Merry (take a breath) Christmas

Well, here we are again. A wonderful time of year. A stressful time of year, but it can also be wonderful. If you don't let your family drive you crazy.

Remember to breathe, count to 10, and do it again as needed.

That way when you're sitting in the kitchen of your family's trailer watching your Druncle pass out in the sink and your mother smoking her 50th Kent Menthol with her hook-for-a-hand -- you can just breathe and relax. Swipe the fifteen cats off the kitchen counter with one fell swoop and pour yourself a well-deserved eggnog.

But take it easy on the eggnog, because no one needs to lose another tooth again this year. Remember, Christmas only comes once every 12 months. And it doesn't last forever. Hang in there.

Merry Christmas,
Sandra

Top Anger Management Blogs

Cool. I'm now an official resource for those actively managing their anger.
Dig it.

OnlineCounselingDegrees.com

The TSA Security "Protest"

Personally, I’d rather be scanned and patted-down than blown up in an airplane. That’s just me.

But then I knew people who were blown out of the sky over Lockerbie Scotland. And I knew a firefighter who was running up the towers when they came down.

You might know someone who has been killed thanks to angry religious fanatics, too. I think it’s a good idea to make it harder for them to blow us up, as best as we possibly can.

Seems to me the people who are most concerned about being patted down are people who have body issues and who don't get laid. I can’t imagine a TSA officer enjoys patting your flabby American body looking for weapons any more than you like it. But there are plenty of people out there who would get a big kick out of you being dead. Especially if you were completely terrorized in an airplane with a bunch of other innocents while it happened. Think your “freedom” is being taken away? How about your life?

Wake up, people. You live in a bulls-eye if you live in America. Until we wise-up and apply some imagination and start profiling every single person who walks into the airport you will have to be searched and scanned. It doesn’t matter what you look like. We’re all part of the game now. It’s not fair. But life isn’t fair. And if you want to stay in this “horribly unfair” life game, shut up and get scanned and stop slowing the rest of us down. We just want to get home in one piece.

Take off your shoes and keep the line moving folks, and welcome to America in the 21st Century.

Happy Thanksgiving. And I mean that.

Before You Open Your Mouth

At a seminar I was giving yesterday one of the attendees raised her hand and I called on her. This is what she said:

"Um. Yeah. My question, or comment or whatever it will end up being is kinda', um ..."

And I stopped her right there. People, when you open your mouth to speak you should know if you're going to ask a question, share a comment or just blather. And if you're just going to blather feel free to go to a seminar other than mine.

Think before you speak. It's a simple thing. Try to formulate that embryo of a spark of a thought into some sort of form. That way, you prevent others from wading through the vast wastelands of your mental vomit.

And if you can't do that at least have the decent manners to remain mute.

The Crazy Game

Boy, oh boy. I sure have had a lot of One-On-One O'Day Power Sessions lately. And you know what I've discovered? People are ADDICTED to being CRAZY!

Here are a few of the choice phrases I've been hearing: "Oh, I’m so crazy," "Sometimes I just go crazy," "I’m just a little crazy," "My friends all know I'm crazy!"

Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. As if being crazy is something to be proud of! As if neurosis and nuttiness were something to NURTURE!

People who give themselves the label “crazy” just want you to call them crazy, too. Don’t do it! Don't encourage crazy!

Let them call themselves crazy. Because eventually they'll figure out "Crazy" is synonymous with “Lonely” and “Boring.” The crazies are just too much work. All they want is attention, and they’ll probably never get enough – because they won’t give it to themselves! And THAT is just CRAZY.

Dog Poop and Banana Peels

I’m walking down the sidewalk to the O’Day offices in Hell’s Kitchen yesterday and I notice that the pavement is filthier than usual. It’s so disgusting I hold my breath. I contemplate burning my shoes.

The cement is stained with urine streams. Garbage and fecal matter are everywhere I look. Dog poop, banana peels, dog poop ON banana peels ...

