I Woke Up

   I read somewhere that dreams, although we don't always remember dreaming at all, are a way to rid the mind of anxiety, or just to clean out the ole' brains cells, as it were.  You know, to kind of get gone all the random thoughts that have no value anymore.

   People spend money on books and psychics trying to make sense of the mumbo-jumbo that filters through their consciousness.  Personally, I would sooner just forget all that mental waste matter ... just like I don't want to look at a juicy steak and envision a steer being slaughtered as I warm up the coals.

   But, I am still curious about one thing:  Who was that bald, vicious-looking guy that chased me up a metal staircase with the intent to kill me and the baby in my arms?  'Sokay ... I killed him with sharp blows to his hairless skull with my trusty ballpoint pen.

I'm hanging tight!

When Will I Learn?

   Because of the size of our aircraft, I sat alone on my side of the "aisle", as did every other passenger.  The debatable advantage of having only room for 12 passengers is that there is no cockpit door, and you can watch the pilot and copilot operate the controls.  Furthermore, also due the the size of the aircraft, you can actually watch the world below as you pass overhead.

   Unfortunately, you can also see obstructions to a smooth flight out of the cockpit window.  Our pilot seemed to be enjoying the view "down there" a bit too much, since he could not avoid clipping the red water tower on our left when it loomed in sight.  Actually, he barely touched it.  Doesn't matter.  We were in trouble nevertheless.

   People never really know what they will do in a crisis until visited by one.  I was very surprised to not really feel the great crushing fear I expected.  I thought, "Well, it finally happened.  You're in an airplane that is going to crash, and you can't do a damned thing about it."

(To be continued....)

Learning All The Time

   However, Life's lessons wait on no man, or woman, in this case.  One can run, but one cannot hide from fate.  Especially if you are on the downhill slide to your 62nd birthday.

    I now have two boarders, B1 and B2.  They are brothers and both in their 30's, so life is interesting at times.  B1 was lonely and adopted a little Maine Coon Cat named Cleo, who's photo is to the right.  B2 came with a cat, who's photo is also to the right, by the name of Harley.  (The brother, Davidson, ran into a car on one of his early morning runs and is no longer on our plane.)  Then B1's lady friend had to place her two cats in a temporary home while in the process of finding a new place to recieve her mail.  Enter Ozzie and Giovanni.  Now the household supports SEVEN cats and MoeDog.

Lesson:  Yes, you can have too many cats.

   Meanwhile, one of them brought roundworms into our cozy little nest.  Hobbs was the first noticeably infested feline.  After researching the situation via the internet, the pet store provided both liquid and pills to treat the cats.  Both base their dosages on the individual wieght of the critters, which requires me to finally step on a scale after lo! these many months.  The cats thought I was a bit mad in chasing them all down just to stand there and stare at a box on the floor.

Lesson:  Pill packages say cats love the taste, but not one of the seven agreed.

   While waiting for backup in the form of B1 and B2 (throwing liquid medicine down a cat's throat requires a minimum of two people), I dutifully noted each cat's weight and dosage. 

Lesson:  Buy weight-control cat food.  Bella weighed in at 18 pounds.

   Warning:  Although rare, an occasional cat will have adverse affects from this medication.  If vomiting, tremors, coughing, or other signs of distress occur, consult a veterinarian immediately.  Luckily, only one cat seemed the worse for wear, and a vet was not consulted.  What's a little barf, anyway?  If I can endure the medical tests I've gone through this month, the damned cat can endure a queazy tummy.

Lesson:  Do not ever worm Sniffles again. 

Lesson:  Close the  bedroom door when treating for roundworms.

   As each boarder captured a cat (word goes around quickly), I threw medicine down their gullets.  Two cats gargled but swallowed the nasty stuff.  That leaves five who didn't.  We humans all needed to shower under hot water afterwards.  The first to shower and change had to wash the kitchen floor.  The second had to wipe down the cabinets and countertops.  The third had to bandage the other two.

   G-d is good.  I was lucky Number Three.

It's Not Always For Dancing

   I really tried to continue with my little 'puter game, but the awareness of those bars of music simply got in the way of all other thought.

