Life and Death

Well, I was going to do a heads or tails thing today - and maybe I'll do that too - but a young friend of mine posted something about an experience she had with a grieving colleague who, having just lost her mother to cancer announced basically that her husband had better not get sick because she wasn't watching anyone else die. What can one say in such a situation? What emotions does it bring up in us?

If we've never watched anyone die, it probably sounds just mean and selfish. Of course we couldn't leave someone we loved when they need us most. How could you even think it?

But Linda's post made think of some of the secret thoughts I have had on the subject of the dying, the ones my better self likes to pretend never made their way through my brain. But they did. My mother didn't die with something like the agony of cancer, but she died over the course of 15 slow, pain-filled years. We didn't have the best relationship, but I loved her with an almost agonized love because she wasn't very good at loving back. I probably loved my mother more than I have ever loved anyone - and I love with fierce and unrelenting loyalty - but I will admit here that there was more than one time in those 15 years of grim ups and downs when I wished she would die, wished she and my father and all of us could be released from our misery.

Does that make me cruel? At the time I thought maybe it did, but maybe time has made me a little wiser. I'm human and like most humans I dislike suffering, whether it's my own or that of someone I love. The first time I prayed that my mother would die was a month or two after her first break-down. She had wasted away in three months time from about 140 pounds down to less than 90 pounds. Her clothes were falling off her but she thought they were too small. She didn't recognize me, my brother and sister or her husband of over 50 years. And they told us they thought maybe she had cancer. She didn't but they thought she might. That was the first time I wished she'd die. I didn't want her to suffer. But to be honest, I didn't want me to suffer either. Luckily, I didn't get that wish. A variety of tortured treatments later, a somewhat diluted verision of my mother returned to us. Over the years she had several more break downs, a series of physical traumas, each time fading further and further from the person who was my "real" mother. I'd like to say that my first foolish prayer for her release taught me the wisdom or leaving such decisions to God. It didn't. I wished it for her, for me, for my father on more than one occasion. God in his/her infinite wisdom, paid no attention to me.

Did I really want my mother dead? No. I wanted the woman in pain to stop suffering. I wanted me to stop suffering. I wanted my REAL mother back and the lost, fragile imposter who didn't recognize me or who said cruel - even by my real mother's standards - things to me to go away.

I also wanted my mother to live. I was glad that I had more time with her, even if the mother who came back from that first break down was kind of a "mother light" version of the real thing. Each time she would have a set back she would come back like a paler clone of the original. I though of the recovered versions of her as my "shadow mothers." In some ways they were a lot nicer than the real thing, at least in the middle phase of her illnesses. At the end, she was pretty much all mean all the time - at least to me.

At around the same time my mother was truly dying, a relatively new friend of mine, someone I had met at a workshop, was dying of cancer. Both of Ronnie's parents had died with cancer. She had gone through it with them. She decided not to fight. She had done some chemo. She was bald and bloated. She looked awful. She looked like death. She gave up treatment and kept on smoking. It was scary to part of me to be around her. Many of her friends disappeared. Many were angry with her for giving up. I had to fight the impulse myself to tell her - who was living with the pain and the fear - "why don't you just try this... why don't you..." She was my age and she was dying and it was messy and grim. Ronnie, who died three days before my mother did, helped me to process my loss and I like to think I was able to help her. Right before the end, she started worrying that she was failing others, that she was "doing it wrong." I told her that it was her death and she couldn't do it wrong. It didn't belong to the rest of us, no matter what we thought or wanted.

We aren't very good at or comfortable with aging and death in this country (USA). It's untidy. We as a society don't even have enough compassion to make certain that everyone gets medical coverage, so it shouldn't surprise us that we don't have very good emotional support systems in place either. Too many of us treat illness like it's a crime people commit. We assign the job of dealing with it, of tending to the mess, to some unmarried daughter and we pretend it's a romantic duty and not - as it so often is - ugly and painful and physically, emotionally and financially as deadly to the caregiver as to the patient. We expect these poor caregivers smile through their pain and not complain. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves. We all ought to walk a mile or two in their shoes.

My father was the primary care-taker for my mother until she went into a nursing home for the last year of her life and he visited her there all day every day until he died 3 months before she did. I was his support. I spent almost every weekend with my parents for the last 15 years of their lives. Even that was profoundly draining. Unless we have done it, I don't think anyone understands how consuming care-giving is, how difficult it is to watch your mother or husband or wife waste away, stop recognizing you. When people lived in a world of extended families, this kind of care-giving was a shared responsibility... shared by the family and by communities. That was a much better system in my view. I hope our society will start to find our way back to a world of more practical compassion than the failed system we are operating under right now.

As usual, I have digressed from my main point. Even though part of me reacts with a touch of judgment to Linda's friend announcing that her husband is out of luck if he gets cancer, I admire her courage in saying it out loud, because she was just sharing very human feelings.

