them. In all the years we had her, she never threatened anyone, and in her doggy way, she let it be known she didn't like violence.

We had an older dog, Kiska, a Toy American Eskimo, when we adopted Star. One day the neighbor's German Shephard came into our yard and almost wiped up the ground with poor old Kiska, and when Star realized what was happening, she went balistic! From that day forth, any animal could roam into our yard without a fuss from Star, except for the German Shepherd from across the way.

Star gave us a few laughs, too. One day after we'd beached our canoe after a fun day at Seward, she wandered off a short distance to explore. A woman saw her on a rise several yards away, and the lady began calling in alarm to her husband that there was a wolf! It was then that Star loped down to us, and the woman's voice trailed off into nothing, and she and her husband went about their business as we chuckled to ourselves.

Another time, David took Star out cross country skiing in our neighborhood. They hadn't gone too terribly far before she decided she'd just as soon go home. My husband said that she stopped in the trail and nonchalantly looked up at the sky, then looked to one side, and then the other side, and watched some birds in the tree tops. If she could've rolled her eyes and whistled while she tried to look innocent, she probably would've. Then all at once she turned tail and ran for home!

Since we weren't ones to let our dogs run unsupervised, normally David would've been pretty unhappy, but this time her actions were so amuzing he couldn't help but laugh. She was a good girl, and came straight home so no real harm was done.

A few years after we'd adopted Star, Kiska passed away at the age of 16, and it was then Star became the number one dog in our family until her passing when she was 15 years old. She never, in all her adult years, disgraced herself. She was a true, loyal, loving friend. We couldn't have asked for better.

The Origins of Betty Crocker

Have you ever wondered who Betty Crocker, a well known name in kitchens across the nation, really is? Have you noticed her portrait has changed over the years? If so, you may find today's post on "Life And Living" very interesting!

Betty Crocker was created in the year 1921 by the Washburn Crosby Company of Minneapolis after a promotion for Gold Medal Flour, when they began receiving thousands of questions regarding baking during the late 1910's and early 1920's. Washburn and Crosby was one of the six big milling companies that merged into General Mills in 1928.

The managers thought a person's name would seem more intimate and friendly, so they created a fictitious person to answer customers questions in a more personal fashion. They combined the last name of a retired company executive, William Crocker, with a first name, Betty, they regarded as warm and friendly. A contest was held among the female employees, and the winner provided the official Betty Crocker signature. That signature is used to this day.

In 1924, Betty Crocker took to the radio, first on a local Minneapolis station, then was featured later on the national radio network, NBC. It was the nation's first cooking show and thirteen different actresses filled the role. "The Betty Crocker Cooking School of the Air" ran for 24 years.

In 1936 artist, Neysa McMein, blended features of all the women working in the Home Service Department, and made an official likeness to represent Betty Crocker. The portrait helped reinforce the belief that Betty Crocker was a real woman, garnering her the distinction of being the second most famous woman in America after Eleanor Roosevelt in a public opinion poll.

Betty made numerous guest appearances on the television broadcasting networks, CBS, and NBC, then had her own show, "The Betty Crocker Search for the All-American Homemaker of Tomorrow" which featured many actresses playing her part. It ran from 1954 to 1976.

During the years of national broadcasts, Betty Crocker Cookbooks were being written and since the 1950's more than 200 of them have been published. Over the span of 75 years, Betty Crocker's face has changed eight times, becoming younger in 1955, gaining a more professional appearance in 1980, and in 1996 she was given a darker, more mulit-cultural look.

To this day, the name Betty Crocker is a popular personification of fine home cooking, and Betty Crocker Cookbooks are commonly found in homes and stores across the nation.

Young Students and Stress

As a youngster, I remember being anxious to begin first grade. I hadn't had benefit of kindergarten, so at six years old, school was a new, exciting experience for me. I eagerly walked the mile and a half to class, and the mile and a half home to tell my mother what went on that day. After my teacher, Mrs. Barret, said she was going to show us how to read, I could hardly wait to learn, though I'd been teaching myself before then, with limited success.

