tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-315443812024-03-14T11:02:46.592-07:00Simple Not EasySimple Not Easy: A Personal Revolution
In an Urban CondoDebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.comBlogger861125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-41518610346681394982019-09-10T01:49:00.000-07:002019-09-10T01:49:01.798-07:00On a bit of a Sara Kick<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But then who wouldn't be after this? </span><br />
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-54444853196941963672019-09-04T23:06:00.000-07:002019-09-04T23:06:27.122-07:00Say What You Want to SayI want to see you be brave...<br />
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-45124221606423781952019-08-08T16:24:00.001-07:002019-08-08T16:24:55.021-07:00Venturing Forth for the Very 1st Time
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">We were in dire need of fresh fruit and veggies, cream for our morning coffee and that food from whence the gods doth flow - yes, I speak of Ben and Jerry’s ‘Cherry Garcia’ ice cream. I went grocery shopping this afternoon.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Turner Valley has a ‘convenience’ store, but no grocery store so I ventured to Black Diamond, a tiresome 3 kms (1.8 miles) distant. This is about half as far as to my neighbourhood Walmart in Calgary, and at least ten times more pleasant. The two-lane highway between the two communities meanders between forest and bluff on the one side and the sparkling Sheep River on the other. Traffic is light and except for a short stretch of maybe 1/2 km the speed limit is 50 kmh (35 mph).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">As you approach Black Diamond there’s a horse barn and a very large house that looks like a horse barn with big windows and a front porch. Horses graze around both.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The grocery store itself is wonderful, on several counts. First, there are ‘farmer’s market style’ counters of fresh fruits and veggies displayed outside the entrance, fresh fragrant peaches, nectarines, cherries, blueberries, melons, rainbow chard, green beans, fresh corn, beets, and too many others to list. Second, the store is small, so I don’t have to wear myself out traipsing around a football-field-sized store - yet they have a larger variety of products than the Walmart! Third, <b>they have an in-house bakery!</b> It smelled divine when I walked through the door.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">There were lots of women my age, which I consider a big plus. I saw a woman of my age wearing a great Tee which said, “Oh shit. Did I just roll my eyes out loud?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I laughed my way around the store. I need one of those. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">When it came time to check out there was no lineup. In all from leaving our driveway to returning home, my grocery shopping took an hour. I’m going to <b>love</b> living here.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-83725570682698224522019-08-05T18:13:00.001-07:002019-08-05T18:13:54.765-07:00He Screamed for Four Days
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The screaming started when Ian put our striped red devil, aka Hobbes or Beelzehobbes, in his crate for the drive to our new home some 40 miles (63 km) distant. Smokey was his usual chill self, as long as he could see me he was okay, though he meowed a few times and panted now and again. Hobbes <b>never</b> shut up. The caterwauling, no pun intended, went on mile after ear-splitting mile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Tony tried to comfort him, but he would not be comforted. In his entire life, he’s been in the car to come home from the cattery and to go to the vet’s for an annual visit where the unspeakable <i>handling by a stranger </i>happens, also needles and a thermometer up the bum. You wouldn’t like it either. He’s always a bit huffy afterward.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">After an hour and 15 minutes, we finally pulled into the driveway of the house. First things first. We took the cats to the room which will ultimately become my studio, put out the litter box, food and water and opened the crate doors. Smokey came out immediately and began an investigation of the room. Hobbes retreated to the back of the crate and kept screaming. We closed the door to the room and went to help unload the things we’d brought, like our beds, dresser, chairs, the basic necessities of living day-to-day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Through it all the piercing screams continued. Checking, Hobbes was still cringing in his crate, sounding like some demented car alarm that would not shut off. Ian loosened the top of the crate and took it off. Hobbes looked around and seeing a corner behind the litter box, made for it, where he hid. And screamed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">He didn’t want to be touched, or held, or talked to. He was completely terrified, poor baby. While he’s spunky and full of mischief when he feels safe he’s basically a timid cat who is easily frightened. Even normally, an unexpected noise will send him rocketing to hide under the bed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">We moved on the afternoon of Wednesday the 31st. When he was still screaming and had not yet left the room where he was first placed by Saturday night, I made a decision. I take a mild muscle relaxant/tranquilizer when my back muscles throw a tantrum and won’t relax enough to let me lie down and sleep. I know that it’s safe for cats because one of our old cats took it for years. So I broke one of my 5 mg tablets in four quarters, crushed one of the quarters and added it to his evening meal of Fancy Feast.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">He gobbled it up and 45 minutes later he strolled into the hall and began an inspection tour of his new home. He hasn’t screamed since. I feel terrible for letting him suffer such anxiety for so long. But he isn’t holding it against me. Our bedroom is large enough to place our twin XL beds next to each other, making a king-size bed. Lots of room in the bed to share with two very happy cats.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Right now our decor is Early 21st Century cardboard box. We still have to shop for furniture. But all in good time. The place is lovely. Ian has repainted my studio and the kitchen cupboards and new hardware for the cupboards is on the way. One wall in our bedroom needs painting, the living room needs drapes, and there’s wallpaper to hang… so much to do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">First on the to-do list is to recover from the move. I am well and truly knackered. Until then I’m enjoying the wind ruffling the leaves in the silver birch just outside the front window, the breeze coming in the windows, and the sun in the back garden.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Oh, and no more screaming cat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-82853385644419668612019-07-09T15:54:00.000-07:002019-07-09T20:07:13.277-07:00Things are About to Change<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In our case this change is a big one. We’re selling our small city condo and moving to a family-sized house in a small town an hour’s drive southeast of the city.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There are boxes everywhere, a (very) few packed, but most still folded and leaned against the walls. Our possession date is the 26th of July which means packing and moving coincides with a bunch of medical and dental appointments. Since Tony can’t go out in the winter all of his appointments were scheduled for June, July and August, before the decision was made to buy <i>now</i>, while rates are low and the market has picked up in Calgary. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Granted we didn’t anticipate that Tony’s eye exam would reveal that he has glaucoma and cataracts which required an Ophthalmologist’s referral and followup, and which will require surgery. His Audiologist’s appointment showed that he needs hearing aids, which we have put off until after the move because they will require repeated visits for fitting and adjustments.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">All this means I’m not getting in my obligatory rest days between going out and I’m knackered, so I’m mostly <i>looking at</i> boxes and <i>thinking about</i> packing, rather than packing. It’s the pits, but there you are.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It doesn’t help that my dental checkup revealed that an old root canal has gone south and I have a roaring infection in my jaw, which may account for the way I’ve been feeling this last while (like an old dishrag hung on a barbed wire fence). There’s no pain but the infection has to be treated and then the tooth has to come out. There are no breaks to be caught here.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">However there’s <i>much</i> to be excited about in the new house. It’s your standard issue mid-century modern on the exterior, but it has been renovated beautifully inside, so that the living and dining rooms are one large open space, with maple hardwood floors laid on the bias, a free-standing rock fireplace, big windows, a large kitchen which we can adapt to my need to sit to prepare meals, three bedrooms and a bath on the main floor. The finished basement has another bedroom and bath, a utility room and laundry, a storage room and a large rec room. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There’s also a huge fenced back garden where I can once again grow things, and a new deck right off the kitchen. We’ll be able to put up bird feeders and bird houses, grow the kinds of plants which attract butterflies and native bees, do all the things we weren’t allowed to do here. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ll have a place to paint without the </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">“</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">help</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">”</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"> of my two furry “apprentices” who spread paint on everything, knock over the water and grab the end of my brush. Former cat members of the family were never interested in art, but these two must be reincarnations of Cézanne and Matisse, because they are convinced they can improve on my every canvas. That may well be true, but I am like the proverbial two-year-old who wants to do everything herself, including mess up perfectly good canvases.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And thank goodness, we will escape the marijuana bonfire that burns here night and day. It’s always been something of a problem but since marijuana was legalized last October it’s become intolerable. I have no objections to marijuana, but I am allergic to the smoke, and live with a perpetual migraine.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The new house is on a large corner lot, the next door neighbour is some distance away, as both driveways and garages are between the houses. None of their windows face us, their door is opposite and there is a tall solid fence between. They would have to stand on a ladder and puff over the fence for us to smell weed from them. If they do that I’ll turn the hose on them. I’ve inhaled enough marijuana to last a lifetime.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But for all my looking forward to <i>living</i> in the new house I cannot work up the bottle to pack or clean this little “lodge in a warren” as the Bard would have described it. What’s more I’m too tired to even worry about it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-22279322562254913112019-06-29T13:30:00.000-07:002019-06-29T13:30:22.449-07:00Ordeal or Adventure?
