Dizzying, these changes of weather. Mother's day today- flowers to the grave and wishing I had a mother. One who actually loved me and accepted me as I was/am. A lifelong search for those stolen moments in my nightly dreams. No crime since they never truly existed.
Joy and sorrow.
Sorrow and loss.
Loss and emptiness.
I have found joy in becoming what I never had. Giving freely what I craved so deeply. Teaching as I can, those hard lessons so diligently learned. Joy Joy Joy in my journey and yours.
Here at my beach the ocean spills into the bay; grey waters lapping greyer sands. I want what we all need. Chances slim to none. But still, there IS a chance.
11.5.08
7.5.08
Look Up!
Today the winds were perfect for flying. The sun was shining and the beach beckoned. My dog was beckoning as well so it seemed a perfect idea to walk the sands. The no dog restriction was lifted May 1st so Mr. Fluffy-Pajamas and I joyfully strode out along the shoreline. I was just about to let him run free when I looked up. Way up. An eagle was pacing us from a few hundred feet in the air. A companion was soaring higher but also way too interested in our progress. I did my anti-cougar stance raising my arms high over my head and trying to look as large as possible. The big birds flew away. They have several places along the bay they can sit and survey the action so out of sight for me does not necessarily mean out of their sight. Every year people lose small dogs to eagles in exactly this way. I know my dog. He would have put his butt down and scooted like a very fast rabbit across the beach happily. And those lightning fast eagles would have descended in a flash to claim him.
Look up.
Look up.
3.5.08
The Very Long Wait
Time time time - see what's become of me...
So wet and gloomy this long Spring has been, that I read with great surprise how Friday coming shall be truly warm. According to the weather networks the temperatures will double. Perhaps this will wake me up more from this slumber the Spring has companioned. Part of the deuced unpleasant trade-off , drugs for sleep, serenity for mania are these strange periods where my experience and the world are not compatible. I am not unhappy, not depressed, not annoyed, not anything at all really - just alive to the possibility that better things are beckoning just over the horizon. I need to be more flexible.
So wet and gloomy this long Spring has been, that I read with great surprise how Friday coming shall be truly warm. According to the weather networks the temperatures will double. Perhaps this will wake me up more from this slumber the Spring has companioned. Part of the deuced unpleasant trade-off , drugs for sleep, serenity for mania are these strange periods where my experience and the world are not compatible. I am not unhappy, not depressed, not annoyed, not anything at all really - just alive to the possibility that better things are beckoning just over the horizon. I need to be more flexible.
26.4.08
24.4.08
Seasonally Cool
Let's face it - being cool is rarely about the weather.
Nevertheless Mr. T and I did the beach stroll today, wind howling in our ears. As we rounded a curve some hero in a pickup rolled down his window. "Does that look like a dog to you? Sure looks like a dog to me. Some people can't read."
We were paused beneath the huge "no dogs on beach March 1- May 30" sign. Mr. T was checking for messages. And yes, he was on a leash. I gave the hero my biggest smile and carried on. Silly man - the beach is the part with the sand and surf- the walk is the part with the concrete.
It is really truly unseasonably cool around here. No snow this week but lots of arctic winds. If Steve Brown had been at the park I would have brought out my kites but the goose poop field in the cold was not for me on my own. Somewhere around here I have some lines I can use. -mutter- Can you imagine it was 22 years ago that Ray Bethel taught me how to land my kite on the monument in Vanier Park? I did contribute to the bench in Ray's honour there but I would rather BE there flying than seeing pictures of it. Actually, perhaps not. It is the Vancouver of the 80's I am missing not the Vancouver of the now. I miss flying with Ray alot. I miss Nigel more. Hell Rob Riley, you dirty dawg, I even miss you. Rob was in my BAD BOY books for years because he let Nigel and my kites get caught up by the incoming tides at Long Beach because he thought we were off making whoopee somewhere when, in fact, we were off buying batteries for the great Teddy Bear Drop from one of those HUGE airflow kites. I cannot remember the kite makers name- was it Hans? He was a master anyway. Our kite lines were hopelessly tangled and to rescue them, we had to cut alot of lines. We struggled to save our kites while 20 feet away, Rob sat watching. He was willing to let our entire inventory wash out to sea. I lost one of my best kites to the tide. And Rob lost my friendship.
Rob had already angered me by smuggling his joints into the States in the spar spaces of Ray's kites. Ray blissfully crossed the border just him and his van of kites, and Rob's stash while Rob rode in another vehicle. Even back then it was a very tricky and audacious move. And it pissed me off. :)
Not long ago some MAN who I once dated told me that almost everything pisses me off.
hmmm - perhaps what he meant was more that I do not take things quietly. Forgive yes, forget- perhaps. Not quite the Christian standard but when you were raised by wolves it is the status quo. As I, Braineater once titled his album - "The renaissance of phenomenon - EAT OR BE EATEN." That pretty much sums up growing up in our home. I am positively MELLOW now by comparison. No regrets. (well except for Nigel) In a parallel universe somewhere I am Mrs. Nigel and we travel the continent together for the kite festivals and visit his drill sites all over the world. In this world, Mr. T and I get cozy after our beach outing.
So no kites, and a very very lazy day off.
Today I actually logged onto Facebook and perused some names from the long long ago.
Some people I miss. Most I remember with great fondness. Dawn and Kathy and Joey A.
Time to get my cool self into work mode.
Nevertheless Mr. T and I did the beach stroll today, wind howling in our ears. As we rounded a curve some hero in a pickup rolled down his window. "Does that look like a dog to you? Sure looks like a dog to me. Some people can't read."
We were paused beneath the huge "no dogs on beach March 1- May 30" sign. Mr. T was checking for messages. And yes, he was on a leash. I gave the hero my biggest smile and carried on. Silly man - the beach is the part with the sand and surf- the walk is the part with the concrete.
It is really truly unseasonably cool around here. No snow this week but lots of arctic winds. If Steve Brown had been at the park I would have brought out my kites but the goose poop field in the cold was not for me on my own. Somewhere around here I have some lines I can use. -mutter- Can you imagine it was 22 years ago that Ray Bethel taught me how to land my kite on the monument in Vanier Park? I did contribute to the bench in Ray's honour there but I would rather BE there flying than seeing pictures of it. Actually, perhaps not. It is the Vancouver of the 80's I am missing not the Vancouver of the now. I miss flying with Ray alot. I miss Nigel more. Hell Rob Riley, you dirty dawg, I even miss you. Rob was in my BAD BOY books for years because he let Nigel and my kites get caught up by the incoming tides at Long Beach because he thought we were off making whoopee somewhere when, in fact, we were off buying batteries for the great Teddy Bear Drop from one of those HUGE airflow kites. I cannot remember the kite makers name- was it Hans? He was a master anyway. Our kite lines were hopelessly tangled and to rescue them, we had to cut alot of lines. We struggled to save our kites while 20 feet away, Rob sat watching. He was willing to let our entire inventory wash out to sea. I lost one of my best kites to the tide. And Rob lost my friendship.
Rob had already angered me by smuggling his joints into the States in the spar spaces of Ray's kites. Ray blissfully crossed the border just him and his van of kites, and Rob's stash while Rob rode in another vehicle. Even back then it was a very tricky and audacious move. And it pissed me off. :)
Not long ago some MAN who I once dated told me that almost everything pisses me off.
hmmm - perhaps what he meant was more that I do not take things quietly. Forgive yes, forget- perhaps. Not quite the Christian standard but when you were raised by wolves it is the status quo. As I, Braineater once titled his album - "The renaissance of phenomenon - EAT OR BE EATEN." That pretty much sums up growing up in our home. I am positively MELLOW now by comparison. No regrets. (well except for Nigel) In a parallel universe somewhere I am Mrs. Nigel and we travel the continent together for the kite festivals and visit his drill sites all over the world. In this world, Mr. T and I get cozy after our beach outing.
So no kites, and a very very lazy day off.
Today I actually logged onto Facebook and perused some names from the long long ago.
Some people I miss. Most I remember with great fondness. Dawn and Kathy and Joey A.
Time to get my cool self into work mode.
23.4.08
Spring and the Fever
Each spring, I, like the birds and bees, experience a deep urge to mate and nest. Or nest and mate. Or just mate. Being possessed of the sort of hormones that legends are made of, it was DECADES before it occurred to me that this might not be entirely a good thing.
Being older now and supposedly wiser, I have resolved to satisfy my spring fever by cleaning and baking and working out at the gym. Oh bugger well we all know I hate the gym so make that working out at Curves where I can pretend I am there to help someone else. Why do I hate the gym? Possibly because I have not got the sort of body that looks good in the ever present gym mirrors while sweating. I am a goddess. I have the goddess body, that came with the hormones. Fully functional and stuck on grande mode.
I am uncommonly strong though, and from time to time delight in going to a gym just to watch the hard core feel sorry for my round self until I do my 200 sit ups or a series of lifts. Even goddesses can be vain.
Now about the fever - should I start blogging about dates or new people in my life please email me and give me a virtual smack. There is no room around here for even the occasional companion. Check in two years.
Being older now and supposedly wiser, I have resolved to satisfy my spring fever by cleaning and baking and working out at the gym. Oh bugger well we all know I hate the gym so make that working out at Curves where I can pretend I am there to help someone else. Why do I hate the gym? Possibly because I have not got the sort of body that looks good in the ever present gym mirrors while sweating. I am a goddess. I have the goddess body, that came with the hormones. Fully functional and stuck on grande mode.
I am uncommonly strong though, and from time to time delight in going to a gym just to watch the hard core feel sorry for my round self until I do my 200 sit ups or a series of lifts. Even goddesses can be vain.
Now about the fever - should I start blogging about dates or new people in my life please email me and give me a virtual smack. There is no room around here for even the occasional companion. Check in two years.
The Companion Checks In
My little friend has been mostly quiet lately for which I am grateful. Last week I had one full day of not being able to accomplish anything but it was only one day, and a dark room and bed rest seemed to work.
The companion behaves if I do. Any deviation from routine can be dangerous. Most dangerous of all is the flashing lights and noise intrusions. These are things I absolutely cannot tolerate well. I love to play pinball and own a few machines. These I can handle. But I don't have them all playing at the same time. In fact, due to space issues around here, they are in storage. *sniff* I play my DS these days but it isnt the same.
I have trained my brain to register conversations as white noise but certain voices transcend the barrier. One of these voices belongs to someone close to me. The idea of tonal modulation never occurs naturally to this person, even when suggested. This is where earplugs come in handy. After a long afternoon of pleasant although very loud togetherness I had to come home. My jaw had already clenched and my eyes were very disturbed. I had left it too long.
Later- There was a terrible commotion going on around me. Trying to break free of the chaos and get somewhere quiet before the headache hit, I struggled to find my car. It was missing. Second choice was a quiet room. I was in some strange bathroom quietly moaning waiting for the storm to pass. The hours were slow in passing. My discomfort did not lift. I decided that I had better find a telephone and call 9-1-1 but I could not even see the numbers through the pain. Eventually I vomited and fell down.
Coming to my senses, I was in my bed, fully clothed with my doggie guarding me. My eyes refused to stay focused and open and a metallic taste was in my mouth. My parched throat accepted 1/2 liter of cool water. My feet were twitching and my legs were very heavy. I had the after-effects of cramp along my calves. The clock said 6 am. It took me quite a few minutes to realize that the car flurry and the bathroom incident were not real but dreams of the very troubled night before. The companion had checked in.
22.4.08
Appropo of Nothing...
Lady D and I investigated a new coffee venue in the resort area. On the way there L.D. volunteered that this place also served sushi. We enjoyed home made chai tea and freshly baked cookies whilst looking out the window to this newly developed time share time place. When my Mother was alive, each of the resorts along that area was entered by long long lanes assessible from the only highway that went through this little seaside town. Now that the world has decided to move here, those lanes have been bisected by an entire new road that rings through the area, and the land between that road and the highway is where this new developement is.
Lady Di is looking very good now that the chemotherapy is in the past. Monday is the start of her three week radiation stint. I hope and pray that this is easy on her.
If nothing else, the cancer society provides excellent transport and housing for her during her stay. Not that you can fool yourself into believing its a vacation but its got to be easier than having poisons course through your system making you lose your hair and feel horrible at the same time.
The doorbell just rang - and I answered because I remembered that April is cancer month which is in fact exactly what I greeted the canvasser with. Poor woman had been waiting for good weather to do her canvassing but that doesnt seem likely to occur. We swapped fear of mastectomy stories and agreed we would see each other at the clinic.
--------- *
Cancer is a word, not a sentence. ~John Diamond
Lady Di is looking very good now that the chemotherapy is in the past. Monday is the start of her three week radiation stint. I hope and pray that this is easy on her.
