Feline Warrior

My sinuses keep telling me (in their secret sinus language) that they’d like to be cleaned with a few pipe cleaners. That’s always a sign of allergies. That and itchy eyes, scratchy throat and a desire to run hot water on the back of my head. That always seems to help.

I’ve been trying to tell you a story from my childhood, but my brain won’t let me focus. Damn allergies! So the post is saved and I will share it with you tomorrow, ‘kay?

[sneeze!]

I am calling it a beginning, but for all we know, if could be a beginning and an end. Agnes may call the whole thing off - who knows?

An explanation: Agnes is my friend. Her real name is not Agnes - I’m only allowed to tell her stories if I use fake names and switch up some of the details. She feels -and probably rightly so- that if her identity were revealed, she’d have a mess on her hands.

(And really, for the record, unless you know me personally and know that this is my blog, you don’t really know my true identity, either!)

Back to Agnes… It’s her story, after all.

She’s a lovely person - smart, funny, not bad looking at all. She’s in a relationship that can only be described as strained. Or stressful. Or painful. Not easy. (Well, no relationship is really “easy.”) This is beyond the traditional “we have to put a lot of work into our relationship” statement.

I’ve asked her why she doesn’t leave and she won’t talk about it. She loves the guy, he loves her, it’s “just difficult.” There is no physical violence - she’s sworn that to me and it doesn’t appear that she’s lying - there have never been any indications that she gets hit and while I don’t see her every day, I think I would know about physical violence, one way or another.

So her man -haven’t decided on a name for him yet- is generally pleasant when friends come calling. He’s polite, charming, not unpleasant to be around. I understand from my own experience that people can be one way in public and a totally different way in private. My father, dragged to marriage counseling by my mom, turned on the charm to two-hundred-twelve degrees Fahrenheit and had the therapist thinking my mom was a loser by the end of the first session.

I can’t say for certain what’s going on there, but I’ve been listening to Agnes’ stories for quite some time and decided to start recording them. (And then it occurred to, oh, ASK her if it’s okay!)

In case you’re wondering, I chose the name Agnes for Saint Agnes, who became a martyr at the age of 13. Her feast day is January 21st, a day of some significance to me, but for completely different reasons.

I’ll start with some stories either later this evening or early this week. As with everything else, it depends upon the availability of time.

…Or at least for now:

Part of my drive to and from work is a two-lane road. It’s country - farmland, really. Every now and then I pass a dead deer on the side of the road, which isn’t as upsetting as it once was, but it still makes me sad. (It’s not emotionally paralyzing - that’s what I mean.)

Today on my way home, just about midway from work to the freeway, I saw what appeared to be a dead raccoon in the middle of my lane. You see lots of dead possums and raccoons everywhere, not just the country roads (and probably more on the roads that were country roads not too long ago).

As I approached, I realized that the raccoon, who was on its back, was alive. Its head was moving from side to side and its little arms were reaching up and around frantically. I swerved around it and missed (or I wouldn’t be writing now - I’d be in a freakin’ psych ward on nerve pills or something).

Alive… the damn thing was alive.

I wanted to turn around and pull it from the road. Even though I knew it would die… maybe I thought -in some crazy super-fast thought pattern of an instant- that there would be a raccoon cast and raccoon crutches. The raccoon would come live out its days with me in grateful servitude. Who knows what I was thinking? In that crazy moment I felt its fear and wanted to fix it. (Oh, glory be to dysfunctional families and being the “fixer.”)

I was on the phone with my friend Nurse D (I know, I know, but I had my Bluetooth on) and she told me NOT to go back and pull it from the road. I just didn’t want it to lay waiting for certain death, frightened and unable to move. She told me to forget about saving the raccoon. She grew up in the country, she said, she’s used to things like that, so she didn’t want to upset me more, but these things happen. Me, I’m more at home (still) with a drunk guy leaning on a building asking for fitty-t’ree cent for the bus. I’m a city girl.

Surely by now the raccoon is dead. Dead-dead. But that little head, those furry arms waving frantically to and fro… they’re burned into my memory forever. Or at least for now.