And then I see these people.

SITTING ON THE SIDEWALK! Look at the photo! There is a urine stain right next to them!



PEOPLE! This is New York City! Sitting on the sidewalks here is like being a urinal cake in the men’s room at the Port Authority bus station!

Don’t sit on the sidewalk! Get a grip, for crying out loud! You want to get MRSA? Ebola? You want scabs to form on your eyes?

You’d be safer and cleaner in a crack whore’s ass than sitting on a sidewalk near Times Square!

Get up. Get your ass OFF the pavement. No one is THAT tired.

Inspiration Everywhere

I saw this in a children's joke book I was reading in the O’Day Camp library this weekend:

Q: Where can you always find a helping hand?

A: At the end of your arm.

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you .

Off With Their Pants!

What separates the men from the boys? Pants. Back in the “Olde Dayes” boys wore short pants until they were considered to be adults. When they started behaving like grown ups they got a pair of real pants.

Now, in a tremendous burst of irony, we have this:



All they way under their butt cheeks. The front of the pants right at their little penises. (I have to assume their penises are little, otherwise those pants would be riding a bit higher.)

What can we do about it, Sandra? People are just stupid.

I’ll tell you what we can do about it! I did it today on the subway stairs coming out of the F train and it was fantastic!

Pants the idiots!

That’s right, sneak up behind them and yank those stupid pants down! They can’t chase you, ‘cause their pants are around their ankles. And it takes them too long to pull them up and position them in that oh-so-special penguin-walk way. Sure you’ll have to run a little, but we can all use a little extra cardio.

Let’s start flash mobs of pants-ers! Let’s all descend on Times Square and pants the stupid idiots.

And keep your cameras ready. I’m on Facebook and I want to see the photos.

It's Got Nothing To Do With You

Here’s something you hear in New York frequently, “It’s got nothing to do with you.” You hear it on the street all the time, especially from people screaming on their cell phones.

But there is terrific truth to the phrase, “It’s got nothing to do with you.” It just means you shouldn’t take everything so darn personally. Nothing anyone in the world does has anything to do with you. Even if someone is doing something really terrific or even something really crappy to you, it has nothing to do with you. What someone else is doing, saying, thinking or feeling has everything to do with them, and nothing to do with you.

The one thing we all have in common is that we’re always thinking of ourselves. Our actions, viewpoints and words have everything in the world to do with us and what we want and how we want others to see us.

It has nothing to do with you. And that’s a good thing.

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you .

Don't Fix It, Move On

I just spent the past five hours in an intense One-On-One O'Day Power Session with a client who wanted to change her past. For four hours and fifty-five minutes I listened to her go on and on and on about what she wishes she could do over and change.

Sister, if I had a dollar for every time I wished for a do-over I'd be a kerbillionaire.

But you can't change your past. It's done. Over. You can't fix it or improve it or tinker with the truth. The past is past.

My client finally lamented, "I just want to put my life back in drive and move forward," to which I replied, "Then stop looking in the rear view mirror."

Stop looking behind, people. Stop looking back. Throw you life into drive and step on the gas. Make it new and get it right this time. Or as close to right as you can.

See you on the road!

People are like Slinkies

I got an e-mail this morning from a client, and it really tickled my funny bone.

"Some people are like Slinkies -- not really good for anything but they bring a smile to your face when pushed down the stairs."

That is so true!

Back when I was a criminal, before I had taken 120 hours of anger management courses plus the mandatory refresher course every five months, I was fond of pushing, shoving and punching any idiot who irked me or got in my way. Those were the days!

But I've embraced Powerful Positive Change (PPC) and have moved into new territory in my life.

These days, when encountering complete ass-wipes, I take a deep breath, count to ten -- twenty if I have to, and I do my best not to take their rude, stupid behavior personally.

So, as we slog our way through this hot and humid summer let's keep our ire in check as our cities are invaded by slow-moving, slack-jawed tourists with extreme mental problems.

