The Golden Eagle (I know JUST how that Fox feels)

Just when you think you’re going to be able to settle down after a tough stretch and enjoy yourself…

…something always seems to come up.

You can’t just sit back, though. Sometimes you have to fight for what’s yours.

Whether it’s dinner or life itself. You can’t just accept what happens.

Until it happens…

Then you have to know when to quit! Something I’m not any better at than this fox.

And special thanks to the Montana hunter who took these shots with his cell phone. Dang nice work. Bet it was an iPhone.

Today I am going to tell you the story of MY encounter with a golden eagle.

I was new to The Valley, as it’s known among the locals, but I wasn’t really a local yet. I’d come there a short few months before and I was learning new things everyday. Like riding ATV’s. Loved them! They went places a dirt bike could only dream of going. If you wanted to carry cold beer, and I did.

I went out every chance I could and this one sunny day Kevin took me and a pair of exuberant 14 yr olds, Emily and her cousin, out for a ride.

We were WAY up there, on a shelf of the mountain. Kevin and I had brought along an impromptu picnic, consisting of Slim Jims, BBQ Fritos, Pepsi and 6 pack of cold beer. I opted for the beer. Naturally, after drinking the beer, I had to go take a whiz.

Well, it just so happened that we had stopped on the lee side of a cut bank looking down into a beautiful forested valley. Pristine. But steep. No where to go pee in private.

The other side, when I climbed up the bank, was STUNNING! Really. It was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. An old clear cut from 100 years ago had turned into a meadow of wildflowers and tall green grass. It swept down to a drop off leaving a view of the Columbia River and the entire Purcell Range that enclosed The Valley to the west. And best of all? There was an old fallen tree. It had been blown over and was lying there just waiting for me. Perfect. It’s hard to find that perfect spot to pee. Believe me.

It had only been a week or so since I had been chased out of a bush while not enjoying a pee. I was still nervous back then. To me the Rocky Mtns were inhabited by man eating bears and starving desperate cougars and wolves and…and..you name it! It was going to get me if I wasn’t careful. So I was hyper vigilant. That explains why, when I heard a loud rustling noise right behind me, I panicked. I hit the ground running, with my pants around my ankles practically, thinking (and, unfortunately, shouting) there’s a bear in there. The guys were startled as hell and there was a scramble for bear spray and getting the wives and girlfriends on the machines, and some spreading out and soft talking and swearing by Al that he wouldn’t come out without the danged side arm again. This was the last time Donna, gosh darned it. So everyone was preparing to evacuate that particular area post haste, when out of the bush strolled a grouse. One bitty little grouse.

Gosh darned it.

It was ALL over the valley by the end of the week. Everyone thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard and when I heard Al and Donna tell it in company, I cracked up too. Dang it all.

But still it made me wary.

Now, I wasn’t exactly an amateur when it came to peeing outside. I was pretty handy at it. Fast and neat. I even had tp. But who likes crouching, right? Here was this wonderful tree to lean against and the VIEW was to die for and, best of all? No WAY anything could sneak up on me. A 100% 360′ view all around me for 100 yards. And nice and private. I could hear them talking and laughing down on the road behind me. I was by myself. Perfect. I was going to have the best pee EVER!

So I dropped my drawers and leaned against the tree next to the upended root ball. It was all old and dry and spikey but it was bigger at that end. I wouldn’t have to crouch down too much.

I begin. I hear a sound. It sounds like steam. Steam? hmmm…I look down. No steam. It’s not me making that noise. It’s getting louder. I’m getting concerned, where the hell was that noise coming from? It was a hissing now. Not like a snake hiss. I mean LOUD.

I glance over to my right and theres the BIGGEST FUCKIN EAGLE I’VE EVER SEEN. HISSING AT ME! Sitting on the root boll and the beak was about a foot from my gaping face! A GIANT yellow and pink POINTY gaping MAW! I wasn’t imagining that shit THIS time. Caveman brain took over.

I ran. Of course I ran. Unfortunately I didn’t pull up my pants so I didn’t get far. I tipped over immediately. Then I began an army crawl that would have made any drill sergeant proud. I think at some point I managed to pull my pants up but, between waving a streamer of toilet paper at the eagle, trying to recover some breathe to actually scream my lungs out, the undies were a problem…jeez. I peed on my pants. NOW wait. I didn’t PEE my pants. I peed ON my pants. There’s a big difference.

