That Which Does Not Kill Me...

No, I haven't died.  Just in case you were wondering.

The world is a strange and confusing place, and I seem to be floating back and forth between 'strange' and 'confusing'.

       

                                              (Mike Twohy)

I've often read/heard this quote by Nietzsche, and it annoys me every time.  However, right now I'm hoping it's true, because otherwise I'm going crazy instead of getting stronger.

I was really hoping that 2017 would be a better year than the previous three, and it still might turn out that way.  So far, though, it hasn't had much to commend it.  Both our rent and my student loan payments are going up in April; not through the roof, but enough to make things difficult.  There was a fire in our apartment complex a few weeks ago. While our apartment wasn't damaged, it was a really scary experience.  My in-laws in Florida are having serious health issues, and we are worried about them but can't do much from California.  We had to put our oldest cat to sleep (her "In Memorium" is the post before this one).  And ALL of this stuff happened in March!  It feels like the Garbage Truck of Life is dumping on my house... again.  I really wish it would lose my address.

Fortunately, better things are also in the works for us.  We are getting ready to start house hunting, and we are going through a national non-profit organization called NACA (Neighborhood Assistance Corporation of America), which will allow us to avoid having to come up with a down payment and closing costs.  I've only got three more museum classes to take before getting my certificate (the next one starts in April).  I'm working on a new horror short story.  And I just colored my hair a pastel smokey sapphire blue!  The color looks pretty good, although I didn't quite do it right so some of the hair underneath in back didn't get colored at all.  But, hey, I can always buy another box!  :-) 

At this point in time, I'm sort of content just to float along and see what happens next.  I don't really feel like doing anything, as in being proactive about the future, other than the house hunting.  And even that is really something I need to do because the extra rent will be an extra hardship, especially since the new owners are grousing about us having pets.  The past couple of years have really tired me out, and I need some downtime.  So right now, I'm going to sit here in my office, listening to the German Gothic band Faun's Totem album and smelling the freshly opened daffodils I bought at Trader Joe's, and just BE.  

And if any of you would like the Garbage Truck of Life to visit your house, just send me your address, and I'll be glad to send It along. 

In Memorium: Scathach/Pachamama, 2001?-2017

She was a beautiful tortoiseshell cat, originally known as 'Spitter', mainly because she would hiss and spit at everyone, especially her former human.  When we met her in 2004, she had been living on her own on our apartment complex property for about two years.  She had had at least three litters that we knew of; we had one of the kittens from the first one.  That summer we noticed her taking her three kittens to drink at the pool, which is next to our living room window.  We started bringing them water so they wouldn't drink out of the pool, but of course, that turned into bringing them daily food as well.  She never meowed at us; instead, she hissed.  We soon learned to translate these fairly well:

"Hiss." (Oh, it's you.)

"Hiss!" (We're hungry, feed us!)

"Hiss! Hiss!"  (You're late, where's our food?)

"Hiss?"  (More, please?)

"HISSSS!!"  (Don't try to pet me, you idiot, I'll rip your arm off!!)

We named her Scathach, after the Scottish warrior woman who trained many of the great warriors of Celtic mythology.  It seemed fitting, as her weaponry was rather formidable, considering she weighed only around six pounds.  However, she never once actually scratched or bit either of us, although once she did warn Martin off with a hiss-and-swat when he tried to pet her.  He got off VERY lightly, with only two tiny pinholes from one claw instead of a shredded arm.

While she still had this litter with her, she got pregnant again.  The five kittens (four black females and an orange/white male) were born just over the fence from our bedroom.  Three weeks later, when construction work was threatening the tree she had sheltered them under, we brought them in and set up a nursery in our master bathtub.  (Thank goodness we have two bathrooms!) Scathach willingly followed, and graciously allowed us to stay while she raised her babies.

Well, we found homes for two of those kittens, but Scathach and the other three stayed with us, along with the older two that were still with her and the one we already had.  (The new orange and white kitten was Chango, whose 'In Memorium' is posted here.)  It didn't take long until she stopped spitting.  The day she climbed into my lap, settled down, and started purring, I held my breath in disbelief, afraid if I moved she would hiss and run.  But she didn't.  After watching her continue to nurse her last litter for months, even after being spayed, we changed her name to Pachamama (or Mama, for short), after the Inca fertility/earth goddess.  Over the years, she has never stopped being "Mom" to them, running to see what was going on every time she heard one of them cry, growl or hiss.  Since Gandalf took over as king of our 'herd', she has also been affectionately referred to as the "Queen Mum". 

