or What a Week it Has Been!
Monday started out normal enough. I went to do an interview at one of the jails, then came home to drag Father to the dentist for his check-up. He loves going to the dentist. (not) Got there, they gave him some antibiotics because his gums are awful, and the cleaning went fairly quickly and easily.
Go home, he ate his dinner, everything seems normal. Then he went to bed. And started dreaming, I think. He was yelling at people, telling them not to do things, said someone was earning $9.15 an hour, and he didn’t sound happy about it. Heard him complaining he was cold. About 4:00 a.m., he starts calling me, saying someone is starting a fire. Explained to him there was no fire and told him to go back to sleep. Not sure if he did, but I kept hearing him fussing at someone.
Tuesday, I got up at 6:30 a.m., as usual, I’m in the shower and he starts yelling for me to “Come here right now!” Told him to hang on to his shorts and I would be there when I got clothes on. When I got dressed, he is mad as a hornet because those guys had that fire burning, but they just put it out. Asked where the fire was, he said under the porch. Then he tells me he tried to put the fire out with the garden hose, but couldn’t and then said “those three guys who came in put the fire out.” OK. Three guys. What three guys? Told him there was no fire, he got angrier. I decided it wasn’t worth it and shut up. He sort of got settled down.
I went to do another interview. Got home just in time to get his lunch from the Meal on Wheels guy. Go in the house, and he is all put out, wants to know who those three guys were. What three guys? He doesn’t know who they were, but said they came in while he was taking a shPOOPt, and were sitting in the living room when he came out of the bathroom. He said the men wouldn't talk to him, just sat there looking at him. Oh, good. Nothing is out of place in the house. Nothing missing. I’m thinking he is still crazy, and I was right. He ate dinner and took his customary afternoon nap. I decided I wasn’t going in to the office with him acting goofy. He is asleep a little while and starts talking again. Then he is arguing with someone, can’t quite figure out what’s going on, so I asked him who he was talking to. He said “That guy standing over there” and points at the piano. Now, unless there was an invisible man, there was no guy on the piano. I told him there was no man. He got really mad.
By now, I’ve decided something isn’t right (ain’t I smart!) and decided he was going to the doctor Wednesday (Wednesday is one of the regular days they have someone in the office near us.) Also got chicken and gave him another dose of the antibiotics they use before his cleaning.
Tuesday night, he was up about every 90 minutes to 2 hours. He would get up and start walking into the living room. I’d get up and ask him why he was getting up in the middle of the night. He would get disgusted and go back to bed. About 3:00 a.m., I hear him complaining his back and hips hurt. This is not a surprise to me, he went to bed before it even got dark, I would think he would ache from lying there that long! About 4:00 a.m., he got up, said he was going to sit in his chair ‘cause his hips hurt. And he did. I didn’t hear another peep out of him the rest of the night.
Wednesday I call the doctor’s office and discover the person we wanted to see wasn’t in that day, and the other guy was double booked. Told me to call the Broomfield office and get a message to the one we wanted to see. So I call, leave a message, and of course, the didn’t call back until after 5:00 p.m. By then I had already made an appointment for Thursday in Thornton. Jerks. I prepared for another fun night.
But the fun night didn’t materialize. He was quiet, slept through the night, no yelling and no wandering.
Thursday we go to the doctor. He is no longer talking crazy. She can’t find anything wrong with him. No urinary tract infection. No real answers. If is was a mini-stroke, there appears to be no loss of motion. That was the strangest thing. He was never unsteady (well, any more than usual) on his feet, was talking as well as ever, no physical signs of anything.
I was too chicken to leave him and go to work Friday. He was fine all night Thursday night and Friday. Anyone have a nice padded cell I could borrow? I think I need one.
The big question remains, what was that all about? Did getting his teeth cleaned shake his marbles loose temporarily? We have no idea, but I’d really not like to do a repeat of this week in the near future!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Greyhound "Adoption" Idiots
This is an old rant, many have heard it, but it feels good to vent. Again.
I’ve been involved in greyhound adoption since 1994. Adopted my first two greyhounds then. Got involved with Rocky Mountain Greyhound Adoption. Got conned into helping run the adoption group. Got conned into helping with the blood donor program.
Fifteen years and twelve of my own adopted greyhounds later, I still love the dogs, but some of the people give me a major case of gas.
I started out anti-greyhound racing. I was stupid, had no clue that a lot of the garbage people told me was a bunch of lies. I believed the greyhounds were abused, mistreated creatures. What I didn’t know in the beginning was that the bad impression I had of the greyhound racing industry was really a very bad greyhound adoption person.
See, the adoption kennel I first adopted from was disgusting. Filthy. The dogs were dirty. Didn’t wear muzzles during turnout. One of my first greyhounds, ShyFly, had a huge hole in her neck from being attacked by the other dogs in the kennel.
Made for a very bad first impression, to put it mildly. Yeah, I was very anti-racing, and very vocal about it.
Boy, was I stupid. Finally agreed to meet Torri, (our adoption coordinator and someone I consider an adopted little sister), and I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am that I was “drinking the koolaid.” Over time, I met many of the greyhound breeders in Colorado, and I am proud to call a number of them friends.
There was the old guy who cried when his adopted former racers would jump up and give him kisses.
There was the guy the dogs would knock their adopters over to get to.
There were the owners who cried when their dogs were injured.
There were the owners who begged us to take pups for adoption that had medical problems. Who offered to pay the vet bills.
I spent nights in the race kennel with Torri when she had sick dogs, giving them IV fluids, praying they would live.
I was there when race pups were born. Watched owners sit with the broods during difficult deliveries. I saw owners cry when newborn pups didn’t take that first breath. Watched them patiently bottle feed the weak pups.
Our adoption group operated out of Torri’s race kennel for several years. When she was forced to move from the farm she was renting, it was racing greyhound owners who offered her, and our adoption group, space in their kennel. Who offered to let us build an adoption kennel on their property.
It was largely racing greyhound owners who helped us fund that adoption kennel. It was a scary, and awesome, experience. Building that kennel with space for 18 dog runs, a kitchen, storage area and bathroom for our adoption operation.
