Liberation

For causes I can't explain.  All of the previous year have not recognized my age.  Kept thinking I was actually the age I am now, on my birthday.  Last year, though a year younger, somehow thought of myself as the next year's age, this year's age.  Now that it's here, it's as though I'm the same age in my head two years running.  Now it's official: I'm the age I've thought of myself all of last year.  No idea why.


It's also a significant year in that my child will also be 'of age'.  'Free'.  A legal adult.  In a way, we are both liberated, in different ways.


God willing, there will be many new beginnings, and the intense pain of transition, yet again.  Still metamorphosing, further along in the journey. 


A home, a 'permanent' home.  Longer than a one year lease, at least.  A place to stretch out and regroup, again, in preparation for the actual permanent 'permanent' home, where a grandma age person will spend the rest of her days, to settle, organize, and progress, for a change.  Taking a shot at lost time with a beloved son that really can't be made up, however more than in recent years, to scratch the surface of a rebonding that will take the better part of the rest of my life. 


My mother was this age when she remarried, uprooting herself and relocating for a person she has now been married to longer than my father, who I've not seen since our grandmother passed eight years ago.  My mother is a point of reference.  She's making plans for the rest of her life, and this time nearly twenty years ago she embarked on a whole new life.  If she can do it, I can.  It's not too late for another chapter in the legacy, that my son can very soon again be a part of, and his children as well, when the time comes.


God willing.

Revelations

Not that bad a parent, not that bad an artist, not that bad a writer, not that bad a comedian.  Bad at self esteem, self worth, and faith.  As much as I preach, can't take my own advice, or unaware I wasn't, until out in the world, paying attention to what's going on with an ear to the ground. 


It wasn't me; it was the culture.  A culture that will point the finger at anyone who isn't sure where their place is.




I've been here before, at a different stage in life, looking through different eyes: young, ignorant eyes.  Thinking the world is as we wish it to be.  It isn't.  There will be things we will never understand. First Corinthians 2:9.




I understand that I've charged too little, asserted too little, insisted too little, and followed through too little.  I do finish what I start, there's just to many irons in the fire, which slows down all of them.  It could be the general family curse: jack of all trades and master of none.  The truth is I'm master of a few, and been distracted from narrowing the plan.




I'm told there is a plan I'm not aware of, from a Higher Power.  I get it.  I'm more patient over time, and more grateful.  It doesn't stop the anxiety and fear, or the trauma that's ingrained that kicks in like an involuntary reflex at the worst possible times.  I'm paralyzed and frozen, conscious of my surroundings and unable to move, except I can move, only in very slow motion.




Keep up appearances.  The look of being poised, collected, and perhaps a little too calm, or even aloof isn't what it looks like.  It's paralysis, an inability to act quickly, it's less indecisiveness than being stuck in slow motion.



I've been depressed, which comes back randomly, when events seem to negate all efforts or progress: the reason for so many irons in the fire.  If one gets shut down, there's another in the pipeline. 




So the revelation is I was interrupted, which I knew.  What I didn't know was the fog I walk through that's almost a dreamlike state as often as not.  It's a survival mechanism that no longer serves me.  Can I shake it by will alone?  No.  That's what Higher Power is for, when I remember to ask.

'Pinned', by 'Black Cats'

Only sat down to have lunch, on 'blog day', and have been surrounded by 'black cats' ever since (and before, in different ways).  Got some work done.  Still can't get up.  Still working.  One in my lap, one on the right, another foster cat on the left.  Because I sat down.  Not their normal napping spots.  Must be the body heat, as if they needed to get warm, indoors, with a person who keeps the thermostat higher than most.




They have been sequestered until the passing of a 'holiday' that has had them at risk.  Today's.  Same day 18 years ago I informed my son's father a child was on the way: the telling being an utterance I have often regretted.  Otherwise, however, the child would have never known his father's side of the family (most of whom are not abusive), and I would have been able to afford the child's college education: material for another story altogether.




Cruelty is mostly human to human and human to animal, animals killing humans usually only when threatened and not killed by humans first.  Animals with black fur are even more vulnerable on Halloween, thus you rarely see them at adoption events or featured in shelters during the month of October.  The kittens that have taken over my lap for the afternoon are no exception.  They will be made available next month, 'Lord willing'. 




Two siblings from a litter of four, one that didn't survive.  The remaining three would have been put down because there was no overnight staff at a kill shelter to bottle feed them.  It was only a matter of timing and proximity that death was not their fate.  Not all are so lucky.  Same goes for unweaned puppies.




