I am demoralized lately.  Ever since my Sphynx cat Charles passed away I have been sad.   I miss him terrible.  I have toyed with the idea of getting another pet, but never moved on it until recently. I was driving in my area and saw a girl walking three dogs one had huge ears and reminded me of my Charles.  I stopped my car , rolled down the window and asked the girl what type of dog that was and she said it was a Papillon.  I asked other questions such as if it was hard to groom, friendly, was good with other animals as I still have my two great cats PJ and Cody and don’t want them to be upset with another animal.  She raved about her Papillon and I drove away.

Ever since then I have been trying to get a Papillon and all I find is a few extremely expensive breeders and a lot of puppies that seem to be from puppy mills.  I spend most of my time on the internet trying to find a puppy that is not from a puppy mill and I haven’t yet.

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Sphynx hairlessness is produced by an allele of the same gene that produces the Cornish Rex, which has only one of the usual two fur coats. The Sphynx allele is incompletely dominant over the Devon allele; both are recessive to the wild type. Sphynx were at one time crossbred with Devon Rex in an attempt to strengthen this gene, but unfortunately this led to serious dental or nervous-system problems and is now forbidden in most breed standards associations. The only allowable outcross breeds in the CFA are now the American Shorthair and Domestic Shorthair. Other associations have different rules. In Europe mainly Devon Rex has been used for outcrosses.

When I think that my Charles suffered during his entire eleven years with problems chewing (the configuration of his jaw did not allow him to chew as well as he could have) and his IBS that had him always yearning for food that his situation did not allow him to eat–turkey, chicken scraps– can cause me to sob uncontrollably. But then I realize that because I love him and took care of him all his life that  I was rewarded with love back so pure and unconditionally that many nay never experience. But because of the cross breeding that took place with the Syphnx breed he only lived for what should have been his middle age and not at least ten more years of love and adoration and I now missed that pleasure with him.  Instead his problems weakened him and something that should have been conquered instead killed him. And now I will grieve for the rest of my life.

If I can do anything in my life it will be to stop the cross breeding and experimentation of cats and dogs  as the Nazi’s did for their prisoners , that cause these animals  to have terrible troubles throughout their lives or even the shortening of their lives as what happened to my Charles.  It took years to find out that the mix as I described above did that and I can only imagine the heartbreak and suffereing those cats and their owners went through.

