Eat Peeps and Blog

DP had dressed the dogs in their walking bells and harnesses and headed for the door. "Would you like to come for a walk with us?" she asked me so hopefully. "No thanks," I said quickly. "No thanks," she repeated. "I'd rather eat peeps and blog." I laughed with a mouthful of marshmallow and yellow sugar crusted lips.

It's so true.

I am not a person who craves physical activity - not like DP. She walks at least twice a day with the dogs, and is usually looking for additional physical outlets, like running, riding a bike.

Not me.

I'm going to blame my parents. They were not athletic in any fashion. They did not encourage my brothers and me to join sports. Band, yes, because my father was a musician (and my mother an artist), but not softball, basketball, hockey or track. We were all in band though, me with the flute for six years, my older brother E with the trombone, but for only one year, and my eldest brother G with the clarinet right through graduation.

I always thought band was exclusive to sports - jocks are not band geeks, but like many other things she changed my mind about, DP dispelled that notion since she was in track AND band. If fact she won things in track and placed number one in the state of New Hampshire for clarinet (I think that's right, anyway).

Humph! Of course, her father was a runner and a musician so I still blame my parents.

I'd like to say I'm going to change and say yes to becoming more physically active! But I've already tried that in life and I've got to say, I'm not so enamored with it. My feeling at this point is given the time I have to spend available I'd rather be writing or reading.

Okay, maybe cooking and eating too.

Happy Implant

Piece of cake!

I had a big mouth boo-boo all day yesterday but now it's feeling better. The first stage of the implant procedure, which Dr B called the hardest, was a lot more tolerable than a root canal. Have I mentioned I've had six root canals one of which I've given up for this implant? Actually, it gave up on me by falling out. I hate it when teeth fall out. It used to happen in only dreams…then I actually experienced a hard piece of something in my mouth I had to spit out into my hands! Lo and behold a $1,200 crown sitting uselessly in my palm. It could not be replaced other than with an implant. It took me several years to get up the nerve (and the money)!

I think most people agree dental work is not fun. If there was a hell, having dental work should be right up there on the torture forever list. Sorry Dr B. You're a nice guy and your staff is a great bundle of energy swirling me around from office, to dental chair, to X-ray and back to office and out the door. In less than an hour I was done and walking around in Walmart (don't tell my boss). I took the whole day as a sick day so I could suffer with dignity - alone!

After Walmart I came home and wrote a blog post for someone else's blog. Important heavy stuff about my "life before." It was an honor to be asked and I said yes to being a guest blogger. 

In cat news, we were told by the new vet to give Snafu the herbal tincture on a daily basis. Last night was our first regular dose and the first time he actually laid down beside me and fell asleep! This morning he is his regular chirpful self. Onward we go!

All is good today!

Funk Breaker

There’s nothing like finding a pool of water under my sink to bring me right out of a funk!

I noticed my faucet was a little loose and I couldn’t put the nozzle/faucet back into its housing securely. When I pulled it out I saw water dripping out from the washers and sliding down the hose, back through the housing and into the cabinet below.

Luckily the washer tightened right up and stopped the leak immediately which helped me to feel very grateful my visions of plummer’s crack nightmare were not going to come true.

Unluckily, a rather deep pool of water had collected in the cabinet under the sink. Everything had a delightful coating of “dew” and it had to be completely cleared out. We store the usual cleaning products and bug repellents under there. A bungee cord secures away any four footed friends. We only lost a few cardboard items but nothing huge. It was good to clean it out and get rid of a few things.

I truly do feel grateful I caught it within days. I know it wasn’t sputtering water last weekend because I was under that sink quite a bit and nothing was awry.

On another note: Today, dear friends, I’m getting my first tooth implant! I said YES to a tooth implant.

My family was cursed with pretty bad teeth. Actually they line up straight enough, and look rather pretty, but my brothers and I were prone to lots of cavities. And in the bad teeth world, cavities progress to root canals and root canals to bridges, bridges to dentures or IMPLANTS! What ain’t silver in my mouth is fake. I think I have at least 5 root canals (and another is now just an open fleshy slot waiting for an implant). Still, we Kolosey’s have a pretty decent smile, and I’m going to have mine for long, long time!

I’m not looking forward to the pain, well not the procedure either, but that will be done and over within an hour or so. The pain can “last up to 72 hours”…then there is waiting for it to heal, which takes months. Yeah, this is how my mind is working as I anticipate the procedure. I’ve got to just live in the moment, live in the moment. Stop thinking about a big drill aiming for my jaw…live in the moment.

Thinking

I can't seem to find anything appropriate for today. I'm still reeling a bit from Monday and yesterday's comments really, really helped me see I'm not alone in my issues. I thank you all for that. 


And thanks for helping me see my kitties from the rescue perspective. Snafu and Yukon would most certainly not be alive today if they had not been taken from the shelter...possibly Angus too. They all come from the shelter as mentioned but Yukon's mother and littermate did not "make it," and Snafu was in the waiting kennel for his "turn" when DP took him home (she used to work there, if you didn't know).


So, I have to remember and appreciate their chance at having a life. They do.

It's Only Temporary

Why do I have 8 cats!? I’m going to have to put 8 cats to sleep. No, not right now, I mean eventually, one by one in agonizing grief.

