Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Shriner's Hospital feet

I wrote this book for KSS to teach her about her cerebral palsy. She was four years old and ready to learn about her diagnosis. (If you click on the images they will enlarge.) Its still in its rough draft stage as there was never an official print run of it. I read it to her once. She looked up at me and asked "Do I have Zebra palsy?"
I knodded my head and the doors were open to teach her.

I have included it here so you can see the braces or AFOs  (AFO = ankle-foot orthotic) so you know what I am talking about.

My second visit to Shiners Children's hospital was to make plaster casts of KSS feet so they could make AFO's for her.

Commonly called "braces".

Plastic torture devices that hurt like a SOB if you get kicked with them while trying to shoe a fighting child who doesn't want to go to the store with you.

Oh did I mentioned they are hinged plastic torture devises that will leave you screeching in high-E when you get pinched in there folding parts.

And KSS was not to fond of them either.

Her first pair didn't fit correctly and we had no idea they didn't fit her. We put them on her faithfully everyday like we were supposed to. Only to discover months later that they were not conforming to her feet correctly and they were undoubtedly causing her pain 24/7.

Well durr....that would explain why she hated them so much.

Made us grown up feel like crud too. Yeah, thanks Doc, I just spent the last few months hurting my child and adding to her pain and even further hindering her attempts to learn to walk. Nice job of making me feel like a  monster.

Once we got AFO's that fit things got better. 

but I digress...I want to share with you what happened that first fitting.

While we waited for KSS turn to have her legs casted in paster to make molds, she got wiggly.

So she and I wandered off. Her crawling slowly about the hallway looking for stuff to get into. The hallways were silent and empty. She tired door after door to find them locked.

I grabbed a quick drink of water and as I glanced up found myself alone in the hallway.


As I started checking doors I laughed at myself...geeze how stupid do you have to be to loose a small child who crawls at a very slow pace?

At last a door gave way and I peeked in to find KSS smiling up at me. "Sajah?" she grinned.

I scooped her up and froze.

The sight before searing itself onto my soul.

Stopping my heart.

there were rows and rows of pairs of plaster feet hanging from wires that stretched across the room. This was the room the AFOs were made in.

The main set of lights were off and so the little dangling feet were ghostly lite in a somber light.

Like a bunch of dancing angels. Beautiful chubby feet, ankles and toes.

My heart resumed beating, as the tears welled up. There feet didn't belong to dancing children. I could see the twists and bends in them. 

These feet belong to children who might never walk, run or dance .

I looked at KSS. then back to the feet.

There were worried parents behind each pair of feet. Parents who cried many tears over those precious feet.

Row upon rows. 

I ran hand down KSS's crooked leg and cupped her foot.

I thought of the workers in here taking each pair of feet down and handcrafting the AFOs to fit them. 

I left the room and took her back to the waiting room. The enormity of the world I was now in, crystal clear in my head...and too much for my heart to handle.

I have visited that room many times in my dreams.

I always slip in quietly, stand among the dangling feet and catch my tears in my hands, then lovingly wet each tiny foot and re-sculpt it. My heart wishing endlessly to be able to heal those feet. To free those children, to give them feet that fly and jump.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Silent born

toes over the edge
Arching back
I allow my inflated lungs to pull my chest upwards and then I leap
and plummet into life
....her tiny face, silent born
her voice echoing in my tears.
....his hands on my waist holding me
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes
depression like an anchor pulls my body down
to drown in the murky darkness
to wake to daylight and the dew on my face
to die with each breath, too painful to drawn in another,
close the coffin lid...
hearing the dirt falling down
hand reaching up and grabbing rung after rung
returning from mother earths womb
warm wind tousling my hair and embracing me
found my way and lost my way.
I watched the stick man die.
burned at the stake, one flame at a time
return me to the deep,
I feel the coil wind and tugged snug.
flung, catapulted to the sky, I go flailing
chest expands and I grab a lung full of life
silent born
eagle wings open and holding back the sky
flies so close her shadow touches me
she pulls me and my spirit takes flight
my tears pull me to the earth once again
slick river of blood
yellow boots
stamping out codes in the puddles
as I hopscotch down the driveway.
inhaled her last breath as she dies on my chest
and another one leaves me behind
take me with you...
take me with you....
inhaling in the night and saddened I can't translate the darkness
some cosmic code that calls to me and dances like a forgotten language on my tongue
translation lost, the echo to faint to hear again...
toes over the edge
Arching back

(C) Nov 2010

Don't bother asking for a translation. This is one of those poems that I "found" scrawled in my notebooks. I Know only snatches of the images. The stick man was my friend HRP that I played Chess with. The eagle soaring over head, that happened while floating the Rogue River. The coolness of her shadow awoke me. There have been many who have died on my chest...

Somewhere within my soul is a restless writer who scribbles cryptic poems and story idea on to notes and then tucks them away till I find them. Sometimes they inspire me to write on. Sometimes they leave me wondering if perhaps I awoke from a dream and simply jotted it down.

This have been an incredibly exhausting few weeks and tomorrow is my one day off. Then I start the end of the month grind at work. I promise to write something new. I have so much I would like to write about. Just lacking the time to do so.

I just realized I do know another of the images. This one:
....his hands on my waist holding me 
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes

It was a full moon August night and me and my friend John were out to look at the comet that was just HUGE. I was bare foot in the tall green grass and just giddy with the excitement of a full moon, a comet and the warm summer breeze. John tapped me on the shoulder and said "look."

I looked behind me and got my socks knocked off....the start of an eclipse. Freaking awesome double whammy of heavenly wonders!! Comet/eclipse of a full moon.

At the peek of the eclipse the comet just GLOWED!! it was a sight I will never forget. I threw up my arms  tossed back my head and howled. Then dropped my arms and felt my spirit lift as I left the grass. I was leaving this planet and going with the comet.

then I felt

....his hands on my waist holding me
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes

"Do i need to chain you up to keep you here?"

I laugh and toss my long dark hair wildly. I felt my body again lift up as if infused with helium. My eyes returned to the sky.

Again, I felt his hands grab my waist and this time with a firm jerk he pulled me back.


good thing he was there to anchor me to the planet. Writers are very prone to being sucked up by passing celestial objects.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Christmas cheese, well it beats coal in your stocking

Working all week covering a co-worker. No time to write. So I am going to cheese you with this email from 2010.

This is one of my writings that takes me by surprise each time I read it. Just how deep the subject matter is, and how beautiful it turned out despite being written from a place of dark depression.

Enjoy. I am looking forward to next week. A lot to blog about.

2010 Christmas

I have struggled to get in the Christmas spirit this year. The usual winter depression gnawing away at the fringes of my sanity is not helping.

I have nothing to give anyone. I feel like the little drummer boy. Even though I "buy" you all gifts all year long.

Thought this year I would actually tell you what my heart gives you all.

Every time I drive back to Medford I go on a heck of a shopping spree.

The commute from Medford is long and boring and on the way to GP I write in my head. I spin fabulous tales that no one will ever read. I sing loudly and badly to the fuzzy oldies station that fades in and out on my radio.

I stress over stuff I need to do, didn't do, should do and did do.

I spend the commute in the dark playground of my mind.

After work I head for home.

From the on-ramp to Rogue River I usually spend crying and screaming. De-stressing from the job that places me daily in the mist of the elderly and the ever looming impending shadow of death. Most days the amplified pain of my collection of orthopedic injuries reaches 10 on the pain scale and the screaming and crying helps....no not really, but I feels good to give the universe an ear full.

Then I hit Rogue River.

And the Powerball and Megabucks bill board greets me with it ever cheery tally of BAZILLIONS of dollars that are sitting in the pot waiting to be won.

45 million this particular night.

and the tears stop.

and the shopping starts.

Oh the usual frivolous thoughts light up my mind instantly.

