Time it was, and what a time it was

I was laying in bed last night, struggling to read my book (John Irving's new novel), and despite the amazing writing, it just didn't hold my attention.  It wasn't the book's fault, my mind was just elsewhere. 

I kept flashing to my grandparent's basement.  It always had that certain smell, and it was cool and dark and it was filled with junk.  And I never, ever, understood it.  By that, I mean, I never figured out what room upstairs was over which part of the basement.  It never made sense to me.  So I lay there, in my mind, trying to remember it all.  Every last detail.  Including the smell, and the feel, and the stuff...  remembering it all became so insignificantly important to me. 

As I was trying to "map it out" in my mind, half tempted to get up, grab a piece of paper, and draw the darn basement, once and for all...  my mind wandered from it's wanderings.  The thought of that, in and of itself, amused me for a minute, which became a third wandering!  But what I started thinking about were all of the pictures that my Pop-pop had taken when I was little.  He was one of those in-your-face-documenting-everything type of photographers.  At one time, he even had a dark room in the basement (insert irony here!).  I didn't realize until that very moment last night how precious each and every one of those photographs really are.

So, my mind wandered to a specific photograph that my Pop-pop had taken of me when I was maybe 3 years old.  I was wearing an itchy dress and itchy tights that my mother had dressed me in.  I was sitting on the tile in front of the fireplace because it was always hot as hell in my grandparent's house and the tile felt cool, and I was playing with a stripped ball.  I was so young, but I remember when my Pop-pop took the picture.  He climbed down on one knee, then the other, then he lowered himself forward onto his elbows, getting all the way down to my 3 year old level.  I gave him a little wave and a big cheesy smile, being more annoyed by it all than amused, and he took the picture. 

The 3 year old me had no idea that 43 years later (well, almost 43!), that photograph would be so important to me.  It's a picture of me, but that's not really the part I cherish, it's the memory of my Pop-pop taking that picture that's so absolutely precious.  I had to sit there, patiently, waiting for him to lower himself to the floor, then I had to wait for him to focus, get everything just right.  It was so important to him that this photograph be perfect.  It was an old Argus camera, I believe it was a 35mm, film was expensive, developing fluids and paper, it was all expensive.  He went to great lengths to make it perfect, because having a perfect picture of his one and only granddaughter was priceless to him. 

The photo of me with that cheesy smile in that itchy dress with those itchy tights, that is how my Pop-pop saw me.  That photo is of me, from his vantage.  That picture doesn't only capture me, at 3 years old, in my grandparents house with their ugly sofa in the background, it captures my grandfather too.  His pure love and adoration for his grand daughter.  I need to buy a frame for that photo, I just realized how absolutely priceless it is.

So, I never finished reading my book.  I still haven't taken out a piece of paper to map out, "once and for all", the layout of my grandparent's basement and their house.  It's still something that will bug me, being a wee OCD and all, but maybe I'll just leave it like that.  Now, every time I start to think about it, it'll bring me back to the memory of my Pop-pop taking that photograph, which isn't such a bad place to be.  <3

Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends":

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

I am [s]he as you are [s]he as you are me and we are all together

Sometimes some things just need to be said.

A few days ago I was baited into a conversation from someone who has differing political views than I.  He calls himself a Tea Party member, I call myself a Liberal.  I was at once corrected by a friend of this friend, someone whom I've never met, that I'm not a Liberal.  "They are communists", he said.  "You are Libertarian." Oh.  OK.  Hmmm....?

It really bothered me when he said that.  First, it caught me off guard that I really don't have a clue what being a Libertarian means.  So, I did what any red-blooded American with "freedoms" did, I googled it.  Then, just to be on the safe side, I asked an expert.  Second, it disturbs me that it makes a difference in our society with which group I'm aligned.  My value, the weight of my opinions, the "Truth" I speak, is all judged by the label I'm given.  I consider myself anti-political, for lack of a better term, so why should I have to declare myself affiliated with anyone?  I am me.  That should be all that matters.

So, that being said...

