Damn, this cycle is never ending. Short of breath because abdominal cavity has excess water in it. Dispite being on 80 mg of lasix, ain't gettin' no relief here, except in the legs. So I remain short of breath, with rales and obscured sounds in the lung lobes. But my oxygen saturation is 94 to 96 percent. How can THAT be when I can't catch my breath? When I pant like a dog on a hot August day just walking from the living room to the bathroom? And sometimes just sitting here doing nothing I can't breathe, either.
Something ain't right, folks! I should be peeing like a racehorse and I'm not. A week ago my kidney functions were just slightly - and I do mean slightly- elevated. So why isn't the water leaving my system? I am peeing, but a normal amount. Drinking more fluids to flush out the UTI, but not peeing more than what I am taking in. This makes no sense!
Can barely hold my breath for 10 seconds after using my asthma inhalers. Get dizzy standing there waiting for another 2 minutes to pass so I can inhale again.
Headed in to 3 weeks with cardiologist and can't see much improvement. Hey, I don't expect miracles, but I do expect to be able to BREATHE! Fatigued. Not sleeping. Dizzy but that is probably mostly if not totally Meniere's (since I took the header in to the tub about 2 weeks ago, and the cardiologist took me off the HCTZ. Some mild nausea on occasion, but certainly not constant nor normally in conjunction with worst of shortness of breath. No jaw line pain. No back pain. No chest pain. No paid radiating down left arm. No feeling of impending doom. Oh, but the leg and body cramps I've had over the past 3 weeks. Felt like my muscles were trying to dislocated my good hip that one night. Wallered on the floor like a dog. Big toe bent backwards so far I feared it was going to cramp. Hand cramps that make my hand look deformed. Charley horses in back of thighs that last for up to an hour. Charley horses in calf that last forever as well. Can't walk them out. And the cardiologist tells me I'll just have to "deal with the leg cramps." May he be so inflicted with muscle spasms for the rest of his life!
Monday, March 4, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
It is raining so I must have a garland of dirty paw prints on my white top
We have 5 cats ranging in age from 13 to 2. The next to eldest, Yeowller, a neutered male, is a spotted tabbie and is as loving and attentive as they come. The youngest is Ptera Dactyl, a polydactyl neutered female who is also the local house terrorist. In between these 2 cats is Pipsqueak, a blue eyed cross eyed cross breed. He is part Siamese and part spotted tabbie, who most times has a tolerable personality but who also has a nasty side.
When it has rained and snowed this winter, this intredpid trio insists on going outside for romps or at least scouting missions in the yard, their front paws become wet and soiled. And being cats, they don't like that state of affairs!
My faux suede chair is covered with paw marks where they have danced back and forth over the years. For some reason, this winter (2012/2013) these 3 cats have decided that my upper chest is a wonderful spot upon which to dry their delicate paws and warm their tootsies! Every top I wear during the winter has been so treated by the cats. A simple washing removes the evidence of their traipsing over me, but sometimes it is a bit annoying when it is mid morning, I'm freshly dressed, and they annoint me so! But got to love them, they are my babies!
When it has rained and snowed this winter, this intredpid trio insists on going outside for romps or at least scouting missions in the yard, their front paws become wet and soiled. And being cats, they don't like that state of affairs!
My faux suede chair is covered with paw marks where they have danced back and forth over the years. For some reason, this winter (2012/2013) these 3 cats have decided that my upper chest is a wonderful spot upon which to dry their delicate paws and warm their tootsies! Every top I wear during the winter has been so treated by the cats. A simple washing removes the evidence of their traipsing over me, but sometimes it is a bit annoying when it is mid morning, I'm freshly dressed, and they annoint me so! But got to love them, they are my babies!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
History of my health
Lately people don't seem to be taking what I say about my health as meaning anything. Of course, since 2009 I haven't said a whole lot because each day was true gift from God as I ran out of my medications. Just as I wasn't supposed to live by a few years beyond 2000, by quitting all my medications in 2009 I, by rights, should have died within a year. But God gave me the smarts to go looking for some alternative natural supplements to help me survive, and I have taken them very religiously over the past 4 years, even adding some others as I learned about them.
But my health has begun to decline in the past 6 months, slowly at first but more rapidly as of late:
1. The Left Hip
My left hip was hurting more and more and more. An x-ray showed that the hip joint was literally chipping away. I wasn't yet 60 years old and I had a very bum hip. The problem: avascular necrosis. The hip was not getting a sufficient supply of blood (or air) and it was dying, quickly. I went from a cane to a walker to a cart in a matter of weeks. All walking was unbearable. Sitting was unbearable. I was on a lot of pain medication and that fact was not pleasant. I hate not being in total control of things.
In Mar. 2000 I had the hip replaced, but there is a complication: the spike which is driven down in to the femur caused the femur to split, like a green-stick fracture. Soooo, I had a broken leg as well as a new hip. I recovered and my activities slowly increased. I did away with the cane and the then the scooter. It was an amazing day when I walked in to a grocery store and just grabbed a normal shopping cart and walked my way through the aisles. I was pretty giddy about the accomplishment!
My titanium hip, good for 10 to 15 years of use, in at year 13, and I am having troubles. At first I wanted to go to the ortho doc and get started on pain meds and make an appt to replace it, but something held me back. That something was a deeply buried memory about how acupuncture helped me out so much back in late 2008 that I went from unable to walk with Kent supporting me to walking on my own in just 2 visits. So I have an appt. with the same guy tomorrow 2-21-13 to see if he can help me out again. If not, then the old Plan A is back on my plate. Last weekend I took onl old hydrocodone 7.5 tablet and it broke the pain cycle. I slept without pain. I awoke with out pain. I walked for 3 days without pain, and when I did have pain again, it was lesser than before. That spoke very loud and clear to me about not an immediate need for surgery. We shall see.
2. Respiratory Function
I haven't been breathing properly since Thanksgiving, when I had a touch of the flu. Shortness of breath. Waking up in the night and having to sit up until the phlegm went down, or until I used Ventolin to open the airways. Always tried waiting first.
This goes back to my childhood. As an infant my eyes swelled shut from nastiness during my first summer. I am allergic to dust, trees, weeds, and mold. Nowhere on earth can I go to escape the except a "bubble".
I was restricted from playing outside in the spring and fall because of all the pollens. I couldn't mow the grass or rake the leaves. I was never able to attend a church camp because they didn't administer allergy shots during the week there, and I was getting shots twice/week. Yes, this breathing problem impacted my childhood! Of course it made me a very avid reader and a watcher of television, but first and foremost, an avid reader with a very wild imagination!
