Winning!

I’m one of those people who never win anything.  I accept that if I enter a raffle, I’m just giving a donation to the organization holding the event.  However, when watching Live with Kelly and Michael last year (formerly Live with Regis and Kelly), I realized that the show had a Travel Trivia game every day where a viewer could win a trip for two to somewhere warmer than Connecticut if the person could answer the question about the previous day’s show correctly.  With DVR’s so one can record their favorite show and Google, I couldn’t understand why so many people blew their opportunity and missed the question. 

One morning last April, I received a call from a woman identifying herself as a producer from Live with Kelly and Michael.  I had registered online a month or so before for the show’s Travel Trivia Giveaway, but assumed it could take years before I was contacted and then I’d probably not be home and miss the call.  If you haven’t watched the TV show, the co-hosts talk to a viewer by phone, spin the prize wheel with various trips listed like an all-inclusive resort in Florida, Arizona or St. Lucia.  Whatever the wheel lands on, that’s the trip the caller is trying to win by correctly answering a question about the previous day’s show.  The idea is three-fold; free promotion for the resorts, encouraging regular viewers and positive public relations.

I was still in my pajamas when the producer from Live called me and asked if I would be available at 9 am if they called back for the contest.  She explained I would be on the phone listening to the show, and there would be a 10 second delay so please turn the sound down on the TV when they started talking to me.  I had about 45 minutes to prepare.  Jay couldn’t understand why I was so excited.  “This is big!  This is really big!” I kept telling him as I got out my asthma inhaler.

I had already watched the previous show, but knowing how nerves make my brain stop functioning, I wanted to be really prepared.  I re-watched the show and took notes.  The show had been cut short  with news about the Boston Bombing which had just occurred a couple of days before.  Therefore,  I only had to watch about 30 minutes, fast-forwarding through the non-essential parts.  Then I changed out of my pajamas so I’d sound more intelligent (in my mind).  I think I even put on some make-up. 

The regular co-host, Michael Strahan was on vacation and different celebrities were filling in that week.   I listened to the co-hosts in our computer/kitten room while Jay watched in the adjacent living room.  I could see him through the closed French doors, but didn’t want to distract myself by watching with a 10-second delay.  About 20 minutes into the show, the Travel Trivia segment came on and I was suddenly on the air.  The picture I’d sent in of me in the snow with our dogs flashed up.  A star marking Ledyard on a map also popped up.   I spoke to Kelly Ripa and actor Mark Feuerstein.  We chatted about chickens and Kelly’s desire to have backyard chickens.  She said it was her dream to have a chicken coop.  I replied that it was everyone’s dream and I was living it.  Banter, banter…we’re practically BFF’s now. 

Take me to St. Lucia!

 

When the trip wheel was spun, it landed on a trip to St. Lucia and I was also eligible to win the Wild Prize of a $1000 TJ Maxx gift card.  My question was, “On yesterday’s show, what musical instrument did guest co-host Peter Facinelli say his father played?”  I should have milked the available 20 seconds to build the suspense, but I blurted out “The accordion!” immediately.  Peter Facinelli (from the Twilight movies) had spoken at length about camping with his daughters and father and how his dad made friends at campsites with his accordion playing.  I Googled the question later and the only place it came up online was on a transcript from the actual Live show.  Good thing I watched.

Jay was watching the whole thing in the next room, not knowing yet whether or not I won.  I gave him a thumbs up through the window.  I won a week’s vacation for two at Windjammer Landing Resort in St. Lucia; all inclusive (meals and drinks), air fare included, plus the TJ Maxx gift card.  

I suddenly had a bunch of offers for travel companions, but I told Jay I’d take him if he was extra nice to me.  I was able to give them a choice of three dates after we swore we didn’t work for or know anyone at ABC, Orbitz, Disney, Big Brother or the Mafia.  Although I couldn’t get us there exactly on my 50^th birthday as it’s too close to Christmas, we were in St. Lucia the week prior.  Happy Birthday to me!