Yet, despite the positive experiences we have had with the greyhound racing industry, there are those who believe anyone involved in greyhound racing is nothing short of a relative of the devil, himself.
There was a greyhound adoption person in New Mexico, Candy, who also started out very anti-racing. She and I had many nasty e-mail exchanges. Then the adoption group she worked with decided their primary mission would no longer be placing greyhounds. Candy and her husband started a new adoption group, and over time, she had a very similar experience to mine. She met a number of racing people who were good, kind folks who loved their dogs and wanted the best for their dogs. I now consider her to be a good friend, and I hope she feels the same about me.
Recently, her adoption group made arrangements to adopt two greyhounds to a university in New Mexico as mascots. The adoption plan is very comprehensive. It includes where the dogs will be housed, which veterinarian will be providing medical care, who will be exercising the dogs during the day, from the outline of the plan, I wouldn’t mind being the school mascot!
Yet those who are anti-racing, and therefore oppose Candy’s adoption group, have been on a campaign to torpedo these adoptions. The stupidity is pretty unbelievable.
Thankfully, the folks at the university are not being intimidated by the stupidity. I’d like to say kudos to Greyhound Pets of America-New Mexico Greyhound Connection and Eastern New Mexico University for sticking to their guns and doing what’s right for the greyhounds.
And shame on the anti-racing fanatics who cannot see beyond the tips of their noses and who cannot understand that the human beings involved in the greyhound racing industry are just that: human beings. Good people, bad people, smart people, not so smart people. But overall, they are people who care very much about their greyhounds and are willing to work hand in hand with greyhound adoption to insure they are all placed in good homes when they are finished with their careers as canine athletes.
If you have a minute, go to the GPA-NMGC website, http://www.gpa-nm.org/ and let them know you appreciate their efforts for the greyhounds!
I’ve been involved in greyhound adoption since 1994. Adopted my first two greyhounds then. Got involved with Rocky Mountain Greyhound Adoption. Got conned into helping run the adoption group. Got conned into helping with the blood donor program.
Fifteen years and twelve of my own adopted greyhounds later, I still love the dogs, but some of the people give me a major case of gas.
I started out anti-greyhound racing. I was stupid, had no clue that a lot of the garbage people told me was a bunch of lies. I believed the greyhounds were abused, mistreated creatures. What I didn’t know in the beginning was that the bad impression I had of the greyhound racing industry was really a very bad greyhound adoption person.
See, the adoption kennel I first adopted from was disgusting. Filthy. The dogs were dirty. Didn’t wear muzzles during turnout. One of my first greyhounds, ShyFly, had a huge hole in her neck from being attacked by the other dogs in the kennel.
Made for a very bad first impression, to put it mildly. Yeah, I was very anti-racing, and very vocal about it.
Boy, was I stupid. Finally agreed to meet Torri, (our adoption coordinator and someone I consider an adopted little sister), and I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am that I was “drinking the koolaid.” Over time, I met many of the greyhound breeders in Colorado, and I am proud to call a number of them friends.
There was the old guy who cried when his adopted former racers would jump up and give him kisses.
There was the guy the dogs would knock their adopters over to get to.
There were the owners who cried when their dogs were injured.
There were the owners who begged us to take pups for adoption that had medical problems. Who offered to pay the vet bills.
I spent nights in the race kennel with Torri when she had sick dogs, giving them IV fluids, praying they would live.
I was there when race pups were born. Watched owners sit with the broods during difficult deliveries. I saw owners cry when newborn pups didn’t take that first breath. Watched them patiently bottle feed the weak pups.
Our adoption group operated out of Torri’s race kennel for several years. When she was forced to move from the farm she was renting, it was racing greyhound owners who offered her, and our adoption group, space in their kennel. Who offered to let us build an adoption kennel on their property.
It was largely racing greyhound owners who helped us fund that adoption kennel. It was a scary, and awesome, experience. Building that kennel with space for 18 dog runs, a kitchen, storage area and bathroom for our adoption operation.
Yet, despite the positive experiences we have had with the greyhound racing industry, there are those who believe anyone involved in greyhound racing is nothing short of a relative of the devil, himself.
There was a greyhound adoption person in New Mexico, Candy, who also started out very anti-racing. She and I had many nasty e-mail exchanges. Then the adoption group she worked with decided their primary mission would no longer be placing greyhounds. Candy and her husband started a new adoption group, and over time, she had a very similar experience to mine. She met a number of racing people who were good, kind folks who loved their dogs and wanted the best for their dogs. I now consider her to be a good friend, and I hope she feels the same about me.
Recently, her adoption group made arrangements to adopt two greyhounds to a university in New Mexico as mascots. The adoption plan is very comprehensive. It includes where the dogs will be housed, which veterinarian will be providing medical care, who will be exercising the dogs during the day, from the outline of the plan, I wouldn’t mind being the school mascot!
Yet those who are anti-racing, and therefore oppose Candy’s adoption group, have been on a campaign to torpedo these adoptions. The stupidity is pretty unbelievable.
Thankfully, the folks at the university are not being intimidated by the stupidity. I’d like to say kudos to Greyhound Pets of America-New Mexico Greyhound Connection and Eastern New Mexico University for sticking to their guns and doing what’s right for the greyhounds.
And shame on the anti-racing fanatics who cannot see beyond the tips of their noses and who cannot understand that the human beings involved in the greyhound racing industry are just that: human beings. Good people, bad people, smart people, not so smart people. But overall, they are people who care very much about their greyhounds and are willing to work hand in hand with greyhound adoption to insure they are all placed in good homes when they are finished with their careers as canine athletes.
If you have a minute, go to the GPA-NMGC website, http://www.gpa-nm.org/ and let them know you appreciate their efforts for the greyhounds!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
What Am I Thankful For?
Been trying to decide what sort of verbal (written) diarrhea to subject the world to next, and thought maybe a sensible, seasonal topic would be good.
What am I thankful for? And not in any particular order....
