She also attaches to, and protects them…they’re her buddies.  While my sister has been visiting, she has taken on the task of doing some minor surgery on a few of Annie’s favorite toys that have  fallen prey to tug-of-war games, or toss-and-flop tussles.

While a good full-mouth tooth grab, a proper low-down front leg stance and vigorous head shaking in a tug-of-war game are clearly intended to ensure a win, the toys are often the innocent victims of the sharp teeth and push-pull pressure.  Hence, the required surgery.

Words could describe what is clearly worry about what’s happening to one of her “buddies”  during the  surgical intervention depicted below.  Words could also be used to tell about her relief, joy, and gratitude when the surgery’s completed.  Pictures, however, as they say, are worth a thousand words:

Animals communicate so eloquently.  No word need be spoken.  No miscommunication…a “look” can say it all.  They can be endearing or intimidating without ever raising their voice.  Not that Annie isn’t capable of a good, sharp bark or two if that helps get the message across.  Or a heel nip,  or a great blocking maneuver  if anyone should make the mistake of getting too close (within a foot) of her master, whom she guards with her life.  Seriously.  On occasion, her zealousness in guard duty have caused her to be called “Awful Annie.”  (good dog)

My sister and I love Annie.  She brings great joy to our mom.  Annie reminds Mom when it’s mealtime…for both of them.  Annie loves to go for drives, and people-watching is one of her greatest enjoyments  while groceries are being procured from the local grocery store…or better yet, the local farmers with farm animals to watch while local produce is picked up.

And she takes our mom for daily walks, good weather or bad, which keeps them both in good health.  She helps ensure they have sufficient social activities by introducing Mom to the owners of the other dogs who are taking their masters for walks, as well as helping to point out the abundant forms of wildlife that exist in the neighborhood…squirrels, rabbits, birds, CATS, racoons, mice, and the occasional wild turkey or deer that somehow find their way into the neighborhood and parks where they stroll.

So a few minor surgical procedures to ensure her buddies are kept in good shape, and have lots of life left for playing is but a small reward for all that she gives.  Yes, she could have new toys.  Everyone in the family, plus lots of friends,  would, could and  do contribute.  There’s nothing quite like well-known, well-worn, and much used favorite buddies, though, to let her know she’s safe, secure, and appreciated.

At my house, I have cats…two bundles of purring fur that provide helpful paws for me.  We briefly discussed going for a walk here this morning …in the snow…no less.  Once again, so eloquently, and without one word spoken, the communication, and consensus, was very clear.  Not a chance!

This Friday Follies isn’t going to focus so much on my follies…lack of understanding, good sense of foresight…(though I’ve certainly committed my share) as on one that has gained the attention of nearly every person in America as well as globally…the Gulf oil crisis.

What happened?  To condense it to my perception of the short version:  Someone (BP employee or contractor)  didn’t properly check the plumbing during the drilling process.  The proper method or product wasn’t used or failed.  Then, someone  else (another insignificant ordinary worker)  noticed that something didn’t seem quite right and reported it.  However, the project was well behind schedule, and delays were already costing “big bucks.” The person to whom the potential error was reported “decided” it was insignificant, and convinced enough others to ignore it that the drilling proceeded until…kaboom!

Then…all hell broke loose.  And in the truest, and most fervently followed political fashion, finger-pointing began in earnest.  “It’s not my fault“  followed thereafter, and continues.  The theatrics have been followed, summarized succinctly, and well characterized by comedians, political cartoonists and satirists globally.   None of which changes, of course, the devastation that occurred or continues to occur, but which does help to vent the excessive frustration felt as we all gain understanding of just how damaging this is.

The questions of”

• Who’s responsible?
• Who’s going to fix it?
• How long will it take?

will be around for the next couple of decades at least.  Assessing damage and negotiating settlements will keep hundreds, if not thousands of attorneys fully employed for at least that time period.  A lot of money will change hands…most of it, of course…going to the attorneys, who will get bonuses for minimizing settlement costs.