With that money I would quit my job.

wait, my boss and co-workers know where I live....and I am an old woman with a bad back, I might be able to take one of them, but collectively they will kick my arse. Nix that idea.

Buy Corey a car that he fits in and won't bump his head.

buy me a new truck....(laugh till my side hurts as imagine the look on the salesman face as he tries to figure out the trade in value of my filthy truck with its custom paint job.)
In short order I have bought you all cars.

45 million.

lets see.
houses next.
Call my sister and tell her to house hunt...vs suprising her with a deed?

buy co-worker a house and leave the key and deed on her desk.

Send my parents to the coast for the day and paint the house blue again...leave a nice slick custom motorcycle with a comfortable seat and a matching side car in the drive way.

Sneak in and pay all the bills I can find for all of you.

Send oldest Brother to Africa. I promised him when he was young we would go. He has to go alone though. With all the hardware in my pelvis I would never get through the scanners.

Go spend time with Brother closest to my age and his family. Tell his kids all the crazy things we used to do...and show them the pictures! (aint seen nothing till you have seen him in Tiny Grandmas mumu's and her stole in his underwear with the mink heads poking out his fly.)

Buy Brother next younger from above brother and his family a huge house in Gold Hill so he doesn't have to do this commute any more.

and the list goes on and on.

I think of each and everyone of you, and how you impact my life.

and how I never tell you

how I wish I could win that money and anonymously give each and everyone of you what ever you want or need.

How after the initial greed reaction I reach deeper inside and I want to lavish those in my life with magical suprises.

A cat for my children, and a house to go with it.

Its not about paying you for being who you are, its about honoring you and reaching inside and communicating with you from my soul. Something I lack the ability to do verbally.

By the time I Sylvia's ranch I am bawling again. Marveling at how RICH I am, not with money, but simply by knowing you. All of you.

Wish I could spend that 45 billion to buy time. More time. Then I could make you all some fabulous gift that would let you know how much I treasure you.

Then I drive by furniture row and I start buying furniture to go in all the houses I bought on the drive.

By the time I hit the off ramp I am spent...physically and mentally....and monetarily. I sneak in and check on the kids and then slid into Corey's warm sleeping arms.

He slumbers unaware of the money that came and went in the night.

My gift to you all tonight.

A memory.

Of a Christmas that didn't go quite as I had planned. That was a  year I lived at the farm. The year that Grandma's daughter bought her a pony. Tink was a dazzling mahogany bay with a long flowing black mane and tail.

The grand kids couldn't wait to ride her so before we ate dinner and opened presents, we went out to the yard. She was acting spooky so I insisted on getting on her first. She reared up so I tossed my weight forward to bring her down. Next think I know I'm on the ground with a pony in my lap. She had flipped backwards and taken me along for the ride. She popped up and I rolled to my side, keenly aware that from mid back down I was numb.

15,000 dollars later I was bolted back together with an impressive set of 4 3" screws and a Frankenstein plate in my pelvis.

The ER staff was all bummed that I had to spend Christmas in the hospital.

The next day around 8:00pm I looked up to see John and Suzy come into my room. What a pair they were. John I had worked with for 9 years at (insert name of some random nursing home). He and I share the same twisted sense of humor and inability to speak to our fellow man unless we are doing so in writing.

Suzy (name changed for privacy) was a resident who was 1/2 Native American and 1/2 mailman. She delighted in doing dumb Indian impression that would have won her all sorts of Oscars. She had long ago adopted me into her tribe.

They slid up to my bed and wiggled and twist like hyper puppy dogs.

"whhhaaat" I smiled, so pleased to see them. Soooo pleased.

Suzy handed me a Christmas present. "we brought you a present." And their faces split into Cheshire cat grins.

My brow wrinkled as I looked at the dusty present. Wondering two things. Why was it dusty?...and how did these two make it past security?

As I opened the wrapping paper they leaned over my rail and peered down to see the action. They looked like two kids on peaking into Santa's bag.

It was empty.

I glanced up at them and they burst into hysterical laughter. When they had caught their breath John explained they had stolen it from under the hospital's decorative tree in the ER on there way up to see me.

I can tell you this...belly laughing after having a horse fall on you and then having pelvic surgery is painful, but so worth it when you do it with friends.

So my favorite Christmas present of all time - an empty box filled with mischief and nincompoopery.

My favorite gift that I get all year round is you.

All the people in my life who see me, work with me, talk with me, eat Chinese food with me, share this planet with me. You are my gifts. It never ceases to amaze me that you would give up your precious time to spend some of it with me.

and someday when I win that bazzillion dollars you will be soooooo glad I am in your life.

and no Christmas is complete without a stocking

I made this one just for you

In it I put laughter, for those days you need some

band-aids, for those days you are hurting.

tucked in 1/2 a rainbow so you don't forget to chase the magic this planet has to offer,

a handful of fall leaves, a gust of snow,

arms to hold you,

a broken chain,

two hairs from a stallions mane,

a bucket of rain.

a soft hankie to dry your tears,

dew drops gathered on cat whiskers,

warm apples off the tree

a shooting star so you will always have wishes,

puppy kisses.

bright green spring grass,

a warm breeze,

healthy feet to chase your dreams,

moon beams.

Strength to break your bonds,

and too hold on.

The perfect wave

an Indian brave

a handful of skipping stones,

a smooth pond for you to free them on.

a horse only you can ride,

a place to hide.

a smile, kisses

and lots of wishes

a candy cane,

a country lane,

and may you wake to no pain.

I'm so glad you checked your e-mail today,

so that I may


and tell you how much I enjoy your company.

Merry Christmas

Love P

Monday, December 3, 2012

The four sisters

I tuck you carefully in and kiss your forehead. Stop squirming little one and I shall tell you a bedtime story.

Once upon a time there was a group of four sisters.

Oh they were the wildest girls you ever saw. Like a herd of delicate Arabian mares.

Everything about them was musical and magical.

Their laughter was like the sound of falling snow, light delicate and hushed.

 Life flowed from there hands as they linked arms and spun in circles. You could see the joy radiating from there eyes.

No one knew there names, or ever called them...

Everyone liked to watch them. Young girls wanted to be like them. To taste their freedom.

The sisters would ride there horses at a full gallop down the crooked path to the ocean.

There they would write messages in the sand and wait for the ocean to wash them away. Occasionally they would have to start over as one of the horses would prance over there messages.

No one knew there names, or ever called them...

Their days were care free and unblemished. They never new pain or hurt.

One night, when the stars were late to rise, the girls woke and rode bareback down the crooked path, the horses dancing in the distilled moonlight.

There on the beach was a girl with long dark hair. Around her bare feet were angry words scratched deep into the sand. The ocean tried but could not wash them away. The cool dark water filled the holes, but could not stay and ran out in dark trickles.

The sisters shivered and reined the horses around. Wanting to flee the beach. They had their happiness and their peace. There was no room in their hearts for this darkness.

"Joy, Hope, Trust, Love!!" The girl with windswept hair called.

The sisters twisted on there horses and their mouths opened in surprise for no one knew there names, or ever called them...

"I don't know you." said one of the sisters

"But I know you" said the girl as the wine dark sea swirled around her ankles. "you haunt me in my dreams, and I call for you and you never come." Her face reddens with anger " WHY DO YOU VISIT OTHERS AND SPEND TIME WITH THEM AND NEVER ME?"

The sisters dismount and walk through the cool sand. "well" said Trust, "I'm not with you...for someone has taken me from you. That man with the flesh knife. Someone else must give me back to you."

"NEVER" snorts the Girl drawing up a wall of sand. " to protect myself I will not allow people to get close to me."

With a voice so soft it sounded like the sound of butterfly wings, Joy spoke. "I cannot be held."

The dark haired girl roared, "but I must have you! I want to know what it feels like to have

"Do you even know what joy feels like?" she whispered.