I had bronchitis at least 4 times per year up until I was 12, and at age 12 I had the first asthma attack. My doctor had to shoot me up with eppi in his office because my lips and fingers were so blue. Mom and I moved out of the house, but that night I took a turn for the worse and I was hospitalized for asthma. Oh that was a wondrous experience for a 12 year old! I was in the hospital for several days until they asthma broke. Imagine having to sleep propped up on 2 to 3 pillows or else not being able to breath. This is something a kid with bronchitis or pneumonia might experience once in a lifetime, but this was everyday life for me. Had to take my own pillows when I went to sleep over...
That marked a change in my life where I started to have to endure allergy shots from a specialist for the next 13 years. I was so sensitive to the weakened serum that I could only take one shot/week instead of the 2 they wanted me to take. And this for a girl who was terrified on needles and who would scream her bloody head off when given a shot for many of her younger childhood years (I used to have to have shots from a non-specialist for many years, starting when I was age 5, through age 12). I think I quit screaming about age 6. Still hate those blasted needles!
The average length of time a person stays with a specialist who gives shots is 5 years. I was with the specialist for 13 years. Bet I messed up the average length of years formula for lots of people after that! But it reached a point where they were no longing doing anything, so we decided to stop them and see what would follow.
In the mid 1980s I found myself back at the specialist (the one who had bought the old one's practice), and he put me on some medications. It was a big problem to find those which would work in concert with me and each other. I had boxes and boxes of unused sprays and inhalers that hadn't panned out well for me. I agreed to restart the shots again to see if we could build up some immunity, and this continued for a while.
3. Cardiomyopathy & Congestive Heart Failure
Then in 1999 things took a deep dive to the bottom. I started retain fluids, my legs started oozing plasma (and I still have the scars of those lesions,13 years later), I was having trouble eating, sleeping, functioning. I was totally fatigued each and every day. I had no life what so ever except to try and find the strength to keep it up. I was finally diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. After that fact we determined that I was retaining 25 pounds of body fluids. After Dr. Ravindra got me on Lasix, he turned me over to a cardiologist, Dr. Annan. As it turns out, I had an ejection factor of 15. That is roughly the pressure of the blood pumping out of the heart. Considering that and EF of 0 means the heart wasn't pumping at all, I was one sick little puppy. Dr. Annan was honest with me about my chances to live. Out of 100 patients equally as ill as I was, only 5 of would be alive after 5 years. My chances of living 5 years was very, very low.
It was the congestive heart failure that lead to all the water weight gain, and why I was on a high dose of Lasix. Fortunately, I was no longer retaining water by 2009, so I stopped taking it. Loss of benefits didn't impact this, for which I was grateful.
I had some problem with the digoxin, troubles which are described in dictionaries, word for word. as digoxin poisoning. Bloodwork didn't reveal excessive levels of the stuff, so I was told the start taking it again. In a pigs eye! This is when I came to understand that all drug dosages and side effects were geared for the mainstream. The one person in a thousand who has an different outcome is generally ignored because that person probably "didn't do something right". Right then and there I decided to become the squeaky wheel when it came to my side effects. Causes me stomach distress? Offer me something for the distress find me another drug that is better tolerated. Makes me hurt all over? Offer me something for that discomfort or find another drug that is better tolerated. If I report atypically signs/symptoms, I have them documented and maybe even photographed. I can be that one in a thousand patient, and I don't give a hoot if 9,999 other people tolerate it well, I do not and I refuse to take it. Find something else in your arsenal that might work. Think outside the drug rep box and find something for ME.
Just like when I had the hip replaced, my pain was poorly managed early on. One day I couldn't even get out the room and in to the hall to walk. The doctor came in and we discussed pain management and I suddenly found my pain relived. The rehab staff came back in for the afternoon session and I walked so far they decided to get me a wheel chair and roll me back to the room. Heck, I wanted to walk even farther that afternoon! I told that all it took was proper pain management. After having seen me
in the AM and in the PM, they agreed with my assessment.
Manage MY conditions, use drugs which work for ME, not for the friggin' herd out there, but for ME.
4. Loss of Health Benefits
I was forced to retire from Delphi in 2008. Everyone except a few executives with 30 years and over were all in the same boat. Come 2009 the company said that we care going to stop paying you any health benefits and life insurance all you salaried retirees. We think we can save millions of dollars by fucking you over this way. And they did. And oh, by the way, we are turning your 76 percent funded pension fund and turning it over to the PBGC, who will take up to 70 percent of what you currently earn and give you 30%. I lost 50 percent of my pension. Others fared worse than I , but many more did much better. And there was nothing that I could do. So now I am on a half pension that can never increase in payout for as long as I and Kent live. Not a single cent. There was one option to get in to retiree health care deal but it took all but 600 dollars of my reduced pension. Like I could afford THAT. So we've been without any health insurance since 2009. Don't think that this little deal didn't depress me! I went in to depression and haven't yet crawled completely back off. Need meds!
5. Meniere's Syndrome
I been living with Meniere's Syndrome since I was a child. I called it being a klutz back then, but looking back, the roots of my balance problems lie there. Pre-teens. This means it precedes asthma. I think that if my parents had paid attention, they'd have noticed the Meniere's too. But they attributed it to me being a tom boy. And no one really knew much if anything about it back in the early 1960s. I've seen the looks on doctor's faces when I tell them I suffer from it: yeah, right, she is just faking it. Walk a mile in my shoes, folks. Walk a mile in my shoes, where I can't walk a straight line stone cold sober. I can't walk from one room to another without having to touch a wall or a piece of furniture. And I lose my balance and literally fall from the outside of a tub IN TO the tub. Sounds like a balance problem to me, and I have the bruises to prove it.
It reared a very ugly head in the early 1980s, when I was at work. Everything was spinning, I had no depth perception, and I was nauseated. In fact, my step mother had
to come pick me up from work I was so bad that day. I've had other days just as bad, a few even worse. In 2008 it was so bad that I couldn't drive the car for several months. I didn't care if I wrecked the car, but the idea of causing harm to someone else was reprehensible, so Kent drove me to work and came and picked me up at the end of the day.
Spent time with neurologists, who just gave me Valium. Spent time with ear specialists who just triggered my problems but wouldn't declare it as Menieres. Then found a specialist who truly listened to all the testing I'd been through, read the list of signs and symptoms, and promptly announced that no matter that the ear specialist couldn't find I was clearly suffering from Meniere's. He gave me a pill that I just had to take once a day and lo and behold I began to see an improvement. The pill could also be had in the blood pressure medicine I was on, saving me one pill a day (when you take 13 prescribed pills twice a day, getting rid of one pill is wonderful!). To me, this neurologist walked on water! He agreed that if the new pill didn't work we'd try the Valium (which I'd taken myself off of months earlier), just let him know. That meant the world to me - a doctor who was listening and was willing to work with me!
