Hi! It has been difficult getting back here to write. Everytime I would get to the site memories would come flooding back, the tears would start to fall and I would woose out of trying to record anything at all about what was happening from day to day. Taken altogether, however, things have not been so bad of late.
Our two remaining geriatric cats are creaking along and my sweetie-pie is still working at a temporary contract position that he still can't belive he managed to land given his extended illness and other medical issues. He seems happy enough for the time being and I am hoping fervently that this will be a totally positive experience for him.
We are still working to dig out the many tons of stuff accumulated over many years of having lost track of what was coming in to the house while we tried to merely survive all that life threw at us, and will likely have some sort of an estate sale at some point. I confess to spotting things at other yard sales (not too many, I hope!) that I have snagged thinking that, "Gee, it's only two or three dollars and we could get more for it at an "Estate" sale!" I think this is part of my trap and I really need to stop getting stuff and justifying it this way, but it is really a lot of fun finding these things at yard sales and thrift shops! (Sigh!!!!)
My own health is not as good as I might wish; I need to lose weight before I develop full-blown type-2 diabetes. My great-grandmother had type-2, so it's important for me to really succeed at this diet...not doing so well at the moment, but the battle continues.
Friends and family continue to be a tremendous comfort and source of distractions while we try to piece our lives back together after the trials of the past three, or so, years and turn to face the responsibilities and issues our futures hold for us.
There! At least I managed a few words today. A positive sign for the things yet to come!
Love,
Izzlebug
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
To Mottle
My sweet, soft, grey cat -
Rub, rub, purr, soft pat -
Loving friend and caretaker for many years;
Gone forever -
Memorialized in heart-broken, diamond tears.
Who will tuck me in at night
And gently purr me off to sleep?
Where is there another friend
Willing to take such a watch and keep;
Willing to snuggle into my hair,
Willing to scurry to always be there
For this bereft, so sad, eternally poorer me?
Mottle, dearest friend, where can you be?
Heaven? My heart? Are you that soft, soft
Whisper in the air?
You are all of these places, and more.
Any place Love dwells, you're there.
Rub, rub, purr, soft pat -
Loving friend and caretaker for many years;
Gone forever -
Memorialized in heart-broken, diamond tears.
Who will tuck me in at night
And gently purr me off to sleep?
Where is there another friend
Willing to take such a watch and keep;
Willing to snuggle into my hair,
Willing to scurry to always be there
For this bereft, so sad, eternally poorer me?
Mottle, dearest friend, where can you be?
Heaven? My heart? Are you that soft, soft
Whisper in the air?
You are all of these places, and more.
Any place Love dwells, you're there.
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Finding My Way Back
After the loss of our sweet, old Bootsie-cat and then my brother, we had to endure yet another loss two weeks ago today with the death of my special Mottle-cat. I found myself paralyzed somehow by her loss and that is why it is only now that I am posting about it. Her loss on top of the loss of another of our cats and the loss of my younger brother was a knockout blow I could not recover from as readily as the other two; if what I was experiencing from those two blows could be described as recovery in that they occurred so closely together.
Mottle was a very sweet little cat who had not had a very happy beginning in life according to the person who ran the shelter we adopted her from in Pepperell MA. When I first brought her home she could hardly believe she was being allowed in the house and on our beds. She was so ecstatic that she gave this funny sommersault of joy. From that moment I knew that what I wanted was to give this small morsel of kittyness as much joy and love as possible for as long as possible.
If it is true that you receive what you give, then Mottle must have felt like one of the most beloved pussycats on the face of this earth. For the last years of her life she took care of me. She always put me to bed at night, making sure I was settled in, then she would purr me a lullaby before leaving to let me fall asleep. We would have silly moments of playing hide and seek under the covers or times of just being nutty with each other. She was a "soulmate" sort of pussycat and it always puzzled me how anyone could have missed this about her and mistreated her at all. I miss her sorely and, although written, the poem I have created in her honor does not yet do her justice. I will work on it some more before sharing it here with all of you. Even now I find it hard to write about her and have been having difficulties with memories of Mike, Mom, and Patty, Paws, Bootsie, Pudge, Tiger, Callie, and so on, though mostly Mike, Patty, Bootsie, and Mottle to be honest - I just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings...
Despite the recent losses in our lives things do seem to be looking up on other fronts. There seem to be some employment opportunities presenting themselves here and there, which will make life a little easier in many ways, and some items I crafted to sell several years ago were finally found again amidst all of the "stuff" we are still dealing with in the house, so maybe I will be able to sell some of those and make a little income there, as well. We still have two of our beloved kitties to look after and love, but the house seems pretty empty.
My sweetie-pie has said we can get another kitty when our final two geriatric pussycats finally have to leave us behind and, although kittens are adorable, I am thinking we should look at older cats first. Several of our cats have been adopted as adults and they have been the joy of our lives even if they are not quite as close to us in some ways as those we have had as kittens. The older cats also have a more difficult time finding homes, so I sympathize greatly with their plight and want to help.
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. I don't know how much more loss I can take before I go into some sort of stupor, no longer able to write or think; no longer able to cope with a life that has, in the last several years, seemed so severe that joy has been fleeting although still present, and happiness very hard to find.
Izzlebug
Mottle was a very sweet little cat who had not had a very happy beginning in life according to the person who ran the shelter we adopted her from in Pepperell MA. When I first brought her home she could hardly believe she was being allowed in the house and on our beds. She was so ecstatic that she gave this funny sommersault of joy. From that moment I knew that what I wanted was to give this small morsel of kittyness as much joy and love as possible for as long as possible.
If it is true that you receive what you give, then Mottle must have felt like one of the most beloved pussycats on the face of this earth. For the last years of her life she took care of me. She always put me to bed at night, making sure I was settled in, then she would purr me a lullaby before leaving to let me fall asleep. We would have silly moments of playing hide and seek under the covers or times of just being nutty with each other. She was a "soulmate" sort of pussycat and it always puzzled me how anyone could have missed this about her and mistreated her at all. I miss her sorely and, although written, the poem I have created in her honor does not yet do her justice. I will work on it some more before sharing it here with all of you. Even now I find it hard to write about her and have been having difficulties with memories of Mike, Mom, and Patty, Paws, Bootsie, Pudge, Tiger, Callie, and so on, though mostly Mike, Patty, Bootsie, and Mottle to be honest - I just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings...
Despite the recent losses in our lives things do seem to be looking up on other fronts. There seem to be some employment opportunities presenting themselves here and there, which will make life a little easier in many ways, and some items I crafted to sell several years ago were finally found again amidst all of the "stuff" we are still dealing with in the house, so maybe I will be able to sell some of those and make a little income there, as well. We still have two of our beloved kitties to look after and love, but the house seems pretty empty.
My sweetie-pie has said we can get another kitty when our final two geriatric pussycats finally have to leave us behind and, although kittens are adorable, I am thinking we should look at older cats first. Several of our cats have been adopted as adults and they have been the joy of our lives even if they are not quite as close to us in some ways as those we have had as kittens. The older cats also have a more difficult time finding homes, so I sympathize greatly with their plight and want to help.
Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. I don't know how much more loss I can take before I go into some sort of stupor, no longer able to write or think; no longer able to cope with a life that has, in the last several years, seemed so severe that joy has been fleeting although still present, and happiness very hard to find.
Izzlebug
Sunday, July 10, 2011
A Beautiful Day
The weather is a little cooler and dryer today than it has been for the past several days, and it is a relief, to say the least! Blue skies and sushine are beautiful, although the drearier days of gray clouds and cool, dim skies also have a place here in New England and it would seem odd without the variations we have come to expect on a daily basis. While nature is often stingy with her cooling breezes, technology helps with that in the form of fans and air conditioning which, I suppose, is sort of cheating, but I am a comfort loving creature so I tend not to fell too guilty about that particular issue.
Time, tears, medication, and counseling are all having the desired healing effects upon the grief I have recently experienced in the loss of my younger brother, although each new loss seems to dredge up the feelings of past losses as well, adding to the burdens and the tears, but also to the sad sweetness I feel so touched by during these times, as well as memories both good and bad, funny, sad, poignant, making their way through my brain as the days pass; all of them welcome and comforting in a strange, sad way. It is part of the price we pay for surviving.
The kitties are a constant source of comfort and amusement and there have been many special, caring moments with each of them as they have checked on me, in turns, during the times when the tears refused to be denied and I could not stop the sounds of my grief anymore than I could prevent the sun's rising or setting. To have a furry, purring little being jump up to make certain you're going to be OK, with that inquiring, concerned look is a very real balm for a sore heart and I received many such "treatments" during the worst of the days following Mike's death.
My boyfriend has not been without his own tests and trials during these times. After having endured the liver failure and transplant, the prolonged recovery and the finally getting to come home then slipping and falling on the very last of the winter ice and injuring himself, he had to have a little more surgery to correct the injury. Phew! Fortunately all of that is resolved and he is well on the way to a full recovery from what ended up being only a same-day procedure (thankfully) so he never had to spend the night in the hospital. Of course, I was panicking on this end - I am not a nurse and have never had to help care for a freshly post-op, oozing incision before - eewwww! However, we both survived.
One of the reasons I have not been blogging much lately is because I felt I needed a rest. Given that we have had very little recovery time following these major losses and illnesses to ourselves and close family members, I really needed some time off, or thought I did. But during the time I was supposed to be "resting" from my blog and writing, in general, I kept thinking of things I wanted to write about! I would immediately squelch the thoughts because I was "resting" but some of the ideas seemed so good! Anyway, I am back at the keyboard and, hopefully, will be more obedient to my muse when the urge to write strikes again. Life is a little more interesting that way.
A lot continues to happen although there are often many quiet days in between right now, for which I am grateful. The controversy about some of the current news stories has me concerned, but trying to stop prejudice and stupidity is often like trying to dam a flood with pillows - it doesn't work. So here is hoping that the death threats being sent to people because of the results of the Casey Anthony verdict will never be brought to any sort of fruition; here's to the hope that Southern Sudan will succeed as a nation where Sudan has been so horribly wanting; here's to the hope that Libya will have its freedom from a despotic ruler who does not know when to relinquish command; here's to peace and personal freedom for the peoples of the Middle East; and, finally, here's to peace, political veracity, and tolerance here at home.
Love and best wishes,
Izzlebug
Time, tears, medication, and counseling are all having the desired healing effects upon the grief I have recently experienced in the loss of my younger brother, although each new loss seems to dredge up the feelings of past losses as well, adding to the burdens and the tears, but also to the sad sweetness I feel so touched by during these times, as well as memories both good and bad, funny, sad, poignant, making their way through my brain as the days pass; all of them welcome and comforting in a strange, sad way. It is part of the price we pay for surviving.
The kitties are a constant source of comfort and amusement and there have been many special, caring moments with each of them as they have checked on me, in turns, during the times when the tears refused to be denied and I could not stop the sounds of my grief anymore than I could prevent the sun's rising or setting. To have a furry, purring little being jump up to make certain you're going to be OK, with that inquiring, concerned look is a very real balm for a sore heart and I received many such "treatments" during the worst of the days following Mike's death.