Then, this last Sunday morning (the day after the one-year anniversary of my mom's interment), Mama came up to me crying; she couldn't close her mouth and was drooling all over herself.  We rushed her to the vet and he found a HUGE tumor in her upper jaw, wrapped around an infected tooth.  We all felt she probably wouldn't survive surgery, so we let her go while we were there.  I am honestly surprised she lived this long; we think she was around 16 or 17, and  was down to 4 pounds, all bones, organs and skin.  She has been 'forgetting' to use the litter box for the last 4-5 months and was pooing on the carpet frequently unless we led her to the box.  Unlike the other cats we've lost, we didn't think she would want to be buried up on the hill in the local regional park (our private 'pet cemetery'), so we put her in the back yard where she can watch over the place she lived all her life.  It feels really weird not having her here, but once we knew she was suffering there was no question about the right thing to do.  

Rest in peace, Mama.  May your children who have gone before you greet you with love.  And may Bast and Sekhmet welcome you with honor to the Field of Reeds!

Book Review: "9 Realities of Caring for an Elderly Parent"

Way back in January 2014, the day after my mom went to the hospital for emergency heart surgery, I attended a talk given by a woman who had gone through pretty much what I was about to go through, and who had written a book about her experience.  The book is "9 Realities of Caring for an Elderly Parent", and the author, Stefania Shaffer, was touring to promote it, and was invited to speak at our university.  I almost didn't go, because I was afraid the hospital might call while I was at the talk; it turned out to be one of the best things I could have done.  Not only was I inspired by what she had to say at a time when I really needed it, but I bought her book and read it while dealing with caring for my mother and grandmother.

During those two years when I was shuttling back and forth between home and my mom's house (or the nursing center), I  sometimes felt VERY much alone.  Although my friends and family were verbally supportive, I had very little help with anything that actually needed doing, not because nobody wanted to help, but because most of the time no one else was in a position to.  Unfortunately, this happens to many people who find themselves suddenly having to care for elderly parents alone, when other family members are either unable or unwilling to pitch in.  "9 Realities" became part of my support group, because I was able to compare what she had to deal with against my own situation.  I sent copies to a few friends to help them cope as well.  When my mom died, I read the section on grieving more than once, to remind myself that I still wasn't alone. 

"The Companion Playbook" came out just this year, and I was privileged to receive one as a gift from Stefania.  I sure wish I'd had it while my mother and grandmother were alive, I could really have used it as well!  It not only has the really important points from the book reiterated in "nutshell" format, but it has charts and checklists for each point that can be used as written or adapted to your individual situation.  The Playbook can serve as a stand-alone guide without the original book, if you really don't have the time to read that as well. 

Stefania's book is an incredible story of love and forgiveness, and I highly recommend both it and its companion workbook to anyone who has aging parents, even if they are still active and in good health.   You can order both books at Stefania's website:  http://stefaniashaffer.com/

                  

Sweet 16th Anniversary

No fancy posts today!  Martin and I celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary yesterday, and I just have to say this to the person at our wedding whom my son overheard saying that "it won't last a year":

IN YOUR FACE!  Tttthhhpppppffftttttt!!!!!  

In Memorium: Shirley Lee (Simpson) Myers, 1935-2016

On Tuesday, January 19, 2016, my mom finally got her wish, and passed away peacefully in her sleep, almost two years from the day she had her heart surgery.  But her heart didn't give out on her; instead, she made an informed decision.

It was a long and difficult two years.  Changing roles, where I became the one in charge of a good portion of her life, was probably the hardest thing for us both.  But our personal bonds became stronger and closer than they have ever been, as we became true friends and equals as well as mother and daughter.  She had to let go of so much, but she was able to do so only because she trusted me to take up the reins.  I promised her once while helping her up the stairs of her house that I would never let her fall.  That became a reality, not just physically but emotionally and financially as well.

When she made the decision to give up her rental home and stay at Meadowood permanently, it was because we both knew she could no longer live alone.  When she made the decision to stop going to dialysis in early December, we both knew that it was a final choice. It was really hard watching her get weaker and less coherent, but it was part of the process.  She always knew who I was, though, and she looked forward to my daily calls, even though I occasionally had to remind her who she was talking to.