I believe that a woman should always have the right to chose.  I believe in Planned Parenthood.  I believe that beyond the healthcare it provides, it's a great educational resource and it should receive Federal funding.  I believe that healthcare is a National issue, therefore, it should be a National program.  I believe that everyone in this country should have access to the same healthcare to which I have access.  No one in our country should be without healthcare.  NO ONE.

I believe that all Americans should have the same rights.  Period.  Gays and lesbians should be allowed to marry, and their marriages should be treated with the same respect as heterosexual marriages. I believe that our borders should be open to immigration, and I believe that people who live in America, regardless of their countries of origin, should be required to follow the same rules as everyone else.  If you're here, you obey our laws and you pay taxes.

I believe in paying taxes.  I believe that everyone in our country has a responsibility to our country, and that includes financial support.  I pay taxes, so should everyone else. I believe that it shouldn't be a source of contention in our Government.  Democrats should pay.  Republicans should pay.  Rich, poor, conservative, liberal, big corporations, small businesses, everyone should pay taxes.  I believe if you live here, if you do business here, you pay taxes.   It's that simple. 

I believe in art.  I believe in music.  I believe in dancing, and singing, and acting in plays and playing instruments, and I believe that we owe it to our children to teach them these things.  I believe that every child in our country should be given the same opportunity for a well rounded education.  Every child. 

I believe in a god.  I believe every living thing on this planet is connected by the air we respire, the nutrients we consume, and we're as connected in death as we are in life.  I believe that Christians and Jews and Muslims are all blinded by hate and are condemning each other for praying to the "wrong god".  I believe they're all praying to the same god, it's the WAY they pray that's different.  I believe that Jesus Christ was a nice guy who lived, and died, and preached nice things while he was here.  I believe that this is America, it was founded for religious freedom.  Worship how you want, where you want, and to whom you want, and judge not those who's beliefs are different from yours.  You're not as different as you think.

I believe in social security.  I believe in welfare.  I also believe that there are people in our country who take advantage.  I believe our social programs are there for the good of the order, and we shouldn't judge, or chastise, or condemn those who use it because of a few bad apples.  I believe there are good people in our country who are in bad situations, and I believe that we need to help them.  I believe in charity.  I believe in helping where help is needed.  If everyone helped, there would be no one left in need of help. 


I believe that global warming is real.  I believe we've screwed up our planet and it's going to take years, generations, to put things right.  I also believe that in my lifetime I will see our planet begin to heal.  I'll work my hardest for my belief that I can make a difference and our world will be a better place for future generations.  I believe some people don't want to see the truth and refuse to do the right thing by our planet, and it makes me sad.  I like Earth.  It's pretty here. 

I believe in giving thanks for the sunsets, the rainbows, and all of Nature's gifts because they remind me that I'm alive.  I believe in kindness and honesty, turning the other cheek and standing up for myself when it's called for.  I believe in miracles.  I believe anyone can do anything if they're willing to work for it.  I believe in movie night, reading a good book, and honking my horn at the kids in the car in front of me when they make that honking motion with their arms. 

So am I a Liberal?  A Libertarian?  I think it's clear I'm not conservative, by other people's definitions, but does it really matter?  The truth is, I'm the person you want to have as a friend, a neighbor, an advocate for your children and a bureaucrat in your Government.  I work hard, I love deeply, and I'll help you when you're in need.  Even if you are a Republican.

.

Maybe I don't know that much, but I know this much is true, I was blessed because I was loved by you.

My best friend died today.

Three years ago today, my very dearest friend Mary, died.  It was on November first, early in the morning. She woke up and wasn't feeling "right", she had her husband call 911.  An ambulance came, Mary was cognizant, alert, but still not feeling "right".  Her husband, not taking it very seriously, kissed her good-bye and said he'd meet her at the hospital.  On the three block ambulance ride to the hospital, Mary suffered a major heart attack.  They revived her.  She then had a second heart attack.  They revived her again.  She had a third, and then a fourth heart attack.  Each time, it became increasingly more and more difficult to revive her.  By the time her husband arrived at the hospital, only about 20 minutes later, Mary was gone.  Her three children were still at home, asleep in their beds. Mary didn't wake them up before the ambulance came, she didn't want them to worry. 

