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Monday, April 25, 2016

Rusty Springs

Between the awful news, shocking deaths, natural disasters and general hi-dee-ho of life in these United States these days, there is life. Spring is sprung, the flowers are popping, leaves grow by the hour, things are smelly. Beauty and stink often go together.

Today I finished 57 years of living. For better or worse I'm still here, I'm still having fun and making mistakes, doing great and lousy things, learning and laughing. I have good friends. I have nice acquaintances who work with me in causes. The day was full of good wishes via phone, email, Facebook, real mail and in person. I heard from people on 4 continents today- that's a miracle of modern science. Frank Zappa's sister sent me birthday wishes and so did many people I've known for decades or just a few weeks. What a blessing to be able to chat and get to know people you'd never be able to meet in the flesh otherwise, and find and stay in touch with those you'd thought were gone from your life.

Being at the docs lately, I've been impressed at the Star Trekish gadgets they have now. A wheel run across your forehead tells your temp. A little clothespin tells your pulse and oxygen level. The tech advances in all areas, new faster ways to do all the old things. But they still can't make a diagnosis.

So what if I'm not healthy and wealthy? Those are both great things to have, but life goes on without them. Life has pain, and heartbreak, and scary times for everyone. Life also has joy, and growth, and opportunities to be brave, to be kind, to learn. Anyone can enter or exit your life without warning. Any day can change everything. So can how you look at things. 

Years ago when I was on the night shift in the Meat Dept., the guy who did the tattoo on my upper right arm came thru at dinner time. He'd just had a 2nd baby born and money was tight. I was culling the meat cases for what was going off code and gave him a couple kielbasa on their last day. No big deal. Just offhandedly, I said, "Us poor folk gotta stick together." And he said, "You're rich in what really matters." He was right.

x

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Crickets From the Other Side

Remember a while back, I sent a piece of Ian's sweater to Texas for an experiment in psychic reading/mediumship? Well, all the results, written and drawn, are in. Not one hit. I was sent 7 readings, and several of them had similar too-common-to-matter fishing items from the medium(s). "Someone with an M", "Someone who was on life support", "The number 17", "Someone had a car accident", that sort of rubbishy typical "medium" fishing. Not one thing in the pages and pages that directly hit.

Next were the portraits. All of them women, 20-40. Not a one looked like anyone I know, living or dead. In fact, I don't think I know any women who died that young. Men, yes, with the AIDS crisis and drugs and cars. But the portraits were all young women. And the readings were pointed toward women spirits talking. I think the "medium" looked at the swatch and determined it belonged to a hippie woman, and ran with it.

In fact, I'd make a case that I can profile the "medium" better than she profiled Ian.

So, in my view, whomever they were using on this test, failed. Big fail. A "give it up and do something else" fail.

Ah, well.
The Mrs. Houdini quest goes on.
x

Saturday, April 2, 2016

"Don't 'Darling' Me, Darling....

...you have a face like a cat's ass." A popular saying years ago. It's April, 2016. This whole year so far has been a cat's ass, literally and figuratively.

Firstly, Beest's own cat ass. For 2 weeks, getting better. Changed foods, kept up with the pumpkin. She let out some WMD bombs, but no issues. Then yesterday she dripped a little watery blood. Today she's straining like she's giving birth and splotting. There was ass art on the kitchen floor this morning. WTF. The vet says it's the anal glands again, so keep her watered, give soft and wet small bits of food (basically she has to eat the way I eat). I've probably been letting her eat too much this past week. Hasn't lost her appetite, she's just wickedly constipated and obsessed with it, as well. Give it til Monday, then we'll see. From what I gleaned in the online cat forums (I know), Torties seem to have this more often than other kitties. There's no figuring it out. It may last a few weeks or even months, then it'll just stop, and nobody ever knows what caused it. Meanwhile, poor Beest. She's a dramatic cat in regular days, this is putting her in overdrive. Torties are particular little weirdos. I just want her back to normal. She's laying here on her desk shelf staring out the window into the darkness of The Shire night. And there she goes, back to the litter box. It's gonna be a long night.

The cat's ass face comes out every time I monitor pages for groups on Facebook. It becomes a barrage of info, half of it false, and little of it good. I'm so disgusted with the Billary machine and the entire shameful spectacle of this election cycle. How have we come this lowdown? Does anyone else see how rotten we look to the rest of the world? Take all that, then add monitoring Facebook discourse, which is too often little better than Jerry Springer. Not the best view of humanity. Doesn't help my guts issue either. As much as I love Bernie and would work 24/7 to see him elected, I can't keep this up. It's affecting my health. Other people need to step up. I'll continue to support him, send my $10 a month, talk to people about him, find other ways to help, even do some social media promos. But being Hall Monitor for so many intense and vicious adults is too stressful. I'm living on Tums, like I did in prep school. But I'm not 16 anymore.





Keith Emerson was laid to rest beside his mother in England. There's something sweet to that, still.
  Farewell, Fingers.



Saw this parody of the "Don't Fear the Reaper" lyrics about this year:
"Had it up to here with the Reaper,
Kinda wish he'd give it a rest.
Come on, Reaper, don't be an asshole,
Reaper, don't be a douche, don't take our heroes,
Take the afternoon off, don't be too eager,
Try to chill the heck out!"

Yeah, Reaper, you've gotta have some earned time owed.

Meanwhile, I became a Reverend of Dudeism.




