Hindsight: 2020 or Transformation?

 

Below is a copy of original content of above title [by this/same author] shared at (1) Hindsight: 2020 or Transformation? | LinkedIn , dressed up from a FB response to recent events :

One social media profile has become a curated news feed on issues that affect everyone, peppered with opportunities, business, marketing, and financial resources. Politics are only inserted from an objective perspective not influenced by any conscious 'confirmation bias'.

When a person or family has enough real wealth, who's in office doesn't matter. I know how some policies can affect 'the rich', therefore they have 'political opinions' as to what affects them personally, not others. That's a mark of greed, ego, or scarcity mindset, even of those considered 'rich', by others.

The "rich" can have a poverty mindset: more for them, less for others. Many are obsessed with status or ego driven. The 'wealthy' have an abundance mindset: they more they give, the more they get, without putting conditions on the giving, because a candle lighting another creates more light, not less.

The two camps with money, 'the rich' and 'the wealthy', also have different definitions of 'socialism', a very controversial topic of late, because 'the rich' actually fear being 'robbed', one reason being the indoctrination equating socialism with communism. If they were the same they would not have different terms, or not made synonymous with each other, such as a thesaurus making them the same. They're not. 'Rich' is also not synonymous with 'educated', as we know.

The wealthy understand their own definitions of what is more known as a "healthy socialism", or "conscious capitalism", both terms being not fully accurate. This is not a dissertation on what those terms actually mean, untainted from any political agenda.

In the most literal sense, 'socialism' is what's for the good of the whole, not 'taking from the haves and giving to the have-nots who've done nothing to earn what they're given'. It's rooted in being socially responsible, not unlike or even equated with creating legacies.

When an enterprise created provides a living for teams beyond their lifetimes, when millionaires are created to equal or surpass the net worth of a founder during or after a founder's lifetime (as adults can learn to manage some investments better than others, or founders can choose how assets are allocated differently), it's both conscious wealth creation, socialistic, and a legacy in service to others by providing solutions others will pay for, when paying for such solutions adds to qualities of life, as opposed to causing spending that may not lead to better outcomes. This isn't a straight line.

#ProsperityEnvironmentsCatalysts create environments where such skills can be learned in safe and consistently supportive environments. Students can be from 8-80+. Common factors are willingness to learn, discipline, and vision: the ability to reverse engineer from an end result and calculate or continuously act toward a vision, of which several can happen over a lifetime, if begun earlier in life.

We must ask ourselves: is what I'm doing today going to take me to what I know I can do? Are we betraying ourselves by not investing our time in what will lead to a deep want we think is only a dream? Is it a dream or a desire, the difference being a desire is a deeper 'want' that can actually happen. Some dreams are desires that can manifest when certain factors exist. Other dreams are unrealistic. We usually know the difference. Support or mentorship can clarify a number of conundrums in these areas, because we often can't see ourselves as others do.

An obligation of wealth that the truly wealthy have as a primary objective is to be able to mentor and lead for others to experience the rewards of discipline and vision, and to assist in putting wealth within the reach of others. Don't hate the wealthy. Know the difference between 'the wealthy' and the 'mere rich'.

Added income only makes one more of what they already are; it will magnify core character: a reflection of a positive or negative environment. When someone says they give and have less because they attract takers, thus affecting their ability to trust, it's not their fault in the moment. It's an environment issue. They still have to want to seek better environments, and believe those environments exist.

An unwillingness or inability to change or see the world from the same lens based on past experiences stunts growth on a spiritual level, not in a religious sense. Transformation can happen when certain factors exist between the wealthy, the willing, timing, and environment. It's not magic; it's alignment, and determination to see a vision through by combining forces, always for good.

Transformation can be negative as well. Children are born brilliant and perfect; corrupt or imperfect environments limit potential. Hostage situations by mental or literal imprisonment affects DNA, even in 'adults'. No great thing is accomplished alone. We must be open to change, first with ourselves, willing to see the world from others' eyes.

