DEVIL CAT…

Brandi, such a sweet name for such a nasty cat! She is huge and heavy - about 20 pounds. She's a Maine Coon so the vet says and he has known her since she was born. Poor thing - her first family had her nails removed from her front paws - OUCH. How can you do that to a cat? No protection. I guess I can see why they did because everything in my house would be torn to shreds. Yeah, she still thinks she has them and it is quite funny to watch her knock herself out scratching the chairs or the rug. She goes at things with nothing but total destruction in mind. And they had kids - and the way she reacts to my kids and grandkids she would have scratched somebody's eyes out! We all love cats and my grandkids are very gentle with their own kitties. It's a shame, really, to see them want to pet her and she hisses and growls and swats at them. They feel bad. Poor Zach, when he stays over, sometimes she leaves him alone but most times she'll stand in his way and won't let him pass and I have to go stand guard so he can move safely.

And the dog. Star gets along well with anything on 4 legs. Now maybe Brandi wasn't raised with a dog because she will attack Star for no reason at all and has no fear of her. And she will deliberately stand in front of the water dish so Star can't get to it. And she loves the water. She washes her face and paws in it and will lay down and stare at it lovingly until she falls asleep. She wants Star's food, too, as if she doesn't eat enough - HA.

Recently, she has decided Star would make a great playmate. She chases the dog and wants Star to chase her back and this can go on and on if Star is in the right mood. She'll run after Star's toys when we throw them and not let Star catch them. She doesn't want the toy, wouldn't think of picking it up in her mouth (eeeew, Dog Lips.) Intimidation is the name of the game with Brandi.

And it took her 3 years to decide she might like me and can tolerate sitting next to me and the occasional petting session. But only me. Go figure. Maybe because I basically ignored her except to feed her - she's not dumb!

Why do I keep her, you might ask? Because for about half the year she earns her keep. Where we live, the field mice decide to come indoors for the Winter, if you catch my drift. Do you realize how maddening it can be to open your lingerie drawer and find little mice presents and birthing stuff and holes in your socks and jammies?? You don gloves and patiently (or not so patiently) remove everything to bags, shake them out, and do two loads of extra hot wash with every known disinfectant in it, clean the drawers and replace the items only to repeat it again in a few more days! Well, NO MORE! Brandi is the best mouser ever. As soon as the weather begins to get cooler, she doesn't eat much, she doesn't sleep, and neither do I - because she watches, waits, chases, and pounces… walks around with it in her mouth while meowing (how does she do that?), lets it go for a little more kitty play, and starts all over again - ALL NIGHT LONG! Or at least until I get Kenny to get the thing from her and throw it outside. No way I'm touching it!

That's when Brandi is truly very precious…and so she stays. I think she is milking it for all she can get. Who knows? Maybe she'll find other ways to amuse me for the rest of the year - some year!

Some of my artwork...

Sheltering Palms

Palm at Dusk

"Parrot Heads"

New Neighbors

"See Rock City"... on a road in North Carolina

2 Gulls are worth..., Pileated Woodpecker..., Baby Purple Martin

The Race?

  Keel Strand, Achill Island, Atherone

Martello Tower, on the coast of Dublin, Dalkey Isl.

Stone Circle, Drombeg, County Cork

Strangford Lough, Ulster

Carlow Castle on the River Barrow, County Carlow

These were a part of my Ireland exhibit

And In The End...

Well, babies, it's been two, no, almost three years now since I cheated Death.

When I first got home, I was exhausted most of the time, but at least I was making sense. At the end of the first week, I decided to sit at the piano and see what happened and voila, the fingers and the mind worked well together. I could read the music and play almost as good as before. I couldn't sing worth a lick though. That took quite a while. After another week, I tried to paint again. Ooops, this was not going as well. The stuff I did looked pretty amateurish and needless to say, it did not make it to the Gallery. The ideas were there, but the hands weren't. It's funny how the muscles you use to play piano and paint can get so tired...