   During our initial struggle with C's death, I clearly remember mind-singing "Calling All Angels" and "Amazing Grace".  Thinking of my own eventual demise I always hum "Prop Me Up Beside The Jukebox".  (So for those of you who are near and dear to me, please gather my ashes and let's all go to a really fun bar and play that tune while drinking to my otherworldly health.)

   There is music everywhere, if you bother to pay attention.  The heart sings joyfully when we are happy, and soothes us with sweet song before sleep.  The percussion band races its music through our bodies when we are excited or scared, sending our senses into overdrive.  And then there are the warm mental lullabies when holding a small child or the furry bundle of a baby animal.

   The sound of a loved one's voice is virtual music. It awakens our nurturing genes and adds light to the brightest day.  Even more astounding than Beethoven is the music of a beautiful glimpse of nature; the mind runs amok creating the appropriate notes to revel by.

   Through the depths of sorrow and the the heights of joy, our minds continue to meet our emotions with music.  Perhaps true dispair is when the music stops.  So, hum a few bars and join me in song.  The mind never sings off-key.

Something's Fishy

   Usually during the course of remembering dreams and piecing them back together, I can inject some logical reasoning for the contents.  Sometimes, I can't.  Like last night's dream, of which I remember only the really gross part.

   I was eating (as in chewing and swallowing) raw fishes, which were cold and yukky and whole.  About 12" or so long.  At first, I didn't mind eating the fish, but became totally anal about leaving any leftovers.  The fuller my tummy got, the less tasty the fish became, until I was literally choking the crappy things down.  I never made it through all the fish, and just picked up what was left off the floor (yes, the FLOOR) and placed the slimy things on my plate.  At least the clean-up would be easier.

   The fact of the matter is: I strongly dislike fish.  That's not to say I haven't tried.  I'm old, afterall, and have pretty much tried everything.  I didn't eat shellfish until I was in my 20's and I love shellfish.  I had my first taste of fresh-water trout, and love that as well.  I like smoked tuna and salmon.

   But even with those few things that I actually DO like, I have to be able to recognize the parts that I eat as clearly defined MEAT.  No innards, no eggs, nothing gooshy.

   Therefore, I am left wondering where in the bejeepers that dream came from.

>urp<

( 'scuse me)

Time

Ever really give it some study?  Time, that is?

The dictionary says, "Time has long been a major subject of science, philosophy and art. The measurement of time has occupied scientists and technologists, and was a prime motivation in astronomy."  Actually, it says a lot more, but I started getting a severe headache and abandoned that venue.

We all have some Time.  We just don't know how much Time we really have.  What occasionally bothers me is those other people who want some of my Time.  "Got a minute?"  Yes, I probably have several, but do I want you to have them?  I only have so many unknown minutes, and now you want some.  Why don't you borrow some sugar instead?

"There's not enough Time in a day."   We always want more Time, and can't even take care of the Time we have.  We waste Time doing things, spend Time doing other things, and take Time to do some more stuff. 

"Time is money."  Personally, I have waited a long Time for Time to show up in my wallet in the form of spendable cash.  I think this one's a story made up by people who have real money to keep the rest of us using our Time instead of theirs.

We spend our Time watching Time go by, so we can spend more Time doing something else.  We dress up Time in fancy and plain Timekeepers, when in fact those items don't keep our Time at all.  Look at the clock … do you see any Time stored away? 

We mark Time, do Time and let Time heal.  There's no Time like the present, have Time on our hands, and witness changing Times.  Things happen Time after Time, in the nick of Time, until Time's up. 

I need to take a Time out.

A-Wandering

   Since I've been "away" for some time now, I wanted to peak in on my blog buddies; you know, just to see how everyone is and what the latest chat is about.

   Visited Penny first, 'cause afterall, she's Sister-Friend ....  I like it better when she talks about the "here-and-now", because I get sad otherwise.

   Visited Daveman .... He's not back and I miss him.

   Visited Rob'n'Pen .... Doomsday Clocks, fer Pete's sake!  I'm afraid I'll wake up dead.

   Visited Adam .... He's been away from his keyboard longer than I have.

   Visited Herb .... Still no Life-Savers.  Rats.

   Visited Jerry .... His blog or my ineptitude prevents me from posting on his tag board.  Rats again.