The doc’s office called today. I don’t have a tumah and I am not dying.

YAY!

Not a drill, really. But if you were to look at the spot where they went in, you could see a hole. I mean, really, you could see into it. And they told me they were taking “about four strings of tissue,” but really - I saw it in a little shot-glass-like cup, and I would NOT describe it as “strings.” I would call it a glob.

So the people were all very kind. Joan the RN was my tour guide and official hand-holder. She’s the best. If you ever have to undergo an unpleasant medical procedure, get Joan.

Kindness doesn’t make up for painfulness or discomfort, sadly. You can read about the procedure here. Mine was the vacuum-assisted biopsy. And the doc has given me category 4. Scary, I say.

Even though the needle just went in once, it did move around in there, and that’s what actually hurt. Or caused discomfort. The kind that makes you sweaty and queasy. I am really hoping that this is the end of testing - that it all comes back normal and Joan, Dr. W and the gang and me just have one big laugh over root beer floats. I don’t know if I can handle more of this kind of experience.

Not just physically - I feel completely worn out. Emotionally drained. Pooped. I want to go have a nap, but I’m kinda nervous about laying down. What if I roll over on my wounded bosom? Wah!

I was going to write something really clever and funny, but right at the moment, I’m not in my Happy Place. Lo, again I say, Wah.

Think good thoughts, please.

Here’s yer update: Biopsy on Wednesday. Let’s say it all together: It’s prolly nothin’. NOTHIN’.

But just in case it’s not, don’t forget: Susan Sarandon to play me in the motion picture story of my life! Valerie Bertinelli can do the Oxygen channel version (”Valerie Bertinelli as you’ve never seen her before!”) but please - Susan S. for the big screen.

You can pick whoever you want to play you, okay? We all get to pick our own stars!

Okay, I made a note while at the women’s health clinic today. The program they use for imaging is called Mammovision. Yes! Doesn’t that sound wonderfully 70s? Russ Myers? Something like that? It has a sort of porn-ring to it, doesn’t it? “Marilyn Chambers, brought to you in super-techno-color MAMMOVISION!

I’ll leave you with that. I need to go watch a movie so that I can return it to Blockbuster. Even though they say there are no late fees, why keep something longer than necessary? Someone else might want to see it! It’s “La Mujer de mi Hermano,” btw.

So in the last week of June, I had a mammogram. A week later the place called to say that I need to come back for another mammogram AND an sonogram ultrasound. Those are happening tomorrow (Monday). I am not very happy about it, but of course it’s best to follow up on these things as quickly as possible.

The woman I spoke with at the women’s health clinic told me, of course, that it’s probably just some tissue or something - nothing to worry about. I’ve done really well for the last week but on the eve of the second set of tests, I’m not really in my Happy Place.

Just think good thoughts, ‘kay? It’s prolly nothing, like the woman said. Right? Right…

I am so tired right now that my eyeballs feel like they’re covered with little drops of paste. Dry paste, that is. Well, not totally dry - with just enough sticky to make blinking kinda yucky.

I’m disappointed that the judge threw out the Plame suit. Here’s a snippet of the story: “U.S. District Judge John Bates suggested that the Wilsons hold the moral high ground, CNN reported. He said that if the Wilsons’ claims are true, Cheney and other top Bush administration officials committed “highly unsavory” acts.

“But Bates also found that federal laws protect top executive branch employees from lawsuits for actions involving their official duties.”

Oh, pooey on that.

Today I drove behind a car with the bumper sticker: “Defend America - defeat Bush.” Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Sorry for such a brief, strange post tonight, but I’m tired, I have cramps (wah!) and I have to get up at the crack of dawn to freakin’ EXERCISE. Hmph.

Oh, and one request to ya’ll: If you ever notice that the blog is all askew, doesn’t look quite right, or something - email me and let me know. Or post a comment. Something. Apparently it was all messed up in IE (which I don’t use - Firefox all the way!) for MONTHS and I had no idea. Help a girl out, huh?

