"On Death and Dying"

Now that she's gone,
finally
at
peace
I can say what has been
in the back of my mind
for the last 14 days

This is how Dad died.

he made the decision himself
with Mom
together
as they did everything else
praying and talking and planning


Together
they had an agreement

cancer
emphysema
heart attack
heart attack
cancer
cancer
cancer

yep, he smoked.

for awhile
he took it as his punishment
he did his penance

no more trumpet
no more golf
no more deli breakfasts
no more outings with friends
no more playtime
no more routine
no more joy
no more
no more
no more

but after a while
enough was enough
how much
was too much

so when it got bad
and he could no longer

eat
feeding tube
swallow
hydrating machine for mouth
go to the bathroom
enemas, tubes, pads
walk
bedridden
breathe
oxygen
sleep
morphine
talk
no, he kept talking...

barely above a whisper
breathing heavily
pausing between syllables
rationing his words
rationing his air
rationing his energy
rationing his life

to tell us
to
STOP

to let him go
to help him go
to be happy
when he was gone
for him
for us
no more pain
for any of us

so we did

with tears
and acceptance
and relief

stopped feeding
stopped grasping
stopped wanting
him
to live

his life
was his
to finish

with dignity?
no
there was little dignity left
in a 90 pound shell
withered
by pain
reliant on machines
unable to control
the most basic
bodily functions
incapable
of

everything
everything
but
dying

so he died
as he wanted
without fear
without mess
without trauma
on his own terms
he died
with
peace

peace

rest in peace

Dinosaur Cats

I have been fostering animals for a few years now. I take in cats, dogs, the occasional smaller pet, and lately orphaned kittens. I try to get them healthy, socialized, and then we find homes for them.

Because I network with a few other Rescues in the area, I sometimes get a call or email from someone who has been told I might have the pet they are looking for. Since the person who gave my number to today's caller is not someone I've actually ever spoken with, I have no idea if the intention was to make my day or destroy it. In any case- here is a perfect example of why some people should not own pets:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me: Hello?

Dimwitted Caller: Hi, this is Dimwitted Caller? I got your name from blahdy blah Rescue?

yes- the interrogatory whi-i-i-ine....???

Me: What can I do for you?

DC: I'm looking for a Pterodactyl kitten? Preferably white? And it needs to be a boy because I already have a Pterodactyl girl and I want to breed them?

ah, yes, any good Rescue wants to give you a kitten to breed.

but, wait, WHAT did she ask for? PTERODACTYL? Like the flying dinosaur?

hee hee....

ahem...

Me: Pterodactyl?

DC: You know the ones that have extra toesies?

I swear to god, she called them toesies.

Me: You mean POLYdactyl?

DC: No, the kind with extra toes on their feet. There are some kinds of cats with extra toesies that are called Pterodactyls.

Me: Those are called Polydactyls, or sometimes Hemingways. I don't have any kittens right now, but to be honest, I don't sell unaltered cats for breeding anyway.

DC: I guess I'll have to look for a Pterodactyl somewhere else. I googled "Pterodactyl Cats", and I've asked a whole bunch of Rescues, but no one has any and I can't find a breeder... My Pterodactyl really is ready to be a mommy and I know that she can only be bred with another Pterodactyl... I just don't know what to do...???

ah ha!

this is wrong on so many levels that I am stumped for moment- a fork in the conversational road has been reached.

to educate or cut my losses?

Me: Well, try looking up "Pterodactyl Breeders " and see if there are any breeders there. Make sure you spell it the right way--- starts with a "T". Good luck!

DC: Okay,Thanks- bye bye!

Me: Bye bye

The Emperor's New Clothes

the first in a series of obvious, yet unspoken (or politically incorrect) thoughts


---The reason Ben Affleck can't get a hit is because,
deep down, we all feel a revulsion toward him-
due to his uncanny resemblance to Scott Peterson.

--- Kirstie Alley is more attractive than Paris Hilton
on, oh, so many levels.

--- Bill Cosby is mostly right; Parents need to take responsibility
for their childrens' actions-
and stop blaming the Police when something goes terribly wrong.

