Ah-laska!

           You know my philosophy: Either things go great, or it’s material. Win-win.

          So I never even hope for smooth travel; I kind of wait for the disasters and, as you know, travel never disappoints.

          This time we cruised to Alaska with dear friends and had a fabulous time with them. St. Bob’s text notification is a quacking duck, so every time ducks flew overhead (which was often) he pulled out his phone to check his messages. Much to my amusement.

Did we see whales? 

          Nope. Did we see bears?

           Nope. Did we see moose? 

          Nope. Did we see the Northern Lights?        

          Nope. Did our helicopter ride to the top of a glacier get cancelled due to bad weather?

          Yep. Did our whale-watching excursion get cancelled as well? Yep. But we did get to zip-line, see two bald eagles, and eat ourselves into oblivion.  I think that last one is required on all cruises.

Well, that and watching my Youtube Mom videos here.

Elephants, Zombies, and Bears—Oh My!

          “Elephants don’t get cancer.” This was my oncologist speaking, last year.

          “WHAT!” I gasped. “Why aren’t we injecting elephant something- or- other into people?” I am nothing if not a stickler for the intricacies of science.

          “We’re studying it,” he said.

          “Well, study faster,” I said. “I’ve got Stage 3 and this sounds like the cure.”

          Here’s the skinny, not to disparage any elephants who might be reading this blog: When our cells divide, as they constantly do, some get damaged and these damaged ones are more likely to cause cancer.

Most mammals try to repair the damaged ones. Not so with elephants: They have a “zombie” gene that just kills off the wonky ones.

 So while humans have just one copy of this tumor-suppressing gene called P53, elephants have 20 to 40.  And, while they can get cancer, only 1 in 20 of these majestic beasts will ever get the disease, whereas 1 in 5 people will. Hit first and hit hard seems to be their strategy, and it works.

          So where do bears come in? Well, really just to complete the Wizard of Oz reference. BUT… I did find one link to a claim that, while bears in captivity have been found to contract cancer,  it has never been found in a bear in the wild. Let me guess why: Because to test it you have to get very, very close.

          Hey—I just finished my final round of radiation! You can celebrate by enjoying one of my books, right here.

Shake, Rattle, and Run

          I’m taking a break from writing about cancer (sheesh!) and moving to a more upbeat topic: Rattlesnakes.

          Yessir, I happen to know more than the average bear about rattlesnakes. And, more than the average rattlesnake about bears.  This is because I grew up in northern Utah where both were plentiful.

When you live in rattlesnake country, you rarely call them that. You call them rattlers. You are also taught never to turn over a bale of hay because they like to nest under those.

SO... St. Bob comes up with a story he found about two imbeciles—I’m sorry, two well-meaning fellows—who found a rattlesnake in their yard, and chased it. It slithered under a shed.

          At this point I interrupted St. Bob and said, “Let me guess what these morons did. They tipped over the shed and found a nest of about 50 snakes.”

          St. Bob was stunned. Had I already read the story? Nope. I just knew what they’d try and what they’d find.

          I also knew there was likely a large supply of rats or mice nearby, or snakes wouldn’t be there. When I mentioned this St. Bob had a wonderful idea. Why don’t exterminators rent out rattlesnakes to catch people’s rats? He even had the perfect slogan: Rattle Them Rats.

          Ah, brilliant plan. Something tells me it isn’t just the rats that are rattled. “And then how do you get rid of the rattlesnakes?” I asked.

          And St. Bob, who grew up not in Utah but on the Gulf Coast of Louisiana, said, “Alligators!”  But of course.

While awaiting the arrival of both of these ingenious pest control aids, you can read my books or watch my YouTube Mom videos, where I can promise you will not find either of these life hacks.

Bear With Me

          What is it about winter that makes us think of bears?  They aren’t even around, right? They’re hibernating.  Maybe it’s because polar bears make us think of snow, or bear fur makes us think of warm coats.  Whatever the reason, bears come to mind.

And, having grown up in the Rocky Mountains, I am one of many who has a bear story. I was a little kid at the time, probably 8 years old, my sister 13.  We had just gone on a family vacation to Yellowstone.  This was back when black bears happily roamed the park (hence the creation of the Yogi Bear and Jellystone Park cartoon).

People weren’t supposed to feed them, but then people aren’t supposed to break speed limits, overeat, blah blah blah.  People break rules.  In fact, waaaay earlier the park even had bleachers set up by the trash dump, where people would sit and watch the bears rummage through bean cans and banana peels.  Finally this was stopped, as officials realized that garbage is bad for bears.  It’s even worse for humans because tourists would occasionally get gobbled up along with the orange rinds.

But in my childhood, you knew to steer clear of bears.  Maybe roll down your car window an inch or so, and toss out a lifesaver or a slice of bread, and then snap a picture.  But basically stay away from them.

Unfortunately, no one has trained bears to avoid humans.  So when my dad, an avid fly fisherman known for his uncanny ability to sense a good bend in the river, pulled over into a meadow and took off in his waders for a perfect place to fish, the rest of us waited inside the car, where it was safe. 

Dad disappeared into the trees, and we sat.  Within five minutes, we saw a gigantic bear lumbering towards us from the far end of the meadow.  Instinctively, we locked our doors.

He got closer.  And then closer.  We looked around to see if there was something else he could be heading for, but we were the only item of distinction in the meadow.

Within seconds he was behind our car, his long nose jabbing up into the air as he sniffed.  It was at this moment that my mother realized she had wrapped up some bacon and put it in the trunk.  Yikes.

The bear took a swipe at our bumper.  Then at the fenders, denting them in.  He growled.  He knew there was bacon somewhere in this metal contraption.  He placed his mammoth paws atop the trunk and pushed down, bouncing the car on its shock absorbers.

“Don’t move!” my mother whispered.  But the bear was bouncing my sister and me like ping pong balls on a trampoline.

Now he roared, slammed all his weight onto the trunk, broke the car’s axle and popped a tire. It also bent the lid in enough to pop it open, revealing all our luggage and, of course, the bacon. Here's someone else's car after a bear got to it:

My mother was shrieking, my sister was wailing that she had now sat on a fish hook, and I was frozen in panic.  The bear rummaged hungrily through our belongings, piercing a 3-inch thick book with his teeth, and finally finding the bacon.  A few chomps later he sauntered off, apparently unwilling to break windows and eat screaming females.

No way were we going to open the doors and survey the damage.  Besides, my sister’s fish hook was her greatest concern and getting a barbed hook out of human flesh is no small project.

Two minutes later my father returned, having decided this was not the best fishing spot after all.  But as he approached the car, you can imagine his surprise.  The trunk lid was up, clothing was strewn all around, and the entire back end of the car was destroyed, like a bomb had gone off.  Here's what a bear did to an airplane just this year:

“What on earth happened? I was gone ten minutes!”

And that, my friends, is all it takes. 

You can read even more hair-raising adventures in JUNGLE, my adventure romance novel that will take you to an uncharted island in the Indian Ocean.  You can find it in hard copy or e-book here!