There is no scarcity. No one human can save the world. There is not one perfect soul mate on the planet. There are several at any given time, not with whom to procreate necessarily, or even to spend the rest of one's life with.

The creation of family is who can take us all forward positively with minimal damage & maximum joy, so that we may enjoy watching grandchildren not suffer unnecessarily, even those that aren't ours.

Lose the Battle. Win the War.

#LoseTheBattleWinTheWar

Dear 'pro choicers': 

In making it all about abortion, you're in essence fighting to keep what crumbs #RoevWade threw when the #wholepie of the #EqualRightsAmendment was denied, that would have prevented any such thing as the desperate choice of abortion.  Please stop fighting for crumbs, when the whole pie of the #ERA hangs in the balance.  Otherwise, you're playing right into the hands of those who wish to continue denying females #ConstitutionalPersonhood and their ongoing status as disposable property, as well as your and their children's being bought & sold with taxpayer $$.  

Don't throw away #EqualPersonhood & #protections that prevent forced pregnancies & abortions (not to mention equal pay), just to have the crumb of the #DesperateChoiceOption that is #abortion.  #DoNotTakeTheBait again. We were duped with the crumb of abortion & lost the pie of #Personhood & protections: what you got with RoevWade.  Abortion is not worth fighting for, when the scam is to deny the pie again, which was done in 1973, keeping females enslaved, rapists empowered, & more babies & children dying.  

#DoNotFallfortheScam 

Constitutional personhood = #Fullrights = Protections = #Security = #RealHealthcare = #lesspregnancies = #lessabortions = The Equal Rights Amendment, or E.R.A 

#LoseTheBattleWinTheWar

Dear 'pro lifers': 

We can't pretend to not know the bible. This battle may be God's will; the test is how far will we go to stop more violence without creating the same.  The lines have already been drawn.  

There is only so much flesh can do.  It is more a test of faith than how far we will go.  This battle is designed to make us go further than we may have otherwise, to stop at the point where more violence would be created.  

Any death we can 'prevent' has already been decided.  Know where the lines are.  

Days Are Numbered: 

All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:16)

Man’s days are determined; you (God) have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed” (Job 14:5).

“Do not put the Lord your God to the test” (Matthew 4:7).

...nor is He [God] served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor He made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and He allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live (Acts 17:25,26).

#JustAskJesus

https://biblehub.com/job/14-5.htm

Books

It's why I'm late, instead of yesterday, writing today. Moving. Whoever said 'you can never have too many books' never had to move them all themselves. No way was I going to go out again or turn on the computer just for this, and that's saying a lot.

I'm sure there are exceptions, those who would do it multiple times, even. Though I might not be out of line in saying having fulfilled one fantasy of having a wall of books has been a bit encumbering. I've gone through the transition of giving away, acquiring, and losing, with, like a cockatiel who has eggs stolen or broken, makes more to compensate the loss so that the same amount is maintained. Not that I've ever counted them all mind you: just so they take up all of the spaces on the bookshelves.

Back to the encumbering. I was an athlete; would like to be one again. Thought I was unbreakable physically during younger days and pounded my body to its limits even through my child's early years. Diagnosis 2011: 'routine' pre-op chest x-ray. Scoliosis. Now this is something that's usually found in childhood; I didn't have it before, though I had 'always' been 'pre-disposed'. Diagnosis 2014: "extreme spinal deformity" (and three inches shorter; my son got taller than me earlier). Great. Not to say I wasn't feeling it; it was more than just aging. It was a combined toll of things that should never co-occur to any human at the same time.

Now life is a 'before' of what it will be like after 'treatment'. I could be the bionic woman, or not. We'll see. I researched not too many doctors for the first time I ever went under a knife; I was terrified, but it had to be done. I was having trouble sleeping and couldn't wear regular shoes; it was bad. Finally one said casually he could do it, and he did, well. Grateful forever for that, almost like having a new life, being able to wear sandals again, and walk further, until now, which makes the first trepidation look like a picnic.