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I went to my neighbourhood Walmart yesterday. You know the one, I’ve written about it before. It’s small, it’s crowded, the aisles are so narrow two carts can barely pass. It’s a place that would curdle the cream in the coffee of the White supremacist. Maybe one face in eight is your identifiably “White” European. The majority of shoppers are Arab, East Indian, Latino, Asian or African, and many wear clothing which reflects their culture.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">People, complete strangers, stop and talk to each other in the aisles. The last time I went I fell into a 20 minute conversation in the cat food aisle with a man who cares for the feral cat population in his neighbourhood. He feeds them, provides clean, fresh water and warm housing, and keeps an eye on them. <b>And </b>one-by-one he has trapped them, and with a local cat rescue society, has had them neutered or spayed, vaccinated, treated for any medical problems, microchipped, accessed for suitability for adoption, and if they are too wild, they are returned to their feral colony. Bless him, he moves the old and infirm inside, where they aren’t exposed to our brutal winters.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He told me of one 11-year-old he’s cared for since he was a kitten. He now suffers from kidney failure, has been moved inside and lives on their dining room table. “We never eat on it anyway,” he said. “I just did paperwork on it, and he feels safest there.” He was buying the same food we bought for Patches when his kidneys were failing. So this lovely man was buying the most expensive cat food for an old feral cat who won’t even tolerate being touched. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In the dairy aisle someone might hold up a packet of paneer and ask a woman wearing a sari, “What’s this? How do you use it?”, and learn how to make spinach paneer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Or the reverse, new immigrants are helped to find familiar products in unfamiliar packaging. The beauty of newborns of all colours and ethnicities are admired. The world comes to “my” Walmart and I love the place. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So yesterday while I was buying cat food for my mob of two I had an unusual experience. A youngish woman, mid-late 30s, joined me in the aisle. I will call her Jix. I was straining to reach the flavour of food Smokey has decided he likes best. It was on the top shelf, which is just above my reach. Jix saw me struggling to reach the cans and asked how many I wanted. I told her I needed ten, which she pulled off the shelf and dropped into my cart. I thanked her, and joked that no matter what flavour I needed it always seemed to be on the top shelf.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At this Jix went into a tirade about how much she hated this Walmart, saying it was an evil, foul, stinking hell-hole and she could barely bring herself to set foot in the door. And she had to take two buses to get here! And the people! They were <b>horrible! </b>Rude and nasty, she’d had so many terrible experiences with the awful people in this store you’d have to listen half a day to hear about them all. “I <b>hate</b> people!” she said, “After I leave this store I just want to go home, lock my door, draw the curtains and go to bed, I<b> HATE </b>people!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At this point a young woman clerk arrived with two very large boxes of cat litter in a cart. These were larger than any on the shelves, so presumably had been ordered on-line and held for her pickup.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The clerk smiled and called Jix by (her real) name and asked if she would need help putting them into her car. Jix replied angrily she was going home by cab, which was going to cost her $15 and the &%$ driver could ^%$#*&^ well put them into the cab.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I asked, rather tentatively, which direction was “home” for her? I told her I had just started my shopping but I didn’t have a long list, and I’d be happy to take her home on my way. There are benches in the mezzanine outside the store, where she could have waited comfortably.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I don’t have the patience for that!” she replied. “I don’t want to be in this dump a minute longer than I have to be.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So I went on my way, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Stopped in the Micky D’s for a snack when my legs started shaking, took my meds and struck up a conversation with a group of three ladies about my age at the next table who were having an “organ recital” - you know, talking about their health problems among other things. I’d popped a wrist bone out of place during the night and was wearing a wrist brace, so questions were asked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When it came time to check out in the line next to me was a young mother with boys of seven, five and a newborn. I am a sucker for wee babies, so I had to have a good look at this lovely new human, who was being held by his grandmother. Although Mama was dressed like a modern Canadian business woman, Grandmama was wearing the black burka of her homeland. She spoke excellent English, so we were able to talk about the beauty of the new baby and the exhaustion that caring for a newborn brings. I wished them health and joy with their lovely family and pushed on with my cart. When I glanced back over my shoulder to give Grandmama a wave I was surprised to see she was wiping away tears.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“My” Walmart, evil, foul, hell-hole? I think not.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And the people there? Horrible,<b> </b>rude, nasty? Not from my perspective.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But then I think of a quote I read, don’t know who it came from but it fits:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>ATTITUDE: The difference between ordeal and adventure.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-62149692928774527632019-06-14T12:15:00.001-07:002019-06-14T12:19:28.736-07:00KIVA Loan 106<style type="text/css">
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<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="s1">Though I haven’t posted about it in a good while, our <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA </a></span><span class="s1">loans continue.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>While there is much in the world we can do nothing about, and many places where our “mite” would be meaningless, or sucked off into the pockets of dictators or greedy officials, at KIVA we know and choose the people we loan our money to, and each month we see their repayments.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s4"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34qG96m5J_SJiCR6aZ3mBCYWDcON7BmLmdr_f5ldKm6MP6_DFPDgcT0RrdbR362jn3t8MP1b53ZbnwzHEJBN8yItpKH_eKJMPSXh7p1g-kyTaTeIJfPqFlcSGhgOhaKMSbdvT9w/s1600/KIVA_June_2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="238" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34qG96m5J_SJiCR6aZ3mBCYWDcON7BmLmdr_f5ldKm6MP6_DFPDgcT0RrdbR362jn3t8MP1b53ZbnwzHEJBN8yItpKH_eKJMPSXh7p1g-kyTaTeIJfPqFlcSGhgOhaKMSbdvT9w/s400/KIVA_June_2019.jpg" width="226" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">This month our loan goes to Jane, a married woman who lives in the Eldoret, Rift Valley, Kenya. She has three happy children. She describes herself as honest. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Jane applied for a 40,000 KES ($400 US) loan through KIVA’s Kenyan partner, the SMEP Microfinance Bank. <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a> lenders, like ourselves, underwrite the loan with amounts of $25.00 US or more, plus a fee of $3.85 to support the cost of administering the loan, until the loan is guaranteed. Over time Jane will pay the loan back with interest, which covers SMEP Microfinance Bank’s costs of administering the loan.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s4"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Microfinance Banks all over the world, including the USA, loan small amounts to those who live in poverty and cannot qualify for credit at major banks and lending institutions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Jane operates a small grocery where she sells fruits and vegetables. She has run this business for over six years. It’s located in a good area, and her primary customers are locals from Eldoret. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She describes her biggest business challenge as inadequate working capital. She will use the 40,000 KES ($400 US) loan to buy more fruits and vegetables and pay her children’s school fees. It is very important to her that her children receive good educations.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">This is her second loan with SMEP Microfinance Bank. She managed to repay her previous loan successfully. She will use the anticipated profits from this loan to expand her business.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s4"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s4"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">We enjoy working with <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a>, and encourage everyone to give it a try.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-56143900489632083762019-04-26T13:41:00.000-07:002019-04-26T23:49:03.200-07:00Words for Wednesday<br />
There's a challenge called "Words for Wednesday" and obviously, since this is Friday I'm a couple of days late, but I'm a little slow on the uptake. Actually what I'm a little slow on is how to link into the host's page. I've looked at it for two days without finding a way to link from her site to my blog. So what I'm going to do is put a link to the website where I found the challenge, a wonderful blog I follow, the blog of a fellow Canuck called: <a href="https://wisewebwoman.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Other Side of Sixty </a><br />
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The idea is that the host gives a list a words which you then must incorporate into a story. This week's word list is below, followed by my story.<br />
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<span class="s1">hall*</span></div>
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<span class="s1">conscious*</span></div>
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<span class="s1">ad hoc*</span></div>
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<span class="s1">sign*</span></div>
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<span class="s1">yarn*</span></div>
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<span class="s1">share*</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Preston slouched up the wet stairs of the community <b>hall</b>, holding Sadie’s hot casserole by the handles of its quilted carrier. Knocking against his bony knees. Opened the door, <b>conscious</b> of the torrent of heat and noise, a pulsating beat, voices and laughter that surged out into the night. Stood gawping at the crowd, no good in gatherings.</span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Sadie wrenched the casserole from his grasp.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Snarled something. Brushed past him and into the hall. She hailed a neighbour, shed her bright scarf, slid her wet coat off. A shake of the coat and it and the scarf were thrust on a hanger and shoved between others on the crowded rack.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“You part of night's entertainment, boy?” A laughing voice behind him on the stairs. He swivelled to see Uncle Billy and Aunt Ginger Swart at the foot of the stairs, and behind them others coming up the path.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“Sorry!” he said, and because there was no going back now, he went forward through the open door. The din was even worse inside. On the stage at the one end of the hall a band played. Overweight men in pompadour haircuts wearing red satin trousers and shirts and sports coats covered in red sequins. They looked like an<b> ad hoc</b> meeting of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>demons and indeed the <b>sign</b> propped on an easel to the side of the stage said “Satan’s Saturday Night Boys”. Their instruments were a drum set, an electric guitar, a steel guitar, and a trumpet. But the decibel level was so crushingly loud they could have been bashing 2x4s and paint cans together and no one would have been the wiser. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Preston looked around for a familiar face, but saw none, until at the farthest end he spied a bench against the wall, and on it, a couple of the old fellas who came into the store from time to time. Neither of them kept any stock beyond a few chickens. But every two or three months they’d come into the store and buy a bag of cracked grain and a bag of grit for their laying hens. Each brought a dozen eggs, one of the same buff colour as the rose that twined around Preston's grandmother's door when he was a boy. The other brought Auracana eggs, naturally coloured aqua, robin's egg blue, jade, pale lilac, speckled brown, as festive as an Easter basket. He kept the </span>Auracana eggs <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">in his office refrigerator as long as he dared, his secret pleasure, cradled their smooth pigmented surfaces in his palm. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Preston welcomed the old men's visits. Unlike the farmers who ordered 100 bags of grain by phone, came to town and left their trucks to be loaded while they went off to do other business, these 80 and 85-year-olds always had time to sit down, talk about the old days, and spin a </span><b style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">yarn </b><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">or two</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">. For Preston yearned for the old days, when life was as simple as an aqua egg one could hold in one's palm. He’d disappear into his cluttered office to brew up a fresh pot of coffee and cut a slice of Sadie’s cake or pie to </span><b style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">share</b><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">, and stretch their visits to last as long as possible.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">He made his way through the crowd toward the end of the room with the bench. Stopped at the tables where the food was laid out, picked out a tray, got three coffees and three slices of pecan pie, napkins and cutlery.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Ignored Sadie's piercing look from where she was spooning out her casserole, lips pressed together, brows bunched together in the middle like a navel. </span>Worked his way through the crowd until he reached the bench. The two old men scooted apart so he could sit between them. He handed the coffee and pie around.</span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">“So,” he shouted above the pandemonium of Satan’s Saturday Night Boy’s, “How're you fellas tonight? Hens okay? Wife made an awful good Angel Food cake with eggs you fellas brought. Takes 13 eggs to make that cake, it's on the table there, white frosting, pink flowers. You otta get a slice of it before it's gone.” Three heads close together... </span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-52129411662545834092019-01-17T21:57:00.000-08:002019-01-17T21:57:22.998-08:00When Death Comes
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<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mary Oliver</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">September 10, 1935 - January 17, 2019</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When death comes</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">like the hungry bear in autumn</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">when death comes</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">like the measle-pox;</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">when death comes</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And therefore I look upon everything</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and I look upon time as no more than an idea,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and I consider eternity as another possibility,</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and I think of each life as a flower, as common</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">as a field daisy, and as singular,</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and each name a comfortable music in the mouth</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">tending as all music does, toward silence,</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">and each body a lion of courage, and something</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">precious to the earth.</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When it’s over, I want to say: all my life</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was a bride married to amazement.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.</span></div>
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<div class="p3">
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<span style="font-size: large;">if I have made of my life something particular, and real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">or full of argument.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">~ Mary Oliver ~</span></div>
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Mary Oliver, the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet whose work focused on spirituality, nature and New England, died Thursday in Florida. She was 83.</div>
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Oliver was born in Ohio in 1935. She published her first collection, "No Voyage and Other Poems," in 1963. Over 20 volumes of poetry would follow, including "American Primitive," which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1984, and "New and Selected Poems," which garnered the National Book Award in 1992.</div>
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Many of Oliver's poems are set in New England, where she spent much of her adult life. She moved to Florida in 2005 after the death of her partner, Molly Malone Cook.</div>
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In addition to nature, her poetry was infused with spirituality. In a <span style="box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; line-height: 18px;">2012 interview with NPR</span>, she said, "I think one thing is that prayer has become more useful, interesting, fruitful, and ... almost involuntary in my life. And when I talk about prayer, I mean really ... what Rumi says in that wonderful line, 'there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.' I'm not theological, specifically, I might pick a flower for Shiva as well as say the hundredth [psalm]."</div>
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Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-81477366801656009462018-11-01T22:34:00.001-07:002018-12-14T23:20:40.441-08:00The World Outside<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I watch the news with growing despair. Every day there’s a new heart-wrenching mass killing motivated by hatred, a never-ending stream of vitriol and excrement from the mouth of the president of the neighbouring country to the south, and in two successive days news that 60% of the world's population of vertebrates, from fish to birds to mammals, have been wiped out since 1970, says a new report from the World Wildlife Fund, and that in the past 25 years the Earth’s Oceans have warmed 60% more than previously thought. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What the hell are we thinking? And what can <b>we, as individuals,</b> do about it? Nothing slows hatred except complete rejection. People who spew hatred reveal more how about they feel about themselves than how that feel about others. Anaïs Nin said: “Unless you learn to face your own demons, you will continue to see them in others, because the world outside is only a reflection of the world of the world inside you”. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The newest information about the havoc we have visited on the rest of the world’s inhabitants is nightmarish. Who gave us permission to destroy the very ecosystem we depend on for life? </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The trees in the Amazon Basin are called the lungs of the planet for good reason, and they are being razed to grow 10,000 acre fields of soybeans to feed pigs and beef, which will be exported to feed the insatiable demand for more and more meat. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There is an appx 25 meter (about 80 ft) by 122 meter (400 ft) space between the fence that divides our parking lot and the busy four lane street. Three years ago the city said, “Here, you take care of this land.” So we have to mow, water, and otherwise care for it. There’s a bus shelter on the corner. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I think it would be a great spot for an urban forest. You can get free compost from the city and I’ll bet we could bum a couple hundred trees of all kinds from the city too. The city has a huge nursery where they grow all kinds of natives trees. They are building out a new rapid transit line which will come almost to our door. So we’d have a nice carbon dioxide sink, which would produce clean air. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But some other ideas you can use to help save the planet:</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. No one-time-use plastic</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. Turn out lights you’re not using. As my Dad used to say, “We don’t own the power company”!</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. Put the TV and other “instant on” appliance on a power bar which you can turn off at night or when you’re gone. That “ready” posse uses 40% of the power it uses when it’s turned on.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. Drive less. Try to consolidate errands. My 2013 KIA Soul has 11,000 kms (6,835 miles) on it, and that’s including the two trips to Vancouver our son took in it. (750 kms/466 one way). </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">5. Grow your own vegetables if you can</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">6. Buy locally if possible</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">7. Eat one vegan meal a day</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">8. Buy what foods you can at bulk stores using your own containers.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">9. Instead of buying crap clothes made by slave labour in Asia, choose a classic pattern you like, buy high quality fabric, and hire a local seamstress to make wardrobe you can wear interchangeably for years. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">10. Shop at thrift stores for clothes. Billions of tons of clothing end up in the landfill every year, because of fads and cheap fabric and construction.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">11. Buy the best quality tools you can afford. They will make you work easier, safer, and more quickly accomplished. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Do you have ideas to add to this list? <b>Please share.</b> There is so much I’d like to do, but due to age and disability I can’t. But other readers might. So let us know. </span></div>
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Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-55368070624189468422018-07-05T00:25:00.000-07:002018-07-06T10:24:02.457-07:00A Meerkat on the Bathroom Floor<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: large;">We live in a condo built in 2004, and though the original owner ripped up the standard builder’s beige carpet and replaced it with maple laminate, she left the original vinyl flooring in the hallway, bathroom and kitchen, and we’ve never mustered up the nerve to get a contractor in to replace it. The factory must have produced this stuff by the football field sized quantities hourly for years. In fact, I could probably drive to Home Depot and buy 500 sq feet of it tomorrow morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The colour is what my mother would have called “muckeldy dun”. I haven’t figured out if the background is dirty tan with greenish-brown and grey splotches thrown across it, or if the background is greenish-brown and grey with dirty tan splotches on it. A tile pattern was pressed on it after the colours were thrown on it. No matter how long you scrub it still looks dirty.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it does have a remarkable quality. One admits that at one’s advanced age one spends a fair amount of time upon the throne of thought. And while I’m sure this was purely accidental on the part of the paint thrower at the “Ugly Sheet Vinyl by the Football Field Quantity Company”, the random spots, blobs, lines, light and dark patches thrown together are fodder for the human brain (well <i>my </i>human brain anyway) to see all kinds of creatures on my bathroom floor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The show is constantly changing. One time all I see are dogs, from dachshunds dogs to Great Danes, a terrier with a rat in its mouth, a poodle in show clip, a fat lab pup with its tongue hanging out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My next visit I see no dogs at all but horses run riot, jumping, a mare nuzzling a foal,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a couple grazing, one looking over a stall wall.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">I never know what to expect, it may be sheep, cattle, camels, parrots, monkeys, meerkats, children at play, cats, donkeys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t go in looking for any of these illusions, and if I look for, say a kitten that I saw previously, or a bird, I cannot see it, even though I know precisely where it was, and in fact, all of the pictures I see in my floor are there, it’s just a question my brain organizing the blobs and lines on the floor into recognizable patterns when I am not consciously looking for them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But isn’t this like us in the world? Even though the connections may not be obvious ALL of us are connected, all of us are part of the great pattern. Compassion is born when we are no longer deceived by appearances; the illusion that “I” exist separately from”you”.