I'm hoping to die peacefully in my sleep. I have no kids who might be tempted to spend their precious lives tending to me if I veer any further into dementia than my natural every day state of craziness. If I did, I would hope that the needy, neurotic part of me who can't ever get enough love no matter what, would be over-ridden by the part of me that loves enough not to want anyone I care about to make that kind of sacrifice. Oh, I hope they'd visit me at the home from time to time, but mostly I'd hope they would live well and happy. Truth is, I'd probably want it both ways and they - if they existed - would probably have days they wished me young again and days they wished me dead. And that would be ok.

The Alphabet Backwards: Zoos

I'll probably live to regret this, but I've decided to make Mondays Alphabet Days and pick one letter each week (starting from the back) and write on a random "letter-related" topic. (Couldn't think of anything to write about this morning.)

Anyway, I was going to write about xenophobia until I realized it was spelled with an "x" and not a "z," so I had to switch to Zoos, a subject on which I have mixed feelings these days.

My nieces and some of my closest friends are all very active in the animal rights community, so this is a touchy subject for me. They pretty much don't approve of zoos - and with good and noble reason. They are probably right. Still, it's hard for me to hate zoos. My childhood memories are extremely limited and most of them are not that happy... except for visits to the Bronx Zoo and the neighboring Bronx Botanical Gardens. These were bright spots in a pretty gloomy early life. These are the happy memories. I wish I could say that I was one of those sensitive children who was devastated by the sight of animals in cages. (In my defense, it's possible that I was more sensitive than I know - I spent much of my early life totally disconnected from any emotion other than happiness... real or delusionally manufactured. That I have a vivid picture in my mind's eye of a beautiful tiger pacing back and forth in a very small cage, may mean that I was not so insensitive as I think, just that I had no psychological vocabulary at the time for what I was feeling.)

Certainly those who offer themselves up as the conscience of our society are right: most zoos in the US and around the world leave a lot to be desired. Mercifully, in the past 60 years, there has been increasing recognition that animals are sentient beings who require more than just a few feet to pace around in and a bowl of food every day. Most "good" zoos keep their animals in habitats which attempt to simulate life in the wild.

Still, there are areas in which even the best zoos fail massively. While she was living in Seattle, my niece Diana was actively involved in efforts to free a troubled young elephant named Bamboo and send her to a magnificent new home called The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee. (Gotta love their logo which says: "So they packed up their trunks and moved to Tennessee.") While the Seattle's Woodland Park zoo claimed it was working to preserve the species, it's elephants were dying at an alarming rate and seemed to be suffering. There was more than a little evidence that business interests had as much to do with keeping them as love of the species, though I do think that good people, with good intentions can sometimes still be very wrong about how to achieve their goals.

Certainly as a society, we need to look at our zoos and how they reflect on us as humans relating to our fellow creatures. It's hard for me to write them off because they carry the rare energy of something my family did together that didn't involve angst. I do believe that some zoos are doing valid work in conserving species that are at risk in the wilderness. It may be, though, that the day when zoological parks are good ways to entertain and educate has passed. TV and movies can now offer much more detailed and exquisite exposure to other species than was available when I was a toddler.... and no creature has to be imprisoned for adults and children to be aware of and learn about other species of our world.

So that's my half awake thoughts on Zoos and the first installment of the Alphabet Backwards. Next Monday, I can tackle xenophobia.... or xylophones or .... oops... xenophobia is in two weeks... next week I'll have to tackle the letter "y" - maybe youth or yogurt or yesterday or.... the possiblities are endless.

By the way, the zebra photo above comes from the National Geographic Society. I've linked it back to it's source or you can click here.

Healing Hands

I decided this morning to resist the sound of my own voice and just share some reiki. If you click on the hands, they will take you to a larger version on one of my websites. Hopefully they will speak for themselves.



Namaste. Have a lovely Sunday.

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week Two

Last Saturday, I introduced the idea of a word game that I call "wordzzles" and offered up a challenge for others to play along. Just as a reminder about how it works, you are given between 8 and 10 words/phrases and asked to create a small but coherent paragraph using every one of them. I know that one or two people are planning to take up the challenge and I'm looking forward to seeing what the words inspired in others. Meanwhile, here's my paragraph.