I rolled over and looked and that golden eagle was just taking off. It must have been sitting there the whole time I was planning my pee. Didn’t move. And it didn’t move while I fell over. Or when I crawled away whimpering with my toilet paper. It had been just sitting there watching my humiliation.  You know they aren’t like bald eagles. That white head and all. You can SEE those suckers. Golden eagles are the exact same color as an old fallen tree root boll.  Take my word for it.

And it gave me a look. It really did. It looked disdainful. I know all eagles look sort of disdainful but this one? He meant it. He swooped down the meadow and made a slow sweeping turn to come back and give me another look. He really did. He flew right over my head,  about 6 feet up. We looked at each, other eye to eye, and he had written me off. I was beneath his notice. I didn’t count. I could have been dinner but I peed on myself and that’s just gross. I felt small.

Jerk. Eagles are jerks.

Then I heard my fellow travelers ‘Oooh look! Look at the eagle! LAURA. did you see the eagle?!’

Yeah. I saw it.

But no one heard that story for years.

My Old Hollywood

I’m almost back to work and getting excited about it. In a month I’ll be saying “Why? Why did I want to get up at 4:30 am?”

And I am supposed to start a toxic cleanse and diet at some point this week. Yargh…

I hate diets. I’m good at them, believe me. You couldn’t grow up in the 70’s and 80’s and not be. That was the golden age of weight loss. All those fad diets…the Beverly Hills diet, the Atkins, the cabbage soup diet, you name it, I was on it. Always.

I was dating a lot back then so I didn’t eat at some of the finest restaurants-although I was there, picking at a salad-and I drank in the hippest bars in Los Angeles. Le Dome, founded by Elton John and THE place to see and be seen in the late 70’s. Chasens, I loved Chasens, they had fantastic chili there and one of my favorite bars!

Chasens

Musso and Franks, wow, that place… I always felt as if Raymond Chandler would walk in an order a Moscow Mule and light up a Pall Mall. It felt so old school Hollywood.

Ma Maison was a personal favorite. I saw Fred Astaire there! I always go on about that because I’m still such a fan. Ma Maison closed in the mid 80’s because the property it was located on sold. What a shame! It was so kitschy cool. It was in an old house on Wilshire Blvd. It was decorated to look like a green house, with big plastic light up geese around the ceiling. I know that sounds awful but it was very cool. It’s reopened in a hotel I heard, but I haven’t been there.

I remember the Cobb Salad at the Brown Derby, which was also torn down some time in the mid 80’s, was fantastic. That place was great for people watching. It was close to the studios so you’d see all these famous old time stars in there lunching. That’s not why I went there though. That Cobb Salad was to die for.

It was closed for a few years and people tried to save it as a landmark. Then there was an earthquake and that was the death knell for The Brown Derby. No one wanted to fix it up. So sad.

Wow all those great places. 385 North, Dan Tana’s next to the Troubadour in West Hollywood, Oh, Michaels in Beverly Hills…now that place was fine. Best pastries I’ve ever had. The Border Grill which, when I used to go there, was this tiny little place. Now it’s some huge place in Santa Monica. I’ll bet the foods still good though. I went to a lot of brilliant restaurants and all I remember eating were salads and lamb chops.

Sunset Strip circa 1984-my salad days. Literally/

Thank god for salads and diets because that’s what got me into the Rainbow Room and Gazzari’s and anywhere else I got it into my head I wanted to get into. Nothing like a good ass and a sassy attitude. The Roxy, wow, that place. This guy, Lou Adler, was running it. Great bands played there. I saw Guns and Roses, among others, but it was so small that it was hard to get into.
Even I couldn’t get in to see Bruce Springsteen when he played there.

