Tales from the Wind

So, of course, I am awake in the wee hours, with the wee kittens, and my lovely, unicorn meat eating cats. The cats are long suffering at this point, going through a sort of martyrdom of catness. I, myself, love the New Adventurers, the litter, and I am going to suffer when I give them back to Angels of Assisi. They each have developed their personalities while they were here, and I love each one of them, as individuals, worthy of the name of Cat.

They grow larger each day, and their crate, that used to be so big, can barely contain them, now. It's almost impossible to get good pictures of them, they run like the wind and several small varieties of rabbit.

They will have to go to the adoption center, all too soon.

April here is rushing on as if it were March, it was wet, cool, rainy yesterday. It was a day of lowering clouds, and grape hyacinths in the grass. The flagstones outside the door were a dark slate color, and the grass now is serenely green, flaming, in it's own way. Zinnia from last year are popping up in their bed. I will spread them this year, to other parts of the garden. I have always felt that one cannot have too much lavender, or too many zinnia. They grow twice as much when cut, and in such a rainbow profusion, that it is impossible to go wrong with them.

The tomatoes should have long been in the ground, but I am tardy this year, with this glorious weather, that reminds me so much of Scotland. My brother, Marc, and I did visit Scotland at the end of March, beginning of April, for our birthdays. Which is a lovely time of year, bearing in mind that we were traveling towards The Orkneys, a spot above Oslo, Norway in longitude. We damn near died of exposure, but it was invigorating.

We felt the strong pull of our deep, ancestral roots, while discovering why all the Scottish we met, wanted to move to Florida. I have never, until this year, felt so much wind. If there is anything eternal in Scotland at all, it is the wind. Known to lift small children, and deposit them in Africa, the wind followed us from one wet, rain-whipped tower to the next. Watching the fishing boats putter about in the harbor at one island, and pelted by freezing rain, and sleet, showed us why the prime vacation time in Scotland was August.

The wind was so strong at John O'Groats, that the van we arrived in, was in danger of being overturned by it. The local ferry refused to run, because of the storm coming up on the North Sea. But the Norwegian line (and surely they had experience?) was running, come wind, rain, shine, or sleet. And run the passage we did.

At one point in our journey from John O'Groats to Kirkwall, the boat actually stood up on one side, pulling the stabilizers out of the water. This resulted in a noise as if Satan himself were riding on that side, and very upset about it, too.

The passengers had all been called down to the bowels of the vessel, to try to stabilize it. There wasn't any question of surviving if we capsized. The water temperature of the North Sea is colder than the dark side of the moon. I was having a conversation with the bartender, who refused to give me another Americano, a dark, rich coffee concoction that I can get down at Mill Mtn. Coffee and Tea. It's water added to espresso, I believe. Anyway, I was wondering where all the other passengers had gone, and asking for some more coffee from this man behind the counter. To this day, I don't remember his name, but our conversation is one I will think of for many years.

My brother had disappeared, simply saying, "Stay here." If they had been going to the lifeboats, I would be dead now, watching over the luggage with his camera collection. To be honest, he did check and make sure they weren't evacuating us: it would have been pointless. If that boat couldn't make it in that storm, little ones certainly weren't going to.

Anyway, this is how dissociation works: all of a sudden, I am standing alone in a large, comfortable, ultra-modern cabin, where moments ago, all had been a bustle around me. And then someone mentioned that the ship was going down. There was a scramble, as if people were trying to board the subway at rush hour, and then I and this fellow were alone, staring at each other from across the bar.

We did some shouting at one another, simply for clarification...I wasn't going to get anymore coffee at that moment, and I didn't want a whiskey. The boat was making some tremendous straining-engine noises. I really 'came to' when the jewelry in the display cases down the hall, catapulted through the windows, still attached to the neck models they were draped on. Some newer, pinball games, chained to the wall, fell over, with a large, heavy crash.