Mary had spent the previous evening with her daughter, Clara, the youngest of her three kids.  Clara was turning ten on November second that year, and Mary was trying to spend as much time with her as she could before Clara decided that mom's aren't cool.  So, unaware, Mary and Clara went out trick-or-treating one last time, the evening before Mary died.


The week before Mary died, I was on travel for work to Seattle, Washington.  Mary had just been to Seattle a few months before, she told me all the good places to see.  I spent my days in a conference and my evenings sight-seeing.  I loved Seattle, she knew I would, and I couldn't wait to talk to her about it!  I arrived home on a Thursday night and I worked from home that Friday, which was Halloween.  All day that Friday I kept thing that I needed to call Mary and talk to her, but then I'd tell myself that she was busy and we'd just talk on Monday.  She died the next morning. 

The morning that Mary died, I woke up and I still had the feeling that I should call and talk to her.  Again, I dismissed it, I knew she was busy preparing for her daughter's tenth birthday party.   Mary was an early riser, so I knew she was awake, but I didn't want to bother her.  I went about my usual morning routine, but I kept thinking about Mary for some reason.  I was thinking mundane things, I didn't have a sense of dread.  I even made a mental note to ask her on Monday about the house cleaning service she used.  It was just a normal Saturday, it was a little chilly out, but the trees were beautifully orange and brown, Mary's favorite colors, and it was a lovely, sunny day.  I thought to myself, "What a beautiful morning!"  John and I had made plans to meet up with a friend in the morning, and then we had usual Saturday things to do.  Running errands, shopping...  it was just a typical day. 

At 10:30, I got the call that Mary was dead.  I didn't believe it, I thought it was a bad joke.  I didn't understand why our friend would call me and tell me that, I didn't think it was funny at all.  It took hours for it to really hit me.  Mary was gone. She was gone.  Gone.  Wow. 

At work, her cube only sat empty for a a little over a week.  She had a coveted window cube, so it didn't take long before her supervisor packed up her belongings and moved them aside, and one of our co-workers moved into her cube.  Her sister came in one Saturday and took the boxes.  It all happened so quickly, I wasn't ready for it.

Mary's funeral was just weird.  She was agnostic, bordering on atheist.  Mary was also a planner, an organizer.  Her funeral was some bizarre religious service, very fire and brimstone, and the reception that followed was the most disorganized I've ever been to.  It was obvious that Mary hadn't planned it, and if she had been there, she would have taken control.  But she wasn't.  And it showed.

Our Director was invited to speak at her funeral and he asked me for some words to say.  I spent hours agonizing over the usual, "Mary was a good person"  and "Mary loved her family".  They were true, but they just didn't do it.  It finally came to me, what I should say, and this is what our Director said about Mary at her funeral, on my behalf:

"I've been wracking my brain trying to think of one or two special memories I have of Mary, and I realized that every memory I have of Mary is special.  In 8 years of friendship, Mary gave me a lifetime of memories that I will cherish.

Mary taught me how to be a good person, she lead by example.  From her, I've learned integrity, compassion, flexibility and forgiveness.  She encouraged me to live my life, have a great time doing it, and always come home with a lifetime of experiences.

Mary was my colleague and my big sister.  She was my voice of reason and my partner in crime.  Mary was my mentor, my confidante, and, most importantly, Mary was my friend.  I'm honored to have known her, and I'm better for having known her.

To know Mary for five minutes was to know her for a lifetime."

Good bye, my friend.  You've been gone for three years now but I'll never forget you and I'll never stop loving you.  You were, and always will be, my friend.

We all need someone we can lean on

My poor little cat woke me up the other night, his leg was swollen and he was in pain.  He leaned up against me, I snuggled him, and he fell asleep in my arms.  He didn't purr once, which was not like him at all.  There was nothing I could do for him except give him some comfort, and that seemed to be enough.  He just needed a little sympathy, but then sometimes don't we all?