So it's ironic they must remain protected once again, from people cognitively aware they are from a rescue, not caring they were spared with intentions to make them victims of sadistic pranks that are actually crimes for which they will likely as not be held accountable.




The same logic applies to the abusers of humans, the difference being that accountability is even less.  More animal shelters exist than refuge for survivors of domestic violence and their children.  They are most always women and minors.  The stories and their atrocities are seen less in the news than those of animal cruelty, yet no less prevalent.




Black cats (or animals) are not 'bad luck', or appropriate targets of cruelty.  Neither are women and children.  The media has hidden the facts rather than expose them much more often than not.  Following the money is one explanation, the culture of people (and animals) as property with which 'owners' can 'do as they wish' is another.  Not so ironically, the U.S. Constitution supports it.  Will let that sink in, 'til another time (Lord willing).




Black cats get bad treatment, as do donkeys, elephants, dogs, and pigs.  All are gentle creatures deserving of compassion and kindness, yet they have been made to symbolize 'terror', political parties, sexual perversion and depravity, and a host of other connotations none of them deserve either. 




The same could easily be said for mothers attempting to protect their children who use systemic means of last resort only to find themselves up for auction and slaughter as well.  The parallels, and extent to which the cultural conditioning contributes to the massacres remains mind boggling.

Menopause, and Change

Guess it's now official; one full year without a cycle.  Came close a couple of years that didn't hit the 12 month anniversary.  This time it did.


Blessed is not really the word, though some might argue to the contrary.  The Fall, or original sin got women bleeding regularly.  Lucky is more fitting, at least for now.  Either I have a high threshold for discomfort, or symptoms have not been as classically severe, as it is for many.  Have slowed down, though not entirely because of 'the change'.


Too many other things have come into play, that make this just another milestone, that causes little suffering by comparison.


Saying a prayer of thanks every night, not because so called menopause has come and perhaps gone as well.  Because another day went by when we have so much more than many can say.


Hurricanes, devastation, poverty, hunger, thirst, and not having full physical or mental faculties as a result has not happened here, lately.  It has in too many other places of late, and the world is watching.  'The change' for me is not even a blip on the radar, and I prefer it that way.


We must use what we have to help those who have less, which includes their full faculties, regardless of resources.  Those with the most materially are not always the smartest, and can do things that hurt many others.  We must watch out for them as much as those who become the brunt of ignorant actions.  Every day is a gift, and we must do all we can, every moment.

Ulysses & His Lady

Cried when it came time for him to go. He was wanted.  And special.  His name came from a Civil War general, not to acknowledge the side the general represented.  It was because of his color and the intensity of his eyes.

He was loved and cherished, and so much more was wanted for him.  For him to have more time out to play, and treats much more often.

He loved to be petted under the chin, and would turn his head to provide maximum surface while enjoying it.

No ordinary chinchilla, a subspecies indistinguishable from others unless compared or held to notice the shorter length of his body.  If it had anything to do with his disposition and uncharacteristic willingness to be gently held is unknown.  What we do know is he represented how unique an individual creature can be.

His housemate had gone to be with another companion the year before. They were more compatible, which was also unknown until putting them together, not unlike the neutering Ulysses was put through made no difference in helping his house mate's inability to become his roommate. Together, there was sadly only aggression from the former lady.

It was unforeseen until on the horizon Ulysses would be going to join his former housemate and her roommate, and as unforseen that Princess Littlepiddles' name would be changed to the same as the wife of the general after whom Ulysses had been named.

After the tears, and Ulysses had been transported to meet his new family, which included a little girl happy to have him, once his large cage was reassembled, it was again confirmed the reunion with his former housemate was not as happy.  However, the other lady he hadn't met was another story.

I wasn't there to witness the meeting, though apparently it went so well that Princess Littlepiddles' name became Julia, the same as the general Ulysses' spouse.

It was easier not to be sad as long. Knowing that not only was Ulysses loved by more people in the same home, he also had a companion that could contribute to a longer and happier life just by being with him.  Along with his new human family, who multiplied the attention he deserved, Ulysses now has one of his own kind with whom to cuddle in a way only the two of them can.

Shadow

Was Grandma's cat's name.  When she got too old to be around anymore, I was very upset to come to the house one day and find her gone.  I had grown up with her, and was not informed when it came time to put her down.  I forgave Grandma in due time, though never quite got over the loss.  Loss has taken a toll many times since then, and whenever a wound is not healed the next becomes more difficult to bear.