Who remembers the 1986 Space Shuttle Disaster and the subsequent investigation where it was finally determined that the scientist who saw the disaster (potential O ring failure)  in the making was ignored?  While the story line is different, the result and the cause are really not.  We continue not to learn from our mistakes.

Enough lamenting.  At this point, we simply can’t turn back the clock.  Another disaster has happened.  We can complain…we can moan and groan…we can wail about corporate greed and government’s failure to have strong enough safeguards or (again) to react quickly and firmly once disaster struck.

We can also do something entirely different.  We can share responsibility and we can choose to help shape the future.  Is it possible that in some way, each one of us (and I certainly include myself) has been a part of making this disaster? 

When we look at the ways in which we create energy needs…heat, air conditioning, lights, appliances, and vehicles, do we really reflect, for even a moment, the real cost…the cost to the environment…the potential devastation that incidents like this can cause?  Do we stop to think that our own over-consumption is a contributor toward the rush for greater and greater demand for oil and other fossil fuel  production…where supply is much less available, harder to find and harder yet to produce?  Do we realize that this demand contributes to inadequate safeguards and production shortcuts?

And…do we realize that we have options?  Instead of feeling victimized by this disaster…as the families of lost loved ones in the recent coal mine disaster, and the Gulf disaster certainly are…along with the pelicans, turtles, turtles, and fragile ecosystem of the area…we can effect a change. 

We can begin right where we are.  We can drive less, we can turn off lights we’re not using, turn the air conditioning up and the heat down…if only a few degrees.  We can explore alternative, renewable energy sources, both individually and by supporting utility grid application of renewable energy sources.  Sunshine, wind, and ocean waves are renewable…forever available to us to harness. 

We can start taking responsibility…individually and collectively…by making our own changes, as we hold others (the fossil fuel industry and our government) accountable for cleaning up this mess…and not creating another.   Let’s let this be ALL “Oil” there is.

And once again, this will bring a volley of criticism and alarm for the young women and their instructors who happen to like cheerleading….just as it is, thank you very much…and are willing to accept the associated risks.

Yes, cheerleading is a sport.  Gynmastics is a sport…and oh, by the way, so is football. Yes, they all have an element of danger…of risk. 

But how much do we hear about how dangerous football is for the young men who participate in this dangerous sport? How often are the statistics brought out and touted for how many high school football injuries there are…and how dangerous a sport football, or baseball or all the other sports are for boys?

I’m not saying we should ignore the risks associated with either one. MSN headlines today, however, cast cheerleading clearly as a villain: “A new study shows the sport accounts for 65 percent of all catastrophic injuries in girls high school athletics. Some girls end up sidelined with grave injuries.”

And I ask, how many injuries are we actually talking about here? How does it compare to all catastropic injuries in boys high school athletics?

Given just a little more adverse publicity, cheerleading can probably be banned…for good. Or…all those naysayer protectionists…could just give it up!

Let’s get real. “Girls”…young women…love to be cheerleaders.  For some, it’s a coveted position in high school, and often subject to intense competition. Like sports for “boys”, cheerleading can build character and leadership…determination and discipline.   Not to mention…once again…the potential for scholarships leading to an education some “girls” might otherwise have to forego.

Some girls, like some boys, like to compete in sports.  They enjoy the exercise, the competition, and the showmanship.  They accept the risks that are associated with competitive sports.

On the other hand, if there’s a way to reduce the risk in this, or any other competitive sport without taking away from the sport itself,  maybe there’s room for a little compromise.  Let me say clearly, I absolutely refuse to suggest that cheerleading should be diminished in any way. However, just to keep the naysayers from succeeding, and stopping, or severely hampering the progress of what is not only a fun, but creative team-building endevour, maybe a few alternatives could be considered.

One thing to consider might be mats…something soft enough to help protect young bones from injury, similar to what many gymnasts use. I know, it could be an aggrevation pull them quickly on and off the court, but not impossible…with a little teamwork.

And, what about having a gymnastic coach do flexibility and coordination assessments to help the cheerleading team determine placements for their various routines?

I’ll still march…I’ll carry my picket gladly to the Superintendent’s office and elsewhere…if I see cheerleading disappearing from the sporting events in my neighborhood.    Young women deserve the same right of choice, the same opportunity to compete, the same opportunity to excel as do young men.  Cheerleading gives them that opportunity.