In fact The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a play there for the longest time and Lou made it into the movie, it was so popular.
I used to hang out upstairs at the Rainbow Room next door, even though it wasn’t as fun, to me, as the bar downstairs. The Rainbow and The Roxy and that place, I forget what it was called, but it became the Viper Room, and Gazzari’s. The Starwood, Madame Wu’s, The Zero, The Anti Club and so many more. Hah, I had record producers begging to come with me because I knew all the cool underground places. I discovered Van Halen. I saw the Red Hot Chili Peppers about 1000 times while they were trying to make it big. Black Flag, The Mentors, Los Lobos, The Beastie Boys, so many great bands. Hollywood, it was SO fun.

Well, that’s what I’m going to be doing for the next few months, talking about the bad old days. Maybe you’ll get to know me better, maybe I’ll bring back some good memories, maybe remind you why none of us do that anymore. Expect me to talk a lot about food (and lack thereof!) and work (yay!) and my health in general (Boring) and my day to day…positive. Always positive!

But ya’ll are my sounding board so I still may flare up and freak out and whine and cry and kick and scream. My journey back to health is just getting started.

25 Handsome Men. Just to get me through Monday Morning….

My very first crush…

John Lennon (but sometimes George Harrison-fickle child that I was!)

But then there was…

Mick Jagger

And of course

David Bowie

And for Brains AND looks? It’s got to be Bill Clinton.

and then there’s the talented handsome men such as Yves St Laurent, to name only one.

But what about Kelly Slater, professional (and champion) surfer! He’s a philanthropist, too. Talent, looks and a soft heart. Perfect.

So cute…

Kelly Slater

And with the World Cup coming up I have to include Cristiano Ronaldo…

But what about the poets?

Fredrick Garcia Lorca…my favorite poet and totally crushable.

As was Ernest Hemingway…very handsome man once. Probably the only good passport picture ever taken!

Ernest Hemingway

Or John Steinbeck…

Steinbeck

And Playwrights…handsome and brilliant…

Tom Stoppard

Or a lil’ baby Anton Chekov

Chekov

Or what about actors..like Paul Mounet

Paul Mounet by Louis Maurice Boutet de Monvel

just yummy!

Or..

Something about those dark eyes…

What about Takeshi Kaneshiro?

Takeshi Kaneshiro

Or Ken Watanabe

Ken Watanabe

Or the guy from ‘Salmon Fising in Yemen’, Amr Waked…pretty hot

Amr Waked

And dancers like Rudolf Nureyev
Nureyev

And Mikhail Baryshnikov

Or Gene Kelly, he can still make my heart beat fast…

But what about royalty? Lord Louis Mountbatten…

Lord Mountbatten

Or even Kings?

King George Vl

And who doesn’t love the bad boys?

Che Guevara, a bad ass handsome man! (And yes, I know he was a communist murderer etc…but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t handsome.)

Or the smart, funny ones?

Will Rogers

And naturally, living in Seattle, this guy…

Russell Wilson-quarterback Seahawks

But the handsomest ever? It’s got to be…

These two…no contest.

My 100th Post

I feel as if this should be a special one even though I missed the post date. I had it in my drafts folder!

I decided to make a list of my favorite things, places, books, anything I like, love, crave.

1. It has to be YOU. You came and read this post. You didn’t just click ‘like’ and speed away. You’re reading it. These are a few of my favorite things.

2. Camping and bonfires and lakes and mountains and that smell, that glorious smell of being in the AIR, real, fresh, unbreathed
air. Ahhhhh….

3. Birdsong, bird singing, birds floating on the pond down he road, birds in the grass, singing in trees, birds. All of them

well…most of them.

4. First kisses that let you know you just met someone special

5. Caravan Palace, Amanda Palmer, Ray La Montagne, and all that fantastic new to me music that I’m discovering.

6. Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald, Dean Martin, Bob Marley, Led Zeppelin and any other fantastic music I’ve heard a million times.

7. David Bowie singing ‘Wild is the Wind’ and John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ to name only two.

8. Libraries, old bookstores and old books. Actually any book.

Worth around $10,000,000 dollars…so if you see one grab it.