More to come on the actual vacation later. St. Lucia at Last - Arriving in Paradise

 

Thank You and Good-bye

Today I said good-bye to Sassy.  She was my first Maine Coon, my first purebred cat, my introduction into the world of the cat fancy.  As my vet relieved her from the mammary cancer which had taken over her body, I thanked Sassy for all she has given me in the past 12 years. 

We got Sassy about the same time we obtained our Golden Retriever, Chardonnay.  The two remained friends all these years although Chardonnay has picked up a few more feline friends through the years.  I’d always assumed Chardonnay would go first, but other than an arthritic knee that slows her down, the dog is doing okay.

As a kitten, Sassy was simply beautiful with rabbit-soft fur and a painted-on classic tabby pattern.  She developed into a large female, a fact the judges noticed, earning her the title of a CFA Grand Champion in three shows.  She later earned the title of Distinguished Merit by producing five kittens who were also shown to Grand Champion.  Through Sassy, I met my fellow Maine Coon fanciers and became hooked, for better or worse, as a breeder and exhibitor of a one of the most popular kinds of cats.  

For the first five years of sharing our home with Sassy, she was a breeding female.  It was during this time period that Sassy taught me so much.  I learned to read Sassy’s expressive face, the intelligence in her eyes penetrating beyond, almost like she was trying to communicate with me telepathically.  I knew when Sassy was experiencing PMS and when she was in the early stages of labor just by the intensity of color in her pink nose.  I learned that an intact cat is a whole different animal, a victim of their hormones.  Having now known many Maine Coon mothers, I realize that Sassy remains the smartest and most diligent when it comes to caring for newborn kittens.  Cats are naturally good mothers, and unlike their canine counterparts, very conscientious about not lying down on a baby.  When Sassy had her first litter, two red girls, she was exhausted afterward.  But rather than lying down and resting, she slept sitting up, afraid of hurting the little beings who clung to her belly. 

Newborn kittens wander around the nesting area blindly crying when separated from their littermates or their mother.  Most cat moms will call to their babies to try to get them to come to them where they lie nursing the rest of the litter.  The kitten has no idea, being blind and deaf, where mom is and can spend a lot of time crying and crawling in circles.  Sassy is the only queen I’ve seen who actually reached out to her wandering kitten with her paw and pulled it into her.  Once when she couldn’t reach the straggler, she got up and carried the kitten back to the rest of the brood.  It seems like common sense to a watching human, but cats just don’t seem to know what to do. 

When the Japanese photographer Tetsu Yamasaki and his wife Hiroko, came to our home this summer to do a photo shoot, Sassy was the first to greet them.  Hiroko fell in love with “the old one” and had her pose for pictures also.  It was only fitting that Sassy’s picture made it on page 18 of Tetsu’s Cat’s Catalog for 2014, just above a picture of her 5-week-old great, great grandchildren.  Her granddaughter was on the cover of the same catalog in 2005. 
Sassy has struggled for the past several years with Irritable Bowel.  She was diagnosed with asthma and cancer in May.  After talking to others who’d gone through the same cancer diagnosis with their cats and given Sassy’s other ailments, we decided against surgery as treatment for the mammary tumors.  Sassy took Prednisone for her asthma and I’ve just kept watch for signs of discomfort.  Her decline became increasingly apparent the past couple of weeks.  For any of my kitten buyers who have one of Sassy’s descendants as a pet, you have the reassurance that breast cancer is much less likely in females spayed before the age of one year and therefore your cats fall into a low risk group. 

Sassy’s legacy carries on in Tippet, the one breeding descendant I still have.  Tippet doesn’t have the same face as her great-grandmother, but she does carry the gorgeous pattern, spunk and opinionated intelligence.   

So for Tippet, I thank Sassy.  For opening the door of the cat fancy world for me, I thank Sassy.  For being our dog’s first buddy and proving that cats really do rule and dogs drool, I thank Sassy.  For allowing a 6-year-old Kelsey to hoist her up to the top bunk every night and remain with her head sharing the pillow until the child fell asleep, I thank Sassy.  For the 17 kittens she gave us, I thank Sassy.  For all the kittens she grandmothered after she retired from breeding, I thank Sassy.  For her love of occupying empty boxes, no matter how small, I thank Sassy.  For inspiring awe when prospective kitten buyers came over and saw how friendly, affectionate, and awesome a female Maine Coon could be, I thank Sassy.  After 12 years I wouldn’t trade for anything, I have to love and respect her enough to let her go.