The challenge words were: Ostrich, conga line, lucite, garish, pumpkin seeds, persimmon, autograph, naked truth, false teeth and merry-go-round

Hannah Hinckley sat back in her chair gingerly nibbling on pumpkin seeds with her shiny new false teeth, trying not to smear her freshly applied persimmon red lipstick. It was almost beyond belief she thought, that the line of customers waiting outside the bookstore were there to get her autograph. What a bizarre merry-go-round life is, she thought. Looking at the big photo of the slim young girl she had been - a sad-eyed, over-painted waif bedecked in ostrich feathers and those hideous, garish lucite earrings, she could hardly believe that her dissolute youth had led her here. Life certainly could be surprising and that Hannah Hinkley, an illiterate miner's daughter had made the journey from stripper, to chorus girl, to bit player in the conga line of a B movie, to starlet, to famous actress should have been enough miracles for one life. But it seemed the gods had an extra tender spot in their hearts for her, and now, still surprisingly beautiful at 75, she was also the author of a best seller entitled Naked Truth. If you had never heard of Hannah, you might think from the book's title, that it was one of those racy, ghost-written gossip books and that those eager readers were lined up for the usual Hollywood dirt. The opposite was true, however. It was the subtitle - A Story of Luck and Blessings - that told the real story, because despite her slightly sleazy beginnings, Hannah's real story was about the power of quiet faith, kindness and wisdom and the crowds came out of a desire to connect with that profound inner beauty and to take inspiration from a magnificently generous soul. And they were never disappointed by the experience. The naked truth of Hannah Hinkley's deep goodness was a blessing nobody who encountered it - even just for the few short minutes at a book signing - ever forgot.

I didn't realize until I posted it here, that technically, by the rules of the game, I could have left the last half of the story off because I got the words into the first half and it made sense. Since it's my game, I'll cheat if I want to and I welcome everyone else to do the same within reason... or not... The idea is to inspire creativity and have fun. It's ok to modify words slightly - make them plural or past tense.

I have a fairly large collection of old exercises that I did some years back. Most of these were done on the spot. I think I do better under pressure. I thought I'd share an old one every week for the fun of it and so people can have an extra challenge if they want to come up with their own paragraph using these words as well as or instead of the words for the week. It's so fascinating to me that 10 unrelated random words can produce tiny stories like this one from the words: velvet, runway, television, guitar, oblong, chessboard, clay, pillow, woman with cat in her arms, rainstorm, xylophone

Sam sat working with the clay, shaping it slowly, skillfully into a beautiful woman with a cat in her arms seated cross-legged on a pillow. He had originally intended for her to be holding a guitar, but something in the oblong shape of it did not suit his artist’s eye. Actually, it had nothing to do with artist eye. Just that as he began to work the clay it had suddenly become Mary that long ago day, sitting on her favorite blue velvet cushion, some small creature, as always, in her arms, the rainstorm, blowing, beating down on the tin roof like a madman playing a xylophone. The chessboard sat between them and on the television, which in Mary's house ran constantly, the plane on the runway burst over and over into flames as if to sear the image into his brain, to make sure he never forgot how his brother died coming to surprise him for his 30th birthday. He only learned of Phil’s death hours later, but his heart had known, somehow, and sealed it into that moment of normalcy and Mary's beauty and rain on the roof.

For future weeks, I invite readers and participants to email or post some suggested words and phrases. This should hopefully make it more fair, spice things up a bit and deepen the variety and depth of the weekly challenge as well as taking the burden off my shoulders. I make every effort to be totally random in my choice of words and to just choose whatever pops into my head. (You can thank Tara Grace for "yowling cat". She is having one of her "talkative" evenings. Sigh.) Anyway, the words for next week's challenge are:

Yowling cat, ink stain, fever, river bed, home improvement, laughable, motorcade, broken camera, crafty and bourbon.

Just for the record, here are some basic Wordzzle Guidelines/Hints:

1) If there is a word or phrase which seem like the most difficult to use, try to get it out of the way first.

2) Sometimes especially outrageous words can be turned into the name of a character, e.g. given the words Bambi and bonanza on one occasion, I created a character named Bambi Bonanza, thus eliminating two really hard to use words in one easy stroke. Try to keep the names plausible, though. Nothing like teddy bear toothbrush. That's just cheating.

3) If you come across a word whose meaning you don't know or can't quite remember, there are a number of solutions. One very simple one is to have a character tell you that they don't know what it means. Make it part of the title of a book. Put it on a flag or poster. If you think you can get away with it, use it to name the cat or dog, a company or a castle.

4) Let your imagination play. It is not necessary to write the Great American Paragraph, to be profound, to make perfect logical sense or to write with total scientific or historic accuracy. The idea is to have a good time and to stimulate your creativity.

5) Don't work too hard. I seldom spend more than 20-30 minutes on these exercises. But it's up to you. If you want to spend time crafting a masterpiece why not? As long as you enjoy the process. If you aren't enjoying it then it is probably doing your creative juices more harm than good and you might want to find another way to entertain yourself.

That's about all the hints I can offer. This is an art, not a science, a game, not a chore.

The main idea is to have fun!