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-35369803803165137692018-06-01T12:54:00.000-07:002018-06-03T12:13:47.272-07:00KIVA - Inching toward Our Hundreth Loan<span style="font-size: large;">Those who read my blog with any regularity know that we support a non-profit organization called <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a> which offers micro-credit to the poorest of the poor the world over. This is not charity, most loans are paid back, with a small interest, over time. But with the loans often come business training, schooling for the children, basic medical care and the support and help of the organization’s field workers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As loans are paid back you can choose to take your money back, or you can recycle it into a new loan. As it stands, we have made 97 loans over a period of seven or eight years. We've put in only $476, $25 at a time, but because we have recycled it as it was repaid it is as if we had loaned $2,525.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We favour lending to women in difficult circumstances, but have lent to young men needing medical care, to fathers with a sick child needing medical care, or to men with a worthy community project, like the lab tech needing to purchase an x-ray machine as there was none within miles. <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a> bios are usually brief, but this one was much more detailed, and I wanted to share it, in hopes that it will make you think about becoming a <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a> lender.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">A Syrian refugee and Lebanese local have created a thriving business.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Report written by <a href="https://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">KIVA</a>’s Talea Miller</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Photos by Brandon Smith</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Samah and Ahlam are the kind of friends that scoop up each other’s children and sooth them without batting an eye, as if they are their own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Samah and Ahlam are also successful business partners who have more than tripled their monthly income since starting a clothes resale venture together and taking out a Kiva loan to build their inventory.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccg3leDYowA79ZYlS_tlkaDwF6uT1Ky77hiZA_kgFyRYOIRvj-7QGt6wSb2nLQxNzltbrBE8MJKteMDQLyVrOzsgGbBJoxne4UH0ASGPn0gyIq93LaO5244j87i4OerJxch_Iyw/s1600/KIVA_June_2018_1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="840" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccg3leDYowA79ZYlS_tlkaDwF6uT1Ky77hiZA_kgFyRYOIRvj-7QGt6wSb2nLQxNzltbrBE8MJKteMDQLyVrOzsgGbBJoxne4UH0ASGPn0gyIq93LaO5244j87i4OerJxch_Iyw/s320/KIVA_June_2018_1.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ahlam (left) and Samah (right) with their children.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What makes their partnership unique is that Samah is a Syrian refugee living in Lebanon and Ahlam is a Lebanese citizen. Ahlam asked Samah to be her partner at a time when many Lebanese were cutting refugees off from job opportunities, preferring to only work with other Lebanese.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">These tensions have grown as more than 1 million refugees fleeing the violence of the Syrian war have flooded over the border in the last 7 years. Lebanon now hosts the largest number of refugees per capita of any country.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The influx has strained Lebanon’s resources, creating competition for jobs and housing. Signs of this stress are all around: Syrian and Lebanese children attend school at different times of day, curfews have been put in place in some Syrian refugee communities and Lebanese openly complain about the spike in cost of living since the war began.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s difficult to have communication between these groups of Syrian refugees and Lebanese because Lebanese people don’t like Syrians. They say the economy is bad because of them,” said Samah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Despite these conditions, Samah has always felt comfortable with Ahlam and her mother-in-law Eftika. They opened their arms to her, even though she was a stranger when she arrived in 2013 after her family home in Syria was bombed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The 3 of them took out a group loan together that was funded on Kiva, and Ahlam proposed Samah work with her in clothes resale, solidifying their commitment to each other and intertwining their success.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0a0p4f1r1Yc1PGcE083iJNzPrS07Tf_ncXSAeTplaHyHUK2cbMnPLTph5mR9rK-pUVfuReape2U0DugxwMLBjE438yK0AgIe7Dr5a1hFh-W5iuNhQnf1XiWOyH7cdHLvlo5xWsQ/s1600/KIVA_June_2018_2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="621" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0a0p4f1r1Yc1PGcE083iJNzPrS07Tf_ncXSAeTplaHyHUK2cbMnPLTph5mR9rK-pUVfuReape2U0DugxwMLBjE438yK0AgIe7Dr5a1hFh-W5iuNhQnf1XiWOyH7cdHLvlo5xWsQ/s320/KIVA_June_2018_2.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ahlam and Eftikar are not concerned about what other Lebanese people might think about the business, or their loan with Samah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Samah is a good person and she has a white heart, so I like working with her,” said Ahlam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ahlam crosses into Syria to purchase clothes at cheaper prices, then she and Samah divide the clothing and sell to different communities. The loan gave them the capital they needed to purchase additional stock.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tiVL9OnG4249sZVaH1Eqt2k_lcC_QxRTYO0YYICu98Xi1Ma7n_bwFzrzFwCBmrbzxAQ_0SMGbENVWaMbcuhmw9C8yn1I-IK4-RCezvc8DGNnYXe6X4cUoY6ltLFzBnKHEn8JiQ/s1600/KIVA_June_2018_3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="663" data-original-width="863" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tiVL9OnG4249sZVaH1Eqt2k_lcC_QxRTYO0YYICu98Xi1Ma7n_bwFzrzFwCBmrbzxAQ_0SMGbENVWaMbcuhmw9C8yn1I-IK4-RCezvc8DGNnYXe6X4cUoY6ltLFzBnKHEn8JiQ/s320/KIVA_June_2018_3.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Samah would not be able to cross back and forth across the border freely since she is Syrian.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The business has grown from just a few clients and their income has increased. When they started 3 years ago, they were each making $200-$300 a month, now Samah makes close to $1,000 each month, Ahlam makes even more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Samah recently gave birth to a son, her first child born in Lebanon. Her family’s biggest challenge now is the cost of living in Lebanon, as rent and food prices are high and continue to get higher with the country’s additional population.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlkDyzk9kLMVpSlSsYxVVft5D9Gbr1x7sbnKgipaBKFWnWvAVQAphuSCSm6leVPWDYMXC5sXrlo1k9-txH1q3sxNbtX4rXlgkSq69XPNe-WDkOzVKNUBKEc3cNpn4h_NB1fufKA/s1600/KIVA_June_2018_4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="616" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlkDyzk9kLMVpSlSsYxVVft5D9Gbr1x7sbnKgipaBKFWnWvAVQAphuSCSm6leVPWDYMXC5sXrlo1k9-txH1q3sxNbtX4rXlgkSq69XPNe-WDkOzVKNUBKEc3cNpn4h_NB1fufKA/s320/KIVA_June_2018_4.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a>
<span style="font-size: large;">She has lost relatives to the war in Syria, but she is still hopeful she will see her remaining family back home someday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I miss my house and my family. I hope the war ends and I can go back to Syria,” Samah says.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until then, she is grateful for her Lebanese friends, and they are grateful she and her family are safe in their shared community.</span><br />
Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-23921529561253970162018-05-29T23:50:00.000-07:002018-05-29T23:50:27.514-07:00Did You Gorilla Tape That?
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every Spring the “Powers That Be”, aka the condo board, has the building power washed. This means we have to haul everything on the balcony inside. Facing the prospect of clearing the balcony, I took a hard look at all my gardening tools, pots, fertilizer and other odds and sods and decided with a sigh that, until (unless) I can get waist-high raised beds my gardening days are over. But the gardening paraphernalia is all in usable condition, so Gail put it in my wagon and took it out to the building’s community garden.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This left only two things on the balcony; the cat’s little carpet-covered house, which Smokey sits on, and Hobbes sleeps in, and Hobbes’ “hamster” wheel, a metre (48”) wide circle which he runs on like a treadmill. He usually chooses to run about 3:00-4:00 am, and he yodels while he runs. I’m sure the neighbours enjoy this about as much as I do, but thankfully he usually gets going so fast he flies off the wheel, which scares him a bit, and brings the session to an end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we bought the wheel we had to assemble it (18 sections) and apply the running surface which was a plastic material which felt a bit like velour. It had a sticky backing. We were hoping fat old Smokey would take to it and run some pounds off but he was terrified by the thing. However Hobbes took an immediate shine to the running surface. The movement of the wheel sent him scurrying under the bed, but the running surface drew him like a bug to a street light. Soon he was busy tearing chunks of the plastic off the wheel, where it stuck like dried paint to the floor!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we redecorated in June we moved the wheel to the balcony, which made Hobbes very angry. He carried big slabs of the running surface into the house and dropped them on the floor of the living room. He didn’t get on the wheel and run for a couple of months! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So fast forward to today. We had to move this enormous wheel inside temporarily. It’s been outside almost a year. There are a few shards of running surface hanging from it. We tore them off before we brought the wheel inside, stuffed them in a small garbage sack and threw them away.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now there’s a problem. One the thing is very dusty from sitting outside for a year, and two, he’s liable to tear a claw out running on the wheel, as there’s a join between every section large enough for his claws to fit into as he runs. So we thought we’d put it in the bathtub and scrub it down. It wouldn’t fit. I went through the rolodex in my head. What do we have that’s big enough just to sit this thing in, get enough water to cover the track (4”) and we could just roll it and wash it? A-HA! Underbed box that we store guest linens in. Perfect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Forty-five minutes later, it was scrubbed, the kitchen was nearly ankle deep in water and Hobbes was on the kitchen counter, leaning over us with an extremely anxious expression on his face. “Meow?” he said, “Meeee-ooow”? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We dried it as best we could, mopped up the kitchen floor with half a dozen cat-tas-troh-fee towels, and rolled the wheel into the guest room. Now came the “fun” part. We had to “Gorilla” tape over every one of those 18 joins. Gorilla Tape is *sticky*, and it is not programmed to do anything but to stick to whatever surface it comes in contact with.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were using our ancient metal tape measure and it didn’t help that the tape measure was too close for me to read without my glasses, and the joins were too far away to see without my glasses. Hobbes kindly volunteered to hold my glasses, and even cleaned them by licking the lenses.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I determined that each piece of tape needed to be cut 20.95 cm (8.25”) long. Tony held the end of the tape and I pulled. He has a tremor, and I am not very strong, so the Marx Brothers’ movies come to mind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I measured up our 1st try. We were 5 cm (2”) short. We pulled some more. He held the measuring tape next to the Gorilla tape. The measuring tape slid over the the top of the Gorilla Tape and they stuck together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I saw where the 20.95 cm mark was and made a cut on the opposite side. The Gorilla Tape stuck to the scissors, and when I tried to pull them free the Gorilla Tape stuck to me. When Tony tried to help pull the scissors free, the Gorilla Tape stuck to itself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Oh good,” he says with a thin smile, holding up a folded<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>length of tape stuck to his thumb, with the scissors dangling from it, “Only 17 to go.