 

Grand Standin

A year or so ago, Jay and I watched an HBO movie about a woman with autism who became a major influence in the area of animal behavior, Temple Grandin.  We found her true story fascinating, not only because we’re animal lovers, but also because of her autism.  Autism runs in my family, so we are always trying to gain further understanding of the disorder. 

Fast forward to last week when a prospective Maine Coon kitten buyer mentioned that her friend Temple Grandin could provide a reference to me on her behalf.  Temple Grandin?  THE Temple Grandin?  Turns out the kitten buyer works for the publisher who published one of Ms. Grandin’s books, Animals Make Us Human: Creating the Best Life for Animals.  They’ve become good friends over the years. 

So last night I was preparing supper while Jay was at the kitchen counter catching up on his email when the phone rang.  I looked at the caller ID, “Grandin Temple” it read.  Holy crap!  Hmmm…should I answer?

Just kidding.  Of course I answered the phone.  I don’t think I said anything intelligent, but I did gush a few times about what an honor it was to speak to her.  What do you say to a genius who has made such an impact on the rights of people with autism and animals?   Yes, I already approved her friend Laurie for a kitten, I told her.  I’m sure she’ll send you pictures after she gets the kitten, which hasn’t been born yet.  We talked a bit about the flooding in Colorado, her resident state, and how the surrounding area was devastated. 

After we said good-bye, I stood there smiling.  Temple Grandin…what a cool name.  And now I have her home phone number.  Who do I tell who may actually know who Temple Grandin is?  How many times can I use the word “who” in one sentence? 

I texted my friend Jo-Ann, probably my best-read friend and Manager of Information and Outreach Services at Upper Hudson LibrarySystem in Albany, New York. 

Me:  Do you know Temple Grandin?

Jo-Ann:  Yes, the autistic woman with a PhD.  Studied animals and could identify with their feelings.  She did research on animals going to slaughter and how to design a pen to make it easier for the animals.  Spoke recently at the Am Lib Assn Conference but I didn’t go.  Wanted to hear her.

Jo-Ann (again):  I suppose a simple “yes” would have sufficed.

Me:  She just called me.

Jo-Ann:  What!!???

Me:  I’m too good to talk to you anymore.

All kidding aside, it was a thrill to put a real voice to Dr. Grandin.  I will close with two of my favorite Grandin quotes:

“I think using animals for food is an ethical thing to do, but we've got to do it right. We've got to give those animals a decent life and we've got to give them a painless death. We owe the animal respect.”
― Temple Grandin

“If I could snap my fingers and be nonautistic, I would not. Autism is part of what I am.”
― Temple Grandin

  

It Stinks Being an Empty Nester

This past weekend was an emotional one as we moved Kelsey into her dorm at Lyndon State College in Vermont.  A lot of anxiety on Kelsey’s part, employing our abilities to be carriers of heavy objects up three flights of stairs, coaches and cheerleaders, but we got through it.  Now to face the reality of our new role as Empty Nesters.   After twenty-two years of centering my life around those of my children, what to do?

Monday morning.  Jay is scheduled for an umbilical hernia repair at Pequot Medical Center at 6:30 am.  He conveniently waited until after Kelsey’s move-in date.  A minor procedure, one I reminded him that I’ve had done on the occasional kitten at the same time it goes in to be spayed or neutered.  The kittens bounce right back, so a week of sick leave seems like overkill.  Nonetheless, I met the doctors beforehand and was asked if I would be waiting or wanted to be called.  Hmmm.  Would I have enough time to do some necessary grocery shopping, including driving home to put the food away?  The store, the medical center, and our house were all within a ten minute drive.  Absolutely, the nurse told me.