Obviously, I’m thankful I have a job! It’s been an ugly time and so many people have lost their jobs, I have to be thankful I have mine, even if I often think it’s gong to be the death of me before retirement gets here. Working for judges isn’t always the easiest thing to do. There is a joke one of the supervisors told me my first day in the office, a guy goes to Heaven and meets St. Peter at the gate. St. Peter greets him and invites him in. The man says he would love to enter, but he cannot imagine spending eternity with lawyers, so he needs to know if there are lawyers in Heaven. St. Peter laughs and says, of course there are no attorneys! Never had any. So the man enters Heaven and one of the first people he sees is wearing a black robe and has a gavel. The man is very upset and goes to find St. Peter. He says, “St. Peter, you lied! Not only is there an attorney in Heaven, he’s a judge!” St. Peter chuckles and says “That’s not an attorney, that just God! He thinks he is a federal judge!” Yep, we all like it...
I’m thankful Pa appears to be in good health. As crazy as he makes me sometimes, I’m thankful I have this time to spend with him. (Also thankful I got to spend a couple of years with Mom here before she died.) Sometimes, he will tell me stories from back when he was working and usually they are hysterical. I wonder if Kenny and Calvin and Andy and Whitey and all of the rest have told as many stories about him? I wonder how they all didn't kill themselves...
I’m thankful for my dogs. Yes, they make me crazy, too, but they are also the epitome of unconditional, unlimited love. I have also met some wonderful people through the greyhounds. Strange, but wonderful!
I’m thankful for my friends:
Lil & John, I don’t know why, but whenever I have a melt down, they seem to be there to give me a hand. I've known Lil since grade school, so I guess she is one of my “oldest” friends! (Don’t you love that, Lil?)
Diane & Steve, also always there when I need a hand, or a shoulder to cry on! I don’t know what I would have done had you guys not been there to help with the house in Illinois. Diane is another one of those “old” school friends...
Torri & Judith, both “greyhound” friends, but sort of more like little sisters now. Wow, how many times have we cried on each other’s shoulders? Linda & Herb, also “greyhound” friends, but they sure came through when we were losing our minds!
Donna, my former neighbor and now Guardian Angel, what would I do without her? She is always there when shPOOPt happens!
Robin & Joe and their kids, Zakary, Kayley and Brennan. They are fairly recent “adoptions” to my family, I never had a little brother, so I adopted Joe and his family! They have really been there, too, when the shPOOPt hit the fan!
JoAnn, she sort of fits in the “friends” and “family” category. We have so much in common, and can sit and talk until the wee hours of the morning. If we can both stay awake! (Now, if we could only get Joey to get a computer!)
I’m thankful for the Internet! It has allowed me to reconnect with more old friends! DJ & Ann & Merridy, I really want to get together with you guys in 2010! Pam! It’s been a long time since high school, and boy, have we both changed?!
The Internet has allowed me to reconnect with family! Aunt Rosie & Millie & Tisha & Cheryl & Diane & Harry & Gerry & Jill & Beverly. We know how bad I am at letters, so it’s a good thing!
I’m thankful for the Internet introducing me to new friends:
Diego, we couldn’t be more different, yet there is a common bond. You know why I think we understand each other.
Tor & Jenn, you continue to amaze me. I’ve never had a lot of patience and forgiveness hasn’t always been my forte, either! You show loyalty I only wish I could emulate!
I’m even thankful for Carol & Phil & Kathy, my sister, brother-in law and niece. Mom always said Carol was thrilled to have a little sister. Some days I wonder if Carol would have been as “thrilled” had she known what she was getting into...
I’m thankful for re-discovering Music this year. You may not understand that, but music has always been something that touches me deeply, makes my life happier and more complete. I’m thankful for discovering Adam Lambert, Sam Sparro, Ferras, and Cassidy Haley this year.
I’m thankful to live in the United States. I’ve met people from many other countries through my job, and you don’t appreciate what you have until you hear what it’s like to live in some of those places. There is a reason people will chance death walking through deserts, hiding away on ships, jumping on moving trains, trying to make it on rafts.
I’m thankful for all of the members of the armed forces, past and current, active duty and reserve, who serve our country. Thanks to their families who have also sacrificed for all of us to have this great country in which we live. There is that saying, “Freedom Isn’t Free,” and you all know that better than anyone.
I’m thankful for all of our law enforcement community. I’ve known those crazy people who go undercover, who put themselves out there to bring in the “scary” people I only have to talk to with bars and bulletproof glass between us.
I’d like to be thankful for attorneys, but... I’m kidding! Their's is very difficult job, whether it’s from the prosecution side or the defense side. Our criminal justice system does not work without both.
And I’m thankful to be alive! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to subject you to these ramblings!
What am I thankful for? And not in any particular order....
Obviously, I’m thankful I have a job! It’s been an ugly time and so many people have lost their jobs, I have to be thankful I have mine, even if I often think it’s gong to be the death of me before retirement gets here. Working for judges isn’t always the easiest thing to do. There is a joke one of the supervisors told me my first day in the office, a guy goes to Heaven and meets St. Peter at the gate. St. Peter greets him and invites him in. The man says he would love to enter, but he cannot imagine spending eternity with lawyers, so he needs to know if there are lawyers in Heaven. St. Peter laughs and says, of course there are no attorneys! Never had any. So the man enters Heaven and one of the first people he sees is wearing a black robe and has a gavel. The man is very upset and goes to find St. Peter. He says, “St. Peter, you lied! Not only is there an attorney in Heaven, he’s a judge!” St. Peter chuckles and says “That’s not an attorney, that just God! He thinks he is a federal judge!” Yep, we all like it...
I’m thankful Pa appears to be in good health. As crazy as he makes me sometimes, I’m thankful I have this time to spend with him. (Also thankful I got to spend a couple of years with Mom here before she died.) Sometimes, he will tell me stories from back when he was working and usually they are hysterical. I wonder if Kenny and Calvin and Andy and Whitey and all of the rest have told as many stories about him? I wonder how they all didn't kill themselves...