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St Tropez St. Tropez, France Information by Rough Guides
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> The origins of *ST-TROPEZ* are unremarkable: a little fishing village that grew up around a port founded by the Greeks of Marseille, which was destroyed by the Saracens in 739 and finally fortified in the late Middle Ages. Its sole distinction from the myriad other fishing villages along this coast was its inaccessibility. Stuck out on the southern shores of the Golfe de St-Tropez, away from the main coastal routes on a wide peninsula that never warranted real roads, St-Tropez could only easily be reached by boat. This held true as late as the 1880s, when the novelist Guy de Maupassant sailed his yacht into the port during his final high-living binge before the onset of syphilitic insanity.
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> Soon after de Maupassant’s fleeting visit, the painter and leader of the neo-Impressionists, Paul Signac, was sailing down the coast when bad weather forced him to moor in St-Tropez. He instantly decided to build a house there, to which he invited his friends. Matisse was one of the first to accept, with Bonnard, Marquet, Dufy, Dérain, Vlaminck, Seurat and Van Dongen following suit, and by the eve of World War I St-Tropez was pretty well established as a hangout for bohemians. The 1930s saw a new influx of artists, this time of writers as much as painters: Cocteau, Colette and Anaïs Nin, whose journal records “girls riding bare-breasted in the back of open cars”. In 1956 Roger Vadim arrived to film Brigitte Bardot in /Et Dieu Créa la Femme/. The international cult of Tropezian sun, sex and celebrities took off – even the 1960s hippies who flocked to the revamped Mediterranean Mecca of liberation managed to look glamorous – and the resort has been big-money mainstream ever since.
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> Hello my Girl, My story about St Tropez
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> In the 1980′s my husband and I traveled extensively and one of the many trips we went on was to France. In the beginning we started in Paris. We loved France and their people and its history and started to branch out into other areas different towns and cities. One of those areas was Provence in the South of France. We stayed there for a week or so and while chatting with other tourists and citizens of France that we met during out trip we began to hear about St Tropez and how it was a jewel of the Mediterranean. It seemed that it was abut two and a half hours from Aix de Provence a beautiful town were we were staying near and since we had a rental car we decided to take the trip to this small fishing village. We did the trip, although as I remember it was a bit longer than we thought but as we found out very much worthwhile. We were hooked at the beautiful harbor full of huge yachts parked right in front of the port. What little we were able to see that first day trip hooked my husband and I. There was one sad glitch. Unfortunately the shops were all closed . The French shopkeepers closed for three hour sometimes four hours every day.. All I could do was peer into the windows of fabulous looking stores with the most wonderful array of clothing, jewelry, shoes, handbags, objects d’art and so much more, tucked in original buildings from the 1800′s. As we walked on cobblestone paved streets winding through this amazing ancient town passing one closed store with another my husband and I got hungry. Luckily the restaurants were the only places open and we found an outside cafe with many people eating pizza, salad and drinking wine. We sat down and ordered a pizza. I remember it was called pizza Margareta. It was the first time I ever heard that type of pizza. Or actually all the different types of pizza they had on the menu. We ordered and ate the best thin crust pizza we had ever eaten, another first for us as the USA only had the Italian regular pizza at the time. I dont actually remember the salad other than it was inventive and breathtaking delicious. I didnt have wine as I was the designated driver in France, and didnt want to drink and drive. We walked some more and realized that we had a long couple of hours drive back to Provence. While we left Tropez  I vowed to come back. When we finished our trip in France and got home I found out even more about that haunting village- a hidden peninsula jutting into the Mediterranean. I found out about Collete and her statement telling how St Tropez has only one way in and one way out. A place most people never leave.  I also heard about the artists such as Matisse, Van Gogh and so many other famous people that went there and stayed for long period of times. I heard about Bridgett Bardot one of most famous woman in the world and how she had a home there.
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> Even the surrounding countryside was beyond spectacular. Nothing like we ever see in the United States. And there was one more thing-I had to get back to those enticing stores that were shut to my husband and I that day. Although I do not think my husband cared about that part as much as I did.
> The next year we went to Nice and then Cannes, but I only thought about St Tropez as it was so different and special. The stores we saw in Cannes were the same we saw in Paris-expensive, fancy and too sophisticated for me. Even the restaurants were big and expensive and no where near casual. There were hardly any out door cafes and we didnt find those special thin crust pizzas. I longed to go back to St Tropez. During this trip my husband and I drove again to St Tropez from the direction away from Cannes and we were amazed at the one after the other beach towns we drove passed during our trip from this direction. But nothing could beat the secluded place we had found the year before. We woke up early to get to St Tropez in the morning and check out the shops while they were open. Well they had items that I never saw even in New York City. My heart was starting to beat fast. I felt like a kid in a candy store. The most amazing candy store in the world. I wanted to live there stay there-shop there. We were hooked. My husband and I checked out some of the hotels and different restaurants. We went into art galleries, and tee shirt stores and sat at the cafes watching the patrons on the huge yachts watching us drinking cappucino at the open air cafe’s at the port. My husband and I decided to go straight to St Tropez the next year. There was still too much we hadnt seen in this wonderful fairy tale town.