As I rounded the aisles at Stop n’ Shop, it was a bittersweet feeling.  For the first time in two years, I was able to freely select food that had gluten in it.   Both of my children have Celiac Disease so their gluten free diet has changed my approach to shopping and dining.  I splurged and picked up some deli rolls.  I also got a package of tilapia, not because it’s a gluten-containing fish, but because Kelsey is a picky eater.  We now have more options for our dinner table without kids to consider. 

I quickly finished shopping and got home, letting the dogs out for a quick potty break while I put groceries away.  It had been an hour and a half since I’d left my husband in his johnnie and paper shower cap so I figured I had just enough time to get back.  The nurse called then and said Jay was just getting out, take my time.  I said I’d be there in ten minutes. 

I called the dogs, but they seemed to have disappeared.  I figured our Golden Oldie Chardonnay was trolling for treasures (chicken poop) and went outside to find them.  I didn’t see the dogs, but I smelled a distinct aroma…of skunk.  I heard our energetic young mutt Cory barking down the driveway by the stone wall and I knew.  We were skunked.

It’s never convenient for your dogs to challenge a skunk, but when you’re trying to get back to the medical center, you don’t have time to deal with two stinky dogs.  This is the first I’ve ever had to deal with a skunked dog and I did what most people would do…I freaked.  All I knew was that I needed to leave, but what to do with the dogs?  Cory was rubbing her face on the door mat, her muzzle covered in a path of slobber from the irritating spray.  There was no doubt she’d been sprayed head on.  I wiped her eyes with a wet paper towel and put her in her crate.  At least that should keep the little instigator from contaminating anything else, I thought.  Chardonnay didn’t seem to have taken a direct hit.  I don’t have a crate for her anyway so I had to take my chances. 

Remembering the nurse telling me to take my time, I figured I’d use an extra 15 minutes to visit Pet Supplies Plus for some magic skunk odor remover rather than drag Jay with me in a drugged-up state.  I got there right as the doors were opening, desperation in my eyes, skunk smell on my clothes.  They were out of de-skunker.  Now I not only felt rushed, but I was irritated with the world.   Everyone was in my way, the lights were all red, and I stank.  My car stank.  Obviously, one can be victimized by a skunk just by walking through the invisible mist they leave floating in the air.  I received a text from Kelsey, letting me know that she needed me to mail her bobby-pins (the good kind), tank tops, her hair dryer and an assortment of other needs.  I took a moment to tell her to get a ride with her roommate and go shopping for herself.

I was so distracted by my skunk thoughts, that I missed the turn for the medical center and didn’t realize it until a couple of miles later.  My exasperation screamed as I turned the car around.  I’ve only been to Pequot a million times (usually for Kelsey), so how could I miss it?  Once there, I was escorted back to my groggy husband who was holding an ice pack to his belly.  He looked up as I walked in.  “I smell skunk.” 

“Funny thing happened while you were in surgery.”

The nurse helped Jay into our van and poked her head in.  “Oh yeah, I can smell it.”

As I pulled into our driveway, Tyler called, panicking because he thought his student loan was still messed up.  Not a good time.  It’ll be okay.  Whatever happened to not having to deal with children?

After I got Jay upstairs and settled into bed, I set back out in search of de-skunking solution.  Petco was also out; not a good sign when the manager said he’s been trying to get more in for two weeks.  PetSmart, my third attempt, had two bottles of Natures Miracle De-skunker left.  I bought both.

I tied the dogs out and covered them in the solution, roughly scrubbing Cory and lecturing her that maybe the shivering cold well water from the hose would teach her to leave pretty black and white rodents alone.  After the baths, my back was killing me and my jeans were soaked, but I was relieved to find that at least the de-skunker solution worked.   The dogs didn’t even smell doggy.

Next, I had to tackle the smell in the house, but it was hard to tell what part of that came from my own clothes and what was from a dog touching various surfaces.  I left my clothes outside as the washing machine was already occupied by the dog bed and the door mat, mopping the floor in my skivvies wherever the dogs’ path had crossed.  I even used the Nature’s Miracle on the back door and my purse.   After I finally showered, I was able to breathe more freely.