If nothing else, the cancer society provides excellent transport and housing for her during her stay. Not that you can fool yourself into believing its a vacation but its got to be easier than having poisons course through your system making you lose your hair and feel horrible at the same time.
The doorbell just rang - and I answered because I remembered that April is cancer month which is in fact exactly what I greeted the canvasser with. Poor woman had been waiting for good weather to do her canvassing but that doesnt seem likely to occur. We swapped fear of mastectomy stories and agreed we would see each other at the clinic.
--------- *
Cancer is a word, not a sentence. ~John Diamond
21.4.08
The Twins
It was a sad intake. A very lovely woman sitting at her vanity, putting make-up on. "I need all the help I can get these days." She had gone in for a check-up full of hope and happiness and emerged without either. "I am home to decline, or recline or whatever is going to happen." Every time I tried to help her, she rebuffed me, ever more gently. "Don't mind me, I am just miserable."
After establishing that she was a Vancouver girl, from a certain area, we chatted a bit. She asked me my mother's name and it seemed familiar to her. The home we were in was one of the nicest I have visited. Not overly grande nor garishly large or self-consciously patishe, just quietly elegant in an excellent area. Each room was exceedingly tastefully decorated in that timeless style that people who just know what looks right have. Jackie Kennedy could have sat comfortably in any room of that home. She went to her sitting room and I came to join her. As I walked in to the room, I stopped and gaped.
"What is it?" she asked.
There, in the place of honour, sat a highly polished ladies writing desk. It was the identical twin to the one I have. Afer I told her I had the same desk she immediatly said: "No that's not possible. This was my grandmother's desk. She died in 1917."
I told her mine was from my mother's family and I believed it was from my Nana who died in the 1950s in her 90s. I could see they were still unconvinced so I told her I would take a picture of my desk on my cellphone to show her. And then I would like to take a picture of hers for prosperity.
Over the years I have been in hundreds of homes, probably thousands by now. I ave never seen another desk like *ours*. Interesting coincidence though.
After establishing that she was a Vancouver girl, from a certain area, we chatted a bit. She asked me my mother's name and it seemed familiar to her. The home we were in was one of the nicest I have visited. Not overly grande nor garishly large or self-consciously patishe, just quietly elegant in an excellent area. Each room was exceedingly tastefully decorated in that timeless style that people who just know what looks right have. Jackie Kennedy could have sat comfortably in any room of that home. She went to her sitting room and I came to join her. As I walked in to the room, I stopped and gaped.
"What is it?" she asked.
There, in the place of honour, sat a highly polished ladies writing desk. It was the identical twin to the one I have. Afer I told her I had the same desk she immediatly said: "No that's not possible. This was my grandmother's desk. She died in 1917."
I told her mine was from my mother's family and I believed it was from my Nana who died in the 1950s in her 90s. I could see they were still unconvinced so I told her I would take a picture of my desk on my cellphone to show her. And then I would like to take a picture of hers for prosperity.
Over the years I have been in hundreds of homes, probably thousands by now. I ave never seen another desk like *ours*. Interesting coincidence though.
20.4.08
And how IS Shannon Tweed anyway?
A few guilty pleasures can make life interesting. One of my brand new gp's is watching cable television, quietly alone in my room. A few shows I have come to enjoy are CSI: Miami, CSI, and, uhm, (shh) Gene Simmons Family Jewels.
The CSI family are something I do not watch with my eyes- I listen with my ears while I MUD or write. I can't take the autopsies and gore but I do enjoy the mysteries. Gene and his family jewels I put my feet up and watch fully engaged. Gene Simmons is a guy I want to hate on principle being the fuck pig he is. But then, JFK had the same thing going on. It probably is not very good sex- I suspect he reserves that for Shannon Tweed. And speaking of Shannon - I wonder how she is feeling these days? After watching 4 back to back episodes of Family Jewels I googled Gene Simmons to find out how tall he is. Imagine my surprise to find that his sex tape scandal is a current issue. I had no idea that a man as smart as he is would make such an incredibly stupid mistake as to be filmed screwing around. Poor Nick and Sophie. But mostly, poor Shannon.
The success of the Gene Simmons family jewels show is not because Gene is so likable. It is because against all odds he landed the girl with beauty AND brains. Shannon is a great mom and a great spirit. She is the catch not him. And for whatever weird reason, possibly because he adores her but not enough to be monogamous, she appears to love him. Shannon Tweed is a woman that no other man in his right mind would cheat on.
I hope they work it out and I hope Mr. Gene Simmons grows up. But then, Mick Jagger never did. Somehow, I like Shannon alot more than I would ever like Jerry Hall.
What a curse to be famous.
Money isn't everything.
Loosing the respect of your children cannot be bought back.
The CSI family are something I do not watch with my eyes- I listen with my ears while I MUD or write. I can't take the autopsies and gore but I do enjoy the mysteries. Gene and his family jewels I put my feet up and watch fully engaged. Gene Simmons is a guy I want to hate on principle being the fuck pig he is. But then, JFK had the same thing going on. It probably is not very good sex- I suspect he reserves that for Shannon Tweed. And speaking of Shannon - I wonder how she is feeling these days? After watching 4 back to back episodes of Family Jewels I googled Gene Simmons to find out how tall he is. Imagine my surprise to find that his sex tape scandal is a current issue. I had no idea that a man as smart as he is would make such an incredibly stupid mistake as to be filmed screwing around. Poor Nick and Sophie. But mostly, poor Shannon.
The success of the Gene Simmons family jewels show is not because Gene is so likable. It is because against all odds he landed the girl with beauty AND brains. Shannon is a great mom and a great spirit. She is the catch not him. And for whatever weird reason, possibly because he adores her but not enough to be monogamous, she appears to love him. Shannon Tweed is a woman that no other man in his right mind would cheat on.
I hope they work it out and I hope Mr. Gene Simmons grows up. But then, Mick Jagger never did. Somehow, I like Shannon alot more than I would ever like Jerry Hall.
What a curse to be famous.
Money isn't everything.
Loosing the respect of your children cannot be bought back.
19.4.08
Seclusion - me and my pattootie!
OH my. Seclusion. While I enjoy the solitude, its the circumstances that I am less pleased with. Knowing that I was required as a tutor (unpaid of course) and that I am notoriously poor at multitasking, I endeavored to take some days off. The first solution, the solution that does not require using vacation time, is to use those lovely lieu days that an employee working statutory holidays accrues. To take these days off means to take a day off UNPAID so essentially its not something most people jump for joy over. To work a stat is one thing, to take the lieu day owed quite another.
Somehow in the whole get-the-person-in-question-through-school thingee, I got carried away and took my lieu days all in one pay period. Perhaps this means nothing to most, but I run a pretty damned tight ship here what with the cost of *extras* like tuition for the munchkin and brain meds for me. To keep balance in my life (read: to quell the storms within that occur when in the company of loud persons) I do not work a regular week. *AND* I live in paradise. The single smart financial decision of my life was to purchase a smaller home in a price range that could be afforded on a small income. I sold my ocean view gorgeous home at the bottom of the market, paid off he-who-I-never-obeyed, and never looked back. My old home, if I still owned it, could now be sold for enough money to buy this condo outright AND give me a pretty sweet pension fund. But noooo- that would never happen. :P
So these coming weeks I shall probably blog my sweet pattootie off since I can't afford to leave the house. Brown rice and beans yummy yum. And seclusion.
Somehow in the whole get-the-person-in-question-through-school thingee, I got carried away and took my lieu days all in one pay period. Perhaps this means nothing to most, but I run a pretty damned tight ship here what with the cost of *extras* like tuition for the munchkin and brain meds for me. To keep balance in my life (read: to quell the storms within that occur when in the company of loud persons) I do not work a regular week. *AND* I live in paradise. The single smart financial decision of my life was to purchase a smaller home in a price range that could be afforded on a small income. I sold my ocean view gorgeous home at the bottom of the market, paid off he-who-I-never-obeyed, and never looked back. My old home, if I still owned it, could now be sold for enough money to buy this condo outright AND give me a pretty sweet pension fund. But noooo- that would never happen. :P
So these coming weeks I shall probably blog my sweet pattootie off since I can't afford to leave the house. Brown rice and beans yummy yum. And seclusion.
18.4.08
Such a Strange Day
Somebody called my house this morning around 05:45. Perhaps it was a scheduler with more work for me I reasoned but alas, twas not. Thinking no more of it I lollygagged longer than usual in my toasty bed with my companionable dog. As I grabbed my stuff and headed out for work I was three steps out the door before I noticed the snow. April 19th and we had around 4 inches on the ground. Holy Hannah! I believe the early call was for someone else from a wannabe sledder. The roads were awful as I slid me way to my first few clients. By the time noon hit, the snow was but a memory in the area I was working in and just in tome too as I was headed for a very rural address.
The person I was sent to see seemed too young to have the multitude of conditions that read down the notes like a grocery list. As we spoke, frequent groans and gasps crept forth unbidden. Essentially the story was that after yet another hospitalization the discharge was home to die. Home was not really home at all as a good friend had stepped up to provide a room. The house was very large but the possessions were more than equal to it. STUFF EVERYWHERE! I know the house well from the outside at least as it is on the way to my wonderful Jennifer Weisner's Day spa - The Nevaeh Day Spa. Jenn of the many gifts- Jenn of the very best back facials ever - Jenn of the "Coddle me I am needy" enablement. Did I mention I love Jenn?
Jenn's place is farther up the road from that home but the reason it is familiar to me is that every year I buy my hanging baskets there. They are the best in this flower mad area. Now, the down side. For the second week in a row, the weekend scheduler did not check the allergens side and as a result I am lying here sneezing and coughing and waiting for the next dose of anti-allergens. There were 4 dogs in that home. Four long hair dogs. And two cockatoo's. Four Budgies. And judging from the evidence left in the blankets, a healthy colony of mice. It was pretty much overkill in the take out the asthmatic Health Care Personage.
The person I was sent to see seemed too young to have the multitude of conditions that read down the notes like a grocery list. As we spoke, frequent groans and gasps crept forth unbidden. Essentially the story was that after yet another hospitalization the discharge was home to die. Home was not really home at all as a good friend had stepped up to provide a room. The house was very large but the possessions were more than equal to it. STUFF EVERYWHERE! I know the house well from the outside at least as it is on the way to my wonderful Jennifer Weisner's Day spa - The Nevaeh Day Spa. Jenn of the many gifts- Jenn of the very best back facials ever - Jenn of the "Coddle me I am needy" enablement. Did I mention I love Jenn?
Jenn's place is farther up the road from that home but the reason it is familiar to me is that every year I buy my hanging baskets there. They are the best in this flower mad area. Now, the down side. For the second week in a row, the weekend scheduler did not check the allergens side and as a result I am lying here sneezing and coughing and waiting for the next dose of anti-allergens. There were 4 dogs in that home. Four long hair dogs. And two cockatoo's. Four Budgies. And judging from the evidence left in the blankets, a healthy colony of mice. It was pretty much overkill in the take out the asthmatic Health Care Personage.
17.4.08
16.4.08
Completely Unrelated -
Every day at the beach I see a few familiar faces. One of my favourites is a woman who whirls down the hill in her wheelchair to do the 1/2 mile seawalk and then home again. She is attracted to my dog as she had to give her own up. She wears velcro slippers of an unfortunate fabric and a very thermal coat. Today I asked her about the slippers.
"Oh dear, they make me wear them where I live. My shoes don't quite fit these days."
Turns out she lives in one of the extended care facilities in our area. I think it is wonderful that she out and about and LIVING in the community.
--------- *
"When the Greeks said, "Whom the gods love die young," they probably
meant, as Lord Sankey suggested, that those favored by the gods stay
young till the day they die; young and playful." -Eric Hoffer
"Oh dear, they make me wear them where I live. My shoes don't quite fit these days."
Turns out she lives in one of the extended care facilities in our area. I think it is wonderful that she out and about and LIVING in the community.
--------- *
"When the Greeks said, "Whom the gods love die young," they probably
meant, as Lord Sankey suggested, that those favored by the gods stay
young till the day they die; young and playful." -Eric Hoffer
15.4.08
Oh Them Heavy People . . .
Stopping for a coffee in a familiar haunt where I read the morning newspaper and do the crossword to the strains of geriatric buzzing gossip, I looked up as someone touched my shoulder. The gentleman there enquired about my father and then volunteered that he was concerned about some troubling behaviour that he really did not want to discuss with a daughter. Oh dear.
Next day same place another old salt came by my table and asked if he could sit down. He then very delicately chronicled a few reasons why he no longer enjoys chatting with my father. Oh dearie dear.