I’m thankful for my dogs. Yes, they make me crazy, too, but they are also the epitome of unconditional, unlimited love. I have also met some wonderful people through the greyhounds. Strange, but wonderful!
I’m thankful for my friends:
Lil & John, I don’t know why, but whenever I have a melt down, they seem to be there to give me a hand. I've known Lil since grade school, so I guess she is one of my “oldest” friends! (Don’t you love that, Lil?)
Diane & Steve, also always there when I need a hand, or a shoulder to cry on! I don’t know what I would have done had you guys not been there to help with the house in Illinois. Diane is another one of those “old” school friends...
Torri & Judith, both “greyhound” friends, but sort of more like little sisters now. Wow, how many times have we cried on each other’s shoulders? Linda & Herb, also “greyhound” friends, but they sure came through when we were losing our minds!
Donna, my former neighbor and now Guardian Angel, what would I do without her? She is always there when shPOOPt happens!
Robin & Joe and their kids, Zakary, Kayley and Brennan. They are fairly recent “adoptions” to my family, I never had a little brother, so I adopted Joe and his family! They have really been there, too, when the shPOOPt hit the fan!
JoAnn, she sort of fits in the “friends” and “family” category. We have so much in common, and can sit and talk until the wee hours of the morning. If we can both stay awake! (Now, if we could only get Joey to get a computer!)
I’m thankful for the Internet! It has allowed me to reconnect with more old friends! DJ & Ann & Merridy, I really want to get together with you guys in 2010! Pam! It’s been a long time since high school, and boy, have we both changed?!
The Internet has allowed me to reconnect with family! Aunt Rosie & Millie & Tisha & Cheryl & Diane & Harry & Gerry & Jill & Beverly. We know how bad I am at letters, so it’s a good thing!
I’m thankful for the Internet introducing me to new friends:
Diego, we couldn’t be more different, yet there is a common bond. You know why I think we understand each other.
Tor & Jenn, you continue to amaze me. I’ve never had a lot of patience and forgiveness hasn’t always been my forte, either! You show loyalty I only wish I could emulate!
I’m even thankful for Carol & Phil & Kathy, my sister, brother-in law and niece. Mom always said Carol was thrilled to have a little sister. Some days I wonder if Carol would have been as “thrilled” had she known what she was getting into...
I’m thankful for re-discovering Music this year. You may not understand that, but music has always been something that touches me deeply, makes my life happier and more complete. I’m thankful for discovering Adam Lambert, Sam Sparro, Ferras, and Cassidy Haley this year.
I’m thankful to live in the United States. I’ve met people from many other countries through my job, and you don’t appreciate what you have until you hear what it’s like to live in some of those places. There is a reason people will chance death walking through deserts, hiding away on ships, jumping on moving trains, trying to make it on rafts.
I’m thankful for all of the members of the armed forces, past and current, active duty and reserve, who serve our country. Thanks to their families who have also sacrificed for all of us to have this great country in which we live. There is that saying, “Freedom Isn’t Free,” and you all know that better than anyone.
I’m thankful for all of our law enforcement community. I’ve known those crazy people who go undercover, who put themselves out there to bring in the “scary” people I only have to talk to with bars and bulletproof glass between us.
I’d like to be thankful for attorneys, but... I’m kidding! Their's is very difficult job, whether it’s from the prosecution side or the defense side. Our criminal justice system does not work without both.
And I’m thankful to be alive! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to subject you to these ramblings!
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Tale of the Basement Dweller
When I moved to Colorado, I initially needed someone to help with the rent for a while. Met the person I “fondly” call the “Basement Dweller.” For simplicity’s sake, I’ll refer to him as BD. Now, there was an interesting person!
Lesson No. 1: Do not use a roommate finding service.
My first clue should have been that he described himself as “semi-retired” while in his early 40's. Second clue should have been the “extreme comb-over” that took about half a can of hair spray to keep in place. Third clue, well, when someone tells you they are creating a “light center” so aliens can find him... but I’m getting ahead of this story.
When BD came to meet me as a potential rent sharing person, I’m sure I did a double-take when he said he wasn’t working, but was living off a sizeable settlement he received from a former employer. He even produced a bank statement to prove he had the financial ability to pay rent for an extended period of time. Since there were no other potential roomies, I let him move into the basement bedroom of the house I was renting. My parents were not thrilled I had a man living in the basement. I think they worried about my “virtue.” After meeting him, they no longer had any of those concerns.
I soon learned the reason he decided to stop working and live on his savings was because he was educating himself in everything and anything “new age.” That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when that is your sole occupation...
I eventually bought a house, and decided it would be financially to my advantage to let him move with me. OK, I thought I still needed the money. In retrospect, I don’t think I needed it all that bad.
Lesson No. 2: Beware of pyramids.
BD would spend time lying on the roof, contemplating the universe. He would go out in the back yard and hug the trees. Literally. The best one was when he built a pyramid out of pipe in the basement, drew a five pointed star inside it on the floor, and added crystals, rocks, candles, “stuff,” along with a cushion so he could meditate. In the pyramid. After he got it finished, he came upstairs into the living room, and started crawling across the floor, holding his hands about two inches off the floor. Of course, I had to ask what he was doing. (I’m sure you already know!) He was trying to see if he could feel the “energy” coming up through the floor from the top of the pyramid. Then he told me that he was building a “light center” in the basement (now, I have to think a basement would not be an ideal place for “light” anything.) Of course, I asked what might that mean. I learned he was trying to send a signal to the aliens. I was never sure if they were just coming to visit, or coming to take him away.
Then there was the day I came home from work and found he had shaved his head (which was a good thing since it was about 1/3 bald in the first place) and had face paint on. Can I say he scared the devil out of me? Yep, that’s putting it mildly.
I did like his cat. Was a very nice cat. Well, I liked him until he started, um, peepeeing on the carpet in the basement. I sort of lost my fondness for him then.
Lesson No. 3: Always have an exit strategy.