On the other hand, if a few simple corrections can be made to help prevent serious injury, I think it’s worthy of serious consideration.  As I am sure the parents of any young person who wants to try out for cheerleading…or baseball…or football…or any other sport would tell you…you can’t protect young people from everything, but minimizing risks is a good thing.

As I am sure you can tell from this, and my previous article on “Dare you Let Your Daughter Be a Cheerleader, ” in the Friday Follies section of my blog, I am an advocate of letting young women choose.  It’s how well all grow and succeed…choices and consequences.  That’s what life is about. 

My advice to girls…dare to be who you are…and who you want to become.  You’ll have plenty of supporters, including me, to lead the cheers, whether you decide to be a cheerleader, a football player, or a violinist.

It’s a left-handed sort of compliment.  I liked the sound of Friday Follows, and the crowd it attracted.  I thought it might be fun to collect my own crowd…people who had an odd sense of humor.  Or, people who, like me, sometimes just liked to know about other people’s trivial trials, passionate pursuits, green greed, or other optional oddities that might glean a giggle or tweak a twinkle.

Since Mother’s Day is right around the corner, today’s Friday Follies seemed the perfect time to share a few things about my mom, stories about others’ moms, about being a mom, and other things sort of “mommish.”

Let’s start with the fact that as a child I wasn’t perfect.  Even though every time my sister accused me of doing some Mom wouldn’t approve of I automatically said “Did not”… because I was building my perfect child image.  

I was a curious child.  “What’s this?  What’s in there? Why can’t I have that? When are we leaving? Why don’t we eat dessert first?”  Questions like these came naturally to me.  I simply could not understand why my mother found them so challenging.  Nor why her answers were so vague…and dictatorial…”It’s for me to know and you not to find out. Because I said so.  When I say so.  Because I said so.”

Being a curious child, however, I was not easily discouraged, and would continue to ask more questions, and get the same answers…until, in total frustration, I would finally give up and leave. And…come back later to start all over.   What my mother taught me was patience. 

Going to other people’s homes to visit, I was often told not to interrupt when adults are talking, to “sit like a lady”, to play quietly, and to say “please, thank you,” and “may I be excused?” before leaving the dinner table.  More stuff that I found totally frustrating…but…she was bigger than me…and could remind me of that with a single glance.  What my mother taught me was manners.

My mother taught music…still does…and made my sister and me suffer through years of painful piano lessons.  We learned about all the classical composers, as well as many other musical genres, and yes…even though I thought it was painful at the time…I still play the piano now and enjoy it.  We went to lots of music programs, learned to dance, and make fools of ourselves with glee.  What my mother taught me was a love of music and motion.

I began earning my own money at a very early age.  I will give credit to both my parents for this. They were always happy to give me advice…”I know someone who’s looking for help with something…and they’ll pay you.”  The hints started early…about the time I started “wanting stuff.”  I swear they never heard of child labor laws.  What my mother taught me was responsibility.

There were several quotes today on what celebrities’ moms taught them…”Tuck in your shirt.” “Don’t play sports, you’ll get hurt.” “Suck it up and be tough.” “My mom was into yelling.” to quote a few.  It was a reminder that even celebrities have moms…someone who influenced them… and gave them advice they may at times have ignored ( to their detriment of course).  Somewhere through the thread of all that, though,  I heard “My mom loved me enough to pay attention to me.”  That’s a good thing. 

Being a mom isn’t easy.  I know.  I am one.   I’m not a perfect mom…just like I wasn’t the perfect child…despite my sputtering protests to the contrary.  And my curiosity remains as active as ever…”Why did you do that?  How come you didn’t pick that up before I tripped over it?  Why isn’t that plate cleaned up yet?  What’s wrong with you?  What time did I tell you to be home?” 

Sometimes, the best you can do…is to love your kids.  My mom does.  I do.  Kids and moms just have this special kind of bond that asks really for only one thing…”in some way…tell me you love me”…and let me show you that I deserve it.  And kids…if you’re wondering…all moms really want…or need…is to be loved back.  A phone call on Mother’s Day, breakfast in bed (toast is good) …a vacation in Paris…ok, ok…I’m dreaming now.