Darkness clouds the girls eyes, and her legs give way and bring her to the sand. Her shoulders slump and draw her closer to the earth. "No, but I just know if I had Joy I could put her in my heart and ease the ache that is there."

"That is where my sister belongs." Joy responds, pointing to Love.


The sisters wait.

The realization is slow and painful, like a process of disarming a bomb. One of the heavy chains of the darkness drops off...slowly it dawns on the dark haired girl.

"No one will love me...I don't even allow myself to love me." She wails painfully into the night.

Love and Joy and Trust speak as one. "start your journey there my friend." They remount there horses.

"WAIT!!" called the girl, "I am stuck."

"Then stop hiding and come after us" they said reining their mounts around and starting back up the crooked path.

"WAIT!!" called the girl, "I am alone."

"No you are not." They responded pointing to the riderless horse next to them. "Hope will stay with you."

"She is always with you." Said Love. ""Always."

Dissipating like fog the sisters dematerialized into the night.

"How will I find you again?" She said quietly.

"It is easy..." said Hope in her singsong voice, "you follow the beats of your heart."

The girl smiled and her heart sang.

Carefully I close the book and for a moment watch you sleep. One last kiss to your forehead and then I slip out into the night to ride with the sisters.

(C) Jan 12, 2005 P R

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

The oval mirror

* * * * Triggery for childhood sexual abuse, read with caution * * * *

The oval mirror

Once upon a time there was a beautiful oval mirror.

It hung in a little girls room, just upstairs and to the left.

The little girl loved to stare into it's flawless surface and see her reflection.

She would stick out her tounge and make funny faces and the mirror would laugh and make a face back.

They were very good friends. The mirror watching all that happened in the room.

One peaceful evening, as the mirror reflected moonlight onto her sleeping face,

there was a noise on the stairs.

An awful frightening noise.

It woke the girl.

"Mirror the monster with the flesh knife is coming!" she cried and hid under the blankets.

The mirror swung into action and began to sway to and fro.

As the monster got to the door and turned the knob, the mirror threw itself across the door.

There was a horrible sound as the monster swung open the door and knocked the mirror down.
The monster stepped in and with no regard for the mirror stepped right on its face and shattered it.

The girl felt her soul shatter as she faced the monster alone.

She was left to the dark as the mirror no longer reflected the moonlight.

The mirror layed for a very long time on the floor, years and years.

No one cleaned up the broken glass or even noticed it at all. No one.

That was until one summer day when the little girl, now older, ran into the room and fummed
around fighting anger and hate and feeling as if she was going to explode.

She threw herself to the floor and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"TELL ME WHY!" She angerly demanded. "WHY??"

She focused on the mirror and noticed for the first time, it reflected many different images...
many different faces, some whole, some fragemented, some not there at all.

As her vision slid from face to face, she got cut on the sharp edges. The pain was comforting and calming.

"I see there are many of me now."

and she didn't look in the mirror again.

And the mirror once again laid for a very long time on the floor...years and years.
For the most part the mirror just closed its eyes and tuned out the world.

It was only vaguely aware of being slid into a box and transported to a new place and shoved under the bed down the hall to the right.
The girl, now grown, never looked at it.


The monster reappeared.

The child, now a woman, saw a blinking light on the message machine and touching it was
unsuspectingly ambushed by the monster.

The woman, now a child, was very afraid. Even the monsters disembodied voice was too powerful to fight.

She hurried down the hall to the right and yanked the box from under the box from under the bed.

She tore open the dusty box and spoke to the mirror for the first time in forever.

"How...how did you have the strength to try and stop him from coming in my door all those years ago?"

"I knew it would take all of me to block the door, not just the hook or the frame or my glass." sobbed the mirror.

"You did it as one" the woman said quietly. "How can I do that? I am many now.

But the monster speaks and I am five years old. One five year old is not able to face the monster."

"No, no five year old should be sent to face the monster. Why doesn't someone inside you that is older pick her up and put her on their shoulder? " said the mirror, "like this"

The mirror pulled a smaller sliver of itself closer to a bigger piece. "see, now the monster will see a bigger you."

The girl, suddenly taller, looked carefully at the mirror and saw she was indeed bigger.

"and say if we pull these two pieces here and here for support then we can build a human pyramid and hold her even higher."

"Oh yes and if they were flanked by this piece and that piece then the base is strong and wide and stable."

The girl drew up her shoulders as she felt her power flowing back into her. She kept carefully reassembling the mirror until it was whole again.

Though the image was not perfect and had many scars, it none the less reflected her image as one again.

She stared for a long time at this stranger she had not seen for so long.

"Hello you" she at last spoke to her reflection.

"hello you" the reflection answered.

They smiled a quiet smirky smile at each other. The woman felt the mirrors frame fuse to her, giving her a solid sturdy support structure.

The mirror spoke again. "Dont send a five year old to fight the monster alone."

"Who shall I send?" she asked.

"You send the army you see before you."

The woman stood up and came to attention. Presenting a brisk salute she pivoted and went to the phone.
With a single movement she hit DELETE.

The monsters voice was gone.

She picked up the phone and dialed no longer afraid, her army knew how to silence the monsters voice.
And they could choose to do so at anytime.

...and the oval mirror?

well it hangs in a beautiful womans room.

Where you can see it everyday.


(c) 6-3-2005 PR

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Stone Statues

"Your horse sign blog reminded me of the stone statues."

Doh! No wonder it was ya 'alls minds, LOL that was just so weird to suddenly have a 1/2 zillion request for it!

I realized late last night..errr early this morning on the commute that it is possible to do a re-write on it and remove the sensitive info. Which I will do and post it.

"Because P,  love your blog but know you are sharing only a part of what you are capable of writing.  Share with the world what all of you writes,  not just the nice polite part that wears underwear."

ROTFLMAO, damn the minions are on to me...

There you have it. so be it.

 * * * * warning: graffic self inflicted violence - trigger * * * *

Stone statues

I was raised void of religion. There was no super being who called the shots in my life. No set governing rules and regulations of any religious dogma to cloud my head. Even so I found a spiritual place within  myself. Like a cosmic joke between me and the universe. It was it and I was I. If the universe wanted me be, then I had to be.

So many time in my life I barked at the universe and demanded "signs".  I wanted, no needed, trail signs along my lives journey to know that there was purpose in my being.

Trail signs. I grew up learning them from Grandfather. How to track in the woods and read the trail signs. Grass tied in a knot and bent pointing to the left indicated the hunting party took a left turn here.  Three stones piled in a stack, much like a stone snowman, indicated danger ahead on the tail. etc etc etc...

I as a child looked for those sighs as I grew up. Found none and assumed the universe had abandoned me here alone.

When I was in therapy, suddenly the signs I had looked for started appearing.

I was very suicidal in my twenties. I had no fear of death, I had no need to come to terms with death, what I need to do at that time in my life was to come to grips with living.

There were many nights alone in my trailer I would call out to myself. "Game of solitaire for your life? winner takes all." All I had to do was win and I got to call the shots. Mercifully by the time the game was over I usually had come to my senses and had calmed.

That game escalated into, Radio Roulette. The rules were simple. Turn on the radio and if it was a song I didn't like and/or commercial I could kill myself or injure myself,  what ever the stakes were that night. If it was I song I liked then I had to go to bed unharmed.

EVERY time. EVERY TIME the stakes were fatal, (ie I had the means and motivation to do it) I hit that switch and was greeted with a Beatles song. It was as if the universe wanted to FIRMLY let me know: NO. It reached out for me with the only thing on the planet that I would listen to.

I didn't think the signs could get any clearer then that.

I was wrong.

I left hypnotherapy very pissed and angry and upset. I was not listening to them. They wanted me to be friends with my body and my mind. To stop warring with in and unite to face the common enemy of the pain in the past.