Take a deep breath, count to ten, and think of those slinkies!

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you.

99 Cent Dreams

Maybe if you invested more in your dreams they wouldn't be so shoddy. And made of cut-rate plastic from China. Invest in your dreams, people. Don't just buy cheap junk and fill up your home with trash. Chuck the garbage and invest in a Sandra O'Day One-On-One O'Day Power Session. Sure I'll lock you in a creepy cabin for a few days, but once I'm done with you you'll bust out as a new, better person.

And you won't have to dust a bunch of cheap plastic figurines made by slaves in China .

It's not the heat ...

Boy oh boy have I been hearing a whole lot of whining lately.

"It's so hot."

"I have to run my air conditioning all day."

"It's too hot to cook, let's take a taxi to the sushi place."

People! Get. A. Grip. You're not in Calcutta.

What amazes me most about this weather is that folks complain more about the heat than the inappropriately dressed citizens. It's getting disgusting. People, just because it's over one-hundred degrees it doesn't mean you should bare your seven flabby elbows and fifteen ass cheeks while you shuffle around town in FLIP FLOPS.

I'm not saying you have to wear linen or seersucker suits with a straw hat, but you also don't have to wear teeny-tiny shorts that show your butt crack. I swear to God I was walking up the subway behind a woman whose ill-fitting white pants were so low that her hairy ass crack was exposed. At first I thought it was her vagina! I didn't know if she was coming or going!

And gay boys -- the slack shorts are very fancy but if I can see the outline of your balls they are TOO TIGHT!

And taxi drivers, ENOUGH. Use deodorant. Wash daily. 'Cause I'm starting a silent protest. If your taxi driver is smelly, tip poorly. Or tip in trial-sized Mitchum.

People, we can't avoid summer. But if we work together we can make it less disgusting.

Celebrate True Independence

Think for yourself.

Just because people mean what they say it doesn’t make what they're saying true.

Do the hard work and think for yourself.

Don’t be a lazy-ass-turd-ball and wait for someone to hand you your beliefs and opinions. You don’t let strangers chew your food for you and spit it into your mouth for crying out loud! So don’t let them digest all the latest ideas for you and puke them into your brain!

Independent thought is going the way of the Dodo Bird in this country. Let’s try and save it.

The "Not My Fault" Game

The “Not My Fault Game” happens when you pretend you don’t have control over your own affairs. It often sounds like this, “You didn’t wake me up on time!” “You didn’t pack the toothpaste!” “You didn’t remind me that your crazy family was visiting this weekend.”

Here’s another example:

You look outside and say to yourself, “Hmm, it sure does look like rain.” But you don’t trust your instincts so you switch on The Weather Channel, but The Weather Channel is too busy playing scary music and pondering what would happen if a hurricane hit Kansas that they don’t mention your local forecast. At all.

So even though you think it looks like rain, you don’t “burden” yourself with an umbrella because the TV didn’t tell you to. Then, when you get drenched in a torrential downpour you’re mad at the weather person. You blame The Weather Channel because you were too lazy to think for yourself and take an umbrella on a day when it looks like it’s going to rain!

People, keep track of your own schedule. Balance your bankbook. Grab an umbrella. Follow your instincts and stop sloughing your responsibility onto other people. Step up to the plate and think for yourself.

Get Out of the Worry Game!

Worry is pointless. Even crazy fundamentalists of any stripe will tell you that. “Let go and let God,” they say. It works for them. Some people whisper to little worry dolls at night choosing to shift their burdens to tiny pieces of straw wearing clothes. Some folks stick pins in a pillow stuffed with lavender. Others light Glade Scented Candles and have a cocktail while they soak in a bubble bath crying and listening to Pasty Cline. If it works, good for you. There is more than one way to ditch worry.

Worry will never, ever work in a positive way.

Do you know what you’re trying to do when you worry? Prevent bad things from happening. But you can’t. So don’t try. Worry is pointless.