9. BBQ Tri Tip with a cooler full of beer, sunshine and the Stones on the radio.

10. Farmers Markets with fresh peaches and nectarines and strawberries and tomatoes that taste like tomatoes

11. Sitting in the sun with the kitties, chickens clucking and Bella in the shade stretched out sound asleep like a good ol’ dog

12. Swimming under a full moon

13. Riding a motorcycle in the fall when the weather is warm and the trees are changing and the road is twisty.

14. Dancing with your friends at a club and checkin’ all the moves on the dance floor, knowing you look great and feel energized

15. Kittens and puppies

Haida & Otis

Maru <caption

16. Screwball comedies, film noir, costume dramas

17. The sound that fast cars make when they are going full bore

18. The opening bars to any Jimi Hendricks song

19. Fireworks and that smell

20. The roar of the crowd when something awesome happens, whether it’s a race, a ball game, an encore or a goal

21. Traveling to somewhere you love. The anticipation, the sight of the road unwinding before you, the diners, the animals, the people, the landscape of America
U.S Hwy 1

And Canada

Oh Canada.

22. The smell of a man, whether he’s in a suit and tie with cologne or he’s just finished chopping wood…mmmmmmen

Deported for being too handsome! [/caption]

But this is more MY style…

23. Senior citizens, whatever the circumstances, I love our old timers. The best of us is there in them.

24. Old dogs and old cats. They are the ones who need our love and support and need homes and foster care the most. They are the mellowest and calmest of all. Been there, done that personified.

And last but not least…

25. The ocean and the beach. The hot sand, the waves crashing, the blanket getting sandy and the smell of suntan lotion

I love that you read this. I love that you were making your own list of things you love while reading this. You were, weren’t you? I couldn’t narrow this list down, but if you could name just a few favorite things, what would they be?

“Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.” ― Arthur Schopenhauer

It was September 13, 2008 when I lost my brother in law, Shawn LaPlante. He was young, fun, hardworking and in love with my sister. He’d just bought his first home the previous year. He was so proud. His best friend, Kelly, had been married the previous month and he wanted to take him fishing. Shawn loved fishing. He had a secret spot he wanted to share with Kelly and his wife.

The road was undercut by rain but you couldn’t tell. He drove his truck onto that road and it gave way. Liza was thrown from the back of the camper where she was riding, reading a book, listening to music. The camper exploded on the first roll, shattered into matchsticks. Shawn was killed instantly. The truck landed on him. Kelly was pinned into the passenger side with the roof crushed onto him, in icy water up to his neck, bleeding.

Liza walked out, miles. There was no way up to the road. She had lost her shoes and between grief and pain she found a way onto the road by walking along the river, climbing over rocks, scaling fallen trees and weeping and panicked, not knowing if she could find someone, anyone who could get help. They were in the Canadian Rockies, 50 miles from the nearest paved road. No cell phone, even if it would have worked.

She found two men, one of them ran back to the scene with her and the other got in his truck and drove to call for help.

It took hours with the jaws of life and an expert group of rescuers to pull Kelly from the wreck. It took a logging helicopter to lift the truck off of Shawn. Liza was there for the whole thing.

I wasn’t there. I’d moved away in April. I’d come back for their first wedding anniversary party in July and returned to my new home. The shock of Shawn’s death lives with me every day. THis is a hard day for all of his family and friends. Because of Liza and the rescuers that day, Kelly survived to have two babies (so far) with his wife.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that smile. Even when it hurts to remember it.

Cheers to you Shawn. For all you taught me.

Sept. 11

I was in Canada.

I’d worked late the night before so I was sleeping. My good friend, Tom, called me when he heard. He knew I’d spent most of my life in the States. All he said was “Turn on the tv. Something happened. You’ll want to call your family.”

The house was empty. Kevin was at work. I thought for a sickening moment that it was another bad earthquake in San Francisco or Los Angeles. I debated for a moment not turning the tv on.

I remember thinking ‘It must be bad. Someone will call me if anyone I know was hurt.’ I just stood there looking at the gray tv screen with the remote in my hand, trying to brace myself.

I remember thinking ‘Its so quiet.’ I could hear a meadowlark across the field. It was so beautiful. The morning sun. The smell of flowers from the open kitchen window.

I remember wanting to put it off. Turn around and walk out the door and get in my truck and drive up into the mountains and not see it. Whatever it was, Tom sounded shaken. He’s a big tough ex bull rider. Whatever it was it was bad.