The last two weeks she was unable to pick up the phone, and also lost the ability to speak, but I still called every day, and if a nurse or aide was with her they would answer and hold the receiver to her ear so I could talk to her.  If no one answered, I mentally held her hand and told her I loved her while the phone was ringing, since they said she always turned her head toward the phone when she heard it.

I will miss her horribly!  But I am SO grateful that she is at peace now and free from a body that was no longer working well and a life she was tired of living because she could no longer do any of the things she loved.  I hope my great-grandparents and my "fairy godfather" were there to greet her and show her around.  I hope that she and her younger brother and sister who died years ago are catching up on each others' 'lives'.  I hope that she and her own parents have made peace with each other.  And I hope that she and my dad have also met up and are friends again. 

                                     "In my End is my Beginning."  (Mary Queen of Scots)

Thank You for Your Service

Today I'd like to thank some of the veterans in my life for their service in defending our nation:

 


George Arthur Simpson - U.S. Army, World War II  (grandfather)

George Allen Gustafson - U.S. Navy, World War II  (father)

Roger William Simpson - U.S. Navy  (uncle)

Elvis "Pete" Simpson - U.S. Coast Guard  (uncle)

Janice Foreman Whitener - U.S. Navy  (mother-in-law)

Robert Wayne Whitener - U.S. Air Force  (father-in-law)

Paul Belanger - U.S. Air Force/U.S. Navy Seals  (friend)

Adventures with My Nephew

Well, those of you who were asking for updates on how things go with my nephew will be happy to know that you are about to get your wish.  :-)

Michael moved in right on time, and yes, he did bring a few clothes in addition to all the electronics.  He also brought his own chair (which squeaks), a large-screen TV, a mini refrigerator, and enough cords, adapters and wires to cover Manhattan!

Well, his very first weekend with us was at the end of August, when I made another trip up to Clearlake to visit my mom.  I got about ten minutes from home when my "check engine" light came on, and the engine heat gauge was all the way at maximum!  Needless to say, I got off the freeway and drove carefully home through the city streets.  Michael was kind enough to drive his own car over to the shop so that I'd have a way home if they needed to keep my van. 

Turns out that the coolant leak I've had for months was from a crack in the radiator, and even though we'd been keeping the coolant filled, it was causing air bubbles to go through the engine, so hot spots happened.  I ended up buying a new radiator ($400). 

However, they wouldn't have the work finished until the end of Saturday, and I had no way to get up to my mom's.  So Michael offered to drive me up and bring me home the next day.  What a sweetie!  He was even talking about finding a motel room for himself, but my mom has a perfectly good rental house, so he stayed there with me.  Fortunately, he was able to get WiFi service up there, so he was even got his homework done.  :-)

I really enjoyed the weekend, and we got to know each other a bit better.  Michael just turned 18 in July, but he seems very mature for his age.  Of course, he was raised mostly by his grandmother and uncle, who are about 86 and 60 this year, so that probably accounts for some of it.  He has a very upbeat and friendly disposition, although I think from what he's said that he is rather shy socially, which I certainly can relate to!  And his best friend is a girl, which tells me he looks at more than just the outside of a person, and doesn't have a lot of macho ideas.

Anyway, I just wanted to share this, and to say that I have to laugh when I think about the two of us going to the store together.  We must make a very interesting pair, the older goth and the young hipster geek!  ;-)

The New Kid in Town

My son, Stuart, moved out of our apartment (unofficially) almost two years ago; he still has a lot of junk stuff in it, but basically he's now living with his girlfriend at her parents' house while they try to find an apartment they can actually afford (dream on).  So, in the last several months, Martin has been turning Stuart's former bedroom more and more into a "mancave" dedicated to 40K Warhammer miniatures and similar junk stuff.

A few months ago, my nephew (Stuart's dad's brother's son) called with the news that he has been accepted to San Francisco State University, but was waitlisted for the dorms and needed help finding off-campus housing.  I was glad to help him out, and also gave him some help with his financial aid; since that's what I do for a living, I figured he was entitled to a little free advice.  And I told him that if, for some reason, he was unable to find housing before school started, he was welcome to stay in Stuart's old room until he found something closer to school.  He thanked me, I sent him the info and website links he had requested, along with my e-mail address, and that was the end of it.  So I thought.

Fast forward to last Friday...  I got a call from Stuart telling me that Michael HAD found a place with one of Stuart's friends, but that it had fallen through, and he had also forgotten to keep up with the dorm waitlist and got kicked off it, and could he still take us up on our offer to let him stay with us?  I said yes, then asked when his classes started...  on August 24th, less then ten days away!  Needless to say, I asked Stuart to have Michael call me ASAP.