I was still having nightmares about the car thing but at least they were only dreams, not real this time. One day I sat at my easel and started to paint my hallucinations and they were good, eerie but good. I haven't shown them to anyone outside the family but you have seen my car on a dark stretch of road being taken up in a huge hand of surf... that's just the way it turned out. The funny thing, though, is that once I painted them, the dreams were gone forever. I could get in my car again and drive! And I went on then to paint my seven pictures of places in Ireland in time for my art show at the Gallery on Saint Patrick's Day, of course. The newspaper was going to do my story for the art showing and reception but the reporter had problems getting to me in time to write it - no matter, I had already written it. A good human interest piece telling how painting had helped me come back from the grave and the proceeds of my show would be going to the Heart Tower at the hospital. Yep, I sold a painting that night and one was auctioned off for a prize. I gave my story to the newspaper, they published it as written and said they could not have done it any better. WOW! My mind was back.

My first visits back to my doctors were really strange. They all knew me but I was really meeting them for the first time. They told me they did not expect to see much of a recovery and were amazed at how far I had come. They had my awful picture on the computer and showed me the face, unrecognizable as anyone I knew, certainly not the face in the mirror now. Horrible, bloated, pockets full of fluid....
My family doc called me "Lazarus" when I came in for my first appointment after 3 months home.
I sent flowers and stuffed toys to the nurses I tried to take out, too. Thank you for not holding it against me.

I felt like I should go down to Main Street and announce to whoever that I was sorry if I said or did anything inappropriate during that time but that it wasn't really me - it was the other girl. My neighbors came around a lot just to check in and told me how worried they had been. I guess I was finally forgiven for the flying saucer thing. And when anyone said to me, "It's good to see you, I responded with, "It's good to be seen!"

Have I changed any? Well, yes in some ways. I don't take anything for granted now, I called everyone I knew and told them how much I loved them. I try not to argue as much for the heck of it, but some things won't change. I think I am even more demonstrative and maybe a little nuttier than before but in a good, happy way. And I am thankful, so thankful, to the powers that be for every day and every thing that comes my way. And I can never, ever, tell my husband enough how terrific I think he is. I think a lot of guys would have taken just so much and then exit, stage right.

And the shopping, oh, the shopping.  And my hubby never complained once about my extravagance. I always hated shopping, well not the shopping but the returns but hey, returning things too big is more fun, right? Nothing I had in my closet would fit me anymore. So I shopped til I dropped...each week, because as soon as I bought a few things, the next week they were too big - that's right - I said TOO BIG. What wonderful words. I went from a XX to a 10, I weighed what I weighed in high school... and I was looking good for an old lady! And I bought a two piece bathing suit for the first time in - never mind how long. Yes, those were the days. Of course I've managed to gain some back but I'm still working on it. I'll settle for a 14.

And Christmas, oh my. My living room was not big enough to hold all the presents I bought for everyone. I couldn't remember the last Christmas and certainly didn't know what I got anyone or if I got anyone anything so I made up for it. I spared no price as my Credit Cards will tell you. I just maxed everything out. But so what - I was happy to have another Christmas. My kids, my kids are closer than ever these days - my daughter even calls me on the phone and talks for hours and is becoming quite a friend - and that's a good thing. My grandkids, such a joy, so happy Nana was back, and I want them here all the time.

And so I celebrate - hallelujah - the oxygen tank is gone. They made me keep it and use it for a year. Ever try to sleep with that monitor with the thing on your finger so they could see how much you slept and breathed at the same time and the tubing around your neck and the cat on your chest? I hated it (the oxygen, not the cat) but I persisted and did my blow thingys and my nebulizer and after a while it was just taking up space and collecting dust and I begged them to take it away. But they wouldn't sign off on it until a year was gone. And one by one, I didn't need the specialists anymore.

So I have good days and every now and then bad days... I have slowed down some but I think it's time. I'm busy enough with school - and life - ain't it great?

"And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make" Beatles, White Album...

Well, gee, that was dumb...

OK, let's try this again because some dummy posted a short and sweet blog and didn't hit save!