Iraq PM: Country can manage without U.S. - Yahoo! News

Snippet: “Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki said Saturday that the Iraqi army and police are capable of keeping security in the country when American troops leave “any time they want,” though he acknowledged the forces need further weapons and training.”

I just received info about this via email and thought to share it here. Following the facts will be my thoughts, of course. What good are facts without my reflective thoughts, hmm?

From the Ohio state legislature… well, I was going to post a snippet or two from the bill and post a link to it, but at the time of this posting, the site is timing out! Go, pro-choicers!

So from NARAL Pro-Choice Ohio: Sponsored by Rep. Tom Brinkman (R-Cincinnati), “HB 284 would completely outlaw abortion in Ohio, even when a woman’s life was in danger, or the pregnancy was a result of rape or incest. A similar version of the bill was introduced in the Ohio House by Rep. Brinkman durring the last legislative session, but the bill died in committee. Rep. Brinkman is vocal in his hopes that this bill will be the test case that allows the U.S. Supreme Court to overturn Roe v. Wade.

“This extreme bill shows just how far some of our state legislators are willing to go to limit access to critical reproductive health services in Ohio. It is completely out-of-touch with Ohio’s mainstream values and NARAL Pro-Choice Ohio and our supporters will vocally oppose this bill, just as we did when it was introduced before.”

Ohioans can pipe up against this bill here.

So here’s the thing: Obviously (especially obvious if you know me) I oppose this bill. I oppose any bill that removes choice. It’s a really big deal. REALLY big deal. There are so many funky angles that people take on this topic that I’m not really sure where to start, but here goes…

First and foremost, I propose (and have been proposing for YEARS) that we change our lingo. We need to refer to the anti’s as “Anti-Choice,” not “pro-life.” I’ll give it to the PR folks over at the right-wing-publicity shack, they’re good - damn good. I mean, call yourSELVES “Pro-Life” and that only leaves one way to go for your opponents: “Anti-Life.” And of course nobody is anti-life. People who advocate for a woman’s right to choose aren’t PRO-death, for cryin’ out loud!

So let’s start calling the other guys “anti-choice,” because that’s exactly what they are. I don’t have the time to go into why I don’t believe they’re (all) truly pro-life.

So then, let’s hop onto the next lily pad of thought: Always -well, almost always- when arguing FOR choice, you see included such stuff as “…even when a woman’s life was in danger, or the pregnancy was a result of rape or incest.”

NOW HEAR THIS! That’s good to know. But you know what? Abortion needs to be a safe and legal option, no matter who is doing the choosing. I understand that we have to tug at heartstrings (think of how civilian war deaths are reported, often with emphasis on the CHILDREN and women). But this is more than heartstrings, it’s a potential LAW that, if passed, pretty much assures that females in Ohio will either have to head to other states (if legal / possible) or get some hatchet-job.

Now thank God for Ted Strickland, our new-ish governor, who plans to veto (and already has) funding for abstinence-only sex ed in public schools. I don’t think that Brinkman’s bill is going anywhere, really. But I’m sure he’s got some people crawling up his ass with worn leather-covered Bibles, pushing him to push us to just give in and once and for all tell these gals to just have the babies! Lordie!

So there was the “let’s call them anti-choice” lily pad of thought; the “let’s not ONLY pull on heartstrings” lily pad of thought… what next?

Next lily pad of thought: The notion that women act in a vacuum when it comes to abortion: FALSE! I’ve known many women who have dealt with this; some have had abortions; some have not; and some have had an abortion but at a later (or earlier) time had a child. Only in extreme cases -such as a violent or vindictive boyfriend or husband- did I ever hear about a woman not talking about this with the involved male party.

I know that choosing abortion is a difficult decision to make, but I have not personally known anyone who later said she regretted doing it. I believe that abortion is a decision that a woman makes with her Higher Power (if she has one) and those people in her life she trusts the most. You cannot step between me and my God and do an interpretive dance of God-explanation and expect me to buy it!

So most women I’ve known (from teenaged to into their 40s) who have chosen to abort did so after much discussion, thought, consideration, some with prayer and/or meditation… but none just went out and had an abortion like it was getting a set of acrylic nails put on. Not a single one.