I’m sorry, but I’m really grouchy and sad today (this was written Monday evening). For those of you not part of the Cat Blogosphere, a very prominent and well loved member of our blogging community, Sweet Praline, was put to sleep Monday morning. This is THE hardest thing about being part of a large community of blogging cats. They get ill, go through all kinds of desperate things to get well, and they mostly don’t, and eventually have to be put to sleep. It’s heart wrenching every single time because first, you remember your own experiences…I’ve euthanized three of our beloved cats in the last 4 years; and second, it brings out the dread of knowing you’ll have to do it again. So, I’m thinking I’m going to go through it 8 fricken times…and four additional times for our dogs.

Yeah, I know. Nothing lasts forever. We’re all temporary. This too shall pass. Live in the moment…blah, blah, blah.

It still hurts.

And I get way too upset each time a cat blogger gets that sickly look or the announcement is made that so-and-so is not eating very well. I know, or at least I fear, that it is just the beginning of the end.

Oy! There is even another well loved kitty already going through the same process and the way I’m feeling today I know it won’t be long before he joins Sweet Praline. 

There are probably about 300 or so cats in our community and I’m sure there are more ill kitties that I’m not aware of, but I only follow a little over 100 blogs (and most blogs have more than one cat). The math makes a high probability that we lose about one kitty a week.

It would appear that I’m just not good about pet death. I gave away a hamster when I was a kid so I wouldn’t have to find it dead in its cage one morning. I’ve tried to analyze the reasons why (and that could fill another blog post), because I’m okay with human death. Grief, shock, sadness, yes, but ultimately I have complete acceptance when a human passes (even when I lost both my parents). But analyzing it doesn’t help in the moment of grief. I’ve had to just take each death as it comes…get sad, pull away, get mad (at myself) but try to know that it gets better after a time. It does get better, but then it happens again and I start all over again.

I have to let this go…

I have to keep in my heart the knowledge that there is a continuance of life after leaving the body. That we, and they, our beloved pets, merely return to the Source where we truly “reunite” as One.

When I get this level of frustration over something, I call it a spiritual practice and suddenly it falls into perspective. Sometimes I can even chuckle at my own struggle.

Hm. I think I feel better now. Thanks for reading.

The Light of Music

At yesterday’s Easter service our priest, The Reverend David Matson, said that some people believe that “The Light” is in a fierce battle with “The Dark.” He pointed out so matter of factly that there is no battle because Light dissolves Dark. Where there is Light, there is no Dark.

Then we sang, “Alleluia, Sing to Jesus” for organ, viola and choir in an arrangement composed by one of our church members with DP conducting. It was a beautiful, surprisingly difficult piece that we had not practiced nearly enough. We barely pulled it off, but that is how we roll most times. I’m sure no one from the congregation cared if the choir came in exactly right because the viola was so mesmerizing. I find that music is one of the brightest Lights in life for me.

Our Easter service began with DP hailing the Resurrection on her trumpet accompanied by violin and viola. I wish I knew the name of the piece, but it was bright and festive. Then all our congregation’s children (accompanied by a parent) came down the aisle banging drums of all sorts singing a “Halle, Halle, Hallelujah” song backed by us, the choir. After they took their seats, DP and her trumpet came in again to accompany the choir as we processed to the alter with “Hail Thee Festival Day,” all eight versus. Despite all the other pieces we sang Good Friday, Saturday’s Easter Vigil and on Easter Sunday, that’s the one the keeps playing through my head and rolling out of my mouth. I am so proud to be a part of the wonderful and dedicated group of musicians at St Matthews. They have such a beautiful musical tradition.


It's choral music I find the most spiritually cleansing. It's a creative collaboration of individuals, each bringing their light (soul) through their own body (voice) into a single Creation (a musical piece).

This guy says it best in this phenomenal TED Lecture (it’s only 14 minutes) given by composer Eric Whitacre on his background and his creation of a 2,000 member “virtual choir” using YouTube. Definitely work checking out if you love music. 

Easter

Happy Easter, Happy Spring, Happy Happy!

Dusting Guns

I decided to do some real dusting yesterday and that included the two rifles that hang on the wall of our bedroom. I got to thinking about those guns and how guns and "fictional violence" have played a role in my life.

First, those guns brought DP and me together in a romantic, red-neck lesbian sort of way. We’d known of each other for years, but got reacquainted at a hand gun workshop for women.

There was a time I called myself a pacifist. In college I heard a lecture from an organization called No War. It was so powerful I balled like a baby.

Gradually something in me changed.

It's not that I advocate war or military action or that I'm a member of the NRA, even though my father was a lifelong member, it's more that I understand the people who are.

I still have the basic moral conviction that taking another human's life is completely wrong, but I've let go of the idea that I (or even a larger movement) can change all of humanity's morals.

I've come to believe that humans are inherently violent, which I did not think was the case before. When you take my toy, I’ll smack you. 

I believe only individual conviction or cultural identity can prevent violent behavior. It's up to each individual to change themselves.

For me I know, hand-to-God, I became desensitized to violence from television shows I was watching, and the books I was reading. And in truth, I became attracted to it. I watched a lot of television and movies, to the exclusion of many events and people (but that is another essay entirely). Though I could not tolerate TV police or crime dramas, one of my favorite genres of television was the fantasy/comic book farce that was prevalent on cable channels back in the late 90's. Hercules: The Legendary Journeys spun off several shows of which Xena: Warrior Princess was my favorite. To say I was a fanatic fan is an understatement.