Events stopped rushing, and my hair started crawling around on my head. There was dead silence after the crashing, except for the faint, distant screech of metal on metal. I found out later, it was the cars in the hold scraping against each other. The bartender and I simply stared at each other. The idea finally came into my mind, that this might be the last human face I saw. I know that the thought had occurred to him earlier, much earlier, but I had missed his reaction, dissociating as I was.

Then, the bow lifted clean out of the water, and I was clinging to the rail in front of me. My body was almost perpendicular to the floor, but I managed to wonder how all those bottles of booze stayed upright. If I hadn't known I was an alcoholic from way back, that was my clue.

I finally located the other passengers from the screams coming down the hallway. They were at the center of the ship, acting as ballast. I decided that if I were going to die, I wanted to be in my brother's company, but letting go of the rail was impossible, at the moment. I would have joined the group like dropping in on them from a building.

And then the boat righted, and slipped behind an island, and everywhere was a deep, satisfying silence.

That was the beginning of our tour of Scotland. I had promised my brother adventure, and I had delivered. From that point on, big Sister rocked.

A Night in Cairo

It seems so long since I posted that I hardly know what to write, or how.

This is Minkins, nicknamed 'Me me' with my dog, Maxwell, and his sister, Autumn, below. Even as we speak, the scent of cat poo wafts from the next room. I had to light a candle. My eyes are watering. They have had some kind of fungal tummy infection, and their poo reminds me of a day in Cairo, Egypt. Cairo is cat heaven, and Chelsea Ellis, of Angels of Assisi foster coordinator fame, should have her ashes spread there. She, like Cairo, is all about things Cat.

The city of Cairo is home to about 9 million people and innumerable cats, most of them friendly. Kittens wander in and out of restaurants, and we fed one at our table one glorious day. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I didn't get to float on the Nile, but I got to experience Cat. Every shop I went into, had it's resident cat...particularly at the cloth markets. This is pest control in Egypt. Egyptian cats are not American cats, domestic short hairs, but they look just like someone's house pet, although a bit dusty, as everything else  is, as well.

They are a part of everyday life, particularly in Cairo, as grass is here. No cat wanders the streets, they truly own the streets.


I would like to visit again. I went there in the beginning of summer, 2002, the year after the World Trade Centers fell. People thought I was a fool to visit after that event, but I found Cairenes to be particularly sensitive to the loss, and devastation America suffered. (This photo is by Lorraine Chittock)

Cairenes are particularly silly over their cats and it is easy to fall in love with the human inhabitants of Cairo, as an intelligent and loving populace, with a sense of humor of the situation, not far from the surface. Rumor has it that Cats are not so well treated since Tahrir Square, the Revolution pushing them aside. But it is hard for me to believe that a country simply so infused with the life of Cat, can put them off permanently. They have just had them for too long, and regarded them with so much love, for it to change in one, or even many, generations.

Once, when visiting me, a friend from Cairo asked to stay in the room with no access to cats. He said sleeping in the room he was in, where the cats roamed freely, was akin to sleeping on the street, in Cairo. I took it as a compliment.

After writing all of this, and searching for the perfect picture to show you, I simply long for Cairo, and its' beautiful, ancient Marketplace, Khan al Khalili, and a small cafe, named Naguib Mafouz, after the Nobel winning author. His novel is set in an alley in Khan al Khalili. And I want an hibiscus nectar, steaming so cold in the air, and some coffee.

But my only recourse is to let the kittens out, and dream.

Waiting for the Sun

Petrichor:The scent released from the ground, from a rain, after a dry spell.

I found the above posted in a fellow blogger's post for the day, and it hit a chord. After some good snow and rains in this verdant corner of the world, it reminds me of riding in the National Forest after a rain, with the steam coming off of the ground, and the haunches of the horses.

Now, I am simply waiting for the sun. 

This year is rushing on much too quickly. I do not have enough time for my garden, yet. Nor do I have time to properly express to the unicorn meat eating cats how very much I love and appreciate them.