What follows is a typical parental rant...

What IS it with kids these days??  According to Stuart, he has been nagging Michael to do various things regarding the situation, including calling us sooner, but Michael "just didn't listen".  I told Stuart (with a smirk in my voice) that NOW he understood how I had felt at various times with him in the past.  He was appropriately penitent, heheheh...

Michael just turned 18 in July, so he is still somewhat in the "adults have holes in their heads" phase, but STILL...  He has a cell phone, TWO laptops and a regular computer, not including access to his home phone, so the only reason I can think of why he didn't call sooner is that he was too embarrassed to do so, and was hoping for a miracle that didn't happen. 

So this Friday, Michael will be arriving with his cell phone, computer and two laptops (and hopefully some clothes) to stay with us.  He will be paying room and board, so this will be a big help for us, actually, in addition to enjoying his company and getting to know him better.  

It will be very interesting, from a sociocultural anthropologist's point of view as well as from a personal one, to see how Michael reacts to his new environment.  He will be going from living in Southern California with his uncle and grandmother (he has always lived with them, and they raised him after his father died when he was seven) to living with me and Martin in Northern California.  At home, he was the child; here he will be an adult, with none of the emotional baggage of home except what he brings with him.  When he was younger, he idolized Stuart; now he will get a sample of "walking in Stuart's shoes", so to speak.  And he hasn't lived with a goth before, not to mention that Martin and I are both a little crazy!  I hope it will be a good experience for him, and for us as well. 

Nightmare in Clearlake, Part 2

I wasn't even going to write this post, then decided I owe it to myself to do so.  I'm not sure if it will be a catharsis or a curse, but whatever.

On the 23rd, around 4pm, I got a call from my mom's helper, Tee.  My mom had fallen at home, and was on her way to the hospital because something was wrong with her left leg.  Turns out her hip was broken, and she had to have surgery to repair it.  NOT a replacement, thank goodness, but just two pins and some kind of joint thing to put everything back together.

So off I went to Clearlake, with NO idea how long I would be gone or what would happen.  Of course, it was the first week of the summer quarter at work.  I had all sorts of things I was supposed to do, AND we are short-staffed.  But my supervisors both said GO, so I let them worry about that, as I certainly couldn't.

The surgery was successful, and she is now back in the nursing center she was in last year.  Needless to say, she is not happy about it, and as I sat with her that first day, labeling her clothes and lingerie with her name and room number, she was laying in bed moving her leg as best she could.  She was hoping to go home within a week, but since the doctor said it would be at least two weeks (and implied it would be longer), I wasn't surprised.  I'm rooting for "sometime before the end of August", myself, as I think that's a more likely estimate.

There are going to be some other changes this time, as well.  I can still only go up once a month, although I will be going twice in August as it's her birthday then.  And, with Tee's help, I intend to monitor her condition and medications much more closely than I was able to last year.  We are not going to have a repeat of the medications fiasco!!  

I'm also not going to let myself be overwhelmed by her problems.  I think this will be easier since I won't be there every other weekend.  I do have my own life, and I'm going to work helping her in around it instead of letting hers take over.  It wasn't anyone's fault, least of all hers, but I allowed it to take over my life; this time I won't.  Fortunately, I still have a fantastic spouse and a great group of friends to give me moral support, not to mention eight cats who won't hesitate to remind me where my REAL loyalties lie.  ;-)

That last paragraph was easier to write than it is to live.  I wrote it two days ago, but I have been fighting heavy-duty depression almost ever since.  The whole nasty mess of last year keeps rising up in my head, and I have a tremendous feeling of deja vu, that it is all happening again and will never stop, like a giant evil hamster wheel.  I spent most of this morning at home in bed, trying to make it all go away.  When I finally dragged myself to work, I let my supervisor know exactly what's going on.  She was very understanding and very supportive.  I'm now going to start looking for a therapist of some kind to get some professional help with this, because I don't think I can continue to do it by myself.  

In the meantime, I will continue writing stories and posting here about other things, so that at least I can pretend that I have a life outside work and my mom.  And keep looking for that dream job...

Are We Becoming Eco-Jerks?

I have four living first cousins, but the only one I have any contact with is in prison.  He has been there for years and will probably be there for the rest of his life.  While I don't condone his reason for being there, he is still family, and he has contact with very few people on the outside, including most of our family.  He is also the only one of my cousins who corresponds with my mom on a regular basis, so he is definitely in my good books there. 