My reading material was also fantasy. Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series, George R.R. Martin's Song of Fire and Ice (the first book is now a new series on HBO called A Game of Thrones) are just two authors that kept me reading and still do.

These genres are full of sword slashing, cudgel bashing blood, guts and violence. I soaked it in like a sponge filling a dark need to touch the basest and shared primal part of my humanity…without getting my hands dirty.

When I took television out of my daily life, the light of love spilled into the quiet and dark places. In fact it was soon after partnering (for lack of a better word) with DP (when I also gave up TV) that I became fascinated with the Law of Attraction and The Secret. These teachings reminded me that I was in charge of my thoughts (dark or light) and taught me how to change them.

So the rifles are hung on the wall because we still enjoy target practice. That's all they've ever been used for.

Cleaning 2

Today is house cleaning day. I start about 7:30 AM and will go until about 3:00. This is how long my energy will take me and so I strive to go from one end of the mobile (the master bathroom) to the other end (the office) with the vacuum. For the most part the vacuum is my duster and my broom as well. So basically I’m vacuuming floors, carpets, furniture (which is mostly cat furniture) and yes, appliances.

My weapon of mass suction:

It is the Bissell Lift-off Multi Cyclonic for homes with Pets (note the picture of said pets on the vacuum and the live ones surrounding it).

While it certainly has great suction power and is nearly self-propelled by the rotating brush, it has a couple draw backs. One is the “dust cup” is far too small and gets clogged easily. I have to dump it out at least three times. Another is the special Turbo Brush tool that is supposed to help get into small places. The tool is a waste. It screams like a banshee because the moving parts must not be aligned right or something and it’s kind of awkward and heavy. I was using it to vacuum dog beds that got sucked into the big machine, but it’s not worth the noise when I can simply use the small brush.

The worst problem of the design is the location of the hose. It is at the top of the machine and so when you pull it out to use the extension tool, which is the majority of my usage, the entire vacuum falls backward if pulled too hard. I’ve had that machine slam into me more times than I can count, eliciting many curse words. The design just does not provide for a good anchor for the clunky thing. I have to be aware to keep the machine at an angle to what I’m vacuuming when I have the hose out.

My normal day to clean is Saturday because DP and I usually have Fridays off together to do something – like go to the vet. Today DP is working so I decided to get the house clean one day early and maybe get some quiet time tomorrow.

Good Friday begins.

Full Cycle

Has it been 28 days already? Well, this is post number 27 so I guess I am only a little bit early this month.

I remember when my step-daughter was trying to get pregnant. Every month, when her period arrived, it was a dramatic tragedy. No baby, this time. I still can't help but think that phrase each month...no baby, this month.

Sorry, but my mind gets loaded with too many things and occasionally I find myself standing still, just thinking uselessly. Stopping and refocusing on the present moment is the only way to get out of it. Even as I write, broken thoughts take so much longer to make into anything readable so I guess I'll be very brief for today.

So, thanks for hanging in with me for a full cycle.

Smoking

My friend and co-worker JC is a struggling smoker. The kind who really wants to quit, sometimes does for weeks at a time, but ends up smoking again for one reason or another. Several months ago, we established that I had no problem with her smoking while we drive together – my car or her car.

It was only yesterday that I realized why it doesn’t bother me at all, and I rather enjoy the smell of cigarette smoke.

I am not a cigarette smoker. I smoked when I was a kid, from around age 10 to about age 21 when I entered my first relationship. I was never truly addicted to smoking so quitting was a simple choice, strongly recommended by my partner at the time. My biggest struggle about not smoking was drinking coffee. I hadn’t realized that I drank coffee while I smoked, and for a short time I had to give up coffee too.

Both my older brothers smoke, one just once in a while, the other as a gripping habit still unchanged today.

My father did not smoke cigarettes as a habit, but I knew he’d smoked at some point in his life and I always encouraged him to smoke a pipe because I loved the smell of his tobacco. Many of my “daughter” Christmas presents to him were pipes, pipe holders, lighters and the like to support this behavior, but he never stayed with it.

I remember as a child when the whole family ate meals together, we sat at a bar between our kitchen and dining room. My father and two brothers sat across the dining room side of the bar. I sat at the end and my mother sat on the inside, the kitchen side. I have a strong memory of an after meal ritual – I’d finish eating and go sit on my mother's lap. She’d eat her last bites of food holding me, then, after she finished eating, she’d light up a cigarette. She smoked it while I sat in her lap. Sometimes, at breakfast I suppose, she’d have a cup of coffee too.

Cigarettes and coffee are the scent of my mother - of nurturing safety. 

And now that we're feeling all warm and fuzzy about the smell of cigarettes, this is where I’ll mention that both my parents died from lung cancer. I can’t talk about smoking without that bit of information.

It's Coming Together

I’m writing this post in the evening (Monday evening). As I sit in front of the blazing woodstove, the peepers are singing outside in the darkness, seven cats are snoozing around me and one gray cat is zooming back and forth under the card table where I write. His belled collar is doing its job telling me where Snafu is as he lets out his energy. This is why I sit at a card table in the middle of the living room (not in the office with my fancy L-shaped desk) – to be in the warmth and be with the cats.