Oh....
---------------------------------------- *
If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
= = Maya Angelou
Next day same place another old salt came by my table and asked if he could sit down. He then very delicately chronicled a few reasons why he no longer enjoys chatting with my father. Oh dearie dear.
Oh....
---------------------------------------- *
If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
= = Maya Angelou
12.4.08
❤ ❤ ❤
❤ Some people you love.
❤ Some people you trust.
❤ Some people you love AND trust.
Not many though.
❤ Some people you trust.
❤ Some people you love AND trust.
Not many though.
11.4.08
Time of No Reply
Sitting here listening to Nick Drake and just overwhelmed by the whole posthumous fame thing. I regret, if you can call it regret that I was not old enough to have seen Nick Drake in person. I enjoy his lyrics almost as much as his incredible guitar playing. Not many can do what he did. The notes sing out so clear and crisp - to think he could sing at the same time is beyond belief. His music is so wistful. In another reality there is Nick Drake scoring a film version of LoTR. Who better than one whose work is like a glimpse into a world that should have been that could be elsewhere.
Northern Sky Lyrics
It is unbelievable to me that Cat Stevens was on every 1970's airwave and Nick Drake was not. Marketability is always so much to do with appearance and perceptions of same. Look at Jim Morrison- that loud boozy fat drunk who is marketed in perpetuity as a curly haired angel - a look he achieved only after 5 months of doing acid every day and losing most of his weight. He did not manage to keep that look for long either and yet if you Google him or see an article on him likely the accompanying graphic is this idyllic youth of almost neverwas.
Poor Nick Drake who could not/would not tour. Today he would be revered as a YouTube phenomena or just as a talented brilliant recluse -AND- sell zillions of records. All those years he bemoaned not selling - how sad that now that his records are, he is not around to benefit..
Ah Nick.
Too soon.
Wrong decade.
Very much missed now.
For a weird link between Heath Ledger and Nick Drake read this
Northern Sky Lyrics
It is unbelievable to me that Cat Stevens was on every 1970's airwave and Nick Drake was not. Marketability is always so much to do with appearance and perceptions of same. Look at Jim Morrison- that loud boozy fat drunk who is marketed in perpetuity as a curly haired angel - a look he achieved only after 5 months of doing acid every day and losing most of his weight. He did not manage to keep that look for long either and yet if you Google him or see an article on him likely the accompanying graphic is this idyllic youth of almost neverwas.
Poor Nick Drake who could not/would not tour. Today he would be revered as a YouTube phenomena or just as a talented brilliant recluse -AND- sell zillions of records. All those years he bemoaned not selling - how sad that now that his records are, he is not around to benefit..
Ah Nick.
Too soon.
Wrong decade.
Very much missed now.
For a weird link between Heath Ledger and Nick Drake read this
10.4.08
Unexpected Gift (*in many ways)
This week I received a beautiful card thanking me for "... caring for my husband during his decline and providing singularly dignified care." In the pocket of the card was a very beautiful angel pin with five crystals in it. It now adorns the dashboard of my car.
Those who ride with me sometimes comment on the angel pins which decorate the headliner. Each one of them represent some person that I made a deep connection with. I also have a few keychains, and other paraphernalia, mostly gifts from families and the odd student I have carried along with me.
My car guy used to tell people that I collect angels. This is almost correct. I do not collect angels, I just accompany them on their journey.
9.4.08
-Just another day -
06:00 - uncharacteristically I do not wake until my alarm
07:00 - my private client has had a very bad night. We spent an hour+ cleaning him up, and another hour+ cleaning the bedroom. I get him up much to the surprise of his wife.
10:00- a walk at the beach with my doggieboy
11:30 - a very long visit at the Doctor with another private client having options explained.
13:00 - I get to the gentleman of the early morning and put him back to bed. More cleaning up.
14:30 - home again BBC7 I love you
15:30 - tutoring for someone who goes to a Private School that costs alot of money.
17:00 - dinner, such as it is.
19:45 - I light my candles and declare the day to be over.
But first - must fill my water jug.
Suddenly I see the blips on my answering machine. Why I have one is anyone's guess. I rarely answer the home phone unless expecting an urgent call. Uh oh- 1 have 13 unheard messages.
I listen to a few not so urgent and then one that is gently chiding me for not being available for last minute visitors as it is well known to be my day off and I am clearly just poking around somewhere.
---------------------*
------- *
-=poke=-
07:00 - my private client has had a very bad night. We spent an hour+ cleaning him up, and another hour+ cleaning the bedroom. I get him up much to the surprise of his wife.
10:00- a walk at the beach with my doggieboy
11:30 - a very long visit at the Doctor with another private client having options explained.
13:00 - I get to the gentleman of the early morning and put him back to bed. More cleaning up.
14:30 - home again BBC7 I love you
15:30 - tutoring for someone who goes to a Private School that costs alot of money.
17:00 - dinner, such as it is.
19:45 - I light my candles and declare the day to be over.
But first - must fill my water jug.
Suddenly I see the blips on my answering machine. Why I have one is anyone's guess. I rarely answer the home phone unless expecting an urgent call. Uh oh- 1 have 13 unheard messages.
I listen to a few not so urgent and then one that is gently chiding me for not being available for last minute visitors as it is well known to be my day off and I am clearly just poking around somewhere.
---------------------*
------- *
-=poke=-
8.4.08
Today at the Thrift (!!)
Gentle reader rejoice with me as I give an account of the DEAL OF
THE YEAR from the Thrift Shoppe. It is taking amazing restraint not to rub my hands with glee whilst typing. I have a smirk/smile/euphoric expression in place that will likely STAY in place for a few hours.-------------------- *
On my third waltz through, I saw a monitor with blue and silver beckoning me. My subconscious recognised the reality before the rest of my brain as I walked over casually and heaved it onto my arms. It was not a monitor and keyboard as I am sure the pricer thought it to be. It was an iMac. I paid $9.99 for it. Oh lovely lovely thrift. It is not for me. It is for the home of he-who-I-never-obeyed for the use of a lovely child I know very well. I plan to charge him $100.
------------------- !!
On the other side of things, the reason I was on my third go through is that I came face to face with a man I like very much. We are fellow magpies who met at the since defunct Consignment Store in town. A Tim Hortons sits on the site these days. I was able to furnish my Father's new abode in the days when he was on the lam from his atrocious elder abuser wife. About $1500 bought everything from toasters cutlery and bedding to chairs, tables, wall units and bedding as well as two televisions and a computer. This were all almost new high end brand items. My co-hort was tempted to open a consignment store of his own but rising real estate prices impeded this. We just chat when we see each other. He has not been around for awhile. I asked him if he was still buying and selling and he allowed as how he was just buying these days as he was busy. Busy doing what I asked? Busy with treatment for bone cancer. BUGGER anyway.
One very good thing is that he was able to have a bone marrow transplant with himself as a donor. It was a stem-cell thing and it was done in Vancouver General Hospital.
He looked like someone on Prednisone and his mood was that flat affect you get with people in a prolonged state of shock. His cell-phone rang and we parted but you know.... he will stay in my thoughts. Likely I will be seeing him professionally soon.
THE YEAR from the Thrift Shoppe. It is taking amazing restraint not to rub my hands with glee whilst typing. I have a smirk/smile/euphoric expression in place that will likely STAY in place for a few hours.-------------------- *
On my third waltz through, I saw a monitor with blue and silver beckoning me. My subconscious recognised the reality before the rest of my brain as I walked over casually and heaved it onto my arms. It was not a monitor and keyboard as I am sure the pricer thought it to be. It was an iMac. I paid $9.99 for it. Oh lovely lovely thrift. It is not for me. It is for the home of he-who-I-never-obeyed for the use of a lovely child I know very well. I plan to charge him $100.
------------------- !!
On the other side of things, the reason I was on my third go through is that I came face to face with a man I like very much. We are fellow magpies who met at the since defunct Consignment Store in town. A Tim Hortons sits on the site these days. I was able to furnish my Father's new abode in the days when he was on the lam from his atrocious elder abuser wife. About $1500 bought everything from toasters cutlery and bedding to chairs, tables, wall units and bedding as well as two televisions and a computer. This were all almost new high end brand items. My co-hort was tempted to open a consignment store of his own but rising real estate prices impeded this. We just chat when we see each other. He has not been around for awhile. I asked him if he was still buying and selling and he allowed as how he was just buying these days as he was busy. Busy doing what I asked? Busy with treatment for bone cancer. BUGGER anyway.
One very good thing is that he was able to have a bone marrow transplant with himself as a donor. It was a stem-cell thing and it was done in Vancouver General Hospital.
He looked like someone on Prednisone and his mood was that flat affect you get with people in a prolonged state of shock. His cell-phone rang and we parted but you know.... he will stay in my thoughts. Likely I will be seeing him professionally soon.
7.4.08
New People, Places and Faces
Not so very long ago, my Mondays were chock-a-block full of my 90 year olds, all living independently in their own homes. 2 deaths, and 3 placements to Extended Care later, my Monday list looks very different. Not alot of people like the 11 o'clock and 12 o'clock slots, so I have been through a few people on the road to a more stable clientèle.
This morning I met two new people. One is a person recovering from aneurysm surgery. Slowly. The other is trying to regain independence after a hip replacement that did not quite take. This is perhaps the 3rd person this year I have met who has had a bad reaction to this particular surgery. -sigh
And then there was my afternoon client. I have gone to the spouse for quite a while during a terrible battle with cancer. Now I am with the partner as my client died last week. Felt a little weird I must admit. The good thing was that death came as a blessing and there are few grief and loss issues. Also it was a good life comparatively speaking. *Eighty Nine years*
It was a little more driving than I would like ideally today. My former client list was all contained within about 5 kms. Today I was at each corner of my area.
---
Lady D and I had coffee today. She is looking alot better. Now that chemotherapy is over with, she has a three week break and then its radiation. Honestly, where she gets her courage from I do not know. As I was parking my car after work, I realized the sign warning of oxygen in use was no longer present in my neighbours home. Sadly, she passed away at the age of 28 from ovarian cancer.
Cancer is .... a bitch.
This morning I met two new people. One is a person recovering from aneurysm surgery. Slowly. The other is trying to regain independence after a hip replacement that did not quite take. This is perhaps the 3rd person this year I have met who has had a bad reaction to this particular surgery. -sigh
And then there was my afternoon client. I have gone to the spouse for quite a while during a terrible battle with cancer. Now I am with the partner as my client died last week. Felt a little weird I must admit. The good thing was that death came as a blessing and there are few grief and loss issues. Also it was a good life comparatively speaking. *Eighty Nine years*
It was a little more driving than I would like ideally today. My former client list was all contained within about 5 kms. Today I was at each corner of my area.
---
Lady D and I had coffee today. She is looking alot better. Now that chemotherapy is over with, she has a three week break and then its radiation. Honestly, where she gets her courage from I do not know. As I was parking my car after work, I realized the sign warning of oxygen in use was no longer present in my neighbours home. Sadly, she passed away at the age of 28 from ovarian cancer.
Cancer is .... a bitch.
6.4.08
-= & Anti-Grace -=
Just as a measure, a marker, a roadmap to this perceived grace of mine -
Here is an exerpt from a letter from --someone-- in the family referring to La Professional.
You will get the idea REAL fast.
-------------
---> snip
(la professional) is lucky it was not me, I would have torn her apart shred by shred, taking every bit of her credibility, her good name, and left her with nothing. Left in my hands, one of us would have had to leave, and it would not have been me. I would never have let that pathetic, self absorbed, embellished, tacky, classless, transparent, dried up menopautic husk of a woman do to me what she did to him. To be betrayed the way that he was deserved a good old witch burning with witnesses and lots of foul talk being spread, not to mention the odd 'scare' being sent her way.
snip <------
-------------
I love that letter.
It's so.... LITERATE!
Why is evil so very very alluring? I am the evil really. The one who pretends to want grace and yet obviously yearns for something quite different.
Here is an exerpt from a letter from --someone-- in the family referring to La Professional.
You will get the idea REAL fast.
-------------
---> snip
(la professional) is lucky it was not me, I would have torn her apart shred by shred, taking every bit of her credibility, her good name, and left her with nothing. Left in my hands, one of us would have had to leave, and it would not have been me. I would never have let that pathetic, self absorbed, embellished, tacky, classless, transparent, dried up menopautic husk of a woman do to me what she did to him. To be betrayed the way that he was deserved a good old witch burning with witnesses and lots of foul talk being spread, not to mention the odd 'scare' being sent her way.
snip <------
-------------
I love that letter.
It's so.... LITERATE!