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We did (eventually) get them all done, but we may never be the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And how are <b>your</b> projects coming along?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-55900701545442005952018-05-27T00:41:00.001-07:002018-05-27T22:55:11.449-07:00Not “Confinement” but Liberation<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: large;">When someone is diagnosed with a neuromuscular disease one of their first questions is, “Will I end up in a wheelchair?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’ve even heard people say, “I’d rather be dead than be "confined" to a wheelchair!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My doctor has argued with me for the last two years, saying it was not yet time for me to begin using a wheelchair. He’s referred me to physiotherapy, to acupuncture, to a rehab specialist, all of whom said they could do nothing but temporarily ease the pain brought on by walking with needles and drugs, but could do nothing about the exhaustion and damage walking is doing to the few viable muscles left in my legs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The week-long paralytic episode I had earlier this month, provoked by taking a slow stroll with Ian, was enough to make me come to my senses. My doctor does not live my life, walk in my shoes, nor has he ever really understood the physical challenges I face on a daily basis. So once I was capable of walking again I began shopping for a wheelchair; and today I bought one.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I knew what I wanted, a chair that fit me like a glove, that feels like an extension of me, that is light and easy to transport. I want my feet tucked back under me, not stuck out like a cow catcher. I’ve been pushed around in a hospital-style-chair in big crowds often enough to know that the person pushing you doesn’t always know how far ahead of you your feet are, and you plow into people about six inches above their ankles - and then they sit in your lap. This is not too bad when it’s a six year old, but when it’s a 136 kg (300 lb) guy with dreadlocks who has about seven beers and a few lines of crack in him, the result can be unpleasant enough to require the RCMP’s intervention.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So here is my little beauty. It weighs 6.57 kg (14.5 lbs) with the wheels off, 8.2 kg (18 lbs) with them on. The footrest folds up, then the chair folds up to about a foot thick, more or less. I really wanted canary yellow, but dark green was what they had, so following the old adage, "If you can't get what you want, like what you can get." I picked dark green. If I can find a body shop that is able to strip it down and paint it yellow I may get that done. I feel visibility is important in a chair.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But back to the “better dead than in a chair” business. Over the last five years my leg muscles, and to a great extent the muscles in my hands, arms and shoulders have slowly and steadily disappeared. As a result I am mostly confined to the house. I've had to give up driving because I can't grip the steering wheel tightly enough, or turn to shoulder check traffic. My wonderful sons have hired a driver for me, but what's the point of going somewhere if you can’t walk once you get there?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This wheelchair is not “confinement” to me, it’s <b>liberation</b>! I can actually go to the mall, to the library, go clothes shopping, go for walks, do things I have steadily lost the ability to do over the last 15 years! I can’t tell you how many friends I’ve lost because they wanted to meet, walk the length of the mall and have lunch. It’s almost impossible for people to understand that while I can walk inside the house, I actually can’t walk any distance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Believe me, by the time you <b>need</b> a chair to get out of the house you’ll see it as liberating. It’s like a big part of my life has been put on hold, and now I’m finally going to be able to move forward again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-4457529518202062592018-05-22T21:21:00.000-07:002018-05-27T00:46:20.724-07:00A Long-Awaited Reunion<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Over the years we had 35 foster children, all boys except for one girl, and she was the last. Let’s call her Jane. When we met - and my memory is a little hazy because this was over 40 years ago - she was about to turn 11 and I was 29.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She lived with the family next door and I saw her come and go every day to school and back.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One afternoon I was sitting on our porch, watching the boys play with our dogs when she approached shyly and asked if she could sit down. I said sure and scooted over. We talked a couple of minutes. She told me she was in grade six. She had flawless brown skin and long straight black hair of the area’s Indigenous children. She was a beautiful child, but she was dressed in shabby, outgrown, threadbare clothing, and there were holes in her cloth shoes. I knew the children of the family next door were well-dressed in the latest fashions, and felt anger rise in me. They were paid to take care of this child, not to take advantage of her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“What grade are you in?” she asked, “I’ve seen your brother (referring to Ian, who was nine at the time) but I haven’t seen you at school.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I could hardly keep from laughing. “I don’t go to school. Ian - there - and the little one - Zak - are my sons. I’m little, but I’m a grownup.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“No WAY!” she said. “I thought you were just a kid!” And we both started laughing. After that we talked almost every day, and I’d help her with her homework, because she was far behind her classmates.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A few weeks later I was having a cuppa with her foster mother when she remarked she was tired of fostering and was sending Jane back. I asked who the agency was and got the number and worker’s name. The woman discouraged me. “You don’t want her,” she said. “These Native kids are nothing but trouble.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I went home and called the agency. It took about 48 hours for our application to be approved, and Jane made the short journey to our home. </span><span style="font-size: large;">She brought her clothes in a brown grocery bag. Every garment she owned was too small, she was tying her panties on by poking holes along the top and threading string through the holes. Her socks were too small and full of holes. I was furious that no one from the agency had been paying enough attention to see that she was being neglected.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I called the agency and told them I was taking her clothes shopping and I would send them the bill. And then we went shopping. For the 1st time since she’d been in care she got an entirely new wardrobe, from underwear to school and play clothes and several pretty dresses to wear to church, and shoes for each occasion. We had a ball.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As Christmas approached we learned that the families that she’d been with had never included her in the celebrations. She never had a Christmas gift, or a birthday gift. Tony’s Mom and brother came for Christmas loaded with gifts for all three kids, and we made sure she got as many gifts as our boys did. She was *ours* and we loved her, and treated her as we loved and treated them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The years passed, we moved 1,200 miles from where she was born. She grew into a lovely young girl on the edge of womanhood, and in the US my mother became terminally ill. We wanted to go spend her last months with her, because she’d spent practically no time at all with our children.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We arranged to formally adopt Jane, who was now 16, but the Province had never secured formal guardianship of her, and her biological mother refused to allow the adoption. What’s more she demanded Jane be taken from our home and placed in a culturally appropriate home. It was a blow to our hearts. Zak was only two when she came to us. He didn’t remember a time when she wasn’t part of our family, nor did her understand that she was not his biological sister. Her departure was like a death to him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We kept in touch for a couple of years but one day a letter came back, “Moved, No forwarding address”. We tried everything. We wrote everyone who knew her, the agency, went to the tribal office, all to no avail. Once we got the Internet I started looking, still no luck.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, I thought, the last letter we had from her she’s given birth to a baby boy. I started looking for him, and I found him. He told me where to find her. The result was, after a year of correspondence, a very sweet reunion and many happy tears. She, her daughter, and her little grandson came to see us over the weekend and I’m so proud of her. She's gone to college, she has her own business, she’s a strong independent woman in a long-term stable relationship, and I feel so blessed to have been part of her life. I love her so much. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-31705134572277716222018-05-18T20:49:00.000-07:002018-05-18T20:49:41.839-07:00The Security Geese and the Line in the Water
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<span style="font-size: large;">Winter flipped the coin into “Sprunger” last week, that is to say our daytime temperatures went from 5-7 degrees C (41-45 F) to 25-28 C (77-82 F), the barren and dead-looking trees in the courtyard burst into clouds of pink and white blossoms and the flower beds thrust bright spikes of narcissus, daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips from the brown earth into the sunshine. Hostas unrolled their leaves and fanned them out like green umbrellas.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Calgary doesn’t have “Spring”. We go from Winter to Summer in a single bound, then, like those times you leave home with the nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something, and it turns out to be the baby, dressed in his snowsuit, and cinched in his carseat, Calgary goes back and gives us three days of 5 degrees C (41 F), and a cold drizzle, or it snows 53 cm (21 inches) on the 21st of May. Just because we didn’t get a “proper” Spring, or because the weather gods here are sadistic. I’ve lived here 45 years. Nothing surprises me any more. But back to the lovely weather last week. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">While all this magic was happening in the garden, we were doing our own thing. After a week-long paralytic episode, during which I should have gone to the ER, and didn’t, I developed phlebitis in my left leg. This was a sharp and painful lesson that despite my aversion to Emergency Rooms, I do still need to go and suffer the never-ending questions, the blood-gas draws (which are very painful), the potassium IVs, the beeping monitors and being treated as if I was intellectually challenged and know absolutely nothing about my own disease while some Intern, who has never heard of it, goes to look up a single article, probably one riddled with errors, and comes back “knowing everything”. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But having put all that behind me, on Mother’s Day Ian and I went out for lunch and then, with me in Tony’s wheelchair, we went to the <a href="http://hikingwithbarry.com/2016/07/25/inglewood-bird-sanctuary-hiking-calgary" target="_blank">Inglewood Bird Sanctuary</a>. I got to see far more than I’ve seen in ages because I’ve not been able to walk farther than the 1st bench for a long time. We went down river and watched the Canada geese squabble over “their” staked-out stretches of the river. These territorial boundaries, though invisible to us, are obviously very clear to them.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One pair was grazing on the bank of the river above us. Down in the river another pair was leisurely paddling around, apparently minding their own business. Suddenly the female of the grazing pair stood up, gave an eardrum-rending screech and assuming a threatening posture, began running down the bank towards the water, presumably squawking, “Your goose is cooked!”. The male reluctantly followed. The two of them chased down, beat and pecked the “intruders” until they had retreated well upriver, and across the invisible border.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We moved upriver to another bench, where we sat and enjoyed the sun and watched the merganser ducks, chickadees and other birds who were coming and going. At one point I looked up and about 30 meters (100 ft) away a couple of very plump coyotes in beautiful condition were trotting past. They were in such good condition they looked as if they’d just come from the dog groomers. But then Calgary is overrun by rabbits. A woman farther down the path, much closer to them, simply stopped and waited for them to pass. As she walked by she said, “I thought they were dogs at first, they were in such good condition!