When I retreated to the office, at least 3 cats would accompany me. They’d find a place to nap while Snafu would compete for my attention, pawing at papers, walking across my keyboard, batting at things pictures or signs hung on the walls (here is a video sample one and two of him from before he was on meds). If another kitty jumped on the desk, a battle might occur. Last year he did spray on top of the desk, which was very disheartening at the time.  

Most nights Snafu would park himself in front of the doorway and not let anycat out or in. Inevitably fur flying fights would occur complete with screams and minor injuries. If I closed the door and kept the kitties out altogether, fights still occurred because Snafu sat in front of the door. And the office door is next to their bathroom (with most of their litter boxes) and used to be where their bowls of food were kept when we free fed them.

I could not write with any quiet consistency and with the door closed I was not spending any time with my furry friends. It also gets really cold in there on winter nights closed away from the woodstove. The card table really did change all that. Now the kitties surround me, but no one is allowed on the card table! I even put a small side table next to it with a cat bed so at least one cat can curl up beside me. It really has helped make life complete!

If you want to read more about how Snafu is doing, check out my cat blog here.

Cleaning

As you can imagine, living with 12 animals requires a lot of cleaning. This is my chemical arsenal. As organic as I’d like to be, I’m not convinced organic products work as well as these…and these aren’t even 100%, especially on a hot and humid day. They are the best I can do at this point. Ideally, DP and I would love to have wall to wall linoleum floors, but we have settled on carpets that are barf and poo brown.

I got a Spot Bot carpet cleaner for Christmas, but I’ve yet to open it because, well, there is so much more than a spot. I’m afraid all I’ll end up with is a carpet patched with clean spots. So why don’t I rent a carpet cleaner? Oy. That is a summer project because the furniture would have to go out onto the lawn. That means it would need to be a sunny stretch of days so there’s no mud which, here in Maine, is limited to about two months, and it would have to be over a weekend - a pay weekend since it’s not free to rent a machine; a weekend I’m not having my period or at mid-cycle because I have very little spare energy during those times, and…well, three years later I’m hoping this will be the summer.

I must tell you that during the writing of the above paragraphs I’ve had to stop three times to clean up cat vomit. OK, one of those treasures was “released” earlier but just discovered because Nick was trying to cover it up. The most recent vomit was given up by sweet Owen as he sat on top of the three story cat tower. Yeah, it was like hail. Good thing no one was under it (namely me).

So, I know you think I’m crazy (those of you who are not pet people, anyway) but this is what I’d rather be doing, writing and caring for our pets. It’s selling health insurance that is the real crazy thing.

Holy He!!

Today DP has a dog training seminar. I will go to church and choir practice as usual. It is Palm Sunday which is the kick off to Holy Week. It is more like Holy He!! Week by the schedule. If we participated in every service it would be Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil on Saturday which is a late service and then Easter Sunday. Major happenings for sure and some of the services are quite dramatic. It is basically the Passion Play (if you know what that is) in real time, returning to church for each stage. Doing Thursday is just too much with work and everything so we'll begin Good Friday.

With the extremely windy weather we are having this morning, the power keeps flicking off. I'll have to get this posted now to have anything for today.

Thanks for all your comments on yesterday's post about Snafu. I'll update on him when I get another chance and probably through Cat of Nine Tales blog.

Hosanna!

Situation Normal All F**ked Up (S.N.A.F.U)

Two hours. We talked about Snafu and all his life issues for two solid hours with Dr Judy Herman, a homeopathic vet in Augusta. It was awesome. I am a cat person and I can talk about my cat for two hours with great ease. Of course we have 8 cats and all of them (plus our 4 dogs) have a role to play in Snafu’s life, some more than others, and the hours flew by.

Without spending 2 hours revamping our conversation, which also had a healthy dose of dog training story swapping between DP and Dr Herman, we were both pleased with the plan she devised for us and answered a lot of my questions.

I wanted to know if spending more one on one time with Snafu would reinforce his insecurity and subsequent lashing out at the other cats, but she assured me it would not. I know cats are not like dogs, but still it’s easy to fall back on the monumental knowledge on dog behavior that’s already known. I feel so little is known about feline behavior that isn’t anecdotal.

Dr Herman confirmed a lot of what I “thought,” but was not confident enough to say I “knew.” He has fear anxiety towards the other cats and not simple dominance aggression. He did not learn good social skills when he was a kitten during that crucial learning time. He needs more one on one exercise to burn off his anxiety and he needs to have a “safe bed” that no one else is allowed on when he is out of his room, which is put away when he is in his room.

We are taking him off the Amitriptyline as I figured we would, and will try a dose of Album tincture. This was chosen based on his fear anxiety and the fact that he is a decent groomer and seeks heat to calm him. Additionally, DP will engage him in more clicker training, which he had learned about a year ago. He loved clicker training and learned to jump up, sit down and lay down on command. I will also take more time with him in his room to play and give him one on one.

That’s all we’re to do for now. And we’re to check in with Dr Herman 5 days after his one dose of Album tincture (we’re waiting a day or two to allow the Amitriptyline to wear off).

We’ll continue to hold off on an animal communicator, but if we do, I’m learning that it’s not just Snafu that’ll need a talking to, it’s also Penny, Angus, BJ, Nick, Wizard, Yukon and Owen.

Thank you all for your support!