Particularly, this morning, Ratty, (see above).

Who, while strenuously trying to return to 'his' place on the bed, found his way blocked by kittens. After a scolding from me, and from the dog, and a much to do from the kittens, we all found that poor Ratty was simply sleepy. He is peacefully sleeping now at the foot of the bed, right at my feet. And to think I almost put him out because of his fussing, on this cool, windy night! O, woe is the life of a Cat!

My Borderline therapy group is shifting, in not some good ways. Yesterday, group was canceled because I was the only one to show up. I am not complaining, mind. I needed a nap after waking at 3 a.m. But I am afraid that the interventions of life, and the various unparticipation of the women will end the group, precipitously.

It is a tough slog for anyone, meeting a day a week for a year. The diagnoses of Borderline personality disorder can be disconcerting  for the medical profession, much less, the average 'sufferer'. Especially since the diagnoses carries such stigma. Despite being simply a disorder of "emotional dysregulation."

Since my coming out in this blog about having this disorder, I have had a few good reactions, but mostly bad reactions. And I wonder if I communicate too much? Or not enough? There is no good public relations for Borderline yet. No Facebook posts about how famous people throughout history have had Borderline, and yet succeeded. No revelations about movie stars telling others that their BPD is the source of their artistic creativity. No discovery that Shakespeare truly was Borderline, and didn't know it.

Mind you, the only bad reactions I get are in person. No one yet, has given me 'that look' in a Fbook post. Just a reminder, for those new people out there:

From Wikipedia:

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) (called emotionally unstable personality disorder, borderline type in the ICD-10) is a personality disorder characterized by unusual variability and depth of moods.^[1] These moods may secondarily affect cognition and interpersonal relationships.^{[n 1]}

Other symptoms of BPD include impulsive behavior, intense and unstable interpersonal relationships, unstable self-image, feelings of abandonment and an unstable sense of self.^[2] People with BPD often engage in idealization and devaluation of themselves and of others, alternating between high positive regard and heavy disappointment or dislike.^[3] Self-harm and suicidal behavior are common and may require inpatient psychiatric care.^[4]

People with BPD feel emotions more easily, more deeply, and for longer than others do.^[9] For instance, while an emotion typically fires for 12 seconds, it can last up to 20 percent longer in people with BPD.^[10] Moreover, emotions in people with BPD might repeatedly re-fire, or reinitiate, prolonging their emotional reactions even further.^[10] Consequently, it can take a long time for people with BPD to return to a stable emotional baseline following an intense emotional experience.^[11]

In Marsha Linehan's view, the sensitivity, intensity, and duration with which people with BPD feel emotions have both positive and negative effects.^[11] People with BPD are often exceptionally idealistic, joyful, and loving.^[12] However, they can feel overwhelmed by negative emotions, experiencing intense grief instead of sadness, shame and humiliation instead of mild embarrassment, rage instead of annoyance, and panic instead of nervousness.^[12] People with BPD are especially sensitive to feelings of rejection, isolation, and perceived failure.^{[n 3]} Before learning other coping mechanisms, their efforts to manage or escape from their intense negative emotions can lead to self-injury or suicidal behavior.^[13] They are often aware of the intensity of their negative emotional reactions and, since they cannot regulate them, shut them down entirely.^[11] This can be harmful to people with BPD, as negative emotions alert people to the presence of a problematic situation and move them to address it.^[11]

^{People with BPD can be very sensitive to the way others treat them, feeling intense joy and gratitude at perceived expressions of kindness, and intense sadness or anger at perceived criticism or hurtfulness.[25] Their feelings about others often shift from positive to negative after a disappointment, a perceived threat of losing someone, or a perceived loss of esteem in the eyes of someone they value.}