6. Herbal and other Supplements
Amazingly, I have survived into 2013. No heart attacks, no severe asthma attacks which needed me to go to an ER. No injuries or other illnesses laying us low. If you don't think that God hasn't been watching out over us, someone needs to have their glasses change!!! We've found some herbal supplements which have helped. We've religiously taken Citrical plus D plus Magnesium, Zinc, Potassium Gluconate, Acai Berry, Cinnamon caplets, Black Chohosh capsules (me, not Kent!), Vitamin C, Flax Seed oil (Kent) and a combo of Borage, Fish oil and Flax seed at a dose my stomach can tolerate) for me. When we feel a cold coming on we use Zicam and up our C intake. Mucinex is our defense against coughing.
The doctors may not believe in it, but for nearly 4 years this has kept us,- mostly me - able to go on functioning without prescriptions drugs until at long last we now have health benefits!
But my health has begun to decline in the past 6 months, slowly at first but more rapidly as of late:
1. The Left Hip
My left hip was hurting more and more and more. An x-ray showed that the hip joint was literally chipping away. I wasn't yet 60 years old and I had a very bum hip. The problem: avascular necrosis. The hip was not getting a sufficient supply of blood (or air) and it was dying, quickly. I went from a cane to a walker to a cart in a matter of weeks. All walking was unbearable. Sitting was unbearable. I was on a lot of pain medication and that fact was not pleasant. I hate not being in total control of things.
In Mar. 2000 I had the hip replaced, but there is a complication: the spike which is driven down in to the femur caused the femur to split, like a green-stick fracture. Soooo, I had a broken leg as well as a new hip. I recovered and my activities slowly increased. I did away with the cane and the then the scooter. It was an amazing day when I walked in to a grocery store and just grabbed a normal shopping cart and walked my way through the aisles. I was pretty giddy about the accomplishment!
My titanium hip, good for 10 to 15 years of use, in at year 13, and I am having troubles. At first I wanted to go to the ortho doc and get started on pain meds and make an appt to replace it, but something held me back. That something was a deeply buried memory about how acupuncture helped me out so much back in late 2008 that I went from unable to walk with Kent supporting me to walking on my own in just 2 visits. So I have an appt. with the same guy tomorrow 2-21-13 to see if he can help me out again. If not, then the old Plan A is back on my plate. Last weekend I took onl old hydrocodone 7.5 tablet and it broke the pain cycle. I slept without pain. I awoke with out pain. I walked for 3 days without pain, and when I did have pain again, it was lesser than before. That spoke very loud and clear to me about not an immediate need for surgery. We shall see.
2. Respiratory Function
I haven't been breathing properly since Thanksgiving, when I had a touch of the flu. Shortness of breath. Waking up in the night and having to sit up until the phlegm went down, or until I used Ventolin to open the airways. Always tried waiting first.
This goes back to my childhood. As an infant my eyes swelled shut from nastiness during my first summer. I am allergic to dust, trees, weeds, and mold. Nowhere on earth can I go to escape the except a "bubble".
I was restricted from playing outside in the spring and fall because of all the pollens. I couldn't mow the grass or rake the leaves. I was never able to attend a church camp because they didn't administer allergy shots during the week there, and I was getting shots twice/week. Yes, this breathing problem impacted my childhood! Of course it made me a very avid reader and a watcher of television, but first and foremost, an avid reader with a very wild imagination!
I had bronchitis at least 4 times per year up until I was 12, and at age 12 I had the first asthma attack. My doctor had to shoot me up with eppi in his office because my lips and fingers were so blue. Mom and I moved out of the house, but that night I took a turn for the worse and I was hospitalized for asthma. Oh that was a wondrous experience for a 12 year old! I was in the hospital for several days until they asthma broke. Imagine having to sleep propped up on 2 to 3 pillows or else not being able to breath. This is something a kid with bronchitis or pneumonia might experience once in a lifetime, but this was everyday life for me. Had to take my own pillows when I went to sleep over...
That marked a change in my life where I started to have to endure allergy shots from a specialist for the next 13 years. I was so sensitive to the weakened serum that I could only take one shot/week instead of the 2 they wanted me to take. And this for a girl who was terrified on needles and who would scream her bloody head off when given a shot for many of her younger childhood years (I used to have to have shots from a non-specialist for many years, starting when I was age 5, through age 12). I think I quit screaming about age 6. Still hate those blasted needles!
The average length of time a person stays with a specialist who gives shots is 5 years. I was with the specialist for 13 years. Bet I messed up the average length of years formula for lots of people after that! But it reached a point where they were no longing doing anything, so we decided to stop them and see what would follow.
In the mid 1980s I found myself back at the specialist (the one who had bought the old one's practice), and he put me on some medications. It was a big problem to find those which would work in concert with me and each other. I had boxes and boxes of unused sprays and inhalers that hadn't panned out well for me. I agreed to restart the shots again to see if we could build up some immunity, and this continued for a while.
3. Cardiomyopathy & Congestive Heart Failure
Then in 1999 things took a deep dive to the bottom. I started retain fluids, my legs started oozing plasma (and I still have the scars of those lesions,13 years later), I was having trouble eating, sleeping, functioning. I was totally fatigued each and every day. I had no life what so ever except to try and find the strength to keep it up. I was finally diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. After that fact we determined that I was retaining 25 pounds of body fluids. After Dr. Ravindra got me on Lasix, he turned me over to a cardiologist, Dr. Annan. As it turns out, I had an ejection factor of 15. That is roughly the pressure of the blood pumping out of the heart. Considering that and EF of 0 means the heart wasn't pumping at all, I was one sick little puppy. Dr. Annan was honest with me about my chances to live. Out of 100 patients equally as ill as I was, only 5 of would be alive after 5 years. My chances of living 5 years was very, very low.
It was the congestive heart failure that lead to all the water weight gain, and why I was on a high dose of Lasix. Fortunately, I was no longer retaining water by 2009, so I stopped taking it. Loss of benefits didn't impact this, for which I was grateful.