Card Carrying Member

For a good 20 years or so now I’ve been a devotee of public radio and NPR, listening to NHPR in New Hampshire and then MPBN in Maine. At one time, the first three preset buttons on my car radio were all three public radio stations when I included WGBH Boston’s public radio in the line up. That was when I lived in Southern Maine but commuted an hour and a half to work in Lexington, Mass. And never once during these 20 plus years did I ever make a pledge or contribution to public radio. I’d make myself listen through the pledge drives (mostly) and always thought I just didn’t have enough money.

That ended today.

Today I said yes.

Today, I became a member of Maine Public Broadcasting Network (MPBN) during the final day of their spring pledge drive. Not just a member, but an “Evergreen Friend” which is what you are called when you commit to a monthly donation…which doesn’t hurt the old pocket book as much  - paying a little along.

This is huge for me because…I’ve not been a monetarily charitable person in my past. I may do a post on that topic sometime but, for now, know that I’m changing.

I reasoned it out this way – I pay a monthly subscription fee for Netflix – we’re at the $10ish level because we don’t spend a lot of time watching TV. I spend WAY more time listening to NPR. I’m a bit of a news junky and NPR is a main source of news when I can’t be on my computer. I also pay a monthly fee for internet access. So it made a lot of sense for me to “subscribe” to my local public radio station.

I’m jazzed about it! 

YES!

Leaving the County

As we were driving down Route 1A from Fort Fairfield into Mars Hill, the wind turbines whirled most productively atop the hill in the distance. It was only overcast up there and we did not hit rain until passed Houlton. The brown snow patched fields and endless evergreens were cast even grayer than the day before without benefit of sun, and I got thinking that I may have been harsh on the County in my previous post.

What were some of the good things I saw and felt the day before? On our way up (before we got off the interstate and into the towns) I saw three pairs of “birds of prey” in separate nests built on power line poles. In two cases one bird was sitting in the nest while the other perched beside it. In one sighting, both birds were in the nest. I could not tell which were hawks, ospreys or eagles. But I most definitely saw an American bald eagle soaring over I-95 North. When the sun shone through the brilliant white tail feathers and head as we drove under him, there was no question what type of bird he was. Now that was a gift.

Where ever we stopped, the Dead River gas station, a restaurant, our hotel, our clients, the people we talked to were very friendly and went out of their way to be helpful. I thought to myself, they are the employed ones up here in the County. They are the best at what they do and are grateful to have a job. When I was packing up to leave the hotel in the morning, I got a knock on the door and a woman’s voice said “housekeeping.” When I opened the door, I must confess I was shocked to see a young white woman with red hair and a big smile. She is a Mainer and not an immigrant. Looking around I noticed the whole housekeeping staff were cheerful, laughing young American women. I wondered if this was a sign of how bad the economy is…that Americans are choosing to work the usually less desirable (lower paying) jobs.

We were there in the County to deliver bad news. That’s our job. We tell our clients, “Guess what? You are going to pay more for your health insurance than you did last year, and you are going to get less coverage. Okay? Sign here.”  In one meeting of a small group of just two people, I was getting punchy by this time of day when I said, “It’s simple. The insurance carrier says ‘You-pay-more. You-get-less.’” Then we all laughed at the truth. My boss and I try to make it fun and friendly to pay more and get less. That’s our job too - as health insurance brokers.

Observations in The County

Once in the County, to stay in Maine, you must turn off Interstate 95 before you hit Canada. There isn’t much to see along the Interstate so by this time the town of Houlton looks like a vibrant happening town. In a way, it is because as we continue on Route 1 and continue to the following towns there is one unkempt house after another. Yards filled with debris, some that have obviously spilled out of the house, right out of the front door, filling the porch and down the steps onto the lawn. At 50 mph, it’s hard to decipher just what’s in the jumble of stuff, refrigerators, barbeque grills, mattresses stand out. There are very few houses that are painted, and those just have a layer of vinyl siding coming unglued. This agricultural area is clearly struggling and was before our economy crashed.

Every few miles along Route 1 there is a small clearing with a park bench, a plaque and a large ball mounted on a pole. It’s a planet. Each one you drive by represents another of the planets in our solar system. Saturn was my favorite, but even these “sculptures” are dilapidated and crumbing with disrepair.  I guess it was someone’s project they got a grant for to brighten the drive along the route. It probably worked great, but now the planets have gotten lost amid the depression.

A striking stand out feature smacks your line of vision when you spot the first windmill. And that is truly an old word for it because these are not windmills in that old romantic sense for certain, these are wind turbines.  They look like crisp, clean, kinetic sculptures with some alien conspirator’s purpose. The first one looks out of place, a mile or so in the distance, but as we drive on and get closer we see there are actually several wind turbines aligning the top of the hill. They are built on Mars Hill, in fact. It’s a marvel, a wonder, a spectacle that is slightly frightening in its highly unnatural appearance. On this very windy day they were all turning at the same slow and deliberate speed, but not in unison.

As we pull into the truly vibrant town of Presque Isle (by-the-way, it is not an island in any way, nor is it near the water), there is one lonely wind turbine off to our left on the campus of the university.  It looms large because it is much closer to the road than the others on Mars Hill. It really creeped me out when I looked at it because on this very windy day it wasn’t moving at all.