I remember standing there with the phone in one hand and the remote in the other. I jumped when the phone rang again. It was Kevin. I remember thinking ‘Why is he calling?’ but I knew it was something to do with Tom’s phone call. Kevin worked a Wagner machine. It can clear off a logging truck load with one bite. It’s gigantic. Why wasn’t he in his machine. What happened that could make him get out of his machine and go to the office to call me. He asked me if I had the TV on. I said no. He asked me where my brothers were. I turned the TV on.

I remember standing there watching the first tower burning and Kevin asking me if I wanted him to come home. I said no but I wanted him to come home.

I will always remember that morning. I answered the phone that kept ringing and said ‘Yes. It’s terrible. No, my brothers are all in California. Yes, I’m watching.’ I was watching. I watched all those terrified, running people. I watched the smoke and flames. I watched the World Trade Center burning. I watched a plane hit the second tower and I kept watching. And then I just couldn’t bear it. I turned off the TV and the phone and I went and sat on the front porch.

I sat and cried. I cried until I was sick. I cried to wash out the images of people falling, jumping, burning. I cried as if it mattered. As if it were my job. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. And then I sat on the porch and the sky was so blue. It was so beautiful. I was numb. My face felt stiff from drying tears. I knew I had to go back in and turn on the phone. I had to turn on the TV. I had to. It was the only thing I could do for those people. Watch and remember.

And I remember. I’ll never forget.

Saving My Life

‘People don’t know how the people who love them save their lives.’
Robin Quivers

It’s ovarian cancer awareness month.

I’ve been meaning to write a post about this. I kept putting it off. I don’t quite know why. I think, upon reflection, that I just don’t want to admit that this cancer might still kill me. That I’m not ever going to be able to ‘go back’. I don’t want to give it power over me. I don’t want it to be a chronic condition. I want this to end. Now. Today.

Today.

Today I have my big appointment. It’s hard, a lot of you know how hard it was, to admit that I needed help. More help than I was getting, simply not recognizing the emotional drain on my family and caregivers. The trips to chemotherapy every week. The bad news, the good news, rush hour traffic, putting off trips and vacations, the lack of money and healthy food, hiding things from me, from themselves, worrying, wondering, being scared and wanting to scream with frustration. The emotional drain is exhausting.

I try to keep things upbeat. I have tried to hide what I feel because I thought I understood how hard it was on my caregivers. They are not recognized. The person with cancer gets all the attention. Sometimes ,it seems, by everyone. I just want to say, I know now. I know what has been given to me. Now I know.

Those of you who have followed this blog from the beginning know how scared I was. How confused and beaten down by my emotions I was. I started this blog because I really didn’t know how to speak to my family and friends about my cancer diagnosis.

That is where I found you.

Yes, you. You wonderful supportive people from everywhere around the globe who have taken a moment out of some crazy busy schedules to encourage and support me. My caregivers here who helped me learn to speak about what happened to me. Who just listened and let me have my meltdowns and walked me through some of the hardest days of my life.

Losing my kittens. Losing my dog. The betrayal and accusations recently by my niece, which I am still struggling with. The cancer. The chemo. The fear of death. The pity I felt for my mother struggling to make ends meet, to keep abreast of the paperwork, to get me to chemotherapy every week. My sister, my beautiful sister, who is terrified of sickness and doctors and who lived every moment with my diagnosis. Trying to overcome her fears, overcome her fear of losing me. Of losing another loved one. As if what she went through in 2008 wasn’t enough to break her. She had to go through this too.

My brothers and their wives all trying in their own separate ways to support me from so far away. To talk to their children, their daughters especially, who are condemned to carry this cancer marker all their lives. Who will have to be extra vigilant because of it.

My cousin who has gone through this, who lost so much, lost a brother and a friend. Had her own diagnosis and fought like a tiger to win. And won.

My uncles and aunts who knew, I never understood how well, what it was to see a member of your own branch, torn away by the storm, so young and vibrant, so many chances to grow and learn from mistakes, to have that chance ripped away. The chance to see your children grow up, to see your brother again, your father, your mother.

It’s agony sometimes to see all the lost opportunities I’ve had throughout my life to support them. My family. I didn’t, you know. I just didn’t. Now that I see what a crucial role that family and friends play in a life disrupted by sickness and loss I am ashamed to say I didn’t know. But now I do.