I had some problem with the digoxin, troubles which are described in dictionaries, word for word. as digoxin poisoning. Bloodwork didn't reveal excessive levels of the stuff, so I was told the start taking it again. In a pigs eye! This is when I came to understand that all drug dosages and side effects were geared for the mainstream. The one person in a thousand who has an different outcome is generally ignored because that person probably "didn't do something right". Right then and there I decided to become the squeaky wheel when it came to my side effects. Causes me stomach distress? Offer me something for the distress find me another drug that is better tolerated. Makes me hurt all over? Offer me something for that discomfort or find another drug that is better tolerated. If I report atypically signs/symptoms, I have them documented and maybe even photographed. I can be that one in a thousand patient, and I don't give a hoot if 9,999 other people tolerate it well, I do not and I refuse to take it. Find something else in your arsenal that might work. Think outside the drug rep box and find something for ME.
Just like when I had the hip replaced, my pain was poorly managed early on. One day I couldn't even get out the room and in to the hall to walk. The doctor came in and we discussed pain management and I suddenly found my pain relived. The rehab staff came back in for the afternoon session and I walked so far they decided to get me a wheel chair and roll me back to the room. Heck, I wanted to walk even farther that afternoon! I told that all it took was proper pain management. After having seen me
in the AM and in the PM, they agreed with my assessment.
Manage MY conditions, use drugs which work for ME, not for the friggin' herd out there, but for ME.
4. Loss of Health Benefits
I was forced to retire from Delphi in 2008. Everyone except a few executives with 30 years and over were all in the same boat. Come 2009 the company said that we care going to stop paying you any health benefits and life insurance all you salaried retirees. We think we can save millions of dollars by fucking you over this way. And they did. And oh, by the way, we are turning your 76 percent funded pension fund and turning it over to the PBGC, who will take up to 70 percent of what you currently earn and give you 30%. I lost 50 percent of my pension. Others fared worse than I , but many more did much better. And there was nothing that I could do. So now I am on a half pension that can never increase in payout for as long as I and Kent live. Not a single cent. There was one option to get in to retiree health care deal but it took all but 600 dollars of my reduced pension. Like I could afford THAT. So we've been without any health insurance since 2009. Don't think that this little deal didn't depress me! I went in to depression and haven't yet crawled completely back off. Need meds!
5. Meniere's Syndrome
I been living with Meniere's Syndrome since I was a child. I called it being a klutz back then, but looking back, the roots of my balance problems lie there. Pre-teens. This means it precedes asthma. I think that if my parents had paid attention, they'd have noticed the Meniere's too. But they attributed it to me being a tom boy. And no one really knew much if anything about it back in the early 1960s. I've seen the looks on doctor's faces when I tell them I suffer from it: yeah, right, she is just faking it. Walk a mile in my shoes, folks. Walk a mile in my shoes, where I can't walk a straight line stone cold sober. I can't walk from one room to another without having to touch a wall or a piece of furniture. And I lose my balance and literally fall from the outside of a tub IN TO the tub. Sounds like a balance problem to me, and I have the bruises to prove it.
It reared a very ugly head in the early 1980s, when I was at work. Everything was spinning, I had no depth perception, and I was nauseated. In fact, my step mother had
to come pick me up from work I was so bad that day. I've had other days just as bad, a few even worse. In 2008 it was so bad that I couldn't drive the car for several months. I didn't care if I wrecked the car, but the idea of causing harm to someone else was reprehensible, so Kent drove me to work and came and picked me up at the end of the day.
Spent time with neurologists, who just gave me Valium. Spent time with ear specialists who just triggered my problems but wouldn't declare it as Menieres. Then found a specialist who truly listened to all the testing I'd been through, read the list of signs and symptoms, and promptly announced that no matter that the ear specialist couldn't find I was clearly suffering from Meniere's. He gave me a pill that I just had to take once a day and lo and behold I began to see an improvement. The pill could also be had in the blood pressure medicine I was on, saving me one pill a day (when you take 13 prescribed pills twice a day, getting rid of one pill is wonderful!). To me, this neurologist walked on water! He agreed that if the new pill didn't work we'd try the Valium (which I'd taken myself off of months earlier), just let him know. That meant the world to me - a doctor who was listening and was willing to work with me!
6. Herbal and other Supplements
Amazingly, I have survived into 2013. No heart attacks, no severe asthma attacks which needed me to go to an ER. No injuries or other illnesses laying us low. If you don't think that God hasn't been watching out over us, someone needs to have their glasses change!!! We've found some herbal supplements which have helped. We've religiously taken Citrical plus D plus Magnesium, Zinc, Potassium Gluconate, Acai Berry, Cinnamon caplets, Black Chohosh capsules (me, not Kent!), Vitamin C, Flax Seed oil (Kent) and a combo of Borage, Fish oil and Flax seed at a dose my stomach can tolerate) for me. When we feel a cold coming on we use Zicam and up our C intake. Mucinex is our defense against coughing.
The doctors may not believe in it, but for nearly 4 years this has kept us,- mostly me - able to go on functioning without prescriptions drugs until at long last we now have health benefits!
Monday, February 4, 2013
Full Timer!
At long last Kent is a full time employee! Health benefits didn't start until Feb. 1, but at least he has them. Of course his pay check is 75 bucks smaller per week, but this is why I applied for my SSA benefits now instead of in 4 yrs. We need them NOW. Have to be able to afford to pay the doctor when we visit him, even with insurance, and have to be able to afford to pay for the scripts we get from the doctor. At least now we don't have to worry about 100% of ER costs coming out of our pockets.
He also has life insurance on the both of us. Enough to pay for a funeral if we go that route, but we are both pretty sure we want to be cremated. No viewing. Graveside service only. Save as much money as we can for which ever of us is left alive. Or Becky, Courtney, and Tabby if we both die at the same time.
He is entitled to 5 maroon t-shirts as a full timer, but the store is out of them. Go figure. But 5 verses 3 is an improvement. Now we'll increase his work jeans so I don't have to do laundry every other day.
He just ordered his work safety glasses, and he is thrilled with that. We popped for regular glasses back in Dec. so he will be all set up with glasses. Now I can make an appt. for me to get updated lenses for my glasses!
We just filed our federal income tax and are expecting a nice refund back this year, the best once since 2009 tax year. Still owe on state tax, but the lowest amount yet. Will use the fed refund to pay for the state, if necessary, or SSA money if we wait until Apr. 15.
Will be so nice with SSA money to be able to pay all bills on time, to catch up on all the past dues in other areas, to get the Springfield loan paid off and titles back. To get the RV fixed and usable again to save on motel costs. To have a place to live in if we have to evacuate the house, a place to have the cats with us in such an evacuation.
He also has life insurance on the both of us. Enough to pay for a funeral if we go that route, but we are both pretty sure we want to be cremated. No viewing. Graveside service only. Save as much money as we can for which ever of us is left alive. Or Becky, Courtney, and Tabby if we both die at the same time.