What's the Buzz (or Purr)

I'm pretty focused on two things right now - my trip up to the County over the next two days and one of our cat's Snafu. We're scheduled to bring him to a homeopathic vet on Friday. If you're not already a Cat of Nine Tales follower, you can pop over to see or read more on him there. If you don't want to mess with going over there to read it, know that he has a problem territorial spraying his urine indoors and he is aggressive towards the other cats. 


Snafu is such a wonderful character otherwise. He does anything to get your attention because he love, love, loves his humans, though. I'm sure that is part of the problem. He is people oriented and did not learn how to get along with other cats because he lost his mother and litter mates early and was a very sick little kitten for a few crucial socialization weeks where we had to keep him quarantined. 


I could write on and on about him, our issues and my feelings. It's simple though. We love him dearly. We want him to have a happy life with us, but our house smells like a kennel. It is so hard to keep up with him and I can't be home all the time like I was before he started spraying.


One of the things talked about was going to an animal communicator. If you read yesterday's post, you'll recall our lack of impression with two we came across at the mystic fair. I'm curious to know if any of you has used an animal communicator and how it worked for you.

Progress on Yes

In the year of saying yes, I have signed onto my first Gay Pride Parade. I've always wanted to march in one and I intend to join with a women's group called Seacoast Sapphos from Southern Maine to march on June 18th in Portland. DP will be working so this will be a lone venture which makes it all the more scary.

A more recent yes I said today will be my first venture at being the Canter on Easter Sunday at our church. This is really scary, but I said yes because in truth, a fellow choir member will be cantering with me…or I'll be cantering with her actually. The St Matthews Episcopal Church Choir was one of the best yeses I made two years ago when I was more in the yes mode. This will be my first time cantering.

I very much enjoy singing sacred music and being a part of a choir. It's such a magical experience to participate in singing pieces that were written two, three sometimes over four hundred years ago. And they were written to be sung in the same manner we are singing them today. After each piece we sing, I say a silent little yes to myself.

I also said yes recently to taking a road trip up to a place known by native Mainers as "The County," which is Aroostook County to the rest of the world. This is a business trip for work this week. My boss and I leave Tuesday morning and will drive the four hours north on Interstate 95 to visit clients and prospective clients in two days. There'll be meetings, dressing up in suits, smiles, lots of handshakes and dinner with an overnight stay in Presque Isle. I'm going to try and post something for Wednesday morning "live from The County" but we'll see how exhausted I am and how coherent it'll be.

Saying yes takes a constant reminder to not say no. It’s surrendering those little fears I’ve carried with me for 49 years.

Egos, Psychics and Ham

I’ve been posting this blog for over two weeks now. Today is the first day I didn’t have a post prepared ahead of time. It’s not that I haven’t written, it’s that when I read back what I’ve written, it sounds really pompous and egotistical. So here I am calling myself out. 

The best part of blogging every day is that I am writing every day. Every DAY! I haven’t done that since I took two years off to write a book (no it wasn’t published). I am learning so very much about myself by having to be honest. My friend Moose Oliver wrote a post recently about a similar thing which helped me understand what was going on with me. When I write in my journal, I can be pompous and even tell myself lies, but I have learned that when you write knowing someone else is going to read it, it makes you take that other perspective. From this I learned I can be a bit over the top. 

So I ask you, my friends and readers, please call me out. Even if it stings me, I’d like to know about it when I don’t catch it.

Here may be an example: Yesterday I went to a local psychic fair. It was billed as a “Holistic and Mystic Fair.” I’ve got to tell you I was so not impressed. There were probably 25 or 30 tables/vendors selling everything from used books, jewelry, digital biofeedback readers, incense, crystals, candles (Scensty had a table) and of course 15 minute psychic readings. I cannot imagine being able to give a quality reading in a room full of people in 15 minutes, and I cannot believe that anyone paying for one, really thinks they are getting something of value. I can actually see possible value in a tarot reading or perhaps an astrological chart, where you’re drawing from symbolism, but really, just a “reading” out of the energy surrounding the person. It was such a frantic environment!!

And there was another issue we (DP met me there) took with some of the “vendors”. There were two animal communicators there so of course we were curious. We happened to be at the fair around lunch time and it was DP who noticed that both people, on opposite sides of the room, were eating ham. DP said, “Do you think they spoke to the pig and got permission?”

Gotta Go!

I’m walking through a large old gymnasium with wooden bleachers lined along the side walls and worn parkay floors. I'm with a group of people and we are touring the building. Along the inside wall of the gym are four open doorways without any doors. Built up pressure in my lower abdomen urges me to pick one, break from the group and walk through it.

I assume it's a locker room finding a maze of divider panels bolted to the concrete floor. I weave my way through the benches and locker banks, hoping this is the girl’s locker room. I spot one girl in a corner stuffing a bag with clothes from an open locker. Just then I come across yet another doorless opening and feel a sense of relief as I peer in to find a row of stalls. The first three are open showers with plastic curtains hanging in various disarray, one ripped, another missing a few hooks. The next stall door has a crooked sign taped to it. I don't read it, but know what it says, and I look to the next. It has no door at all and the toilet is off its base, sitting lopsided. I feel a bit frustrated as the next stall is completely vacant, nothing but a pile of rubble where the toilet should be. The painful pressure in my bladder urges me forward.