All I can offer now is a chance to help you by sharing what I’ve learned this past year.

Women have a 1 in 38 chance of getting uterine or endometrial cancer. If you have ANY bleeding whatsoever after menopause, it needs to be evaluated. It’s a straightforward check up. They believe that before menopause, taking birth control pills will reduce your chances of contracting these forms of cancer. There are other health risks associated with the use of any kind of hormone treatment and this is something you need to discuss with your gynecologist. Be aware that family practice doctors are not educated in women’s health very thoroughly. Don’t make my mistake and listen exclusively to them. Find and establish a relationship with a gynecologist, if you don’t already have one, after you are 40. It’s extremely important that you recognize early signs and symptoms of something gone wrong. You can save yourself and your family heartache and, potentially, loss, by simply becoming familiar with these signs. Please do it. Don’t let embarrassment and ignorance drive you down the road I’ve been on. It’s a terrible path that I would spare you.

There is some scientific evidence that curcumin and turmeric are excellent at reducing C125 levels in men and women. Make yourself familiar with this ugly little root. It can be a lifesaver. Familiarize yourself with routines that include familiarity with your body and what you can do. If you notice swelling in your lower abdomen, shortness of breathe, heaviness in your legs, exhaustion and/or bleeding or spotting GO see your gynecologist, not your family doctor.

I just got out of my appointment. I am not ‘clean’. My marker is elevated, still, but going down, slowly down. I don’t have to go back to chemotherapy. No more dense dose chemo. Do you know how that makes me feel? I can go back to work on Oct 1st! Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? I’m healing. And I want to thank you.

I’ve tried to heal my spirit on this blog. To release some of the demons that have plagued me for the last year, not always successfully. Many times I’ve just cried. Sat and cried my eyes out, realizing what I’ve lost.

And what I’ve gained.

You.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why we call it the present.” ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Why does kindness make you cry? Why do I cry when I should laugh and smile?

It was one of those days. We all have them. Just one little thing after another, building up, until you just want to scream. Little things.

The mop head broke off. The top to my coffee pot is missing. I decided to make tea and the tea bag broke in the pot so I got a mouthful of leaves. I tipped a container of garlic, chopped garlic, a big container, over. Yes. Right in the fridge. Why wasn’t the lid properly screwed on? Because I was probably in a hurry last time I used it. So I had to take everything out and clean the fridge. It still smells of garlic. I locked Otis out of the house by accident, I didn’t know he’d followed me outside when I went to unlock the henhouse this morning. There was poor Otis, in a total downpour, raining buckets, thunder in one continual loop, booming overhead, and Otis was outside the whole time. We don’t even have a roof overhang for him to shelter under. He was scared and soaked. Nice work, Laura!

Otis is very sad and I did it.

(this picture was taken right after he had a bath and climbed on my bed a couple of months ago. I did not take it today while he was so scared. I’m a terrible person, but not THAT terrible.)

I dried him off, he was shaking with fear and kept his eyes locked on mine as if to say “Why? Why did you do that? Did I do something wrong?” I felt like a terrible terrible person. I went to let him lie on the bed in the guest room-normally a no no for the dogs-and ran into a huge spider web! Seriously? A spider web. In the house. From door jamb to door jamb. Face level.

How long has it been since I was in the guest room? Too long, I guess. But the million dollar question?

Where the hell was the spider? Was it ON me? OMG…WTF…IT WAS ON ME! “AAIIEEE!!! There’s a spider on my head, I know there is, its crawling on my bald head…it was there a second ago! Now where is it?! There’s a spider on me…”..jump in the shower, turn on the water, get my clothes off ( in that order) I’m certain there is a giant spider on me. There wasn’t. At least I don’t think there was. I think it was an empty web. I hope it was. I’m not afraid of spiders. Seriously. I pick them up and put them outside when I see them, but today? I freaked OUT!

And then I remember Otis. Poor little Otis who can’t see very well. Who I just finished drying off. He thinks I’m mad at him, while I’m screaming and running around like a maniac trying to find the spider. He is now trying to cram himself under the dining room chairs. One after another. He tries the sofa. Doesn’t fit. Tries the chairs again. Laundry room? Can’t hide there. I’m now chasing him all over the house apologizing to him, pleading with him to stop. He keeps running away from me. Lovely. I finally corner him and DRAG him to the guest room. HAUL him onto the bed. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. He hides in my closet. I let him be. I’m a terrible person. Just terrible.