The next morning I decided he needed to see the vet, so I called to make an appointment.  They opened at 9am, so I called at 9:05.  I wanted to get my kitty in as soon as possible.  They had a 10:40 appointment available.  Perfect.  She asked me if they'd seen this cat before and I said no.  She huffed, then grumbled that they didn't have time to see new clients.  I explained that I wasn't a new client, I've been taking my other pets there for years.  She was agitated, she abruptly said I could bring my cat in and the vet would see him when he could squeeze us in.  So, I asked the obvious question, "Why can't I just make an appointment for 10:40?"  The receptionist snapped, "You can bring him in and drop him off, or you can wait, but we'll see him when we can squeeze him in!".  Um.  OK.  So, I put my injured pet in his carrier and carted him off to the vet.

We walked in the door of the vet about twenty minutes later.  I was greeted by a vet tech who asked my name, I told him, and he said "Follow me".  He showed us to an exam room where the tech checked my cat's vitals, and did an initial triage.  I sarcastically thought, "well, I guess they're able to squeeze us in after all."  I still didn't understand, but I wasn't about to rock the boat and risk getting yelled at again by that nasty receptionist!

So, the vet came in and examined my poor, hobbled cat.  He said he thought it was probably a sprain but wanted to take x-rays, just to be sure.  He then said that they were booked, he had other clients to see, but he would squeeze us in when he could.  He seemed almost apologetic when he said it, but then immediately changed his tone and asked, "Do you want to wait?".  I decided that we were already there, so may as well wait.  He said I could go back to the receptionist's area, he'd let me know when he had time.  I was growing grouchier by the minute, especially since I had TRIED to make an appointment.  Again, I didn't want to ruffle anyone's feathers, so I sheepishly sneaked past the receptionist into the waiting room.  And I waited.

While I was sitting there, I people watched.  There were no other patients there yet (WTF??!!) so the only entertainment I had were the employees.  I watched the receptionist snap at one of the kids working there.  I watched her snap at the vet.  Little by little, those who could leave the waiting room, did.  It was a ghost town, just her....  and me.   "Wow," I thought, "Someone's having a bad day."  I put my head down and tried to blend with the potted plants, not wanting to piss this woman off any more than I apparently already had.  Her bad day was quickly becoming everyone's bad day.  Yikes!!

It grew busier, and Mary, that was her name, became focused on answering the phones.  She was rude and nasty to everyone calling to schedule appointments.  At one point the vet came back into the waiting room, and Mary exclaimed, "It's going to be one of those days, I can feel it!"  The vet quickly turned around and walked out.  Mary was not a happy camper.

Against my better judgement, I raised my head, I made eye contact, and I asked Mary if everything was OK.  She said again, "It's just going to be one of those days."  I asked her if there was anything I could do to help, and then I offered to run out and get her something.  Would she like a cup of coffee? 

Mary walked around from behind her desk, sat down in the chair next to me, and said, "I have cancer."  WOW!  Not what I was expecting to happen. She said she had just had surgery to remove a melanoma, she had two lymph nodes removed, she was swollen, she was uncomfortable, and she was scared.  For fifteen minutes, Mary talked, and I listened.  I nodded.  I patted her hand.  I sympathized (as best I could), while Mary cried.  She told me about her fears for her two teenaged daughters, what would they do without a mom?  How would her husband cope?  What about her dogs?  She was overwhelmed.  She asked so many questions, none that I could answer, and I don't think she expected me to.  I felt horrible.  Poor Mary just needed someone to be kind to her, to listen to her, and to show her some sympathy.  She wasn't a bitch, she was in pain. 

The phone rang and Mary went to her desk to answer it.  She was solemn, resigned, but no longer angry.  She wiped her tears, blew her nose, and when a client walked in the door, Mary smiled.


There are unreasonable people in the world, people who are hell bent on ruining the days of as many other people as they can.  Sometimes, though, what may appear to be an unreasonable person is really just another living being in pain, who is in need of some compassion.  Some sympathy. 

Wings a mile long just carried the bird away

I had an amazing experience a few weeks ago.  I witnessed a family of robins lay their eggs, raise their young, and move along to live their lives.  All in only two weeks.  It was breathtaking.  It was inspiring.  It was beautiful, and sad, and left me feeling absolutely humbled that these creatures allowed me to observe their lives.  I miss them, and now every time I see a robin I wonder if it's someone I once knew.