I feel certain that I’m leaving out a lily pad of thought, but my contacts are all dry and I’m pretty much hoping that my fingers are on the right keys at this point (ack!).

For kicks and giggles, let me share with you a blog I discovered while researching HB 284: Plunderbund, a blog written by some Ohio folks - it’s mostly political in nature, but it’s fun and interesting. Oh, and it’s a fun word to say: Punderblund! (I like to say it in the same way I like to say pigs-in-a-blanket, emphasis on “blanket”!)

Carry on…

Oh, and don’t bother asking me where the “lily pads of thought” came from. Just my brain, you know.

Well, not really. Probably. Or… not that I’m aware of. Mostly.

Today I heard a story that was told to demonstrate that animals are not dumb, which we already knew. Anyway, I will now share the story with you, but urge you to please set aside your cheeseburger as it may seem somewhat lumpy after the story.

The story takes place in a farming community, and a young girl in 4H who got attached to her black angus cow. She and the cow, who had a name like Jim (a human sort of name and here Jim will suffice), bonded during the process of her raising the cow from a little cow. A cowlette. Or calf, perhaps, would be the word to use.

ANYWAY, the girl went along with Jim to the slaughterhouse. Why in God’s name she did that is beyond me. I interrupted the storyteller at this point to ask, “And thus began her life as a vegetarian?” but apparently that was not part of the story. (Should have been.)

So Jim is in the pen with all the other cows, milling about, probably not knowing -but maybe knowing!- what is in store. And as she turns to leave, the girl calls out, “Bye, Jim!” and Jim comes RUNNING over to the fence where she is. Of course she had to go, leaving Jim there. But Christ Almighty, what is up with that? I would never be able to eat beef again, forever, if I was that girl.

So the point of the story, in terms of animals not being dumb, is that (a) Jim knew his name; (b) Jim recognized the girl’s voice; and (c) Jim wanted the hell outta dodge. He ran to the fence! Ran to see his girl!

Apparently 4H kids can deal with that sort of thing. The girl of our story wasn’t emotionally tainted, eats beef to this day (I guess) and probably continued to take cows to slaughter. Ick.

I’ve seen enough Wallace and Gromit (and other fabulous Nick Park/Aardman productions) to know that animals are VERY intelligent, creative and productive members of society… and yet… I still eat some of them.

*sigh*

Mood music for tonight’s post.
(I won’t do this every single time, don’t worry!)

On my way home from work, I was thinking about some of my recent posts and how they might not seem too optimistic to you.

And I worry that you worry. It’s a co-dependence with invisible strings. So here’s why not to worry:

I have tons to be grateful for, and I am. Good people in my life, for one thing - some in my life on purpose and others seemingly by accident. Aside from the usual “roof over head, food in belly, clothes on back” (all of which I do have) I have love. Yes, love.

And… I see colors, hear music and read words and they all become edible soul food. Nourishment for all the stuff the above parenthesized stuff doesn’t necessarily cover.

I have lived through a lot of insanity and come out pretty okay. Odd, perhaps, but okay. Hell, I have stories to tell until I die, even if that’s 50 years from now. Stories, colors, sounds, textures, tastes, scents and smells… life, baby.

I’m gonna ask my pal Ari to teach me to play guitar. I actually already own one - bought it ten years ago! It’s one of those things I’ve said forEVER that I would get to. Well, here, I’ll say it aloud, to you: I will learn to play! It’s mid-way through July, but I think it can still be a summer project goal. Of course, it partly depends upon Ari’s availability.

See? Sunny optimism!

Aside from my musical pledge, I want you to know that, while I seem to be strongly affected by the energy around me, I am optimistic. Happy. (Mostly.) (Usually.) Ready to try to make the world better each day.

So… thanks for sharing this crazy ride called life with me. It ain’t all that bad, huh? It just calls for some investigating, pondering, poking and such. We’re just the guys to do it, too.

Speak a little softer
work a little harder
shoot less with more care
sing a little sweeter
and love a little longer
and soon you will be there