He is entitled to 5 maroon t-shirts as a full timer, but the store is out of them. Go figure. But 5 verses 3 is an improvement. Now we'll increase his work jeans so I don't have to do laundry every other day.
He just ordered his work safety glasses, and he is thrilled with that. We popped for regular glasses back in Dec. so he will be all set up with glasses. Now I can make an appt. for me to get updated lenses for my glasses!
We just filed our federal income tax and are expecting a nice refund back this year, the best once since 2009 tax year. Still owe on state tax, but the lowest amount yet. Will use the fed refund to pay for the state, if necessary, or SSA money if we wait until Apr. 15.
Will be so nice with SSA money to be able to pay all bills on time, to catch up on all the past dues in other areas, to get the Springfield loan paid off and titles back. To get the RV fixed and usable again to save on motel costs. To have a place to live in if we have to evacuate the house, a place to have the cats with us in such an evacuation.
Little Miss Hemingway's Cat
She is laying across the room from me, right now, looking at me with drooping eyes. The Little Miss Hemingway's Cat. A petite black cat with almost enough white to be called black and white. Look at her from the front and you might call her white and black. Look at her from the side or rear, and she is a black cat with some white. She has mostly white legs, but with long black marks; her legs remind me of the markings on an orca whale. She has a white blaze on her forehead, just above eye level, that extends up to about to the top of her head. An inch of black fur, with a very few white hairs, and the white picks up and runs down the back of her head in a wide swatch. Like the markings of a skunk, only reverse.
She somehow found her way onto our property, but we don't know from where. She just turned up. She'd settled under Kent's shed for protection. He was raking leaves when he spotted her, and, being a cat person, just out and out asked her where'd she'd come from. She just looked at him with terror filled eyes and ran under the shed. I asked him who he was talking to, and he said "A Hemingway Cat". I have never seen a polydactyl cat before, and I dearly wanted to see one, so I went back to the back yard to see her. Only to have her scurry back under the shed. All I had a glimpse of was a streak of black as she disappeared. Because she was so scared I figured she had to be hungry so I went in to the house and fetched some cat food. I put it down in a trail from the shed out to where I could get a better look at her, then backed off and let her eat some food. As she came out and nibbled her food, I saw this little black cat with white markings. She didn't look to be over 4 to 5 weeks old, size wise. Not old enough to be away from her momma, really. No one around us has any cats as pets, so we had no idea where she could have come from. I put some food in a dish and some water for her, and left her alone for the day.
Next day I set out to try and win her trust. And the next. She was clearly terrified of both of us. I found out that if I lay down flat on my stomach she'd at least come out and look at me. And even talk to me. We had some great conversations, with her squeaking out answers to my questions or comments. Sometimes her squeaks sounded as if she understood what I was really saying to her. I was starting to fall in love with this scared little cat!! It was obvious that she wanted company, but she was scared to death of us. On the second full day of trying to win her trust she let me reach out and touch her head. I stroked her forehead with my fingertips, the only part of me that could reach her. She finally reached out her head and let me rub her under the chin. When I tried to slowly scoot forwards, she ran away and hid back under the shed.
On the third day I placed food and water out yet again, but this time up on the patio, with a trail leading from her hidey hole so that she had to come up and walk by me to get it. OK, slink. She had to slink by me to get it. And slink she did. There were only a few bites of food, so when those were gone I'd add few more. And at long last I made a grab for her and found myself with a squirming armful of kitten that I smashed against my chest. I crooned to her, spoke softly, and stroked her head and scratched her chin until she calmed down somewhat. Barely. But she wasn't biting me, just trying to squirm from my grip.
Now, what to do with her? She was feral, and normally feral cats are just put to sleep by the shelter. But she was cute as a button. Would they take the time to try and socialize her, or just be done with it and put her down? With all the animals which had been dumped by families forced from their homes by financial troubles had overloaded the shelter for over a year. Was she the kitten from just such a family, who turned out the mother and kittens? We'll never know. But I had a feeling that her fate would be unkind if I turned her over to the shelter. Would they notify me if no one adopted her and her time allotment was up? I was afraid they'd say yes, and then not do it. I couldn't let this precious life be snuffed out after such a hard beginning, when it was in my power to give her a good life. We already had 4 cats, and weren't in need of any more. We'd had 6 at one time, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with. Adding her would up the tally to 5. But she was adorable, with shiny soft fur, intelligent eyes, and this squeak of a meow that just won us both over.
In the end I decided to adopt her in to the house. And so I carried her in to the house and in to the lives of 4 grown cats and 2 humans. I carried her in and showed her the litter box, letting her get a whiff of what it was used for. Then I showed her the food and water. And then I set her down, determined to let her decide to come back to me when she was ready. For a full day she ran and hid from us, but she did come in to the living room and watch us. It was hard on me watching her run away. My cats love to be in my company, love to be stroked and scratched, and love to sleep by and with me. But this little thing only ran away. The second day, as I sat in my chair, though, she came over and jumped up on the chair. I didn't move a muscle, barely breathed, and waited on her next move. She sniffed everything, the chair, my legs, my hands and arms, and at long last she was standing on me. I cautiously reached out and stroked her and she tolerated it. She then climbed up on my right shoulder and curled up in to a tight ball, and went to sleep. Yes, she was that small that she could curl up in a ball on my shoulder! She had accepted me as her human and her protector, as her pride leader. Every day, for a couple of months, she either slept on my shoulder, or wormed her way between my hip/thigh and the arm of the chair, feeling safe there as well, when we were in the living room.
We really didn't know what to name her. Normally a cat's actions or something about their physical appearance suggested a name, but she remained a mystery to us. However, to the 4 adult cats in the house, her name was Terror. Or Pestilence and Terror. She was desperate for company, feline company, and being adults, they wanted nothing to do with this upstart. She needed to play, and they were cats, and so she thought they were her playmates. She mostly ended up chasing them, with them hissing and running from her. They should have stood their ground, turned around, and put her in her place. But no, they decided to run instead. This set the stage for how she'd treat them all the time.
One day I saw her stand up on her hind legs, walk three feet across the hall up on her hind legs, with her front paws spread out wide, rather like an orangutan. But her walk was predatory. I described it to Kent, who found it very amusing. Then he saw her do it a few days later, and laughed as much as I had. I saw her do this walk a third time, and told her that she reminded me of a pterodactyl after its downed prey. Kent heard me and stated that yes, she was a pterodactyl cat. A polydactyl pterodactyl. I said that her name would now be pterodactyl, but it would be spelled Ptera Dactyl.