“Thank you for all that you taught me and for Sunday…Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You’re the BEST.”…to all the moms and all the dads who are moms…and all those in between who influence and provide parenting to those of us who need it…and always will.

It would be really interesting to know what percentage of people…in the U. S. and globally…would answer honestly…”Yes, I knew by the time I was 10…or 12…or 15…that I would get to do something creative with my life…exactly what I wanted to do…and I did it?” 

And…what percentage of people can say that at some point in their life…they discovered their passion and did something creative that they really wanted to do?

I admit, I never really gave it much thought.  I grew up believing work was work.  We never talked about what “color my parachute” was, or what did I really want to be when I grew up.  

I grew up in the country…where  life  revolved around the chores to be done…animals to feed, cows to milk, eggs to gather and that endless stream of more chores.  Cold winters and hot summers. 

Then…all of a sudden, I was “all grown up” and knew I’d better figure out what I was going to study, and  how I would use it to support myself.

Sometimes when reality slaps you up along side the head, you pick the quickest, safest path.  Business management seemed to me the right direction at the time, so that’s where I went.  No regrets.  It’s been a good backstop.

Somewhere buried in the back of my mind, though, I also always knew I’d end up where I am…writing for a living and loving it.   Because I was always creating a story in my head.  I never journaled, like some of my friends, but I created a lot of stories in my head while I was doing chores.  And my stories all had titles, and subtitles, and plots.  Sure, lots of stories about love’s sweet success…and it’s trials…deceit, betrayal, rejection.  And stories about getting rich and famous…and all of the places I got to go in my imagination on my way to rich and famous.

Most of all, my stories in my head were about the richness of life, and somehow, many elements of those stories came true…more or less.  Maybe not exactly as I imagined them, but some elements of everything I ever “wrote” in my head “became” my life. 

So what’s the point of all this meandering? 

Well, curiosity I suppose.   Do we all actually end up being in the stories we create  in our heads in some way?  

Have those stories wandering around in your head for years and years…in some way…come true? 

As I worked my way up the corporate ladder and since my departure to other endevours, my most valuable tool, I truly believe,  has always been my skill as a writer.  Creating stories that build upon the richness of whatever topic is at hand, that present a particular viewpoint, that beg a certain perspective in return.  Fact-based, but admittedly and deliberately biased.  

Not that it hasn’t taken a few other skills to weave my way to success, but my writing skill has always seemed to me my most “shining attribute.”   I love it… I love the richness of life and the endless possibilities of stories begging to be told.

And I wonder…for everyone who became a carpenter, or went into the construction business, or ended up promoting health care products, or ended up in some particular profession…how many of you thought you just ended up there…not because you felt passion for what you wanted to do…but because it just happened?

I truly am curious…are we all where we are by accident or by design that we simply haven’t considered? 

 In all of life’s richness, maybe we all end up in the stories we’ve created in the past, or are creating right now…in our heads.

If you think that’s a possibility…consider life’s richness.  Wherever you are, consider your passion, look at your life now and what aspect of  your passion you’re already using. 

Did you really get where you are by accident?  Or…like me…have you discovered that where you are now is, at least in part, based on your instinctual, intuitional (new word), knowingness?   

Have you become aware that you arrived with a special gift, a skill set of some kind that, through some unseen force,  you now use every day to build your world into a better place?  I have…and I love it. 

Maybe some of you have read the “The Cat Who…” mystery series by Lillian Jackson Braun.  I was attracted to them because two of the main characters are cats.  The books are light reading and good for those occasional afternoon or evenings when nothing else will do but an escape into a little fun and fantasy.

Her two main cat characters reside in “the upper North Country” with their middle-aged “cat staffer” who is a journalist.   The author doesn’t refer to him as a “cat staffer”, but I can’t help myself.  After reading some of the books in this series, it’s obvious this journalist is nearly as well trained as I am.  And it simply reinforces my belief that… dogs have owners, and cats have staff.