Exit for the renter, that is. After a while, I really didn’t want to deal with his eccentricities any more, but let’s be honest, he had no incentive to leave. So I gave him incentive. We had a guy helping at the greyhound adoption kennel who was truly a PITA. (If you don’t know what that means, I’ll explain it some day.) He needed a place to stay for a short time, I figured BD would not appreciate having to share the house with someone who was actually at the house during the day. I was right! Less than a week, and I found him packing up his stuff and moving on to who knows where. Not too long after that, roomie number 2 moved on. I finally had peace and quiet! I had my house to myself!
It was one of those experiences that you look back and laugh. You also think “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And finally, you think, “Ain’t never gonna do THAT again!”
The pyramid is long gone. The basement is now full of books and furniture. I haven’t gone out to hug the trees, I hope they can forgive me. I am a little concerned that the aliens will get a belated signal from the “light center” and stop by. I don’t know what I will tell them, he didn’t leave a forwarding address!
Lesson No. 1: Do not use a roommate finding service.
My first clue should have been that he described himself as “semi-retired” while in his early 40's. Second clue should have been the “extreme comb-over” that took about half a can of hair spray to keep in place. Third clue, well, when someone tells you they are creating a “light center” so aliens can find him... but I’m getting ahead of this story.
When BD came to meet me as a potential rent sharing person, I’m sure I did a double-take when he said he wasn’t working, but was living off a sizeable settlement he received from a former employer. He even produced a bank statement to prove he had the financial ability to pay rent for an extended period of time. Since there were no other potential roomies, I let him move into the basement bedroom of the house I was renting. My parents were not thrilled I had a man living in the basement. I think they worried about my “virtue.” After meeting him, they no longer had any of those concerns.
I soon learned the reason he decided to stop working and live on his savings was because he was educating himself in everything and anything “new age.” That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when that is your sole occupation...
I eventually bought a house, and decided it would be financially to my advantage to let him move with me. OK, I thought I still needed the money. In retrospect, I don’t think I needed it all that bad.
Lesson No. 2: Beware of pyramids.
BD would spend time lying on the roof, contemplating the universe. He would go out in the back yard and hug the trees. Literally. The best one was when he built a pyramid out of pipe in the basement, drew a five pointed star inside it on the floor, and added crystals, rocks, candles, “stuff,” along with a cushion so he could meditate. In the pyramid. After he got it finished, he came upstairs into the living room, and started crawling across the floor, holding his hands about two inches off the floor. Of course, I had to ask what he was doing. (I’m sure you already know!) He was trying to see if he could feel the “energy” coming up through the floor from the top of the pyramid. Then he told me that he was building a “light center” in the basement (now, I have to think a basement would not be an ideal place for “light” anything.) Of course, I asked what might that mean. I learned he was trying to send a signal to the aliens. I was never sure if they were just coming to visit, or coming to take him away.
Then there was the day I came home from work and found he had shaved his head (which was a good thing since it was about 1/3 bald in the first place) and had face paint on. Can I say he scared the devil out of me? Yep, that’s putting it mildly.
I did like his cat. Was a very nice cat. Well, I liked him until he started, um, peepeeing on the carpet in the basement. I sort of lost my fondness for him then.
Lesson No. 3: Always have an exit strategy.
Exit for the renter, that is. After a while, I really didn’t want to deal with his eccentricities any more, but let’s be honest, he had no incentive to leave. So I gave him incentive. We had a guy helping at the greyhound adoption kennel who was truly a PITA. (If you don’t know what that means, I’ll explain it some day.) He needed a place to stay for a short time, I figured BD would not appreciate having to share the house with someone who was actually at the house during the day. I was right! Less than a week, and I found him packing up his stuff and moving on to who knows where. Not too long after that, roomie number 2 moved on. I finally had peace and quiet! I had my house to myself!
It was one of those experiences that you look back and laugh. You also think “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And finally, you think, “Ain’t never gonna do THAT again!”
The pyramid is long gone. The basement is now full of books and furniture. I haven’t gone out to hug the trees, I hope they can forgive me. I am a little concerned that the aliens will get a belated signal from the “light center” and stop by. I don’t know what I will tell them, he didn’t leave a forwarding address!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I’m Not Getting Old
Yes, I realize that getting older happens every day. That isn’t really what I mean. It’s late, and here I sit contemplating whether it’s safe to go to sleep. See, my 81 year old father lives with me, and he has been making me crazy today. OK, crazier than I usually am. It started last night, or rather, early this morning...
At 4:25 a.m., I hear his LifeAlert alarm go off. It’s a little button he wears around his neck that he is supposed to push that will signal the phone to call the LifeAlert people. It makes a really loud screeching noise. It’s enough to bring you straight up out of a sound sleep. The LifeAlert people, in turn, check to see if he needs assistance and call for help, if needed. I get up, I’m half-asleep, hear the phone dialing, can’t quite figure out what’s going on. Father is in bed, has the LifeAlert button held up to his ear, and he is clicking the button. The LifeAlert guy is now talking over the phone, I’m trying to get Father to stop pushing the button and tell the guy on the phone that we are OK at the same time.
The guy on the phone laughs and tells me to have a nice night (yeah, right!). I foolishly ask father what the devil he was doing. He says “I dunno!” Oh, good. Ask him if he feels all right, if he was having a bad dream. “I dunno!” Then he says he needs some toast. It’s now 4:45 am. I make toast. He has toast, then needs a drink of water.
I go back to bed about 5:20 am. About 6:00, I hear noise in there, again. He appears to be dreaming, and is having one heck of an argument with someone. For my sanity, he needs to wake up. He doesn’t wake up gracefully, (I come by that honestly) get him settled down and try again to go back to sleep. Gave up about 7:30, got up and decide to go out to the adoption kennel. Go check on him. He is snoring up a storm. Figures. He can sleep, I can’t. He wakes up before I leave, and he appears to be fine.