   Visited Friday's Child .... I'm now afraid of dolls, and am thinking about tucking my sheets in all around me again.  She had another kind of Monster, too.  Like I did.

   Visited Raggedy .... Her post sent me to visit Blogthings.com.  I found out I am (a) 50% Cat/50% Dog; (b) have a purple aura, which is good, as I like purple; (c) I am an Autumn personality, which goes with my age, kinda; and, (d) if I were born in 2893, I would be known as Imn Raan, the prophet.  Scrolling through further lists of quizzes I could take to "find myself" , I found (e) What Age Will You Be When You Die?

   Folks, there's only so much knowledge I want to possess, and it's definitely NOT when I am going to die, or when the world is going to self-distruct.  It's all I can do to keep my blood pressure down with medication, as it is.  

   But I have to tell you this:

      When I go to bed tonight (in just a wee while, as it were) I am going to dream of being a purple catdog who lives in the freakin' woods and knows too much stuff to be able to ever sleep again.  I will check under the fall leaves every spare minute to see if there are any humanoid shapes lurking.  If I must be a catdog, then I cannot depend on my current animal co-inhabitants to teach me what I need to know.  What can a cat who snores, a cat who is cross-eyed, or yet another cat who just sits around looking cute all day teach me about survival?  What can a deaf dog impart to me, when he barks when there is nothing to bark at, and doesn't bark when he's supposed to?

   I am indeed doomed.

It Does

   Corrine used to read my blog faithfully.  She once said she learned more about me through this medium than she did just sitting around and shootin' the shit with me.

   Corrine doesn't live here anymore.  Having her body found Tuesday morning with a self-inflicted fatal gunshot wound which had torn away not just her life's spirit but also a part of her beauty, was, I thought then, as bad as it could get.  I was so very wrong.

   You see, the bullet hasn't stopped tearing through this family.  It is ricocheting around, ripping through relationships and blowing huge holes in our own lives.  I recovered from my anger at Corrine, realizing that MY Corrine hadn't been present for several months.  It was this other Corrine, and it took over her mind and spirit, and stole her away from us.  Some family members can't face being angry at her, but they need to be angry at someone.  They are separating into "camps" and spewing hate and blame.

   The bullet keeps tearing and we keep bleeding.  Is it because the wounds are so large that there is no more compassion, no more understanding and forgiveness?  The arms that were enfolding each other are now pointing in accusation.  The voices that once shared fears and concerns and love and hope, are now creating pain that cuts through to the heart.

   Perhaps suicide is like a Pandora's box: once the lid is off, all of these little evils and poisons get loose in the family and all of the members are just struggling to recapture them and put them back in the box.

   Maybe not all of them can be recaptured.

Heck Is Winter?!!

   The average high/low for this time of year in Maine is 29/4F.  We've had a few minor snow flurries which were left to melt as 50+ degree weather followed a day or two later.  Apparently, Colorado is keeping all the winter weather to itself, sharing sparingly with near neighboring states, but leaving the East Coast high and dry.

   Other than just plain missing the white stuff that is normally coating the landscape, there is concern for later effects of a snowless winter.  Health officials fear an outbreak of diseases related to warmer weather:  Influenza, mold allergies, and larger than normal prduction of disease-bearing insect life.  The Portland Water District is concerned that a drought will affect not only the humans they provide clean water to, but also threaten lake ecology.  Rural homes may face the drying up of wells.  Furthermore, Maine businesses to a large degree count on vacationers, who have NOT hit the ski slopes in droves, and WILL NOT find a nice deep berth for their boats if they vacation in cove areas of the lakes.

   All we natives can do is enjoy the blessing of moderate weather, and pray that February will be a little different.  I worry that winter is just late, and we'll be sledding in June.  And as if I didn't have enough to worry about, I visited on of my fave places, Gullible Info.  Take a gander at these little jewels of trivia, why don't you?