MARCH 2nd ADDENDUM:

I noticed over at Diane's blog that there were requests for fewer words. I'm open to offering a mini challenge in addition to the standard 10-word size, though I think if you try the 10 word challenge, you'll discover it's more fun than only 4 or 5. For those of you who are more visual, I'm open to the idea of you creating a visual drawn/or photo story. I have no idea how that would work, but if anyone wants to try it, go for it.

Here are the words/phrases for a mini challenge: outer limits, Lucifer, automobile engine, monk's habit, peanut butter & jelly

Thanks for playing...

Too Brilliant Not to Share

This is just too brilliant not to share.... and probably closer to the truth than is comfortable to think about.


Diebold Accidentally Leaks Results Of 2008 Election Early

Inner Voices

A while back, when the Simpson movie first came out, my niece Cindy sent me a picture of herself "Simpsonized," Well, of course I had to go play too and I made the Simpsonized me that I'd like to think I am (sweet face, penguin shirt on the left) and the me that I fear and try to keep hidden ( I named her Griselda) who can be seen on the right. Griselda, I guess, is my "inner bitch." If you had ever heard (and you probably will at some point) the way my inner bitch talks to me, you'd know that this is a pretty flattering picture of her. She is one nasty, nasty, nasty creature, the Hitler of my inner landscape. Fortunately for the rest of the world, she is totally inner directed. Not so lucky for me.

Speaking of inner voices, about twenty years ago, I studied something called Voice Dialogue. Voice Dialogue was the invention of two psychologists named Hal and Sidra Stone. The basic concept (as I understand it) is that we are all, on some level, multiple personalities merged into one master ego, but that our lives are often run by inner personalities whose voices we don't even really hear speaking. The most powerful of those voices is often, as it was for me, The Inner Critic. The idea behind voice dialogue is that through the process of talking with those inner selves and becoming consciously aware of what they are telling us, we are able to take more control of our lives. The idea, by the way, isn't to change the voices - though by virtue of being heard, they usually change on their own - the idea is let them speak so that become aware of what's going on inside your own head without you even knowing about it.

The voice dialogue process was a revelation for me. My inner critic, aka The Dragon Lady, was quite something. While most inner critics operate from a desire to protect, the Dragon Lady actually hated me and wished me dead. The fact that she would die with me was irrelevant to her. It was worth it. She hated me that much. I also met a number of wounded children in this process, one of whom - she named herself Pisser for some reason - had been raped quite young. It was that aspect of me, I think, that the Dragon Lady hated the most. I did this course with a wonderful group of people over the course of 4 months. It was a profound experience. Devastating in many ways. Fodder for a lot of therapy, though it drove my therapist crazy for a while because I tended to regard/relate to Pisser and the Dragon Lady as though they were real and separate entities and not so much aspects of myself. (Ever heard of denial? I'm too nice to have a killer demon critic running around inside me... or a molested child.)

I think this is a brilliant techinque. The Stones have a number of excellent books out on the subject, including one for couples and parents that helps you become aware of those days when there are two or more inner children roaming the house all looking for a parent.

When I started writing my agoraphobia column, I coined a name for the not-so-little collective of brutal monsters that inhabit my inner mindscape. I call them the Demonalians. They are as wicked and sadistic a crowd of inner voices as ever cohabited inside one head. To kind of counter-act them, and because I just love playing with Paint Shop Pro even though I have no artistic talent, I made a bunch of inner goddesses. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to still the din of the Demonalians enough to hear the voices of these divine ones (in fact I quite forgot about them until this morning), but I think maybe that's a good project to work on over the next few weeks. Hmmm. Maybe I'll introduce them here today and see if I can get them to speak in future posts. Can't hurt to think about it. So, without further explanation, I intoduce my four inner goddesses:

Kwanatherine Yin, Inner Kwan Yin, Goddess of Compassion.
Green Katherine - drawn from the Green Tara who is a mix of benign and harsh as I recall, Gaia Katherine, and Kali. I made the Kali-me during the nine months it took me to find my house. She hung on the wall by my desk and I called on her when my drunken landlady felt particularly scary. I'm not sure where I'm going with all this. I have kind of scared myself by posting these goddesses and saying that I'll talk with them. But even though I've scared myself, I think it's probably (I hope) a good challenge.

Guess that's it for today. The Demonalians are all stirred up on a number of subjects, including how stupid this post is and how if people didn't think I was nuts before, surely the whole inner goddess nonsense will have proved it for good and all. Demonalia is a happy place this morning. Maybe I'll see if my inner Kali can keep them in line.
An afterthought that has nothing to do with anything. My other magnificent niece Diana, has posted a video thing on one of her blogs. If you watch it (or even just let it run without watching it), she gets money. On her Vegangirl blog she posted a brilliant lecture that doesn't earn her any money about the paradox of choice.