If you worry over what could be, trying to imagine what might happen, you are not thinking about the future. You are writing a play. A worry play. Stop. It’s not interesting, useful or productive.

Get out of the worry game.


I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you.

"Inspiration"

Those of you who work with me, read my books or even merely read my blog on a regular basis know that I hate the frou-frou world of “inspiration.” This “inspiration” tends to be made up almost entirely of potpourri-smelling teddy bears with nifty saying on their t-shirts, refrigerator magnets, and various mugs, posters, cards and other cheap crap made in China.

Here’s an “inspirational” quote from a mug I found in one of those balloon-filled shit shops.

At last the ladder,
which had been built
slowly, slowy
one hope at a time
reached up to the clouds.
And the dreamer began to climb.

You’re building a ladder with hopes? Hopes? Why not build a ladder with goals? Or planning? Or WOOD!

Yeah, I bet that ladder was built slowly.

It reached up to the clouds? Why do you want to go there? What is that ladder resting on? What is it you’re looking for in the CLOUDS? How ‘bout you pull that dreaming head of yours out of your butt and get to work right here on the GROUND where you can actually make something happen.

And the dreamer began to climb? Yeah, climb away from responsibility and common sense.

People! Set some goals! Make a map of where you want to be and work to get there. The only thing you’re going to get in the clouds is humidity. And maybe hit by an airplane.

Click here for inspiration:

Can’t and Drunkle

I made the mistake of letting guilt rule my mind this weekend and I took a long bus ride to the land of the toothless. The land where people think Mountain Dew is the perfect beverage, even for the baby.

I went to visit my hillbilly “Aunt who Can’t” and “Drunken Uncle”. Or, as I like to think of them, my Can’t and Drunkle.

Why did I go? Because I thought I should help them. I thought I might be able to apply some Sandra O’Day “Can-Do” to their situation.

Note to self: don’t try to help if no one has asked. Especially in a family situation.

When I arrived my Drunkle was passed out, so he was the most charming person I dealt with. My Can’t was wearing a “house coat.”

Can’t: Oh, Sandy honey, I’m sorry I’m wearing this old house coat, but I just can’t put on any clothes today.

Sandra O’Day: Why not?

Can’t: They just don’t fit me right no more.

Sandra O’Day: Why don’t you buy bigger clothes?

Can’t: I ain’t got no money.

Sandra O’Day: So lose a little weight.

Can’t: I can’t, my diabetes makes it too hard.

At this point my Aunt who Can’t drank an entire Mountain Dew in one gulp. I’m surprised she didn’t eat the can.

Sandra O’Day: Tell you what, I’ll go to the store with you and buy you some new clothes.

Can’t: Ohhh, fancy city girl thinks she’s too good to spend time with her Auntie who wears house coats. Is that what they teach you in the big city? Is that what happens when you move to a big city in a big building with running water and electricity at the pull of a string?

It went on like this for most of the day. I questioned my own sanity for visiting. I tried not to smash my head repeatedly against a tree when my most humiliating childhood stories were told and retold again and again and again. The highpoint of the day was turning my Drunkel on his side when he vomited so he wouldn’t aspirate.

At the end of the evening, when I asked for a ride back to the bus station this is what I got:

Can’t: Ohhh, Sandy. You don’t never pay us visits no more. Why don’t you never visit us?

Sandra O’Day: I’m visiting you now.

Can’t: You should visit more often. I don’t know why you don’t visit us more often. Your uncle misses you so much ...

Sandra O’Day: He’s been passed out since I got here six hours ago.

Can’t: No he ain’t! He misses you! He wants you to come visit ...

The “why don’t you never visit” conversation went on until I was boarding the bus.

On the bus ride home I sat next to a vegan who clipped her nails almost the entire time. Toes and fingers. I’m guessing she’s a long-lost cousin.