^{The intense emotions of people with BPD can make it difficult for them to control the focus of their attention. In other words, it can be difficult for them to concentrate.[33] In addition, people with BPD might dissociate, which can be thought of as an intense form of "zoning out."[34] Dissociation often takes place in response to a painful event, or to a "trigger" that causes someone to recall a painful event, and consists of directing partial or full attention away from that event.[34] Although blocking out painful emotions provides relief from them, it inhibits the natural experience of emotions, and decreases the ability of people with BPD to function in their daily lives.[34] Sometimes it is possible to tell when someone with BPD is dissociating, because their facial or vocal expressions might become flat or expressionless, or they may appear to be very distracted; at other times, dissociation might be barely noticeable.[34]} 

Plums on a Tree

I eat dried plums. Shrek is re-bonding with me after a day of medication. I'll see how his attitude is after he has his anti-kitten-evil liquid today.

I don't need chocolate with dried plums in my life.

The dog is weary, and misses spending time with me. I am consumed by kittenhood, and caffeine. Unusual for her, Georgia takes refuge on my bed. She never does that, but I suppose she has come to worship being spayed, after our experiences recently. 3 o'clock kitten break is over, and it's time to sleep again.

The kitten chow is gone. I caught Max munching on it yesterday, the last mouthfuls out of the bag. I suppose he thinks as he is doing the cats' job, he should get the cats' food. The apartment is full now of sleeping cats and kittens and one lone dog.

I catch myself mowing the lawn, and wonder where the winter has gone, although a good breeze yesterday reminded me of March.

I ran into Selma* yesterday, at Angels of Assisi. She has taken in 3500 cats in her life, and spayed, neutered, and rehomed them all. But, as with everything else, expansion, globalization, commercialization, has changed her life. She is desperate for foster parents, but the 'big' organizations can advertise, and have enticed all her fosters away.

I wish I had run into her a month ago. This is my last batch. The unicorn meat eating cats are just too disconcerted by the smallness of the apartment, the bigness of the adventure in the New Adventurers, and my lack of control over all the chaos.

Hurricanes of pollen float over the land, and despite my allergies, I am ecstatic with it. This is Spring. My heart goes out to Selma, and everyone like her...especially the volunteers and employees at the local pound. Having to euthanize kittens in Springtime is a horrible way to live. Please spay and neuter your pets, gentle readers.

This is all so light and dark as Spring. Because life means death, and death means life. Where there is one there is the other. We have found no place where this is not true. The raw, wet wind whips over many hills before it gets to my door. There is no death, only in our dreams.

My hands are chapped and rough always at this time of year. My mother would have insisted on the first, spring, mani/pedi now, with lovely colors, but I am busy without her, raking leaves, and turning the pond back into a pool. I bleach my hands and pour the kittens food, change the litter boxes, clean the water dish. I make sure everyone in the house has lots and lots of fresh, clean water.

I dump the old dirt out of the pots onto the ground, and dry the pots for new. I dream of the new plants that will go into the ground this year. I am one for hostas and perennials. Impatiens for sure, by the back door with the hydrangea, and the evergreen bush. And somewhere, for my mother, a geranium. Scarlet red, with yellow and green leaves.

Thursday is the day I talk to a neurologist about my head. It seems to be the loci of all my existence now. I have finally found an anti-Evil pill to help me, and these head lumps and head aches appear. Places that feel frozen on my scalp have emerged. I feel sure it is something benign, but prepare for something else, just in case. I am not occupied by death, but by my life.

And the consumption of fiber. Dried plums, prunes, have just loads of it, as common knowledge goes. For some insane reason, they fill me up now, as bananas do not, anymore. It has to do with the anti-Evil pill...I thought that fruit sugar, is fruit sugar, but it is not.

My all time favorite is stewed plums. My grandfather made these standing over the stove in the early, North Carolina morning, the only time in the day it was bearable to have the stove on. He got them from Uncle Mortimer's pasture, braving the cows and the innumerable children swarming over the trees, like bees. Flash forward several decades to the immaculate dining room at The Homestead, where a colleague and I were staying for work. Simply acres of space with table laden with white linen and china, spotless cutlery, and sparkling glass. Clean, friendly waiters whipped from table to table, carrying pitchers of orange juice, and hot coffee.