My boyfriend has not been without his own tests and trials during these times. After having endured the liver failure and transplant, the prolonged recovery and the finally getting to come home then slipping and falling on the very last of the winter ice and injuring himself, he had to have a little more surgery to correct the injury. Phew! Fortunately all of that is resolved and he is well on the way to a full recovery from what ended up being only a same-day procedure (thankfully) so he never had to spend the night in the hospital. Of course, I was panicking on this end - I am not a nurse and have never had to help care for a freshly post-op, oozing incision before - eewwww! However, we both survived.
One of the reasons I have not been blogging much lately is because I felt I needed a rest. Given that we have had very little recovery time following these major losses and illnesses to ourselves and close family members, I really needed some time off, or thought I did. But during the time I was supposed to be "resting" from my blog and writing, in general, I kept thinking of things I wanted to write about! I would immediately squelch the thoughts because I was "resting" but some of the ideas seemed so good! Anyway, I am back at the keyboard and, hopefully, will be more obedient to my muse when the urge to write strikes again. Life is a little more interesting that way.
A lot continues to happen although there are often many quiet days in between right now, for which I am grateful. The controversy about some of the current news stories has me concerned, but trying to stop prejudice and stupidity is often like trying to dam a flood with pillows - it doesn't work. So here is hoping that the death threats being sent to people because of the results of the Casey Anthony verdict will never be brought to any sort of fruition; here's to the hope that Southern Sudan will succeed as a nation where Sudan has been so horribly wanting; here's to the hope that Libya will have its freedom from a despotic ruler who does not know when to relinquish command; here's to peace and personal freedom for the peoples of the Middle East; and, finally, here's to peace, political veracity, and tolerance here at home.
Love and best wishes,
Izzlebug
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Dear Mom,
It's been awhile since I last wrote. Sorry, but you must know by now what has been happening; at least, I hope you do. I am also hoping Mike has found his way to both you and Patty. That's half of our original family "there," and the other half still here. Please keep each other company until the rest of us make it to your new digs (terrible, terrible pun intended!), but please do not anticipate any of us too soon. We all like it here, as all of you did, and we hope to live to be very, very old and wrinkled before we journey your way. Always remember we loved you and will always love you - as far as love will last - you are forever loved!
Today has been a difficult day for me, Mom. One where I would really welcome your presence and advice, or just your shoulder to cry on. My heart overflows at times, or seems to want to, and I long for the relationship we had as mother and daughter, as well as the budding friendship I felt we were developing after so many disastrous turns during the biological relationship - read that as "teenage years."
What I want to talk to you about started with this really wonderful dream I had after my mastectomies. Not the time for wonderful dreams, as such, but I had one anyway. In the dream, for the first time in my life that I can recall, I felt truly beautiful. I do not routinely go around feeling odd and ugly and have, in the past, felt attractive, pretty, desirable, etc. I have also been happier than I ever thought I could be with my sweetie-pie, so I do not think the contrast within myself was the result of any neglect or lack of appreciation from the people who love me.
I think I just never truly believed I was beautiful and, therefore, was never able to feel beautiful. (I REALLY wish you were right here to talk to, Mom!) It was a wonderful dream. In addition to my getting to know what being beautiful felt like I also gained some insight into why so many women become obsessed with makeup, weight, clothing, men, and so on - to feel beautiful! In all of my fifty-plus years I don't know why I never seemed to twig to that.
In retrospect, my dream also has caused a concern for me. If it was possible for me to feel so beautiful, is it possible I could be instrumental in making my partner feel as virile and handsome as I felt feminine and beautiful? I admit I cried at the thought that I, we, were somehow missing a key ingredient in our relationship if we were not communicating this to one another. I love him so much, Mom! Perhaps we have just been through too much over the past few years; too much pain, too much illness, too much death.
Anyway, that is what has me missing you most right now. I admit it's selfish, but in this relationship I am the child, still and forever.
Please tell Patty and Mike I love them both very much and miss them every day. We all get on with our lives, but there are holes in our hearts that will never be filled until we meet again and greet one another with enormous hugs.
Your Daughter
P.S. Please also tell M. and P. I said, "MY Mommy!"
Today has been a difficult day for me, Mom. One where I would really welcome your presence and advice, or just your shoulder to cry on. My heart overflows at times, or seems to want to, and I long for the relationship we had as mother and daughter, as well as the budding friendship I felt we were developing after so many disastrous turns during the biological relationship - read that as "teenage years."
What I want to talk to you about started with this really wonderful dream I had after my mastectomies. Not the time for wonderful dreams, as such, but I had one anyway. In the dream, for the first time in my life that I can recall, I felt truly beautiful. I do not routinely go around feeling odd and ugly and have, in the past, felt attractive, pretty, desirable, etc. I have also been happier than I ever thought I could be with my sweetie-pie, so I do not think the contrast within myself was the result of any neglect or lack of appreciation from the people who love me.
I think I just never truly believed I was beautiful and, therefore, was never able to feel beautiful. (I REALLY wish you were right here to talk to, Mom!) It was a wonderful dream. In addition to my getting to know what being beautiful felt like I also gained some insight into why so many women become obsessed with makeup, weight, clothing, men, and so on - to feel beautiful! In all of my fifty-plus years I don't know why I never seemed to twig to that.
In retrospect, my dream also has caused a concern for me. If it was possible for me to feel so beautiful, is it possible I could be instrumental in making my partner feel as virile and handsome as I felt feminine and beautiful? I admit I cried at the thought that I, we, were somehow missing a key ingredient in our relationship if we were not communicating this to one another. I love him so much, Mom! Perhaps we have just been through too much over the past few years; too much pain, too much illness, too much death.
Anyway, that is what has me missing you most right now. I admit it's selfish, but in this relationship I am the child, still and forever.
Please tell Patty and Mike I love them both very much and miss them every day. We all get on with our lives, but there are holes in our hearts that will never be filled until we meet again and greet one another with enormous hugs.
Your Daughter
P.S. Please also tell M. and P. I said, "MY Mommy!"
Friday, June 10, 2011
Life's Sweetness and Heartache
As I reread my most recent posts regarding my brother, the tears began to flow and I was reminded, again, that it has been only a couple of weeks or so since he died. The memories of those first few days feel like an eternity ago, but the pain of losing Mike is still more fresh than I often realize until some small thing - some word or visual reminder - brings him to mind and then the tears start afresh and my heart feels broken all over again.
One of the things I felt that I did not mention in my earlier post, following Mike's death, was that I very much wanted to go racing back to the funeral home with a blanket and cover him up with it, sort of "tucking him in" and making him "comfy." I know it was not rational, but it was one of the many reactions I had during the course of that miserable day. Even knowing he was gone and beyond my help and love I still wanted to take care of him!
Many of the roads I drive in our area now feel more lonely than before, since I would often traverse them on my way to visit Mike or to take him out to lunch. The first truly beautiful, brilliant day we had this Spring reminded me there would be no more picnics with Mike in the park, even if we just mostly ended up buying fast food and driving over there to eat it. Sometimes I was able to get it together enough to make the potato salad and sandwiches, as well as other treats, that constitute the more traditional picnic fare.
Mike would have been 52 this August. It will be difficult to keep myself from beginning the mental birthday shopping that has taken place every year of my adult life for so many years now. I will have to remind myself repeatedly that Mike is no longer here to enjoy any gifts I might find for him. Of course, those reminders are no guarantee the mental shopping will ever stop,as I still spot things now and then that I think Patty or my Mom would have enjoyed. It's only when the thoughts come in the present tense that they cause pain, and that does not happen so much as the passage of time heals and memories fade into soft pastels rather than vivid, bold, emotive hues.
The air tonight is soft and cool and caresses my skin, healing the reactions to the heat of the past two days. The feeling is soft; soft like a touch of love from my Mom - full of comfort and peace. Soft like the thoughts of love I have for my brother, my sister, Mom, as well as all those I have not yet had to say a final "good-bye" to, and I feel grateful as well as sad.
Putting my grief into words and placing them here has helped dry my eyes and calm my heartache. I only hope it may also help do the same for someone else who may need like comfort for the things happening in their own lives.
Love,
Izzlebug
One of the things I felt that I did not mention in my earlier post, following Mike's death, was that I very much wanted to go racing back to the funeral home with a blanket and cover him up with it, sort of "tucking him in" and making him "comfy." I know it was not rational, but it was one of the many reactions I had during the course of that miserable day. Even knowing he was gone and beyond my help and love I still wanted to take care of him!
Many of the roads I drive in our area now feel more lonely than before, since I would often traverse them on my way to visit Mike or to take him out to lunch. The first truly beautiful, brilliant day we had this Spring reminded me there would be no more picnics with Mike in the park, even if we just mostly ended up buying fast food and driving over there to eat it. Sometimes I was able to get it together enough to make the potato salad and sandwiches, as well as other treats, that constitute the more traditional picnic fare.
Mike would have been 52 this August. It will be difficult to keep myself from beginning the mental birthday shopping that has taken place every year of my adult life for so many years now. I will have to remind myself repeatedly that Mike is no longer here to enjoy any gifts I might find for him. Of course, those reminders are no guarantee the mental shopping will ever stop,as I still spot things now and then that I think Patty or my Mom would have enjoyed. It's only when the thoughts come in the present tense that they cause pain, and that does not happen so much as the passage of time heals and memories fade into soft pastels rather than vivid, bold, emotive hues.
The air tonight is soft and cool and caresses my skin, healing the reactions to the heat of the past two days. The feeling is soft; soft like a touch of love from my Mom - full of comfort and peace. Soft like the thoughts of love I have for my brother, my sister, Mom, as well as all those I have not yet had to say a final "good-bye" to, and I feel grateful as well as sad.
Putting my grief into words and placing them here has helped dry my eyes and calm my heartache. I only hope it may also help do the same for someone else who may need like comfort for the things happening in their own lives.
Love,
Izzlebug
Monday, May 30, 2011
Michael
I sit before my keyboard tonight unsure of what I will be writing, just knowing it will be about or focussed upon my brother, Mike. It seems like an eternity since he died, but it has been less than one week. I thought we were all supposed to die in the order we were born, or something to that effect. So much for the childish logic behind that thought, but it did come back to haunt me when Patty died. Now I have had to say "good-bye" to another of my younger siblings so the thought and the accompanying memories of the child I was when I "figured it all out" are filtering through my brain again, making me long for the simplicity and safety of a childhood that seemed so free from death but that, in retrospect, were only free of the adult ability to grieve and remember it.