Taking pictures of these baby birds and sharing them with my friends was such an absolutely fabulous experience.  Not only did the birds bring me pleasure, it brought me so much joy to share the photos with my friends.  It was a crazy amazing experience, which, once I thought about it, is actually pretty typical for my life.  My time here seems to be a collection of crazy amazing experiences.  I don't understand if my life is this way because I'm somehow being given fantastic gifts, or if it's just that I'm super sensitive and I notice the little things.  Or both.  Either way, these things happen to me.  All the time.


Sharing my life on-line is not something that comes easily to me.  I have a growing collection of poems and short stories I've written over the years, and yet I've only shared a few.   As I get older, though, I'm realizing the importance of sharing myself with the world.  Leaving my mark, my proof that I was here and I witnessed these amazing things that this world shows me.  Through my writing, not only am I leaving my own legacy, but I'm also leaving the legacy of all of these experiences that have been given to me.  I existed, and so did these birds, these horses, these people... all of the wonderful beings who's paths I've crossed.

I'm a believer that there are lessons to be learned every day.  Most of the time I don't have a clue what the lesson actually is.  Sometimes I think I get it, and then I write about it.  So, welcome to today's blog.  This fleeting moment of lucidity, or possibly insanity, in which I record my thoughts for this instant.  Not unlike those photographs I took of the baby birds, capturing those brief moments in their lives and then sharing them with the world.  They have lived, and so have I.   

Here's a link to my baby robin photos.  Hopefully everyone can see them. Enjoy!
Baby Robins

Someday we'll live like horses, free rein from your old iron fences

So, as promised (many moons ago), here's the blog about how my 28 year old horse lost her eye.

I've owned Hallie since she was 19, but I've been riding her since she was about 14 or 15.  I used to show Hallie, she was always my absolute first choice for horses to show.  Hallie made sure we won.  She's a tiny little horse (14.2 hands, just on the border of pony/horse), she has short little legs, a long neck, a long back.  In the show world, she is not a horse that would be described as "a pretty mover".  But she has heart.  TONS of heart.  She always seemed to know when she was in a show, and she would turn it on in a big way.  She never ever came home without a ribbon.  Ever.

When I decided I was ready to buy my own horse, I looked and looked but none compared to Hallie.  Other horses may have been taller, or "prettier", but none had her joie de vivre.  Her owner heard that I was looking and she reluctantly offered to sell me Hallie.  I had asked over the years, I guess it was finally in the cards.  There were so many reasons why I shouldn't have bought her, she was older, getting arthritic, but I couldn't not buy her.  Hallie had done right by me for so many years, it was my turn to do right by her.  Not that her previous owners were bad to her, they were fantastic, but this was the only way I could make sure Hallie would have the golden years she deserved.  Older horses end up in bad places.  I didn't want that to happen to her.  So... I bought my first horse.

Long story short, about three and a half years ago Hallie's left eye started to tear.  Then it started to tear a lot.  I didn't think much of it, everything looked fine.  After a few months her eye became a little bulbous, then it became very distended.  Her behavior had also changed, she was spooky and she didn't want to be handled.  She would run away from people, or sometimes she'd kick out or try to bite.  The vet came out and did a sonogram, which revealed that she had a tumor behind here eye.  It was fairly large and it was pushing on her eye.  My poor wonderful girl was in pain.  I was going to have to make a decision, soon.

The obvious option was to put her down.  Hallie was an otherwise healthy horse, she was otherwise happy, so I had a really hard time accepting that as an option.  She just didn't seem ready to go.  The second option the vet gave me was to trailer her to the New Bolton Center, which is part of the University of Pennsylvania.  There was an equine ophthalmologist  there who could help my old girl.  I really didn't know what to do, it was agonizing.

I talked to several of my well meaning horse friends, who told me that the surgery would be incredibly expensive, and that Hallie may not even survive the trip.  There was also some concern that she would spook and hurt herself, or hurt a person.  At that point I had pretty much made the decision that I would have to put her down, but I would wait for her to tell me when she was ready to go.  She always greeted me with a happy whinny, she would trot over and nudge me for treats.  I spent hours talking to her, telling her what was going on, I begged her to tell me when it was time.  She never did.  I was very conflicted.