Why is evil so very very alluring? I am the evil really. The one who pretends to want grace and yet obviously yearns for something quite different.
- = Grace = -
Today being Sunday, and family being afoot, I thought it would be fun to go to our 
Vancouver lunch haunt - The White Spot. Now we did not brave highways waves and ferries to go there, we opted for the local franchise where we still could order the "Legendary White Spot Platter" and yum yum to that. No matter how old I get the White Spot is the standard by which I measure the tastiness of all hamburgers.
On the wall of the restaurant is a picture from long ago of the original White Spot in it's location at 65th and Granville. We South Vancouverites are well acquainted with it as we used to cut through it's parking lot on our way to David Lloyd George Elementary School - another relic from early Vancouver.
We gave our name and waited for a table as the after church crowd swelled the joint to capacity. I excused myself and went to wash my hands. And who should be sitting at a table for 4 with 3 church goers but (cue evil theme) THE PROFESSIONAL. How lovely to see her looking so very well so botoxed and groomed and dressed to the nines. She lives in my mother's house, the one she saved her entire life for to earn a retirement on the beautiful waterfront of this Island, on my father's money- the money he earned working from the age of 6 for, but, as, Madame Professional likes to say of her gorgeous renovated waterfront home, "She earned it". To my credit I did not accidentally drop something on her head as I walked past nor did I make a remark. I did, however, eat my lunch happily ignoring her.
Grace must be working its magic on me. Slowly.
Very very slowly.
I think I will take flowers to Mom's grave today.
Vancouver lunch haunt - The White Spot. Now we did not brave highways waves and ferries to go there, we opted for the local franchise where we still could order the "Legendary White Spot Platter" and yum yum to that. No matter how old I get the White Spot is the standard by which I measure the tastiness of all hamburgers. On the wall of the restaurant is a picture from long ago of the original White Spot in it's location at 65th and Granville. We South Vancouverites are well acquainted with it as we used to cut through it's parking lot on our way to David Lloyd George Elementary School - another relic from early Vancouver.
We gave our name and waited for a table as the after church crowd swelled the joint to capacity. I excused myself and went to wash my hands. And who should be sitting at a table for 4 with 3 church goers but (cue evil theme) THE PROFESSIONAL. How lovely to see her looking so very well so botoxed and groomed and dressed to the nines. She lives in my mother's house, the one she saved her entire life for to earn a retirement on the beautiful waterfront of this Island, on my father's money- the money he earned working from the age of 6 for, but, as, Madame Professional likes to say of her gorgeous renovated waterfront home, "She earned it". To my credit I did not accidentally drop something on her head as I walked past nor did I make a remark. I did, however, eat my lunch happily ignoring her.
Grace must be working its magic on me. Slowly.
Very very slowly.
I think I will take flowers to Mom's grave today.
2.4.08
My Invitation to the Festivities in Skopje
o
Wish I could be there - -
Perhaps you can go for me?
Just tell them Morg from Ironforge Choppers sent you!
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
.jpg)
Wish I could be there - -
Perhaps you can go for me?
Just tell them Morg from Ironforge Choppers sent you!
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
.jpg)
The Weirdness About Clocks
Remembering back to my childhood is not something I do easily nor well. Because of the injury or at least so I am told, I remember very little about my early life. Many of my memories are really just recordings of stories other people have told me. The few things I do remember are mostly sounds, tactile sensations and smells. The events were secondary to me. I remember clocks because I loved hearing the chimes and the tics and tocs. We had a mantle clock when I was a child but my mother hated it, and never would allow it to be wound. Eventually it just disappeared from the household. Mom had a grudge against time and refused to listen to any device that would measure it. Later in her life when she became obsessed with the acquisition of jewellery, she collected beautiful wrist-watches but she never wore the ones that ticked.
Oddly, I rarely wear a time piece and when I do its generally a pocket watch on a chain. I have a house full of clocks but keep only 4 wound to minimize the annoyance to others. It always seemed very silly to me to pretend to measure time.
Oddly, I rarely wear a time piece and when I do its generally a pocket watch on a chain. I have a house full of clocks but keep only 4 wound to minimize the annoyance to others. It always seemed very silly to me to pretend to measure time.
A First For Me
I quote Wood's Current English Usage:
"GENDER. 'Being myself of the feminine gender, I suppose I should be
favourably disposed towards any proposal which would place women on an equal footing with men.'-From a women's magazine. Incorrect. Gender is a
grammatical term: only words have gender; human beings and other animals have sex."
--------------------------------------*
In my time rolling around the planet, I have met all sorts of people with all sorts of gender identity tags. It does not really matter to me what orientation or origin a person has. It is their life, not mine. Having said that, it is not every day you meet a hermaphrodite.
During my time in the Care Lane, the most difficult of all things is to keep shock from showing on your face or in your attitude. It is only strange once and after that it is the known. The two times I remember struggling to keep myself neutral were upon seeing a person in the latter stages of bile duct cancer (the person was a horrid shade of green) and another person with a growth from their chest wall shaped exactly like a ginger root. As I said, it is only strange the first time.
I hope I do not sound tactless. I really am able to present myself as neutral.
But again, it is not often you attend to a double gendered person.
As Emily would say:
"GENDER. 'Being myself of the feminine gender, I suppose I should be
favourably disposed towards any proposal which would place women on an equal footing with men.'-From a women's magazine. Incorrect. Gender is a
grammatical term: only words have gender; human beings and other animals have sex."
--------------------------------------*
In my time rolling around the planet, I have met all sorts of people with all sorts of gender identity tags. It does not really matter to me what orientation or origin a person has. It is their life, not mine. Having said that, it is not every day you meet a hermaphrodite.
During my time in the Care Lane, the most difficult of all things is to keep shock from showing on your face or in your attitude. It is only strange once and after that it is the known. The two times I remember struggling to keep myself neutral were upon seeing a person in the latter stages of bile duct cancer (the person was a horrid shade of green) and another person with a growth from their chest wall shaped exactly like a ginger root. As I said, it is only strange the first time.
I hope I do not sound tactless. I really am able to present myself as neutral.
But again, it is not often you attend to a double gendered person.
As Emily would say:
1.4.08
My Bad Bad Brain
Keeping the world at bay is one of the things I have learned to be necessary to master. The world does not care about the workings of an uncelebrated mind. If you begin to show distress of the physical or emotional, you are asked to find a way to cope that minimally involves other people. Any variances make people suspect that you may suffer from one of the plethora of anxiety disorders, or possibly a bi-polar illness. Unless you chat up the voices they won't try to make you schizophrenic but that isn't for sure.
No, I am not overly-anxious.
No, I am not mentally ill.
No, I do not have a drug problem.
Yes, I do get pissed off because I have a constant companion. A brain injury.
Peace doesn't last. Not in this world and not within my brain. Continuing to post the stories of the people who entrust me with their most precious gifts- that of their presence in the moment, is one of the things that keeps me centred. Posting about my own true self, and my daily battle with my own brain, is hard but necessary. Before the Internet I had journals. Each New Years Day I ceremoniously burned my journal of the year gone past and considered myself renewed. This ritual and the self congratulatory feelings of making it through another year were important tools for the time.
Adrenilin is my greatest enemy. For some weird chemical reason, my already hyper-sensitive body got stuck on overdrive the day I got struck on the head.
This is only cool when you are a hunter gatherer. It would seem that with this aspect I could have been a rocket rider or a stunt woman, but the companion to nonstop adrenilin is constant exhaustion and the after-effects of same.
I got through my teenage years by drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Being blitzed was the only thing that shut the tornado in my mind up. Back then, I thought all of us, every single person on the planet learned how to wrangle brainstorms.
I did not know any different because I never thought to try to explain the mental chaos. I could see in my mind, myself and my memories, and this cavern of static which was not me but was settled upon me. If I tried to look beyond where the storm was, I would faint. Mostly this happened at night. The amount of alcohol necessary to ignore the storm was just shy of lethal. Luckily, I stopped drinking and started an exploration of holistic alternatives in my twenties. Although it was mostly just an interesting waste of time, it saved my liver. Turns out I needed it!
Describing a brain injury is like trying to breathe on Mars. You need certain tools to make it possible. I am unpossessed of these and continue to try to make sense of something that is utterly irrational. I consider my life to be a huge triumph of will over circumstance. The greatest of all victories is the one of seeming to exist within normal parameters. I pass for a body possessed of an unmedicated untainted brain. My personality comes across as eccentric or so I am told, but my ability to focus utterly and completely on what I am doing in my work outshines the quirks. I have learned to be charming. I have learned not to care what other people say. But I have not learned how to just live a balanced life. I hold it to be within the realm of the possible.
One major side-effect of taking brain medications is weight gain. I have to suck it up for as long as I need to earn my daily bread. A side-effect of weight gain is depression. Not content with gifting me with all these bad-fairy blessings, the Universe also gave me the gift of hyper-sensitivity. This is a fairly common thing that happens to people touched in the head. It means that certain senses become like super powers that you cannot turn off. You have to learn to ignore them. The bugger of it is that the injury wont LET you ignore them so again, you end up taking medication. So---- the upshot is that when you should be out and about enjoying the day is likely when a brainstorm will hit.
I went to the Pool today and forgot my ear plugs. Sounds like a minor inconvenience I am sure. -pound pound pound -
Frequently, I wonder what would have been my life-path without the bonk. There is no gain to an unbridled intellect. My grande focusing skill is only possible with medication. The sad thing is that although I can focus, I loose my brilliance.
My brain whine. My sorrow for what cannot be.
Is it shades of the possible I mourn or just sour grapes?
Many of my preferences and life choices were made to accommodate my injury. No that is a lie. *ALL* of my lifestyle choices were made this way. I have to live small to just live. Every day I open my eyes is a miracle. Odds are that one day I will stroke out at an early age or succumb to an aneurysm. No need to hurry the demise.
But my friends, life is a difficult choice.
-------------------=
When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.
= Tuli Kupferberg
No, I am not overly-anxious.
No, I am not mentally ill.
No, I do not have a drug problem.
Yes, I do get pissed off because I have a constant companion. A brain injury.
Peace doesn't last. Not in this world and not within my brain. Continuing to post the stories of the people who entrust me with their most precious gifts- that of their presence in the moment, is one of the things that keeps me centred. Posting about my own true self, and my daily battle with my own brain, is hard but necessary. Before the Internet I had journals. Each New Years Day I ceremoniously burned my journal of the year gone past and considered myself renewed. This ritual and the self congratulatory feelings of making it through another year were important tools for the time.
Adrenilin is my greatest enemy. For some weird chemical reason, my already hyper-sensitive body got stuck on overdrive the day I got struck on the head.
This is only cool when you are a hunter gatherer. It would seem that with this aspect I could have been a rocket rider or a stunt woman, but the companion to nonstop adrenilin is constant exhaustion and the after-effects of same.
I got through my teenage years by drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Being blitzed was the only thing that shut the tornado in my mind up. Back then, I thought all of us, every single person on the planet learned how to wrangle brainstorms.
I did not know any different because I never thought to try to explain the mental chaos. I could see in my mind, myself and my memories, and this cavern of static which was not me but was settled upon me. If I tried to look beyond where the storm was, I would faint. Mostly this happened at night. The amount of alcohol necessary to ignore the storm was just shy of lethal. Luckily, I stopped drinking and started an exploration of holistic alternatives in my twenties. Although it was mostly just an interesting waste of time, it saved my liver. Turns out I needed it!
Describing a brain injury is like trying to breathe on Mars. You need certain tools to make it possible. I am unpossessed of these and continue to try to make sense of something that is utterly irrational. I consider my life to be a huge triumph of will over circumstance. The greatest of all victories is the one of seeming to exist within normal parameters. I pass for a body possessed of an unmedicated untainted brain. My personality comes across as eccentric or so I am told, but my ability to focus utterly and completely on what I am doing in my work outshines the quirks. I have learned to be charming. I have learned not to care what other people say. But I have not learned how to just live a balanced life. I hold it to be within the realm of the possible.
One major side-effect of taking brain medications is weight gain. I have to suck it up for as long as I need to earn my daily bread. A side-effect of weight gain is depression. Not content with gifting me with all these bad-fairy blessings, the Universe also gave me the gift of hyper-sensitivity. This is a fairly common thing that happens to people touched in the head. It means that certain senses become like super powers that you cannot turn off. You have to learn to ignore them. The bugger of it is that the injury wont LET you ignore them so again, you end up taking medication. So---- the upshot is that when you should be out and about enjoying the day is likely when a brainstorm will hit.
I went to the Pool today and forgot my ear plugs. Sounds like a minor inconvenience I am sure. -pound pound pound -
Frequently, I wonder what would have been my life-path without the bonk. There is no gain to an unbridled intellect. My grande focusing skill is only possible with medication. The sad thing is that although I can focus, I loose my brilliance.