"Be united my ass, its me against this ugly body AND the universe, I will not befriend this waste of flesh that I reside in." I grumbled as I got in the car and slammed the door. I glared at myself in the rear view mirror. "FUCK YOU!!!" I screamed at me and revved the engine and set it in gear.

Froze. unable to remember how to drive.

Oh that ticked me off down to my socks.

I exploded in a rage. Punched my face. Not the pain/release I needed I scooted over ripping open the  glove box looking for something to injure myself with further.

The place in my head our session had tapped into was frightening and dangerously close to the core of why I was driven into therapy in the first place. All of me was rebelling and screaming and frightened.

Not finding to suitable tool, I screamed again biting my arm.

Not able to break the skin, my mind fumed and I tried to twist off chunks with my hands.

I needed blood.

I need the sweet, warm comforting redness of the blood.

I remember exiting the car to get the tire iron to crack open my head and then was no more.

I swam through the black haze of my mind to surface once again to discover my self entering the redwoods. Usually as the car enters the rich dark shadows I feel my whole being relax as I return to my own personal Eden  This time it felt tight and uncomfortable and not at all friendly.

I was driving at break neck speeds through the twisty turning road. I turned down Walker Road and disappeared into the redwoods. Walker Road isn't really a road, it more of an impression of a trail that might get you through the core of the redwoods belly. I know it well and know it dead ends at a huge beach of rocks, that hold the Smith River from getting to close to the Redwoods.

I drove my car into a sand bank and abandoned it. I  took flight and made a b-line across the stones to the waters edge. My ankles slid over the many rocks as I made the foot ball field length run. My anger and rage only barely tempered.


maybe, I fumed in my head. I stood on the banks and stared hard at the cold dark green water racing past at breakneck speeds. The Smith River is crystal clear. Cold, DEEP, fast and as inviting as a morgue.

I turned to the stone beach and began picking up rocks and heaving them into the water. One after another in a parade of deep cacophonous moist KER....plunks. These were no little skipping stones. There were two handed hernia inducing stones.

The combo of rock therapy shut down my head and the strenuous exercise combined with the safety of the redwoods and the voice of the rushing water eased the need to injure myself.

Until I realized, I could just not let go of the next rock. My death would be swift, silent and cold.

My muscles nearing exhaustion knocked me over and pressed me to the beach.



The obsertity of this thought knocked me off balance and made me snort a 1/2 laugh, my mind clawed at the safety words they had planted in my subconscious.

Healing hell...I can't even convince myself to stay alive. I stood up and shakily walked the shore line looking for the next rock. Carefully selecting it for its size and ability to pull me under.

It took a moment to get it loose and cradled in my arms. Taking a deep breath I yanked it up and stood up.

The air left me in a silent exhale.

The rook dropped from my hands and it clattered heavily as it nestled back in with its breathern at my feet.

The scene before seared me to the quick.

It was not unlike turning around and discovering a huge zombie army standing behind you.

There all up and down the rocky beach were stone statues. Piles of rocks stacked up into towers.  some as high as 6 stones.  The majority of them three stones high.  Trail signs....Three stones piled in a stack, much like a stone snowman, indicated danger ahead on the tail. 

Hundreds of them HUNDREDS of them all over the beach.

How I missed them on my flight to the waters edge is beyond me. I could not see a clear path back to my car.

All of a sudden, I felt very small. veeeeerry small. A nothingness adrift in a hostile cosmos.

I felt something in me give.

as I imploded.

each of the fragments of my shattered soul, frightened drew closer to the core of what makes me, me.

My eyes scanned the tree line looking for people, big foot, aliens, something...anything.

I was alone. naked. exposed.... vulnerable. The panic was rising within.

The air left me with a hiss. "holy shit."

I wrapped my arms around myself trying to summon up the courage to go through the rock army back to the car.

I dug my heels into the adrenaline horse and took flight through the rocks, I slammed into the side of my car and bounced off and gave the ominous beach another quick glance as I dove into the car and sped off in a dusty cloud.

I drove in silence to the ocean. My mind didn't thaw from the strange terror within until I got to the oceans edge and let it swallow my feet.

That was a sign, my gut whispered.

I took in a ragged nervous breath. "no that was not a sign. That was someone who had hours to kill and enjoyed the solitude of the rock beach to mediate and make prayer towers."

riiiiiiight, smerked my gut. What kind of sign do you need? One that says "HEY YOU, ITS ME THE UNIVERSE, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

I laughed in spite of myself. "yeah, in BIG letters."

The internal chatter fell silent as I walked the sandy beach looking for a stretch of pebbles to hunt for agates in.

Finding one I sprawled on my belly and began sweeping the tiny rocks. I peered in carefully looking for agates. A quarter sized piece of smooth frosted white beach glass poked up as I extracted a black agate. I picked it up and was about to flick it from my path when i caught sight of the words on it.


My gut said what I couldn't,  HOLY SHIT!!

my soul still churned up from the rock "sign" gave way like a dam breaking and I exploded into sobs.

The guardians or  who ever has always watched over me sure pulled out all the stops that day to reach for me.

I sat up a sobbing blubbery mess. "OK! now that's a SIGN!" I hollered to the sea. "THAT IS A HELL OF A SIGN!!!!!!!!!!"

I stood up and walked to the hard packed sand near the waters edge. There I kneeled in the damp sand and used the beach glass to draw a circle around me.

I stood back up and addressed the cosmos. "I am here. I are strong and I am gunna fight to stay alive. Who's with me?"

There for the first time in forever, I heard myself speak in one voice, one thought, one cry...




not me

There, on the beach, that day the battle shifted. The war was now focused outward.


Friday, November 23, 2012

omg you guys...stop that! what the heck!

I am suddenly getting numerous request for the stone statues story. Yes, I know how powerful it is. (I lived it remember?)

Let me do some deep soul searching on this one. That is a part of me that I have kept off the blog on purpose. I am not sure I want to go there...here. (you do realize that most people do not know what that story reveals, don't you?)

Part of me wonders why this time of the year would prompt the need in you to revisit that particular post.

The other part wonders why you remember it? (and so many of you...did it touch that many people?)

I just re-read it several times trying to see what it would give you. I don't see it. I ALSO do not see how I can edit it to not be so revealing.

First though, you must tell me why receiving a copy of it via email isn't good enough. Why do you want to see  it here.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

You called?

Hmmm...sorry I am out of sync... it took me a bit to "hear you"

Why were you thinking about me the other day? to the point you asked for me here by name?

You wanted to engage me in a conversation  You wanted to hear my words. maybe you wanted me to play hard ball withya and give you a whack upside the head?

Want me to climb inside your head and decipher the whirling chaos? Write it down for you to read?

You needed to hear my two cents aye?

*feeling you jerk free of my lasso*

I mount up and give chase.

You a slim bay mare galloping hellbent in a random weaving path. Both running from and running too at the same time....going no where fast.

I gently pull my horse next to you and match your pace.




our combined hooves sync up and the rhythm is comforting. I can hear your labored breathing, you are drowning in all that surrounds you.

That woman is the mirror is getting to be a stranger isn't she? She is this label and that label but never just you. Life has such a strangled hold on you that with each breath you are drawing in water and you are fighting to keep from drowning.

You wanna jump but you are on the ground floor. You wanna climb out from where you are but you are on the top floor. You are backed into a corner with a bear trap clamped onto your leg. The choice is chew off your leg and scurry away and remain wounded forever or ask for help.

Ask for help? arrgh that necessitates communication and vulnerability. Its easier to lie, to self and others.

Oh the pain of traveling with someone who skips, while you must walk. One who carries a single pack, while you shoulder many. How the yoke presses down and leaves furrows in your shoulders.

Its easy for others to see that YOU are holding the yoke forcing into your shoulders.... carrying more than your share of the weight.