> We did and discovered the miles of white sand and azure blue waters. We chose the beach we stayed in from then on it was named Club 55. The restaurant was famous and we made a reservation over a month before we arrived for each day we were staying in St Tropez. Banyan trees circled the restaurant and when you walked towards it the trees opened up to the most beautiful open air restaurant better than anything or as good as New York at its best. I remember seeing Paul Anka walking along and other famous celebrities that I forgot their names. There was one other thing that I decided to try for. You see I saw so many beautiful couples  wheeling baby carriages. I didnt know if these fashionable women and men lived in St Tropez or were tourists like we were, but the need started to swell inside me that I wanted to wheel my baby in this magical town. In 1988 my dream came true. I had my Alexi-Rae and the next summer me and my family wheeled around the cobblestone street with our child. This time I got to shop in the myriad baby shops and the other great shops that I had frequented in past years. We took that trip every year until we lost our rock and my hero and we never went back again. But going to St Tropez each year and watching my baby grown into a sweet girl is a memory that will never leave me. I will never forget St Tropez and know that one day my daughter and I will be back. You see its in our blood
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On August 28,   caused by a human being with maybe  a low  level of intelligence , the inability to  care or the lack of critical thinking or maybe just not giving a damn  my cat Charles was  put in a compromising position and became  injured.  This was something that never  ever should  have happened.  He began to limp on his back paw.  Then  his limp turned into the  dragging of all four paws.   He could not eat by himself,  nor  drink,  or have control of his bodily functions, although he tried valiantly to do all of these ordinary everyday motions.   I tried everything to make him comfortable  fed him, cleaned him and massaged his weakening limbs, thinking all the time that he would heal and the limp which would allow him to be mobile would get all better.  My hope all along would be that maybe things would turn around and he would be his wonderful exuberant fierce  self.   For almost four weeks of this harrowing situation watching him weaken until he finally  passed away.

My heart broke and I became grief stricken. To keep my sanity during this period of time.  I went back to painting.  Something I did professionally as well as turning to during earlier tough times in my life.  Because of financial difficulties I had fallen into a period of time where I could not write or paint, but I began to paint flowers while staying close to my Charles between massages, stroking, making sure he ate and drank water as well as range of motion   exercises.  On September 23 at ten to two in the afternoon with my daughter Nicole at my side we watch Charles begin the end of  a hard tough battle.  It was obvious during the end that he did not want to leave me, even with his strong desire to live, Charles died.   I once again turned to painting and instead of flowers I began a series of painting of my Charles.  At this time I have twenty nine  different portraits of him and am in the process of  a twenty by thirty  canvas of Charles  sitting upright.

He was the most kind , generous , caring cat I have ever met.  He loved me and watched over me.  I believed that he was human and I will believe that for the rest of my life.  I will also miss him for the rest of my life.  Rest in Peace my Charles.  At some time in the future I  will be with you, my mother, and my husband Eli in heaven. Rest in peace to all of you.  Lynne

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After days of deliberation and nights changing my mind,  I decided not to follow my daughter  to Syracuse on Thursday.   My leg had been bothering me the entire month of August.  (Trying to make a stone house was not a good idea on hindsight). The thought of unloading a car full of clothing and cases of soda and other heavy duty stuff up five flights of stairs to her new apartment was daunting.  My cat– Chubby Charlies–the love of my life ( how pathetic is that?) had a flair up of IBD and (he was being treated with ground lamb, pumpkin puree and baby food pureed lamp and it was working very well) broke the news that  I would not go on the trip.   Having the most boring summer as long as I remember would have normally welcomed a drive to anywhere, but between all the above  issues I took a stand, poling as many as I could–all agreed.  I did not waver.   Alexi seemed  agreeable, although I knew deep inside she was disappointed.  Well so was I .  I don’t like to think of myself as weak and this was a decision fraught with indecision.  We packed her car to the rafters (if cars have rafters) and at 12:00 noon went to Cafe Angelique for her usual coffee and mixed berry fat free scone and to begin the first leg of her journey.   To note they did not have the mixed berry scone which unsettled both me and Alexi.  Nicole came to say goodbye and we waved my college bound child goodbye.

