Thursday, March 26, 2015
I have always needed my sister's approval and input.
Knowing this, she and her husband drove to Florida five years ago to check out the house Joe was interested in. She called me from the driveway and said "Dana, if you ever buy another house, this would be the one to buy."
I wasn't planning on buying another house! I was going to pretend it was a good idea for as long as necessary - knowing the house would sell if I dragged my feet long enough, or back out at the last minute if it didn't. My sister knew this.
But my family adores Joe - knows I wouldn't move if a bomb went off - and were making sure (for me) that I wouldn't be "wrong" if I decided to follow Joe's lead.
After moving in, my sister flew ALONE, for the first time in her life, to visit for two days of sister-to-sister encouragement. She pronounced everything as "good" and flew home. Here one minute, gone the next, all for my own peace of mind.
THAT is a sister like I've never, ever, heard of elsewhere.
She's my first line of defense through all of my life's situations and I have always been, and will always be, dependent on her: until it's no longer possible.
I'm her "little sister" no matter what.
So, it was no surprise when the phone rang yesterday and she was calling to tell me that my latest photo showed that my eyebrows were too orange, and that I need to switch to a taupe eyebrow pencil.
She then read off the brand of HER eyebrow pencil and told me I need to "get to Dillards and buy it....asap".
She then said the pashmina I was wearing two posts ago would look better without the necklace, and to never again drape that curly crochet'd craft-show scarf around my head.
Oh! And before I forget, she also advised that my liquid foundation is passe' and while I'm at Dillards I need to buy the powder she recently switched to......
Ahhhhhhh. Normalcy. How I love it.
I wish I could keep her forever.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
There are so many religions kicking the crap out of each other while singing "They Will Know We Are Christians By Our Love".
I searched for, ooooh......forty years for the one thing to believe.
There are thousands of religions to choose from and all have one thing in common - and it's not who or what they worship:
They share a propensity to kick the crap out of anyone who believes differently.
But their doors are open to anyone who is:
- A member of their church
- A member of their religion
- Love what they love while despising what they despise
- pray how they pray and to whom - or what - the prayer is directed
- the hall monitor, watching others to see if they've strayed from the beaten track.
Yet everyone thinks they're going to end up in the same place, while everyone else is toasting their genitals for eternity.
But what if you DO arrive in heaven only to discover you were:
- A member of the wrong church
- A member of the wrong religion
- loved the wrong thing and hated the wrong thing
- prayed incorrectly, in the wrong position, and to the wrong god
- only supposed to watch yourself
I think the Cherokees had it right:
Sunday, March 22, 2015
So, we drove to the deserted mall and visited a craft fair. Of course we expected to see vendors in overalls, no teeth, selling corn cobs. Hey, it happens.
To our surprise the inside of the defunct Sears store had lots of respectable items for sale and I picked up (and paid for) two scarves for $8 and a bolero necklace for $3.
I asked if I could try them on and left Joe at the table as a good faith hostage and found a large mirror.
Infinity scarf in my trusted Texaco color.
Seven foot long crochet scarf in my trusted Texaco colors.
I offered to pay full price ($8) for but the lady said "Three dollars" because she had sadly learned that all her work and all the material never gets the right financial return.
Bolero necklace for $3.
NOT my taste, but I had other plans for it.
When it was obvious I wasn't going to be putting these things around my neck, several women stopped to watch, and were joined by several others.
Then they got interested and started asking questions.
Sometimes doing something different takes a vagina.
Why a vagina? Because balls are soft and squishy, but vaginas can take a pounding.
Why a vagina? Because balls are soft and squishy, but vaginas can take a pounding.
If you ever get the chance, do something different with things that have always been made for another purpose.
Kinda like those corncobs.
Since our harsh winter is over and the snow has melted, Joe spent the better part of a day steam cleaning and power washing our outdoor living area while I sat inside, giving him the thumbs up.
WHO can sit here and be depressed?
It seems I can, but I do think it has lightened considerably and if it ever appears again, I'm gonna kick it in the nuts.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
I usually sluff things off by saying "it's my imagination", or "put a bandaid on it".
But when I saw a speck of blood coming from Beau's healed suture line last Thursday, I took him to the vet the next morning.
He has lost 4 pounds, which for him is a good thing, but not under these circumstances.
Once on the metal table, he would not roll over on his side. Mama stepped forward, put my arm around him and he laid down and tucked his head into my armpit: a sure sign he's in pain and knows it's going to get worse.
The vet pushed a Q-tip into the incision (ghastly to watch) and the incision that had healed, easily started to re-open.
Poor Beau started trembling and skootched further into my armpit. The vet said it was an infection, and sent off a sample and prescribed amoxicillin.
Yesterday she called and said he had two of the most extremely virulent infections that occur after surgery, and is due to the bacteria on the bands (that hold his joints together), or the drill itself not being sterile.
She called the surgeon who said "This is extremely rare!" Yeah. Cover your ass.