Since I was unable to attend my brother's burial yesterday (Saturday), I drove up to the cemetary in Vermont today (Sunday) to say my final "good-bye" and leave some roses on his grave. The cemetary is the same one that holds the remnants of my mother, sister, grandfather, aunt, cousin, great-grandmother, and others of our family. Mike was placed to rest next to our great-grandmother. The cemetary was more verdant that it had been for the buriel of Mom and Pattys' ashes, making it seem a softer, as well as lovelier, place. I keep handing out Forget-Me-Not seeds to everyone whenever we lose a family member in the hopes that the cemetary will one day blossom into a field of beautiful blue flowers - or at least be outlined with them along the stone walls and grave markers.
On my way up for the visit, I purchased flowers not only for Mike, but for my grandmother and aunt, as well. I found a particularly lovely bouquet of mixed flowers that I thought I would place on Mike's grave, but when I was almost there it came to me that Mike would have absolutely loved to have given those flowers to our grandmother, and I knew immediately that that is what he would have wanted, so much more than my placing them on his grave, and as I thought all of this it felt as though my wonderful brother reached down and touched my heart, just enough to say "Yes," that was what he wanted. When I got to my grandmother's room at the nursing home I took both bouquets in and told her the story. She cried a little, but I think she knew what I was talking about and she really seemed to like the flowers - the ones from me AND the ones from me and Mike. Just knowing I will never get to hear his voice again hurts so very much!
"Hello, Liz!" or "Greetings!" were the ways he would preface the messages he left on the answering machine. After leaving the funeral home on Tuesday, I came home and went through the messages on our phone hoping that, maybe, one of Mike's messages was still there so I could hear his voice just that one more time, but they were all gone, erased without any thought that he would no longer be able to leave any more requests for return phone calls any more. Oh, how much the simplest things can mean when they are no longer able to be a part of our lives ever again!
So many of the family stories are still sifting around in my head. Tales of Mike from infancy to adulthood, most from our lives together as a family , having been told and retold by our parents or recorded in their diaries or letters, but a few preserved here in my blog. Some funny, some poignant, but all of them speaking to the person that Mike could have been, as well as the person he was, despite the mental illness and the besotted devotion to his "medicinal" smokes.
It must have hurt Mike to breathe, especially those last few months, but he never said anything about the pain to me or, as far as I know of, to anyone else. He was so sure the smoking was curative rather than the cause of his illness (the emphysema, NOT the schizophrenia) and it was too late to prevent his death due to the effects of the damage to his lungs. I finally realized that we could make my brother grossly unhappy, hostile and beligerant by taking away his cigarettes and, perhaps, extend his life by a few more weeks or maybe months. Or we could let him go and enjoy his cigarettes which, despite the poison in them, did seem to bring him some measure of respiritory relief. I told our Dad I was not going to nag Mike and make him miserable during whatever time he had left. I did not want my brother to die, but there was nothing we could do to prevent that from happening far too soon. After his last hospitalization my heart just seemed to know that the next time Mike stopped breathing in his sleep, they would not be able to wake him up when they found him. That was what happened last Tuesday morning.
After Dad called to let me know Mike was gone, I called the home he was living in, a group home for mentally disabled adults, and asked them not to move Mike until I could get there. I just wanted a few minutes to sit with my younger brother before the onrush of death got too firmly started to yield to simple human need and emotion, despite the goal of its doing precisely that. They waited for me to get there so I could spend a few minutes with Mike before he was taken into the machinary of death our society prescribes. He looked pretty awful, though not as badly as he might have. I could not bring myself to touch his face, so I rubbed his chest and tummy instead - he was covered by a clean, white sheet - as I cried and told him how much I loved him, how sorry I was I had not been able to see him in the few days before he died, and how very much I would miss him. Even through the layers of sheet, the chill of death was obvious and I think that, though they may have tried to revive him, it was likely far too late when they found him for any hope of waking him up again.
Mike's memorial service was Friday, May 27th. The funeral home was able to make him look a lot better than he did when I last saw him on the day he died but, because thay were not embalming him - we were not having an open casket funeral - it never occurred to me they might have to freeze him instead, at least I think that's what they did. He wasn't just cold, he was hard all over, too. Sorry if this offends or upsets anyone, but it is just a part of the reality of what happened this past week.
It really upsets me, too, to think of my brother's brain being frozen and I am not sure why.
Part of the memorial service was the showing of a DVD my (our) sister made about Mike's life and accomplishments - he was a talented poet - and it was not only moving and well done, but also so much "Mike" that I think it touched everyone who watched it. Part of the DVD included a song titled "Today," that was recorded by John Denver. Mike and I used to sing that song together before his voice changed. We sang it over the phone to our Grammy El, who said it was "sweet" and got all sniffly. Our shared genetic heritage, as well as our young ages, melded our voices into a sweet brother/sister harmony that seems all the more sweet, and heartrendingly poignant, now that Mike, half of that harmony, is forever gone. Our other sister has her special memories, as well, and has been struggling to come to grips with the loss of our brother from the perspective of a younger sister, while I struggle as the elder sister. Our brother Mike was special from both perspectives.
Dad no longer has to worry about what will happen to his only son when he is passes on, although he knows I would have done my best to help and care for Mike in his absence. It is truly sad that the cost of that burden being lifted from the shoulders of a loving and concerned parent comes at the cost of the life of his only son - what a crappy way to have a burden lifted! Poor Mike and poor Dad! The relief must not seem like relief at all knowing that Mike is gone and that is the reason the "burden" has gone, too.
As with any situation of this kind, there have been many discoveries for me about my brother. Most have been more reminders of things long forgotten in the onslaughts of life, although some have been revelations. I don't know if I ever knew that Mike was told his intelligence made him a "national resource," but it was mentioned at the memorial service. Mike declined to become a national resource, by the way. This was before the breakdown into the mental illness. And I had forgotten that Mike entered college as a sophomore because he had earned so many CLEP credits.
There were reminders of some of Mike's zanier moments, some of his more frightening episodes, and some of the heartbreaking times when a silly older sister found comfort in the thought that her troubled younger brother might have actually fathered a little girl that "Aunty Liz" would have loved to help care for and love. What a comfort it would have been to have a child of my brother's to care for in the wake of his death - and I am not even sure why this feeling is so strong in me!?!?!
From the time of his breakdown when he apparently was given some sort of hallucinogenic laced pot to smoke and was rescued from the highway by one of our uncles, to the weeks before his death when he insisted that he needed the cigarettes to help treat his "wet lungs," and no one could convince him otherwise, memories have been coming back, some creeping back slowly, others in a headlong rush. The winter Mike was lost in Concord, NH and the police couldn't find him anywhere during one of the worst snowstorms in years; he kept dodging into alleyways and other hiding places because he thought the snowplows were out to get him. He was terrified and so were we. We had to wait at home due to the weather, when what we wanted was to be in Concord searching for Mike, hoping we might, somehow, magically be able to find him where so many officers and city workers had failed.
Another time, again during a snowstorm. the state police found Mike walking down a very barren and seldom traveled road at night. He was convinced that he was Sir Somebody-or-the-Other and that he was heading somewhere he was supposed to, instead of off into the woods on a remote road maybe never to be seen again. There were the multiple hospitalizations and group homes; homeless shelters, soup kitchens, jail cells, apartments invaded by human vermin that prey upon people like my brother. There were multiple cats that ended up being rescued by one of us or by one of Mike's friends, not because Mike did not care about them, but because, in his illness, he was not able to care FOR them. One of his kitties, Dixie, gave birth to a litter of kittens that we ended up knowing for their entire lives - except for Streak. Dixie's kittens ended up being named Pudge, Paws, Edwin Muir, Charlie, and Streak. Pudge and Paws were my babies their entire lives, our youngest (and still surviving) sister had Edwin Muir, Charlie belonged to a friend for his entire life, and Streak was given to the people who bought my parent's house and, as far as we know, ended up living in that same neighborhood for his entire life. Tuxie and Bootsie were the next of Mike's kitties that I and my boyfriend adopted. Tuxie died fairly young due to heartworm. Bootsie died several weeks before Mike. Both Bootsie and Tuxie were buried with my brother. We had them cremated so they could be buried with me when the time came, but Mike had such a poverty-striken life in so many ways. The mental illness just stole from him what could have been his. Letting him be buried with two of the cats he had originally owned and cared for was the very least I could do for my brother. I hope they are teasing him for affection as I type.
So many thoughts! So many memories! Some inappropriate, some irreverent, most just sad and stemming from the indescribable lonliness that comes from having to say too early a farewell to a loved one.
So much more to one lifetime than can be expressed in one blog!
Mike, I will love you for the rest of my life!
Your sister,
Liz
Since I was unable to attend my brother's burial yesterday (Saturday), I drove up to the cemetary in Vermont today (Sunday) to say my final "good-bye" and leave some roses on his grave. The cemetary is the same one that holds the remnants of my mother, sister, grandfather, aunt, cousin, great-grandmother, and others of our family. Mike was placed to rest next to our great-grandmother. The cemetary was more verdant that it had been for the buriel of Mom and Pattys' ashes, making it seem a softer, as well as lovelier, place. I keep handing out Forget-Me-Not seeds to everyone whenever we lose a family member in the hopes that the cemetary will one day blossom into a field of beautiful blue flowers - or at least be outlined with them along the stone walls and grave markers.
On my way up for the visit, I purchased flowers not only for Mike, but for my grandmother and aunt, as well. I found a particularly lovely bouquet of mixed flowers that I thought I would place on Mike's grave, but when I was almost there it came to me that Mike would have absolutely loved to have given those flowers to our grandmother, and I knew immediately that that is what he would have wanted, so much more than my placing them on his grave, and as I thought all of this it felt as though my wonderful brother reached down and touched my heart, just enough to say "Yes," that was what he wanted. When I got to my grandmother's room at the nursing home I took both bouquets in and told her the story. She cried a little, but I think she knew what I was talking about and she really seemed to like the flowers - the ones from me AND the ones from me and Mike. Just knowing I will never get to hear his voice again hurts so very much!
"Hello, Liz!" or "Greetings!" were the ways he would preface the messages he left on the answering machine. After leaving the funeral home on Tuesday, I came home and went through the messages on our phone hoping that, maybe, one of Mike's messages was still there so I could hear his voice just that one more time, but they were all gone, erased without any thought that he would no longer be able to leave any more requests for return phone calls any more. Oh, how much the simplest things can mean when they are no longer able to be a part of our lives ever again!
So many of the family stories are still sifting around in my head. Tales of Mike from infancy to adulthood, most from our lives together as a family , having been told and retold by our parents or recorded in their diaries or letters, but a few preserved here in my blog. Some funny, some poignant, but all of them speaking to the person that Mike could have been, as well as the person he was, despite the mental illness and the besotted devotion to his "medicinal" smokes.