I am almost ready to post the final chapter but first I have to finish typing in my Health Care Administration paper. Too much to do this week and now I have to rush. Will I make it?  Wish me luck as I aim for the midnight hour... the saga continues...

Stay tuned...

Plunging into Insanity... 4

The rest is a big blur.
Get in the car. Where are we going? I didn't hear the answer, I fell asleep. Get out of the car. Where are we...hospital. Why? Test scheduled. Who scheduled it? Your doctor. What doctor, I don't have a doctor, he's dead. You've seen several doctors, family doctor, pulmonary, cardiologist, sleep tests. No I didn't...I would remember if I did. Wouldn't I?
Out of the clothes, into the gown, onto the table, nighty night.
Where am I? Hospital bed, your room. Whoa. I don't have a bed and I certainly don't have a room, I'm out of here. Fighting now with everything I have. 4 big nurses, too many hands, trying to get me back into the bed. Get your hands off me! Take that. Wham, Pow. Right in the kisser...one down, three to go.
Loving arms, surrounding me, pleading with me, tears in his eyes. Stay, just for a little while, it's OK. Please, just take me home, I want to go home, I don't belong here. Yes you do. Calm down and we'll go for a walk.
What choice do I have?
Front and back gowns, now, walking with Kenny...dragging Murphy with the hanging bag.  Eyes wide, looking all around. There's an exit, I'll find it, then color me gone.
Back and forth, always searching for that exit. Kenny knows what I'm looking for, so does she. Amazon Nurse a few steps behind - built like a linebacker. Maybe not.

I woke up once - nurse in a chair. I'm cuddling a little brown bear... Ha Ha. I made a rhyme. Apparently my granddaugter had been here and gave me her bear so I would feel better. How long have I been asleep? Pretty much for days. IV's, meds., lots of meds. Eat, sleep. Doctors in and out - I don't know them. 
Apparently, everyone has been to visit but I don't remember anything. I'm getting better. Had a shower (snuck a cigarette.) IV gone and about 50 more pounds! How did that happen? You can just go to sleep and lose weight? Patent it!

Cardiologist in with test results - no blockages - great! Pulmonologist in - lungs don't look as bad as he thought they would with my smoking - but STOP. Wonderful. Psychiatrist in - asked about my Hallucinations - said it was all part of the deal - we'll just call them misinterpretations of what you were seeing. The mind is a funny thing. Phew - that's a relief.
Oxygen deprivation is my theory... the itching, the sleeping, the bumps healing black. My skin was dying and so was I.
Cleared for takeoff. Uh I mean, I can be discharged now.

I had Congestive Heart Failure - not sure why. They took 17 pounds of fluid off my lungs. Not to mention the bloated pockets of fluid on my face and the leaking from the bumps at my ankles. It will all heal fine and go away. Hence the weight loss. 

But I'm in atrial fib and my Heart ejection faction is 15. All new meds - removed all old ones. No more pain program...only thing I can have is Tylenol. Great - I've lost 70 pounds plus twenty over the past year - at 5 foot and 1/2 inch - I shouldn't have any more back pain now.

They tell me they spent the first 24 hours just trying to keep me above the dirt Their words, not mine. (Professional medical jargon.). Recovery will be slow.

Plunging into Insanity... 3

Who's that pretty girl in the mirror, there? (Which, what, where, who?) West Side Story. 
My Mother's face, my Mother's hands. Old, wrinkled, bloated, uncaring. Just gone - without a trace.

I couldn't breathe right. Should stop smoking. Can't.
Eat, smoke, sleep. That's what I do. Don't answer the phone. Don't answer the door. Whoever it is will go away. There's all my pills, spread out on the table. For how long? Ready to put in my daily dose containers for the week. What day is it? What time is it? It's Howdy Doody time, boys and girls in the Peanut Gallery. Does anybody really know what time it is? (Does anybody really care - about time...) Chicago.
Did I count them? Did I take them? Did I take them too many times? Questions, questions, too many questions. "I wrote it down. Look at the paper if you want to know." Jibberish. The words. Scribblings of unintelligible letters and numbers. Don't mean a thing. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that Swing. Dowah dowah dowaht dowa..." Cab Calloway. Everbody dance.