In this series, his cats, Koko and YumYum, help him solve mysteries.  They communicate clues…in their very special ways…which they expect the journalist, Quill, to decipher. 

What I find especially interesting, though, is how well trained Koko and Yum Yum have their “staffer”, Quill.  As you read the series, it becomes apparent they eat only the best food…deli cuts and fresh meat in broth…very high end.  And…what they’re willing to eat on any given day remains a mystery that they expect Quill to solve.

All of this reminds me clearly why I consider myself a cat staffer and not a cat owner.  Like the cats in this series, my cats, Princess and Hope,  want it to remain a mystery exactly what they’re willing to consider eating for their breakfast and dinner treats.  It is a mystery they expect me to solve…by offering very small portions of various delicacies…until they decide “All right…yes…I believe this will do for the moment.”

They both talk to me…No, they don’t talk with me…because they don’t for one minute think that I am capable of understanding them without clear, unequivocal direction that they provide. 

They tell me when they’re ready to play…even if it is 3 AM…and when they’re ready for a nap (the Do Not Disturb sign is posted with unmistakable clarity)…and when they want to be brushed (not as often as their staffer would like).

Unlike a dog, they expect me to respond.  And…when I don’t, they talk to me about their expectations.  They jump on the kitchen counter…not part of their “approved” territory to deliver their message…or into the center of the fern, tilting precariously to be sure to get my attention. 

Before I get carried away here in describing what might be considered the negative side of their communication style, let me add its positive points. 

Cats read you.  They know when you’re having a bad day…or a bad moment.  Dogs want to shower you with affection…all the time.  Cats are much more discriminating.  They withhold affection…until or unless they know you are desperate. 

If you “ask them” to curl up on your lap…they won’t.  However, if you’re obviously despondent…or overly contemplative…they just… “show up.”  Suddenly, you’ve got a purring furball to contend with…something to distract you, take your mind away from whatever nagging thoughts were bothering you.  And..yes…they expect you to respond.

My cats are not certain I’m capable of earning a living on my own (or providing the delicacies they so richly deserve), and tend to keep a close eye on my work.  They spend a major portion of the day in the office with me, checking the monitor, the printer, and the keyboard.  They have two cushions they’ve designated for “Catastrophe Supervision”…one in a  nearby chair and one on the desk. 

Should I spend more than a few minutes out of the office grabbing a quick cup of coffee, or a snack, they don’t hesitate to come along to talk to me…telling me either “OK, we can take a play break…I have the string”…or…”Hey dudette, let’s…like…get back at it here…you need to be done in time to fix my dinner treat…once I decide what it is.”

If I’m gone for a few hours, or the major portion of the day, they greet me at the door when I come home.  Unlike a dog, however, they don’t wag their tails to joyfully tell me how glad they are to see me.  Instead, they carefully sniff everything that comes in the door with me…or just my clothing if I don’t bring anything else in…and then…they decide…if I deserve any further attention.  Which I don’t…unless I have a special treat that is clearly just for them.

Once you understand you’re a cat staffer…the relationship really can develop.  If, however, you’re resistant…and think you’re in charge..watch out!  In the end, there will be no mystery about that. 

There will, however, always be plenty of mystery and intrigue in the relationship.

Friday Follies, for those of you who aren’t yet regular followers, is my take off from Twitter’s Friday Follows.  We all have our follies…or I think we all do…and I certainly prefer that I’m not alone when I fall off the cliff, or mistakenly enter the wrong restroom…little things that I’ve learned to laugh at.  About myself, of course.

Sometimes I tell stories about my cats.  They certainly know how to make me look foolish.  Down on the floor on my hands and knees, scratching the carpet, making hsssing sounds through my teeth, and other ‘unseemly’, unadult behaviors simply for the purpose of ensuring they are properly entertained.  I just know they laugh about my antics, and how silly I look,  when I’m out of earshot.

Sometimes I tell other stories about the silly things I do.  I can procrastinate…believe me I know lots of ways to not get around to getting things done…or I talk about  my collections of collections on collecting, or just my myriad of rambling thoughts on weird topics.