Poem(s) of the Week

Well, it seems to me like a day for something silly. The two poems below are vaguely connected. The first one was written for the newsletter of a particularly odious job I had in the early 1980s. They were manufacturers of "fine wallpapers," and there was some kind of apple theme going on at the time, I think, that inspired the topic. Like many jobs over the course of my "career," it was hard for them to keep me busy and I ended up doing parts of everyone else's job, not getting paid for it and being bored and unhappy.

AN APPLE POMME

The snake said, "Please, just have a taste."

"If you don't eat, it will go to waste."

And Eve - only wanting to be polite

Consented to have just one small bite

And Adam, too, thought it couldn't hurt

To try such a very light dessert.

It wasn't even an apple pie

Which caused such fury in Heaven high

And sent that poor unhappy pair

Away from Eden in dark despair

But though they suffered, and so do we,

For eating the fruit of the apple tree

I can't entirely regret their act

Since it alone, in point of fact,

Introduced the two to carnal sin

Which causes babies to begin

And one baby leading to another

Eventually arrived my mother

Who, I am glad, gave birth to me

So, let's hear it for the apple tree

And before we at Eve too smugly jeer

Remember, without her we wouldn't be here.

- Katherine E. Rabenau


Shortly after "The Apple Pomme" was published, I took a bad fall that resulted in a severe green-stick fracture that nearly broke my small toe OFF my foot, broke two other toes, sprained an ankle, bruised my shoulder and just missed cracking my skull open. How did I manage this? Running away from a pair of cockroaches while standing on top of one of those step ladder/chair things. Hence the second poem in today's double silly poem presentation. I returned from my disability leave to find that the company had been "reorganized" and both of my bosses "phased out." I don't remember if they laid me off or if I quit. I do remember that they told me I was too qualified and too good at my job. The laid off boss called and offered me a big raise and a cool new job which it turned out he couldn't deliver. At the time it all seemed like the end of the world to me instead of the blessing in disguise that it turned out to be. But that's a story for another day. The short version is. I lived. I went into therapy and a tiny ray of sanity broke through a life-time of pure, unadulterated denial about how very insane my family was and how utterly unhappy and troubled I myself was. But this is Poem of the week day. SILLY poem of the week day.... enough serious talk.

QUIT BUGGING ME!


Out, out, damned roach, you wicked beast

How dare you in my kitchen feast

You creeping Fiend! You wretched foe!

I beg you from my kitchen go

And lodge with those who wish you well

Or, better yet, go strait to Hell

For you will find no welcome here

But me, all doubled up with fear

A rolled newspaper in one hand

And lots of bug spray - jarred or canned -

Fear's far more dangerous than hate

And death will be your awful fate

If you persist in bugging me

So I advise you now to flee

And find some other place to live

For pity I have none to give

To such unsavory types as you

And so I say to you, "Shoo! Shoo!"

Go somewhere else if you must poach

And hear again, "Out, out, damned roach."


- Katherine E. Rabenau

It's All Relative

I woke up very early this morning with a million (ok, a half dozen) ideas swirling in my head for things to write about today and for days to come. A frustrating - and failed - attempt to put a ONE MILLION BLOGS FOR PEACE logo up, a broken tree branch, some emails and a cup of coffee later, I have misplaced all those lovely ideas that were passionately writing themselves while I was trying to sleep. Now that I need them again, where are they? Argh.

Luckily, I do remember a key word for one of them: Relative. I am cranky about this, though, because it was all written in my head and now I have to start over and it won't be nearly as good as what I think I already wrote while half asleep.

What I was thinking about is how much of life is about perspective and how our relationship and reaction changes depending on our circumstances.

One of the most interesting pieces of trivia I ever heard was that there's a "scientific" (mathematical?) reason why time seems to go faster as you get older. It's got something to do with the relative length of a year in comparison to your whole life span. When you are 1, a year is 100% of your life. When you are 60, it is 1/60th of your life, so it seems much shorter. This is a very badly written explanation. I am writing frustrated and that's never good. I think the idea makes a lot of sense. Whatever the reason, the years seem to be flying by, though, I can't always say the same for my days. That is probably a factor of solitude and boredom.

Another psychological oddity that I have become aware of over the past couple of years is our relative relationship to temperature. Trying to save money these days, I keep my thermostat at 60 for as much of the day as I can (until the icicles start forming on my nose). I'm kind of proud of how tough and brave I am for doing this, but then I was thinking one afternoon how odd it is that in Spring and Summer, 60 degrees seems like a wonderful gift in comparison to 80 or 90 degrees. How odd, that in winter 60 feels like a hardship and in summer a blessing. I'm sure there's some logical explanation, like the earth holds summer warmth, so 60 in summer is warmer than 60 in winter when the world is frozen. Still, 60 degrees is 60 degrees isn't it?