I had a few errands, but did only one and decided to go home and be sad.  Lexi called me twice to tell me that Art was disappointed that I would not be coming.  THe next call was t 1:00.  I  answered the phone. It was Lex she said hello and then quickly told me that she had been in a car accident.  She was only twenty five minutes away from home.  She was not hurt. Thank God.  The car was not drivable.  She thought it might be totaled.  So did the Vince the truck driver that had watched her lose control of the car due to what they thought was  a road slick.   They turned their truck across the road to avoid cars running into my daughter as the car uncontrollably spun across the road, first side swiping the guard rail and then going into the rail with her front bumper and then careening back in to guard rain with  the back bumper and finally stopping on the other side of the road.    Vince called 911 and waited with her until the police came.  He told me she was between exit 15 and 16.  Then the para medics came and thought that she was fine.  I stayed on the line until the tow truck came to find out where she would be.  Told her to get in with the tow truck and immediately began to pack for over night. I obviously would be going to Syracuse with Alexi.  My heart was pounding but I knew she was okay and that was all that mattered.  I made food for Charles took care of what ever I could and left the house shaking.

Actually before I left the house I called my son in law, old him what happened, and to please take care of my cats-Charles his sister Cody and his mother P.J.  I explained everything–Charles needed to have food at least four times a day.   When I was home it was actually at demand.  First thing in the morning Charles was fed. then  around 2 in the afternoon, then maybe 5 pm and maybe one more time and then the last at night.  I knew there was also dry crunch food so I wasnt worried. The other cats were fine with the crunch food and though needed fresh water at least once a day.  I went to my daughter  at Jan’s Auto repair and towing. I found her scared and extremely shook up as well as overjoyed to see me.  We transferred her belongings from the broken totaled car to mine and we were off to Syracuse.  It was good to be with her and the weather was fine.  My girl really needed me and I was happy to be with her.

We arrived at her new apartment and began to fix it up, including hanging up her  clothing, moved things  around until we were satisfied, made the bed went out to eat and the next morning I went back home to my cats.   I was torn to stay one more day or go home.  I could see that although my daughter would have been happy for me to stay it was good for her to be with her four other room mates–a bunch of great girls.  I left with mixed emotions.  I arrived home late Saturday night and as usual there was Charles waiting for me in bed.   The next morning when Charles and I woke I immediately realized that something was wrong.  When  my strong, valiant kitty Charles bounded off my bed I noticed his left back paw was limp.  I quickly go out of bed to check him and sure enough Charles was in trouble.

I hadn’t realized the night before when I arrived home that my upstairs bathroom toilet seat had the top up.  Something that any one with animals knew to shut down.  I also noticed two paw prints on the seat.  The only thing I could understand was that my son in law had left the seat up and Charles in his inquisitive state jumped on the seat and slipped  causing her paw to become become compromised and then  limp.  Sure enough after asking some questions to my older daughter Nicole, I found out that  my son in law took my grandchild Aidan to the bathroom while in my home and did not close the toilet seat.   What occurred next  is the worst thing that could ever happen.    Something that changed my life forever.   To be continued.

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Even though our stimulus package has gone out to the banks.  It doesn’t seem to register with the financial institutions that got the money on how to use the money to help homeowners in need.  I would like very much for President Obama to check out how the banks are hoarding the stimulus money and not giving it to the homeowners. The money was to help homeowners in need get the mortgage money necessary to stop those people from foreclosure by  b4nevgi9sr  refinancing a loan to include debts and at time second mortgages.