School started at 9:00 A.M., and for first and second graders, ended at 2:30 in the afternoon. We had a short recess in the morning, and an hour break for lunch. Of course, we ate hurriedly so we could spend more time on the playground.

Once we were dismissed for the day we went straight home, and the rest of the afternoon and evening was ours since there was no homework. Unless we had chores to do, we could immediately enjoy riding bikes and other outside activities when the weather allowed, and could relax inside with our families when it didn't. We woke up the next morning, rested, refreshed, and ready for another day of school! Learning was fun!

Third grade through fifth, was much the same, with the exception that the we were denied the short morning recess, and we remained in class for an extra hour in the afternoon. Sixth grade changed only in that toward the end of the year we students were given short homework assignments and we knew that the latter would escalate once we began junior high, which was the equivalent of today's middle school.

Now, in sharp contrast, I watch six of my seven young grandchildren get up between 6:00 and 6:30 each morning in order to meet the bus at 7:30, including the next to the youngest grandson who only recently turned six years old. They don't return home until after 4:00 in the afternoon and by then they are sometimes so tired they go to sleep on the bus.

Once the kids make their way down the steps of the school bus, they head straight to the dining table where they begin doing homework. There are math sheets, spelling lists, and required reading, among other things. I have helped my younger son and his wife assist their children with the assignments. With the three of us adults doing our utmost to help their four little ones, we've worked solidly past 6:00 P.M., all of us gathered together in what amounted to our own private classroom.

Add it up. Those young children had been focusing on school in one form or another for 12 hours, roughly double the number I did at their age. And as if that isn't enough, they face even more if they participate in extra activities such as read-a-thons which the educators encourage them to do in the children's "spare" time.

My other son met his two, school aged boys at the bus and literally rushed them home, feeling harried and grumpy, and complaining he was having a time of it, getting them through homework, putting dinner on the table, and meeting the boys' bedtimes. With little time to relax and play, if they're left with the energy to do the latter which is oftentimes questionable, it's time for baths and bed, only to rise early the next morning to another day of predominantly sitting at a desk or a table with papers and books. Our youngsters are tired, though bedtime is at 8:00 P.M., and earlier if the child goes to sleep in class, which has happened on more than one occasion within our family.

My daughter, an educator, worked in a primary after school program, and she witnessed young children, kindergarten through third grade, at school at 6:00 in the morning for breakfast, then they attended a reading program. After that, they went into their regular school day which included two short recesses. Then the children went to the after school program with my daughter from 3:00 to 5:00 P.M.. Every student, 60 children in all, spent 30 to 40 minutes with her working on homework, and often failed to finish since they ran out of time. She also helped students with learning disabilities, and such long days were extremely trying for them.

Those young children more than likely had to get up by about 5:00, and most probably no later than 5:30 A.M. to be in school by 6:00 in the morning, and they were then forced to stay at school for 11 hours. Once they reached home, they had to finish their homework and whatever else their parents required of them.

Though I value our children's education, I feel sorry for them at the same time. When are they allowed to be kids? On one hand people complain about how sedentary our young people are, and on the other they're shoving books and school work at them, leaving next to no time to do anything but sit in a chair.

Given a choice, all seven of our grandchildren are very active. They spend summer days out riding bikes, swinging, jumping on the trampoline, swimming in the pool, and so on. They're hardly ever still. But during the school year they're forced to sit on the bus, sit at their desks, sit at the kitchen table with written assignments and work sheets, sit with a book in their laps, reading, growing weary and burned out on education before they get past third grade.

And so, at least for the lower grades, I feel there is too much pressure. Educate our children, but let them have a few hours at the end of the day to be kids. Just as factory workers and other employees are found to be more productive when they're given ample time to rest and recreate, it very well may be the same for our students. A rested mind will be more apt to be alert and ready to learn while a fatigued one will undoubtedly be more sluggish.