Of course speaking of relativity, I guess 60 degrees is "winter" weather for my family and friends in Arizona. Years ago when I lived in New York City, a friend of mine returned from volunteering in Somalia where she had become accustomed to living at 120 in the shade. August in New York is vile, humid and compares quite nicely with my idea of Hell, but there was Zandi, on a hot, humid 90 degree nightmare New York summer day, wearing a sweater!

Then there's age. I have a very keen memory of the first time I felt conscious of age. I was standing at a bus stop on the corner of First Avenue and 14th Street in NYC looking at the high school kids... and suddenly seeing them as "children." I was all of 23 or something. But suddenly I was really and truly and "adult." Now, of course, 30 year olds seem like children to me and anyone under 50 is "young." Thing is, I don't feel sixty. Well, not emotionally anyway. Emotionally I feel about six, maybe nine or ten on a good day. Physically, well, let's not talk about physically. When your legs don't work right, it can make you feel old even if you aren't.

But then relatively speaking, even though my legs don't work as I might wish them to, they still do let me hobble around, so even if they hurt a bit and move oddly, they get me from room to room and that's very nice of them. Compared to being in a wheel chair or bed ridden, my legs are pretty damned fine.

Which for some reason made me think about relative ideas of poverty. Technically, by American standards, I'm poor. I squeeze all my needs out of $14,000 in SSD money. I won't say that I don't really, really, really want to win $10,000,000 from Publisher's Clearinghouse because I really, really, really do (actually I would quite happily take even $100,000 or $10,0000 ) BUT.... my poverty is pretty darn genteel. The bank is slowly selling me my house. I have heat in winter, water to drink, enough food to eat, a comfortable bed and two kitty companions. I have a TV (old but still functioning), A VCR and DVD player, a subscription to Netflix, books to read, and a computer. In much of the world, I'm incredibly wealthy. I don't even have to work for my money (topic for another day), I just have to suffer and be crazy and pay a price in shame to the government and the internalized voice of my mother (another topic for another day). Relative to most of the world's population, I'm rich. It's good to remind myself of that on days when I'm feeling sorry for myself because it's a squeaker to pay all my bills.

So much of life (everything?) is what our minds make of it, what we decide it will be. Relative to what this article was in my head at 6:30 this morning, it's a failure, but relative to writing nothing at all, I guess it's a success.

Relatively speaking, this is not my best day. But it's not my worst either. May we all live our lives seeking and finding the up side of of life's relative offerings.

Fable of the Month: The Hermit of Angelwood Mountain

Well, laziness and lack of new ideas is settling in. After all, I've posted every day for three weeks now and twice yesterday. This is one of a bunch of tiny stories I wrote many years ago. It has come to my attention that I'm 60 and no publisher is going to magically show up at my door promising me fame, glory, and a fabulous fortune, so I might as well share these just to make myself happy. This month's story is called

THE HERMIT OF ANGELWOOD MOUNTAIN
by Katherine E. Rabenau

Frank Osborne could not remember how long he had been living on Anglewood Mountain, but he knew it had been a long time. In his youth, Frank had not been very good with people. Shy and blunt, he had seemed remote and snide and people had not liked him. He hadn't liked himself either. Suffocating behind the glass wall of his loneliness, his efforts to reach out had landed like hammers on the toes of prospective acquaintances. Their hostility had cut through him like a sword.

Until, that is, he met and loved and lived with Amanda. Frank never knew why or how she had felt his pain and his gentleness. She had simply walked up to him one day as he sat alone in the park, taken his hand, looked directly into his eyes and said, "It's OK. I see you." He had cried -- not long or loud -- but his heart had fluttered and three large tears had escaped before he could stop them. Catching one of them on her finger, Amanda had put it to her lips and said, "Such tears quench the thirst of God," and had leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Take me home, sweet prince, for I have drunk your heart and I am yours." And despite thinking that she must be crazy, he thought also that she was beautiful like an angel and that he had waited his whole life for someone to touch his tears. Her beauty was mythical. At first, certain that she was an illusion, he had been afraid to touch her, afraid she would dissolve if he dared to reach for her. But she had been no illusion. She had been so real. Although she had been dead now for many years, Frank could taste her mouth, feel the solid softness of her, the silky warmth of her skin as though he had held her that morning. He could still smell the spicy sweetness of her.

She had moved into his life and heart with the direct, natural flow of a river heading to sea. They had made sweet, tender, wild love and he savored the memory of it, but he savored more the memory of her presence and what it had done for him. She had moved so easily into his world that in some ways he hardly noticed it, yet to say only that she had changed his life was like saying that the sun was merely important to life on earth. Amanda was a mirror in which he had seen a new reflection of himself. She was unconditional in her love. There was nothing simpy or vapid in this; she did not overlook his flaws, his moods. She simply loved him anyway, without sacrificing her own integrity.