From the bed, Jay expressed feeble remorse that he wasn’t able to help me bathe the dogs and de-stink the house.  I was so taking his Percocet with a shot of vodka after this. 

Coraline the Skunk Hunter
 

Photo Op

In the cat fancy, there are also cat photographers.  Yes, professional photographers who make a living by specializing in cat photography.  The big names have their signature emblazoned on the award winning cats of the year and published in cat magazines, books, our websites and at award shows (again, for cats).  Most of the photos are taken at cat shows, where a photographer is provided with a separate room or area where he or she can line up feline models of all ages and breeds throughout the weekend.   The good ones bring an array of toys and techniques to entice and relax the cat enough to show off its best side.

Tetsu Yamazaki and his wife, Hiroko, first visited our home about nine years ago.  I had signed up for a home visit while at a cat show where they were working.  The home photo sessions are free, with the cat owners signing away the rights to whatever pictures Tetsu may sell to publications.  Although he works in the cat show venue, Tetsu figured out decades ago that cats were more relaxed having their photos taken in the comfort of their own home. 

I had sold Tetsu on the idea of coming to my house with the litter of five-week-old kittens I had, the first litter out of the cat from my first breeding, Ginger.  The theme of that litter was food; Popcorn, Macaroni, Pumpkin, Peppercorn and Cinnamon were the kittens' call names.  At that time, Hiroko was trying out a new digital camera she had on some of the other creatures of the house; mainly our dog, Chardonnay, and my son Tyler's bearded dragons. Tetsu was using 35 mm film back then and went through countless rolls.  I had recently watched the movie Lost in Translation and was reminded of it often that day.  Being Japanese natives, our visitors spoke limited English.  Still, their English was way better than my Japanese (and my Spanish, French, German, etc.).

Kitten photo session.  The boys were getting sleepy, but Peppercorn (left) just kept going.

After the kittens were worn out and the photo session was over, the Yamazaki's were leaving and Tetsu spotted my husband tying fishing flies, an obsession he has.  "Ah, you fly fish?" Tetsu asked.  Well, that started a whole different kind of conversation.  Tetsu had a hand-held translater so he could tell Jay the Japanese word for trout, striper and other fish-related lingo.  They left with a promise from Jay to take him fly-fishing the next time he was in the area.

Several months later after this first Tetsu photo session, I received a magazine cover in the mail.  The cover text was in Japanese with Cat Catalog written in English at the top.  The kitten pictured on the cover looked familiar.  Peppercorn!  My kitten was a cover girl!  The rest of the litter appeared in the magazine and I've since seen their pictures in Cat Fancy Magazine for their special Maine Coon issue (in which yours truly was also interviewed for an article).  I floated for a good long time, feeling pretty important that my kittens were published internationally. 

My Cover Girl

I recently received an email from Tetsu, advising me that he would be visiting cat breeders' homes in the Northeast and would I like for him to photograph my cats?  Of course, and be prepared to fish I told him.  Naturally, the day Tetsu and Hiroko came was the hottest day of the year, 95 degrees with steaming humidity.  They were relieved to find our house is air-conditioned.  Since Tetsu and Hiroko's last visit, the dog has become grey and arthritic with age and the bearded dragons have found a new home.  Ginger and the kittens have gone on but I have hung onto the kittens' grandmother, Sassy.

I have a litter of five kittens who are distant cousins to my kittens from before.  Sassy is their great-great grandmother.  Hiroko was impressed with the "old cat" so Sassy got her own photo session this time.  Olivia, my feral-looking brown tabby and her four-month-old kittens (two I'm keeping, two are still waiting on their owner to move into her new house so she can claim them) also had their respective chances to look cute for Tetsu's lens. 

Tetsu(foreground) and Hiroko photograph Tippet's litter

After a couple of hours of this, I invited them outside to look at our chickens.  More pictures, especially of Aslan, our magnificent Cochin rooster.  Hiroko recognized the word Cochin as it originally hails from China.  She was enthralled with the two silky hens, also a Chinese breed.  I picked up Buffy, the Buff Orpington hen, because she's an attention seeker and handed her to Hiroko.  Her face beamed; her first time holding a chicken she said.  What a wonderful opportunity I'm giving Hiroko, I thought.  Then I remembered that I don't think I ever held a chicken until I got my own backyard flock. 