No one cares. You want, you need someone to appreciate yourself sacrifices  But even more than that...you want to look into the mirror and be honest with her. You want her appreciation  You want the dreams back. You want the future you dreamed about back. You don't want to be here drowning in THIS reality. You sacrificed bits of yourself along the way, stepping though hoop after hoop to please others. Till all that is left is this phony image of a woman who is not you. A lie in the mirror.

* I pour my canteen of water over your lathered hide to cool you*

And pull my horse up. I am here to listen to you. A hitching post to come back and rest at .

"Peace be the journey" I call out to your dust trail.

Monday, November 19, 2012

"Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me."

Buried some where in the voice mod's I did for my husbands game Baldur's Gate, I can be heard saying: "Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me."

That fact is as true today as it was in 1984 when it was uttered by a friend of mine.

My friend was struggling to survive and care for her three children on min wage, $4 and change an hour. A divorce had left them in a bad place. Things were bad.

Really bad.

They would buy feed sacks full of moldy bread at the bakery outlet store and eat what they could and feed their animals with the rest.

To go from living in comfort to living waaaaay below the poverty line was a long fall for the children.

As Thanksgiving approached they set out and rounded up all the old pop cans at the house they could find. Even the old dusty ones from the barn were collected.

Counting them they had $1.70.

The mother asked her children, "this is what we have, what would you like for Thanksgiving?"

Tears filled the eyes of the older ones, but the younger one thought for a second and then said "Doritos."

"Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me." My friend said.

For me thanksgiving isn't about stuffing my face and eating all day, it is about being with the wonderful souls that share this planet. Being thankful for what there is and not bitter for what is not.

I am thankful that I have a job.

I am thankful that my children have never had to know the hardships of hunger.

I am thankful that I have a loving, compassionate, gentle husband, who treats me like I deserve to be.

I am thankful that I have family who will help me if I need it.

I am thankful that I am not alone.

I am thankful that I have friends who share their precious time with me.

I am thankful that I have been in bad places, it encourages me to work hard and not return there.

I am thankful that in 1984, the large bag of Doritos cost $1.69.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

He leadeth me beside the still waters

When people would ask Grandma how I came to live on her farm she would chuckle and say, "P came to ride the horse and never left."

To which I would counter, "I'm only staying till the horse is dead."

I lived for ~16 years on the farm, and ironically...I did only stayed till the horse died.

Corey and I were still just friends. Meeting up every two weeks or so to play chess. Emailing and just talking about life, his faith, my lack of faith and all sorts of things. I had started attending church with him to gain an understanding of his love for Jesus. I liked this tall man and his gentleness. I admired the peace and calmness that surrounded him. I wished for that centered peace within my shifting chaotic-suicidal mind.

Nibbon was a 1/2 Arabian 1/2 quarter horse. Dapple grey and the perfect blend of the two breeds. He had a skin cancer that afflicts grey/white skinned horses. It was slow growing and the vet said "someday it will go internal and you will know its time to put him down."

The week before I had saddled him for the kids and they rode him in the front yard. Out of character for him, he would go a little bit out and then return to the front porch and put his head on my chest.

"what's wrong with him today?" the farm kids asked.

My stomach sank as I realized he didn't know where he was, but he knew who I was. I set my gut on ice and said, "he doesn't want to be ridden today." I unsaddle and brushed him and took him to the pasture.

A week or so later I went out to feed and only Tinkerbell the welsh pony was at the gate. I looked past her and saw Nibbon trying to get up to answer my morning bellows for breakfast.

He struggled unable to rise. I climbed the fence and went to him. He looked around confused. My face and stomach tightened into twin frowns. I left his flake of hay so he could eat there.

I seemed like and hour to walk back to the house and call Grandma.

She was in a meeting the switch board wanted to take a message.

"No, please page her this is a family emergency."

I waited dreading to be the one to tell her. This horse was special to so many people, he was a beloved member of the Farm clan.


"It's P, Nibbon is unable to get up for breakfast. It's time."

We all knew it would come someday. We always hoped it would be some other day.

We lead him to the back pasture. The vet filled that 60 cc syringe and patted his neck and waited for us to say goodbye. Grandma nuzzled his face and gave the lead rope to me and backed off to deal with her own grief.

"Mitakuye Oyasin" (all are related) I whispered to him. Leaning down I blew into his nose and shared one last wuff of life with him. "I led you in this life, you lead me in the next."

The euthanasia medicine stops the heart quickly. His body fell over with a heavy thud. I held fast to the lead rope so his head didn't slam the earth. The tears came as I gently lowered his beautiful head and knelt to unbuckle his halter.

Good bye my friend. Thank you for taking me on all those wonderful rides in the trails. I bury a piece of my heart here with you today.

Grandma planted a packet of tiny flowers in the planter behind the rocking chair and next to the front door of the house that night. She told me she asked Nibbon to come with a message when the flowers bloomed.

That day came exactly 60 days later.

It was a Sunday and I was rushing out the door to head to the neighboring town to go to church with Corey.

I bolted out the door and then froze in my tracks. Turned around open the door and leaned in over the planter. Several tiny blue flowers peered back at me. I smiled at the memory of my four legged friend.

I headed off vaguely hearing Grandmas word in my ears. I asked Nibbon to come with a message when the flowers bloomed.

At church I sat down and awaited Pastor Tim to start the service. I was beginning to heal on the inside by coming to here and seeing what Christianity was all about. I also very much enjoyed the company of this man who was helping me dig my way out of the terrible rut my life had fallen into. It was so nice to have a friend who I enjoyed interacting with. Someone who didn't want anything from me but to play chess and talk with.

As we stood and sang the opening songs, I felt relaxed. I had issues in the past with abuse by "Christians" and it had taken a lot of Sunday field trips to Bethel to be able to put my guard down and not feel like someone was going to jump up and point me out and demand the heathen leave the church.

As Pastor Tim took the podium he motioned for us to be seated.

The gentleman in front of me removed his coat as he sat down.

He leadeth me beside the still waters

Every system in my body stopped functioning as I read that message on his shirt. Everything around me hushed in the distinctive dissociative heighten awareness aura.

Above the message on his shirt was a cowboy, kneeling next to a horse....a horse that looked exactly like Nibbon.

My life has been filled with many wondrous signs from the spiritual world.

But I have to say, this one tops the cake.

I tried to force myself to refocus and listen to the sermon. My mind and eyes kept returning to the man's shirt.

I led you in this life, you lead me in the next.

He leadeth me beside the still waters

My mind whirled.

Is this where I belong?

The man rose up to free his wife's sweater from underneath him and in doing so revealed the bottom on the image.

Psalm 23 it read.

I could feel my face freeze over as layer after layer of dissociation happened in quick succession. This was too much to comprehend at this moment. I turned and looked at Corey.

He glanced my way and smiled. Then for a second his eyes returned front then he looked back, this time with concern in them.

Normally if attending church spooked me he would quietly reassure me with a squeeze of my hand. Today he must have seen something deeper because he immediately scooted over and put his arm around me and held me firmly but gently.

I closed my eyes and took a big breath. Alright Nibbon, I hear you. You didn't need to punctuate your message with my favorite number, I got your message horse.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Not compatible with life

The door to my room slammed open and the nurse came running in "put that baby to breast! his blood sugars are not compatible with life!"

Even in my lack of sleep  and extreme levels of pain, I got it. My son was dying.

She helped me unwrap him and rouse his groggy little body awake enough to latch on my breast.

"So you know what is happening, we have a call in to the doctor, once we get orders he will be heading to the NICU, they will just come in and take him, be prepared."

Prepared? Woman I have spent my life believing a lie told to me as a child that I would never have children. To have this neon blond baby even the 12 hours I have is more then ever dreamed possible. I haven't slept in two days because I keep waiting for him to die or just to awaken and find this all a cruel dream.

"Keep him awake" she said flicking his feet.

As I switched him to the other breast, my tired mind paused to burp him. Forgetting the life/death struggle going on.