It was love at first sight at the pet store.  Had never heard of a lionhead rabbit before.  I had wanted another, that was quickly sold.  My son picked her out the next time we went back.  She was the second, one was not enough.  We had to separate them when they were still very young when one we named Cleo for Cleopatra because of beautiful eyes turned out to be a boy.  We noticed boy parts when they were playing together.  The name then became 'Leon'.

She has been a very lovable princess, who does not often get along with other bunnies.  Except for Leon, after he was neutered.  Shadow was spayed as well.  Bunnies who are not spayed and don't mate have an 80% chance of getting reproductive cancer.

She was always different, including her mornings, when cleanup took more than Leon's, though it was no problem.  We loved her no matter what.

We've all been under stress, and animals feel it too.  I don't know what happened when she was boarded for over a month with another rabbit.  When she was taken back there was a split in one of her ears.  I had to break up a scuffle more than once between her and the female to whom Leon had become a 'husbun'.  Not jealousy, just territorial.  I had to nurse wounds on more than one occasion when one would get out without my knowledge and go after the other.  I managed to intervene before much fur flew, though it was still unpleasant to watch two female rabbits attempt to take each other out.

Now blood is coming out and I'm not sure it's going to get better.  She's not moving much, and it's going to be a long night.  Vet wants too much, of course.  She seems to be in pain; I'm trying to keep her comfortable.

I know I probably could have done better so this may not be happening.  The bible says our days are numbered.  Nothing can change what was decided when we were born.  I wonder if the same goes for animals.  Their importance is stressed in the book as well.

Love you, Shadow.  If it is your time, we must accept, and be able to move on without too much lost.  It's what you would want; easier said than done. 

I didn't become a vet from the age I had decided at twelve years old until freshman year at vet school.  I couldn't handle death.  Now is no different.  Praying I don't take this as hard as the first pet that saved my son's life.  They don't outlive us usually most of the time, which doesn't make it any easier.  Praying if this is her time she doesn't suffer much at all, and can join her former roommates over the rainbow bridge in peace and with joy.  And that her loss is felt for only as long as she would want, no longer.

Bonding

Separation, that shouldn't be.  He calls, and the conversations are longer.  We don't see each other.  He looks different in a way I won't see until a time yet to be known.  He may notice I've aged, when that happens.

He called last to tell me I'd be proud of him.  He's into something similar that we've done together in the past, and taken initiative on his own behalf.  I couldn't be prouder, or any less concerned than usual.Quest

It's supposedly not biblical to fear or worry; it shows a lack of faith.  Next to impossible for a mother when scenarios are described where safety is at risk, regardless of whether he's 'having fun', or otherwise.  Knowing what could have gone wrong that didn't, again, is no comfort, only something to be grateful that didn't happen.  The prayers of gratitude are daily.

He likes hearing my voice, for a change, hasn't been frustrated, at least not as we speak, lately.  Something has changed, for the better.  Maybe prayers are being answered.

He could drive to see me or his grandparents now, though he won't, from years of imprinting that will take years more to transform, once he sees the world for what it is, from his own objective perspective, once out in the world long enough: not something I would dare tamper with, and it would be ineffective or not productive if attempted.  It would neither be fair, nor strengthen the bond.

It's nice to feel respected for a change, however fleeting.  He's forgotten how slow I move so that when we walk together it's hard for him to slow down enough, and walking behind is disheartening.  I don't like to ask to walk beside him instead of following, when as fast as I can isn't fast enough.  My mind moves much faster, and can exhaust my body thinking involuntarily of all that I don't know.

I only know what he tells me, and when something comes out it inevitably causes wonder about all of the other times similar things are bound to have happened I didn't know about.  Questioning beyond casual conversation would harm the bond, so I don't. 

Just grateful for each day he's safe, with his confidence as high as possible, one day at a time.  Grateful for the bond, and the years it took to build that can't be taken away.

Answers

I remember dating, and having 'crushes', and speaking on the phone, before cellphones, or computers, or email.  Song lyrics that are now classics include 'waiting by the phone' for some certain someone to call, showing their continued interest.  I don't miss those times, or a time when a call from a 'crush' was all I could think about.  Now it's similar in waiting to hear from a child.  An offspring, adult size; still a child inside.

To know he's alright makes for sounder sleep.  To know there's been minimal trauma from the past few days or so in last getting a text and the contents of the exchange being enough to know he's okay, for the most part, in what is 'normal' to him, with no basis for comparison after so many years in this existence.  He has it better than a lot of children, yet knowing the alternatives has offered no consolation, when every effort was made to provide more, with no result, because others got involved who had no real interest other than common incentives that were nothing about a childhood.