Recently, we discovered a mutual interest in Norse myths and history, and I remembered reading a book while I was in grad school that I thought he might enjoy.  Since he hasn't read it, I ordered a copy from a book store through Alibris.com.  Per prison regulations, I notified the seller that the book HAD to have a receipt/packing slip enclosed or they would not accept it.  They responded that they do not provide those because they are an 'eco-friendly' business, and if I wanted one I should print one out myself.  I replied and explained (again) that it HAD to be enclosed by the book store due to federal prison regulations, and that if they could not accommodate my request would they please cancel my order.  And they actually did cancel the order. The second book store I contacted also refused to include a packing slip; they didn't give a reason, but I assume it's the same.  I'm waiting now for a reply from Bookstore Number Three.

While I definitely do renew, reuse, and recycle whenever possible, including bringing my own bags to stores so they can 'save a plastic tree', I don't understand a mindset that is quite as rigid as these bookstores' owners apparently are.  I find it hard to believe that they would rather cancel an order and lose a customer than print a single piece of paper to comply with a federal regulation.

Am I wrong here?  Must we be so obsessed with doing what we consider to be "the right thing" that we can make absolutely NO exceptions?  I want to be eco-friendly, but I don't want to become an eco-jerk. 

In Memorium: Chango, 2004-2014

Chango was born on September 19, 2004, while my coven was having a Mabon ritual at my house.  We knew his mother was pregnant, as we'd been feeding her and her two older kittens for quite a while.  Our first glimpse of him on the day he was born (we have a picture in our main computer, which is on the fritz right now) was of an orange and white ball of fur surrounded by four black balls of fur (his sisters). 

Because they were in danger from a construction crew who didn't know they were there, Martin brought them all inside when they were three weeks old, along with their mother.  We eventually found homes for two of them, but Mama and the other three stayed with us, and we took in the two older kittens as well.

Even when they were still nursing, Chango always had to be in the middle of things.  He had soulful golden eyes that made you melt looking into them.  He was spoiled rotten, and got into the habit of whining when he wanted something.  He loved to cuddle and be carried like a baby, but kneading was his life.  As a human, he would have made one hell of a bread baker!  He was constantly rushing between my feet to get into my altar room so he could sprawl on the floor and hang out with me there.  He brought love and laughter into our lives, along with some frustration and a few tears.

A couple of years ago, he barely survived an infection that started in one fang and spread to his lower jaw.  I told him then that he couldn't die before we paid off the $845 bill.  I don't think he made it, but it wasn't for lack of trying. 

Last month, we found that his liver had failed, and he had a less than 33% chance of the medication helping him.  Fortunately, it did, and we were given six extra weeks with him.  However, a few days ago, he began going downhill again, and this time the vet found a mass in his abdomen.  He told us frankly that, even if he managed to successfully remove it AND even if it wasn't cancerous, having two serious medical situations so close together meant that Chango's chances of surviving another year were low.  Because of this, combined with his age and the prohibitive costs, we decided to let him go.  We didn't want him to have to go through all this misery a third time.  So the vet gave him a tranquilizer before the final shot, and we held him and rocked him until he fell asleep.

Losing a beloved fur companion is never easy; it's even harder when you are with them from almost their first breath to their last.  Then they're more like your children.  On Monday we will take him to where our other children in fur are buried.

Bast and Sekhmet, please guard your brother Chango, and guide him safely to wherever our beloved cats go! 

We love you, Chango!  Rest in peace, Mango Boy.

An Early Thanksgiving

Well, as of today, it's official!  My mom will FINALLY be going home from the nursing facility on Friday the 14th.  At long last, this situation that has dragged on since January will be OVER.

At first, I just felt numb.  I couldn't even feel excited, all I could think of was that I just got back from Clearlake yesterday and now I'll be going up again in five days and spending up to nine days there, getting my mom reorganized and adapting to some new living conditions.  And my mom calling me three times today to tell me about more things I needed to do didn't help.

But now I'm starting to feel happy about it.  This IS the outcome we've been hoping for for so long!!  Not like Grandma, who just went downhill and never recovered. So I'm going to try to shake off the exhausted stupor I've been walking around in for so long, and do my best to make this an enjoyable trip.  Of course, my mom and I may end up killing each other anyway, as we haven't lived together in decades, and always did have different ideas about how things should be done!  