But I'm not dancing, I'm too busy Hallucinating. A pile of clean laundry on a chair in a dimly lit room... Kenny come quick there's someone in the den...
There's a whole lot of kids running through the backyard with buckets in their hands... but only I can see them.
The Sheriff and his Deputy - standing in my hallway...Sorry, Sir (always respectful, he doesn't care a whole lot for the police, something about surviving the 1960's) she hasn't been well, there's no problem here.
Why did I call the Sherrif? Clapton..."I Shot the Sherriff, but I did not Shoot no Deputy." Maybe.
Staring at the moon out the patio doors, a big full beautiful moon. People on my deck with huge pieces of white poster board. Students from the college, I think. Sketching the moon. I go out to chase them away but they just follow the moon to where it now hovers over my driveway. But it's not the moon anymore... and there are no more students...vanished... on the spot... into thin air...it's just me and the spaceship, watching me as it morphs into a huge uterus giving birth to little... little what? Drops of red falling down to the ground creating a big red puddle that ripples as more drops fall. Where did that come from?
Hi Angie, Hi Jeff. "Did you see it? Last night? The moon changed into a spaceship. Yes really. I'm sorry you missed it. Oh, OK see you later." It was a very long time before they spoke to me again.

I awake screaming. I can't breathe. Tearing my clothes off - get them off me I can't BREATHE!

Continued...one more time...I hope.

Plunging into Insanity... 2



"Surf's Up"

 I couldn't stand it any longer... the nightmares, the images in my brain, the sounds, Alan Jackson singing the same song. It was everpresent...in Winter, then in Spring. Faye... I had to talk to Faye. Damn. Why did she have to live on the other coast? If she were here... if she were here... I could survive this. We always got through everything together. Now there's thousands of miles between us...no hugging, no touching, just talking, always on the phone. She said I was not dreaming. She said it was an Hallucination. How could that be? Why would that be? She said get a new doctor, get off the damn pills, you know how we react to medicines, can't even take 1/2 an Aspirin without falling asleep, get away from the quack - don't make me come out there! (I wish.) Day in and day out she badgered me. I was on a pain program for years for my back - Ativan, Prozac, Hydrocodone, and the occasional nerve block when the pain was so bad that the needle into my spine felt wonderful.
Our beloved Dr. Johnson was dead. Vacationing with his wife, driving on the wrong side of the road, in a foreign country. Gone now, all gone. My doctor continued the program, no questions asked. Other meds., too, for what ails me. Never had a problem with them before.

I itched, one arm then the other, then back again, so bad I almost ripped my skin off - lovely scars now. First just pink, then red, then they started to turn black. Then they were on my legs around my ankles. Fluid was leaking from them. Nothing helped, no doctors knew what it was. I knew. On my arm, the big itchy scar that looked like a bolt of lightning, turning blue-green. Ever see Pseudomonus? Ever smell Pseudomonus? You'll see it and smell it someday, in someone's decubitus ulcer. And you'll never forget it. There it was, and I had it. But why?

I began sleeping a lot. Anywhere and everywhere. I'd slide out of a chair, sound asleep. I'd fall off the toilet and sleep on the bathroom floor. I see photos of me sleeping in a corner, sitting up, facing the wall. I would fall down often. Kenny, sweet Kenny, had his hands full. Pick me up, put me in the bed, watch over me, and as it got worse, as I got worse, running to the doctor's office on his way home from work every day with each new symptom. Why can't you do something? Never talking on the phone again, sleeping instead of having Christmas dinner with my family, my daughter afraid to leave my grandkids with me. "Don't bother Nana, Honey, she doesn't feel good, she's asleep, close the door." No reading, no painting, no shopping, no singing, no playing the piano. And definitely no driving. Personality gone. Person gone.