It must have hurt Mike to breathe, especially those last few months, but he never said anything about the pain to me or, as far as I know of, to anyone else. He was so sure the smoking was curative rather than the cause of his illness (the emphysema, NOT the schizophrenia) and it was too late to prevent his death due to the effects of the damage to his lungs. I finally realized that we could make my brother grossly unhappy, hostile and beligerant by taking away his cigarettes and, perhaps, extend his life by a few more weeks or maybe months. Or we could let him go and enjoy his cigarettes which, despite the poison in them, did seem to bring him some measure of respiritory relief. I told our Dad I was not going to nag Mike and make him miserable during whatever time he had left. I did not want my brother to die, but there was nothing we could do to prevent that from happening far too soon. After his last hospitalization my heart just seemed to know that the next time Mike stopped breathing in his sleep, they would not be able to wake him up when they found him. That was what happened last Tuesday morning.
After Dad called to let me know Mike was gone, I called the home he was living in, a group home for mentally disabled adults, and asked them not to move Mike until I could get there. I just wanted a few minutes to sit with my younger brother before the onrush of death got too firmly started to yield to simple human need and emotion, despite the goal of its doing precisely that. They waited for me to get there so I could spend a few minutes with Mike before he was taken into the machinary of death our society prescribes. He looked pretty awful, though not as badly as he might have. I could not bring myself to touch his face, so I rubbed his chest and tummy instead - he was covered by a clean, white sheet - as I cried and told him how much I loved him, how sorry I was I had not been able to see him in the few days before he died, and how very much I would miss him. Even through the layers of sheet, the chill of death was obvious and I think that, though they may have tried to revive him, it was likely far too late when they found him for any hope of waking him up again.
Mike's memorial service was Friday, May 27th. The funeral home was able to make him look a lot better than he did when I last saw him on the day he died but, because thay were not embalming him - we were not having an open casket funeral - it never occurred to me they might have to freeze him instead, at least I think that's what they did. He wasn't just cold, he was hard all over, too. Sorry if this offends or upsets anyone, but it is just a part of the reality of what happened this past week.
It really upsets me, too, to think of my brother's brain being frozen and I am not sure why.
Part of the memorial service was the showing of a DVD my (our) sister made about Mike's life and accomplishments - he was a talented poet - and it was not only moving and well done, but also so much "Mike" that I think it touched everyone who watched it. Part of the DVD included a song titled "Today," that was recorded by John Denver. Mike and I used to sing that song together before his voice changed. We sang it over the phone to our Grammy El, who said it was "sweet" and got all sniffly. Our shared genetic heritage, as well as our young ages, melded our voices into a sweet brother/sister harmony that seems all the more sweet, and heartrendingly poignant, now that Mike, half of that harmony, is forever gone. Our other sister has her special memories, as well, and has been struggling to come to grips with the loss of our brother from the perspective of a younger sister, while I struggle as the elder sister. Our brother Mike was special from both perspectives.
Dad no longer has to worry about what will happen to his only son when he is passes on, although he knows I would have done my best to help and care for Mike in his absence. It is truly sad that the cost of that burden being lifted from the shoulders of a loving and concerned parent comes at the cost of the life of his only son - what a crappy way to have a burden lifted! Poor Mike and poor Dad! The relief must not seem like relief at all knowing that Mike is gone and that is the reason the "burden" has gone, too.
As with any situation of this kind, there have been many discoveries for me about my brother. Most have been more reminders of things long forgotten in the onslaughts of life, although some have been revelations. I don't know if I ever knew that Mike was told his intelligence made him a "national resource," but it was mentioned at the memorial service. Mike declined to become a national resource, by the way. This was before the breakdown into the mental illness. And I had forgotten that Mike entered college as a sophomore because he had earned so many CLEP credits.
There were reminders of some of Mike's zanier moments, some of his more frightening episodes, and some of the heartbreaking times when a silly older sister found comfort in the thought that her troubled younger brother might have actually fathered a little girl that "Aunty Liz" would have loved to help care for and love. What a comfort it would have been to have a child of my brother's to care for in the wake of his death - and I am not even sure why this feeling is so strong in me!?!?!
From the time of his breakdown when he apparently was given some sort of hallucinogenic laced pot to smoke and was rescued from the highway by one of our uncles, to the weeks before his death when he insisted that he needed the cigarettes to help treat his "wet lungs," and no one could convince him otherwise, memories have been coming back, some creeping back slowly, others in a headlong rush. The winter Mike was lost in Concord, NH and the police couldn't find him anywhere during one of the worst snowstorms in years; he kept dodging into alleyways and other hiding places because he thought the snowplows were out to get him. He was terrified and so were we. We had to wait at home due to the weather, when what we wanted was to be in Concord searching for Mike, hoping we might, somehow, magically be able to find him where so many officers and city workers had failed.
Another time, again during a snowstorm. the state police found Mike walking down a very barren and seldom traveled road at night. He was convinced that he was Sir Somebody-or-the-Other and that he was heading somewhere he was supposed to, instead of off into the woods on a remote road maybe never to be seen again. There were the multiple hospitalizations and group homes; homeless shelters, soup kitchens, jail cells, apartments invaded by human vermin that prey upon people like my brother. There were multiple cats that ended up being rescued by one of us or by one of Mike's friends, not because Mike did not care about them, but because, in his illness, he was not able to care FOR them. One of his kitties, Dixie, gave birth to a litter of kittens that we ended up knowing for their entire lives - except for Streak. Dixie's kittens ended up being named Pudge, Paws, Edwin Muir, Charlie, and Streak. Pudge and Paws were my babies their entire lives, our youngest (and still surviving) sister had Edwin Muir, Charlie belonged to a friend for his entire life, and Streak was given to the people who bought my parent's house and, as far as we know, ended up living in that same neighborhood for his entire life. Tuxie and Bootsie were the next of Mike's kitties that I and my boyfriend adopted. Tuxie died fairly young due to heartworm. Bootsie died several weeks before Mike. Both Bootsie and Tuxie were buried with my brother. We had them cremated so they could be buried with me when the time came, but Mike had such a poverty-striken life in so many ways. The mental illness just stole from him what could have been his. Letting him be buried with two of the cats he had originally owned and cared for was the very least I could do for my brother. I hope they are teasing him for affection as I type.
So many thoughts! So many memories! Some inappropriate, some irreverent, most just sad and stemming from the indescribable lonliness that comes from having to say too early a farewell to a loved one.
So much more to one lifetime than can be expressed in one blog!
Mike, I will love you for the rest of my life!
Your sister,
Liz
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
In Memorium
My younger brother, Mike:
August, 1959 - May 24, 2011.
If you smoke, please quit. If you're thinking of starting, please don't.
I loved my younger brother very, very much and will miss him sorely for the rest of my life.
Izzlebug
August, 1959 - May 24, 2011.
If you smoke, please quit. If you're thinking of starting, please don't.
I loved my younger brother very, very much and will miss him sorely for the rest of my life.
Izzlebug
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Heartaches In Abundance
While much of the world, though far from all of it, rejoices at the demise of Osama bin Laden, in my small corner we are, yet again, facing the prospect of more surgery for my significant other, the waning health of my fragile and fading grandmother who, if she makes her next birthday will turn 92, and my hospitalized in ICU brother, who is the most gravely ill of the three.
It is difficult to put into words an adequate description of my brother. So much has been lost to his illness - the budding promise of genius, the powerful intuitive intelligence that made us wonder, the creativity that amazed and amused - and yet, he is still very much "there" in an extreme and strong sense of the word, and still very much my brother. And tonight he is perhaps closer to death than he has been before.
We realized when my mother died of primary pulmonary hypertension - despite having given up smoking more than a decade earlier - that it was likely we would see my brother go in very much the same way. It looks like he has entered that downward spiral from which there is no return. If there is any true justice in this universe, all of those people who worked so hard to get people addicted to smoking so they could make their fortunes will get to spend eternity watching those they love dying, time after time, in the same way my Mom died; which is now the way my brother is dying, too. I can think of no other end that would be suitable for such avarice and poverty of morality and soul.
I love you, little brother. Despite our mature years you will always be that to me. In my heart I will always be your older sister wanting to rescue you from the bullies and that skinned knee I know will hurt so much if I let you fall. Please wake up again and tell me about all of the wonderful books and discoveries you have made in them. Open my eyes to a world I cannot see without your help, your excitement, and your insight. If you leave now I will feel blind for the rest of my life!
Please don't go so soon.
Your loving sister,
Izzlebug
It is difficult to put into words an adequate description of my brother. So much has been lost to his illness - the budding promise of genius, the powerful intuitive intelligence that made us wonder, the creativity that amazed and amused - and yet, he is still very much "there" in an extreme and strong sense of the word, and still very much my brother. And tonight he is perhaps closer to death than he has been before.
We realized when my mother died of primary pulmonary hypertension - despite having given up smoking more than a decade earlier - that it was likely we would see my brother go in very much the same way. It looks like he has entered that downward spiral from which there is no return. If there is any true justice in this universe, all of those people who worked so hard to get people addicted to smoking so they could make their fortunes will get to spend eternity watching those they love dying, time after time, in the same way my Mom died; which is now the way my brother is dying, too. I can think of no other end that would be suitable for such avarice and poverty of morality and soul.
I love you, little brother. Despite our mature years you will always be that to me. In my heart I will always be your older sister wanting to rescue you from the bullies and that skinned knee I know will hurt so much if I let you fall. Please wake up again and tell me about all of the wonderful books and discoveries you have made in them. Open my eyes to a world I cannot see without your help, your excitement, and your insight. If you leave now I will feel blind for the rest of my life!
Please don't go so soon.
Your loving sister,
Izzlebug
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The Qu'ran Says That Mohammed Said That Gabriel Said That Allah Said... What Was That Saying, Now, About Too Many Cooks?
I'm being a little facitious here, but I will forgive myself, as it is a reaction to the ramblings on the internet by both a secularist and a Muslim who have chosen to attack Christianity in the same way some people have tried, to Christianity's detriment, to defend it; by taking scripture verses out of context.
The secularist is , well, secular. Enough of that. But, to a certain extent I cannot really find it in my heart to blame the Muslim individual because of all of the attacks upon the Qu'ran that also appear within and without cyberspace, too. When one has an affinity for certain literature of a religious nature it tends to make one a bit prickly to have it castigated repeatedly.
At any rate, the verse/verses in question are part of the many verses found within the Christian Bible, mostly the Old Testament, that describe the negative or more violent actions or commands attributed to God. The first verse that always springs to my mind when dealing with this particular matter is Psalm 137:9 where it seems that those who delight in the Lord must also take equal delight in braining the infants of His enemies against the rocks. Not a pleasant thought by any stretch of the imagination, and a verse that has caused a great deal of consternation for the more peace loving amongst us. However, it was not comments upon that verse that drew my ire this evening, but upon Acts 13:11, which by itself does not give a very accurate view of the context within which it is found. By the way, it was the secularist, NOT the Muslim, who stuck his foot in my mental doggie poo tonight.
The following is quoted from an online copy of the New International Version of the Bible:
(The items in brackets are what I have added in an attempt to help clarify the context of verse eleven.)