We packed up the van and headed out to the Westbrook Fishing Club, where Jay's go-to pond lies.  It was late afternoon, still hotter than hell.  I felt pessimistic that the only fish we'd catch would already be fried.  Tetsu set up his fly rod and Hiroko's fishing pole, literally a 15-foot wooden pole, no reel, just a line and a fly that Jay gave him to try. 

Hiroko caught in excess of 15 fish on her wooden pole, one after another.  Jay and Tetsu did okay too, but I could tell Hiroko was very proud of besting the boys.  Watching our husbands pose with their catch for a picture, Hiroko remarked, "They look like little boys."  And they do.  I posted a few pictures on Facebook, in awe that we were hanging out with such a world renowned photographer (I know it's not Annie Leibovitz, but I live in a small, secluded world with paws and litter boxes).  The fish caught were just small sunfish as the bigger guys have to hunker down in colder deep water during the heat of the summer for survival. 

Tetsu and Jay

The most rewarding part was watching Hiroko.  She squealed with excitement everytime she caught one, chasing it around on the bridge with her hands so she could release it back to the water.  She had said that she and Tetsu traveled to the States many times over the past 30 years, but this was the first time they'd been fishing here.  After our guests and the fish were tired, Hiroko smiled and proclaimed it had been a good day. 

Hiroko poses with her first catch of many

Farewell Nick

Last fall I started working for my neighbor, Roberta, by helping out with her two Appaloosa horses, Nick and Tacoda. Roberta has an idyllic home for a horse, with acres of open green pasture, a ring and paddock areas and a three-stall barn nestled in the woods. Even though the horses aren’t ridden, they are babied.

Roberta’s concerns have centered around Nick, a vintage horse of 33 years. Horses live an average of 24 years so Nick’s advanced age is the equivalent of a 93-year-old man. Nick has multiple health issues, but even with his bum leg, could manage a canter and buck off 12-year-old Takoda’s efforts to herd him if necessary.

Lately, however, it had become apparent that Nick’s body was giving out on him. He became sick again and Roberta decided it was time to let him go rather than wait for an emergency. A backhoe operator was hired to dig a grave in the pasture where Nick would rest and the vet was called in. With an animal as large as a horse, euthanasia requires logistical planning. As morbid as it sounds, it is much easier to walk a horse to his grave to put him down than to have to drag his body later.

I decided my job on Nick’s final night was to keep his barn buddy, Takoda, busy. I groomed and walked him, trying to keep his attention diverted from Nick being led away. Once the deed was done, Takoda seemed okay as long as he was eating, whinnying from time to time to call Nick. Roberta spoke to the vet about how to deal with Takoda’s need for companionship. Horses are herd animals and consequently, need to have some sort of herd companion. The vet said in extreme cases where two horses had bonded very closely, she’d had to sedate the healthy horse so the sick one could be lead away to be put down. She said Takoda would need someone, a goat, even a chicken if Roberta didn’t want to add another horse. Fortunately Takoda’s love for Nick wasn’t a life-long friendship. Ironically, Takoda had been brought in four years ago as a companion for Nick when his other buddy, Mirage, had to be euthanized. Roberta knew she’d have to put out feelers in the horse community for a new friend for Takoda.

Takoda and Nick

The next morning when Roberta turned Takoda out of his stall, he whinnied frantically and raced to Nick’s gravesite where he remained for quite a while. When I came for my normal visit in the afternoon, Takoda was in another part of the pasture , but he called to me. It was if he was saying, “You’re here as usual, so where is Nick as usual?” The next couple of days, we witnessed Takoda’s grief and anxiety. He continued to call out for Nick, visiting his grave or just looking depressed. It was heartbreaking to watch.