--- Bill Cosby is also wrong; Fat Albert did not need to come into this century.

--- Does anyone recycle like we did in the 80's?
Didn't think so.

--- Mr. Rogers was a gift few of us truly appreciated.

--- teeny tiny teacup dogs are overpriced, overbred, and way too trendy
regardless of the diamond collar, fancy carrying bag and cutesy name,
anyone who walks around with a yappy, nervous little dog is pretentious and silly.

That's all for now!
ta!

End of an Era

My Middlest has lost her lisp.
One day about 2 weeks ago she decided it was time.
So she just did it.

It took about 5 days of constantly stopping herself- a conversation with her was impossible. She'd start a sentence, and then overthink every word. Very cute. Very frustrating... for all of us.
Then she began to speak with more fluidity- but she came to me in tears when her mouth hurt from working so hard. It never occurred to me that changing a habit like that would cause so much pain. I gave her some Advil and told her how proud I was of her... but I wanted to cry at her determination, and tell her it was unnecessary. Except that it was... very....

My Middlest was actually born with a lisp.
When I tell people that, they think I'm exaggerating in the way that parents say ,
"He was running before he could walk, really"
or "She slept through the night from the very beginning, really"
...yeah, uh huh, right, really.
But I swear that as I held her that first night in the hospital, and watched her tiny mouth work its way around her fist, that her tongue was already in the way. When she cried, when she would nurse, when she would coo and gurgle- she led with her tongue. And I remember asking the pediatrician if she thought this was going to be an issue, and she looked at me like I was one of those ultra-paranoid mothers who worries about leprosy, and told me that she thought I could wait and see, but there was no "malformation of her palate". Okey doke.
Still, I was right, as my Middlest began to talk, she did, in fact, still lead with her tongue- and the adorable lisp it produced could not have been sweeter.

Over the years, we have occasionally called attention to a particular word or phrase- encouraging her to repeat it properly and praising her for trying. But for the most part, we totally ignored it (while secretly enjoying her little words). We had a few well-meaning (probably) friends and relatives tell us to get her speech therapy, but I really never felt that was necessary.
I just knew she would change it when she was ready.
At almost 8 years old, she IS.

She walked into my bedroom and said, "Mom, I sound like Daffy Duck." No anger, no embarrassment- just matter-of-fact. Maybe a little annoyance.
And I said, "Well, you know that's just a habit your mouth has. I think you can teach your mouth to stop lisping if you work at it." not at all sure, but hopeful.

I suggested she read out loud from her favorite books, and that we could go to the library to find some good "S" poems.... but in the end, what did it was her desire to sing along with the latest family favorite Musical "Wicked". My middlest can sing (she sang before she could talk, really), and now has discovered that she can sound like Glinda and Elphaba, instead of Daffy Duck.

Yesterday, we watched my Middlest have a whole conversation with her brother about Star Wars and the Revenge of the Sith- try saying that with a lisp.... but she didn't have to , it was GONE.

My Middlest, my Baby Girl
Did it on her own.
I am so proud of her.
And so
thad.

life lessons

what i don't understand
never will understand
is how the parents think
it's right
to bring their children
to the protests
to watch
to hear
to feel
the hatred
the anger
the accusations
the violence
the fear
the ugliness
of humanity
in hysterics

in their "jesus saves" t- shirts
tiny human billboards
with their signs and banners
screaming for something
or someone
who cannot hear their sobs
they are babies
learning to fight
learning to hate
while they pray

teach them to question authority?
yes. please.
teach them to hate authority?
dangerous.
teach them to distrust
teach them to break the law
teach them to be afraid of law enforcement
make sure there is a camera rolling
when the 10 year old is arrested

send the children in

that glass of water would have killed her
faster than the dehydration
let's not worry about the logistics
make her a sandwich and send in a 4 year old to feed her
and if anyone stops him
the devil is at work

lessons learned
the world is unfair
the world is evil
it is up to me to save it
i am right
i have the right
screaming and crying helps
blowing up clinics is better
flying a plane into a building might be best
everyone who disagrees with me is wrong
everyone who disagrees with me deserves to die
everyone who disagrees with me is going to hell
hate is good
hate is right
jesus wants me to hate everyone i don't love
jesus only loves people like me
i am like jesus
maybe i am jesus
wearing the t-shirt
let us pray

---40---

I turned 40 last week.

