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In his book Calypso, David Sedaris writes:


I donate a thousand dollars to the Hillary for President campaign and within what seems like minutes I get an email from them saying, in effect, “that’s great, but can we have more?” Her organization is by no means unique in this regard. Everyone I donate to acts the same sway, and I wind up unsubscribing from their emails and resenting them.


David, I feel your pain.


When my Dad died many years ago, he left me his IRA account. Every year I must take a mandatory distribution. To honor my dad, who gave money to a myriad of worthy causes, I donate it all to various charities and community groups during the Christmas holiday season.


Many simply send a note of thanks and I never hear from them again. I like those groups.


Others send me continuous pleas for more money. What is infuriating is they are not heartfelt requests but simply computer generated form letters. Charity may begin at home but charitable requests now begin with bulk mail.


David Sedaris and I are not alone is finding follow-up requests for donations annoying. In a survey conducted by Software Advice, people were asked: how many times should nonprofits ask for another donation? 41% said nonprofits shouldn’t ask for more at all. A slightly higher number of respondents thought asking one or two more times would be okay.


A missionary group that my dad funded all his adult life has not read this survey. I do not support them but they still send requests for donations to my dear departed father at my address. My father has been dead for 10 years and he definitely has no use for the return address labels they provide.


My requests to be dropped from their mailing list have gone unheeded. I have decided their persistent, holiday request for money is actually just a celestial reminder from my dad to give his money away to worthy causes—whether or not they continue to hound me.


When my Dad died, his checkbook included donationsSalvation Army, Veterans of Foreign Wars, Covenant House, Alzheimer’s Research, Alexandria Men’s Home, American Heart Foundation, Hospitalized Veterans, American Diabetes Foundation, Good Shepherd Catholic Church, Food for the Poor, St. Labre Indian School, Doctors Without Borders, the Red Cross, Maryknoll Brothers and the Ft. Belvoir charity drive.

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When my daughter and her husband take long trips, they first drop their dog Baloo at our farm.


Baloo is a mixed breed. His mother is a black lab and his father comes from a good neighborhood.


Baloo is a very nice dog, weighing in at 75 pounds. He is well-trained. Baloo will not eat his dinner until he hears “okay.” He can sit, shake, lie down and will even endure the humiliation of holding a small dog bone placed on his nose until told “okay.” He does not jump, he stays off the furniture and never eats food left out on the table or counter.


Baloo is nothing like the dogs I owned growing up. As a youngster I remember our Irish setter slipping into the neighbor’s kitchen and taking their Roast Leg of Lamb off the stove top while it was cooling. It really brought our neighborhood together as we chased Brick, proudly mouthing the meat, from one cul-de-sac to another.


Baloo is much loved so caring for him comes with heavy responsibility. Living on a farm, we cannot let him loose. Theoretically, Baloo will come when called but that is too much of a risk. If anything happened to Baloo, my relationship with my daughter would be forever strained. (“Sure, Mom, you SAY you love me but you lost my dog.")


So when Baloo disappeared into the cornfields on a pitch black Saturday night, I was panic stricken. I was combining Baloo’s evening walk with a visit to the corn silos because I had not heard from my husband and I worried he was caught in the corn auger. There was no moon so it was dark. We live on a 500 acre farm with lots of machinery but NOT A SINGLE WORKING FLASHLIGHT. Off I went, Baloo sporting his killer spiked collar and me with only my iPhone light to guide the way.


I found Ron who was fine and then disaster struck. Baloo heard a deer and charged. He is so strong he pulled me to ground and dragged me through 2 feet of standing water in the barnyard (the residue of major rainstorms). I finally let loose. Baloo was gone. Fortunately my still lit cell phone fell on gravel, rather than disappearing into a watery grave.


My husband retrieved the special whistle that theoretically Baloo is trained to answer. HAHAHAHA. No response. I would have traded Baloo’s entire repertoire of tricks for him responding to that whistle. I called a neighbor who showed up with 3 flashlights. Too late. Baloo was long gone. Ron spent the night in the car at the barnyard in case Baloo returned. I worried someone would find Baloo and call the number on his collar (Molly’s cell phone). She would get the message “We found your dog” and then I really would be in the doghouse.

At the first sign of daylight, Ron took the whistle and started walking through the cornfields. He whistled and whistled and finally hear a meek little “arf”. He whistled again and followed the arf trail to discover Baloo entangled in the cornstalk by his leash.


What a relief! Ron informed me this whole episode could have been avoided if I had jerked Baloo’s leash when he started to run so the collar spikes could do their work. I responded it was a little hard to jerk the leash when I was on my stomach being dragged through standing water.


My daughter and son-in-law Andy had different reactions to the adventure. Andy asked if I was okay. My daughter wanted to know what kind of flashlight I wanted for Christmas.


Ron returns from the cornfields with Baloo

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Updated: Jul 24, 2018

I am the proud first time owner of a Fitbit. I gleefully took it out of the package and was about to put it on my wrist and start walking when I read those words that always strike terror in my heart:


To start, download the app.


Uh oh. I never have luck with cyber-instructions. The Fitbit app was no exception and after being unable to download the critical information to my Fitbit, I decided to phone a Fitbit "advocate." After being told Fitbit was experiencing unusually high caller volume and I would have to wait a minimum of 10 minutes, I decided to try the on-line system. This approach requires you to type back and forth with an "advocate." After 20 minutes with Benjamin, I finally got the Fitbit to come alive.


Now the Fitbit and I are in regular communication.


Just today it complimented me for walking 30 minutes. I have also received congrats on earning my first Boat Shoe badge. (I have no idea why a boat shoe is an appropriate reward for walking on land. ) The Fitbit app asks "how did you sleep?" and "What have you eaten today?" I have heard from Fitbit more in the past three days than I have heard from my children in the past three weeks.


Not all the Fitbit messages are welcome. I do not enjoy what I call the " Lazy Ass" admonition. The watch tells me to "GO GO GO" when there is a lack of movement . I do not like Fitbit making me fell guilty when I am stretched out on the sofa streaming a movie. Or two.


Whenever I want to interact with my Fitbit, I simply tap the watch face twice and messages appears. This is different from texting my children. It might be days before I get a response from them. Maybe the news that I have earned my VERY FIRST Boat Shoe badge will get a quicker reply.




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