You don't think I'm kidding, do you??   Good.

And now, for a little pre-Thanksgiving cheer...  my favorite part of "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving"!

                        

My Wild Weekend

Saturday morning I left for Clearlake (again).  I'd been getting weird vibes and feeling nervous all morning, like there was something "wrong", but I couldn't put my finger on anything.  I got onto the freeway, and was doing 70mph through San Leandro (about 10 minutes out from home), when a loud "PING" somewhere in or under the engine got my attention.  At first I thought it was just a rock, but then I started having problems maintaining speed.  She'd been rather sluggish and jerky when I accelerated onto the freeway, but this was different... suddenly I felt that something was not connected right to the gas pedal.  I pulled off the freeway, called Triple-A from a gas station, and got a tow home.  I HAD to get to Clearlake that day, as I had people coming to finish clearing out Grandma's house on Sunday.  Fortunately, my son and his girlfriend were coming up later in the day, so I got a ride with them.  I had to come home Sunday night instead of Monday, but that was okay.  Whew.

When we got to Grandma's house Sunday morning, we found the back door and screen wide open and the outside doorknob missing.  Someone had obviously broken in, but it couldn't be seen from the street so the police driveby hadn't noticed it (assuming they DID drive by as requested).  Fortunately, the valuables that had been in obvious places were already removed, so whoever broke in probably didn't get anything.  This was confirmed when we found various hidden valuables during the cleaning process, including the silverware (real silver), and a piece of folded tinfoil stuck into a bunch of cards on the kitchen table that concealed almost $400 in cash!  I'd have missed that, but the two people I hired to help are VERY honest, and while Jim could easily have concealed it, he quickly brought it to my attention.  We also found my grandfather's Bronze Star, another box of letters he wrote to Grandma while he was at Camp Roberts and then in Italy during WWII, and several small things my mom wanted.  The only thing we didn't find was Grandma's "good" jewelry, and that might be in the safe deposit box, or she might have given it away or sold it.  She had several jewelry boxes full of stuff, but I took that out for safekeeping before she died, and most was only costume anyway.  We're not going to worry about it.

When I told my mom about the money, she told me to keep it, and use it for repairing the van.  She is the executor of Grandma's estate, so she could do that.  She said that I'd been busting my behind doing all the work for both her and Grandma (which is true), and that I should be compensated for the wear and tear on the van.  Thank you!!

So Monday I took the van in to have her repaired.  She'd been running very rough for a few weeks (yes, it started during all this running around to Clearlake), we had leaking coolant, and I figured she needed a tuneup, but we didn't have the cash.  I did give her an oil change earlier this month AND bought a new battery last week, but neither solved the problem.  Now, between the money from Grandma's house and Stuart paying his April rent (finally!), I actually didn't have to worry about the cost too much.  Turned out the sparkplugs and ignition coil were almost dead, so they did the tuneup and replaced everything, to the tune of $500.  When we went to pick her up, we found out that he hadn't known about the leaking coolant hose when he called but the guys fixed it along with everything else.  Since he'd already given us the estimate and it had been approved, he couldn't charge us for the coolant hose replacement, which would have been another $50-55, so we got that for free!  I'd have felt bad except that the diagnostic alone was $95, which is rather high, so I didn't feel they got ripped off.

Now the van is running beautifully (knock on wood!), I'm DONE with Grandma's house and almost done with the rest of her business, and when I go up again in two weeks (on Mother's Day weekend), I should be able to relax a bit more and spend more time with my mom.  She is doing extremely well, and the doctor has expressed cautious agreement that she might be able to go home by the end of May.  woo-HOO!!!

I'm feeling extremely blessed now.  I didn't have an accident when the van conked; I was able to get to Clearlake on schedule and meet my obligations; we found everything we wanted and/or needed to find in Grandma's house, which is now OUT OF MY HAIR; I got the money to fix the van and the work has been done; AND I got to spend time with Stuart and Kori.  I feel like I've lost 40 pounds!!!  :-)

Thanks to all, living and otherwise, who made this possible!!  And thanks to all of you who have been sending prayers, energy, and general good juju to me and my family.

A blessed Beltaine/May Day to all!

And just to make this a slightly gothy post, I give you this pic I made on some random site awhile back.  The funny thing is that last year I bought a black strapless sundress with pinky/purple skulls-and-crossbones on it!  This would totally be me, if only I was drawn that way...  ;-)

In Memorium: Clara Viola Morris, 1916-2014

This post is a tribute to my grandmother, Clara Viola (Fouts) Morris, who lived her life from October 6, 1916 to March 24, 2014.