One of the gifts that my husband and sister gave me was to have family members and friends send cards or notes... I had made a request for no more "things"to clutter my life, as much as I appreciate "the thought", I no longer need it to "count".
As my birthday approached, my mailbox was filled with wonderful notes, memories, pictures.... I loved it.
I noticed something odd, though.
So many cards said things like, "Over the hill?" or "The Big 4-0!" or simply implied that, while it was understandable that I might be suicidal, I should hope for the best.

The funny thing is, I feel like turning 40 was actually freeing in a way.

I mean, I feel Strong. Mature (ok, well.... At least not adolescent). I feel GOOD.
Sure, I haven't achieved everything I thought I would. I have some regrets, a few bad habits, and certainly keep hoping that my hips and stomach will magically shrink themselves.
But mostly, I like who I am and what I represent to the world.
Being 40 doesn't take me out of the game, it cements my place- right?


See, I think that the "40" birthday cards should actually be, like:

HAPPY 40th BIRTHDAY!!!
You made it into the Big Kids' Club. You finally get to stop cringing at all the stupid mistakes you made when you were in your teens, and bask in the knowledge that you are at least a full decade away from the misspent days (nights?) of your 20's. No one even remembers the details anymore. Not even you. Admit it.

YIPPEE! You no longer need to worry about what you want to be when you grow up, and can relax with the realization that no one else really notices or cares what you wear, eat, or think. You may still be part of the Pepsi Generation, but you are no longer required to show your ID for a margarita. Those gray hairs mean you cared, the wrinkles mean you laughed, and the extra pounds mean you enjoyed the ride thusfar.

CONGRATULATIONS on becoming an official adult- thank god you don't have to relive puberty...Or shoulder pads. Your days of astringent and tampons are coming to an end sooner than later- whoopee!

HOORAY for the 40th Birthday! Everyone assumes that by now you know who you are- and respects you! And if they don't- screw 'em... You've earned it!

and this, actually from my cynical and funny brother, Chris:
HAPPY 40th BIRTHDAY- This is may be your midlife crisis time...If you live to be 80. But on the outside chance that you die when you're 60, you should have already had it at 30, or if you die tomorrow, your midlife crisis was when you were 20, and you missed it.
Since no one knows how long they're going to live, why not forget about the whole "midlife" anything, and just ENJOY YOUR LIFE.

40 is Faboo.

(...Now if I could just stop thinking about it being the start of my "5th Decade"... sigh...)

And another thing...

So I finally took the plunge. For a couple of years now, friends have been telling me to create a blog of my own (possibly because I may be cluttering theirs with my opinions).

But the instant I clicked "publish", it occured to me that I really don't know if I want anyone I know to be reading it.

I mean, I can send emails to all my friends linking them to my blog- and I might- but then they will know that I think what I have to say is important (brilliant? essential?) enough to call attention to it.

IS it?
What if they realize that we are in total disagreement about something important?
What if I write something really geeky and they can't look at me again without thinking about it and wanting to laugh, or worse, gag?
What if they notice that I am sort of insane?

How did I get to be 40 years old and not grow some scales?
Ok- I'm ready... read on.......

Avoiding the Laundry

So what does it MEAN?
That I sit in front of this glowing box and lose myself in cyberspace .
That while I am here, I am ignoring the phone, the kids, and yes, the laundry.
This is my alone time now.
Company in the car, the bedroom, even the bathroom.
( husband, kids, dogs, cats..."Mo-o-o-m?")
Just as my mother would hide in a hot bath, or my grandmother would sit in a church pew...
I close the office door for a little while.
They know not to knock unless there someone is bleeding, on fire, or throwing up.
Guilt free? Nope.
Necessary? You bet.

The laundry will get done- just give me a few minutes.