Today, I thought I’d share a little gem about pranksters, and how easily fooled I am. 

I recently got a complimentary comment on my blog, and then the writer asked me if I would mind ‘just taking a look at their website and providing feedback.’  They had included an email address and a website.  Now I actually have a link with a form on my website, where anyone can request a free website review, but I thought the writer might have been focused on reading the blog post, and wanted to make a comment.  Then after making the comment, they thought a quick way to ask for a website review was  just to tack the request on at the end of the comment.

So, I thought no more of it and went to the website provided.  It was actually a squeeze page, and fairly well done, although there were several things I thought might better address prospects’  needs, and one thing I thought was a fairly large oversight.

So…I composed an email and did a brief critique of the site, praising the good parts…and there were quite a few…with suggested corrections, and a couple of proposed content rewrites.  Normally, I wouldn’t include any proposed content rewrites unless we both decided a contract might be a worthwhile investment, but in this case I already had the content rewrites composed in my head, and decided I’d share…a compliment in return for their nice compliment on my blog post.

I finished the email, sent it off…and…guess what?  It bounced!  Now…how foolish did I feel?  I know how important it is in email marketing to verify email addresses.  In fact, I talk about it a lot.  However, ( I thought) this was different.  This was a comment on my blog, not a request to become a subscriber.  The website provided was real.  It was professional and had a legitimate product to sell. 

Next, of course, I checked, and then double-checked the email address provided.  It simply did not exist.  Foiled…someone was playing a prank!  And..for a moment…I was quite upset.  And then I laughed. 

This incident reminds me once again that no matter how much expertise I may believe I have…no matter how professional I think I am…I can be fooled.  Easily at times…by things I should…could…know better than to fall prey to. 

I love being innocent enough to still believe that most people don’t want to fool me…most of the time.  And I love reminding myself  to take the suggestions I give to others…always verify email addresses…especially before you spend time and energy that could be better spent doing worthwhile work for someone who really wants and can benefit from your ideas.

Life is…worthwhile…worth growing…worth learning…worth loving…worth laughing at yourself…regularly.  Follies aren’t just for fools.  They’re for all of us.  They remind us of our humanity, and provide us humility. Humility is a good.  I remind myself of that often.

I have it all on a spreadsheet, and whenever I finish a book, I stack it on the corner of my desk to be added to the appropriate Book List — Fiction or Non-Fiction, before I put it away.

And…once the stack gets to the point of tipping over, I update my spreadsheets. Then, I begin looking for places to store these books for “the next read.”

Now comes the “foible” that is the subject of today’s Friday’s Follies. I’ve got books crammed into every available bookshelf in the house…and I have quite a few…books and bookshelves. I also have a few locations…so far mostly out of the way locations…where I have books stacked because there’s no more room in the book shelves.

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I’m a “collector”…of “stuff.” Books certainly fall into that category…and I am certainly a book “collector.” However, in my defense, I am also very much a book lover. I read my books more than once, and I bookmark places in books, both fiction and non-fiction that have a particularly interesting quote, or a meaningful phrase that I don’t want to forget.

Unfortunately, there are so many books, with so many bookmarks that I can’t remember which book to look in when something in particular comes to mind and I just know that I read something about it in one of my books…if only I could remember which one.

I promise myself…and my family…that I will quit collecting…that I will sort and donate. And so I begin.

I sort. I stack. I pile.

Then I get a box. As I begin to put a book into the box, however, I have another habit…perhaps not such a good one…of needing to make sure it’s a book I remember clearly having read, that it has no special “bookmark,” or just don’t have an interest in the topic anymore.

Whenever I open the book and start to scan it, I nearly always find I either just can’t remember reading it…or at least not what the major plot was, it has a special bookmark…or it has information that I suddenly remember is exactly on point for a topic I have been researching!

So…the books don’t end up in the box! As a result, keeping my library to a manageable level…just isn’t manageable.

I thought I had the solution. I got an electronic book for my birthday this year. It is wonderful…and I really do enjoy it. And I use it a lot.