Anyway, I think I'm (essentially) done with books. Have some great ones. The collection will go through a few minuses and pluses as is life, and I hope someone else will be doing most of the schlepping next time, and not because I can't. Because I don't want to.

'Bearing' Repetition

It was intended to begin a new blog, on a new theme.  This is the first non monthly post since last year.

I was a 13 year old churchgoing virgin grandpa's granddaughter when Roe v. Wade was passed.  If it was ever mentioned by a then pastor, I wasn't listening, didn't know what the word 'abortion' meant, or both.  I'd actually been permitted to the pulpit earlier, quoting scripture about how men should treat their wives, at about age ten.

The laughter was with me more than against me, and I wasn't much off the mark.  If only I could have remembered, or taken my own advice later in life.  That wasn't the Plan.

Below is an essay sent to The New York Times for Op-Ed consideration.  As I know how what does and doesn't make press works, I'm not offended.  Experiences that took place between the above innocent time and now facilitated the following:


Too often lately, I'm confronted with a confounding question to which my answer either isn't heard, or I'm cut off before being able to answer at all.  

We have become so divided we are only one side or the other, and 'the other side' is also certain I represent 'the enemy', before I can even finish a sentence.  

So certain of 'who they are', many who pose the qualifying question seem as certain of who I am, before a single concept can be explained.  It's draining, yet I can't stop.  The stakes are too high.  It feels like trying to stop sheep being led off a cliff.

PRO LIFE & PRO CHOICE are not 'either or'.  

Pro life is respect for all life, that includes minor to elderly females having a choice to say 'no', to coercion of any kind, forced or unprotected sex, and ultimatums to abort a child, without premature death or losing a place to live.  

Reproductive rights includes being able to have or keep a child.  It does not necessarily mean 'abortion now, reproduce later' (or not), and those who exercise this view are few in contrast to when abortion is not the female's decision: the decision was made for her, before she went forward, alone, blamed, afraid for her life otherwise. 

What so many face post abortion is the same captivity, compounded by depression, potential substance abuse, and suicide.  We are failing to connect the dots, hacking at branches without acknowledging the roots.

As an aside, I happen to be vegan.  I could call anyone who eats meat a hypocrite for saying they're 'pro-life'.  As concepts that are connected must be 'spoon fed' it seems, I don't attempt to present overlapping issues if solid basic ones aren't being grasped.  

There are good people whose worlds have not collided with the realities of living in fear long term, when tunnel vision is a result of complex trauma and panic, and getting through the day is an accomplishment of itself.  This also happens behind the closed doors of the wealthy. Those who label don't realize how lucky they are, or maybe they wouldn't be so quick to point fingers.

Having a choice means being able to have a baby, with a place to go (& medical care), without fear of being killed, raped again, starving in the street, or actually being able to keep a baby with community supports.

Having a choice means a fair wage and enough to support a child alone without having to depend on another male, who makes more for the exact same job.  

Having a choice means your baby will not be snatched from the hospital nursery by CPS and trafficked for profit. 

Having a choice means having a baby might be an option if a loving adoptive home was waiting via means other than unregulated agencies that abuse tax dollars.  

Having a choice means knowing a rapist can be held accountable and not get custody or kill your child during court ordered unsupervised visits funded by taxpayer allocated untracked "fatherhood initiatives".

Having a choice means knowing where to go where protection actually exists, when going to authorities can or likely will result in your baby being taken by the very person you sought protection for your baby from, now with a small army of 'assistants' using unregulated tax dollars at your family's expense: you and your family paying for an abuser's defense, via tax proceeds. 

Having a choice means being able to have a baby safely, without additional fear, struggle, victimization, blame, shame, depression, misunderstanding, or lack. 

Having a choice means hope that's real, not desperation with no solution in sight. 