There are too many foods at their famous breakfast to list here, but The Homestead is the only place besides my grandfather's house where I have seen stewed plums, floating in vats of their brine.

This morning, I sip coffee, water, and eat my dried plums. The kittens, exhausted, are sleeping. So is the dog and the unicorn meat eating cats. I think it's time to lie down for a bit more.

monday

After a small crisis overnight on Saturday, the New Adventurers are doing much better.

 

The only one still pining is Shrek, who, of course, has bonded with me. He could just be a low key cat. I have never had one of those so I can't tell if he is just being low key, hangin', be bop de woo op, or is quietly wishing I would quit poking him in the butt. 

Perhaps both. Life is full of surprises. 

All these years, I have read Douglas Adams' wonderful books, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe. His hero, Authur Dent, is stranded after the Earth is destroyed, with just a towel.  I always wondered about the towel thing. Now I know. I have pulled out every towel in the house wiping butts for the last couple of weeks. I have found towels I didn't know existed. Towels and vinegar are my new best friends. And cat litter. 

My hands smell vaguely of cat poo and my mouth is dry. I moisten my lips, and turn around, and it's 3 am. The kittens have discovered an expensive silk robe I bought myself for a birthday one year. Very thin, very expensive. 

And, what, pray tell, about the unicorn meat eating cats? They have gone into hiding. No amount of expensive food can cover all contingencies. We have hit the boundary they have set for me.

This is Minkins. His boundary has been crossed.

Me? I am euphoric today, the kittens are better. 

Too Early for the Sun *Trigger Warning* Sexually explicit content

It's a dud of a writing day for me, but I somehow, press on. Thank god I am shopping today with a couple of friends at a yard sale for the benefit of the local Angels of Assisi, a no-kill shelter. This week I have been a bit off kilter...lumps on my head with headaches, no menstrual cycle for 2 months, various daily stressors, the stressful daily news that I will skip on this post. It's too much hassle for right now.

There is too much on the news to stretch the emotions, and trigger the PTSD, to be comfortable watching it. So I simply try to manage my daily routine, and the kittens vs. my unicorn meat eating cats war, that's going on. I am partially successful at all of it.

I take a shower every other day, and feed the kittens and clean the litterboxes, and look up, and it's 5 pm. Sometimes I remember to take my pills and sometimes not. Are the lumps on my head hormonal, or an aneurysm? Go to the local grocery store, buy kitten food, and it's 2 pm. Feed them, let the dog out for a moment, and lie down for an unknown length of time and it's 3 am. The cats aren't sleeping with me, are they that upset? Will the kittens go to good homes? Are the headaches from the lumps, or the pollen or hormones, or stress, or diet, or medication?

My impatience with other people rules me. My impatience with myself-I let myself get plucked like a cheap, kid's guitar- bothers me. It's 3 am and I drink coffee, and the dog moves his legs in dreams. Rat Cat snores at my feet. I forgot to pick up my sleep medication, although I went to the pharmacy specifically to do that. What does my doctor really think the head stuff is?

I washed the dishes and watch a spider web grow in the doorway to the closet room. Georgia has found her place to hide on the stairs, and it's warm there, too. The dog is unusually attached to me tonight, today. He is jealous, too. But the fascination he feels for the kittens surpasses any doubts that plague his mind that they will replace him. He is the only dog. That is his place in the universe.

I feel guilty that I missed group therapy, and individual therapy this week. I was very ill, Wednesday morning. I, dutiful, went to the doctor. Bug going around, lalalaa. Or is it the PTSD? I have gastro problems with it. Has it been triggered? Are the kittens hungry? Do I have some yoghurt? Fruit?

My prescriptions have run out, some of them. The letter from the Medical Board of Virginia came last week? This week? They have decided not to pursue a case against the doctor that sexually assaulted me.  He's gone to trial on similar charges under a District Attorney later convicted of soliciting sex from victims.