To be continued, again...

Plunging into Insanity...

I think it was Fall, I'm not really sure. I'm not really sure about a lot of things, still.
I know it was early evening, not quite dark but a little dusky, not cold, and I was on my way home from auditing Professor Bob Ratner's Holocaust Class in Humanities at UNC-A. Bob was my boss...not at the college but at work where he was the Rabbi and I was the Administrator for the Congregation and his personal assistant. He was brilliant, fascinating, and I took advantage of everything he wanted to teach me.

Alan Jackson was singing "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning, on that September Day."
The rag top was still on my Miata, it wasn't cold enough for the hard top yet... and my world was about to shatter along with my mind.

Suddenly my car lurched to the right, right off the Interstate, and all I could see was a stand of trees coming closer, ever closer, TOO CLOSE. I jerked the wheel to my left and was on the highway again but I was heading across it toward a barrier between me and oncoming traffic. I was aware of the traffic behind me  - a line of headlights in two lanes - but they were standing still and just before I would have hit that barrier, my car spun around and left the ground. It came down upside down, made another revolution - up and down and over and under and then righted itself. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, I never had. I figure if I'm in a bad accident in my Miata, chances are nothing would save me anyway. Does anyone know that my car is so small and so low that if a cop stops me he has to get on his knees to talk to me? My hands were not on the steering wheel any longer. And I was in the left lane, driving normally with traffic beside and behind me. No one was honking their horns at me and Alan was still singing the same 9/11 song. I was perfectly intact and from the inside, my car seemed to be, too. A man in a truck passed me on the right with neither a honk or a frantic look on his face. He wasn't even looking at me.

The exit ahead was a familiar place with an Ingles and a Mc Donald's so I pulled off to park in the lot. I was shaken, a little sore on my right shoulder, and wanted to take a close look at the damage to my car. My precious Miata. Two seater roadster, Midnight Blue. No more kids to haul around, just me and a friend or my dog. With the top down, I could get a tan, the wind whipping through my newly blonde hair (and yes, blondes do have more fun) and the music blasting loud. Right up to Winter, with the heat blasting. I had wanted it for so long and it cost so much but I finally got it; brand new 1999 and now fully paid for by me, myself, and I. There was not a single mark on it. Not a dent, not a ding, not a scratch, nothing.

I calmly drove the rest of the way home, never said a word about it, and went to the bathroom to check myself out. Same deal. Not a bruise, not a scrape, not a bump, same old me. What the Hell just happened?

For days and weeks, I went back to the place where my "accident" happened. I looked at the road and I looked at the trees, and I looked at the grassy areas. No tire skid marks, no ruts in the grass, trees still standing straight and tall. No evidence. Nothing. No cross on the side of the road - good news. I checked my car out from every angle every day - did I miss somethng? No. The sore shoulder went away and still no marks on me, zero, zilch, nada. And still I said nothing and went on with my life, wondering... how can this be? 

To be continued...

My STAR baby...

Here she is, my precvious little girl.

Of course she is fullgrown now but when we adopted her she was all white with just a little black spot on her ears. She has one blue eye and one brown eye and her eyelashes match - they are white on the blue eye and brown on the brown eye! Over time she developed more spots, some very defined, others a little blotchy. She's a Dalmatian mix but nobody knows what the other part could possibly be. She's like a mini-Dalmatian with all of the traits, personality, and energy of a full bred Dalmatian. 

The only problem is that she doesn't know she's a dog! She is a little person, thank you very much. She has a tremendous vocabulary and she knows what every little look on our faces means, every movement, all of our routines, and all of our habits.  Heaven forbid that I am not at dinner with Dad because I'm on the computer doing my assignments (what else?) She waits and watches for me to approach and smiles - yes I said smiles - as soon as I come in the room. It's not just that she's glad to see me, it's more that she's saying, "Well, it's about time. Now I know that I am gonna get some food, too."  She's relieved because she knows Dad leaves nothing on his plate but Mommy leaves at least one bite of everything just for her.