My brain whine. My sorrow for what cannot be.
Is it shades of the possible I mourn or just sour grapes?
Many of my preferences and life choices were made to accommodate my injury. No that is a lie. *ALL* of my lifestyle choices were made this way. I have to live small to just live. Every day I open my eyes is a miracle. Odds are that one day I will stroke out at an early age or succumb to an aneurysm. No need to hurry the demise.
But my friends, life is a difficult choice.
-------------------=
When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.
= Tuli Kupferberg
Nigel's Eggscape
In my INBOX today, was the most amazing picture with a cute little story from my Valentine boyo Nigel. Regular readers will know him as the man I could have-should have married. Many long years ago, we agreed to wait a year and see if we still loved one another as we were also best friends and no one wants to ruin a friendship over mere sex. We had the rock and roll and the kites, the British Motorcycles and the gourmet cooking, and we definitly had the fun but we never had the sex.
So what happened in that year?
Well - lots of personal things that can change the course of a life.
Of course this too is MY fault as I told Nigel to spend the year dating buxom sexy blondes to get it out of his system as I am not a fan of infidelity. Nigel was able to undress a woman from 50 yards by just looking at her. He did not salivate but he was definitely Mr. Wolf. Damn it, it just did not work out well for us. What a bugger of a thing. But he has his Alma and his house and his motorcycles and his amazing diamond-drilling business and I have my daughter. All things considered I believe I got the better end but I sure do miss my friend and all the fun.
So back to the Eggscape-
On the Solstice Nigel doesn't merely balance eggs. Last year it was Egg-henge and this year it is . . .
So what happened in that year?
Well - lots of personal things that can change the course of a life.
Of course this too is MY fault as I told Nigel to spend the year dating buxom sexy blondes to get it out of his system as I am not a fan of infidelity. Nigel was able to undress a woman from 50 yards by just looking at her. He did not salivate but he was definitely Mr. Wolf. Damn it, it just did not work out well for us. What a bugger of a thing. But he has his Alma and his house and his motorcycles and his amazing diamond-drilling business and I have my daughter. All things considered I believe I got the better end but I sure do miss my friend and all the fun.
So back to the Eggscape-
On the Solstice Nigel doesn't merely balance eggs. Last year it was Egg-henge and this year it is . . .
31.3.08
The Magic Mirror
Magic Mirror on the Wall. . . .
The many mirrors of my childhood home were never chanted to, as far as I have heard, but from a tender age I equated mirrors to magic. Benign mirrors are everywhere in our society, fracturing people a million times, a million ways every single day. Once in a great while, you encounter a mirror that you do not want to look into. There was such a mirror in my past, a long time ago in a very old house. It had another mirror directly across from it on the opposing wall. When you glanced in the one, you saw smoky reflections of almost the same room you were in. The other mirror was just a mirror on it's own. I used to RUN past it, rather than look it after the time I saw something not me in it.
My evil twin brother is just a little younger than I am and was raised completely differently than I, HOWEVER we turned out remarkably alike. His hex mirror practically oozed emotion. It sat in his apartment, in a pile of other pictures and mirrors until one night when it spoke to him and OUT it went to the alley. Of course it did not really form words, it just became very noticeable.
Magic is so tricky. One part of our heritage is the damned side. The fey side. The side cursed by alcoholism and mysticism and sometimes madness. This would be the Priestlays - those who made prophetic utterances and those who clutched bibles babbling - they are all of a piece to me. We just tag the word disturbed on it and gloss over it as it is not particularly valuable in this society to be truly fey. Even without a brain injury I knew this!
In the thrift today, a beautiful ancient mirror sat on an easel with a bloody huge price tag. This glorious piece had come in with a large estate - mostly oversized wood furniture and chintz chairs. A clock and this mirror sat together in the boutique section. The mirror had quite a crowd of people around it admiring it - a crowd that included some of the petty flea market dealers who never pay more than $5 for anything *AND* a few of the high end dealers who own posh Antique Shoppes that cater to higher end purchasers.
This mirror was like a rock-star with it's swirl of devotees. It had a SOLD sign on it. The staff said it was put out and sold in about 2 minutes. The same couple bought both pieces. As I was leaving the couple came in to pick it up. They covered the first the clock in heavy blankets and took it gingerly to their car. When they returned for the mirror, they first preened a bit in front of it and they stood basking in congratulations before covering it too in blankets and carefully exiting the store, out to their Van. As they went around the corner to the parking lot the gentleman swore. The damned thing was heavy! He said it again. "Damn this mirror!"
And just like that -it jumped out of his hand and landed on the pavement. The woman, still holding her end went straight into blame mode. They lifted the blanket to survey the damage. The next stop for that mirror was the dumpster. Strange how the mirror would rather die than go home with that man. I bet the clock stays overwound too!
Of course I am just rambling. But such events happen.
And such people as us tend to be around such events when they do.
------------------
“Maturity is that time when the mirrors in our mind turn to windows and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.”
The many mirrors of my childhood home were never chanted to, as far as I have heard, but from a tender age I equated mirrors to magic. Benign mirrors are everywhere in our society, fracturing people a million times, a million ways every single day. Once in a great while, you encounter a mirror that you do not want to look into. There was such a mirror in my past, a long time ago in a very old house. It had another mirror directly across from it on the opposing wall. When you glanced in the one, you saw smoky reflections of almost the same room you were in. The other mirror was just a mirror on it's own. I used to RUN past it, rather than look it after the time I saw something not me in it.
My evil twin brother is just a little younger than I am and was raised completely differently than I, HOWEVER we turned out remarkably alike. His hex mirror practically oozed emotion. It sat in his apartment, in a pile of other pictures and mirrors until one night when it spoke to him and OUT it went to the alley. Of course it did not really form words, it just became very noticeable.
Magic is so tricky. One part of our heritage is the damned side. The fey side. The side cursed by alcoholism and mysticism and sometimes madness. This would be the Priestlays - those who made prophetic utterances and those who clutched bibles babbling - they are all of a piece to me. We just tag the word disturbed on it and gloss over it as it is not particularly valuable in this society to be truly fey. Even without a brain injury I knew this!
In the thrift today, a beautiful ancient mirror sat on an easel with a bloody huge price tag. This glorious piece had come in with a large estate - mostly oversized wood furniture and chintz chairs. A clock and this mirror sat together in the boutique section. The mirror had quite a crowd of people around it admiring it - a crowd that included some of the petty flea market dealers who never pay more than $5 for anything *AND* a few of the high end dealers who own posh Antique Shoppes that cater to higher end purchasers.
This mirror was like a rock-star with it's swirl of devotees. It had a SOLD sign on it. The staff said it was put out and sold in about 2 minutes. The same couple bought both pieces. As I was leaving the couple came in to pick it up. They covered the first the clock in heavy blankets and took it gingerly to their car. When they returned for the mirror, they first preened a bit in front of it and they stood basking in congratulations before covering it too in blankets and carefully exiting the store, out to their Van. As they went around the corner to the parking lot the gentleman swore. The damned thing was heavy! He said it again. "Damn this mirror!"
And just like that -it jumped out of his hand and landed on the pavement. The woman, still holding her end went straight into blame mode. They lifted the blanket to survey the damage. The next stop for that mirror was the dumpster. Strange how the mirror would rather die than go home with that man. I bet the clock stays overwound too!
Of course I am just rambling. But such events happen.
And such people as us tend to be around such events when they do.
------------------
“Maturity is that time when the mirrors in our mind turn to windows and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.”
28.3.08
Things *NOT* to Buy at the Thrift Shoppe
Don't worry, this is not a post about underwear - although it could be I suppose.
It would depend on how impoverished you are and so on....
My usual list of things invisible to me, things I do not buy secondhand goes something like this:
1- Food (Unless using a food bank)
2- Pets ( no no no and NO)
3- Plants (Bugs,and other awfulnesses.)
5- Shoes unless still with price tag intact
There are a few sundry others I cannot think of this moment but you get th jist. Now I have a new addition to this list. Printers! Do not be fooled by the inclusion of install disks and a full ink cartridges. Do not be lured by the low prices.
Just say NO! Proceed to your local retailer and buy one new.
The carnage from this estate -
2 Canons, 2 Epsons, 1 Hewlett Packer, 1 Dell and 1 Brother. - - and this just since I was keeping count. I have gone through the troubleshooter so often I can chant the instructions. BAH.
-------------------*
Thrift is not an affair of the pocket, but an affair of character. ~S.W. Straus
25.3.08
Living on the Small
Having had the big city life, a degree of(in)fame(y), a sizable income and lots of shiny things, at a time in my life when I was least equipped to appreciate it, I look on fortune with a jaundiced eye. Alas had I know then that the small life is what is best for the likes of me. Alas for all such insights that take so long to be made clear.
This week I was visiting a lovely lady who I first met in another incarnation. Her husband was a client long long ago. He called himself a Jeweller but he really was a merchant running a store with some jewellery in it. He had taught himself to repair watchbands and install watchpins, and used his scales to buy old gold. He sent all his repairs to another company I did alot of business with - Trayling and Waters.
Living in this retirement mecca has brought me into contact with 3 people, all strangers to each other, affiliated with Trayling and Waters. Person 1 is the jewellery store people above, Person 2 is the sister in law of one of the principals of that firm, and person #3 was a woman goldsmith, first of her time, working in the factory floor. Interesting how things come together!
Back to the Jewellery store....
The Proprietor had a little jar until the counter which he took to the bank once a month and deposited into a special account. This was the money he made repairing watch bands. That little jar and the money made, are what that lovely old lady is living on all these years later. That was their retirement plan.
Not bad.
She is still living small by most standards, but she is quite all right thank you.
I love her for it all the more.
This week I was visiting a lovely lady who I first met in another incarnation. Her husband was a client long long ago. He called himself a Jeweller but he really was a merchant running a store with some jewellery in it. He had taught himself to repair watchbands and install watchpins, and used his scales to buy old gold. He sent all his repairs to another company I did alot of business with - Trayling and Waters.
Living in this retirement mecca has brought me into contact with 3 people, all strangers to each other, affiliated with Trayling and Waters. Person 1 is the jewellery store people above, Person 2 is the sister in law of one of the principals of that firm, and person #3 was a woman goldsmith, first of her time, working in the factory floor. Interesting how things come together!
Back to the Jewellery store....
The Proprietor had a little jar until the counter which he took to the bank once a month and deposited into a special account. This was the money he made repairing watch bands. That little jar and the money made, are what that lovely old lady is living on all these years later. That was their retirement plan.
Not bad.
She is still living small by most standards, but she is quite all right thank you.
I love her for it all the more.
22.3.08
Getting real
Murphy's Law dictated that my car turn on every possible trouble light the week that there was no extra anything around my place. It can be disheartening.
Sometimes, when things seem bleak, expenses high, and income low, I cast my mind to the reminiscences of dear Oline. 93 years old, Oline lived through the dirty 30's but assured me the worst times were in the 40's. She said there was no work to be had anywhere. She left her baby with her mother and took her older son, as her husband loaded up their elderly truck and went looking for work down-Island.
The little family found a sweet wooded spot along the Gorge and pitched their tent.
The husband found a job on the waterfront directing traffic. Unfortunately, after only a week on the job, his leg was run over by one of the machines. He hitched a ride from the hospital to the Gorge, only to find a Policeman waiting.
"You are on private property. You'll have to move on."
The little family folded their tent, packed their possessions, and drove back to where they had started. They pitched that tent on Mom's property, but of course she made them come inside even though she only had 4 rooms.
Eventually things leveled out for them and work was found.
I have a home. I have a steady job. I have food in my cupboard.
Not even close.
Sometimes, when things seem bleak, expenses high, and income low, I cast my mind to the reminiscences of dear Oline. 93 years old, Oline lived through the dirty 30's but assured me the worst times were in the 40's. She said there was no work to be had anywhere. She left her baby with her mother and took her older son, as her husband loaded up their elderly truck and went looking for work down-Island.
The little family found a sweet wooded spot along the Gorge and pitched their tent.
The husband found a job on the waterfront directing traffic. Unfortunately, after only a week on the job, his leg was run over by one of the machines. He hitched a ride from the hospital to the Gorge, only to find a Policeman waiting.
"You are on private property. You'll have to move on."
The little family folded their tent, packed their possessions, and drove back to where they had started. They pitched that tent on Mom's property, but of course she made them come inside even though she only had 4 rooms.
Eventually things leveled out for them and work was found.
I have a home. I have a steady job. I have food in my cupboard.
Not even close.