It's a very sick set of circumstances. I go to see a neurologist next week about my head. It needs examination.

Small Consolations

Some extraordinarily cute pictures of the litter I foster, at the moment...

Winter is long over in this corner of the world, and the kittens rush me madly into spring. My little tailspin recently translated to the gastro problems that I associate purely with PTSD. I carved out 2 hours to relax yesterday, and took these pictures whilst relaxing.

I, and the unicorn meat eating cats, have to take a break on the fostering, after this litter. It has done me a world of good, but Georgia is not so thrilled. She is not timid with people, but other cats, as she is small. I don't want her to start plucking her fur out.

It is a season for gastro problems for anyone: Gun control, bombings in Boston, and now a fertilizer plant has exploded in Waco, Texas.

Of course, I am in the mix, I voice my opinion on all these topics and more. I protest, sign petitions, foster, blog...whatever I can do to raise my voice. But today, here on this page, my diagnoses demands that I retreat to this very early time in the morning to get some peace.

That my sleep is disturbed, is another problem I face today. It's been a while since I woke up this early. My sleep schedule is enormously important to me, and helps keep me stable. But the instability matches my foreboding of a change in my living environment. I am not moving, but a relationship with a housemate is changing. And if I think about that, my stomach starts to cramp.

When I retreat to Facebook, I run into some heavy hitters among my Facebook friends, that are against gun control, in an exceedingly vitriolic way. Their comments that demonstrate that they are among the fringe element, that equates not selling semi-automatics to ex-felons with slavery, and a removal of rights.

Whatever.

So I  retreat here to the world I can control.

I have to put my anger against the Senators that killed the gun control bill yesterday. I have to lay down my hatred of the weasels who don't walk past a darkened, empty, child's bedroom every night. I have to release my scorn of the rest of the people on the Hill, who haven't been shot yet.

 I must somehow find a way out of the paranoia engendered by the ticketing of 2 women, who simply yelled, "Shame on you" at the Senate yesterday, when the bill was defeated. 1 of them had actually wrested the magazine clip from Jared Loughner, ending his shooting spree in Tucson, AZ.

Apparently, protestors are more dangerous to the members of Congress than a violent person with an easily obtained semi-automatic.

ENOUGH.

Ratty has already gone to hunt unicorns moving north. It's misty and warm outside, with the temperature expected to be very spring-like this week, mid-60's on Fahrenheit. Max is sleeping peacefully and snoring. He, too, needed some extra love last night, after the kittens planted their flag on the bed. Georgia is not the only insecure animal in my home. Although Max covers it quite well, (he is a bully boy,) he has trust issues that come with being a rescue.

The green mists that I wrote for weeks of, has finally settled on the trees. Every year I forget how many differing hues of green that there will be. As always, I am delightfully surprised by the variety. I am sure some paint store has named them all, but I don't know the words for the multiplicity of greens that exist right now. The redbuds are in full swing as well, and here and there, surviving dogwoods blossom. I do miss the old House, and the fields surrounding it. With a small greenway now in my backyard, I miss looking out onto endless fields, sunlight reaching all parts of the forests.

I miss living on a hill, and the ability to search for miles for the tree flowers, below. The dappled sunlight, pie-eyed as a cow, to paraphrase Gerard Manley Hopkins. Surely his spring poems are the loveliest, and I will leave you with one here.

Pied Beauty

  by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things--
   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
       For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
   Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
       And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                     Praise Him.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15840#sthash.qpBQHEQE.dpuf

A Sick Day

Ok. I am ill this morning and not sure how much fun I am going to be. But I am still drinking coffee, which I hope will loosen up my throat.

How about the kittens entertain you for a minute?

 That's called socialization to dogs...

I have been outside this morning, and the birds were singing in the smallish forest behind the house. The air feels damp, and the stepping stones are wet to the touch...I love going barefoot as much as I can these days. And the grass smells divine. I love the sky before the sun comes up, dark, with a silver mist coating.