She came back in "PUT HIM BACK TO BREAST!" She roughly rubbed him sternum to rouse him. "Their on their way. Say goodbye now."

Say goodbye? I haven't even said hello to him yet.

...and he was gone from my arms. Passed with great swiftness from nurse to nurse to incubater and so many hands reaching for him his little body disappeared from site.

The whirling hive of nurses left and the door quietly clicked shut.

I stared at it while that evil voice echoed in my head. "YOU WILL NEVER HAVE CHILDREN."

I got up, grabbed my cane  and forced my nonresponsive pelvis and back to come with me to the sink. I brushed my hair and stared at the beyond exhausted woman in the mirror. We should pack and go home. my heart said.

Corey came and stood behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Our son is dying and I can't comfort him. There is thick layer of dissociation going on mixed in with the exhaustion/fatigue of giving birth. I just want to go home and hide under the covers. He turns me to face him and wraps his arms around me.

He always knows just what to say to me.


I had wanted to have JUR at home to prevent the hospital bill. We were still trying to pay off all the debt I brought into our marriage. I had worked right up until the day they induced me. And I was due back in a few days. The only reason I didn't try a home birth was the doctor was not convinced I could have him vaginally with my messed up pelvis. Plus they though he had a goiter from the anti thyroid medication I was on.

"He would have died if we had him at home" I heard myself say. "he would have died because of stupid money!"

He held me tighter and tighter till the tears came, and we waited for word that our son was alive.

I was planning his funeral, when the call came.

"Your son is hungry" said the voice on the line.

"He is alive then?" I asked.

"Oh honey! I apologies that no one has updated you sooner, yes he is alive and doing great, his blood sugar is up and he is a hungry little man."

I put on my robe and Corey and I made our way down slowly to the NICU. I hung my cane on the edge of the wash basin as I scrubbed. 

Once done a nurse came for us. She paused in the door way looking from my dark hair to Corey's dark hair. "You're the parents of that blondie?!" she asked. 

We nodded  and she opened the door to the NICU and my ears were met with the beautiful sound of JUR screaming for a boob.

Once he was in my arms and latched on, JUR grabbed my finger and held on tight as if to say, I'm coming home with you mama.

I am coming home with you and Dad.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Shrapnel 2

Out side we found out packs and rifles neatly stacked and ready to go. Three sacks sat upon my pack.

Shaking my throbbing hand I glanced around the murky storage shed. No sign of Tiomo. What new game was this?

Naked's maniacal laughter returned my focus.

"He packed us lunch" He said shoving one of the sacks under my face to show me.

As my tired mind whirled at the sight of an apple, some jerky and a sandwich nestled in the sack, Moserat shouldered his pack and checked his rifle. "Lets go." He hissed.

"He packed us lunch?" I echoed. I felt father shift in my head, like he used to do before leaning across the table to cuff me.

I slowly raised up my eyes to meet Moserats. "How did you know the door was unlocked?"

In the sudden stillness Naked squirmed like a puppy about to piss on the floor. "Yeaaaaaah" he said to Moserat with all the confidence of a stalk of celery.

Moserat gave us both a cold look and backed up only a few steps before his glistening black skin dematerialized into the shadows.


Naked's lips made a popping sound as he rolled the smoke in his mouth before exhaling.

Moserat again heaved his bulk up and paced restlessly around the room. His arm occasionally twitching in a strange spasm as he reached to stop his non existing rifle from sliding off his shoulder. He stopped over the dying ones body. Grumbled and paced on.

The silence was insidious. I found myself wanting to hear even Naked's ludicrous stories just to ease the uncomfortable pressure.





interrupted only by the dying ones agonal breathing.

Within my mind father kicked me.

"You going to take that shiiit or are you gunna grow sum balls boy!"

I glanced at Naked and then Moserat. Why the fuck am I always the one who gets elected to play the psychotic over the edge misfit? My stomach burned as the rage ignited. "FINE!" I shout wrestling my legs to unfold and stand up.I stumble through the debris and park myself at the door. "ALRIGHT YOU PISS COMPLECTED SON OF BITCH!! YOU WIN! TIOMO!!!"

The lack of prompt response further fueled the burning in my stomach. "TIOMO!!!!"

I arched my arm back and punched the door, "YOU WIN! - YOU WIN! -YOU WIN!"



punch ...


I stopped when there was blood running down the door. I rested my head right in the middle of it.

"Dying one has died" mumbled Moserat, removing his foot from the man's chest. "Its time to go" He grabbed Naked by the collar and hoisted him to his feet and then tossed him my direction.

I rolled my head to the right and looked at the two of them.

Moserat pushed me aside and slid opened the door.

It was unlocked this whole time? Oh Tiomo you evil piece of putrefied rectum.

Thursday, November 8, 2012


Now several of you have mentioned that I will get a cash settlement for my MVA injury, and I quote, "that will make things better."

This is not my first rodeo.

For that OJI I was given somewhere in the neighborhood of $3400.

That was 20 years ago.

Ignoring leap years that is 7300 days.

So basically right now its now stretched to roughly 0.47 cents per day.

Each year it gets smaller.

Each year the chronic pain worsens.

Some day I will be unable to walk...but that is okay I know that for my trouble I will have been paid  pennies a day for my pain and suffering.

So no, any settlement for pain and suffering will not make this loss of time better.

The MRI results came in yesterday and verified the original diagnosis. I was really REALLY hoping it would have shown something else. Something the doc's could just FIX and be done with. It made me very depressed and sad.

Today I am regrouping and reorganizing my life to batten down the hatches and move forward.

Can't remember if I told the blogisphere that I cut my hair so I can brush it with my left hand and no longer have to braid it, thus easing the strain on my right elbow. I now have something concrete I can look forward too.

When my hair is long again...my elbow should be healed.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

"Tennis Elbow"

That is what my car accident injured elbow is currently diagnosised with. Or the more formal  definition: Lateral epicondylitis or lateral epicondylalgia.

Truly I believe I would have less trouble being labeled with that if it didn't stir up images of floofy people court side, dabbing club soda on their linen napkins and dotting there foreheads with it.

"Run and fetch the doctor Miss Annie, the house mistress hath tennised her elbow."

Therefore the sake of the sanity of all us normal people I am going to give that type of injury a new nomenclature.

Hence forth it shall he called:

Remote Control Elbow  (for those couch dwellers)

Bastard Sword +3 Elbow       (For the gamers)

Squirmy toddler Elbow   (for the haggard parents)

Head Kickstand Elbow   (for the students)

Hadda-punch-im Elbow  (for those violent types)

Bat'leth Elbow  (for the Trekkies)

Texing Elbow  (for the youngins)

Fapping Elbow  (for....uh....for, you know who you are.)

and lastly for those people injured in car accidents through no fault of there own,

Dizizpissinmeoff Elbow

Also pronounced "&&^%$#$%^&*!!!!!!!!!!"

So Monday I had an MRI done on it. I have a copy of the disk and spent some time studying the 127 images on it. Playing Dr House is a fun sport in my life. I have been in the medical field 30 years, I am not there for the money....I LIKE IT.

I should apply to med school, that is how much I enjoy the medical field. Alas sadly my medical degree comes straight from GoogleU and years of self study. Oh and from watching MASH, ER, Chicago Hope, EMERGENCY, etc etc....(does General Hospital count?)

I however once read an ultrasound correctly, and the high risk neonatal doctor didn't. He stood there and told me my fetus at 8.5 months gestation had a goiter, and we would be watching it closely to see if a C-section would be needed, and at the very least he was going to recommend I be induced at least 3 weeks prior to due date.

I looked from him to the scan screen and back at him. I wanted to say: "It doesn't look like a goiter to me Doc, it looks like the cord is around his neck."

But I held my tongue...He after all was the expert in the field.

My son came squalling into this world with the cord wrapped around his goiter-less neck.