A few months went by and it came time for Hallie's annual vaccines, so made an appointment with her vet.  He had an emergency that day so he sent out his new associate, someone who had never met Hallie before.  I was worried, Hallie had become shy of strangers so I didn't know how she would deal with this new vet, Liz.  I told Liz about Hallie's nervousness, and Liz laughed.  She said to me, "Cindy, this is not a nervous horse!"  To my amazement, she walked into Hallie's stall and Hallie was perfect.  PERFECT!  She didn't spin or try to kick, she stood perfectly still while Liz gave her the vaccines.  Hallie liked Liz, she even nudged her for candy!

Liz was kind, and gentle, and she showed me that Hallie was not this hot, out of control horse I thought she had become.  We talked for a long time about Hallie.  Liz asked me why I had decided against the surgery and I told her my concerns.  Well, thank God for sending Liz that day.  She had done her residency at New Bolton.  She knew the vets, she knew a professional horse transporter, she knew someone who could do the after surgery care, she even knew how much it would cost.  Liz completely put my mind at ease, and I had all the information I needed.  I decided then and there to let Hallie have the surgery.  Liz saved Hallie's life.

So the rest of the story is blissfully uneventful.  Hallie's regular vet called and scheduled the surgery at New Bolton.  Hallie was trailered, uneventfully, had her surgery, uneventfully, and came home without the tumor and without her left eye.  They could have saved her eye but it would have been a more involved, and more painful surgery.  I opted for the easier, less painful surgery, remove her eye and pop out the tumor.  Done and done.  When the surgery was over and I went to New Bolton to bring my old girl home, I was told that she was the best patient they had ever had.   I was not at all surprised.

Hallie had her surgery three years ago this month.  She is now living on a retirement farm that is managed by the wonderful woman who did Hallie's after surgery care.  She loves Hallie and Hallie loves her.  My old girl is happy and healthy, despite missing her left eye.  Three years ago Hallie told me she wanted to live, and I'm so glad I listened.

Hallie may live many years longer, she may not.  One thing I have no doubt about, though, is that it will be on Hallie's terms. 

Every day is a winding road

This past weekend was Beltane.  We had a friend over, they had hamburgers, I had a veggie burger, we hung out, talked, had a fire in the pit, and enjoyed the company until well into the early morning.  It could not have been a nicer evening.

We had the iPod going, set to shuffle, and Sheryl Crow's "Every day is a winding road" came on.  There was a roaring fire going, we were tossing into the fire wheat shafts from yardwork done earlier in the day, so the flames were large.   Embers were floating maybe 10 feet into the air, they danced as they traveled upwards.  I was sitting in a chair, my head was tilted back, and I sat quietly listening to the music while watching these embers dance.  The sky was perfectly clear, I could see every star.  As the embers traveled upward, they faded, then disappeared, and it became difficult for me to tell which were dying embers and which were stars.  They all blended together.  Stars became embers, embers stars, the unity of it all was astounding.

Sometimes it amazes me how connected I can feel with the Universe.  Everything clicks, and I become one with the world.  Yea, ok, totally makes me sound like a nature loving hippie freak.  Hey, this is my freak flag and I'm flying it!


Seriously, it's nights like those that reaffirm my beliefs, my faith.  They strengthen my spirituality and validate that little burning ember I carry within me that tells me that this is real.  What I feel is real.  Others don't "get" it not because they can't, but because they won't.  I get it.  And a big shout out to those who know what I'm talking about.  You get it too.  Yay for us! 

So today is national coming out day.  That's national Pagan coming out day.  I may come out.  I may not.  I may post this secretly, hoping that only some see it.  Again, I may not.  I now know what my best childhood friend went through when she came out to me that she is a lesbian.  It sucks to be judged.  A lot. 

OK, so here goes...  my blog for today....  Every day is a winding road, and I get a little big closer to feeling fine.  Blessed be!