In the practice of law, constitutionally, there are no individual rights. The E.R.A. was introduced decades before Eisenhower, a Republican, took office.  That he supported it obviously wasn't enough.  

In 1848, the lesser known Declaration of Sentiments, written in a style to reflect the Declaration of Independence, was signed in addition to its female creators by over 30 male notables of the day, including Frederick Douglass.  Decades before women could vote, it illustrated how women were 'politely a notch above slaves'.  It's chilling how much hasn't changed from when it was created.

The legal definition of 'person' in the Constitution, presently, is 'household', meaning anyone other than 'head of household' is property in the application and practice of law.  I would find this difficult to fathom as reality, had I not witnessed first hand how this plays out with children and women systemically for nearly two decades after becoming a paralegal (2003). 

The E.R.A. becoming law would indicate women could say 'no', with protection rights, to forced abortion or sex, get an equal wage to support themselves and their families, be able to protect their children, pregnancies, and elderly in the home.  'Stranger crimes' and "domestic crimes" would require being prosecuted equally, unlike now.  

Laws 'on the books', passed by legislation, can have little or no meaning in political courts: 'mere' workplaces that see the same attorneys and judges daily, where new or 'good' laws are ignored, if known at all, and 'precedent', especially bad precedent, seems to be preferred to favor the defendant with the most resources, personally, or via state funds, such as those tapped into as "fatherhood initiatives".  

Many have referred to 'legal' environments as 'marketplaces' or "auctions", where children go to 'the higher bidder', and decisions or orders are spun to fit 'funding criteria'.   "It's not about the truth", as an attorney, who became a judge, related.

Passing of the E.R.A. will mean fewer abortions and murders of children and women (not more).  It's not a female or child's choice to be captive, told to 'have an abortion or don't come back', with death, homelessness, and being trafficked very real possibilities if they refuse.  

The E.R.A. could also mandate community supports so that anyone who can escape or wants to have their baby or keep their children actually has somewhere to go. Some of the most vulnerable would be provided means of access to help that could mean actual safety, not further compounded systemic victimization, or death. 

Reaching out for 'legal help' as a final resort, if possible at all, might no longer serve to make things times worse, in unthinkable unforeseen ways, with individual rights, as opposed to 'household rights', upheld, in this country.

With the E.R.A. in place, 'Roe v Wade' could become insignificant or moot.  This is good news for those who want it overturned, with a perplexing twist: 'it's the Equal Rights Amendment.  Doesn't that mean women will have even more choices?' The benefits far outweigh where we are now: women are largely the protectors of children, babies, and the elderly.  Their numbers far exceed the 'killers'.  Simply put, women having individual rights means less death.  

Those who wish to continue in many forms of veiled legal genocide don't want the privileges they have rampantly exercised reined in, and are adept at countless smoke & mirror tactics developed over decades.  Their favorite sympathizers are the well meaning, who haven't witnessed the dark realities that careers are built upon, a trail of dead children in their wake, with far too few held accountable.

What most don't realize is the disparity of data, now in scattered compilation, of how not having individual rights has served to decimate the unborn, babies, children, women, seniors, and families in a household, none of whom have separate personhood, which the ERA would provide.  It's well past time to lift the veil.  The bride has left the building.  She's not coming back.

Wings

Anything is possible in Heaven, especially across the Rainbow Bridge, where animals are reunited with their housemates or families that have gone before them. 

Patches passing was unexpected.  Whatever took her had been building over a day or two, though with rabbits it's nearly impossible to know until it's almost or in fact too late.

A sound I never want to hear again came from somewhere in the room I just happened to be present and standing in.  At first I had no idea where the sound was coming from.  I looked down to see her roll over convulsing.  I couldn't revive her.  CPR had worked on a kitten before.  Not this time. 