Lesson learned: You don’t have to visit anyone who’s completely insane and living a toxic life because you think you Should. When you think you Should you’re just trying to make yourself feel better by wanting to change someone else's situation. Your Should will only make you feel worse.

Don’t Should all over yourself.

Fat Neighbor

GOYA!


My neighbor in New York City is a very large, unhealthy, junk food addict. She works from home, so she rarely leaves her small apartment.

We New Yorkers live in the most convenient city in the word –- a city where you can have anything delivered, and my neighbor most certainly has everything delivered.

She even had an exercise ball delivered, which popped soon after she sat on it. She was disappointed not because it popped, but because she had hired somebody to blow it up for her and wasted the money.

Recently she adopted a scrappy looking dog. Dogs need to be taken for walks on a regular basis. Amazingly, my neighbor is doing this chore herself, and I think she may be dropping some pounds.

I saw her on the street the other day and had the following conversation:

Sandra O'Day: Hey Neighbor! Cute dog. What's his name?

Big Neighbor: I named him Goya.

Sandra O’Day: Because you like Goya beans and food products?

(Silence)

Big Neighbor: No. It’s an acronym. Goya stands for Get Off Your Ass.

Sandra O’Day: I’m stealing that from you.

Big Neighbor: Take it and run with it, O’Day.

Do it folks! G.O.Y.A.!

Stephen Riley of the UHO is a Turd-Faced Thief

On March 24th, 2008 I published a blog about the UHO being a big, fat scam. I got a comment on that post on May 15th, 2008 from Vonte Vakel Johnson, a UHO worker. The original post and Vonte's comment here:

http://sandraoday.blogspot.com/2008/03/mr-hobo-selfish-bum-from-united.html

A judge shut down the UHO:

http://www.myfoxny.com/dpp/news/shame/091215-judge-shuts-down-uho

This morning I got an e-mail from Vonte, clearly feeling very, very scammed:

i was totally pissed when i found out that steve riley of uho was taking the fee money i was giving him for his own personal kitty fund while i was living day by day. how F**ked up is that?
now the stupid C**ksucker has the balls to open up streettalk news in midtown manhattan. he even sent his goons to force me to join so he can F**k me out of my money. Thjat N***er ain't getting S*it frm me. I wish The F**k i wold give that Basterd my money. i don't know how i'll live from day to day. When that shut him down in december of 09 i took an cup and begged on the corner. I'm going to live so i can improve my life. no matter what. i'm doing ok but not big time. i'm surviving. that's all any body can ask for.

yours truly

vonte vakel johnson.

Hang in there, Vonte. I'm rooting for you. And I hope Stephen Riley gets his own very special hell -- sooner rather than later.

Life is More ...

I overheard this on the street:

"Life is more than just shooting at somebody."

Let this be our Monday meditation.

Transcript of a One-On-One O’Day Power Session

Sandra O’Day: Let’s get to the bottom of all this whining.

Client: I don’t mean to whine, I’m just not happy.

Sandra O’Day: Tell me exactly what it is you want. What is it that you feel you don’t have now that would make your life better.

Client: I want to be married.

Sandra O’Day: Fine. Now imagine that you’re married.

Client: OK.

Sandra O’Day: What do you have as a married person that you don’t have now?

Client: A husband.

Sandra O’Day: Right. A husband. So what does a husband give you that you don’t have right now?

Client: Sex.

Sandra O’Day: Uh-huh. What else?

Client: Companionship.

Sandra O’Day: What else?

Client: Money.

Sandra O’Day: OK. I need you to listen to yourself. You tell me that what you need to make your life better is a husband.

Client: Yes.

Sandra O’Day: You want a husband for sex, companionship and money.

Client: Yes.

Sandra O’Day: Girl, you can get all that on your own! You don’t need a husband to give it to you. You need a vibrator, a cat and an ATM machine. Give yourself the things you want first. Don’t dump your expectations onto someone else.