Get back from the kennel, feed Father, then settle down to read and, hopefully, take a nap. Of course, since I want to nap, he wants to talk. Eventually, he gets up, heads down the hall, and I hear a crash. He has decided he is going back to bed. At 3:00 pm. He tried to sit before he was close enough to the bed (did I mention that he has really bad vision, has had a stroke, and his balance stinks?) Pick him up off the floor and try to convince him it’s too early to go to bed. No dice. He is going. End of story.
I sit and read and wonder if I should be concerned. About 9:30 pm, I go check on him for about the 10th time. He is getting undressed. Asked him what the devil he is doing, he says he is cold and he is going to put his clothes on. He wears a sweatshirt and sweat pants for pajamas. Told him it’s 9:30 at night, and he decides maybe he will just go back to bed.
Now it’s almost midnight, he is talking in his sleep again, and I’m wondering if he will stay in bed, or if he will be giving me more excitement that I don’t need. I can’t get mad at him, I know he can’t see, doesn’t hear well, and while he is still able to do the basics, he doesn’t get around well. I know he is frustrated at his life, and there really isn’t much either one of us can do about it.
Don't misunderstand. I don't regret for one minute having him live with me. I just worry about him. A lot.
Then I wonder, how will I handle life if my life becomes like his? Hopefully, that’s a long way down the road yet, but it’s something I think about. How would I handle being forced to leave my home. Not be able to drive, to go where I want to go. Couldn’t cook my own meals. What if I couldn’t see well enough to watch the 42" TV I have hanging on the wall about 10 feet from his chair? Couldn’t hear well enough to listen to TV or the radio?
Many have heard me say, in jest, that I’m saving a .38 bullet in case the time comes when I just can’t stand my life any more. I’m not so sure I’m kidding.
At 4:25 a.m., I hear his LifeAlert alarm go off. It’s a little button he wears around his neck that he is supposed to push that will signal the phone to call the LifeAlert people. It makes a really loud screeching noise. It’s enough to bring you straight up out of a sound sleep. The LifeAlert people, in turn, check to see if he needs assistance and call for help, if needed. I get up, I’m half-asleep, hear the phone dialing, can’t quite figure out what’s going on. Father is in bed, has the LifeAlert button held up to his ear, and he is clicking the button. The LifeAlert guy is now talking over the phone, I’m trying to get Father to stop pushing the button and tell the guy on the phone that we are OK at the same time.
The guy on the phone laughs and tells me to have a nice night (yeah, right!). I foolishly ask father what the devil he was doing. He says “I dunno!” Oh, good. Ask him if he feels all right, if he was having a bad dream. “I dunno!” Then he says he needs some toast. It’s now 4:45 am. I make toast. He has toast, then needs a drink of water.
I go back to bed about 5:20 am. About 6:00, I hear noise in there, again. He appears to be dreaming, and is having one heck of an argument with someone. For my sanity, he needs to wake up. He doesn’t wake up gracefully, (I come by that honestly) get him settled down and try again to go back to sleep. Gave up about 7:30, got up and decide to go out to the adoption kennel. Go check on him. He is snoring up a storm. Figures. He can sleep, I can’t. He wakes up before I leave, and he appears to be fine.
Get back from the kennel, feed Father, then settle down to read and, hopefully, take a nap. Of course, since I want to nap, he wants to talk. Eventually, he gets up, heads down the hall, and I hear a crash. He has decided he is going back to bed. At 3:00 pm. He tried to sit before he was close enough to the bed (did I mention that he has really bad vision, has had a stroke, and his balance stinks?) Pick him up off the floor and try to convince him it’s too early to go to bed. No dice. He is going. End of story.
I sit and read and wonder if I should be concerned. About 9:30 pm, I go check on him for about the 10th time. He is getting undressed. Asked him what the devil he is doing, he says he is cold and he is going to put his clothes on. He wears a sweatshirt and sweat pants for pajamas. Told him it’s 9:30 at night, and he decides maybe he will just go back to bed.
Now it’s almost midnight, he is talking in his sleep again, and I’m wondering if he will stay in bed, or if he will be giving me more excitement that I don’t need. I can’t get mad at him, I know he can’t see, doesn’t hear well, and while he is still able to do the basics, he doesn’t get around well. I know he is frustrated at his life, and there really isn’t much either one of us can do about it.
Don't misunderstand. I don't regret for one minute having him live with me. I just worry about him. A lot.
Then I wonder, how will I handle life if my life becomes like his? Hopefully, that’s a long way down the road yet, but it’s something I think about. How would I handle being forced to leave my home. Not be able to drive, to go where I want to go. Couldn’t cook my own meals. What if I couldn’t see well enough to watch the 42" TV I have hanging on the wall about 10 feet from his chair? Couldn’t hear well enough to listen to TV or the radio?
Many have heard me say, in jest, that I’m saving a .38 bullet in case the time comes when I just can’t stand my life any more. I’m not so sure I’m kidding.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Do I Believe in God?
I’m sure Mom worried about that question a lot. Yes, I grew up going to church and Sunday school regularly. Unfortunately for Mom, we were members of the United Church of Christ when I was growing up. The “slogan” on the church logo says “That they may all be one.” When I was younger, I delighted in telling people I was a “protesting protestant,” and questioned everything and everyone. Guess I still do, in many respects. I had a great time when I was in a philosophy of religion class in college and asked the adult Sunday school people at church if God was inherently good, or whether “evil” would be “good” if God had defined it that way...Yeah, I know, kind of ridiculous.
I remember asking many times if a person was a good person, but didn’t belong to whatever particular religion was seen as the “right” one, did that good person have a chance of going to heaven? The answer was always the same: people only get to heaven if they belong to the “right” religion. It never made sense to me. Why would God be the consummate game player? I had this image in my head of an old guy with long white hair and beard, sitting on a throne, plotting: “OK, I’ll put this guy down there and start this religion, and see what happens.” “OK, that was interesting, but what would happen if I send this other guy, and start this other thing?”
I know, irreverent. What can I say?