Sunday.  Places nearby, though no vet present, or even a stethoscope.  By the time an open office was reached it was confirmed she was gone.  She was taken quickly in the towel I had cradled her in the entire way searching for someone with a stethoscope that could possibly resuscitate her.  I had apologized and spoken to her in my lap the entire drive to now four places.  I couldn't bear to go back into where they couldn't get her back to say 'goodbye'.  I asked the assistant who was so kind to promise to give her a last hug for me.  She promised. 

I buried Charlie at the beach, with markers the locals added to over time, unaware they were to honor a beloved pet who had saved a child's life.  Patches would be in a smaller box: her ashes, for her original owner, the same child, now a legal adult.

I was in between obligations that day.  The window of time between allowed for getting her to a place that could only confirm she was gone.

The first pet that saved my son's life passed two years ago in the same month.  She tried to 'say goodbye' when I was in denial as well, even though her illness was known and couldn't be treated.  An hour and a half later she was gone.  I didn't take it well: why I changed majors from vet school to fine arts.  I don't do well with death.

Patches leaves her mate, a year older and not as energetic as earlier days.  The cats lounge closer as if to comfort him.  At least one was doing the same near Patches lately though I'd no clue anything was wrong.  She wasn't picked up daily, or maybe I would have noticed the hardness in her midsection.  Or maybe it happened the same day she screamed.  It keeps running like a reel repeatedly in my head.

Not unlike the death of the first and second small mammals we've had, mourning is only slightly less time than losing a human family member.

She had an actual perfectly mirrored wing pattern on her back exactly where wings would be, if rabbits had them. 

I attended church last night, and the tears came back.  When two or more are gathered, the presence of Spirit is felt.  I saw Patches in His lap; He was welcoming her.  After He hugged her, He stroked her back and her 'wings' became elevated and three dimensional.  She left his lap to join her friends that had gone before her by flying down to them. 

'Binky' is the word for a rabbit jumping up in joy and contentment, which hadn't been seen here with Patches or her 'husbun' for awhile, due to their present ages.  'Popcorn' means the same thing, for a guinea pig.  All were respectively 'binkying' and 'popcorning'.  Charlie could jump three times her height standing up when she was young.  Patches and Charlie took turns to see who could go highest, with Smandie looking on, smiling and 'popcorning' herself.  Patches can go higher now, though there was no reason in the joy of the moment, being with her friends. 

1 Corinthians 2:9 : God can put wings on any animal he chooses.  When Patches crossed the rainbow bridge and met Him after her 'family' reunification, her wings became real.  Lots to do here, though am looking forward to seeing them, very much.  Grateful for the comfort of Spirit...

Survival

Can only admit now was overcome with fear at the last post, about to undergo a second spine surgery toward the end of the month: last week.  I behaved alternately on a daily basis for weeks as if I would not survive, and as if I would. 


As the days before grew shorter, revising the healthcare proxy was in order.  It was only downloaded and completed along with a living will the night before the procedure, at the hotel where my sister had flown in to stay and assist during the surgery and immediate recovery period.  It included funeral arrangements, songs that were to be played during a memorial service, and the division of assets that would remain available.


The day of pre-ops, something happened in the evening where I felt a snap in the back left pelvis, where rods had been extended for stability during the first procedure.  By the following week, an additional or subsequent part gave way and I was barely able to walk the weekend prior to the scheduled time.
,
Something had popped in the back right months before another test had been administered with images and showed no signs of deterioration, so when the left began my concerns were minor, as the other had healed.  What happened a week later was of more concern.  I was grateful the date was approaching so that it could be seen and addressed.


Was still walking very slowly when Sis arrived and in less pain.  She noticed the change, however.  We were an hour late for the scheduled arrival time for pre-admission.  Traffic had been unprecedented on the way.  The procedure before ours had complications. It would be another couple of hours or more before I would go in. 


The most recent events were explained to the surgeon, along with having communicated by email following the weekend.  He didn't seem to take it seriously at the time, also stating there would be images taken during the procedure to check the area where new pain had been felt for days.