20.3.08
Testing the Limits
It has always been easier for me to deal with female clients then male. It should not matter -however- a few experiences with men with poor judgment have honed my voodoo instincts. Treating everyone alike has always been my way- providing the same level of care to the rich and poor, the mentally, emotionally and physically ill, those with HIV-AIDS and the common cold. It is important to me to uphold that credo, so it annoys me with my voodoo radar goes off and my guard goes way way up.
This is an embarrassing thing to have to admit, but for some reason men in their 90's absolutely love me. Most of them are very gentlemanly, but some, believe it or not, get a little overly physical. Usually its a hug they want, or a kiss, or some other seemingly benign request. Let me assure you it is not benign. It is really uncomfortable. If this was my own time and private clients, I am very vocal and somewhat chilly, but on the Government's dime, I find it hard. In my mind I am thinking about how I exacerbated the situation. It is not ny favourite ponderance.
The gentleman in question that prompted this post is 94. I am not really there for him, I am there for his wife. He all but physically stops me from going to her, trying to get me to sit and drink tea with him. She has been on a downward roll and says the things that my own Grama used to say to me. "Don't get old, my dear, and if you do, stop before 90".
Her husband has forgotten to remove her nitro patch, again. He does remember to give her medication at the right time, but clearly they are both in the last glimmerings of independance. His inability to see the purpose of my visit is indication enough of this. But its sad.
As I leave he is still trying to grab my arm and get my attention, and then as I am out and going down the stairs he smiles and says: I didnt brush my teeth yet or I would kiss you goodbye.
All the training in the world, all the boundaries you learn to keep in place and all the proactive solutions you can dream of do not make these moments any easier. For me, I find the best solution for these things is to send someone else. A man preferably. After all this man is in his own home, not in a hospital or care home. As judgement declines, he really believes he is being pleasant and appropriate.
--sigh-
This is an embarrassing thing to have to admit, but for some reason men in their 90's absolutely love me. Most of them are very gentlemanly, but some, believe it or not, get a little overly physical. Usually its a hug they want, or a kiss, or some other seemingly benign request. Let me assure you it is not benign. It is really uncomfortable. If this was my own time and private clients, I am very vocal and somewhat chilly, but on the Government's dime, I find it hard. In my mind I am thinking about how I exacerbated the situation. It is not ny favourite ponderance.
The gentleman in question that prompted this post is 94. I am not really there for him, I am there for his wife. He all but physically stops me from going to her, trying to get me to sit and drink tea with him. She has been on a downward roll and says the things that my own Grama used to say to me. "Don't get old, my dear, and if you do, stop before 90".
Her husband has forgotten to remove her nitro patch, again. He does remember to give her medication at the right time, but clearly they are both in the last glimmerings of independance. His inability to see the purpose of my visit is indication enough of this. But its sad.
As I leave he is still trying to grab my arm and get my attention, and then as I am out and going down the stairs he smiles and says: I didnt brush my teeth yet or I would kiss you goodbye.
All the training in the world, all the boundaries you learn to keep in place and all the proactive solutions you can dream of do not make these moments any easier. For me, I find the best solution for these things is to send someone else. A man preferably. After all this man is in his own home, not in a hospital or care home. As judgement declines, he really believes he is being pleasant and appropriate.
--sigh-
18.3.08
Ray-gun
There is a school for kids not tailored for the regular system located by the new Starbucks. There are those who want to learn but have trouble doing it the traditional way, and there are those who are enrolled because it is forced on them. Frequently, small gaggles of these teens walk the sidestreets or lounge on the grass, smoking. As I cruise past I try not to judge harshly as I too, once lounged on grasses smoking instead of sitting bored in a classroom.
A week or so ago, I drove past a group of red-eyed sneering boys. They smirked at my car and then one of them raised his arm. A flash of a red laser managed to find my left eye. Whether coincidence or consequence that eye has been misbehaving to the extent that dark rooms and cool cloths are my only solace.
Bugger it.
A week or so ago, I drove past a group of red-eyed sneering boys. They smirked at my car and then one of them raised his arm. A flash of a red laser managed to find my left eye. Whether coincidence or consequence that eye has been misbehaving to the extent that dark rooms and cool cloths are my only solace.
Bugger it.
14.3.08
Just Ducky
The time-honoured way of gaining access to a secure building is to ring the bell, pound on the door or buzz the intercom. In the adult-living environment, it is deemed most important to deny entry to any disreputable sorts loitering about for no good reason. In our storied area, with the whiff of money so fresh on the wind, who comes and goes is surveyed with a jaundiced eye by the residents of the Dead End Hotel.
Now that, my friends, is a less than charitable metaphor to describe Assisted Living buildings. A kinder one does not occur to me so it shall suffice. I could have called it the Prison for Old Ladies Ala Nancy O but the D-E shall suffice.
Today at the front entry to the D-E a small spectacle is taking place. In the vestibule, I stand shouting into the intercom. A group has assembled behind me also waiting to gain entry. My conversation, started in clear measured tones, has disintegrated to me shouting one word at a time to my intended client. Yes, she is deaf as a post. She does have hearing aids but does not deign to put them in to merely converse with unspecified callers.
I give up and wait for one of the people behind to gain entry and slip in. A sharp eyed gentlewoman pushes her walker into my path and asks me if I have valid business here. I side-step here with a smile and flash my badge, wishing it said F.B.I.
After nodding at the concierge, I sprint up two flights of stairs and down the long hall to my destination just in time to witness my client locking her door and heading out for a walk.
----------
How many possible answers are there to the following question asked after introducing myself?
"Can you buzz me in please?"
- no she isnt here yet. (click)
- no, I told you, no one has come yet. (louder click)
- no, I cant understand you. What do you want anyway?
- Yes? (no click)
- Yes? (again) Are you in the hall? (pause) No you are not in the hall. (click)
- I dont buy anything over the phone. (definite click)
- oh- did you want me to buzz you in? Yes? All right then. (click)
- All right I am buzzing you in this time. I press six don't I? (the clear buzz of a nine being pressed)
- Nine you say? Nine what? For heavens sake speak up.
---
Believe it or not this woman has someone in every morning. How new can it be?
Now that, my friends, is a less than charitable metaphor to describe Assisted Living buildings. A kinder one does not occur to me so it shall suffice. I could have called it the Prison for Old Ladies Ala Nancy O but the D-E shall suffice.
Today at the front entry to the D-E a small spectacle is taking place. In the vestibule, I stand shouting into the intercom. A group has assembled behind me also waiting to gain entry. My conversation, started in clear measured tones, has disintegrated to me shouting one word at a time to my intended client. Yes, she is deaf as a post. She does have hearing aids but does not deign to put them in to merely converse with unspecified callers.
I give up and wait for one of the people behind to gain entry and slip in. A sharp eyed gentlewoman pushes her walker into my path and asks me if I have valid business here. I side-step here with a smile and flash my badge, wishing it said F.B.I.
After nodding at the concierge, I sprint up two flights of stairs and down the long hall to my destination just in time to witness my client locking her door and heading out for a walk.
----------
How many possible answers are there to the following question asked after introducing myself?
"Can you buzz me in please?"
- no she isnt here yet. (click)
- no, I told you, no one has come yet. (louder click)
- no, I cant understand you. What do you want anyway?
- Yes? (no click)
- Yes? (again) Are you in the hall? (pause) No you are not in the hall. (click)
- I dont buy anything over the phone. (definite click)
- oh- did you want me to buzz you in? Yes? All right then. (click)
- All right I am buzzing you in this time. I press six don't I? (the clear buzz of a nine being pressed)
- Nine you say? Nine what? For heavens sake speak up.
---
Believe it or not this woman has someone in every morning. How new can it be?
12.3.08
Cockle Shells
It was a very boring meeting. The speaker was not at fault as he was brought in to make a presentation of a specific topic and so he did it admirably. It just happens that I was present only as a show of respect for the work he did on behalf of us all.
Somewhere between the overview and the conclusion I noticed a buzz in my brain.
This is always the harbinger of trouble ahead. Looking for a trigger in hopes of delaying the coming storm, I turn my mind inward and so miss the one thing that is bothering me on a subliminal level. It is the carpet in this meeting room - a horrid red and green that has an effect of flashing my brain like a strobe light.
To get through I close my eyes then open and focus on the speakers hair, Not good enough but better. By the time he finishes and I wait through the question period, my brain is on fire. I make it out the door and down the stairs with a minimum of fuss. Home and a dark room help to dim the cockle shell to the ear buzz that screams behind each thought as a background. Not good. Not good at all.
Waiting for the whirl to tornado away, it comes to me why I no longer work in management or indeed anything or anywhere that I might encounter noise or visual triggers. Mental carnage. Sonic roadkill of the mind. Neural fodder.
How can you tell people that random events might send you off into the twilight for a few minutes? What can you do to justify the sudden and very real need to leave and lay down? It is not easy to balance needs of the damaged mind with the real world.
Communication trouble irritates me more than anything.
Heck I am still mad at the techies who flashed the lights at me during last years show triggering a minute of surreality and a very real seizure in full view of the audience. To them it just seemed I had an attack of nerves. To me, it was a searing brand that took days to dull.
Just when I think it is behind me, a little reminder from life to remind me of my limitations.
Somewhere between the overview and the conclusion I noticed a buzz in my brain.
This is always the harbinger of trouble ahead. Looking for a trigger in hopes of delaying the coming storm, I turn my mind inward and so miss the one thing that is bothering me on a subliminal level. It is the carpet in this meeting room - a horrid red and green that has an effect of flashing my brain like a strobe light.
To get through I close my eyes then open and focus on the speakers hair, Not good enough but better. By the time he finishes and I wait through the question period, my brain is on fire. I make it out the door and down the stairs with a minimum of fuss. Home and a dark room help to dim the cockle shell to the ear buzz that screams behind each thought as a background. Not good. Not good at all.
Waiting for the whirl to tornado away, it comes to me why I no longer work in management or indeed anything or anywhere that I might encounter noise or visual triggers. Mental carnage. Sonic roadkill of the mind. Neural fodder.
How can you tell people that random events might send you off into the twilight for a few minutes? What can you do to justify the sudden and very real need to leave and lay down? It is not easy to balance needs of the damaged mind with the real world.
Communication trouble irritates me more than anything.
Heck I am still mad at the techies who flashed the lights at me during last years show triggering a minute of surreality and a very real seizure in full view of the audience. To them it just seemed I had an attack of nerves. To me, it was a searing brand that took days to dull.
Just when I think it is behind me, a little reminder from life to remind me of my limitations.
11.3.08
A Stable Clientelle
Any time, indeed every time I hear myself remarking on how stable my client list is I remember with a start what lays ahead. It means change looms imminently, and so I brace myself, hoping not to be too jarred by the tremors.
My list was stable. Two days a week every person I visited was well into their nineties. The same three ladies, my pretty maids all in a row, were on those days, one at a time of course. It was such an honour to stand in their company. I was the suckling pig, nursing wit and wisdom hungrily.
One tumbled and broke in three places. Her convalescence in a nursing home did not suit and she let go. One caught the flu and the flu caught her and away they flew together to neverland. The third, adamant that she would stay in her own home until the very end, heaved a great sigh, her last sigh and sank with a smile back unto her pillow, while in the other room her children noisily commented on what a burden Mother was. As that last breath exited her lungs, that smile, and the twinkle in her eyes was dazzling for an everlasting moment. I tucked her in and went home.
Change, she blows hard and we all bow down.
My list was stable. Two days a week every person I visited was well into their nineties. The same three ladies, my pretty maids all in a row, were on those days, one at a time of course. It was such an honour to stand in their company. I was the suckling pig, nursing wit and wisdom hungrily.
One tumbled and broke in three places. Her convalescence in a nursing home did not suit and she let go. One caught the flu and the flu caught her and away they flew together to neverland. The third, adamant that she would stay in her own home until the very end, heaved a great sigh, her last sigh and sank with a smile back unto her pillow, while in the other room her children noisily commented on what a burden Mother was. As that last breath exited her lungs, that smile, and the twinkle in her eyes was dazzling for an everlasting moment. I tucked her in and went home.
Change, she blows hard and we all bow down.
10.3.08
Shimmer -
So often in our journeys temporal, Zeez looks past the obvious, to the inner tugs on the souls so embraced by her rememories. Today it is Esther who shimmers into view.
Esther who had no challenge by privilege of birth; Esther who made a very good marriage and had three beautiful children; Esther whose tapestry strands Zeez is unraveling for me. I am seeing in glorious detail. Just the strands, mind you.
Now this puzzle is gaining shape. Zeez is still struggling to find the great king piece that will allow me to see Esther as she does.