I never knew what hit me. This little fur ball came in and took over my life completely. She was my girl, and she made no bones about it and made certain that everyone else knew it. She was TOP CAT at whole 3 pounds. One of her funniest takeovers was in the bedroom. Normally we exclude new cats from the bedroom, but the adults have been so used to coming and going all night for several years that we couldn't close the bedroom door like we had for other newcomers. I was awakened one morning by growling from multiple cats, up near the head of the bed. I switched on the light to see what had who was all upset and there were 4 adult cats arranged on my half of the bed, from my head to my hip, facing off this tiny little black and white girl who had no idea why she was being growled at. I started laughing at the absurdity of it - the adults, all who were at least 2 to 3 times her weight and 3 to 5 times bigger than her - treed by this kitten. And so it was that Ptera joined us in the bedroom. If they weren't going to put her in her place, I wasn't going to deny her access to the bedroom.
To further emphasize that I was HERS, Ptera started coming up on the bed and laying on top of whoever was laying next to me. Sometimes they'd growl and move off, other times they'd just let her stay there. One thing was certain. Ptera had to have body contact with me when she comes to sleep with me in the bed. I was also her security "blanket".
Then there were the times she would come up to my head and drape herself over my neck in order to claim the top spot. Once in a while she would perch up on the pillow and proceed to "mix biscuits" on my shoulder, and lower...Those needle-like little claws were painful, but because she was so easily terrified, I lay still and accepted the pain. We let her get away with more than the other cats because of her skittish nature, because raising our voice to her sent her running in a panic mode. We tried not to have to raise the voice, but sometimes that was the only thing, short of literally walking up to her and removing her from the situation, to get her to stop the nondesirable behavior. It was important to provide her with a loving environment, a calm environment until she relaxed enough to feel fully secure.
One fear we have never been able to conquer is her fear of Kent wearing a hat. If she sees him with a hat or baseball cap, she runs away in terror, and hides. If he takes off the hat/cap, she may still run, especially if she's seen it on him before he removed it. No amount of sweet talking and crooning to her will keep her from running away from him with a hat on. We envision one of two scenarios on why she is so terrified of hats. The first one is that whomever her mother lived with grabbed up the kittens and tossed them out of the safety of house and home, forcing the kitten(s) to find their own way; the hat represents that terror at being ripped from mother/home/safety. The other one is that someone she encountered after being dumped took off a baseball cap and yelled at her and waved the hat. At first we leaned towards the first scenario, but we now believe that it was the second. We have a neighbor who is not an animal fan, and blames my cats for pooping in his fishing boat inside a shed. Hate to tell him that he leaves that shed open so much of the time that any cat in the neighborhood could get in there at about any time. Even when one of ours goes rogue and gets out of the yard, I've never recovered them from his shed... Our cats explore in back of his workshop because of there used to be a rabbit warren in the vicinity. Squirrels bury food in the area, and other cats check it out. Prime scent area. But I've never seen one of my cats in his boat shed. He has other things far more enticing than this shed with the boat in it. So we think it was him. And she somehow made it in to our yard, where she found a place to hide that no adult cat could attack her or human could get to her. And the dogs on either side of our property had to scare her as well. We were secure from dogs and scary people, offered a dry place to sleep and a den in which she felt safe.
She is a black cat, and as noted earlier, has a lot of white blotches on her body, some of them big, some of them just lines of individual hairs which make it look like blotches. Block off the left side of her face and she resembles the mustache mask from V is for Vendetta movie. Under her nose are just enough hairs that it looks like half a Hitler mustache. Her nose is stubby and her head is short, so she some Persian or Himilayan or something along that line. But she very long legs, normal length fur, and the most expressive tail I've ever seen on a cat. It is also longer than average. There is white on all 4 paws, but not full boots on all 4. She has a half moon marking on one side of her face, and you can see the hairs of a matching outline of another half moon on the other side of her face resides. But they are not identical images, nor even reverse images, but there is a symetry to them.
She has a multitude of nicknames. Her front legs, marked like an orca whale, earned her the nickname of Orca Legs. Her half mustache earned her Half 'Stache. She has a line of hairs, not a solid line mind you, but enough white hairs to emphasize both her rear haunches, and we adoringly refer to them as Butt Lights. Her reverse skunk markings down the back of her head and neck earned her Skunk, which was later amended to Skunkin when we called her Pumpkin. Skunk plus Pumkin equals Skunkin.. Dactyl Cat and Dactylly. And of course, Ptera and Ptera Ptera. Skunkin and Ptera earn responses. She just sort of looks at us when we use the others. Those names are just a part of our talking to her, which she loves. Never had a cat that loved to be talked to. Of course the stroking and petting and chin scratching also help, but the look on her face when we start sweet talking to her is so heart warming!
As noted, she is polydactyl. She has one extra toe pad per front paw, located just below where her dew claw is. In truth, she looks like she is wearing a pair of mittens, the extra toe being the thumb. She stands on it and makes good use of it to snatch things! It is fully functional and fully a part of her front paw.
I have had 2 other great loves in cats. The first was Zade, a beautiful black cat that had lived with me during my first marriage and then in to my life as a single woman. I never thought to love another cat the way I loved her. And then, many years and several cats later, into my life came Smudge. It didn't take long for that white tom to wrap my heart around his dew claw, and I found that I loved Smudge even more than Zade. But then came this diminuitive kitten and in a matter of weeks I knew that I loved her as much as I had Smudge, if not more. I didn't think that this would be possible, but even thinking about Ptera brings a smile to my entire being, not just my face.
With all the cats I've had, I was never able to truly watch any of them grow from being a kitten in to an adult. Being retired, I've watched Ptera grow in length and height. Watched her go from pure unadulterated kitten to young adult. She still stalks the other cats for fun and pure spite, but 2 of them will now play a game of chase with her once in a while, and sometimes they initiate it. I've heard her voice change. She still mostly squeaks, but she does have a Big Girl Voice that she'll use as necessary.
She somehow found her way onto our property, but we don't know from where. She just turned up. She'd settled under Kent's shed for protection. He was raking leaves when he spotted her, and, being a cat person, just out and out asked her where'd she'd come from. She just looked at him with terror filled eyes and ran under the shed. I asked him who he was talking to, and he said "A Hemingway Cat". I have never seen a polydactyl cat before, and I dearly wanted to see one, so I went back to the back yard to see her. Only to have her scurry back under the shed. All I had a glimpse of was a streak of black as she disappeared. Because she was so scared I figured she had to be hungry so I went in to the house and fetched some cat food. I put it down in a trail from the shed out to where I could get a better look at her, then backed off and let her eat some food. As she came out and nibbled her food, I saw this little black cat with white markings. She didn't look to be over 4 to 5 weeks old, size wise. Not old enough to be away from her momma, really. No one around us has any cats as pets, so we had no idea where she could have come from. I put some food in a dish and some water for her, and left her alone for the day.