The day that we adopted her, she was a featured pet on a news spot that morning but we never saw it. They told us after we signed the papers. Therefore, she is named STAR.

Of Eggs and onions Unit 4

The Egg: In its raw state is just that - a raw, sticky, semi-liquid mass that will spill forth when its shell is penetrated; an afterthought of what might have been.

The Shell: Fairly thin, definitely not too thick, but just a bit of protection for what lies within.

If gently cooked, the mass within becomes more separated into a semi-soft white portion with a distinct yellow gelatin-like center that when penetrated, becomes just a little more distinctive in appearance from its original raw state. The shell remains unchanged.

When hard-boiled, the mass within now becomes 2 distinctive solid substances: a round yellow ball encased in an oval of white that merely breaks apart when penetrated and yet remains distinctly different. And again the shell remains the same.

The Onion: It has no hard shell of protection...just layer upon layer to be peeled away to expose more layers...Whether fried or sauteed or boiled or sliced or diced or chopped, it remains a sequence of layers.

No, people, I'm not cooking today.

Another horrific act of violence in our country has shaken me to my core and has inspired me again, finally, to have something to say.
As I listen to the details of this shooter, I am reminded that of all the horrific events of the past few years, the ones I find most disturbing are perpetrated by someone's child - a teen or young adult - taking the lives of significant figures in his life - authority figures, parents, teachers, principals, friends, enemies, and ultimately, himself.

For many people, the question asked is Why? For me, my question is Where?

Where were the parents, the friends, the authority figures, and even the enemies in the lives of these kids? Can they not cook? Can they not add 2 + 2?

To me, these perpetrators look like eggs jumping around in boiling water or layers of onions dancing as they saute in the pan. They are flipping and flopping like fish out of water. They are sending up so many red flags that you can see the pool of blood to come; surrounding them and their victims, like a dark, thick, metallic-smelling red river in which they ALL drown.

Our children are like eggs: they have a thin protective shell around them. Without any stimulus, they will remain, on the inside, just an afterthought of what might have been. With some stimulus, as in the way parents and teachers and significant figures in their lives so enthusiastically try at the start, the inner mass begins to solidify. Yet, too soon, circumstances arise and the interest of these significant figures declines, they get distracted, stimulus ends, and the mass within is reduced to gelatin, flip-flopping around with no clear direction. For others, so much stimuli comes from the outside that they are hardened, fully cooked, only to break into pieces.

Our children's thoughts, emotions, morality, value systems, and personalities develop from the egg to adulthood as the layers of an onion that, if attention is paid, can be gently peeled away to expose their inner core.

As parents first and other significant figures in our kids' lives, it is up to us to combine the layered unprotected onion with the harder shell of protection of the egg. It is up to us to control the heat and evaluate the stimulus they receive, to be ever vigilant for those red flags, to help them develop healthy layers, and to prevent them from cracking and ultimately falling apart.

As you look at your kids, with all the enthusiasm and pride of a new parent, brush up on your math skills and improve upon your cooking. See the egg and the onion as time is ticking away and never, for a minute, or for any reason, be distracted so much that you allow the timer to go off.

To Blog or not to Blog - Unit 4

Assignment - Blog... This one to cover Christmas and its aftermath... and I have nothing to say.
Me, nothing to say...
My reflections have centered on Christmases past and present. My emotions have run the gamut of joyous highs and devastating lows... How do you put such extremes of exhileration and gut-wrenching emotional pain into words? To do so, I would need a bottle of Ativan and a months supply of Kleenex and risk the chance of being confined for a nice little rest in a place where I would not be a danger to myself or society.
And so I have nothing to say and it's Friday night.

By Saturday evening I could give you one sentence about my Devil Cat suddenly becoming cuddly with me for an hour on increasing occasions. Or I could give you about 15 minutes on how suddenly, my dog wants to go out every hour or so and whines continuously and is becoming most annoying and we don't know yet why this sudden change is happening.
Big WHOOP!

And yet, I have nothing to say.