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we turned to go a <a href="http://www.albertawow.com/wildlife/garter%20snake/garter%20snake.htm" target="_blank">garter snake</a>, about .76 meter (30 inches) long slid from the grass onto the path in front of us. It was in fine condition, plumb and sleek. It crossed the path at a leisurely pace to begin with, but when Ian started getting close to try and get a photo it put on some speed. In contrast to the garter snakes in the den on our property in BC this one was not dark green and yellow but two tones of brown. It was a lovely snake and seeing it capped off a beautiful walk on a lovely afternoon. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-3825203933364985712018-05-16T10:34:00.000-07:002018-05-16T20:49:18.660-07:00Goodbye Dr. Frank <style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last week I lost a dearly loved friend and mentor, Dr. Professor Frank Lehmann-Horn of Ulm University, Ulm Germany. Frank was that rare species of physician, for whom every patient became a friend, but as head of the non-profit organization <a href="http://hkpp.org/" target="_blank">Periodic Paralysis International</a> I worked with him more closely than most patients, including collaborating on a <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3476862/pdf/1128-2460-31-126.pdf" target="_blank">paper</a> published in a neurological journal, a 10 month-long process start-to-finish.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Frank was everything most neurologists aren’t, kind, gentle, a patient teacher and listener, and for that Linda Feld and Misty Smith of the <a href="https://www.periodicparalysis.org/site/" target="_blank">Periodic Paralysis Association</a>, and I nominated him for “The Art of Listening Award” from the Genetic Alliance. He flew from Germany to Washington, DC to accept it and said of all the awards he won, and there were many, it was the one he treasured most, because it was from the patients he loved. You can see him accepting the award <a href="https://periodicparalysis.us17.list-manage.com/track/click?u=873e017b203a260e7a1063c0d&id=0f44cdd271&e=58811c9220" target="_blank">here</a>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">His research, both in the complex structure of the muscle and in the genetics of neuromuscular disease were seminal. He offered genetic testing for patients, identifying the genetic mutation in many families. He was the author or co-author of 73 papers in neurology journals, developed new techniques for MRI testing and introduced the use of new treatments for periodic paralysis.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There is really no way to describe how much he will be missed by each of us who has some form of periodic paralysis.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">May his family be comforted by the knowledge of how deeply Dr. Frank Lehmann-Horn is loved and appreciated by all whose lives were touched by his.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">To his wife, children and grandchildren we extend our deepest sympathies and heartfelt condolences. I hope knowing how many patients truly loved Frank is of some comfort. His memory will outlive us, as generations not yet born are told how their family’s mutation was identified, and by whom.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And to that I add this lovely poem by Mary Oliver, because Frank didn’t just “visit” this world. He made an impact on thousands of lives. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://darvish.wordpress.com/2011/03/18/when-death-comes-a-poem-by-mary-oliver/"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When Death Comes – A Poem by Mary Oliver</span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When death comes<br />
like the hungry bear in autumn<br />
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;<br />
when death comes<br />
like the measle-pox;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">when death comes<br />
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;<br />
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And therefore I look upon everything<br />
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,<br />
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,<br />
and I consider eternity as another possibility,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and I think of each life as a flower, as common<br />
as a field daisy, and as singular,</span></div>
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tending as all music does, toward silence,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and each body a lion of courage, and something<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When it’s over, I want to say: all my life<br />
I was a bride married to amazement.<br />
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder<br />
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.<br />
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened<br />
or full of argument.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.</span></div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Oliver"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">~ Mary Oliver ~</span></a></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-2603342737888627562018-05-11T13:56:00.000-07:002018-05-11T13:56:19.031-07:00What Now?<span style="font-size: large;">One of the reasons I haven’t posted much recently
is that I’ve had little to post about. I <span style="text-align: center;">can go on about my cats for just so long before everyone begins to brush cat hair off their monitors and yells, “Enough already with the cats!” My “outings” are more likely to be doctor’s appointments than anything else, and do not make riveting reading. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXRL0stKp6mQjkQgELKQKfWcoR3Gp_U-KQdRj336EVIhu8HIbJDdmHOdXN-xtvlp1EacmDW2hWE6bfVHtyQkDmJYDcYPN_374-xv84WqSNrC6NhcbyN9lnK-_mvZzHiIOaKGE4Q/s1600/Heron_and_Crescent_moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="297" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXRL0stKp6mQjkQgELKQKfWcoR3Gp_U-KQdRj336EVIhu8HIbJDdmHOdXN-xtvlp1EacmDW2hWE6bfVHtyQkDmJYDcYPN_374-xv84WqSNrC6NhcbyN9lnK-_mvZzHiIOaKGE4Q/s400/Heron_and_Crescent_moon.jpg" width="168" /></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">But I’ve collected quote for years, and I wonder what my two or three readers would make of them. So I’m going to begin </span><span style="font-size: large;">posting some of my favourites</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and hopefully others will comment, and we can discuss them, politely of course, because some of them are “challenging” - which is why I saved them when I ran across them. (grin)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today's quote, from <a href="https://www.spectator.co.uk/2017/07/jean-vaniers-world-of-love-and-kindness/" target="_blank">Jean Vanier</a>, who will doubtless be nominated for sainthood when he leaves this earth, is not challenging, but keeping it in mind at all times, and with all people, certainly can be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What do you think? When someone pushes your buttons are you likely to remember the principle embodied by this quote? I'm not, though I really try - when I remember. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“We human beings are all fundamentally the same. We all belong to a common broken humanity. We all have human wounded, broken hearts. Each one of us needs to feel appreciated and understood. We all need help.” ~ Jean Vanier </span>
Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-68406059390750404992018-03-18T01:30:00.000-07:002018-03-18T01:30:45.979-07:00I TOLD You He Was Chill!
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<span style="font-size: large;">Seeing as how I promised to write about Smokey’s experience at the vet’s “tomorrow” on the 1st of March, and it is now the 18th, perhaps I will live up to my promise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As all who know the-cat-who-would-be-king are aware, he has a very long dense coat. His guard hairs are very coarse and he has such a thick undercoat that it’s difficult to get a comb through it. I groom him from 45 minutes to an hour a day, which he loves, but he is hot, winter and summer, and he loves to go out on the balcony and lie in the snow. So he sheds, and sheds and sheds and sheds. I get a compacted fist-sized ball of hair off of him every day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And, sorry if this is TMI, but he has always had a bit of a delicate digestive system. Feed him two different flavours of food on the same day and he gets the runs. Accidentally leave Hobbes’ dry food so Smokey can steal a few bites and I’m cleaning cat poo off of everything in the house, including him. He’s very intolerant of having any poo at all on himself, so he will stand at the bathroom door and yell until I let him in the bathroom, where he jumps on the bath bench and gets a wash, and a dry, though a certain amount of snarling goes along with the drying. Clean we like, yes, but he sees no point in the towelling when the sofa would soak up the water just fine. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After the fourth time in a single day I’ve had to clean him, and the floors, doors, walls, bath bench, and anything else he swiped his poopy tail on because some people (mostly Papa but sometimes me!) have walked off and left Baby Cat’s bowl unattended a little irritated Mama gets yes, she does.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, when we got to the vets I asked her if they would please shave Mr. Smokey from his neck to his tail. Leave the head and legs hairy, shave the rest, especially around his rear end. She said they certainly would do a “hygiene clip”, but do not normally shave cats because they freak out and require sedation, and they don’t do that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I tossed what little self esteem I possess to the winds, threw myself on her mercy and begged until she said she’d ask the girls to “try”, but if they could do it usually takes about 20 minutes and costs $120. However, if he was uncooperative they’d stop at the hygiene clip. I said, "He's a pretty chill cat, please, just give it a try." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She took him to the back and when she returned we extricated Hobbes from the crate he couldn’t stand half an hour earlier and she began his exam.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Five minutes into Hobbes’ exam she leaned in the direction of the door to the back room and said, “The clippers are still going.” On with Hobbes’ exam. Another couple of minutes, “The clippers are still going.” Another couple of minutes, “The clippers are still going - and they are laughing. I’ve got to see what’s going on.” And she went out the back door of the room.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When she came back a couple of minutes later she was roaring with laughter. “They started with the hygiene clip,” she said, “Then one held him while the other came up front and started to shave his chest. As soon as he realized what they were doing he shook off the gal holding him and lifted his head up so they could shave his neck. Then they shaved his back. Now he’s rolled over, lying on his back, and they're shaving his belly, he’s even held out his front legs to be shaved. They’re not even having to hold him, he’s stayed absolutely still the entire time, and he's purring like mad. He’s loving it! He’s got to be the most laid back cat we’ve ever seen. They’ve never shaved a cat they didn’t have to hold down!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was so chill it only took them 10 minutes to shave him, and cost $60. Well worth the money.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Admittedly he looks like a bulldog, with a big head, blocky body with four square corners, a big broad chest and little short legs, but the haircut looks pretty good. I'm not complaining. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My guess is he was kept shaved as a kitten, and remembered the routine. He’s much happier since he was shaved, no chasing Hobbes around and beating the living spit out of him. His hair is now about 1/2” long, and we’ve decided we’ll keep him shaved from now on. He’s much easier to keep clean. Both of us are happy about that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-14148759945625479012018-03-01T00:13:00.000-08:002018-03-01T00:13:14.820-08:00He "sings" like a pig caught under the farm gateYesterday was “the day”, the one we mark on the calendar and look forward to with trepidation and fear. Yesterday was booster shot and annual exam day for 'the boys’.
The moment the crates are brought down from their perches in the closets the boys’ devil-may-care attitudes vanish and they slither like two furred snakes under the beds.<br />
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I drop a big towel in each crate, along with a generous tablespoon of catnip. They may not do any good, from the cats’ point of view, but they make me feel better.