There is really good stuff going on, My nephew and niece bought a house they love thanks to my sis-in-law. They're painting and fixing and very happy. Carrieboo (remember her?) is also settling into a new home way out west in BC. Silly Billy got to the bank and refinanced despite dumping his bike on his left leg twice in one week. He's a tough old bird. He'll be getting the house resided this Summer, and new countertops. He'll be up here next month. The rest of the clan is plodding along, best they can. The weather's been Spring for months now, but we have a threat of snow tomorrow. I don't know if it's been this screwy before, but this is screwy. However, everyone's enjoying having no Winter. How nice for them.

And in the Distraction from Anything Meaningful Dept: Having finally made it thru the end of the 5th year of "The Walking Dead" on Netflix, I'm dying for the 6th. "Supernatural" ends its 11th year this week. And they said it wouldn't last! Also for a 6th year, "Game of Thrones" recommences in 4 weeks, and I'll be watching this time, finally. HBO made a deal with Roku, and so I can circumvent cable altogether and have HBO for $15 a month. Considering I have all of Netflix for less than $9 a month it's no bargain, but HBO's series are good. It's the $15 a month I used to spend on tobacco. Bring on the White Walkers!

I hope everyone is having lovely Spring and Autumn holidays in whatever tradition you choose. This year is rushing on, with 3 months gone already, and so many going with it.
Peace, fellow babies, and love the one you're with. :)
x

Thursday, March 24, 2016

March Comes in Like a Liar

Spring is always questionable in New England. It's usually Winter (parte deux), followed by Mud Season, slowly warming along the way. There's something joyous about that time, standing in mud or slush with sun on your face, maybe in just a flannel shirt over a tee. This year, there was Early Summer in Winter. I've worn sandals or clogs all Winter, never touching a sock. And March has been a clammy liar with stringy hair so far. It's way too warm for my liking, though at this point I'm fairly sure I'll be bitching about no Winter and despised warmth until the next time the day's high is 23'F,

Beest had her physical, and the mandatory shots and then 2 weeks later, a scary episode. She was acting strange, which is much stranger than a regular cat's strangeness. Repeatedly jumping in and out of the recycling bin. Not eating all her food. She was constipated. I gave her pumpkin and she was better. Then last Thursday morning there were little splats of watery blood everywhere. Everywhere. She wasn't yowing but she had a crazy look in her eyes. To the vet she went. An anal gland had gotten infected and burst. She had a fever. She must've been in significant pain. My poor cat! The vet gave her a 2-week releasing antibiotic and a pain reliever. I didn't know anal glands were a thing with cats, I thought that was a "some dog breeds" issue. It's a week later and she's her old self. I'm now wigged out whenever there's a spot on the floor, which happens a lot because she's a slob and shakes her head with a mouthful of food.

Gal Friday's daughter had an interview at the Hershey School, so she's been gone. It's both relaxing and stressful to have nobody around all week. However, my neighbor has caretakers 24 hours a day now. People are in and out at every hour.They all have to yell because she's deaf.  I don't know what's going on with her, it's not like we were ever buds. She's close to 90 and hasn't been the same since breaking her hip last year. Her family's been around a lot, never a good sign.

Billy's dumped the Indian twice in the last week, first running into the curb at his neighbor's driveway, then getting back on it too soon. His sugar's thru the roof. I'd like to smack him in the chops.

The Primaries are something out of a dystopian story. I can't even- that way there be monsters.

My Bernie lawn sign came today! Yay!

We're having steak and sea scallops for Easter Sunday! Yay!

I quit smoking. This time it's for good- I'm just really sick of quitting. It's inevitable that I quit for good at some point, so why keep picking it up just to go through quitting again? No. I'm done. Even though I miss it and want one right now, it's not worth quitting again.

Fecebook has been fun, and horrifying, but once the Primaries are done I'm putting it on a shelf. The Beest book needs to become my full time job. Right now it seems important to be on there broadcasting info among groups, but I'm not going to be a Fecebook activist forever.

And life goes on, within us and without us.
Happy Spring, my fellow babies.
x

Sunday, March 13, 2016

On Emo's Death

Keith Emerson fatally shot himself in the head, in the wee hours of Friday, March 11th, 2016. He was scheduled to play 6 concerts in Japan next month, and even though he had a 'cover' keyboardist, he was depressed that the irreparable damage to his hands meant he'd never play as he wanted to and had once been able to, again. His arthritis and nerve damage caused unending pain. He'd had surgery 2 years ago, removing feet of intestines due to chronic diverticulitis, but still had digestive issues. And last week he had bronchitis. His longtime girlfriend came home to their condo on Friday morning and found him dead.

Keith's death has taken the wind out of my sails a bit. There's been too much death and sadness this year, and Friday in addition to Keith, it was the 5th anniversary of my brother Tommy's death. 2 amazing musicians, 1 of them able to get far, 1 not ever able to get out of the cage of his mental illness. Both forever dead on March 11th. I don't even want to talk to anyone. Haven't returned calls. This is a profound sadness, not one I can cry off. It's one I have to take off in layers, a few hours of silence here, a few hours of music there. It's not depression, I'm not hopeless. I'm very, deeply sad. Sad that Keith felt dying was his only option for relief from what was hurting him. Sad that we'll never see him doing something fab again, that he'll never see Rachel Flowers make the big time, sad that I never met him, sad that we'll just be going on from here without him. That's what gets me every time. The world just keeps going, one of us having dropped out of life. The news is sad with splashes of horrifying. People I love are hurting a lot. It's all very real and very sad. 

RIP, Emo. We'll miss you. Now get Chris Squire off his ass and make some music for us to hear when we catch up to youse.

x