Frank still believed that God had sent him an angel to soothe his isolation and after a time had taken her away. At first his grief had been so deep he had thought he would die of it. He had been unable to believe that she was really gone, had felt like a lost child waiting for rescue. He had tried to hate God, had waited for bitterness, for the return of his former emptiness. But when time passed and it did not come, he realized that he had been changed forever. Amanda was part of him. It was not just that he had beautiful memories, it was that he was alive inside. She had shown him his soul by sharing her own.

And then he had known that he had to move to the mountain. It was not, as some thought, to escape or be alone. He had gone to the mountain to touch the stars and feel the heartbeat of the earth. He had gone to the mountain to make himself available to the people he knew would come. And they did. Somehow they found him. Some stayed for an hour, some for weeks. Sometimes he would converse with them, tell them about Amanda and his former life, about living on the mountain. Sometimes Wolf, his four-legged companion, would minister to them. But mostly, he would simply hold their hands and look into their eyes, and something in his shining, tender look would show them the beauty of their own souls. And when they cried, as they so often did, he would catch a single drop on his finger and whisper, "Such tears quench the thirst of God."

THE END

Humane Society's Spay Day USA 2008

The Humane Society of the USA is having a photo contest for Spay Day USA 2008.

I thought many of you with cats and dogs and rabbits of your own might like to enter them and of course I am making a shameless appeal for votes for both Angel and Tara Grace. (You can only once for any animal but you can vote for as many pets as you like).

Angel and Tara Grace are both entered and would LOVE to have you vote for them. (Please...)

I hope you'll add your pets too. There are some pretty nifty prizes and it's a good cause to advertise.

For cat loves among you, a Alley Cat Allies is a great organization dedicated to the neuter and release of feral cats.

Somewhat local to me here in upstate New York is an organization called AWAN. When Tara Grace almost died last year, AWAN (Animal Welfare Adoption Network) helped me with some of the astronomical vet bills that went towards keeping her alive.

In any case, I hope you'll spay your pets, support spay neuter programs in your area, wherever you live - and vote for my girls in this contest.

Thanks.

Resume for a Brain Dead Bully

Running out of original thoughts, it seems, so it's time to steal from my email again. I have never understood how George W. Bush got elected for anything. Maybe it's the empath in me, but he has made my skin crawl since my very first sighting of him. Above and beyond the "smart-ass" factor, there's a total lack of true human emotion when he speaks and his face (even when he's saying the right words) actually (to me) reflects an almost complete absence of feelings/compassion. He seems to be a one emotion guy - and that emotion is (well it's not quite an emotion, but it's the best I can come up with): "I'm in the catbird seat and nothing anybody does can touch me so screw everybody."

This resume that came in my mail this morning sums up most of the quantifiable damage he has done to the nation and the world, but it does leave some things out... or at least not stress them enough to suit me. There's the erosion of our constitution and our ethics. There's the perpetuation of a state of fear that has encouraged people to lock their brains in boxes under the kitchen sink for safe keeping. There's the loss of our sense of honor, integrity and compassion as a nation. There are the thousands of young men and women whose wounds of body and spirit are going untended. There's a military worn down in physically, emotionally and financially, engaged in a "war" (military occupation) that most of them know is wrong. There's the violence that has been done to our electoral system. There's the issue of torture. There's the issue of ignoring the law.... aggggh... stop me before I explode.

One thing that stood out to me in this resume that I don't remember seeing before or hearing about is this one:
I am the first President in history to refuse United Nations election inspectors (during the 2002 US election).

Why was there no news coverage of this information? For that matter, why were there no major investigations of the irregularities in both Bush elections? I know I've mentioned Hacking Democracy before, but it's worth repeating. The video is available in nine parts on You Tube, but it's worth the time to hear the whole story. I don't understand why Kerry didn't challenge the second Bush "election." I keep thinking (paranoid? or ....? ) that Bush and Cheney must have something on almost every member of Congress except Kucinich and Paul or that there are family members under death threat or tied up in a bunker somewhere. What else explains the insanity of what's happening to my country? What else explains the lock-step obedience? Politics doesn't seem like a good enough answer, especially since the country is getting more and more angry at the members of Congress. But I can't prove anything. I just have a creepy feeling that my country has experienced a bloodless coup and we have slept through it and even now are only tossing and turning in a half-awake effort to escape the nightmare. But enough ranting. I'll let the "resume" speak for itself.

Again, my apologies to whoever created this. It arrived in my email without attribution.

RESUME

GEORGE W. BUSH
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20520

EDUCATION AND EXPERIENCE:

Law Enforcement:
I was arrested in Kennebunkport, Maine, in 1976 for driving under the influence of alcohol. I pled guilty, paid a fine, and had my driver's license suspended for 30 days. My Texas driving record has been "lost" and is not available.