Acts 13:...6,7 - "6...they [Barnabas and Saul] found a certain sorcerer [a.k.a. Elymas], a false prophet, a Jew, whose name was Barjesus: 7 Which was with the deputy of the country, Sergius Paulus, a prudent man; who called for Barnabas and Saul, and desired to hear the word of God."
Acts 13:8 - "But Elymas the sorcerer [a.k.a. Barjesus] (for so is his name by interpretation) withstood them, seeking to turn away the deputy [Sergius Paulus] from the faith [Christianity]."
Acts 13:11 - "Now the hand of the Lord is against you [this is Saul speaking to Elymas]. You are going to be blind for a time, not even able to see the light of the sun..."
The website of the secularist lists the eleventh verse under "Bible Atrocities." I have a feeling the Muslim individual might know better than to take this one on in his ramblings due to the differences in reactions that would have happened in a Christian versus Islamic sort of way; Saul merely blinded the man "for a season." Had Elymas committed a similar act against the teachings of Islam, the Qu'ran charges the Muslim to kill him without compunction.
Such is the yield, so far, of my foray* into a study of current religious issues.
*Check the definition in the Oxford Dictionary - the word somehow seems unusually appropriate here. (I am chuckling quietly as I type this - just so you know.) Life and the reactions of others yet to determine the final definition!
This being Easter Sunday may have a lot to do with my frame of mind tonight. I managed to help my friend get out to visit her family and then I took my brother some candy turtles to say "Happy Easter!" Then I headed further north to drop off an Easter gift for my niece. We chatted for awhile and I think she enjoyed her gifts, which included a bouquet of roses. As she, her little brother, and their dad are traveling for a week starting tomorrow I suspect the enjoyment of the roses will be short lived, but she seemed pleased by them despite upcoming events.
This Easter morning was beautiful. The sky was mostly clear, the sun was soft and bright, the breeze was fresh, the Spring flowers blooming in abundance. It also got up into the 70s, degree-wise. It was wonderful! Days like this, especially with today being Easter, have always made me feel the blessings of God far more than the burdens of life. He rose again.
Peace.
Izzlebug
The secularist is , well, secular. Enough of that. But, to a certain extent I cannot really find it in my heart to blame the Muslim individual because of all of the attacks upon the Qu'ran that also appear within and without cyberspace, too. When one has an affinity for certain literature of a religious nature it tends to make one a bit prickly to have it castigated repeatedly.
At any rate, the verse/verses in question are part of the many verses found within the Christian Bible, mostly the Old Testament, that describe the negative or more violent actions or commands attributed to God. The first verse that always springs to my mind when dealing with this particular matter is Psalm 137:9 where it seems that those who delight in the Lord must also take equal delight in braining the infants of His enemies against the rocks. Not a pleasant thought by any stretch of the imagination, and a verse that has caused a great deal of consternation for the more peace loving amongst us. However, it was not comments upon that verse that drew my ire this evening, but upon Acts 13:11, which by itself does not give a very accurate view of the context within which it is found. By the way, it was the secularist, NOT the Muslim, who stuck his foot in my mental doggie poo tonight.
The following is quoted from an online copy of the New International Version of the Bible:
(The items in brackets are what I have added in an attempt to help clarify the context of verse eleven.)
Acts 13:...6,7 - "6...they [Barnabas and Saul] found a certain sorcerer [a.k.a. Elymas], a false prophet, a Jew, whose name was Barjesus: 7 Which was with the deputy of the country, Sergius Paulus, a prudent man; who called for Barnabas and Saul, and desired to hear the word of God."
Acts 13:8 - "But Elymas the sorcerer [a.k.a. Barjesus] (for so is his name by interpretation) withstood them, seeking to turn away the deputy [Sergius Paulus] from the faith [Christianity]."
Acts 13:11 - "Now the hand of the Lord is against you [this is Saul speaking to Elymas]. You are going to be blind for a time, not even able to see the light of the sun..."
The website of the secularist lists the eleventh verse under "Bible Atrocities." I have a feeling the Muslim individual might know better than to take this one on in his ramblings due to the differences in reactions that would have happened in a Christian versus Islamic sort of way; Saul merely blinded the man "for a season." Had Elymas committed a similar act against the teachings of Islam, the Qu'ran charges the Muslim to kill him without compunction.
Such is the yield, so far, of my foray* into a study of current religious issues.
*Check the definition in the Oxford Dictionary - the word somehow seems unusually appropriate here. (I am chuckling quietly as I type this - just so you know.) Life and the reactions of others yet to determine the final definition!
This being Easter Sunday may have a lot to do with my frame of mind tonight. I managed to help my friend get out to visit her family and then I took my brother some candy turtles to say "Happy Easter!" Then I headed further north to drop off an Easter gift for my niece. We chatted for awhile and I think she enjoyed her gifts, which included a bouquet of roses. As she, her little brother, and their dad are traveling for a week starting tomorrow I suspect the enjoyment of the roses will be short lived, but she seemed pleased by them despite upcoming events.
This Easter morning was beautiful. The sky was mostly clear, the sun was soft and bright, the breeze was fresh, the Spring flowers blooming in abundance. It also got up into the 70s, degree-wise. It was wonderful! Days like this, especially with today being Easter, have always made me feel the blessings of God far more than the burdens of life. He rose again.
Peace.
Izzlebug
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Messy, Messy!
Given everything that has gone on in the past few months I suppose it is not too unusual to have really messed up my sleep and medication schedules for awhile, neither of which has produced any positive results in my life. I am fighting to regain control of my sleep schedule (i.e. "was not up all night last night") and have managed to remember to take my medications for one whole day in a row, so far (yuck, yuck!). I am feeling better for having gotten more and better sleep last night and finally getting back on my meds - my thoughts do get REALLY wierd when the blood levels drop - so I think its not too early to start claiming a victory, barring any unforseen, yet to happen, horrid or horribly distracting event.
My sweetie-pie ordered some books for me one of which was the Oxford edition of the Qu'ran. I chose this one because I felt it was likely to be the more scholarly of the choices available to me at the time and I was disappointed to find that, despite my hopes, according to the introduction to the copy I purchased I now own the "rosy glow" copy instead of the scholarly tome I was looking for. Oh well! Hopefully they were able to maintain some of the poetry of language in this translation that is supposed to make certain passages in the Qu'ran so beautiful, as well as keeping the integrity of the original meanings of the texts, etc. In this same book order I also received some books by an author who is supposed to be an expert on the Qu'ran and Islam. I find him a bit sarcastic but he does seem to know what he is talking about, so I feel I have found the two extremes here for my intellectual consumption; rosy glow versus severely critical. It should be an interesting study.
It is a grey and rainy day here in New England and I confess the weather matches my mood quite well. I guess I am just really tired right now - tired of the insects; carpenter ants, moths, beetly things. Tired of the mice - cute and beautiful creatures that they actually are, they are also unsanitary and horribly destructive and belong OUTDOORS! Tired of the stopped up sinks and bathtub drains. Tired of the mold and mildew everywhere in the walls. Tired of trying to get ahead of the water damage to the house. Tired of being tired and in pain most of the time. I guess I'm just plain old tired!
Despite the above, there is still much to enjoy in life, and a lot to look forward to being able to accomplish. There are many warm, dear friends to spend time with, many relatives to visit with, the kitties to watch and love, and that is just the tip of the very long list. (Maybe that's what is making me feel so tired!)
Of the many projects that need to be taken care of here, I am hoping to manage getting an office space set up for myself upstairs. I will need help, and since I am not the only busy person I know, that may prove difficult, but hopefully possible. Once that is done I think I will begin to feel more of a sense of accomplishment than I have had to date, despite the huge amount of work that has already gone into getting this house whipped into some kind of acceptable shape for merely living in! (Sigh!)
I remember, well after I started this blog, seeing the movie "Julie and Julia" and thinking how nice it would be if people wanted to start sending ME money and gifts and stuff, too. Then I realized that what I needed most from people was their time and effort in helping to physically get our home cleaned up and rearranged - a VERY different situation than that in the movie! (Although money and gifts are still VERY NICE things to receive :-) and I would not be upset at some of those instead of offers of actual, physical assistance at the house - just to be clear.)
Anyway, enough of those meanderings. I need to sign off and get busy with errands and such. I hope all of those who may encounter my words here will be entertained and amused; assisted in some way to their advantage and, maybe, comforted.
Love,
Izzlebug
My sweetie-pie ordered some books for me one of which was the Oxford edition of the Qu'ran. I chose this one because I felt it was likely to be the more scholarly of the choices available to me at the time and I was disappointed to find that, despite my hopes, according to the introduction to the copy I purchased I now own the "rosy glow" copy instead of the scholarly tome I was looking for. Oh well! Hopefully they were able to maintain some of the poetry of language in this translation that is supposed to make certain passages in the Qu'ran so beautiful, as well as keeping the integrity of the original meanings of the texts, etc. In this same book order I also received some books by an author who is supposed to be an expert on the Qu'ran and Islam. I find him a bit sarcastic but he does seem to know what he is talking about, so I feel I have found the two extremes here for my intellectual consumption; rosy glow versus severely critical. It should be an interesting study.
It is a grey and rainy day here in New England and I confess the weather matches my mood quite well. I guess I am just really tired right now - tired of the insects; carpenter ants, moths, beetly things. Tired of the mice - cute and beautiful creatures that they actually are, they are also unsanitary and horribly destructive and belong OUTDOORS! Tired of the stopped up sinks and bathtub drains. Tired of the mold and mildew everywhere in the walls. Tired of trying to get ahead of the water damage to the house. Tired of being tired and in pain most of the time. I guess I'm just plain old tired!
Despite the above, there is still much to enjoy in life, and a lot to look forward to being able to accomplish. There are many warm, dear friends to spend time with, many relatives to visit with, the kitties to watch and love, and that is just the tip of the very long list. (Maybe that's what is making me feel so tired!)
Of the many projects that need to be taken care of here, I am hoping to manage getting an office space set up for myself upstairs. I will need help, and since I am not the only busy person I know, that may prove difficult, but hopefully possible. Once that is done I think I will begin to feel more of a sense of accomplishment than I have had to date, despite the huge amount of work that has already gone into getting this house whipped into some kind of acceptable shape for merely living in! (Sigh!)
I remember, well after I started this blog, seeing the movie "Julie and Julia" and thinking how nice it would be if people wanted to start sending ME money and gifts and stuff, too. Then I realized that what I needed most from people was their time and effort in helping to physically get our home cleaned up and rearranged - a VERY different situation than that in the movie! (Although money and gifts are still VERY NICE things to receive :-) and I would not be upset at some of those instead of offers of actual, physical assistance at the house - just to be clear.)
Anyway, enough of those meanderings. I need to sign off and get busy with errands and such. I hope all of those who may encounter my words here will be entertained and amused; assisted in some way to their advantage and, maybe, comforted.