I spiraled a bit last night, no doubt fueled by my illness, and the hope that everything will go well with this litter. But a bit of babytalk from a college professor friend set me to rights. I am so blessed in my network. I learn a bit more about humility, and humbleness, with every talk with this woman.

Humility, not to be confused with humiliation, is a component for me in the 12 Step program I live in. It is simply the realization of gratitude for the most basic of things: clean water, food, shelter, existence. I have not been without companionship through all the sometimes horrible events of this life. I have always felt the presence of "the Other" in my life. Some people call the Other, a god. I simply know it has different powers than I do. And then, there is this woman, my friend, who has never deserted me, even in the dark, when we were both afraid.

Humility is the grace that has kept her by my side for all that time, decades, in the darkest of forests with the lightening flashing overhead. And the grace wasn't given by me. I let myself feel awe and wonder that such a grace exists at all. It's love.

It isn't a fragile, destitute, Oliver Twist creature of love, but more of a shining, superhero kind of love; strong enough to withstand events that could have killed me.

I wish I had words to express how I feel about all these things. All I have is momentum.

I Love the Taste of Catfood in the Morning

And you get that by kissing a kitten with catfood on it's head...here are some starter pictures until I can figure out, for the thousandth time, how to load my recent pics into the right folder so I can share them with you.

That's Winston looking at you...

I gave in last night and ate a gianormous piece of cake. Otherwise the no binging is going well.

And on this day after the Boston Marathon bombings, let us not forget the Virginia Tech shootings. It is the anniversary of that terrible event today.

I can only hope that the violence that alarms us is not automatically associated with a mental health diagnoses...but I know it will be. Very few of the mentally ill are violent; we don't deserve the bad rap we already have, by associating us with the violent acts of those who are, simply, evil. Those who are drawn to violence as an answer, and those with  invisible disabilities, are not one and the same.

It is, of course, much easier to blame those with invisible disabilities, when violence happens, and evil surfaces. It is a simplistic answer to a question that has been around for a very long time. And I realize, by giving the answer, "It's Evil" I am offering another simple label to slap on the problem. Confusion is not my intent.

I would just like to live in a world where those with a mental health diagnoses, are not associated with murderers. For us, as a society today, those who murder, are either 'mentally ill' or 'one of them.' Insert your favorite group to hate, or with which you associate evil acts...not that I am talking about You, my Faithful Reader.

Between the grief on the streets of Boston, and in Blacksburg, VA, today, and the beauty of the spring rain, and the new life I have with me, all I can say is that "...the leaf turns not yellow without the knowledge of the whole tree."

 For me, it's a day to think about Peace, and to see what I can do about it. I am not going out and buy a Glock (handgun) in memory of those killed. I am not going to start sleeping with a shotgun. I have a dog who takes his guard duties very seriously...I suggest that if you feel threatened, you adopt a dog who takes his/her duties equally serious. Please have them spayed or neutered...

Then, look around in your local community to see how Peace might best be served. To me, that includes sharing my kindness with animals...

The New Adventurers

Max and I have a new batch of kitten. There are four: Shrek, Autumn, Minkins and Winston.

Regular readers know the unicorn meat eating cat that lives with me, Minkins. He now has a kit named for him, having gone through the Big Snip very early on in life. He still wanted children, and now has one. Pictures to follow tomorrow. We cool with that?

Bloody Monday

It seems an extra long time since I have written. Nothing catastrophic has happened, except that four beautiful dogs were put down at RCACP (the Regional Center for Animal Control, for Roanoke, Salem and Vinton.) 4 dogs put down at the local pound, doesn't seem like a shocker...but having dogs put to sleep on a Saturday, is unusual. It is not the usual day, and no calls were made to rescue organizations that the dogs were "urgent", which is usual.