Affirmation

I know we all have a lot of negative voices in our heads. Old stuff other people put there, negative thoughts we put there, doubts and other blocks we use to weigh us down and keep ourselves in the “safe” place of “not good enough”.

We’re going to do things a little differently today. We’re going to try an affirmation.

What? Sandra! I thought you hated affirmations! You used to call them wimpy people’s brain pacifiers!

That right, I did. Until I was put into a coma and had to scratch my way out of the body booby-trap. I discovered there are all kinds of tools we can use when we can’t use our bodies -- namely our minds!

For example, when someone is an ass on the train during rush hour I know I’d feel better if I could physically jab them in some way. Not kill them, but give them a good slap. But you can’t do that because it leads to assault charges.

But you can use your mind. Instead of taking physical revenge against someone I now prop myself up with this magical little ditty ...

“I am so fucking awesome.”

Try it yourself! Say it!

“I am so fucking awesome.”

You don’t have to use the f-word if you don’t want to. But it does have a kick to it. And you don’t have to feel particularly awesome, you just have to say it. You can say it out loud or to yourself. But say it. Try to say it about fifty times today.

I know I will. Because I am so fucking awesome.

Buck Up

I worked really hard today ...

My boss is such a jerk ...

My kids are driving me nuts ...

I am so completely stressed out ...

I deserve a treat! A cookie. A box of candy-covered popcorn. A mocha-frappuccino hazelnut vanilla bean latte with whipped-cream and caramel butterscotch sauce on it.

People, we all deserve treats, but that doesn’t mean we should have them.

But my day was so hard. I’ll feel deprived if I don’t indulge!

Oh, you’ll feel deprived like all those people who don’t live in the top 1% of wealth in the world? Like those people “over there” who don’t have clean drinking water, let alone butterscotch? You’ll feel deprived like they do, and that would be bad, right?

People, we don’t fill ourselves up with treats to keep ourselves happy. We fill ourselves up with treats to help us maintain distance from reality.

Walk down any Main Street into super-mall America and you’re walking into one of the most mass-marketed soul pacifying factories in existence. Banners and signs waving in Red White and Blue that read, “Make today special, try a new super-big cookie with sprinkles.”

Make today truly special, folks. Don’t buy yourself that treat for a change and see where that takes your imagination. Stop pacifying your spirit, set it on fire.

Lesson Learned, Back Off

A couple of weeks ago I was flying to Sarasota, Florida to attend a conference for motivational speakers who have been in comas. Surprisingly, there are more of us than you might think.

As people were boarding the plane a Long Island sounding woman was speaking very loudly on her phone a few rows in front of me. Everyone could hear her conversation as well as smell her hairspray. Clearly she was angry, disappointed and totally feeling screwed over by some guy named Jack. She began screaming, “FUCK YOU, JACK! FUCK YOU, JACK! …” over and over and over.

Now, this was a plane on the way to Florida. Right around Passover and Easter. Smack dab in the middle of Spring Break. So not only were there lots of little kids on board, but there were a whole lot of rich, white-haired grandparents on board traveling with those children. The moment the angry woman started screaming the F-Word I saw seventy tanned, shriveled, Zales brand Cubic Zirconia-laden hands reach for the steward call button. Tennis charm bracelets were tinkling with all the activity and button pushing.

A steward, a pilot and a man wearing dark glasses and a suit were soon standing in the screamer’s aisle. They asked her to apologize to the people around her for her inappropriate language. Sufficiently shamed, she stood, and said, “I’m sorry.” She was clearly mortified.

Immediately following her apology some old biddy with a cross necklace started in with, “You should be! Using that kind of language …” And before she could go any further I stood up and said, “SHE SAID SHE’S SORRY. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TEACH ANYONE A LESSON WE HAVEN'T ALREADY LEARNED HERE TODAY. NOW ORDER YOUR GIN AND TONIC AND ZIP IT.”

She ordered her G&T and we flew to Sarasota without further incident.