My sister asserted the anesthesia be administered so that I would be unconscious upon entering the operating room.  I thought it was standard after not being given the option three years before during the first surgery.  I didn't really have an opportunity to give a second opinion before the needle went into the IV.  The thought of seeing power tools for bones wasn't something I had been looking forward to.


I awakened in a recovery room that was very dark.  It was late.  The surgery had taken over seven hours, more than half the planned time for an upper spine correction.  A rod at waist level had broken.  My sister explained so I would understand while heavily medicated.  Then she was immediately gone. 


I finally found a comfortable position to sleep with an attentive nurse until monitoring approved moving into a room.  It had been a late night for the surgeon, yet he was there at 8:00 a.m. when I awoke to give his version.  Two incisions, two draining units attached with tubes, an extra two days in the hospital, still shorter than the first extensive procedure that had me testing the limits of what it could do as well as hunching forward another eight degrees at past two and a half years.  One draining unit then. 


Inflating 'blood clot prevention' on both legs.  Adhesive covering bandages from the top of my neck to the tail bone that would soon begin to itch.  A bed that set off an alarm if you got up on your own, and I would later discover cameras overhead as well, as you don't have a choice if males or females are attending you during any particular shift.  Before leaving the bed, most everything that was attached had to be mounted on a walker just to go to the bathroom, which could not be done without assistance. 


Medications and vitals every two hours on average.  Additional monitoring for low blood pressure.  The same questions repeated every time.  A world class hospital.  Expertly trained staff.  The best hospital experience at a global destination for its expertise, still one did not want to stay any longer than necessary.


I went back to church thinking I may not have survived the last one.  Went into the second thinking maybe I was only wrong the first time.  There was lots of prayer for me to come back, by a lot of people who didn't know me three years ago.  I assert prayer works. 


I drove myself back from the airport after Sis got us there to catch her return flight, a day after discharge.  The first night's short sleep before checkout at the hotel was blissful in contrast to nights just before.  The apartment and pets are not back to normal, nor am I, as I move slowly, testing limits less.  Pain meds only twice today, not three as on the label.  When it comes to bones, knowing where limits are may be best unmedicated, until it becomes necessary. 


My gait is better, I'm standing taller, and the waist is back: an additional bonus.  Had given away lots of figure flattering clothing with waistlines, assuming not having one was permanent.  No regrets.  I'm still walking; still wanted and needed on the planet.  Prayers continue, to fulfill the mission according to a Will that isn't my own alone.

Church

Started going again after the last major surgery.  Cried through a multiple page testimony that only a couple of people saw.  That would set the tone for a general impression that seems not so easily ignored.

It's a church full of humans, with many flaws, as all churches have.  I may be more or less happy with the next.  I just hope it's the former.

Another surgery on the horizon before the next month is over, along with the revision of an interim 'will'.  Went back to church after surviving the last surgery and a week's hospital stay that included a day or two in ICU from blood loss during a nine hour procedure.

Now the aftereffects warrant more work.  It could have been better, or otherwise.  It's a quality of life issue I'm reminded of every time I walk.  If there's a chance of improvement it's to be taken, however frightening.

They're praying already, and I'm grateful.  The Bible suddenly has a lot of new things to say.

Preparing emotionally is just as difficult as the last time.  I just have more faith now.

Graduated

Being photogenic doesn't run in the family, with a few exceptions.  I don't blame him for cringing through most of them.  I tried to smile, though most looked strained as well.  The heat and humidity was an excuse, though not a good one.  It was a good occasion overall, that could have been worse, however not without its awkwardness.

All that mattered was that he was happy, not displeased.  He was content.  A photo with both his parents on either side of him didn't happen.  He didn't seem affected, or to have any such hope or expectation.

Another graduate's relative collapsed on the pavement on the walk to departure.  His aunt the nurse perhaps played a role in saving a life.  The man was turning blue, without a pulse or heartbeat.  He had responded and was breathing by the time other help had arrived.  It only heightened how significant the event was.