However, I still like the feel of a “real” book. As a bibliophile, I really enjoy my books and I use them over and over. So far, I like the bookmarks in “real” books better than my bookmarks in my electronic book. They’re easier to see — I use colored post-its — and I can flip through them quickly.

On the electronic book, I can enter a topic for a search, but if I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, it doesn’t help me locate it.

I suppose if I really researched it, I have a few “real” books that are collector’s items that are worth a little money.

However, I like to think that all my books are here for a real purpose…besides just being an enjoyable experience…and that is that all the stories and information helps me understand the people around me.

And there just isn’t any amount of money to exchange for that.

Unless…of course…I really have read and absorbed every fascinating bit of information from that particular “collectible” book…in which case maybe a little money in exchange would help me purchase a few more books to collect.

You think?

Since today’s the day for Friday Follies, when I talk about my foibles, this is a great headliner to “tell all” about my penchant for “little things” that pull the rebel from my backbone; make me stand up straight, stick my chin out, and march directly for the Principal’s office with my protest sign…regardless of the consequences!

In an article titled “What’s the point of cheerleading?” by Hannah Karp, it appears there is a brewing country-wide alarm about the rapidly increasing number of personal injuries being incurred by cheerleaders.

The debate, as it is being described, seems centered on whether cheerleading has lost its central purpose as it is becoming more and more a competitive, gymnastic sport. According to Hannah Karp’s article, there are some who not only think this is the case, but have taken action to bring cheerleading “back” to its roots.

She states in her article: “Last month the University of Connecticut announced it would replace the school’s 17-year-old cheerleading team with a non-athletic “spirit squad” that’s open to non-gymnasts.

“The emphasis on stunting had detracted from the major purpose,” says John Saddlemire, Connecticut’s vice president for student affairs. The focus, he says, should be on “fan interaction and truly on cheering and cheerleading.”

On the other side of the debate is the cheerleaders’ enthusiasm and passion for what they are doing. There are long hours of practice all year long, and intense competition for spots on cheerleading squads.

And, perhaps for some an element even more important… winning a position on a cheerleading squad… and doing an outstanding job… can involve scholarships.

All right, I have to play contrarian here. I want to see the bylaws…the part where it says “Cheerleaders cannot jump. They cannot bend. They cannot display any gymnastic talent in any manner that might result in the potential for injury.” Fact is, yelling can cause injury. Waving ones arms in close proximity to another can cause injury. Foot stomping can cause injury. Doing the splits can cause injury (if in fact your body can accomodate such a move). And let’s face it, cheerleaders have been doing those things forever!

I think there may be concurrence that cheerleaders are the “lead singers” for the “Team.” They come on ahead, and during intermissions for Fan interaction…to make sure the crowd hangs around and stays involved. And…I’ve gotta say…nothing thrills me, engages me, or keeps me engaged,  more than watching talented young people display cheerleading skills, especially with gymnastics, they have practiced and perfected.

So I’m not sure what the problem is. Maybe there’s a perception that if we get fired up and cheer for the cheerleaders, we’ll forget about the “Team.”

I guess I better just speak for myself, but “it just ain’t so, Joe.”

I get fired up watching talent — in the cheerleaders and in the team! I happen to think that talented cheerleaders reflect well on a school.  And I can’t think of a single time when a cheerleader…or cheerleading coach’s…behavior on the floor was less than exemplary. 

And… whether the majority may be girls or young women…don’t they have the same right to informed choice of engaging in an activity that may result in injury as the boys or young men?

Further…let’s face it…entertaining the crowd today isn’t as easy as it was in the past. Crowds have higher levels of expectation when it comes to performance…by anyone who’s on the “stage” in front of them…cheerleaders, team, referees, coaches.

So…I’m casting my vote for talent. I’m casting my vote to allow young people to make choices in favor of pursuing their passion…whatever it is. I like the spirit in cheerleader stunting…especially when it not only thrills the crowds as it fires them up, but creates the potential for scholarships that can result in opportunities for higher education that might not otherwise be available.

Life has risks. Discipline, practice, and pursuit of an athletic passion can help build character, strength, and understanding of those risks.