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Last week , July fourth weekend, was not one that will stand out in my memory as being a big bang in my life.   Except for one thing.  I found Jesus.  Big deal, you might say.  Many people find Jesus, everyday.  Mine was a little different than most, though.  You see I found Jesus in a K Mart parking lot in Closter, New Jersey.  I was alone,  my twenty-one year old, Alexi was experiencing a weekend of sun, fun and beach time at the Hamptons, and my eldest, Nicole was at a swimming pool at the local JCC with her husband and their two children, my grandchildren, Aidan and Sophia.   I was lonely, bored and in need of some entertainment.  It had taken awhile before I came up with an excuse to get me out of the house. My day  became a search for lawn furniture cushions.  The closest store in my area that might have the exact cushions that I wanted was K mart and that’s where I went.

The parking lot was not really full. It was a day for relaxation, not shopping.  I parked and walked towards the cavernous box store and noticed a glint on the ground.  looking for gold I stopped and bent down at the glint to see what I thought was as small piece of jewelry, a charm of some sort.  After scooping it into my hand I briefly noticed its shape with a familiar outstretched arm.  It was very small and I found it a bit hard to see it.  When it got to my eye level I realized it to be a small metal Jesus, outstretched hands and all.  I looked around to see if anyone was searching the ground but didn’t find anyone.  SO I continued to towards the

I grabbed my keys and went into my car and drove the less tan ten miles  the the huge box store. I was surprised to see that the parking lot was more than half full  for a holiday weekend. It was a sunny bright day after all.  I found a spot closer to the stores entrance. than if it was a normal Saturday.  And jumped out of the car with a mission. After I walked a few feet towards the entrance a glint on the parking lot hit my eye.  I stopped, looked at the glint sparkling in the giant parking lot and swooped down.  Sure enough there was something sparkling there in the gritty tar streaked ground.  I picked  up  the tiny glimmer and took a close look.  It was a figure.  I adjusted my eyeglasses and immediately identified the object.  It was a teeny, tiny golden Jesus.  No bigger than three quarters of an inch long and if you counted the outstretched arms a little less than three quarters of an inch.  It was some tinny metal, very bendable and paper thin–it had alot of shine.  I placed him in the palm of my hand and then decided to  hold on to my little Jesus  for dear life.  After all I held the icon of  many millions. I felt the responsibility of the ages at that moment. I  glanced  around the lot to see if anyone was looking as though they lost a Jesus but there wasn’t anyone at all. I proceeded towards Kmart.

Now I had a dilemma.  What to do with my little icon.  I certainly couldn’t through it away.  it didn’t take long for me to have claimed it as mine. Therefore  I didn’t want to have it slip from out my fingers and so as I walked into the store, I put it carefully in a small empty purse in my handbag and went towards the outdoor furniture.  I didn’t know what to think.  Maybe someone was devastated with the lose of their Jesus.  Maybe they went to the manager and had asked if anyone had found him.  Who knows?  I realized the importance of my find and the  task I now had.  I had to at least make an attempt to give the Jesus back to it’s owner. But how?

Pushing away the  strong thoughts of keeping it and that would be that. Instead I gave it a strong try to bring Jesus and its true owner back again,  and so I fished in my handbag for a piece of paper and a pen.  I quickly wrote a large note.  “If anyone has lost Jesus.  I want you to know that I found him’.  I gave my home phone and cell phone number and a quick description. Extremely tiny glinty metal jesus, arms outstretched.  The size of less than an inch up and down and maybe the same arms wise.  Then I went off to my original mission.

I didn’t find the cushions I was looking for and there wasn’t anything else I needed at Kmart. As far as I could figure,  I had already found something major and anything else would just be a token spending of money I needed.  I went back towards my car, eyes down for any other glint that I might spot and with an uneventful walk to my car got in, and drove to my  home.