Relatives had flown in from four states for one very special child, soon to be a man, in ten days.

Note to a 'Legal Practitioner'

Below was sent to 'representing counsel' in a forwarded message of a promotional email from a 'business guru' (for lack of a better description).


"Not because she isn't good, though am about to unsubscribe from this list as I no longer wish to enter the legal field as a Masters' credentialed consultant, which isn't to say it won't happen.  My focus has been narrowed to only what brings the most satisfaction in terms of life quality and to minimize vicarious trauma.  At the same time, I will not turn my back on others in an effort to prevent for them what happened to our family.  This is to say I don't consider you directly at fault in any real way. 

The appellate decision (and what was witnessed during oral arguments) again had nothing to do with the practice of law as I learned it in paralegal school, at a time when such institutions were rarer and not an add on for more potential profits systemically. 

Perhaps something here will be of use, as we both approach an age when we begin to imagine what type of grandparent we wish to be, and if that doesn't happen, what our respective legacies are."

This chapter in our lives isn't finished.  I'm as "overwhelmed" as my child, in a very different way, though that is very directly related.  Cannot stop the baby steps, which is all I can manage anyway.

'Featured Artist'

Brought out 'the collection' to the public for the first time since only child was born.  Most of it had been rolled up in bubble wrap not unlike an unfinished puzzle, until I finally brought them out to look at again after years tucked away.  I was grateful they had remained intact.  There were many opportunities for them to have become lost; they surfaced at the right time.  I felt like asking for forgiveness for not taking better care as to their whereabouts and keeping them closer.  My child was and still is more important. 


They were and have been comfort objects in the absence of a childhood that took place in part elsewhere.  I was forgiven; they looked no different than when they were stored originally, even though at times I couldn't say exactly where they were during too many transitions and traumas.


Some were sold for amounts I didn't want to know about, at charitable events where I couldn't dictate their value or what they went for.  There were no photos taken.  Each was unique and could not be duplicated.  Sturdy, and assembled to withstand the test of time, the artistic appeal and uniqueness went to new owners that I can only hope will continue to cherish them.  Each was special, when they were made, and when they were passed on to 'the greater good'.


The first showing was a holiday event.  There was much appreciation in ways that could not have been anticipated.  They are priced as low as could be competitive in similar markets for popular items that have not been made by hand, with components that have no copies.  I was happy for the exposure and reception of the concept, though holiday shoppers went for lower prices and more novelty, which left the day not as productive as had been hoped at the time.


That day paved the way for a more mature artists only event, to which I was invited personally.  I didn't respond at first, caught up in more immediate concerns.  After a few days and being reminded of the event, it felt more appropriate than not to follow up and actually commit to at least an inquiry as to if participation was still an option.  I was quite welcome was the response, not knowing what happened between the time of the agreement and the event itself.


I was affectionately 'scolded' for not identifying as a 'real' artist, having shown up sans business cards. All inquiries for custom commissions were entered into phones or scribbled on paper.  There was a purchaser, for more than the previous event, for which one sold also for its asking price.  I was again pleased for the positive recognition as much as the appreciative patron, and for those that expressed interest in becoming patrons.


What I didn't know was that the curator had declined other artists who produced anything similar to what I was doing.  For this medium or genre, it was me only, a 'winner' in a category I only found out during the event had been represented by a single artist, with others representing other mediums of one or two each.  I'm so non competitive I may not have committed had I known there were others in the running, and that my work was favored and selected by the curators.


Even with a fine arts degree, it's still considered 'outsider art', as the actual medium was self taught and developed apart from the discipline of performance art for which I had been in a formal curriculum.  The common theme is simply knowing what art is supposed to be, following the constructs that turn feelings and expressions into different forms to be seen and observed by others for their separate interpretations.


In what is by comparison a very short journey in the world of visual art from personal perspective, I've been objective enough to recognize what I produce is actually art, and that what is termed art by others is comparable, even by 'established' artists whose work fetches much higher value in the 'more sophisticated' art world.  Sometimes it's simply a matter of exposure and strategy, or connections, not only in terms of people.  In series of events.