Grandma wasn't the "grandmotherly" type that people tend to think of, a fluffy white-haired old lady sitting in a rocker knitting.  She did crochet for most of her life, and probably made several tons of blankets, toilet tissue covers, potholders, baby clothes and various other yarn goodies, but I don't think I ever saw her in a rocking chair; there isn't even one at her house. Instead, she loved to travel, which she was able to do after her children were grown and she was living with her partner of over 40 years.  He was a musician, and they traveled around several states; he and his band would play in different clubs, and she would frequently get temp work at the same club as a cocktail waitress.  She had some pretty wild stories to tell from those days!  When I was up there right after my mom had her surgery, I drove Grandma from Clearlake to St. Helena to visit her in the hospital.  It had apparently been several years since Grandma had been out of Clearlake, and she reminded me of an adorable puppy dog on a road trip.  She spent the whole trip to the hospital staring out the windows, trying to see everything as we drove by; if she'd had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously!!  :-)  I was really glad she got to take that last trip with me, even though she was exhausted by the time we got home.

Grandma was married three times (the first time at 18 to my grandfather) and widowed twice before she was 40.  She raised four children and buried two of them, as well as two of her grandchildren.  When I was at her house last week, I found a box labeled "Army Letters"; in it were many letters written to her by my grandfather while he was in the Army during World War II.  With my mom's permission, I took them home with me and have been reading them out loud to Martin in the evenings since I've been home.  They are fascinating to read, and although they weren't written by her but to her, they are giving me a different perspective on her life and who she was, as well as introducing me to the grandfather I never knew.

Grandma was one of the ladies who taught me to crochet, and I will always appreciate the time she spent helping me when we visited her or vice versa. In retrospect, I realize that she also taught me, as did my mom, that you don't have to conform to what society expects you to do in order to be happy.  It's more important to follow your heart and be who you REALLY are.

Rest in peace, Grandma, and I hope you are having a big happy reunion with your parents, your sister, your husbands, your partner, your children, and your grandchildren.  Say hi and hug everyone for me!

I'm Throwing Glitter as Fast as I Can...

Several posts ago, I quoted a drag queen as saying, "When in doubt, throw some glitter on it!"  I also commented that if I really did that, the world around me would be covered in glitter because I have so many doubts.  Well, here's some glitter for today...

First of all, it's taken me weeks to write this post, as I've been doubting that anyone would actually want to read it.  (Glitter!)  Second, I had to come to a conclusion that was very difficult for me to accept, and that    is that my mother is not always right, and sometimes she gives me information that is not complete or not correct.  (I feel almost blasphemous just writing this, even though I know she will never see it.  More glitter!)  Like most young children, I believed that my mom knew everything and if she didn't know about something then it didn't exist.  Now, please understand that it was me who projected this onto her; she never pretended to know everything.  But she was very decisive because, as a single mother, she had to be.

Anyway, after a few incidents at the nursing center where she and Grandma are currently staying, I now realize that I'm the one who will have to be decisive for both of them, possibly for the rest of their lives.  Grandma will not care, I'm sure.  In fact, I think she has already let go of most decision making already; that's why she decided to stay at the center permanently.  When I've given her checks to sign to pay her bills and told her what I was doing with her house and things, she has always thanked me and told me I was a "good girl", but she doesn't ask any questions and doesn't really seem to care what will become of her possessions.  We all think she is just biding her time now, and that's okay.  No glitter there, it's just life.  But me making decisions -  the right decisions - for her and my mom?  Lots of glitter being thrown...

My biggest problem, at least for the moment, is this:  I live three hours away (by car) from the nursing center.  I also have a full-time job and a husband who likes attention now and then.  This means that much of my interaction with the nursing center and others involved must be by phone.  However, it appears that no one there is ever at their desk, and almost no one apparently believes that it is necessary to return calls in a timely manner, if at all.  So far, this appears to be true of almost everyone who was not available when I called.  Of the five messages I have left in the last five days (to four different people), only two have been returned.  Two messages were for the same person, but I have not yet heard from her.  This morning I found she is not the person I needed to speak with, but that doesn't excuse her not calling and telling me that herself.  Do I have doubts about being able to deal with all this?  Well, at the moment, I can't see the floor through all the glitter I've been flinging... 