At the end of the row is another door out to a hallway, so I get a hold of myself and continue on. I hear a muffled, but shrill meow coming from the door and I push it open to find a room full of chattering girls. Not one of them looks up at me. Against the far wall I notice a completely normal looking toilet with only a divider panel providing moderate privacy and I ask myself if I'm really going to use that one, in front of everyone. I wonder who in the world decided to put it there, and walk by it longingly.

Outside the locker room is an opposing door but when I venture over, I find it locked. Further down the hall, just beyond a metal water fountain, is a door that says WOMEN. At last, I can taste relief as I begin my journey again, hope anew. Then I'm on brightly lit stairs leading up, taking turns at every landing. The pain in my bladder is so intense I’m ready to just find a dark corner, but as I reach the top of the stairs, in the middle of the hall is another perfectly normal looking toilet, standing by itself. I wonder if it's hooked up or just waiting for installation. Should I go ahead and use it? 

As I’m sitting on it, trying to go, I worry that someone will be coming down the hall and I’m just not able to let go. Nothing will happen and the pain and pressure remains. 

Then I laugh out loud as I realize what is happening and think, oh, my God. This is one of those pee dreams and I've got to wake up!

Dead Birds

A gray and white junco slammed into our sliding glass door. Pop, was the sound that brought four cats, a German shepherd and a human rushing to look out the window. Robins chirped loudly through the 30 seconds we stared silently out at it, laying in the mud beyond our deck steps. No movement. It died instantly. A fluff of dark gray feathers stuck to the glass at about chin level, marking the spot where it met the end.

Okay, so this is the second dead bird in two weeks and both happened on the same day of the week. My former pagan self would have sought all kinds of meaning in this. One bird a seagull, water, ocean, a scavenger. The other a junco, ground feeding, white belly, ummm…I don't know much about juncos.

Nope, I got nothing.

No foreboding dread or intuitive realization I shouldn't do something, just two endings one instant, the other long.

And yet...

The suffering seagull gave me the gift of an opportunity - the opportunity to take a risk.

The junco? Sorry guy, I still got nothing.

Emotions

From a kind and courteous comment made on yesterday’s post comes today’s post.

I have considered taking anti-depressants in the past, but right now, as long as I do not make any life altering decisions or become an undue burden to DP as I go through this, I want to continue without.

In a bizarre way, I’m experimenting with the emotional intensity. Because of some past relationship issues, delving into the depths of my emotions has been a very freeing experience for me. I can explain it at this moment because I’m now beyond the tar pit and can look back at it objectively, understanding I’ll return.

Call me crazy, but I’m engaging in the drama of all this - the mood swings, the blog, the year of yes connections and people’s responses - as part of my own spiritual practice. I used to think because I could “control” (suppress) my emotions, I was being objective about them and therefore in a higher place of consciousness.

It turns out I was dead wrong.

I learned in a difficult way for me and the people surrounding me at the time, that suppressed emotions come out, and control (or lack thereof) is just an egoic story I tell myself.

Today I want to feel those emotions, recognize them (with gentle help from DP when I can’t do it myself) and honor them for what they are – the body’s reaction to a challenge or restriction – decide whether I need to take any action (is there a real decision to be made here, or just the need for a couple of Ibuprophen), make/take it or not, then pull back from the emotion, if I can, as it continues, or just ride it out with at least an awareness of it.

Writing it out this way as a step by step process is very satisfying, but the process doesn't feel like it's "happening" like that. It just kinda does. 


Thank you, Kim for prompting this.

MOPe 2

“I’m feeling that stressed energy from you, this morning,” DP said to me as she put her coat on to take the dogs out for a woods walk. It brought me out of my stupor as I stood staring at the kitchen counter.

“I don’t think I’m going to continue with a blog post every day.” I announced the flood of thoughts swirling through my head. I’d just finished the dishes and had yet to put a lunch together for work and then make breakfast.

“Do you think you feel that way because it’s right before your period? Everything looks like an insurmountable task.”

I looked up at her with tears welled up in my eyes - they would not fall. She is so good at that. The gentle reminder. She is so totally right. That was it. My two pots, two plates and a handful of silverware seemed like a Thanksgiving dinner clean up. Packing up an entire lunch so I wouldn’t starve to death at work was an already made half sandwich from yesterday’s lunch that I had to remove from the refrigerator and place in my lunch bag. Breakfast? One egg or two, English Muffins or toast, or just cereal? Do we have bananas? Milk? Is it sour? Is there enough? If I don't eat soon, I'll surely faint.

These are the days when I carry the enormous weight of the world and can barely move or make a decision. The days when I feel like I’m walking through a tar pit are far too frequent as I wait for MenOPause. I can’t find the peace of a still mind because the thought to meditate is so deeply buried under the screaming collective pain-body of the entire female race accumulated from giving life, fighting oppression, violence, and rape since the beginning of humanity as we know it.

Yeah…that’s the reason I’m ready for the “change of life.”

Even within the tar pit I seem to find words. This is post #12, so far so good.

MOPe

All my friends are having hot flashes, why can't I?

My mother went through MenOPause when she was 48. She said it was simple for her…one or two periods missed and then there were none. I've been anticipating my last period since I turned 40. Nine years later and I can still have a baby…woo-hoo.