Another thing I could never quite get my head around is, why, if God is all knowing and powerful, would He find it necessary for the human race to sit around, singing his praises all the time? Does God have a strange sense of humor, or a huge ego? Why would He need humans, anyway? For amusement? (I know, it’s not politically correct to use a masculine pronoun for God, but when I think “God,” I think something totally outside the realm of human understanding, so one pronoun really doesn’t cover Him, anyway. I don’t sweat it.) I just don’t understand the “why” He created humans. Particularly considering some of the ones I’ve known over the years.
You know another question that always hangs out in the back of my head? Does any one religion encompass everything that is God? If God is truly more magnificent than the human mind can imagine, does He fit in any one religion box?
What if...every religion has part of the “truth?” That’s where I get back to the “That They May All Be One” concept.
When I left Illinois, I left the United Church of Christ. Not because I had any philosophical issues with the church, but because I was in a new place and my sister attended a United Methodist church. I went with her for a while, primarily because I love to sing, and a church choir is one of the places a crazy alto can find to sing. I have to say, I would do better with churches if I didn’t have to deal with the people. I don’t understand church politics. Maybe the answer for me to be able to happily sing in a church choir would be to not talk to the other people? I thought not.
So, yes, I gave up attending church a few years back. Will I ever go back? I can hear Mom up there, telling me I should, but I don’t know.
Back to the original question. Do I believe in God? I believe there is a higher power. I believe the order created around us and in us didn’t just happen. I’m not sure what “His” real name might be, or what form He takes. Maybe He is that beautiful sunrise. Maybe He is that beautiful song the birds sing. Maybe He is that beautiful forest. Maybe He is the smile on that stranger across the room. Maybe we just haven’t figured out yet that we cannot define Him or put Him into one neat little religion box, no matter how hard we try.
I remember asking many times if a person was a good person, but didn’t belong to whatever particular religion was seen as the “right” one, did that good person have a chance of going to heaven? The answer was always the same: people only get to heaven if they belong to the “right” religion. It never made sense to me. Why would God be the consummate game player? I had this image in my head of an old guy with long white hair and beard, sitting on a throne, plotting: “OK, I’ll put this guy down there and start this religion, and see what happens.” “OK, that was interesting, but what would happen if I send this other guy, and start this other thing?”
I know, irreverent. What can I say?
Another thing I could never quite get my head around is, why, if God is all knowing and powerful, would He find it necessary for the human race to sit around, singing his praises all the time? Does God have a strange sense of humor, or a huge ego? Why would He need humans, anyway? For amusement? (I know, it’s not politically correct to use a masculine pronoun for God, but when I think “God,” I think something totally outside the realm of human understanding, so one pronoun really doesn’t cover Him, anyway. I don’t sweat it.) I just don’t understand the “why” He created humans. Particularly considering some of the ones I’ve known over the years.
You know another question that always hangs out in the back of my head? Does any one religion encompass everything that is God? If God is truly more magnificent than the human mind can imagine, does He fit in any one religion box?
What if...every religion has part of the “truth?” That’s where I get back to the “That They May All Be One” concept.
When I left Illinois, I left the United Church of Christ. Not because I had any philosophical issues with the church, but because I was in a new place and my sister attended a United Methodist church. I went with her for a while, primarily because I love to sing, and a church choir is one of the places a crazy alto can find to sing. I have to say, I would do better with churches if I didn’t have to deal with the people. I don’t understand church politics. Maybe the answer for me to be able to happily sing in a church choir would be to not talk to the other people? I thought not.
So, yes, I gave up attending church a few years back. Will I ever go back? I can hear Mom up there, telling me I should, but I don’t know.
Back to the original question. Do I believe in God? I believe there is a higher power. I believe the order created around us and in us didn’t just happen. I’m not sure what “His” real name might be, or what form He takes. Maybe He is that beautiful sunrise. Maybe He is that beautiful song the birds sing. Maybe He is that beautiful forest. Maybe He is the smile on that stranger across the room. Maybe we just haven’t figured out yet that we cannot define Him or put Him into one neat little religion box, no matter how hard we try.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
What Mom Taught
I know, this was originally published in October 2009, and I still mean every word...
Dedicated to my former college room mate and her partner. Love you guys!
A quote from an old Joni Mitchell song, but it’s appropriate. I’ve been thinking lately about how extraordinary my mother was, and I really didn’t appreciate her at the time. Why? There are a lot of reasons, so I figure this will take more than one “episode” to complete all the thoughts. This particular epistle has to do with what I now see as Mom’s extraordinary character.
I don’t know why it’s an issue for me right now. Well, yes, I do. An old college room mate acknowledged she “likes girls” a few years back. She had gotten a divorce and was in a relationship with her girlfriend. She called to “break the news,” and in retrospect, I think she expected me to react badly, to not consider her to be a friend any more. Never occurred to me that it should affect my friendship with her, and it didn’t occur to me what kind of negative reactions she had encountered from her family and friends. She is the same person. What’s the big deal? (An aside, she and her partner have been together 13 years now. My marriage didn’t make 12 months. I envy them!)
See, when I was a kid, “the girls” lived next door. That’s how everyone referred to them. Ruth and Marg. Mom was friends with them, she helped them out when Ruth was sick. She let me go visit them all the time. I loved visiting them and their little Chihuahua, Tippy. I knew they lived together, that they shared the same bed. No big deal. I never questioned that they were a couple, and it never seemed to be strange or odd. They were good people who were kind to each other, and other people. And they put up with the obnoxious child that I was!
Somewhere along the way, I learned that other people disapproved of “that type” of relationship. Didn’t understand it, and being fairly oblivious, never occurred to me the type of prejudice “the girls” faced. Thank God, in our neighborhood, they were just regular people, they were our friends.
Was never really an issue in my life. I know some people are heterosexual and some are homosexual. Just don’t think about it, to be honest. Then my old college room mate calls and tells me her news and shares that her family did not take it well. That surprised me. I know, what rock had I been hiding under. Her family is very conservative religious. We had some very spirited conversations in college about religion, she was very conservative, and, as we all should know, I’m not. (Take a deep breath, I believe in God, I’d probably describe myself as Christian, but conservative, not so much.) How could her family turn on her when she tried to explain how miserable her life had been, and how she was finally finding happiness, found someone she loved? Isn’t that what parents want for their kids, for them to be happy and loved? Hell, isn’t that what we all want? Someone to love and to be loved?