Love,
Izzlebug
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Thank Goodness For Distractions
Given that things have been difficult to cope with this past couple of weeks, I have tried to distract myself by taking part in some interesting pasttimes and events. One of the things I chose to work on was a code that the FBI made public, asking people to take a look at it and see if they could help figure it out. It has flumoxed some of the very best in the code-breaking world and they seem to hope new eyes on the problem might gain them some new insight or a possible solution. Anyway, it did seem to help distract me from the loss of our sweet, old kitty - which was the point - and I'm hoping my theories, etc., which I emailed in to the FBI via the page they set up for that specific purpose, might be of some small help, or at least on a par with those who are finally able to solve the riddle of the code. It would be nice to find out I was good at something, anyway!
Another thing I decided to do, more to get myself up and out of the house, was to attend a dinner and lecture being sponsored by my alma mater's alumni association. The event was this evening and was a lecture given by a young man who has been the advisor on issues of security and counterterrorism to two past presidents. It was a very interesting evening but left me a little frustrated and with a lot of questions I would have loved to been able to ask - darn the time limits on busy individuals who know so much interesting stuff!
Anyway, I guess my main question/thought right now is whether or not the nations of earth will be able to maintain their own unique national autonomy and character while the United Nations maintains accountability of nations to/for one another and within and for themselves. I do not feel the world would be a better place if the UN ended up as the single, ruling/governing international entity - too many squabbles and too much corruption on an international level and not enough idealistic fervor on an individual level - and would, ultimately, threaten or destroy one of the two things that make nations strong, the first being unity, the second diversity.
Of the three cats we still have left (the "girls" are still with us) one of them is snoring softly on the footstool beside me under the desk. We had to keep the two pairs seperate due to negative interactions we could not seem to get around, but there seems to be more possibility that we will be able to fully integrate the remaining three given a little more time. So life goes on, a little emptier and definitely more forlorn for the time being, but moving inexorably forward.
Blessings and Peace,
Izzlebug
Another thing I decided to do, more to get myself up and out of the house, was to attend a dinner and lecture being sponsored by my alma mater's alumni association. The event was this evening and was a lecture given by a young man who has been the advisor on issues of security and counterterrorism to two past presidents. It was a very interesting evening but left me a little frustrated and with a lot of questions I would have loved to been able to ask - darn the time limits on busy individuals who know so much interesting stuff!
Anyway, I guess my main question/thought right now is whether or not the nations of earth will be able to maintain their own unique national autonomy and character while the United Nations maintains accountability of nations to/for one another and within and for themselves. I do not feel the world would be a better place if the UN ended up as the single, ruling/governing international entity - too many squabbles and too much corruption on an international level and not enough idealistic fervor on an individual level - and would, ultimately, threaten or destroy one of the two things that make nations strong, the first being unity, the second diversity.
Of the three cats we still have left (the "girls" are still with us) one of them is snoring softly on the footstool beside me under the desk. We had to keep the two pairs seperate due to negative interactions we could not seem to get around, but there seems to be more possibility that we will be able to fully integrate the remaining three given a little more time. So life goes on, a little emptier and definitely more forlorn for the time being, but moving inexorably forward.
Blessings and Peace,
Izzlebug
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
"Why does loss release Love's poignant song?"
Despite the best efforts of all of us, owners, vet, and Bootsie; we had to let our wonderful Bootsie slip away while he was still under anesthetic only a very short time ago. What they found in his mouth besides the rotten teeth was too much for him to wake up to, we thought - probable cancer, very aggressive and nasty looking, so we let our pet, our friend and companion of many years, leave this life without more pain, to fly free. We will miss him sorely.
Although most religious material is somewhat mum on the subject of animals even having souls, I believe that God was not so stingy that way and gave them something a little more pure, more innocent and unrefined, than what we humans take so easily for granted and destroy with our own actions and words with so little thought or regard. Bootsie certainly had a great deal of love in his heart - I was on the receiving end of his affections many times, he was able to express concern for his people, as well as a variety of other apparent emotions and emotive processes that all lead me to the one conclusion the says, "SOUL." If there is anything this cat "owner" can do to help her pet find his way into the afterlife, it will be done, albeit with tears and heartbreak, sad thoughts and many empty hours for days to come.
He had beautiful golden eyes and loved to purr and rub - it was his way of snuggling. I went over to see him this morning and we had a "snuggle and purr" session that I wish could have lasted longer, but then I would have been in the way as the vet's office became busier with the needs of the day, so I had to leave, too early; too early.
To Bootsie
I wish I could sing for you, my friend
A song to take you to Heaven and back again
A chant to keep you free and clear
Of any obstacles you may now have to fear
Although I hope there are few, or none,
To block your trip to your new, and better,
Pain-free, home.
A lullaby to let you know, to remind,
Of the heartfelt memories and genuine love
You must leave behind, but please,
Take some small piece of my unworthy human heart.
Remember me, my loving friend
Though, in this life,
We must part.
Love,
Momcat
Although most religious material is somewhat mum on the subject of animals even having souls, I believe that God was not so stingy that way and gave them something a little more pure, more innocent and unrefined, than what we humans take so easily for granted and destroy with our own actions and words with so little thought or regard. Bootsie certainly had a great deal of love in his heart - I was on the receiving end of his affections many times, he was able to express concern for his people, as well as a variety of other apparent emotions and emotive processes that all lead me to the one conclusion the says, "SOUL." If there is anything this cat "owner" can do to help her pet find his way into the afterlife, it will be done, albeit with tears and heartbreak, sad thoughts and many empty hours for days to come.
He had beautiful golden eyes and loved to purr and rub - it was his way of snuggling. I went over to see him this morning and we had a "snuggle and purr" session that I wish could have lasted longer, but then I would have been in the way as the vet's office became busier with the needs of the day, so I had to leave, too early; too early.
To Bootsie
I wish I could sing for you, my friend
A song to take you to Heaven and back again
A chant to keep you free and clear
Of any obstacles you may now have to fear
Although I hope there are few, or none,
To block your trip to your new, and better,
Pain-free, home.
A lullaby to let you know, to remind,
Of the heartfelt memories and genuine love
You must leave behind, but please,
Take some small piece of my unworthy human heart.
Remember me, my loving friend
Though, in this life,
We must part.
Love,
Momcat
My Cats Are My Kids
Unlike many of my contemporaries and one of my younger siblings, I never managed to procreate. Instead I have pussycats and right now the oldest one is at the vet's waiting for dental surgery tomorrow afternoon.
Bootsie is a sweetheart of a kitty with big, intelligent eyes and a gentle demeanor that is belied by his habit of picking on the other kitties because he is the biggest and can. I am, for the moment, calm but have been crying on and off because I am so worried about him. Not only is Bootsie positively antique for a cat, he is also in kidney failure - though stable and not in apparent pain, may be hyperthyroid - with an elevated heart rate that is a concern to our vet, and has a miserable infection from several broken off and rotten teeth that need to be removed in order to get completely rid of the infection - hence the dental surgery. I know there are some very powerful arguments for having an animal in this condition put down but I hesitate for one reason only, Bootsie does not seem to WANT to be "put down." He is still eating very well and loving being loved, so if we can get him through the surgery without incident (or, at least, alive) and get this infection cleared up, he may yet have several months during which we can love, adore, pamper and treasure our beloved "Boo-zilla." We won't know what's up until later tomorrow, so I sit here and type in the interim, hoping and praying for a feline miracle for my wonderful and loving pet.
It occurs to me that I may have embarrassed the vet tech this evening when I told Boots that "Mum mum will see you tomorrow." I do have some sense of humor about my besottedness where my cats are concerned but, as stated before, they are my only babies, my only children, which makes my emotional investment in them perhaps a little more intense than might have been the case otherwise; I really cannot say for certain, having always loved cats from the time I was a small child.
I do know that my unconditional love for my cats has everything to do with their unconditional love and acceptance for me and their absolute lack of evil or sin - those are things only for people to know in their hearts. Always innocent, I am ever mindful of their place in my life and their trust and need for my care for them, which I sometimes fail to render with sufficient concern or energy, due mostly to a lack of energy of my own or true ignorance as to what it is that is ailing them.
There, my "Mommy" creed and true confessions of a cataholic. I do not wish to ever take any of it back.
Izzlebug
Bootsie is a sweetheart of a kitty with big, intelligent eyes and a gentle demeanor that is belied by his habit of picking on the other kitties because he is the biggest and can. I am, for the moment, calm but have been crying on and off because I am so worried about him. Not only is Bootsie positively antique for a cat, he is also in kidney failure - though stable and not in apparent pain, may be hyperthyroid - with an elevated heart rate that is a concern to our vet, and has a miserable infection from several broken off and rotten teeth that need to be removed in order to get completely rid of the infection - hence the dental surgery. I know there are some very powerful arguments for having an animal in this condition put down but I hesitate for one reason only, Bootsie does not seem to WANT to be "put down." He is still eating very well and loving being loved, so if we can get him through the surgery without incident (or, at least, alive) and get this infection cleared up, he may yet have several months during which we can love, adore, pamper and treasure our beloved "Boo-zilla." We won't know what's up until later tomorrow, so I sit here and type in the interim, hoping and praying for a feline miracle for my wonderful and loving pet.
It occurs to me that I may have embarrassed the vet tech this evening when I told Boots that "Mum mum will see you tomorrow." I do have some sense of humor about my besottedness where my cats are concerned but, as stated before, they are my only babies, my only children, which makes my emotional investment in them perhaps a little more intense than might have been the case otherwise; I really cannot say for certain, having always loved cats from the time I was a small child.
I do know that my unconditional love for my cats has everything to do with their unconditional love and acceptance for me and their absolute lack of evil or sin - those are things only for people to know in their hearts. Always innocent, I am ever mindful of their place in my life and their trust and need for my care for them, which I sometimes fail to render with sufficient concern or energy, due mostly to a lack of energy of my own or true ignorance as to what it is that is ailing them.
There, my "Mommy" creed and true confessions of a cataholic. I do not wish to ever take any of it back.
Izzlebug
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Japan
After waiting several days for the initial shock and grief to wear away enough for rational thought to prevail, I am still not certain that is the case, I now put "pen to paper," so to speak. It has been about thirty years since the last time I was in touch with any of the few people from Japan I have been acquainted with in the past; thirty years since their names and faces have crossed my mind at all. In the past several days, since the reports of the earthquake and tsunami, however, their faces are what come most immediately to my mind as I hope that they are all, somehow, OK following this terrible disaster in their native land. A short-term friend, two professors, a study partner, and a childhood Brownie Girl Scout companion; all Japanese or of Japanese descent with only one of them likely still here in the United States.
My "short-term friend" is named Kenji. He was here for a short while attending a class at one of our universities before returning to Japan and his employment as an executive in Japan's steel industry. He wrecked his knee playing soccer while he was here and that gave us the opportunity to get to know one another somewhat, otherwise he would have been off playing all sorts of sports and too busy to bother taking time to speak to an overly shy American like me - at the time. Upon his returning to Japan I presented him with a Gummy Rat for his nephews. I hope all of them are now safe and well. I hope none of his family have been lost to this horrible occurrence and that they will be able to overcome this time and thrive once more.