Thank You!

Many thanks to all of you who read my last post and commented, and also to all of you who didn't comment but who kept me and my mother in your prayers.  I cannot express how much that means to me.

My mother had surgery to replace the valve in her heart last Tuesday.  As of today (Friday), she is doing extremely well, and (fingers crossed!) may actually be released from the hospital into a convalescent home next Sunday or Monday!  woo-HOOO!!  I will still have to go up there every other weekend for a bit to pay bills and help my grandmother, but at least things are on the upswing for her.  I can handle that.

This has been quite a week of revelations for me.  Living in a house with no TV, no computer, no husband or cats, and no access to most of my friends or family except via land-line telephone, I discovered that I do indeed have a limit to how much solitude I am comfortable with.  I also discovered how difficult it is to deal with so many things on someone else's behalf that are no trouble when I deal with them for myself.  Being the rock everyone else is leaning on is NOT fun, especially when you have no one to lean on yourself.

I'm sure I'll have more to say later, but now I'm so exhausted that I'm falling asleep at my keyboard, so I will just say again, Thank you!

Please Remember Me...

Earlier this week, I got a call from my mom.  To make a long story short, she is in the hospital and will be having heart surgery next week, so tomorrow I am going to be looking after my grandmother.  Hopefully, my uncle and aunt will be able to go and stay with her later in the week, or take her to their place, because I only have so much vacation time, and I may need it for my mom in the future.

Neither my mom or grandmother have a computer, and I don't have a laptop, so I will not be online until I get back.

Please remember my mother, grandmother and me in your prayers, if you will.  We NEED them, and will greatly appreciate them.  

Progress in My Cemetery Garden

Progress at last in creating my Pet Cemetery Garden!  I ordered and received personalized memorial stones for four of my dearly departed kitties, including Shadow.  My garden is looking MUCH nicer this year, anyway, and the new additions make it even better.

Here is the walkway from the door into the garden area.  I'm only able to plant on the left, as the vents in the wall of the laundry room blow out on the right.  I've got lovely basil, lemon balm, and alyssum planted there now.  At the far end you can see my lemon verbena, strawberry plant, and the stone-surrounded area with my dwarf hyacinths, paper whites, and the dwarf pomegranate, which has MORE fruits on it!!

 A better lighted view from the other direction:

Here is where I placed the new stones, all the way to the end and slightly to the right, near the yellow plum tree.  I've got a mini rosebush in front of them, and an angel candlestick holder as a "statue" behind it:

Eventually I will be putting a kitty angel sculpture there instead of the human angel, and adding three crosses with the names of three more cats.

It's not a large space, so I have to make the most of what I have.  I think that, so far, I'm doing a pretty good job!

Memento Mori

Today is the 20th anniversary of my father's death.  From now until his birthday, November 15, my favorite picture of him (taken by me) will sit in my office, and I will remember him and the little I know about his life.  I do this every year as a tribute to one of the most important people in my life, although I never lived with him and didn't really know him very well.





 

"He who can be named is remembered; he who is remembered, lives."

In Memorium: Shadow, 2000-2013

This post is to honor our beloved Shadow, the oldest cat and alpha female of our 'herd', who departed this life on Tuesday, May 21, 2013, at the ripe old age of 13 years.

In 2000, the same year Martin and I got married, we kept being accosted in the parking lot by a small reddish brown kitten with no tail who shot out from under parked cars and yelled at us to feed her.  After feeding her several times, we decided she was too cute to stay out there and offered her a home, which she graciously accepted.  Her two favorite activities while growing up were to jump on a kitchen chair and swat at all the tails as the other cats came in to breakfast, and to ride on Martin's shoulder.

Since then, she has been the undisputed queen of the herd, keeping order with steel claws wrapped in a velvet glove.  The last two years, however, have been very hard on her, and we finally took her to the vet tonight because her quality of life had gotten so low.  We found that she had developed hyperthyroidism, which prevented her from gaining any weight no matter how much she ate, so that she was literally nothing but skin and bones.  It had spread to the point that it had affected her heart, and we were told that the kindest thing to do would be to let her go.  So tonight we watched her depart for the Summerlands, or the Rainbow Bridge, or Heaven, or wherever it is that cats go when one of their nine lives reaches its end.  She will soon be buried on the hill in the local regional park where all our fur family members are buried together.

Shadow, we love you; may Bast and Sekhmet guide you to the Field of Reeds, and may you be united again with your loving Rocket!