Despite the long hours, or perhaps because of them, the children are struggling to keep up with educational expectations. School should not be about the quantity of hours spent in the classroom and doing homework, but about the quality of learning.

Living With Depression

The purpose of this writing is to help others better understand depression. Though this is difficult for me, since I must practically bare my soul to give a personal accounting of what depression is like, I will do so with the hope the reader will be less judgmental and deprecating of those struggling with it. For those who aren't in the know, their harsh words and careless actions could possibly tip someone over the edge resulting in tragedy. People need to be informed.

Depression claims a long list of people, and I, for one, am part of it. As a sufferer, I can relate to others who are dealing with it. Feeling down all the time isn't a choice we make. People with depression just are. We wake up to it, we spend our days with it's ugly, oppressive shadow lurking over us, and we go to bed with it. It goes beyond feeling sad. It permeates the very depths of who and what we are. It can be a terrible thing, depriving a person of their very essence. Interests flag, and days are filled with emptiness and inactivity. Others tend to misunderstand and criticize, which only deepens the darkness.

Looking back, I've had to deal with depression from the time I was a youngster, though I wasn't educated as to what was wrong. All I knew was that I wanted to be happy, but somehow, I just couldn't be. To make matters worse, I underwent constant mental, and occasional physical abuse from my family and others while I was growing up. The abuse fed the depression and I spent many long, dark days hidden away, and wanting out.

What stopped me from taking a shortcut to the cemetery? I knew I was at the bottom, and the only directions left to me were up or out. But surely there would come a day when things would be better. I had to hang on until then, so I chose to wait in hopes of pulling up instead of checking out. Tragically, many people are so far into the dark hole of depression that even that tiny glimmer is extinguished.

Thanks in large part to depression, my grades dropped in school, which brought on the wrath of the students and teachers who didn't understand the underlying problem. My family chimed in with derogatory names as well, "lazy" and "stupid" being only two of the labels, so even at home among my parents and three older siblings, I felt isolated. Their criticisms and derisive remarks only fed my feelings of worthlessness and being alone, and it was a constant, downward spiral.

I finally managed to get through high school, but barely, then married at the age of 20. I found myself alone again, since my husband was away from home much of the time, and only after the arrival of our three children did I manage to peek out of the black hole of depression. Love for them helped fill it. Though I still had occasional bouts of depression, the children helped me through them, as for the first time ever, I had a meaningful purpose and a sense of belonging that was big enough to cast out that ugly shadow.

I am now 57 years old. The children are grown and in homes of their own, and depression has since deepened again. Though I'm incredibly fortunate in that they're living as close neighbors so I am able to see them fairly often, as well as the grandchildren they have given my husband and me, I again feel isolated and adrift. They are their own people now, and I am but a satellite circling around their worlds. Each passing year, my orbit is widening and growing farther away, and I am again searching for a purpose and a sense of belonging. With it has come the old shadow hanging ominously overhead, making each day a struggle, and leaving me to ask God, "Why am I here?"

In recent years my husband turned to the nursing profession, and at the age of 57, he graduated with honors from the toughest nursing school in our part of the country. His training helped him identify the state I was in, and he began researching. He found an article on the Internet that suggested a lack of iodine can bring on depression, and observations of patients at his place of employment seemed to support the theory.

Since deep depression had been hanging over me for many years, my husband gave me a bottle of iodine supplement in the form of kelp tablets, and instructed me to try them. He warned me to take only one tablet per day, though, as too much iodine could bring on health risks, perhaps causing cataracts of the eyes, for one.

Willing to do almost anything to bring relief, I did as he recommended, and I am glad to be able to say, the boost in iodine has helped. So while I'm still struggling with the emotional aspect of depression, I am enjoying the benefit of physiological relief. At least there is that, and the satisfaction of treating one of the causes instead of only covering the symptoms with drugs. And so at this writing, I feel there is hope. I am now more able to work on mind set, and hopefully conquer the dark shadow of depression.