Of course we can’t just open the crate doors and issue invitations. But fortunately our boys tend to panic and run from bed to bed, and thus can be scooped up during a transit.<br />
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In turn each one’s crate is stood on end. Hobbes has to be put in head first, Smokey back feet first. Doors secured, crates loaded on the cart, winter layers on, pocketbook in hand, trusty cane in hand and we are ready for our driver, Gail. <span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While we wait for her to arrive, Hobbes begins to warm-up for the performance, because Hobbes is not *just* the quirky orange tabby who loves strawberry yogurt, steals plastic bags and destroys cardboard boxes, Hobbes is a </span></span>Felis silvestris catus<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"> with ambitions. </span><br />
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Hobbes wants to go on the musical stage, and not just to sing in Jubilee Auditorium productions of “Cats” or “The Lion King”. Hobbes aspires to sing on the stages of the Great Opera Houses of the World; The Metropolitan, Vienna Staatsoper, La Scala Milan, The Liceu in Barcelona, Teatro di San Carlo, The Royal Opera House in London. I could go on, but you get the drift.<br />
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For this trip, as far as I could determine, he chose as his performance piece an intensely dramatic aria from Verdi’s 'Otello', loosely translated as “God, how could you?”. Verdi used Shakespeare's tale of Othello as his libretto, so of course you know the story; the insecure older man, an African general, marries the young and beautiful blonde Desdemona, who is devoted to him. But his wicked, jealous and bigoted second-in-command, Iago, manages to convince Otello that his wife is unfaithful. Otello, heartbroken and maddened by grief, kills her, and then himself. But just before he dies he realizes he has been tricked and kills Iago as well.<br />
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You may see Placido Domingo’s incredible performance of this piece, taken from the film produced and directed by Franco Zeffirelli, here, though the audio seems to have been tampered with and Domingo's magnificent tenor has been dropped into a decidedly baritone range. Still gorgeous.<br />
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Sadly Hobbes has yet to attain Domingo’s command of melody or tempo or… to have exhibited any musical talent whatsoever, and as a result his interpretation lost a good deal in execution. However, if enthusiasm counts he cannot be faulted. He went into full throttle when our front door opened and his performance continued unabated until his crate door was opened at the vet’s. How so many decibels can emerge from a 6.5 kilo (14 pound) cat is a mystery to everyone who hears him.<br />
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Once out of the crate and on the exam table he was the proverbial pussy cat, docile and friendly, never even flinched when he got his needle. And he was eager and delighted to get back in his crate for the ride home.
He sang a less onerous aria on the way back, possibly something from Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘HMS Pinafore’.<br />
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Smokey is not a G&S fan and grumbled at him the entire way home. There were sharp words between them afterwards. But Smokey was fine with the ride. As long as Smokey can see I’m in the car he’s chill. Smokey’s outing was extraordinary for an entirely different reason. Tomorrow, I hope, I’ll have time to write about that. Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-85398026284397931102018-02-17T02:40:00.000-08:002018-02-17T18:42:06.477-08:00Massager with Menaces<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Happy Saturday the 17th of February, hackiedy, hack, hack, hack. No, not me. I quit hacking a week ago, but Himself, Lord and Master of the Household, is still barking like a doberman with a bone caught in his throat. Poor old dear.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">On the bright side - think of all the industries we’re supporting; the people who sell cough syrup, the makers of the nasty stuff, the ones who </span><span class="s2">brew</span>, </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">grow,</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> *grow*, the ingredients for it, and presumably say incantations over it. Then there have been the innumerable pills and hot toddies at all hours.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One morning about 3:00 am in a fit of desperation I got out the teeth-rattling vibrator Ian bought me a couple of years back, hoping it might help my back. This thing has two golf-ball-sized heads which heat up and then proceed to</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“vibrate” with all the finesse of a jack hammer. The “golf balls” are set in a head which lies at a 90 degree angle to a 14” long handle so, (supposedly) the sufferer can run it up and down their back, with the relaxing effect of being knocked down and trampled by 10,000 Japanese businessmen disembarking from a crowded commuter train at 5:25 pm.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At any rate, I climbed on our step-stool, pulled the “massager with menaces” down from a high shelf where it lives in a bucket, plugged it in and proceeded to give my DH the pummelling of his 77 years. After a few minutes he assured me that he felt entirely, or nearly so, cured. Or at least I think that’s what he said. He gasped, “Enough! No more!” and fell over on the bed coughing. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’m not sure how much good it did. I’ve offered to do it again, but he’s always been busy tidying his toenails or just about to take a nap whenever I’ve asked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-31477222260385505752018-01-04T01:36:00.000-08:002018-01-04T01:37:15.258-08:00Awaken! Take heed. Do not...<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Let me respectfully remind you,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Life and death are of supreme importance.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Time swiftly passes by</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>and opportunity is lost.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Each of us should strive to awaken. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Awaken! </i></span><i style="font-size: medium;">Take heed. </i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Do not squander your life.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>~ Evening Gatha ~<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">January 3rd has slipped away to be replaced by the 4th. What a month the days between the early hours of December 3rd 2017 to January 3rd 2018 turned out to be for us. A far cry from any Christmas season we’ve ever experienced before, frightening, dangerous, painful and exhausting but in the end also filled with the blessings of family and love.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As described in my last post on the 10th of December, Tony had surgery on the 4th. He recovered quite slowly to begin with and wasn’t able to come home until the 22nd. He now has a walking frame and some other medical equipment and is progressing well, though he’s still in quite a bit of pain.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I spent at least a couple of hours with him most days, often going by taxi, because the driving quickly got to be too much for me. Ian was my hero during this time. Though it meant he had to work 14 hours a day, he made time to drive 45 minutes across the city, pick me up and drive me 20-25 minutes to the hospital, then sit and work in the hospital cafeteria while I visited with his dad, then drive home again and work until the wee hours.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We’d barely gotten Tony settled when our younger son Zak and his wife Nicole arrived from Switzerland. We were *so* delighted to see them. We hadn’t seen Zak since the summer of 2014 and though we talk every week via FaceTime, we’d never met Nicole face-to-face before. We certainly weren’t disappointed. She is as beautiful inside as she is outside and we love her even more for having met her in person. Smokey the cat went particularly ga-ga over her. You’d think he *never* got any petting in this household, and the wretch let her comb out matts he wouldn’t let me touch, *and* he let her trim his nails. If it hadn’t been such a triumph I’d be jealous. HA!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There had been no time for decorating the tree, buying presents other than some I’d bought during the summer - pickings were thin. Thankfully I had at least one small gift for everyone, and we’d gone grocery shopping so there was enough food to keep an elephant happy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was all good, we talked and laughed and enjoyed each others’ company, despite the -35 temperature outside.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Zak got busy and did a dozen or so small repairs to the place, fixed a leaky faucet, replaced a doorknob, fixed a closet door handle, installed a shelf to keep Hobbes from jumping behind the washing machine, painted the dresser in our bedroom, cutting an access hole in the back of the new sideboard so I can plug in the LED light strips, etc etc etc. So many excellent improvements!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And Nicole, bless her heart. The Swiss are OCD about clean-clean-overdrive. Though my house was cleaned the day before by our housekeeper, Nicole tut-tutted over the amount of great-unwashed left behind, and dove in. When I expressed concern she grinned and said, “I *love* cleaning, I find it so relaxing!” Yeah, I sit zazen for that. Maybe I should try scrubbing baseboards.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We had other guests as well, of a more temporary nature, people we love and don’t see enough.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Then on Saturday evening, after a week, our little birds flew the nest. We FaceTimed today and they are slowly returning to a Swiss schedule.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">January 3rd marked my 72nd birthday. Ian did some grocery shopping for me and brought dinner. We had a lovely visit afterwards. I’m so proud of my sons and their integrity and their compassion for others.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last night was interesting. I often have complex dreams, always in colour, but my dreams rarely include people I know. But last night I dreamed of all three of my siblings, all of whom have passed away. My brother Harrel was the 1st we lost, 20 years ago. My sister Ruby passed away in 2005 and my brother Hall in 2010. Last night all three came to me, at different times. I do hope it was just to say hello and not to tell me my time is up. My bottom didn’t hit the chair long enough to sort out and take my meds until 3:30 in the afternoon today. If I head off to parts unknown any time soon you’re going to have to find someone else to go without sleep, empty Tony’s commode, fix his favourite oatmeal in the morning, make his pills, yada yada.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And try the Zen. It’ll help you cope. Just look for the books that are dog-eared or with pages falling out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Awaken! Take heed. Do not squander your life.</i></span></div>
Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-19843996338138286782017-12-10T23:11:00.002-08:002017-12-10T23:11:54.997-08:00Tony's Hidden Talent<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">When my husband dove off the top step, did a graceful mid-air pirouette and landed on the ground with a thunk in the summer of 2008 I cried, “Are you alright?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">“I’m fine,” he said, “but I’ve broken my leg.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> And so he had, with gruesome efficiency.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Thus I discovered he has hidden talents as a diagnostician. When he falls he can immediately identify which of his 206 bones he has broken. Up until last Monday morning his tally was; a skull fracture, 11 bones in tibia/fibula/ankle, collarbone, arm just below the shoulder, arm just above the elbow, arm just below the elbow. When he fell and broke his arm below the elbow a few years back he ignored it until he’d brought in a wagon load of garden supplies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">When I retired shortly after midnight last Monday am (i.e. a week ago) Himself was sawing logs in his bed, having turned in about 7:00 pm. I was so proud. (I’m trying to train myself to go to bed earlier than 2:00-3:00.)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I lay there sleepless for a while, my body a bit puzzled over being in bed quite so early. The last time I looked at the bedside clock it read 1:00, but then I dozed off.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">At 1:30 I was awakened by a huge crash. I lay there a couple of minutes, trying to figure out what it could possibly have been. Our upstairs neighbours dropping their sofa (or garden shed?). A bomb going off in the parkade two floors down, two cars colliding in the visitor’s lot out front? I half expected the fire alarm to start shrieking, and when it didn't I finally got up to see if I could see what he noise was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">As soon as I walked into the kitchen I found “the bomb”, in the form of my husband, on the floor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“What are you doing down there,” I asked (rather stupidly in retrospect).