Nick passed away on a Wednesday night. By Friday, Roberta had found a horse in need. Her name was Shamrock “Shammy”, so named because she was born around St. Patrick’s day. Shammy was in a situation where the owner’s family had been trying to convince her to give up her neglected horses. Homes had been found for the other horses, but Shammy needed major TLC. Shammy also happens to be Takoda’s half sister as they share the same sire. I tried to convey the happy news with Takoda on Friday night; that his sister was coming and everything would be better, but he didn’t understand. Poor Takoda, a horse I normally describe as being like a big, goofy Dalmation, hung his head and looked away.

Shammy arrived Saturday morning and an entourage of horse women led her up the hill to her new home. Even though they couldn’t see each other yet, the two horses started calling in anticipation. The woods echoed with loud whinnies.

Shammy and Takoda were put in adjoining paddocks so they can touch without him trying to play too roughly until his sister builds up her strength. Shammy is a predominantly white paint mare with one blue eye, very underweight, her hooves badly needed trimming, her legs covered in swamp mud; she had reportedly been living in a small space covered in rock piles and wetlands. Within the first week of her arrival, Shammy had seen the ferrier, had her teeth done and received her physical from the vet. She eats constantly, as if she’s not sure when she’ll be fed again.

We miss old Nick, but having Shammy there has breathed new life into the barn. The mare probably feels like she’s the one who has gone to heaven. Her brother from another mother, Takoda, is just happy to have someone to horse around with again.

Takoda meets Shammy

Did You Say Hot?

I had an unfortunate incident a couple of weeks ago, one that kept getting worse before it finally got better…jalapeño burn.  It’s the old “I’ve never had a problem before with handling jalapeño peppers” so I had concluded that this type of hot pepper isn’t dangerous to touch.  Even tasting them raw, they seemed pretty bland.  However, HOWEVER, beware of the evil seeds that lurk within!  As I cut out the ribs and seeds of the pepper, I used my fingers to separate the seeds for disposal. 

A burn started a while later, intensified by my stupid action of touching my face.  I washed off in cold water, held a cold, wet paper towel to my upper lip and nose…it only got worse.  I finally realized that this was serious enough that I needed to warn my husband that his worst anxiety was coming true…dinner was going to be late.  Holding my face, I went upstairs to where Jay was working and explained it to him.  Apparently he didn’t completely understand, “So when is dinner going to be ready?” 

Now we have two jalapeño burn victims.  No, I didn’t really follow through on my immediate impulse to cover Jay with jalapeño seeds.  Instead I just gave him “the look” and said I was handicapped.  Not being one to miss a meal, my husband finished making the chili while I Googled “How to treat jalapeño burn”. 

The first response I read was to apply a high fat dairy product to the burns to break down the capsaicin or chili oil which was now worming its way into my very core.  Sour cream provided more relief than the aloe burn cream had.  Of course, now I looked ridiculous with sour cream on my face and finger tips.  Kelsey and her boyfriend Kyle found great delight in my appearance, but were forbidden from posting a picture of me on Facebook.  The burning sensation found temporary relief with the sour cream, rubbing alcohol and caladryl, but then the pain would return. 

Remedies found online seemed to favor anything acidic to cut the chili oil.  Urine is obviously the more famous solution, but I didn’t feel that was necessary.  Other antidotes people swore by were lemons, limes, tomatoes, catsup, Mylanta and Afterbite Stick.  I thought of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding and the father’s solution of Windex for every ailment.  He wouldn’t have been far off in this case since ammonia is a remedy also. 

The main thing to remember is that the remedies have to be reapplied several times and don’t touch your skin.  The continuous warning I came across in my research was don’t try to remove contact lenses and men shouldn’t use the bathroom until the burning sensation is long gone.  I discovered that even though my fingertips were covered in dried sour cream and feeling better, if I forgot and touched my face, the burn just kept on giving.

My family’s sympathy during dinner as I held a bag of ice against my sour cream covered burns was offset by their amusement with my white half of a moustache.  My face recovered first, but my fingers took longer; I guess because they actually touched the seeds.  I took Ibuprofen and went to bed holding a baggie of ice between my hands.

Of course, the moral of the story is to wear protective gear whenever handling hot peppers, even the wimpier jalapeños.  Point taken.