Then I hear the doorbell. I was in the kind of mood where I just had to ask “What now?”.

It was a package from Mr. Sugarbear. From a sweet little family somewhere in North Carolina. They sent me dog toys and lip gloss and a lovely scarf. Chocolates and lollipops and a card with some cash.

The card enclosed said ‘Sometimes we all need a care package.’

Today, I needed one. And out of the blue, somehow, Mr. Sugarbear timed it perfectly. It really makes you believe in a Higher Power. But it was the pictures, drawn by her own family, that really got me. Of all 3 of my dogs and me. Even Haida. I just started bawling. It was exactly what I needed.

But to ask again…why do I cry? I just sat there looking at everything spilling out of that box and I cried. I couldn’t help myself. It was so incredibly kind and thoughtful.
I pulled myself together. Gave Otis a blanket so he’d be more comfortable lying on all my shoes, and took off. Wearing my new scarf. Feeling like a brand new person, even with tears in my eyes. I went and bought a new mop. Now I’m sitting Bainbridge Island Bakery, having a biscuit with honey and butter and coffee. It’s stopped raining for the time being. In fact it’s a really beautiful, cloudy day.

It’s a wonderful day!

And I had to ask myself…why do you cry when you’re so happy?

Back in the beginning…

Thank you Mr. Sugarbear and family!

Happy Labor Day!

Today was a day to finish painting the new hen house. It’s Labor Day so why not labor, right?

I slapped two coats on it this morning, varnished the inside and took off to the dog beach with Bella and Otis for some dog time.

Both dogs had a good time, and I enjoyed my down time, too.

Now, my only thought is should I put bacon on the burgers or will I end up, as usual, giving it to the pups!

Happy Labor Day everyone!

My Insane Days, Months, Years…I’m ready to get off the crazy train.

Have you ever wondered what causes mental illness?

I had a niece who I loved more than my life. She was the only thing that mattered to me. Seeing her from the day she was born and watching her grow up was a matter of pride and joy. Her first day of school, learning to swim, buying her first pair of real shoes, I was so happy. But she was remarkable. As she grew older I began to see her turning out to be someone worthy of the eyes of the entire world. I was so certain. Certain that she was someone who would change the world. She was so smart, reading well above her level, thinking clearly, reasoning, arguing her points, listening. She was an artist and a writer. She had ambition and drive. I loved her so much.

Haven’t you felt that? You look at a child and you feel you could fly to the moon and back for her.

Positive. Absolutely positive she would always love me. The sun revolves around the earth, that’s when her love for me would change.

Then one day, it felt like just one day, she turned into a drug addled loser. You’d think she had a 5th grade education, the way she put her reasoning together. Spouting nonsense, pointing her finger at me, at her Mom, and screaming that I was her ruin. Her Mom was the cause of all her failure. This family, the gov’t, her school….everyone but herself. She took off one day, hitch hiking with some homeless guy. To me it was agony. Not knowing if she was safe. Warm. Fed. Dry.

I made attempts to help her, including driving down to pick her up in a marathon 1000 mile turn around trip one January, when she claimed some drug dealer was going to kill her.

I sent money, clothes, camping equipment, once I put her up in a hotel room using my credit card and a lot of persuading because the hotel clerk didn’t want to rent her a room. But she was homeless and she had the flu.

Time after time, she’d use this family, her friendships to screw us all over. We were part of the system. The gov’t was praying chemicals from airplanes to keep everyone from sedated…seriously. She started getting weirder. And even more hostile and entitled.

Mental illness.

It was just a whisper. Surely she would pass out of this ‘phase’. But how can you tell? How do you know it’s mental illness? Without a diagnosis, without help, all you can do is watch in horror as the child you loved turns into a monster. That’s what she’s become.