Great now I need to come up names for people like me who know just enough medical info to make them dangerous and smug all in the same diagnosis.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012


We were taking goofy pictures and trying to out do each other. Take picture - turn over camera - laugh - repeat. 

I lack the ability to look cross eyed. I simply fail in that skill. My son however is quite good at doing it on demand.

That is one of the braces I am wearing 24/7 on my right arm...which accounts for some of the lack of blogging.

The best picture is one that I didn't catch. Its the kids reaction to seeing this photo when I flipped the camera over. OMG they laughed like hyena's. 

Dentures for the win.

(I will get to writing in a bit guys. I'm struggling to process everything that has happened this month. I am so overwhelmed. Plus my arm is hurting. I have come to the conclusion that this MVA injury is not going to heal and that is making me really sad.)

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Mom 1948-2012

You don't start a relationship with a person and think, "Are you worth the pain?" Will getting to know you and being your friend and falling in love with you, and enjoying a life time of memories together be enough compensation for the pain that your death will cause me someday.

You just leap into relationships and don't question it.

Mom sized me up the first time she me.  With exactly that look in her eyes.

She wasn't too thrilled that first meeting to discover I was nine years older than Corey. That small disappointment in her voice was a glimpse into her heart. She, like all mothers wanted her son to find someone to love and be happy. She worried about him being alone.

Corey and I were just friends when she met me. I never dreamed that she would someday be my mother in law.

You know that is so strange to write. Mother in law I never called her that or referred to her as such, she was always Mom.

I enjoyed getting to know her. We are a lot alike. Both beautiful, dark haired women who wear glasses, that are mysterious and battle within ourselves, and look awesome in hats! Plus we both think that Corey is pretty special.

Ginny if there is a TRAM button in heaven, you should push it, cause you got all the tricks now, and you left us all going set. I can just see you grinning like a Cheshire cat and you lay that 2 of diamonds down at His feet.

In the language of my people....Etgibniraundy 

There is no translation, just know it is given from my heart with sincere love an honor and deep respect.

Mom, you are worth this pain. I am so glad you battles are over now. That you are free of the pain. I know this pressure in my heart is one last hug from you, and I don't want to let it go.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Assassin's creed for nintendo ds!!!????

Why did I not know this!!

The monthly budget got shot all to heck this month. Between my medical bills and everything else its just a train wreck.

Talked to hubby and told him I can't deal with entertaining the kids for the 8+ hour drive to Mom's funeral, or the 8+ hour drive back home. I am at the end of my rope. Asked if we could purchase Nintendo DS's to pacify the crew.

He agreed.

Went to get them today and saw that assassin's creed has a DS game.





I have wanted to play this one since I first saw it, but we couldn't afford to change the gaming platform we have.

aahhh, we are still on a N-64.

(with the original controllers...see through green and the gold one)

So now I am wondering if we need a third DS so I can be pacified too.

(insert image of cranky fat old woman dying of boredom on the drive)

either that or I need to drug one of the children so they sleep and I can use their new one.

(insert crying child while old woman plays AC for the whole 8 hour drive)

WAIT!! its my B-day next month!! I know what I want!!

Thursday, October 18, 2012


So much to blog and my car accident injured elbow flared up and I am 24/7 in a brace and air splint for two weeks.

That is a long time to a writer.

Oh sure I can type one handed but the speed of my brain is way to fast for one set of phalanges.

My sister even gave a great blog idea and I can't write about it. LOL.

quick update then a poem.

The ultrasound showed two growths in my right boob. Which I find funny cause the left one feels like I am smuggling contraband in it. Its not suspected to be cancer, and they suggested I consider a biopsy. Even with 30% discount that is 1900$...aaah, pass.

My mother in law died on Tuesday. That is so strange to type...I have never thought of her my "mother-in-law" she was simply, "Mom".

Heading up to her funeral next week. The family is still smarting from grandpa dying this summer.

I want to write about all the stuff swirling in my head/heart, but see above.

I was reminded of an old poem today as Hansolo and were out. As we were walking the sun suddenly illuminated a single strand of spiders silk across the walkway.....right at neck level.

LOL, that similar image caused me to write this years and years ago.


So softly she sways in the setting sun
just several seconds since
she was strangled by a silvery strand of spiders silk
stretched sideways across the shadowy side walk


This poem was hotly debated in my writing class. First they didn't like the lack of punctuation, then all the SSS's and last the title.

The title actually has two meanings, the second one was unintentional. I was thinking HOMICIDE as in the spider had set out its single stand of silk to decapitate some pedestrian strolling by. The class was thinking SUICIDE as in the spider hung herself  which totally changes the whole imagery of the poem. Either way works for me man!

I refused to back down on the SSS's....this poem is meant to be read in a soft voice/whisper. Or even better lean over and hiss it into someones ear to really appreciate the musical tone of it.

Lastly the lack of punctuation. Years after writing this I was vindicated by a computer program my brother had. You typed in some of your writing and the computer would tell you what skill level it was.

He asked me for some of my writing on the spot and all I could repeat from memory was this poem.

He entered it as in. Computer promptly reported my skill level was hovering between stained beets and creamed corn.

Brother then added the proper punctuation and entered it again.

It then reported the writing sample as the highest you could get. He and my sister looked at me in new found respect for my dazzling skills as a writer.

*pumps chest* oh yeah baby.

P!! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A "quick update then a poem." STOP USING YOUR HAND!

Get off my case I am typing with my feet....haters gonna hate, writers gotta write...

Sunday, October 14, 2012

full circle.

Breast biopsy in the morning. Been thinking about how I want to die all weekend.

You know, never hurts to allow your anxiety to run amok and come up with worst case scenario after  worst case scenario, it keeps it busy so you can get stuff done.

I was born on the kitchen table.

I think I want to die on the kitchen table too.

I mean why not go out as you came in aye?

I either need to loose some weight or get a bigger table though.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


So last week I had to have two mammograms. Geesh...if the radiologist really wanted to see that much of my boobs he should just read my blog!

While I was waiting for the second one, two others ladies were in there chatting with me to kill the time till we were called.

The tech came out and called me. "Ummm......ahhh" she stuttered staring at my name on her sheet.

Sometimes I feel mean and make them take a stab at pronouncing my name, other times I just answer to that vocal hesitation that usually precedes my name being called.

Feeling generous I turned to her and filled in my name "Its pronounced P."

(PA-JUH, it rhymes with rajah and sounds so unusual when spoken softly)

Behind me the other two ladies appeared from there cubicals.

"what did you say your name was?" one demanded eyeing me like I was a filthy liar.

"P" I said enjoying the look of confusion on her face. The other lady was looking at me like she had seen a ghost or just realized she was in the presence of some divine mythological creature.

I have yet to place that look. Its one that perks my interest because I have seen it so many times.

Most people expect me to look like this when they see my name:

 (When I wore this and went to my work, no one recognized me it was soooo funny!!)

Or at the very least:

(Exiled Russian princess anyone?)

But if they have heard my name over the phone or someone has spoken it they expect me to look like this:

Most are disappointed to find that I look like this and do not match my name at all.

(dawww love to snuggle with Core)

When my mother was 8 months pregnant with me, she had a dream, and I came to her and told her I wanted to be named P. So when I was born she did so. Had I been a boy I would have been Raja. My name has been an interesting thing to live with over the years. Sometimes a burden and other times  liberating.

In grade school when role would be called it went like this.






Me: Here!

Thursday, October 4, 2012

You lead, I follow

This was written for a young father who's son was critically injured and not expected to survive.  I have altered one word in this version to change the feel of it. It applies to all of us. We don't get to pick who is sent to teach us.

You lead

I follow

Little son, before you were born

I saw my role unfolding

I would be your daddy, I would lead

you would follow.

I would show you places that would enrich your soul

deepen your heart

spark excitement and joy in your growing sense of self.