Military:
I joined the Texas Air National Guard and went AWOL. I refused to take a drug test or answer any questions about my drug use. By joining the Texas Air National Guard, I was able to avoid combat duty in Vietnam.

College:
I graduated from Yale University with a low C average. I was a cheerleader.

PAST WORK EXPERIENCE:

I ran for U.S. Congress and lost.

I began my career in the oil business in Midland,Texas in 1975. I bought an oil company, but couldn't find any oil in Texas. The company went bankrupt shortly after I sold all my stock.

I bought the Texas Rangers baseball team in a sweetheart deal that took land using taxpayer money.

With the help of my father and our friends in the oil industry (including Enron CEO Ken Lay), I was elected governor of Texas.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS AS GOVERNOR OF TEXAS:

I changed Texas pollution laws to favor power and oil companies, making Texas the most polluted state in the Union. During my tenure, Houston replaced Los Angeles as the most smog-ridden city in America.

I cut taxes and bankrupted the Texas treasury to the tune of billions in borrowed money.

I set the record for the most executions by any governor in American history.

With the help of my brother, the governor of Florida , and my father's appointments to the Supreme Court, I became President of the United States, after losing by over 500,000 votes.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS AS PRESIDENT:

I am the first President in U.S. history to enter office with a criminal record.

I invaded and occupied two countries at a continuing cost of over one billion dollars per week.

I spent the U.S. surplus and effectively bankrupted the U.S. Treasury.

I shattered the record for the largest annual deficit in U.S. history.

I set an economic record for most private bankruptcies filed in any 12-month period.

I set the all-time record for most foreclosures in a 12-month period.

I set the all-time record for the biggest drop in the history of the U.S. stock market. In my first year in office, over 2 million Americans lost their jobs and that trend continues.

I'm proud that the members of my cabinet are the richest of any administration in U.S. history. My "poorest millionaire," Condoleezza Rice, has a Chevron oil tanker named after her.

I set the record for most campaign fund-raising trips by a U.S. President.

I am the all- time U.S. and world record -holder for receiving the most corporate campaign donations.

My largest lifetime campaign contributor, and one of my best friends, Kenneth Lay, presided over the largest corporate bankruptcy fraud in U.S. history, Enron.

My political party used Enron private jets and corporate attorneys to assure my success with the U.S. Supreme Court during my election decision.

I have protected my friends at Enron and Halliburton against investigation or prosecution. More time and money was spent investigating the Monica Lewinsky affair than has been spent investigating one of the biggest corporate rip-offs in history. I presided over the biggest energy crisis in U.S. history and refused to intervene when corruption involving the oil industry was revealed.

I presided over the highest gasoline prices in U.S. history.

I changed the U.S. policy to allow convict ed criminals to be awarded government contracts.

I appointed more convicted criminals to my administration than any President in U.S. history.

I created the Ministry of Homeland Security, the largest bureaucracy in the history of the United States Government.

I've broken more international treaties than any President in U.S. history.

I am the first President in U.S. history to have the United Nations remove the U.S. from the Human Rights Commission.

I withdrew the U.S. from the World Court of Law.

I refused to allow inspector's access to U.S. "prisoners of war" detainees and thereby have refused to abide by the Geneva Convention.

I am the first President in history to refuse United Nations election inspectors (during the 2002 US election).

I set the record for fewest numbers of press conferences of any President since the advent of television.

I set the all-time record for most days on vacation in any one-year period. After taking off the entire month of August, I presided over the worst security failure in U.S. history.

I garnered the most sympathy ever for the U.S. after the World Trade Center attacks and less than a year later made the U.S. the most hated country in the world, the largest failure of diplomacy in world history.

I have set the all-time record for most people worldwide to simultaneously protest me in public venues (15 million people), shattering the record for protests against any person in the history of mankind.

I am the first President in U.S. history to order an unprovoked, pre-emptive attack and the military occupation of a sovereign nation. I did so against the will of the United Nations, the majority of U.S. Citizens and the world community.

I have cut health care benefits for war veterans and support a cut in duty benefits for active duty troops and their families in wartime.

In my State of the Union Address, I lied about our reasons for attacking Iraq and then blamed the lies on our British friends.

I am the first President in history to have a majority of Europeans (71%) view my presidency as the biggest threat to world peace and security.

I am supporting development of a nuclear "Tactical Bunker Buster," a WMD.

I have so far failed to fulfill my pledge to bring Osama Bin Laden to justice.

RECORDS AND REFERENCES:

All records of my tenure as governor of Texas are now in my father's library, sealed and unavailable for public view.

All records of SEC investigations into my insider trading and my bankrupt companies are sealed in secrecy and unavailable for public view.

All records or minutes from meetings that I, or my Vice-President, attended regarding public energy policy are sealed in secrecy and unavailable for public review. I specified that my sealed documents will not be available for 50 years.