Coma Chameleon

Boy am I happy to be out of that coma. What a waste of time! Happier still to be moving again, mostly up and about no longer using a walker. It took me five hours to type this, though.

While Sandra Recovers

While Sandra is recovering I'm re-posting some of her earlier blogs. Here's one about her love for fire.
-Sandra's Assistant

An e-mail from an O’Dayer:

Dear Sandra,
I am curious about your affinity with fire. Are you attracted to it for it's qualities of purification or do you just like to watch things burn?
Just curious.
-A fan.

Dear Fan,
It’s a combination of both those things. Basically I’m a pyromaniac. The American Heritage Dictionary defines pyromania as, “The irresistible urge to start fires.” And, I have to admit, that’s me all right! But ever since I’ve been released from prison I’ve curbed my love for the burn and I no longer set anything and everything on fire. I have a wonderful fire pit up at O’Day camp where I do controlled, within legal limits burns. And yes, I even get permits from the town before I light the fire! So, if you have any old papers you’d like to get rid of –- divorce papers, old tax receipts, bankruptcy papers, love letters, pictures of yourself in sixth grade ... sign up for a trip to O’Day Camp and we’ll get rid of those pesky papers once and for all!

You can e-mail me at PowerofSandra@aol.com

I look forward to hearing your stories of immense personal struggle, and will continue to inspire you.

Faking it?

Um, OK. So Sandra is all in her wheelchair and whatever, and I go outside to feed the geese and when I come back my vintage Holly Hobby Paper Doll Book that I had been working on had been moved -- across the room and closer to the fire! ALMOST IN THE FIRE.

I'm beginning to think she's better than she seems to be.

Test and trial to follow.

-Sandra's Assistant

Hurry Up and Get Well

So Sandra is slowly progressing in her physical therapy. And she's "speaking." (I don't understand her but I smile and nod a whole lot.) It's very boring. My heart goes out to caregivers who don't get paid to do it and who actually love the person they're caring for.

On the goose front: the three wounded geese are still traveling together. The geese are: Debra Winger (the ringleader), Lefty Winger, and Scrappy Winger. A mallard duck goes everywhere with them. I can't tell what his deal is.

The wildlife expert/goose wrangler won't call me back. So I just feed them. Beats feeding Sandra. At least the geese are afraid of me.

And one of the neighbors keeps shooting a gun. I can hear it "Pop Popping." But I can see the geese, so they don't seem to be the target. Maybe I should dress Sandra in brown and give her an antler hat and set her out in the woods. HAHAHAHA.

-Sandra's Assistant

Goose Update

While Sandra recuperates here at O’Day Camp I’ve been trying to help some geese with broken wings. At first I thought there was only one, and I named her Debra Winger. Then, the next day she swam over with a friend whose wing is so horribly broken that it sticks up. I named it Left Winger.

Then today I saw Debra and Lefty swimming down river with some ducks, which is a good sign, but there was a goose across the river, on the inlet, that is clearly dying. It just lays on the ice, and sometimes its mate sits next to it.

It was so sad I was crying. Sandra was in the corner in her wheelchair where I had put her with a spoon taped to her hand so she could feed herself jell-o. Well, I look over at her, and she’s gesturing with her spoon at the goose, then at her mouth. Basically saying the goose is cooked and she’s ready to eat it.

Then she started laughing. And drooling.

I’d like to switch her out for that poor goose. See how funny it is then.

-Sandra’s Assistant

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! So this morning I had Sandra outside in a sled and I was pulling her all around the yard next to the river ... and a goose with a broken wing paddled up and asked for food! I am not kidding! And I said, “Sandra, look, that goose is all a wreck, just like you!” and Sandra said, “Arrighggh.” (We’re still working on getting her speech back.)

Anyhoo, I named the goose Debra Winger. And she likes whole wheat bread. Here’s a pic.

Sandra’s Assistant


Debra Winger Eating Bread







Debra Winger With Bread on Beak