Next day I set out to try and win her trust. And the next. She was clearly terrified of both of us. I found out that if I lay down flat on my stomach she'd at least come out and look at me. And even talk to me. We had some great conversations, with her squeaking out answers to my questions or comments. Sometimes her squeaks sounded as if she understood what I was really saying to her. I was starting to fall in love with this scared little cat!! It was obvious that she wanted company, but she was scared to death of us. On the second full day of trying to win her trust she let me reach out and touch her head. I stroked her forehead with my fingertips, the only part of me that could reach her. She finally reached out her head and let me rub her under the chin. When I tried to slowly scoot forwards, she ran away and hid back under the shed.
On the third day I placed food and water out yet again, but this time up on the patio, with a trail leading from her hidey hole so that she had to come up and walk by me to get it. OK, slink. She had to slink by me to get it. And slink she did. There were only a few bites of food, so when those were gone I'd add few more. And at long last I made a grab for her and found myself with a squirming armful of kitten that I smashed against my chest. I crooned to her, spoke softly, and stroked her head and scratched her chin until she calmed down somewhat. Barely. But she wasn't biting me, just trying to squirm from my grip.
Now, what to do with her? She was feral, and normally feral cats are just put to sleep by the shelter. But she was cute as a button. Would they take the time to try and socialize her, or just be done with it and put her down? With all the animals which had been dumped by families forced from their homes by financial troubles had overloaded the shelter for over a year. Was she the kitten from just such a family, who turned out the mother and kittens? We'll never know. But I had a feeling that her fate would be unkind if I turned her over to the shelter. Would they notify me if no one adopted her and her time allotment was up? I was afraid they'd say yes, and then not do it. I couldn't let this precious life be snuffed out after such a hard beginning, when it was in my power to give her a good life. We already had 4 cats, and weren't in need of any more. We'd had 6 at one time, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with. Adding her would up the tally to 5. But she was adorable, with shiny soft fur, intelligent eyes, and this squeak of a meow that just won us both over.
In the end I decided to adopt her in to the house. And so I carried her in to the house and in to the lives of 4 grown cats and 2 humans. I carried her in and showed her the litter box, letting her get a whiff of what it was used for. Then I showed her the food and water. And then I set her down, determined to let her decide to come back to me when she was ready. For a full day she ran and hid from us, but she did come in to the living room and watch us. It was hard on me watching her run away. My cats love to be in my company, love to be stroked and scratched, and love to sleep by and with me. But this little thing only ran away. The second day, as I sat in my chair, though, she came over and jumped up on the chair. I didn't move a muscle, barely breathed, and waited on her next move. She sniffed everything, the chair, my legs, my hands and arms, and at long last she was standing on me. I cautiously reached out and stroked her and she tolerated it. She then climbed up on my right shoulder and curled up in to a tight ball, and went to sleep. Yes, she was that small that she could curl up in a ball on my shoulder! She had accepted me as her human and her protector, as her pride leader. Every day, for a couple of months, she either slept on my shoulder, or wormed her way between my hip/thigh and the arm of the chair, feeling safe there as well, when we were in the living room.
We really didn't know what to name her. Normally a cat's actions or something about their physical appearance suggested a name, but she remained a mystery to us. However, to the 4 adult cats in the house, her name was Terror. Or Pestilence and Terror. She was desperate for company, feline company, and being adults, they wanted nothing to do with this upstart. She needed to play, and they were cats, and so she thought they were her playmates. She mostly ended up chasing them, with them hissing and running from her. They should have stood their ground, turned around, and put her in her place. But no, they decided to run instead. This set the stage for how she'd treat them all the time.
One day I saw her stand up on her hind legs, walk three feet across the hall up on her hind legs, with her front paws spread out wide, rather like an orangutan. But her walk was predatory. I described it to Kent, who found it very amusing. Then he saw her do it a few days later, and laughed as much as I had. I saw her do this walk a third time, and told her that she reminded me of a pterodactyl after its downed prey. Kent heard me and stated that yes, she was a pterodactyl cat. A polydactyl pterodactyl. I said that her name would now be pterodactyl, but it would be spelled Ptera Dactyl.
I never knew what hit me. This little fur ball came in and took over my life completely. She was my girl, and she made no bones about it and made certain that everyone else knew it. She was TOP CAT at whole 3 pounds. One of her funniest takeovers was in the bedroom. Normally we exclude new cats from the bedroom, but the adults have been so used to coming and going all night for several years that we couldn't close the bedroom door like we had for other newcomers. I was awakened one morning by growling from multiple cats, up near the head of the bed. I switched on the light to see what had who was all upset and there were 4 adult cats arranged on my half of the bed, from my head to my hip, facing off this tiny little black and white girl who had no idea why she was being growled at. I started laughing at the absurdity of it - the adults, all who were at least 2 to 3 times her weight and 3 to 5 times bigger than her - treed by this kitten. And so it was that Ptera joined us in the bedroom. If they weren't going to put her in her place, I wasn't going to deny her access to the bedroom.
To further emphasize that I was HERS, Ptera started coming up on the bed and laying on top of whoever was laying next to me. Sometimes they'd growl and move off, other times they'd just let her stay there. One thing was certain. Ptera had to have body contact with me when she comes to sleep with me in the bed. I was also her security "blanket".
Then there were the times she would come up to my head and drape herself over my neck in order to claim the top spot. Once in a while she would perch up on the pillow and proceed to "mix biscuits" on my shoulder, and lower...Those needle-like little claws were painful, but because she was so easily terrified, I lay still and accepted the pain. We let her get away with more than the other cats because of her skittish nature, because raising our voice to her sent her running in a panic mode. We tried not to have to raise the voice, but sometimes that was the only thing, short of literally walking up to her and removing her from the situation, to get her to stop the nondesirable behavior. It was important to provide her with a loving environment, a calm environment until she relaxed enough to feel fully secure.