It doesn't get any easier, it just changes.  Variations on a similar theme.  The years coming are less than what has passed, yet one day or moment could define the next, for better or worse.

When grandparents were my age there were 'permanent' homes grandchildren could go to.  As yet there is no permanent home.  I have to remind him to choose a school in a place he might stay past graduation and put down roots, so a future grandmother can finally put down roots and set up a grandma's house that feels as safe and secure as other grandparents', past, present, and future.

Home will be in the same place, sooner rather than later, yet it still seems far away, just out of reach.  Making the most of every day has never been felt more; each day builds upon the next.

It could be years before I ever learn what he may be thinking lately, not having seen me for so long; he has to know or been able to figure it out, if he thinks about it, when he does.  It's nothing I can ask about, now or soon.

Hearing from him and knowing he's okay are answered prayers.  Peace of mind enough to function one more day: all we have at a time anyway.  It makes hearing from a 'crush' many years before he was born seem trivial  and almost insignificant.  There is no real comparison, other than the emotion of communication gone 'well' allows one to sleep in some sort of relevant peace, for a completely different set of reasons.  That I needed to hear the voice of a crush to lift my spirits in the past only speaks to conditioning that is no longer relevant or useful.  Hearing from a child whose world is surreal yet all he's ever known to be able to rest until a tomorrow that is not promised cannot compare to the hollow gratification that fed the insecurity of youth and surroundings.

One answer is a change of environment, which can't compare to now, a preoccupation with that future home is enough, even if all there is is today, and his answer, it has to be enough, for now.

Animals

Every morning and evening.  I'm cleaning up after small animals: my son's pets.  Hands are washed many times before all is done or leaving the house.  I never really thought of it as humbling, any more than a farmer would for shoveling up after horses or cows.  It's just what has to be done, no different than changing the diaper of a baby, as many times as necessary.  You don't think about it when they're your own.  You just do it.

It can be done in an hour if there's a need to leave to get somewhere, though I'm not comfortable being out for more than 12 hours; it's not good for them to either have too much waste around or without fresh food or water, not to mention time out of spaces where they sleep or stay during the day when no one is here to pay more attention or let them out.

There's no smell, even when coming back after a long day, so long as the routine is maintained.  I hope they live long enough to be able to enjoy a full fledged sanctuary for rescue animals, where they can come and go as they please in bigger living quarters and plenty of grass to run in outside.  They've experience it before, on vacation; they have to go along.  Not nearly often enough; it should be part of 'life at home'.

They're important, not just for the 'therapy' of having them and interacting with them daily, though for expanding the purpose of why they're here.  When doing the cleaning routine, it's almost impossible to worry or think about anything else than the task at hand, thus the therapeutic or meditative quality of the care process that takes place at least twice daily.

They know they are loved: what makes being in limited quarters bearable when the openings are closed and no one is around for hours.  They are the first and last things checked upon waking and before retiring to sleep.   All of that said, it's clearly not a lifestyle many would envy, though even with abundance and prosperity and the ability to have someone else do the maintenance, I would still want to do as much as one person can, just like now.   When more have a home on a bigger property, their friends will increase, with two legs, and more.

To Create

It's said to be the first verb in the bible.  Opened bins in storage not touched for ten years.  Contents not used nearly ten more.  Five figures of investment, sitting for nearly twenty years, not appreciating, nearly lost on several occasions. 

Survivor's guilt in knowing the hurricane took everything for some not long ago, yet grateful for what we still have.  Some was forgotten or unknown if it survived, as much was lost in other upheavals that compound the impact.  There is still mourning for what can't be replaced, and will be for some time to come.  An evolution began in the process of passing on what others would appreciate more, and what could be moved forward with.

It was therapeutic before.  No different now.  Only a different time, a different series of events in a similar chain.  There are more ideas, though mostly the expression of moving on to something better. 

Compelled to continue.  With many demands on time.  There is no down time.  Only 'what's next', hour by hour. 

There remains life with God's creatures that require attention and care: another form of therapy.  Both the creative and maintenance tasks involving life sustain themselves, which one could not do unless passionately invested in a purpose.

Objectives are not out of sight, though the way is not shown as yet as to how one thing will lead to another.  Having objectives pays the way for the means, though how the means will be utilized has not yet been revealed.

The tasks help in keeping concern at a distance, yet the urgency to complete what must be done does not stop looming.  One day's accomplishments lead to the next hour's task, no moment is ever really guaranteed to be granted, though rewards can come more easily with preparation.