At last she looks right into my eyes and announces jubilantly:
"Her challenge was this - - -"
-and I learn -
what Zeez learned from the pains of another. In so naming she dispels yet another demon for me or at least shows me the secret to so dispel.
Greater love has no man that he would lay down his life for another.
Zeez' laying down is her act of the greatest love.
Esther who had no challenge by privilege of birth; Esther who made a very good marriage and had three beautiful children; Esther whose tapestry strands Zeez is unraveling for me. I am seeing in glorious detail. Just the strands, mind you.
Now this puzzle is gaining shape. Zeez is still struggling to find the great king piece that will allow me to see Esther as she does.
At last she looks right into my eyes and announces jubilantly:
"Her challenge was this - - -"
-and I learn -
what Zeez learned from the pains of another. In so naming she dispels yet another demon for me or at least shows me the secret to so dispel.
Greater love has no man that he would lay down his life for another.
Zeez' laying down is her act of the greatest love.
9.3.08
Novembering
Its a grey day better suited for November. But it is March.
My break falls now, at 07:30 no less, and I am sitting sipping hot chocolate at the beach.
The dawn is grey.
As are the skies.
In the bay, the herring fleet is a flotilla of ghost ships. Even the wheeling gulls are colourless on this morning. Where is Spring?
My break falls now, at 07:30 no less, and I am sitting sipping hot chocolate at the beach.
The dawn is grey.
As are the skies.
In the bay, the herring fleet is a flotilla of ghost ships. Even the wheeling gulls are colourless on this morning. Where is Spring?
8.3.08
"I'm trying to be cranky here"
She was sitting in her big chair looking annoyed. I suppose I sang out my usual cheery greeting and with great effort she retained her scowl.
"What's with the look?" I asked.
"I am trying to be cranky here", she said, "and you spoiled it!"
"There is always tomorrow", said I and we both laughed before getting into her time machine and journeying back to the 70s.
But that, is for another time.
"What's with the look?" I asked.
"I am trying to be cranky here", she said, "and you spoiled it!"
"There is always tomorrow", said I and we both laughed before getting into her time machine and journeying back to the 70s.
But that, is for another time.
7.3.08
6.3.08
Goodbye Frank
For a few months I had been whirling about rattling cages trying to find out where the Scribe went without having to call his wife and ask. Today I bump into an older woman while paying for my gasoline purchase. It is of course Franks wife.
Yes she say, he is gone. He was in a private care facility for his last year. It was a good experince for them both and now he is gone she has sold the house and is moving back to the right coast to be with her family. It is a good moment we share before I continue my day and she her lifetime.
Goodbye Frank.
There is a little bit of your wit and wisdom in each of us privileged to share your journey.
Yes she say, he is gone. He was in a private care facility for his last year. It was a good experince for them both and now he is gone she has sold the house and is moving back to the right coast to be with her family. It is a good moment we share before I continue my day and she her lifetime.
Goodbye Frank.
There is a little bit of your wit and wisdom in each of us privileged to share your journey.
5.3.08
The Shuffle
Its sort of like the old disco dance the Hustle. A few jerky movements this way and that in a pattern and repeat! The dance we do is a strange one. We do not recognise the dance until we recognize the pattern, and that, generally. after the fact.
Just a month or so ago I was musing about how Mondays were my very special day with all of my clients being well in their 90s, and all happily living at home, mostly independently. Enter the shuffle. Two in hospital, one recently deceased, and now it is a new Monday of new people and new things.
Buggerit all anyway.
Just a month or so ago I was musing about how Mondays were my very special day with all of my clients being well in their 90s, and all happily living at home, mostly independently. Enter the shuffle. Two in hospital, one recently deceased, and now it is a new Monday of new people and new things.
Buggerit all anyway.
1.3.08
A Westmont girl
--------->Time travelling with my dear Zeez is a favourite pursuit of mine. We sit ignoring the storm hurling waves at her front windows sipping cocoa and chatting about the long ago.
Her long ago is now my long ago thanks to all the time travelling we do.
Today we are in Montreal of the late 1920s, early 1930s.
Zeez is not coping well with school at all. Fortunatly her mother has twigged to this and is sending her to a private girls academy where she can make a more sedate try at things. Before she goes she has a little tete a tete with the art mistress who has seen in Zeez a beautiful mind, and more to the point, a fellow lover of artists.
The teacher takes Zeez to a little storage room where she has stashed her special folios. She gives Zeez a sheaf of papers to look at. And what do you know?
Norma Shearer was a Westmont girl.
The Art Mistress has preserved Norma Shearers high school efforts because she saw in her a beautiful mind headed for better things. I tell Zeez she is my Norma Shearer
The Westmont girl. And I mean it.
Her long ago is now my long ago thanks to all the time travelling we do.
Today we are in Montreal of the late 1920s, early 1930s.
Zeez is not coping well with school at all. Fortunatly her mother has twigged to this and is sending her to a private girls academy where she can make a more sedate try at things. Before she goes she has a little tete a tete with the art mistress who has seen in Zeez a beautiful mind, and more to the point, a fellow lover of artists.
The teacher takes Zeez to a little storage room where she has stashed her special folios. She gives Zeez a sheaf of papers to look at. And what do you know?
Norma Shearer was a Westmont girl.
The Art Mistress has preserved Norma Shearers high school efforts because she saw in her a beautiful mind headed for better things. I tell Zeez she is my Norma Shearer
The Westmont girl. And I mean it.
28.2.08
26.2.08
A Baaaad Feeling
I have a bad feeling about this.
My dear friend the Lady Diana is on her 4th of 6 chemotherapy treatments.
Her treatment is changed now and a new drug/poison is coursing thro' her veins.
The side effect this time is muscle pain and general achey-ness. The nasties have been amplified by an evil flu bug taken residence in her home. Having kids in school is a risk right there. Alas the flu has got her in it's grip. Last week when her eldest came down with the flu she could not hear me when I suggested she go stay at her parents. This week she has decided this must be the answer should this happen again.
And the bad feeling?
I am rubbing bright red eyes and feeling every bone in my body.
-sigh-
My dear friend the Lady Diana is on her 4th of 6 chemotherapy treatments.
Her treatment is changed now and a new drug/poison is coursing thro' her veins.
The side effect this time is muscle pain and general achey-ness. The nasties have been amplified by an evil flu bug taken residence in her home. Having kids in school is a risk right there. Alas the flu has got her in it's grip. Last week when her eldest came down with the flu she could not hear me when I suggested she go stay at her parents. This week she has decided this must be the answer should this happen again.
And the bad feeling?
I am rubbing bright red eyes and feeling every bone in my body.
-sigh-
24.2.08
Things of Import
At meetings we discuss matters deemed to be of importance.
Sometimes the irony factor outweighs all.
My favourite ironic moment was years ago when the concern au jour was a clients drinking habits. Shame on the client for taking control of her own life and boozing it up! Of course it was an older woman client that was of such grave concern that it warranted 30 mins of a regional meeting, and not the much older man in the same area who routinely swilled down his medications with a double scotch.
It set the stage for me.
This time around we are concerned about fleas in a household.
Just the one household mind you, where we are taking charge of the flea situation. The other thousand homes we enter with cleansliness issues from rats to bears we are overlooking. But ooo ahh to the fleas.
Sometimes the irony factor outweighs all.
My favourite ironic moment was years ago when the concern au jour was a clients drinking habits. Shame on the client for taking control of her own life and boozing it up! Of course it was an older woman client that was of such grave concern that it warranted 30 mins of a regional meeting, and not the much older man in the same area who routinely swilled down his medications with a double scotch.
It set the stage for me.
This time around we are concerned about fleas in a household.
Just the one household mind you, where we are taking charge of the flea situation. The other thousand homes we enter with cleansliness issues from rats to bears we are overlooking. But ooo ahh to the fleas.
20.2.08
Things to remember
Note to self:
perceived versus concrete
Difference between the right to refuse and the requirement to report
The happy bright things that people think appropriate to say when not seeing the point
Having someone you care about in Iraq
Dreaming in colour
16 year old madness!
and other things discussed
At last being in a meeting with predominantly pro health people who say what they mean.
huzzah
dont forget p
perceived versus concrete
Difference between the right to refuse and the requirement to report
The happy bright things that people think appropriate to say when not seeing the point
Having someone you care about in Iraq
Dreaming in colour
16 year old madness!
and other things discussed
At last being in a meeting with predominantly pro health people who say what they mean.
huzzah
dont forget p
Not a Mystic
Perhaps in former or parallel lives I am atop a mountain contemplating, or healing with my mighty mind always on the side of light and love, but I am no mystic. An intuitive yes.
Someone I enjoy reading is Carolyn Myss; particularly the "Anatomy of the Spirit". Today I picked up "Sacred Contracts".
Altho I take issue with some of Ms. Myss' credentials, (not that it would matter to her), she does have some wisdom to impart.
Someone I enjoy reading is Carolyn Myss; particularly the "Anatomy of the Spirit". Today I picked up "Sacred Contracts".
Altho I take issue with some of Ms. Myss' credentials, (not that it would matter to her), she does have some wisdom to impart.
18.2.08
Seduced by the Dark Side
I succumbed to the lure of 3 tier cable television.
I later succumbed to hooking up my mini television UPSTAIRS in my sanctuary.
Being evil feels good.
Oh dear.
I later succumbed to hooking up my mini television UPSTAIRS in my sanctuary.
Being evil feels good.
Oh dear.
13.2.08
Valentines Day
Happy V day.
-------
>
My inbox contained a Valentine from my diamond, - my motorocycle riding kite building longtime crush.
Life is strange. I long ago gave up trying to make sense of things. Somw of the best times I ever had were in the company of my diamond. The bugger of this all is that timing is everything.
---
Pressies to me:
My tiny little condo is now home to cable television. To celebrate I went out to buy a big ass tv. Being cheap, I bought a 37" Sony trinitron from the thrift. Weighs a ton. Works great. And did not fit into the corner built in. Naturally.
------------
Oops -
Lady D came over to help me connect up my new little furnace that Dad bought me. Its a Sun Cloud and it is not really difficult to set up= it is more that I get freaked out when assembling things electrical. After we got it working Diana decided to put the wheels on my other closed oil type electrical heater - oops. 3 out of 4 are broken.
-------
>
-------
>My inbox contained a Valentine from my diamond, - my motorocycle riding kite building longtime crush.
Life is strange. I long ago gave up trying to make sense of things. Somw of the best times I ever had were in the company of my diamond. The bugger of this all is that timing is everything.
---
Pressies to me:
My tiny little condo is now home to cable television. To celebrate I went out to buy a big ass tv. Being cheap, I bought a 37" Sony trinitron from the thrift. Weighs a ton. Works great. And did not fit into the corner built in. Naturally.
------------
Oops -
Lady D came over to help me connect up my new little furnace that Dad bought me. Its a Sun Cloud and it is not really difficult to set up= it is more that I get freaked out when assembling things electrical. After we got it working Diana decided to put the wheels on my other closed oil type electrical heater - oops. 3 out of 4 are broken.
-------
>
12.2.08
Progress ?
Tucker and I walk in the darkness of the early morning. Being myopic I see only the walkway. The building site preparations up the street from me continue and as I drive past on the way home I notice it looking more residential and less and less parklike.
This morning I walked up the way in the full morning light only to see a large machine ripping trees out of the ground and chewing them up. The nice stand of everygreens along the perimeter that we had thought safe are being taken out one at a time.
Overhead there are dozens of birds flapping about trying to figure out where to go.
All the local trees are already taken. It is a sad thing to witness.
--sigh
This morning I walked up the way in the full morning light only to see a large machine ripping trees out of the ground and chewing them up. The nice stand of everygreens along the perimeter that we had thought safe are being taken out one at a time.
Overhead there are dozens of birds flapping about trying to figure out where to go.
All the local trees are already taken. It is a sad thing to witness.
--sigh
10.2.08
From the Beach - early morning post
Ahead of schedule. Oh those devout Catholics! Off to early mass almost before I can finish my little morning task. '
My sheltering cedar is two trees down from the eagle tree where this morning a crow and gull share the top branch. It is daylight - barely. The waves lap deceptively gentle against the driftwood. I don't believe them. A band of pink eastward across the visible Islands indicates something other than dawn.
My tree stands just between the sidewalk stroll and the parking. One particular Kayak rental company somehow coerced the Town into designating two spaces here. This seems hardly fair as this is PUBLIC parking on PUBLIC land and they are not the only Kayak company in town.
The crows finally give up on any crumbs being flung from this vehicle but I know if I but open my car door to stand for a moment two dozen gulls will magically appear, greedily hoping. Sorry boys. Not today.