To my former language professors and my former study partner, I wish the same things. I know my professors were not impressed with my efforts or skills, but I know my study partner and I parted as friends. I hope she and her family are safe following all of the upheavals of the past several days. I wish I could send her that hug we both felt like giving one another but didn't because it would not have been "the thing to do" in the middle of the UNH campus at the time.
The rest of my response to what is happening is still in the "Dear God!" range, so I will continue to wait; wait for some form of coherant thought, for some sort of peace, for a calming of my heart, but that will likely never occur or at least not for a very long time. My thoughts and prayers are with Japan right now and my hopes are for a speedy recovery and many wonderful rescues and reunions despite all of the losses and horrors still being discovered.
Izzlebug
My "short-term friend" is named Kenji. He was here for a short while attending a class at one of our universities before returning to Japan and his employment as an executive in Japan's steel industry. He wrecked his knee playing soccer while he was here and that gave us the opportunity to get to know one another somewhat, otherwise he would have been off playing all sorts of sports and too busy to bother taking time to speak to an overly shy American like me - at the time. Upon his returning to Japan I presented him with a Gummy Rat for his nephews. I hope all of them are now safe and well. I hope none of his family have been lost to this horrible occurrence and that they will be able to overcome this time and thrive once more.
To my former language professors and my former study partner, I wish the same things. I know my professors were not impressed with my efforts or skills, but I know my study partner and I parted as friends. I hope she and her family are safe following all of the upheavals of the past several days. I wish I could send her that hug we both felt like giving one another but didn't because it would not have been "the thing to do" in the middle of the UNH campus at the time.
The rest of my response to what is happening is still in the "Dear God!" range, so I will continue to wait; wait for some form of coherant thought, for some sort of peace, for a calming of my heart, but that will likely never occur or at least not for a very long time. My thoughts and prayers are with Japan right now and my hopes are for a speedy recovery and many wonderful rescues and reunions despite all of the losses and horrors still being discovered.
Izzlebug
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
The Supreme Court Clarifies Things Once Again - Life is Still a Two-Way Street!
According to a recent news story received via the internet, it is legal for the ultra self-righteous amongst us to hold protests at funerals for soldiers killed in battle; specifically those soldiers who were openly gay. In my humble opinion, it may be legal, but it is far from "OK," as stated in the title of the article I just saw. (I think it was on MSN.com or UPI, but I'm not absolutely certain.)
Since when did a funeral become more about the former lifestyle of the deceased than it is about those left behind trying to find some comfort in their intense heartbreak by holding a ceremony to memorialize their loved one? For any group to so openly and savagely rejoice in the deaths of others' loved ones, particularly when those deaths have occurred during war time, in service to our country, is to invite retaliation. Haven't we seen enough of that in endless past examples from the Middle East, among other places and situations?
These protests need to be seen as a two-way street, and the fundamentalists who staged the initial protests at a gay soldier's funeral (I hesitate to refer to them as "Christian") should consider that there may eventually be those who will choose to rejoice and "protest" at the funerals for some of their loved ones. This latest Supreme Court ruling opens the door for that to happen LEGALLY.
Is my point getting through or am I muffing it here? JUST BECAUSE WE HAVE CERTAIN RIGHTS UNDER THE LAW DOES NOT MAKE IT OK TO ABUSE THE SPIRIT UNDER WHICH THOSE RIGHTS HAVE BEEN GRANTED! I do not know how to state this any more strongly. I hope someone is listening.
So, while it may be legal for me to protest at the funeral of someone I have strongly disagreed with or condemn, it is still an action that is provoking in its emotional overtones and aggressive in its nature. It is picking a fight with grieving relatives and friends and is extremely insensitive and tacky at best, and emotionally explosive if the situation races out of control and a mob mentality takes over, at its worst. THIS NEEDS TO BE AVOIDED, especially now that the law has stepped back and can/will no longer move to prevent such potentially eruptive situations from taking place due to such "protests" now being protected by Freedom of Speech.
Although people may disagree, fundamentally, with any public honors being granted to these soldiers, they can hardly deny that these men and women died bravely serving their nation without the presence of solid proof of cowardice or dishonor BEYOND the soldier's CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED AND LEGALLY PERMITTED CHOICE of sexual preference.* The honors were, and are, legally and morally earned, something many of the "protestors" may have never experienced for themselves directly or collaterally. These honors should not be rescinded unless actual proof of some perfidy on the part of the honoree, directly relating to the honor in question, can be produced in a timely manner. THEN protest, with hard evidence, in court. The argument would be they did not serve and die bravely - despite their homosexual preferences - and therefore due to cowardice or dishonor should not receive, or have noted publically, honors for their actions. We already know they were gay.
The kindest way to handle this, I think, is to consider those whose gross insensitivity to the pain and loss of others, whose mindless cravings for attention silence arguments for kindness, patience, truth, civility, compassion, forgiveness, - traits of any person of good conscience (a "good Christian?") - as being misguided and/or ignorant. YES, the Bible condemns homosexuality and it IS considered one of the BIG sins, but IT IS HARDLY THE ONLY "BIG" SIN LISTED. Why aren't these people also protesting at the funerals of adulterers, abusers, rapists, murderers, thieves, frauds, gluttons, liars, molesters? How, in good conscience, can you be more tolerant of certain BIG sins than others? Why are these people so virulantly vicious regarding this particular sin while seemingly soft, publically, on the rest of the REALLY BIG SINS?
Perhaps it has to do with this particular sin being more public, as it has needed to be, in order for the people concerned to fight ignorance and prejudice, cruelties and inequities, and to claim their Constitutional rights as adult human beings and United States citizens. Perhaps it has to do with fear on the part of those protesting; Christians are not supposed to walk in fear. (Note: not everyone is Christian and feels or understands repentance or sees the need to sincerely repent.) Homosexuality is as forgiveable a sin in the eyes of God as any of the other, more secret and subtle, sins listed equally beside it. Maybe homosexuality just isn't SNEAKY enough anymore to squeak by the protestors like all of the other sins. If homosexuals were to become more quiet about their lifestyles once again perhaps the protestors would feel differently about the whole issue. The matter certainly deserves more thought and attention, more compassion, before things run out of control.
Also, to pinpoint accutely, to so thoroughly isolate and concentrate, your efforts in one single direction is to magnify an issue OUT OF PROPORTION and to MISUSE VALUABLE RESOURCES that could be having more of an effect elsewhere. THAT OTHER SINS ARE JUST AS, OR MORE, HEINOUS AND IMPORTANT TO FIGHT AGAINST than the issue of a decent and respectful funeral for a fallen soldier who also just happened to be gay, is unarguable. The funeral and the honors, the grief and the loss, are NOT the sin!
It should also be noted, for the record, that whereas homosexuality/lesbianism is NOT CONTAGIOUS, hatred, ignorance, and often violence, seem to be. A little more food for thought.
* Presumably, these people have not victimized, deliberately harmed, killed or deprived others of their freedoms and Constitutional rights and legal priveleges because of their choice of sexual preference - which takes homosexuality out of the realm of a sexual perversion, such as pedophilia or sadism. Again, my humble opinion.
Since when did a funeral become more about the former lifestyle of the deceased than it is about those left behind trying to find some comfort in their intense heartbreak by holding a ceremony to memorialize their loved one? For any group to so openly and savagely rejoice in the deaths of others' loved ones, particularly when those deaths have occurred during war time, in service to our country, is to invite retaliation. Haven't we seen enough of that in endless past examples from the Middle East, among other places and situations?
These protests need to be seen as a two-way street, and the fundamentalists who staged the initial protests at a gay soldier's funeral (I hesitate to refer to them as "Christian") should consider that there may eventually be those who will choose to rejoice and "protest" at the funerals for some of their loved ones. This latest Supreme Court ruling opens the door for that to happen LEGALLY.
Is my point getting through or am I muffing it here? JUST BECAUSE WE HAVE CERTAIN RIGHTS UNDER THE LAW DOES NOT MAKE IT OK TO ABUSE THE SPIRIT UNDER WHICH THOSE RIGHTS HAVE BEEN GRANTED! I do not know how to state this any more strongly. I hope someone is listening.
So, while it may be legal for me to protest at the funeral of someone I have strongly disagreed with or condemn, it is still an action that is provoking in its emotional overtones and aggressive in its nature. It is picking a fight with grieving relatives and friends and is extremely insensitive and tacky at best, and emotionally explosive if the situation races out of control and a mob mentality takes over, at its worst. THIS NEEDS TO BE AVOIDED, especially now that the law has stepped back and can/will no longer move to prevent such potentially eruptive situations from taking place due to such "protests" now being protected by Freedom of Speech.
Although people may disagree, fundamentally, with any public honors being granted to these soldiers, they can hardly deny that these men and women died bravely serving their nation without the presence of solid proof of cowardice or dishonor BEYOND the soldier's CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED AND LEGALLY PERMITTED CHOICE of sexual preference.* The honors were, and are, legally and morally earned, something many of the "protestors" may have never experienced for themselves directly or collaterally. These honors should not be rescinded unless actual proof of some perfidy on the part of the honoree, directly relating to the honor in question, can be produced in a timely manner. THEN protest, with hard evidence, in court. The argument would be they did not serve and die bravely - despite their homosexual preferences - and therefore due to cowardice or dishonor should not receive, or have noted publically, honors for their actions. We already know they were gay.
The kindest way to handle this, I think, is to consider those whose gross insensitivity to the pain and loss of others, whose mindless cravings for attention silence arguments for kindness, patience, truth, civility, compassion, forgiveness, - traits of any person of good conscience (a "good Christian?") - as being misguided and/or ignorant. YES, the Bible condemns homosexuality and it IS considered one of the BIG sins, but IT IS HARDLY THE ONLY "BIG" SIN LISTED. Why aren't these people also protesting at the funerals of adulterers, abusers, rapists, murderers, thieves, frauds, gluttons, liars, molesters? How, in good conscience, can you be more tolerant of certain BIG sins than others? Why are these people so virulantly vicious regarding this particular sin while seemingly soft, publically, on the rest of the REALLY BIG SINS?
Perhaps it has to do with this particular sin being more public, as it has needed to be, in order for the people concerned to fight ignorance and prejudice, cruelties and inequities, and to claim their Constitutional rights as adult human beings and United States citizens. Perhaps it has to do with fear on the part of those protesting; Christians are not supposed to walk in fear. (Note: not everyone is Christian and feels or understands repentance or sees the need to sincerely repent.) Homosexuality is as forgiveable a sin in the eyes of God as any of the other, more secret and subtle, sins listed equally beside it. Maybe homosexuality just isn't SNEAKY enough anymore to squeak by the protestors like all of the other sins. If homosexuals were to become more quiet about their lifestyles once again perhaps the protestors would feel differently about the whole issue. The matter certainly deserves more thought and attention, more compassion, before things run out of control.