There is joy in solitude, and also pain in uncovering memories of times that will not return.  The opportunity to reflect is a luxury not available to many.  It often feels more like time taken than given, the difference being a choice of action.  Being given the time was not a decision, what was done with it was, and is.

Emotional Material Explosion

Saving $200 a month by emptying a storage unit maintained at significant cost since Hurricane Sandy.  Before digital archiving, before smartphone, before tablets: an emotional minefield.

Each box with contents forgotten or unknown until the aged tape is wrestled off, each one a time capsule able to steal hours of reflection or paralysis in processing or deciding what to do next.

Imagine having a garage full of boxes from the toddlerhood of a now adult-sized child.  They take up most of the space of themselves.  Now unpack each one and decide what to do with what's inside.  In order to sort through the contents of each take up three times the space: why it's called 'unpacking'.  So it looks and feels much worse before it gets better.

When will we be on the other side of the curve is unknown: when there's less to clear and finish from having started, no point of reference for a midpoint - where or when.  It's disorienting, and exhausting, and critical for moving on.

Cherished items attached to concrete memories still kept.  Compounded loss trauma from what could not be salvaged before now.  What we know he won't remember or care about goes to other children.  The rest will await his decision and approval.  Meanwhile the process of purging remains painful, in the energy required and what it stirs up.

Time stands still, though not really.  The day feels over as soon as it started, with the exhaustion of having harvested a cornfield, only it isn't just physical.  It's mourning for time gone that can't be recovered, and what might have been that wasn't.

Technology

It was inevitable.  Sooner or later, it would only be a matter of time before the dogged late adopter that I am would be the recipient of the update that replaces what the system will no longer support.

It could no longer be avoided.  I am now tethered to email via phone.  I look differently now at others who once were annoying by constantly looking at their devices.

It's no longer necessary to take the tablet everywhere when the phone will do the job most of the time now.  Anyone else with a computer in Starbucks now looks as though they are working on important projects.

It can save money with apps, where I used to download coupons and schlep the computer into the store and up to the cash register.  Now the barcode is on the phone.

This is probably amusing to read for anyone on a smartphone for years now.  I still am painfully aware how many on the planet struggle to get to school, and, as it was when I was growing up, no access to a phone until returning home, if then.  Landlines in impoverished areas are not likely in every home.   We don't think about how they communicate where they are.  Television in public places provide news.  Parents have no communication until they are home again from school, provided there's a real home.

We still take too much for granted, when all we have for sure is the present.  What we do today paves the way for tomorrow, almost always.  Our minds go from thought to material manifestation in minutes, or years, if we have the inspiration and tenacity to follow through.  Technology, when used wisely, can also help us help others to get to their next 'upgrade', as well.  One way or another, that might just be the purpose behind the purpose.

This post is being written on a phone for the first time.  The computer has timed out, and has to be restarted, again...

Bambi

I still can't watch the movie without crying; he lost his mother in the beginning.  It's not a cute name to be made fun of, let alone be adopted by a misogyny victim playboy bunny. 

I just watched a video of a doctor giving a baby deer CPR for nearly ten minutes, until it became conscious again to join his mother who was watching in the woods nearby.  I cried again.  Some would call her crazy, a doctor, with a pool the deer fell into; I don't think so.

We can't minimize the value of life, for any creature.  Did the Garden of Gethsemane compare to the duration of a term in a concentration camp where faith will not waiver there will be deliverance?  How did Nelson Mandela get through 27 years of hard labor without losing his mind enough to become the president of a country?  Miracles do happen every day.  We take too many of them for granted. 

And sometimes, when we may be given the opportunity to be part of a miracle, we don't know it when we see it.  I leave church late on a sunny day stopping to watch the geese graze on the property.  I don't take them for granted; they're as much a part of the sanctuary as the church itself.  I know everyone wouldn't agree with me. 

Every time I see a deer or cat walking across the field or near the parking area I feel as if I'm a stranger in someone's home.  I slow down or stop to take in the beauty of nature that only a higher power could have created.  They all exist for a reason, and sometimes it's to remind us what we can't take for granted, whether we're paying attention or not.  The truth is unwavering, whether we are aware of it or not. 

Words do not change facts simply by 'virtue' of being words, that can be used as much as weapons as vehicles for peace, which is not the absence of tension, but rather the presence of justice.  MLK was inspired to create a quote he originally found in scripture.  He didn't rely on what others said was written in the book.  He read it himself.  That knowledge was part of what set him apart.  It's easy now for some of us to take for granted the times he and those before him came through.  We can't.  None of us are guaranteed anything beyond the gift that is called the present.