Uh, I doubt that. It happens ALL the time to humans down here after having surgery.
I assume veterinarian surgery isn't of much higher quality.
Now he has to take more amoxicillin than he was prescribed, and for another month.............
(1) so he doesn't die / lose his leg
(2) hoping it kills any remaining staff, strep, and bacteria *HIDING IN THE "FISHING LINE" THAT IS HOLDING HIS LEG TOGETHER*
So...........it's in there...........in a knot in the fishing line, or a drill hole, and we won't know until we know.
Monday, March 16, 2015
I've been ridin' this black dog long enough but he still wouldn't leave. I tried everything. I tried nothing. I finally gave up, embraced it, and gave it a blow job. I'm nice like that.
While out looking for more material I told Joe, "I'd just like a place where everybody knows my name" and we ended up here:
The sign grabbed my attention:
MENTAL HEALTH SUPPORT:
WE'RE ALL HERE 'CUZ WE'RE NOT ALL THERE.
The bartender came to our table, introduced himself, and brought me a sample of a beer I can't pronounce, but it was free and tasted like grapefruit. I liked it.
Before choosing what to order for lunch, four women had offered us their plates and said to try what they were eating....
"uh... no thank you"
But what we did get was good.
Then the friendly bartender made us an IRISH CAR BOMB.
When it's free you must say "YUM!" whether you think so or not, and I was beginning to feel adventuresome at that point.
But by the time we left, everyone knew our names
and I felt very "florescent".
Friday, March 13, 2015
Maybe you've heard of Cabella, maybe not. It's gone viral, it's gone national, it's gone worldwide, but hard to look at.
Bullet wounds in neck and shoulder, shattering bone.
See, it be like dis: Cabella wern't no good for fightin' cuz she's sweet. So Cabella be used for, like, bait to help train dee other pitbulls, cuz we likes to see fightin' and blood - as long as it ain't ours.
So, this damn dog done pissed us off so we's led her off into dah woods and shots her in dah neck and front leg.............but the damn dog crawled home!!!! Now we's got all dis here blood all over dee poach.
Sheeee-it. Now whatcha gone do wit such a damn dumb dog.
Sos, we took a leather belt and tied her hade down real tight to dah railroad tracks and done left her sorry ass dere for dah train to lopp off her silly head sos she kain't go home no mo'.
COPS: She had been so abused, and had lost so much blood, and will to live, that she just stared at us as we approached her and allowed us to unfasten the belt that held her head painfully to the track. There were obvious scars that showed she had been used as bait in the fighting ring.
We also removed several other fighting dogs from the property. They were chained to tree trunks using heavy weight chains that had cut into their necks and had to be carefully removed. They also showed clear injuries that had not been cared for.
MAMA: "Mah boyz be good boyz. Jest axe dah neighbors."
*click here for the video*
Sunday, March 8, 2015
I've fought extreme depression all my life. From a young age - when I had no idea what depression was, through my early adulthood when I tried counseling, hypnosis, biofeedback, and Jesus.
Always pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, I lived in an atmosphere where if I hadn't been depressed, there would have been something wrong with me.
I studied the bible in depth because I wanted the "peace that surpasses all understanding" that my sister had. When she would advise me to read my bible - yet again - because it gave HER peace, I would answer "I'll do it, but it only makes me ANGRY!"
After four trips through the bible with no outward, or inner, sign that anything I read had anything of worth for me as an individual, I began - and finished - five years of biblical study taught by Seminarians, Theologians, and Honduran missionaries.
At this time, I thought my "calling" was to become a minister.
I read self-help books until I could have written ones a lot better, but rarely did the depression lift. It followed me into surgeries, out of surgeries, into church, into the work place, and home.
It was a full time job fighting it.
At this present stage of my life I can look back and see a long line of strife and battles against depression that I never won, and merely got worn out in the process.
I can no longer "bounce back" from problems. I can't bounce back from friends dying, Joe and my (and Beau's) health failing, our energy abandoning ship, and me without the resources to battle back.
So I tried a new tactic (not that I had any choice). I gave up fighting it. And it has taken up residence and is now demanding coffee every morning and a foot massage every night.
That is why I've been sewing my ass off. Cooking. Creating.
These things I have CONTROL over. Everything else is IN control. And I no longer have the energy or even the urge to continue what has long proven useless expenditure of energy against pain, sadness, pain of others, and the general malaise that one eventually gives up trying to defeat.
We are inundated with bluebirds.
They constantly tap at our windows and poop on Joe's truck.
And I went so far as to attend the Floral City Strawberry Festival.
And think....a lot.
This photo wasn't posed by me, but caught by Joe as I was staring out the window.
A number of you have written voicing concern over my absence.
Those who don't know me voiced hope I was enjoying myself.
Those who know me too well were concerned knowing something was wrong.
I don't know what I'd do without you guys. I hope I never have to find out, and I thank you.
This is just my way of answering those emails without writing the same letter to each of you.
Tomorrow I hope to pick up more material.