She came back in July and brought a guy here with her. She also brought us this old dog. Bella. I think enough of you know her sad story. I won’t go into it again. Bella is fine, well, getting better, thanks to a lot of you helping me here when I had the GoFundMe site up. I asked for help, not only for me, but for my struggling family and for this dog. She had dermatitis, tapeworm, impacted toenails, a broken tooth, matted fur and the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. So, we got her to the vet. Got her medication for her skin, and all her other ills. Got her toes fixed up and she is getting her tooth fixed when she is a little healthier and able to handle dental work and can be put under anathesia.

This person she brought seemed very nice. Unlike the previous mentally ill homeless men she picked up somewhere and brought home for visits that lasted months, this guy, by comparison was an improvement. Scruffy, untidy, with a sad sad story of his mom doing meth all through his childhood. It was a terrible story but not his fault. I thought my niece had found a nice guy. Not rich, not smart, not working…in fact he said they were living in a shed on his mothers property, but he had a good heart. I thought.

She still wouldn’t talk to me. I was in the middle of treatment and sick as hell. She would leave a room if I came into it. Not a moment of sympathy, concern or one expression of love or compassion. Just hard looks and scorn.

And I wondered. Was it mental illness? Just because she turned against me doesn’t mean she’s sick. For whatever reason she has in her head, I’m the enemy.
She isn’t a kid anymore. She’s in her 20’s. so I have to respect that she has a right to make decisions about who she wants in her life. No matter how it feels to me. Besides, I really felt horrid. I was fighting a killer cancer, I’d just lost my kittens and then my dog. I was at my lowest point in my entire life. I couldn’t, really couldn’t care much if she liked me or not. It’s been going on for years now, this strange hatred she has for me and this family.

It still breaks my heart, what’s left of it to break.

However, now we come to the crux of the matter. They left under bad circumstances as usual. She could never just say goodbye. There has to be a big dramatic screaming match. My poor sister, it’s worse, obviously, for her. This is her child. The apple of her eye. Her darling girl. Off she went down the road, leaving us Bella and a lot of heartache. Again.

Now this loser she is dating has gone onto the page I posted, the GoFundMe page, and claimed that Bella was his dog from childhood. He even posted pictures of him and Bella together. It turns out the whole story of Bella being found by them at a Medford rest stop was a pack of lies. Lies we believed. The fact is that this person didn’t want to take care of his dog. His ‘drug addled mother’, his very words, couldn’t take care of his dog anymore. So he claims that we agreed to take Bella and care for her. That we knew all along she was his dog. We would have taken her,too. Even if he told the truth we would have offered her a home. He didn’t have to lie about her story.

We love dogs and we understand that they deserve a peaceful, loving home to grow old in. We would have taken her happily! Instead, they felt they needed to tell an elaborate lie to explain the terrible condition of Bella. To save their self image as good people, who care about animals. To bring a dog in her condition was confirmation to me that these two jerks LET her suffer. They let Bella reach that condition and came up north to sell their weed and thought ‘Why not take Bella and leave this old girl with your Mom and your Aunt? What a good joke. They’ll have to pay for everything and we can take our 1000’s of dollars and leave them with the vet bills! What a great, hilarious idea!’

So, mentally ill? I don’t care anymore. Both of them posted to that page, which posted to both Facebook and Twitter, comments that I knew Bella’s story all along and was using Bella to garner sympathy. A lot of my friends saw those comments.
My extended family saw them. Maybe some of you saw them. It’s devastating.

It’s so incredibly malicious. GoFundMe is a reputable and wonderful site. They contacted me and made veiled threats about using their site to raise money under false pretenses. Threats that there would be repercussions. Good lord! I spent my first afternoon back from my first vacation in 5 years trying to do damage control. I need to prove I’m sick? That Bella is sick? That we have vet bills? That I have ovarian cancer?

So I did that and they tried to encourage me to leave the site up, that one bad apple shouldn’t ruin it. They removed his comment from their site and, at my request, disabled my page. I have enough for bills. I paid the rent. I did my dream vacation to San Francisco. I’m going back to work in October. I’m going to be alright. So is Bella.

This is long…it’s late. Almost dawn and I haven’t slept yet but I suppose that this is exactly why I started writing here. It’s cathartic and necessary to get out from under my cares and worries. Share my sad stories and sometimes my happy news.

Write it out, get it out of your head. Sometimes, maybe get it out of your life.