• It is illegal to orally ingest duck dander in nine American states due to its intense hallucinogenic properties.  (I fear for the ducks once teenagers discover this)
• Kindergarten was first created in 14th century Germany as a reform school for rebellious toddlers.  (It boggles the mind what may have constituted "rebellious behavior")
• Plans to build a blizzard safety hut for climbers near the peak of Alaska's Mt. McKinley had to be abandoned because it could not be made wheelchair-accessable, as required by law.  (Too bad they don't make "common sense" a requirement for legislators)
• Until 1902 it was illegal to own a pirate flag in the U.S.  (Funny there isn't one flying over the IRS building)
• The British Shorthair is the only type of cat that can be taught how to play the harmonica. (Envision a series of cat breeds that have had a wood/metal block forced between it's jaws, while someone squeezes the crap out of them to produce the desired amount of air expelled to make a noise.  Then envision these many cats clawing the bejeepers out of the so-called researchers.  I like that part)
• Law students spend more time in ethics training than any other professional students.  (Apparently, they don't need a passing grade since none of them seem to know a dang thing about ethics)

It's a wonder any of us can take life seriously, isn't it?

Ashley

   I decided to write my blog today before looking at anyone else's.  I don't want to get into an online screaming match with anyone; I just want to say my piece, well...... peacefully.

   I cared for my husband for nearly eight years, who was physically at the state little Ashley is in, with minor exceptions.  He was a quadriplegic.

   In April of 1997, arthritis in his neck finally damaged his spinal cord during a trip-and-fall incident.  More damage was done due to hypothermia, since he lay in wet grass, under the sprinking system, for 4 hours before he was discovered at 6:00 a.m.  He had been out with his buddies celebrating his 55th birthday.  Ironically, being inebriated saved his life.

   We were thrown into the life of quad and caregiver.  I had to put away my entire life as I knew it, just as my husband had to do.  During those seven+ years, he lost the strength in his tongue and had to endure a trachyostomy to breathe.  He had to have surgery to his neck (front and back) to avoid worsening the damage already done.  He needed surgery to place a permanent catheter through his belly and bladder in order to eliminate urine and avoid further infections in the urinary tract.  Another surgery was performed to place a colostomy bag, since his large intestine had slowly died.  (Before that, I had to manually stimulate his rectal muscles in order for him to have bowel movements.)

   For my part, I transfered him from bed to shower chair and showered him every other day.  I brushed his teeth, and shaved him, and cut his hair.  I had to feed him his meals, and invent ways to keep him hydrated.  Leaving the house for short periods of time for necessary household/banking chores was tense, but greatly helped by the presence of my mother-in-law who learned how to care for him minimally while I was out.  I had to watch for bedsores, and turn him every two hours.  I had to make sure he took his meds on time and in the correct dosages.  At the end, I learned how to administer injections for pain relief as he was dying.

   My husband did not have the problems that a female quad would have .... menstrual cycles being one of them.  I was his spouse not his mother, and I watched his mother struggle to care for him when she tried her best to give me an occasional break.  Dave was 1-1/2 inches shy of six-feet.  He weighed 140 pounds when he came home and we became quad and caregiver.  On several occasions, because a transfer from wheel chair to bed went wrong somehow, I literally had to save him from hitting the floor.  Frankly, I don't know how I managed the strength to lift him and transfer him.

   It took us an hour to get him ready to go in the van to shop or visit the neighborhood.  It took us three hours to shower, shave, brush teeth, change linen, and get him comfortable again.

*****************

   But I did not tell you all of this because I want praise and applause.

   I want everyone who is passing negative judgement on Ashley's family to acknowledge that they have no right to do so.  Very few people who are blatting "Shame!" have no idea what being a caregiver is, and especially caregiving to a child.  The emotional wear and tear of knowing that at some point in the future the child is going to be a fully grown adult, and that caregiving will become more and more physically difficult, has got to weigh heavily on the parents.  Knowing Ashley is manageable at this size and developement, and that she will never be cognizant of what future she would have had as a "normal" adult female, I would have made the same decisions.  Remember, Ashley had the mind of an infant, and she started showing signs of developing breasts at the age of six (according to what I've read).

   I say: G-d bless the family for their devotion through hardship, past and to come.  May they find the strength to perservere through the media-hell they are going through.  And, may G-d shine understanding on those who pass judgement without compassion.

"There, but for the grace of G-d, go I,"  

It would be a good thing to keep in mind.