Can you imagine my joy the first time I missed Aunt Flo? Yeah, that was some four years ago. It turns out it was likely due to stress, and every other time after that, too. To add to my grief, my Cousin Red is now staying longer - a full seven to eight days, where she used to only stay a simple 4 to 5 days.

And you could set the moon by my Womenly Flows, I was so regular and without the help of the pill which, of course I had no need of. These days I might as well throw my calendar up in the air.

While I expect the usual cramps, bloating and lower back ache each month, I hadn't expected them to get progressively worse through these last couple of years. But what can be nearly debilitating when the Red-Tide comes in is the hormonal change in my mood. Okay, that was a glossy way of saying I get depressed.

It's coming - or stopping - I know it, and so I'll just look on with envy when my friends start ripping off their sweaters and turning on their mini fans.

What to Wear

If there is one thing I dread come Monday morning…it’s staring into my open closet trying to find something to wear. Usually one or two of our eight cats (see my other blog Cat of Nine Tales) takes advantage of my indecisiveness to explore my shoes.

I try most days to pick out my clothes the night before so I don’t waste precious morning time on it. Let’s just say I am not a fashioniesta. I guess I am conscious of fashion because I do try to look coordinated (if not up-to-date). So I generally consult my partner for approval and I’ll confess that she buys most of my clothes now.

I'm more of a turtleneck and sweater kind of girl, or turtleneck with a shirt (or blouse or Oxford as you may call it) loosely worn over it. If I could get away with black pants and a colored turtleneck every day, I’d be happy. Well, honestly, pajama pants and a t-shirt would be happiness, the former desire would only make life easier.

So as winter fades away and warmer, longer, sunnier days draw near I do not look forward to its clothes. Short sleeves which show off my lovely croissant-like arms…you know, white, pasty with layers folded over layers in a delicate curved shape, and shorts to send glaring flares of white flesh up into your eyes (if you aren’t wearing sunglasses).

Oh, yeah, the sun? I appreciate the work it does, and I do enjoy a bit of warmth now and then, but I stay out of the sun as much as possible. My mother blessed me with cancer prone genes and even though her kind of skin cancer was the easily removed kind, I have no interest in tempting that.

I’m happy just being a white girl who prefers to cover up on a cloudy day in winter.

Freesia

Freesia is my favorite flower scent. Oh, I love Gardenia, along with Roses, but both of them are rather heady when Freesia has a lighter, crisper scent without being too sweet like Honeysuckle. There was a time when my favorite scent was Lauren by Ralph Lauren, then it was Opium for a short time. I even wore Patchouli for several years, but I didn’t really love the smell of it like I did Lauren and Opium. A couple years ago I had this scent made for me with a “too cool” combination of scented oils trying to copy the smell of an oil I was given in a Reiki workshop. It’s also kind of heady.

I love to take deep breaths of Freesia if anyone is lucky enough to get a real live bouquet of fresh flowers.  The other day I thought to myself, they should bottle this so I can wear it and smell it all the time? Then I remembered that they probably do bottle it, so now I’ll look forward to this year’s county fairs and the booth selling pure essence oils and look for Freesia. I also might check out Lilac’s smell to see if it is nice or too heady next to Freesia.

Gone are the musky scents of sexuality that seem heavy and exaggerated to me now. They get caught in my throat and make me cough. I want to smell like something natural, made by the Creator. I want to smell like flowers.

This is how I know I’m getting old.

April Snows

Spring in New England 

means the promise of green grass around the corner...

March 30th

and then a reminder, just one last time, of where we're coming from.

April 1st

I couldn't help feel excited about this snow storm as it approached. I'm a lover of winter and although I look forward to spring's flowers and some greenery, spring snow is my favorite. It melts rather quickly so it doesn't equal a lot of work and further accumulation. I find it very cleansing, as spring is usually full of dirty old snow and lots of mud. LOTS OF MUD.

Thankfully, I have Fridays off from work so I just soaked in the day in front of our wood stove and enjoyed winter's final words (I’ll be back).

Rescue Me Follow up

Well, I’m sad to report the seagull from my Tuesday post “Rescue Me” did not make it.

The woman from Avian Haven said he died almost immediately after arriving. She said there wasn’t anything they could do for him because he had severe internal injuries and a crushed wing, so they would have euthanized him in the long run. She was very appreciative that we took the time to bring the gull in, and said most people don’t think a gull is worth saving.

I am always amazed at how passionate humans can be about something that strikes a chord with them. There are people devoted to every cause imaginable. When the earthquake and tsunami struck Japan, the cat blogging community I belong to clamored to learn about the fate of stranded pets and especially the cats on a Japanese island known as Cat Island. Thankfully the island cats and the 100 or so humans that live with them were largely unscathed. There were special funds set up to help and donations continue to pour in.

Last week I heard a story on National Public Radio about volunteer rescue teams who located and collected lost dogs and cats in the affected area. Within a couple days NPR was reading some of their weekly comments from listeners, and one commenter was angry that anyone would do anything else when there were still human beings missing. I thought to myself, that person doesn’t understand. There are people who are willing and passionate to find lost humans, lost dogs, lost cats and lost gerbils, too I’m sure. I hadn’t heard one report that they needed help finding people, so rescuing pets wasn't an alternative to finding people. It struck a chord with those animal rescuers and they knew they had to do it.

There is a natural balance to humanity when we listen and connect to our inner passion, that "chord," our creator source.