Not everyone needs…or wants…to be a cheerleader.  Not in the past nor in the gymnastic manner to which it has evolved.  There are many paths to life’s fulfillment. I simply see no reason to block this one.

Notoriously limp and lovable, Ragdolls are exactly that…rag (deliciously soft, well-worn comfortable) and… well…dolls!

The Ragdolls that live here, however, and for whom my husband and I are “Staffers” are much more convinced, I am certain, that they are Royalty, rather than Dolls. Ragdoll Royalty if you Please.

And believe me, we do aim to please. The Ragdoll Prance…at 3 AM, 6 AM, 9 AM, Noon, 3 PM, 6 PM and 9 PM. And…whenever in between we are summoned!

Princess and Hope…who volunteered to help me write today’s article…thought you might like to hear the Ragdoll Royalty perspective on Staffing.

“We started at 3 AM this morning. It’s our usual time to start the day rolling. First thing in our job description is to make sure Mom (Staffer #1) gets up to use the restroom. Most of the time, her bladder gives us a hand. She loves that last bedtime cup of tea…that she really should skip!
But… occasionally, she forgets, and sleeps past 3 AM. That means one…or both of us…will need to walk across her head several times, and meow. We start soft…and if that’s not working, we “amp up.” If necessary, we stick our noses under the blanket and then crawl to her feet to nibble a toe gently…or not. If that’s not working, we’re not above flopping directly on her face, or chewing on her hair. Jumping up and down from the bed, talking loudly, chasing each other…doing what it takes.

Whatever it takes, we’re pretty darn good at getting that 3 AM Ragdoll Prance started. After all, this is when we get our first bellyrub of the day, and it’s important how we start our day. We’re generally not really interested in eating this early, just want to make sure Mom gives us that first bellyrub of assurance that all is Right in Ragdoll Kingdom.

Then, we’re generally OK until 6′ish, and have been known to leave our Staffers alone until as late as 6:30 AM. After that, though, Staffers are expected to be up and ready to start the day’s duties.

First thing, of course, is our “treat.” I (that would be me…the Princess) will only drink the juice from the cat food packet. I won’t eat the food from the packet. Much too ordinary, boring and mundane for a Royal Ragdoll. And, thank you very much, I want it mixed with just a touch of fresh Norwegian fish cod liver oil. Perfect seasoning for the Royal Ragdoll.

Hope, my younger sister, has (in my superior opinion) more “pedestrian” tastes, settling for a particular oceanfish canned variety in gravy for her treat. To her credit, though, she has discriminated several times quite thoroughly in turning down cheaper cat food pates clearly not suitable for the Ragdoll Royalty.

Now, once treats are out of the way, if both Staffers are home and available, they are called upon throughout the day…to play…to visit…to ensure our special dry food dishes and water dishes are always full. And, of course, to run to the herb garden around dinnertime and clip a bit a fresh catnip for us to sniff, fondle and toss into the air. On occasion, we even allow our Staffers to get a glimpse of our “Inner Wild Cat” after a bit o’the Nip. After breaking several items that were apparently Staffer Treasures in a “CatNip Free-for-All Frenzy” several months ago, though, they seem not as interested in exploring more of our “Inner Wild Cat.” I don’t understand…sometimes Staffers can be hard to figure out!

In between cat naps, we check the toys throughout the house, and move them about, drop them at a Staffer’s feet if it’s time to play, and we make sure one of the Staffers checks our restroom facilities regularly. Cleanliness is Critical! They need to understand that.

By and large, our Staffers are fairly well suited for Ragdoll Royalty. Since Staffer #1 is home-officed as a Writer and Value Creator, we have “nearly-instant” staff. And Staffer #2 is obviously so smitten with our sweetness, playfulness, and totally endearing manner to him, we have simply to arch a tail, or plop down, or roll over in front of him to have his full and undivided attention. (… this….dubious Readers…was NOT even someone who particularly liked “cats” before we came along).

All in all, we believe we chose well.

And we let the Staffers believe…occasionally…that they are in charge. As long as they continue to meet all of the Ragdoll Royalty requirements, I don’t think there’s any harm in a little innocent self-delusion, do you?