Sometimes a seal plays in the shallows, more often ducks and shorebird glide in groups 100 feet offshore. It feels like Spring beckons and I am part of it. A month or so from now the herring fleet will share the bay with a few barking sea lions. For now it is just the waves.
Now comes the gentleman who walks past my car every Sunday at this time. I see him looking in trying to figure out what I am sitting here doing. In the summertime my uniform and government ID badge show but in the winter I am just some broad sitting at the beach alone in the early morning. I like watching. Walking the stroll does not quite appeal to me before noon.
Our stroll showcases this community. Up the hill the Village sits with it's faux English countryside appeal. The quaintness belies the incredible inaffordability for the average person here to own an average home. It is of no concern to the residents, this has always been an elitist community. No chain stores and very limited beachfront developement. My little city that sits next door is losing the water views to massive development of luxury condos. In five years it will be another Palm Beach or Malibu. Perhaps it already is.
This morning however, the beach is still free. And my illusions are preserved for a little longer. One more glass flower to cut.
My sheltering cedar is two trees down from the eagle tree where this morning a crow and gull share the top branch. It is daylight - barely. The waves lap deceptively gentle against the driftwood. I don't believe them. A band of pink eastward across the visible Islands indicates something other than dawn.
My tree stands just between the sidewalk stroll and the parking. One particular Kayak rental company somehow coerced the Town into designating two spaces here. This seems hardly fair as this is PUBLIC parking on PUBLIC land and they are not the only Kayak company in town.
The crows finally give up on any crumbs being flung from this vehicle but I know if I but open my car door to stand for a moment two dozen gulls will magically appear, greedily hoping. Sorry boys. Not today.
Sometimes a seal plays in the shallows, more often ducks and shorebird glide in groups 100 feet offshore. It feels like Spring beckons and I am part of it. A month or so from now the herring fleet will share the bay with a few barking sea lions. For now it is just the waves.
Now comes the gentleman who walks past my car every Sunday at this time. I see him looking in trying to figure out what I am sitting here doing. In the summertime my uniform and government ID badge show but in the winter I am just some broad sitting at the beach alone in the early morning. I like watching. Walking the stroll does not quite appeal to me before noon.
Our stroll showcases this community. Up the hill the Village sits with it's faux English countryside appeal. The quaintness belies the incredible inaffordability for the average person here to own an average home. It is of no concern to the residents, this has always been an elitist community. No chain stores and very limited beachfront developement. My little city that sits next door is losing the water views to massive development of luxury condos. In five years it will be another Palm Beach or Malibu. Perhaps it already is.
This morning however, the beach is still free. And my illusions are preserved for a little longer. One more glass flower to cut.
8.2.08
God Bless Hospice
After posting that terrible sad story of a woman dying alone it seems only right to insert in this place a cudo for Hospice.
The person who made the call trying to ensure that someone connected to the dying woman be present at her end was clearly a Hospice person. I too am a Hospice person. I too believe that no person should die alone, or in pain, should they so desire.
God bless Hospice for all that they do all over the world. All those who work and volunteer and all who take training with a Hospice society.
God bless you all.
----------
People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in; their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within. - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
The person who made the call trying to ensure that someone connected to the dying woman be present at her end was clearly a Hospice person. I too am a Hospice person. I too believe that no person should die alone, or in pain, should they so desire.
God bless Hospice for all that they do all over the world. All those who work and volunteer and all who take training with a Hospice society.
God bless you all.
----------
People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in; their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within. - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
THE MOST EVIL WOMAN ! (all caps)
THE most evil woman who ever lived.
The correct quote was:
"She was the wickedest woman I ever met. THE MOST EVIL ! She was mean and nasty and manipulative and utterly horrible."
Imagine embuing someone with that title.
Those sweeping statements of the absolute make my blood chill.
Admittedly people are at their worst when I meet them professionally, but it has been my experience that most people are pretty nice under the skin. A few prickles on top for some, but scratch a little deeper and generally there is decency. The exceptions tend to be those in severe pain. Mental, emotional or physical.
Funny thing about that awful wicked woman - I knew her fairly well.
Difficult - yes.
Strong-minded - yes.
Domineering - yes.
But evil? That is in God's skill set not mine. I am a strong believer in:
"As you judge so will you be judged."
It seems like an apt companion to the Golden Rule by my measure.
In a small town like mine, even with mass immigration of the wealthy newly retired, people know each other or know OF each other. The woman telling me this was a friend ( or so I thought) of a former elderly infirm client of mine. She was a tough old bird - 92 in a wheelchair and just a hair over 350 pounds. I knew this because the sling we used that had a maximum load of 350 broke under her.
Now comes the tragic bit of this tale.
The woman doing the telling told me with great animation how the facility in which Madame Wicked lived called her as her only next of kin/friend on record to tell her that death was imminent. They wanted to know if this woman would come and sit with her as she met her end. To their credit they told her that it was their policy that no person die alone.
And she said:
"I am not losing one moment's sleep over her. Trust me, she wants to die alone. If you or one of the Nurses want to sit with her so be it but I wont be shedding a tear."
How angry do you have to be to say those words?
Or to repeat the story?
Once again I reiterate:
Our resentments will kill us.
------------ +
Never mind Mrs. S. You were a righteous shit at times but I liked you.
The correct quote was:
"She was the wickedest woman I ever met. THE MOST EVIL ! She was mean and nasty and manipulative and utterly horrible."
Imagine embuing someone with that title.
Those sweeping statements of the absolute make my blood chill.
Admittedly people are at their worst when I meet them professionally, but it has been my experience that most people are pretty nice under the skin. A few prickles on top for some, but scratch a little deeper and generally there is decency. The exceptions tend to be those in severe pain. Mental, emotional or physical.
Funny thing about that awful wicked woman - I knew her fairly well.
Difficult - yes.
Strong-minded - yes.
Domineering - yes.
But evil? That is in God's skill set not mine. I am a strong believer in:
"As you judge so will you be judged."
It seems like an apt companion to the Golden Rule by my measure.
In a small town like mine, even with mass immigration of the wealthy newly retired, people know each other or know OF each other. The woman telling me this was a friend ( or so I thought) of a former elderly infirm client of mine. She was a tough old bird - 92 in a wheelchair and just a hair over 350 pounds. I knew this because the sling we used that had a maximum load of 350 broke under her.
Now comes the tragic bit of this tale.
The woman doing the telling told me with great animation how the facility in which Madame Wicked lived called her as her only next of kin/friend on record to tell her that death was imminent. They wanted to know if this woman would come and sit with her as she met her end. To their credit they told her that it was their policy that no person die alone.
And she said:
"I am not losing one moment's sleep over her. Trust me, she wants to die alone. If you or one of the Nurses want to sit with her so be it but I wont be shedding a tear."
How angry do you have to be to say those words?
Or to repeat the story?
Once again I reiterate:
Our resentments will kill us.
------------ +
Never mind Mrs. S. You were a righteous shit at times but I liked you.
7.2.08
A Tylenol Post
Dental work of any kind makes my head hurt. This weeks root canal is still thundering i my head. It hurts!
In the words of Spooner I am a Witty Shiner.
In the words of Spooner I am a Witty Shiner.
6.2.08
Rollin' rollin 'rollin' -OR- How Bess lost her Nerves
Bess is in her early nineties. We see each other one to four times a week. Bess is a Islander born and bred. She was born in Nanaimo and worked her early years at home with her father, clearing the land. By hand mostly.
When Bess got a bit older she was snapped up by the love of her life and lived happily up and down the Island as work went. Work did not go much for many years in spite of the forestry and fishing industries. Jobs were hard to get and temporary in nature.
Housing was sometimes a tent pitched on Crown Land. Finally things settled down a bit and her husband found a more permanent job. They negotiated with the holder of a tree license to build a cabin near the logging road just outside the woods. As long as the home was on skids, they could do it.
Bess talks about going to the lumber yards and buying "B" grade lumber by the truckload for $5 per. She and her man built their cabin for a grande total of $95.00 . It sat about 30 feet back from the road, at the start of on upslope of a big hill. One of the charms was a huge boulder 9 feet long and 2 1/2 feet high that sat in their front yard as a natural boundary. Her two tiny sons would run their toy cars along it as she gardened.
Bess and her family knew every one of the truckers that went past their place. They could watch the loaded trucks as they came down the big hill. Loaded in those days meant some first growth superlogs. Sometimes the loads were only 2 giants. This paticular day Bess heard the truck blaring on its horn around 3 in the afternoon. She had time to grab the boys and watch as the driver set the steering wheel towards the forest and away from the cabin and jump out to safety.
The boys had no idea that they might be in trouble. Bess calmly told them that if the truck swerved they must run as fast as they could into the woods behind them. All looked well until just before the bottom of the hill, a small rock on the road changed the course of the runaway. It missed the cabin but as it roared past, Bess saw the logs loosening. To her horror, as the truck went off the road, the load spilled down and the giant logs came toward the cabin. Bess put her faith in the boulder. She and the boys ran to the woods. She turned to take a last look in time to see the monster log roll calmly OVER the boulder, crush her front garden completely and stop 2 feet from her front window and door.
I asked Bess if they stayed there much longer.
"No", she remembered, "My nerves were shot - still are- and I could never live near a logging road again."
I guess not.
4.2.08
Panamaian Root Canal
There are times when I view the Universe as finite and dental horrors as endless.
Such as today when my latest dental adventure involved a root canal.
Interestingly, a dentists needle is the only one I do not faint from. This could be because I am already reclining or it could be that I have spent so much time in the big chair that the terror has worn down a little.
When checking for a dentist in Paradise a decade ago, my criteria included giving good needle. The man recommended to me turned out to be a gift from heaven. My dentist is amazing. Prior to Dr. Louis' tender ministrations, I had had a double root canal on my two back molars. Then crowns were put on. It was never for one day without pain afterwards, and some pretty awful oral surgery ensued. The next time I faced a root canal in my new Dentist's chair, my body almost levitated from fear. Despite losing 5 pounds in sweat that day, it was an all right experience.
Today, after finishing my dentistry, I wanted to know how many teeth in my mouth still have roots. Not many. Sometimes I feel like I am shovelling my way across the panama one little spadeful at a time. I just want it to be DONE ALREADY.
And the tooth that had the work today? It was the one that got moved extremely in the dental rearranging. Apparantly it could not take the stress. Since it enflamed I have been unable to wear my night appliance and in a few short weeks that tooth moved so far that the appliance no longer fits. *grrrr*
Research has shown that instead of being what we eat, we are more likely what our mothers ate. Pre-natal nutruition counts for alot in the development of healthy bones. My mother was anorexic. Explains many things. Mom's long gone. Like my bank balance.
Such as today when my latest dental adventure involved a root canal.
Interestingly, a dentists needle is the only one I do not faint from. This could be because I am already reclining or it could be that I have spent so much time in the big chair that the terror has worn down a little.
When checking for a dentist in Paradise a decade ago, my criteria included giving good needle. The man recommended to me turned out to be a gift from heaven. My dentist is amazing. Prior to Dr. Louis' tender ministrations, I had had a double root canal on my two back molars. Then crowns were put on. It was never for one day without pain afterwards, and some pretty awful oral surgery ensued. The next time I faced a root canal in my new Dentist's chair, my body almost levitated from fear. Despite losing 5 pounds in sweat that day, it was an all right experience.
Today, after finishing my dentistry, I wanted to know how many teeth in my mouth still have roots. Not many. Sometimes I feel like I am shovelling my way across the panama one little spadeful at a time. I just want it to be DONE ALREADY.
And the tooth that had the work today? It was the one that got moved extremely in the dental rearranging. Apparantly it could not take the stress. Since it enflamed I have been unable to wear my night appliance and in a few short weeks that tooth moved so far that the appliance no longer fits. *grrrr*
Research has shown that instead of being what we eat, we are more likely what our mothers ate. Pre-natal nutruition counts for alot in the development of healthy bones. My mother was anorexic. Explains many things. Mom's long gone. Like my bank balance.
1.2.08
Horrors!
All righty my elder sister who fancies herself the dog whisperer of Paradise/West Coast, and who does NOT read my blog as she considers my writing churlish, pendatic and badly punctuated, put my dog on Dogster. I thought it a bit of a lark. Until moments ago when, clicking on Tuckers page I noted Tucker had a diary.
A diary???
I suppose it could be worse. She could be a cat lady. All the signs are there!
haha this one's for you Peter, I know you agree. And you'll note my comments are turned OFF precisely for this reason (*wink)
A diary???
I suppose it could be worse. She could be a cat lady. All the signs are there!
haha this one's for you Peter, I know you agree. And you'll note my comments are turned OFF precisely for this reason (*wink)
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