Also, to pinpoint accutely, to so thoroughly isolate and concentrate, your efforts in one single direction is to magnify an issue OUT OF PROPORTION and to MISUSE VALUABLE RESOURCES that could be having more of an effect elsewhere. THAT OTHER SINS ARE JUST AS, OR MORE, HEINOUS AND IMPORTANT TO FIGHT AGAINST than the issue of a decent and respectful funeral for a fallen soldier who also just happened to be gay, is unarguable. The funeral and the honors, the grief and the loss, are NOT the sin!
It should also be noted, for the record, that whereas homosexuality/lesbianism is NOT CONTAGIOUS, hatred, ignorance, and often violence, seem to be. A little more food for thought.
* Presumably, these people have not victimized, deliberately harmed, killed or deprived others of their freedoms and Constitutional rights and legal priveleges because of their choice of sexual preference - which takes homosexuality out of the realm of a sexual perversion, such as pedophilia or sadism. Again, my humble opinion.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thank Goodness Others Are There
I am so glad someone was keeping an eye on things and called me to task about my slip up with the names of two very different women in my last post. "Thank you!" to Anonymous for their time and trouble in contacting me so I could correct the mistake in my blog!
Izzlebug
Izzlebug
Saturday, February 26, 2011
A Missing Child
This week my attention has been grabbed more by the ongoing story of the little boy from Oregon, Kyron Horman, than my own packet of woe and misfortune. That he is likely dead, and has been so since he went missing, is certainly tragic, but the ongoing grief of his parents and the so far seemingly fruitless efforts of law enforcement to make any significant headway in their investigations make the entire tragedy even more raw and horrifying. Now the easy to dislike step-mom has to contend with Kyron's mom in full-attack mode as Desiree Young carries her battle into Teri Moulton's home territory.
I was a little concerned that I, too, was getting on some sort of witch-hunt bandwagon where the boy's step-mom was concerned, until I remembered that she, herself, brought most of this grief on her own head. Her lies, her infidelities, her refusal to cooperate, her "tough" demeanor, to name just a few characteristics and actions, have certainly made her very easy to dislike and have placed her squarely under the microscope of public scrutiny and suspicion. I also felt the same way initially about Pamela Smart - that she knew more than she was letting on about her husband's death - when they first interviewed her on television. Sometimes my first impressions are not so far off base, but that is hardly proof of the type required to issue arrest warrents or win convictions in court. I just hope that justice will prevail this time, too.
I guess the things about this case that stick most firmly in my mind are the impression I had that Teri Moulton was NOT talking about Kyron but about her older son when she said she missed her son - strange because it was in the midst of the furor over the initial disappearance of Kyron - and the feeling that she, too, knew more about the case than she was telling. I also recall an interview with Kyron's mom where she said that Kyron had begged her not to make him go back home with Teri. I had heard or read not long before that about another child who had been murdered by someone he had begged not to be made to go with as well, so her statement hit me a little harder than it might have otherwise, although now I can no longer recall who that other poor child was or who killed him (or her).
As more recent circumstances have disposed me more to prayer than I ever anticipated taking part in at this point in my life, I find myself praying for Kyron, his mom and dad, and that, if innocent, his step-mom finds peace. Otherwise I hope that when Kyron is found, where and how he is found will clearly point to what happened and who is responsible and that they will, at the very least, spend the rest of their natural lives in prison, because I do not think Teri Moulton could have done this so completely on her own I use the plural.
Kyron, I hope you get to come home soon.
I was a little concerned that I, too, was getting on some sort of witch-hunt bandwagon where the boy's step-mom was concerned, until I remembered that she, herself, brought most of this grief on her own head. Her lies, her infidelities, her refusal to cooperate, her "tough" demeanor, to name just a few characteristics and actions, have certainly made her very easy to dislike and have placed her squarely under the microscope of public scrutiny and suspicion. I also felt the same way initially about Pamela Smart - that she knew more than she was letting on about her husband's death - when they first interviewed her on television. Sometimes my first impressions are not so far off base, but that is hardly proof of the type required to issue arrest warrents or win convictions in court. I just hope that justice will prevail this time, too.
I guess the things about this case that stick most firmly in my mind are the impression I had that Teri Moulton was NOT talking about Kyron but about her older son when she said she missed her son - strange because it was in the midst of the furor over the initial disappearance of Kyron - and the feeling that she, too, knew more about the case than she was telling. I also recall an interview with Kyron's mom where she said that Kyron had begged her not to make him go back home with Teri. I had heard or read not long before that about another child who had been murdered by someone he had begged not to be made to go with as well, so her statement hit me a little harder than it might have otherwise, although now I can no longer recall who that other poor child was or who killed him (or her).
As more recent circumstances have disposed me more to prayer than I ever anticipated taking part in at this point in my life, I find myself praying for Kyron, his mom and dad, and that, if innocent, his step-mom finds peace. Otherwise I hope that when Kyron is found, where and how he is found will clearly point to what happened and who is responsible and that they will, at the very least, spend the rest of their natural lives in prison, because I do not think Teri Moulton could have done this so completely on her own I use the plural.
Kyron, I hope you get to come home soon.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
It's Been Longer Than I Realized!
So much has been happening over the past months and weeks I totally lost track of how much time had passed since my last blog entry. Of course, losing the internet connection yet again did not exactly encourage me in my efforts to keep track, but we now seem to be back on line with some certainty of remaining there for the moment, so I thought I would go ahead and blog for a few minutes.
On February 7th, my boyfriend got to come home!!! The last time he was at home was last May or June some time, and I was a little apprehensive that it would seem odd, after all of this time, to have him back in the house. Nothing of the sort! In both good ways and not-so-good ways (grrrr!), he is back home and it really feels pretty normal despite the concerns about the new, and permanent, health issues following his liver transplant. Bootsie punished him for about a day and a half before climbing up on his lap to be petted and purr like he had almost forgotten how. It was funny and touching to see the cats each greet him when he sat down in the living room for the first time, after everything had quieted down that afternoon.
I am not picking on him too much because I think some of what is a little aggravating is just him stretching his wings back home after having been in the hospital for such a long time. It must feel pretty good to get to choose what you want to eat, instead of just what happens to be available that day on the menu, etc. He is also regaining a tremendous amount of personal space and privacy that are simply not possible when you're in the hospital, as well.
I, on the other hand... (think in terms of picking up after a very big, very happy, very messy kid).
My hopes for the house project being completely done before he came home were dashed by the reality of the situation. There is still just too much to get done to have everything fall into place yet, but things are getting there and help does seem to keep arriving from unanticipated directions that keeps things moving forward.
Recently there was the (remote) possibility that I might have gotten to be on a reality-type show about people with hoarding issues - not the more spectacular ones, but a new show that is supposed to be a little more clinical (?) in its approach - but it turns out they really want someone they can start pretty much at the beginning with, and I am actually much further along than they are interested in documenting. Oh well, I guess my fifteen minutes of fame will have to take place elsewhere and on some other level. Maybe it was because I told them we would have to get a different color of mold for the basement since the black, icky stuff we found several days ago doesn't bring out the color of my eyes at all! Sigh!
My absolutely gorgeous niece is participating in some sort of talent/beauty/dazzling white teeth pagent this weekend, but I ended up not feeling well enough to attend, which stinks. I figure if she complains about my not being there I'll just lay it on thick about my throat being all phlegmy and gross and at least she didn't have to hear me gargle out "There's my niece!" to the entire audience! It really was a little more serious than that though. Over the past four weeks I developed pneumonia, started to recover from that then developed a really miserable sore throat while on the antibiotics for the pneumonia, and found out I had mono! My initial reaction was, "How did I get mono at my age? I haven't been making out with teenagers!" That one made the doctor chuckle and I ended up learning a lot more about mono than I ever wanted to know. My throat is finally feeling better, but only just, and I am spending quite a bit of time trying not to "spread the joy," so to speak.
I really should sign off now and get some rest. I've ended up keeping some very odd hours lately, but things should become more normal now my Pookie Bear is home! (That is what I call him when he complains about my other pet names for him. It reminds him that things could be worse - perhaps something we all should keep in mind when facing life's onslaughts.)
Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug
On February 7th, my boyfriend got to come home!!! The last time he was at home was last May or June some time, and I was a little apprehensive that it would seem odd, after all of this time, to have him back in the house. Nothing of the sort! In both good ways and not-so-good ways (grrrr!), he is back home and it really feels pretty normal despite the concerns about the new, and permanent, health issues following his liver transplant. Bootsie punished him for about a day and a half before climbing up on his lap to be petted and purr like he had almost forgotten how. It was funny and touching to see the cats each greet him when he sat down in the living room for the first time, after everything had quieted down that afternoon.
I am not picking on him too much because I think some of what is a little aggravating is just him stretching his wings back home after having been in the hospital for such a long time. It must feel pretty good to get to choose what you want to eat, instead of just what happens to be available that day on the menu, etc. He is also regaining a tremendous amount of personal space and privacy that are simply not possible when you're in the hospital, as well.
I, on the other hand... (think in terms of picking up after a very big, very happy, very messy kid).
My hopes for the house project being completely done before he came home were dashed by the reality of the situation. There is still just too much to get done to have everything fall into place yet, but things are getting there and help does seem to keep arriving from unanticipated directions that keeps things moving forward.
Recently there was the (remote) possibility that I might have gotten to be on a reality-type show about people with hoarding issues - not the more spectacular ones, but a new show that is supposed to be a little more clinical (?) in its approach - but it turns out they really want someone they can start pretty much at the beginning with, and I am actually much further along than they are interested in documenting. Oh well, I guess my fifteen minutes of fame will have to take place elsewhere and on some other level. Maybe it was because I told them we would have to get a different color of mold for the basement since the black, icky stuff we found several days ago doesn't bring out the color of my eyes at all! Sigh!
My absolutely gorgeous niece is participating in some sort of talent/beauty/dazzling white teeth pagent this weekend, but I ended up not feeling well enough to attend, which stinks. I figure if she complains about my not being there I'll just lay it on thick about my throat being all phlegmy and gross and at least she didn't have to hear me gargle out "There's my niece!" to the entire audience! It really was a little more serious than that though. Over the past four weeks I developed pneumonia, started to recover from that then developed a really miserable sore throat while on the antibiotics for the pneumonia, and found out I had mono! My initial reaction was, "How did I get mono at my age? I haven't been making out with teenagers!" That one made the doctor chuckle and I ended up learning a lot more about mono than I ever wanted to know. My throat is finally feeling better, but only just, and I am spending quite a bit of time trying not to "spread the joy," so to speak.
I really should sign off now and get some rest. I've ended up keeping some very odd hours lately, but things should become more normal now my Pookie Bear is home! (That is what I call him when he complains about my other pet names for him. It reminds him that things could be worse - perhaps something we all should keep in mind when facing life's onslaughts.)
Blessings and peace,
Izzlebug
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