One fear we have never been able to conquer is her fear of Kent wearing a hat. If she sees him with a hat or baseball cap, she runs away in terror, and hides. If he takes off the hat/cap, she may still run, especially if she's seen it on him before he removed it. No amount of sweet talking and crooning to her will keep her from running away from him with a hat on. We envision one of two scenarios on why she is so terrified of hats. The first one is that whomever her mother lived with grabbed up the kittens and tossed them out of the safety of house and home, forcing the kitten(s) to find their own way; the hat represents that terror at being ripped from mother/home/safety. The other one is that someone she encountered after being dumped took off a baseball cap and yelled at her and waved the hat. At first we leaned towards the first scenario, but we now believe that it was the second. We have a neighbor who is not an animal fan, and blames my cats for pooping in his fishing boat inside a shed. Hate to tell him that he leaves that shed open so much of the time that any cat in the neighborhood could get in there at about any time. Even when one of ours goes rogue and gets out of the yard, I've never recovered them from his shed... Our cats explore in back of his workshop because of there used to be a rabbit warren in the vicinity. Squirrels bury food in the area, and other cats check it out. Prime scent area. But I've never seen one of my cats in his boat shed. He has other things far more enticing than this shed with the boat in it. So we think it was him. And she somehow made it in to our yard, where she found a place to hide that no adult cat could attack her or human could get to her. And the dogs on either side of our property had to scare her as well. We were secure from dogs and scary people, offered a dry place to sleep and a den in which she felt safe.
She is a black cat, and as noted earlier, has a lot of white blotches on her body, some of them big, some of them just lines of individual hairs which make it look like blotches. Block off the left side of her face and she resembles the mustache mask from V is for Vendetta movie. Under her nose are just enough hairs that it looks like half a Hitler mustache. Her nose is stubby and her head is short, so she some Persian or Himilayan or something along that line. But she very long legs, normal length fur, and the most expressive tail I've ever seen on a cat. It is also longer than average. There is white on all 4 paws, but not full boots on all 4. She has a half moon marking on one side of her face, and you can see the hairs of a matching outline of another half moon on the other side of her face resides. But they are not identical images, nor even reverse images, but there is a symetry to them.
She has a multitude of nicknames. Her front legs, marked like an orca whale, earned her the nickname of Orca Legs. Her half mustache earned her Half 'Stache. She has a line of hairs, not a solid line mind you, but enough white hairs to emphasize both her rear haunches, and we adoringly refer to them as Butt Lights. Her reverse skunk markings down the back of her head and neck earned her Skunk, which was later amended to Skunkin when we called her Pumpkin. Skunk plus Pumkin equals Skunkin.. Dactyl Cat and Dactylly. And of course, Ptera and Ptera Ptera. Skunkin and Ptera earn responses. She just sort of looks at us when we use the others. Those names are just a part of our talking to her, which she loves. Never had a cat that loved to be talked to. Of course the stroking and petting and chin scratching also help, but the look on her face when we start sweet talking to her is so heart warming!
As noted, she is polydactyl. She has one extra toe pad per front paw, located just below where her dew claw is. In truth, she looks like she is wearing a pair of mittens, the extra toe being the thumb. She stands on it and makes good use of it to snatch things! It is fully functional and fully a part of her front paw.
I have had 2 other great loves in cats. The first was Zade, a beautiful black cat that had lived with me during my first marriage and then in to my life as a single woman. I never thought to love another cat the way I loved her. And then, many years and several cats later, into my life came Smudge. It didn't take long for that white tom to wrap my heart around his dew claw, and I found that I loved Smudge even more than Zade. But then came this diminuitive kitten and in a matter of weeks I knew that I loved her as much as I had Smudge, if not more. I didn't think that this would be possible, but even thinking about Ptera brings a smile to my entire being, not just my face.
With all the cats I've had, I was never able to truly watch any of them grow from being a kitten in to an adult. Being retired, I've watched Ptera grow in length and height. Watched her go from pure unadulterated kitten to young adult. She still stalks the other cats for fun and pure spite, but 2 of them will now play a game of chase with her once in a while, and sometimes they initiate it. I've heard her voice change. She still mostly squeaks, but she does have a Big Girl Voice that she'll use as necessary.
Friday, December 21, 2012
All I Want For Christmas Is...
OK, what do I want for Christmas this year? Clothing? Nah. Jewelry? Nah. My OnStar installed in the truck? Maybe. Books? Possibly. Period outfit (fancy)? Could be. The Indiana State Parks Inn gift package? Maybe.
I could get 2 uses this year out of a period dress - the Ephiphany dinner and the Conference. Of course I may be attending both of those alone... Maybe I could ride with Kim and Brian to both. And each year I could use the outfit again...
OnStar would be handy, and a safety net for me, especially out on the road.
But what books? No clue.
The State Parks Inn gift package? Well, 2013 entrance fees to all state parks plus 70 buck in gift certificate? Would let me buy some souveniers at Spring Mill, such as mugs, etc., things we can't afford otherwise until this year. I may get this without regards to Christmas!
Someone to come in and clean the house weekly? Oh yeah! But first Kent would have to get it cleaned out.
A new air mattress that is more comfy than what I currently have? Sounds good to me.
To be able to sleep back in the bedroom, with my kitties in bed with me? Yes! New mattresses, better white noise.
Well, of course world peace. Jessica's Elizabeth to beat all the odds and grow up and live a normal life. Nick to never be deployed again. Our financial situation to improve.
I could get 2 uses this year out of a period dress - the Ephiphany dinner and the Conference. Of course I may be attending both of those alone... Maybe I could ride with Kim and Brian to both. And each year I could use the outfit again...
OnStar would be handy, and a safety net for me, especially out on the road.
But what books? No clue.
The State Parks Inn gift package? Well, 2013 entrance fees to all state parks plus 70 buck in gift certificate? Would let me buy some souveniers at Spring Mill, such as mugs, etc., things we can't afford otherwise until this year. I may get this without regards to Christmas!
Someone to come in and clean the house weekly? Oh yeah! But first Kent would have to get it cleaned out.
A new air mattress that is more comfy than what I currently have? Sounds good to me.
To be able to sleep back in the bedroom, with my kitties in bed with me? Yes! New mattresses, better white noise.
Well, of course world peace. Jessica's Elizabeth to beat all the odds and grow up and live a normal life. Nick to never be deployed again. Our financial situation to improve.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
On Sandy Hook Elementary School Massacre
How do you write on something that is so morally reprehensible? On Friday, Dec. 14, a 20 year old man who lived in Newtown, CT, killed his mother in their home and then went to the school where she was a teacher and shot 21 children and at least 7 adults. Seven adults were killed; I don't know how many, if any, were injured. I refuse to use the name of this killer even though I know what it is. Using it only gives him fame and calls attention to himself. He doesn't deserve this. His name should be stricken from our memories forever. His dastardly, cowardly deeds should be remembered, but not his name.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
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