So I've been donned with a certain identity in a certain environment.  I've been through too much to have any arrogance whatsoever about what I seem to be merely an instrument for, having been informed some 'artists' are more 'challenging' to work with.


Those who have become 'first patrons' did so as much as from liking me as much as what was produced that only I could do, or 'finish'.  Other artists have said in the same space their art sometimes if not always creates itself; they are only the ones who make parts into a whole form, as if guided by a separate inspiration not of themselves.  I can't disagree. 


I've never really gone to any great lengths to be liked by a particular 'audience', and once of a certain age some find authenticity attracts it's own followers.  I don't even like the term 'followers', unless most of them have accomplished what I still look forward to being able to do at some point in the future, not far away.  Many follow as what they see appears we are equal, or complimentary of each other.  I can only hope to fulfill that expectation more often.

Creativity

The first verb in the Bible, a human need, so often unfulfilled, or suppressed.

So many forms, so many outlets, yet so many are not afforded the privilege to exercise a basic human right.

Many can become caught up in the production of others' creative outlets or projects, telling themselves or told by others that being part of the process is enough, or worse, that they are being originally creative themselves.  Only partly true, or not true at all, depending on 'scenario'.

Oh, to create one's own dream, not to simply be part of someone else's, and to know the difference.  Could be a general life goal.

Loss

Attended a memorial service for a person who was only a friend for a short time, as I met her just a couple of years ago.


The last time I saw her, she looked more worn than tired, surrounded by other people who had not seen her for some time, who had known her longer.  I didn't try to make my way through everyone to wish her my best until her recovery.  She had been in the hospital several times even since I met her, diagnosed with a terminal illness.  I was in denial that it was just another bump in the road for her, and that I would see her again.


We hadn't even made eye contact the last time she was around, though I tried.  We'd had a number of rich conversations before her more recent round of hospital trips, and had become friends.  I know in reality our friendship was shallow in comparison to relationships she had with others, though there was a special connection.  As much as anything I'm still dealing with taking for granted I would see her again, in addition to her passing, which was not untimely, though no less difficult to bear.


I cried almost all day, from the time before the service began into the night.  I saw photos of her in a slideshow, where she looked more like a sister than my own.  My sister and I are close, yet we look like opposite sides of the family, respectively.  This woman and I could have been fraternal twins.  We looked more alike than she and her sister as well.  Superficial, yet again, as our souls were on different planes at different times.


Our lives in New York before we met were astonishingly parallel, though I was a little less bohemian, and may not have noticed her in the village, while I got my street smarts in the middle and upper parts of the city. 


Vastly different as well was that she married happily, to a man fully aware of health limitations that would prevent her from bearing children, and that would require more of his attention than most men would buy into.  She would flicker in and out of health, her husband always on alert.  There were still many happy years, and no regrets.  It was a glimpse of what my life may have been like had I found anyone that were as tolerant or attentive that could remotely compare to my grandfather.  I may have a time or two, and sought the attention of more elusive or 'exciting' types instead; none of the latter turned out to be in my best interests, nor my family's.


I cried for a relationship I never had with a sister/friend or a man, from years of separation away from what matters.  It wasn't my fault; my choices were ignorant and conditioned.  The results were the same, however.  My joy has been my child (one thing my sister friend was not given), which is a bigger than life God given consolation and gift, more than I could have wished for in a child, yet not without tremendous pain as well, though not from the child: An education in realities I didn't know existed until thrust into a world as a last resort where human life has little value, and staying alive and protecting your child takes almost everything you have, in resources, strength, and health.


Her first name was identical to my middle name as well.  We bonded instantly, and I unrealistically felt she would always be around, at least until my son left for college, when I would have to go with him, parting ways with being close to her in proximity then.  I was wrong.  It was an illusion.  And a reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us.

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.