I would lead with strong determined foot steps,

cause I knew where we were heading

you would follow on toddlers feet delighting in the adventure

So much my son, to do in one lifetime

oh the hopes and dreams that opened up in me...for us.

Your tiny chest rises

then falls.



The click buzz whirr of the machines that surround us

not the lullaby I wanted to sing to you.

Your tiny chest rises

then falls.

rises.....you lead

falls.....I follow

rises....you lead

falls....I follow

You never commanded an army,

yet here you give orders and lead me into battle and scary places I don't want to go

you have never stood behind a podium

yet here you lecture and teach me things no other have dared to.

We never got to play ball, yet

you have thrown so many things at me, it will take a life time to catch them all.

Little son, now that you are here

I see my role unfolding

I will be your daddy, I will follow you

You lead.

You will show me places that will enrich my soul

deepen my heart

I will follow a great man

who's little foot prints will leave deep impression on my life.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

First to be eaten

After a verbal skuffle with KSS I told the other kids to get in the truck and we would wait for her at the gate.

While we waited I silently fumed a bit about having to fight with KSS to come with us.

At last I turned to the other kids. "You know if we are ever stranded on a deserted island, KSS will be the first one to be eaten."

Her cousins busted up laughing.


I realized this summer that I have now become the "first to be eaten."

I am no longer a viable deserted island party member. I am not worth my salt.

I am no longer a breeding female. I am no longer physically able to build huts, escape raft, and most important ROW.

All I can offer is the knowledge of how to build shelter/raft, purify water, find food, etc.

But once I run out of my thyroid medication....I am worth nothing....and I get bumped up the list to become dinner.

That is a weird thing to think about.

My husband will not eat me. He gets a horrified look in his eyes and adamantly refuses to consider eating me if we are trapped on a deserted island.

I would eat him.

Actually you wouldn't want to be trapped on a deserted island with me. Because of this reason:

I have medical knowledge.

When I run out of my medication, I know where to find the thyroid hormone.

There is a supply in your thyroids.

So not only am I first to be eaten now, I should definitely also be, first to be killed in their sleep so they don't turn into a hypothyroid zombie!

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Shrimp sauce and a day off

gawd I need one.

I think that is why I wrote about the radiation isolation the other day.  Why it was on my mind.

I have an appt for another test today to help rule out what is medically wrong with me.

Worse than that though is I need to call and set up yet another appt for my elbow that was injured last may in the car crash. uuuggh. The cortisone shot is no longer helping and the pain has returned.

I am not able to sleep comfortably do to the swollen lymph tissue in my abdomen.

I just want to slip away unnoticed and unannounced and go away.

Where no one knows where I have gone...not even me.

I need time to get my shit together.

I feel like I an failing on so many fronts.

Oh and the shifting weather is making my back arthritis flair up. Would someone please take that sign off my back? The one that says "She's down! kick her!"

The anxiety about all my medical conditions is causing me to dissociate further and further away. A way to close off and be detached. I don't like it when I find my self doing that. Those who live with me loose out, I loose out.

I have to find me. I feel like I am lost.

Yeah this is partly due to the usual mental decompensation that the fall brings (ie: season affect disorder S.A.D)

So I am normally a neurotic mess this time of year. I usually go into the approaching fall at a gallop and with a sword to fend off the depression as long as I can. This year I feel like I am on a bike with two flat tires and all I am wielding is a broken Popsicle stick.

I need to set up some priorities.

a Do or die list for the coming days. (aka dangling a carrot in front of my face)

as I need a focus to swim to as the murky water rises and tries to drown me.

DORDIE list 10-2-2012

1. get up today (like to start with something I can cross off right away)
2. stay up
3. Go to appt at 1:10
4. grocery shop on way home.
5. plan a real dinner for my family. You are not feeding your family right and you need to work on being a better mother in that area.
6. Pepsi is NOT an approved breakfast food....eat something
7. homework earlier so boy is fresh and there will be less fighting
8. homework for girlie after she gets home
9. don't answer the phone if work calls. Working from home is a blessing, but also a wretched curse.
10. LOOK your family in the eyes and make sure you connect with each and everyone.
11. When kids are in bed play MTG with hubby. (hah! I also like to add something that I don't have to twist my arm to do!)
12. Thursday is payday. Plan on and go eat Chinese food. Chinese food therapy is soooo much cheaper then real therapy.

Funny. That is it right there.

I need Chinese food.

To drown my sorrows in shrimp sauce. To quell the screaming anxiety in me with a pile of warm mar far chicken. Comfort food.

I need to stop running and comfort me. No one else can comfort me at this level, but me. I have my internal deflection grid on line. Others attempts bounce off, for the simple reason that if I am not comforting my selves than I will not allow others to comfort me either.

My mother believes that sympathy is a sick emotion. So she never offered it to me as a child. As a result I am used to walking around wounded and in pain and being ignored. You just learn to shut the hell up and keep moving. You wouldn't believe the amount of therapy it took to correct that small detail from my childhood.

I am in very real physical pain. I am scared about all this medical stuff. I want and need a mama to hold me and comfort the small parts of me who are like bobbers on the fishing line, barely holding their heads above water.

I allow no one to approach me on that level of intimacy. Except Chinese food. The warm food nestled in my belly is the hug that I have always needed since I was a small child.

I must fight the S.A.D or I will slip into a dark place. Where I will be no good to my family or my selves. Its not a shield and sword I need to wield in this fight, its egg foo young and a fortune cookie.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Isolation...oh yes please.

June 2008 I swallowed 10.7 mci of radiation to attempt to kill/damage my over active thyroid gland.

I had to spend 4 days in strict isolation.

My kids were 6 and 1 3/4. Husband took the time off work and watched them.

I stayed in the back of my pick up. Which was parked in front of the house. I was allowed to make there food so they would call me on the walkie talkie and then go up stairs so I could prep their food then leave the house.

I would have loved to have stayed at a motel, but wanted to be there close in case my hubby needed verbally coached through the four days of kid wrangling. Plus we couldn't afford it.

I wasn't sure how I was going to handle the isolation. I have grown very fond of the physical touches my husband gives me through out the day. I love being near him and hugging him. He told me before we were married that "what ever my faults may be, it won't be giving my wife lack of affection."

He has been true to his word.

I eat up his physical touch. Its like a nutrient that nourishes me.

Four days without it was going to be rough.

The total isolation protocol was this:

4 days strict isolation no closer than 12 feet from ANYONE.
NO neck contact with anyone for 2 weeks (as in you can't touch my neck or hug me where your face is near my neck. Which meant no sleeping in bed with husband for two weeks.
(um, that was the hardest part. I am a spooning junkie)
NO closer than 3 feet from me for one week post isolation
NO contact with babies for 2 weeks - babies suck up radiation like sponges.
No sitting near me or riding in a car with me for longer than 30 min after 1 week of the treatment.

I arrived back at the house after taking the radioactive pill and climbed into the canopy and radioed Coremind to tell him I was home and to check on the family.

They came to the picture window and waved to me. I remember thinking...who is this 4 days going to be longer for, me in isolation, or Coremind alone with his kids and no wifey.

I laid back and opened the book I had brought, and promptly fell sound asleep.

Not just asleep, but ASLEEP. For the first time since conceiving our son in 2001 I slept soundly. There was no sleeping with one ear open listening for the kids or for burglars or house fires, no listening for hungry babies calling for my boobs....nothing. I was responsible for just me.

Literally I was relieved of ALL my parental duties. Actually all my duties as a human!

24/7 non-ending parenting wears you down, I didn't realize just HOW much till that moment.

I think all parents should be put in strict isolation 4 days every year just so they can have a complete break. What a wonderful thing that was.

By day four I was ready to return to my job. Gauging  from the number of times my family came to the window to look out at me in the truck, they were ready for me to return too.