This year, I got sucked into the American Idol show, watching Adam Lambert blow everyone away. Then the big media storm, is he gay?! All I could think was, what does that have to do with the fact he is an unbelievably gifted singer? Watching that unfold got me to thinking about how insane all of the nonsense was, conservative “Christians” calling for votes against him in the competition because he is gay.
No, he didn’t win. (Does it matter? No. Just an observation.) By this time, I’m kind of intrigued by the whole social aspect of the drama, and I’m following what he is doing, and what some other gay artists in California are doing. (Twitter is a strange, amazing thing. Come to think of it, the Internet is a strange and amazing thing!)
You saw my previous post about music. (If you haven’t, go read it! I put a lot of work into that!) All three of those artists are also gay. When I’ve had the opportunity to share their music with other people, I’m still surprised when I get a negative response because of their sexual orientation. Why on earth does that matter? Does it make someone less talented? Does it make them less worthwhile? Does it make them “bad” people? I have to say, I really don’t give a rat’s rearend, and it never crosses my mind when I listen to a new song or new artist to wonder whether they are gay. I’m not planning on sleeping with them, none of my business!
Good Lord, life isn’t exactly easy as it is. I’ve done the divorce thing, and can’t say that I’ll ever do the married thing again. Isn’t having someone to love something that everyone wants in their lives? Isn’t it something you want for your kids? If they are happy, if their partners are good, supportive, loving people, does their gender really matter?
Back to the original thought. Mom was a very religious woman. She was very active in church, with world-wide causes, with local causes. She taught me, by her demeanor, her attitude, and her friendship with “the girls” what it means to accept other people. Mom, thanks for being who you were. Thanks for teaching me that people are to be accepted for who they are. For teaching me that “the girls” were friends, not “freaks.” For being a shining example of what it should mean to be a Christian.
Dedicated to my former college room mate and her partner. Love you guys!
A quote from an old Joni Mitchell song, but it’s appropriate. I’ve been thinking lately about how extraordinary my mother was, and I really didn’t appreciate her at the time. Why? There are a lot of reasons, so I figure this will take more than one “episode” to complete all the thoughts. This particular epistle has to do with what I now see as Mom’s extraordinary character.
I don’t know why it’s an issue for me right now. Well, yes, I do. An old college room mate acknowledged she “likes girls” a few years back. She had gotten a divorce and was in a relationship with her girlfriend. She called to “break the news,” and in retrospect, I think she expected me to react badly, to not consider her to be a friend any more. Never occurred to me that it should affect my friendship with her, and it didn’t occur to me what kind of negative reactions she had encountered from her family and friends. She is the same person. What’s the big deal? (An aside, she and her partner have been together 13 years now. My marriage didn’t make 12 months. I envy them!)
See, when I was a kid, “the girls” lived next door. That’s how everyone referred to them. Ruth and Marg. Mom was friends with them, she helped them out when Ruth was sick. She let me go visit them all the time. I loved visiting them and their little Chihuahua, Tippy. I knew they lived together, that they shared the same bed. No big deal. I never questioned that they were a couple, and it never seemed to be strange or odd. They were good people who were kind to each other, and other people. And they put up with the obnoxious child that I was!
Somewhere along the way, I learned that other people disapproved of “that type” of relationship. Didn’t understand it, and being fairly oblivious, never occurred to me the type of prejudice “the girls” faced. Thank God, in our neighborhood, they were just regular people, they were our friends.
Was never really an issue in my life. I know some people are heterosexual and some are homosexual. Just don’t think about it, to be honest. Then my old college room mate calls and tells me her news and shares that her family did not take it well. That surprised me. I know, what rock had I been hiding under. Her family is very conservative religious. We had some very spirited conversations in college about religion, she was very conservative, and, as we all should know, I’m not. (Take a deep breath, I believe in God, I’d probably describe myself as Christian, but conservative, not so much.) How could her family turn on her when she tried to explain how miserable her life had been, and how she was finally finding happiness, found someone she loved? Isn’t that what parents want for their kids, for them to be happy and loved? Hell, isn’t that what we all want? Someone to love and to be loved?
This year, I got sucked into the American Idol show, watching Adam Lambert blow everyone away. Then the big media storm, is he gay?! All I could think was, what does that have to do with the fact he is an unbelievably gifted singer? Watching that unfold got me to thinking about how insane all of the nonsense was, conservative “Christians” calling for votes against him in the competition because he is gay.
No, he didn’t win. (Does it matter? No. Just an observation.) By this time, I’m kind of intrigued by the whole social aspect of the drama, and I’m following what he is doing, and what some other gay artists in California are doing. (Twitter is a strange, amazing thing. Come to think of it, the Internet is a strange and amazing thing!)
You saw my previous post about music. (If you haven’t, go read it! I put a lot of work into that!) All three of those artists are also gay. When I’ve had the opportunity to share their music with other people, I’m still surprised when I get a negative response because of their sexual orientation. Why on earth does that matter? Does it make someone less talented? Does it make them less worthwhile? Does it make them “bad” people? I have to say, I really don’t give a rat’s rearend, and it never crosses my mind when I listen to a new song or new artist to wonder whether they are gay. I’m not planning on sleeping with them, none of my business!
Good Lord, life isn’t exactly easy as it is. I’ve done the divorce thing, and can’t say that I’ll ever do the married thing again. Isn’t having someone to love something that everyone wants in their lives? Isn’t it something you want for your kids? If they are happy, if their partners are good, supportive, loving people, does their gender really matter?
Back to the original thought. Mom was a very religious woman. She was very active in church, with world-wide causes, with local causes. She taught me, by her demeanor, her attitude, and her friendship with “the girls” what it means to accept other people. Mom, thanks for being who you were. Thanks for teaching me that people are to be accepted for who they are. For teaching me that “the girls” were friends, not “freaks.” For being a shining example of what it should mean to be a Christian.
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