I could lie and say the phone rang off the hook, but it didn’t–not one single call.  I realized that mostly everyone that was supposed  to finding Jesus had already done that many years ago.  The one quietly living in my purse was now mine.   I was excited, euphoric waiting for my ship to come in.  Naturally this was a good luck omen.  Of course what else could it be?  I sat and waited, first buying lottery tickets, than pursuing the horse races.  Nothing happened.  Well somethings did happen though, not for me.  I have omitted a fact during this story.  I am Jewish. I’m not blaming that fact.  We all know that Jesus was Jewish and I am sure he being a good benevolent man would not use my Jewishness against me.  Not at all.  Although it did cross my mind that that this was one of the reasons for my luck not rising through the Richter scale, but I kept the faith.   Nothing has happened yet.  But I am positive it will sooner than later.  I still by lottery tickets.  The other day I had a few of the winning numbers but not on each set of tickets.  I thought that might be a good sign.  On Monday I will buy a few more.  This time holding Jesus with me.  I will let you know how things go.  Eventually things will kick in.  I’m sure of it.

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After a few confusing hours with no direction we are sitting down to brunch at my kitchen table.  Alexi and I are debating over Nolita or Beacon, NY (we also thought about Central Park or a movie) our dinner reservations are for 6 PM with Nicole and her family at TPR a local Italian restaurant.  The fact that I gained a pound an a half due to one maybe two lousy pieces of barbecued chicken will not ruin my mood.  The fact that my cat Charles is having a problem with irritable bowel syndrome is bothering me, but I can not do anything about it until Monday.  My Alexi  just brought me a cup of decaf coffee it is a blessing to be a mother.
That makes me sad of course as my mother isn’t here with me and as far as I am concerned she should have been .  Mom all the times you asked how am I  going make it, was for naught.  Its almost two years and I am making it.  Well at least for now.  No one knows what the future can bring.  Look at the world now its in a financial chaos.  The recession  has become the great equalizer.  In degrees of course.  I am trying to keep my house for years.  The rich are sad to lose one or two of their four homes.  Even though I feel sorry for them.  My wish is that everyone-ric,h poor or middle class makes it.   Anyway Mom  I am still here and you should be to.   I love you.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY FOR ALL THE MOTHERS IN THE WORLD including those with pets, cousins, sisters, friends  no matter we are all nuturers and therefore mothers in a way.

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This will have to be short as i am trying to get over a migraine headache.  Its awfully sad that a grown person can drink two thirds of white wine and end up sick in bed all day.  Its aver 9 pm and I just managed to get myself up and eat something.  That said I am going back to bed.

Oh yes the reason for this   post is to say how great a time (other than the migraine) last night.  Stephanie you rule, Darcy you are a peach and your mother she is something else. I forgot many of the others names but I am sure Stephanie will fill me in.

Everyone should go on www.chicmommagazine.com.  The sponsors of this first tweetup in New York.  Unless there have been then I am sorry to not include you, but than again you did not include me.  Once again thank you thank you thank you.  And Rouge Wine bar on Bank street.  Great place!

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I have been very busy with twitter. I find it absorbing, informative and I am hooked. A friend said it was narcissistic, but I think he is wrong. Maybe to an extent that one can if they chose to, talk about what they are doing at that immediate time. Such as brushing their teeth, just waking up going out to eat etc. But its a lot more than that. On the other hand I find it a very useful networking tool as well as informative. Take for instance yesterday. I found out that Friday is called #Queryday. During the day and through the night, writers are able to post questions and any other things that are on their mind pertaining to their writing. Some writers throw out their ideas or book names, short synopsis, or genre. It is all in real time, therefore any publisher or kindly agent not to say that publishers aren’t kindly they are) can and will answer the question or musing that any one puts out on #queryday. All of us can see what is going on and even peak at ongoing conversations that might have already taken place. It’s amazing. I don’t think that there is anything exactly like this on the internet. Sure they is IM’s but that is one to one and maybe chat rooms are something like this, but you have to experience what I’m talking about to understand what it’s all about. The other thing is that it isn’t only for writers, I haven’t totally explored the entire phenomenon, but I think there are other #Query subjects for different groups. I recommend getting on twitter, find your niche and go for it. I love have and would be lost without it. I hear that Orah joined on Friday. Wecome to Twitter Oprah.

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