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Tony looked at me in exasperation. “I fell down,” he said. “I’m fine, but I think I’ve cracked my hip.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was convinced he could get up by himself. How I’m not sure, as he can’t get up from the floor when he <b>isn’t</b> hurt, let alone when he is. I called 911. Two nice young EMTs arrived, picked him off the floor, got him on a gurney, waited while I changed from my PJs to jeans and a shirt, got on my coat and shoes and away we went.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">By 2:00 am we were in the Emergency Dept. of our nearby hospital. Over the next 15 hours he was examined in numerous ways, by a cadre of physicians from four different disciplines. All assured me behind hooded eyes that they knew “everything there is to know” about Tony's extremely <a href="http://hkpp.org/physicians/pmc" target="_blank">rare</a> disease. Two series of x-rays, a couple of CT Scans and three Orthopaedic consults later it was determined he needed surgery to mend his hip and femur, which were broken not across but split down the middle. He needed a long plate and screws to stabilize the split.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">His surgery was Tuesday afternoon, and he’s made a slow but reasonable recovery since. The morphine they’ve been giving him for pain (he has had a LOT of pain) make him have some highly creative delusions, but thankfully cheerful and pleasant ones which he finds amusing (and can’t believe they aren’t real). For example <span class="s1">he swears the bed control/call button projects Google maps and street view, cartoons, and illustrations of his rehab plans onto a screen on the wall.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">He’s been moved to a private room because he talks in his sleep non-stop and keeps his roomies awake. (Over the years I’ve learned to sleep through the running narrative.) <span class="s1">His new room has a huge window which looks across the courtyard to another wing of the hospital. So another of his delusions was that one of the nurses was hanging off the top of that wing at 3:00 am decorating it for Christmas. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"They sure get excited about Christmas around here," he said. In the last couple of days the nurses have hung a garland over the door of every room in the unit, and put trees and decorations all over the unit. They really have put a lot of work into making it look really nice and seasonal. I guess that had him thinking about nurses hanging in climbing gear, decorating the side of a five-story building. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">He’s already up doing a few minutes of rehab a couple of times a day, and though no one is promising anything I’m hoping he will be home in time for Christmas. His care has been wonderful. The unit he’s in has 14 rooms, 10 of which have four beds, the other four are private rooms, so 44 beds, not all full, three nursing stations, each with three nurses and an aide. There’s also a nurse practitioner and a Rehab Team consisting of a physician, a rehab specialist nurse and two physiotherapists.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The other thing he has is a couple of unhappy cats at home, especially Hobbes, who is a Daddy’s boy. They want their they Daddy back, Daddy back, Daddy back.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Me too fellas. Me too. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-42110001103455308242017-11-28T23:29:00.000-08:002018-04-02T12:08:41.879-07:00These Are Not Tears, Smoke Is In My Eyes<div class="p1">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Though it seems as if it’s been months, it’s “only” been five weeks since the morning I came out of our bedroom at 8:00 am and instead of being greeted by Smokey, our bouncing grey basketball of fur, I found him lying in a heap in the hallway, motionless and too ill to stand. Since then there’s been a lot of lap-time and tears, because I know he’s in pain, and I’m tired, and hoping that all I’m doing will help him survive.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was sudden, at 2:00 am he had insisted on going for a run in the long corridor that serves the wing of the building we live in. He thundered down the long run, stopping to sniff at the doors of those units where other cats and dogs live. When we got back to our own door he took off and ran down to where the wings intersect and ran down an adjacent wing and back, scampering like a kitten. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Our vet’s office starts taking calls at 8:30, and as soon as we were able to get him into the office we had him there. She examined him and noted that while he had no fever he had extreme jaundice. His ears, eye membranes, and gums were a deep peach colour. When his blood tests came back we learned his bilirubin level was over 100, when it should have been no higher than 3.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The question was “Why?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She prepared us for the most likely and worst possibilities; feline leukaemia, feline HIV, liver cancer or possibly gallstones, which could be treatable with surgery. When the leukaemia and HIV tests came back negative the next step was to seek the opinion of a specialist who could do an ultrasound looking for a liver mass and/or gallstones. This was quite a trip (45 km), with Ian doing the driving once and me doing it the second time, but from the ultrasound we learned that he had almost certainly had had a gallstone which he’d managed to pass, probably overnight, but which had backed up horrendous amounts of bile in his liver and body tissues. They’d shaved his belly for the ultrasound and his normally pink-white skin was absolutely the colour of an over-ripe peach.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">More ominously the ultrasound revealed he had hepatic lipidosis, a frequently fatal liver condition in cats. </span>Hepatic lipidosis happens when an abnormally high amount of fat accumulates in the cells of a cat’s liver. Even though there is all this fat in reserve, a cat has no ability to convert these fat reserves into energy when it does not eat. When a cat doesn’t eat for 24-48 hours its liver can begin to fail, especially if there are other factors going on, like a gallstone, which has filled the liver with bile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Smokey, who is usually a chow hound, ate very little on Saturday, and almost nothing on Sunday. He had slept a lot and seemed a bit lethargic, but then on Sunday night, or early Monday morning, he ran up and down the hallway like a kitten. In retrospect maybe he was in pain on Saturday and Sunday, and that running and jumping was an attempt to dislodge the gallstone blocking his bile duct.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span> (Apparently it worked!) <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once we had our diagnosis the treatment plan was clear, but the outcome was not guaranteed. Many cats do not survive hepatic lipidosis. We came home with medication to stimulate his appetite, because getting food in him was to be his only chance at life. My job was to feed him a half-teaspoon of food made into a slurry, so he could just lap it up, <i>every hour around the clock</i>. This was as big a challenge as having a newborn. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were back to the vet’s for medication for vomiting, for IV fluids, for more appetite stimulants, for probiotics, to have him weighed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After two weeks we moved to feeding him a teaspoon of food every two hours. <i>Profound gratitude.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>Now I feed him at 2:00, Tony feeds him at 6:00 and I feed him at 8:00, so I can actually get some sleep.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Five weeks and we’re still not out of the woods. One day in three or four he eats well, the others I have to take the bowl to him, wake him and urge him to eat a teaspoon of food. He may eat only two or three teaspoons of food on those days, and I fret all over that we’re going to lose him. Recovery from hepatic lipidosis can take months. He’s still jaundiced, his ears look waxen and his poor little naked belly is the soft, fuzzy yellow of apricots.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hobbes the little brother, has stuck to Smokey like a burr. He was very upset when Smokey was away at the vet’s. Now when Smokey lies down Hobbes will soon snuggle down beside him, and the two sleep contentedly side-by-side, for the better part of the day, and night too.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is not yet the end, because it is not all right yet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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Debhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14133236228952504852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31544381.post-44404643321431792102017-11-27T17:18:00.000-08:002018-04-02T12:13:32.941-07:00You Can’t See Emptiness, But You Can Be It<div class="p1">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(16, 16, 16); color: #101010;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Days continue to shorten, Christmas now approaches. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(16, 16, 16); color: #101010;">It’s a time of expectation. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We look for light; light from the sun, light of the heart, renewal of the light of the soul. We look for what we long for, whatever it is; connection, relief from loneliness, ease of despair, ease of pain, some sign that the burdens of today and tomorrow will diminish. We look for new beginnings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s1">Reading through my collection of much loved passages from Buddhist teachers I ran on this one again, from the book <i>Paradise in Plain Sight: Lessons from a Zen Garden</i><b><i> </i></b>by </span>Zen teacher <span class="s3">Karen Maezen Miller. It always reminds me to lay aside my inner chaos, let go and just <i>be</i>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva, meditating on the Heart Sutra*,</i><br />
<i>Clearly saw emptiness of all the five conditions,</i><br />
<i>Thus completely relieving misfortune and pain.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>—</i>Heart Sutra</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Form is emptiness and emptiness is form.</i> This single phrase is the summation of the Buddhist path, the culminating insight of the Way. But having uttered it, I’ve already strayed from it. Having read it, you’ve missed it, because now your mind is running amok trying to understand it, and here I am trying to chase after you. So let’s come back together in one big, empty place, and start over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What looks solid is not solid; what has no shape comes in all shapes. In a physical sense, bamboo is strong because it is hollow. It is supple and resilient; it bends without breaking. It supports incredible weight. It grows unimpeded by any known barrier, spreading outward everywhere. This is true of you, too. Where do you think you begin and end? Your feet? Your head? Your skin? Your eyes, nose, mouth, ears? Your thoughts, memory, feelings? The way we limit ourselves imposes a bunker mentality and defies scientific reality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It helps to remember what you took on faith in fourth grade science. All matter is composed of atoms. Atoms are mostly empty space. By definition you can’t see emptiness, but you can be it. Now, to live and let live in emptiness. That’s the secret to paradise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">First, be quiet. Give away your ideas, self-certainty, judgments, and opinions. Let go of defenses and offenses. Face your critics. They will always outnumber you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Lose all wars. All wars are lost to begin with. Abandon your authority and entitlements. Release your self-image: status, power, whatever you think gives you clout. It doesn’t, not really. That’s a lie you’ve never believed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Give up your seat. Be what you are: unguarded, unprepared, unequipped and surrounded on all sides. Alone, you are a victim of no one and nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What appears in front of you is your liberation. That is, unless you judge it. Then you imprison yourself again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now that you are free, see where you are. Observe what is needed. Do good quietly. If it’s not done quietly, it’s not good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Start over. Always start over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="s4">*The original wording is: “<i>Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva, doing deep </i></span><span class="s1"><i>Prajna Paramita,” </i>but since non-Buddhists would not know that the <i>Prajna Paramita </i>is the Heart Sutra, I simply translated the term.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><a href="http://suresimple.blogspot.ca/2015/12/the-lord-who-looks-on-world-with.html" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Avalokitesvara<i> </i></a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">is</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">the embodiment of the Buddha of Compassion. </span></div>
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