This is Gabby, just before she was euthanized:

One of the pound volunteers saw the other cages empty, grabbed Gabby and ran outside for one last ball throwing time together...in the sunlight.

Here are the four dogs put down altogether:

I can hardly write, thinking of this injustice on the part of the pound's new director, David Flagler. Hired by your local municipalities to, protect and serve, with compassion and conservation.

Please Spay and Neuter. PROTEST.

Free *TRIGGER*

Changes: Georgia ventured outside for the first time today; I have switched to an e-cigarette; I am on a diet. The most important is that Georgia, the newest unicorn meat eating cat, has been released from her winter quarters and is outside, in this wet, spring day, exploring. Minkins has decided that enough slogging about in the mud, is enough.

After a little space of time without disturbing dreams, I had one last night. Nothing new, a lot of world politics mixed in there for some reason...which is very bizarre for me. But it's better than some other, bothersome dreams I could have had.

Good therapy session yesterday. Everyone should have a good therapist. I hear of people who exist without them, and cannot believe it. I cannot imagine a world where I used my significant other as a sounding board...someone untrained? Someone who can't give me good advice? No, no.

I have had 2 therapists in my life...3 if you count the man my mother dragged us to whilst we were in our youth...

O good, Ratty and Minkins are in...

My last therapist, I relied on for 17 years...longer than most marriages. Although it degenerated a bit like a marriage in the end, which is not fun, but good practice if I decide to ever get divorced again...

My therapist now, is built for this time in my life: he is much more fun and laughs sometimes at nothing. He is growing older too, and his body is changing, as mine is. We laugh about that, too. He is almost a friend. But, behind it all, we know why we talk, and why I am there. It's much easier to entice a patient into attending group and appointments, under the cloak of sitting on the porch in a swing, and passing the time.

Georgia is in.

The e-cig I am smoking is coffee flavored. Good coffee, too.

Years of exposure to good therapy can make it an enjoyable experience. I cringe in horror from comments (on my mental health 'pages') like: "My psychologist says I don't need my meds changed, but I am going crazy again. He/she isn't wants me to take lamictal/lithium/cymbalta, and it just isn't working for me..." I have actually seen a post where they were taking a woman's children away, and her psychologist thought she did, "need a break."

There are sickos out there in any profession: I was raped by an M.D.; so just be careful picking yours out...

Time to watch the grass grow. 

Lord Chaos

I am astonished and happy to report that the kittens have all lived, and I will visit them in the morning!

As for the weather and kittens, Lord Chaos rules...the fine mist has appeared on the trees...yesterday's group therapy involved a trip to some tulip trees. One young woman in the group had never seen tulip trees up close, and it was good to be there from the miracle of that. Of course, I climbed one, their branches are built for that. Their velvet petals and fresh scent remind me of my visit to Scotland, where the Isle of Skye seemed to have it's own potpourri...unpolluted air.

I have decided that I must have been a sacrifice for druids in another life and age, my love for trees knows no boundaries. To stand on their roots, and listen to the slow song they emit, is the essence of the earth for me. I do not get the same song from rocks, or the ground itself, that I do from trees. And to walk slowly, in dappled sunlight, touching first one's bark, and then another, is one of the finest things I have ever experienced.

Or to ride under them, after a rain, with the leaves plopping big drops down on the horses, and my cheek, and the muggy mist rising from the ground, is like no other song.

I have been walking on the naked ground, barefoot, as much as I can. There was dew on the grass this morning, and the earth is softest where my dog has made a bed. Tomatoes, as always this year, and basil and mint. Perhaps rosemary, and another lavender...

Season of the Wind

What a roller coaster ride I had yesterday. The greatest of joys for the total beauty of the day, competing with the deepest of sadness. I have a gift for mixed episodes of bipolar disorder, and yesterday was a work of art...being new to the borderline personality disorder diagnoses, I am never sure how that fits in, but I have no doubt it was there with me, participating.

Frightening is too passive a word. All that I could resolve was that I had to make it through the day without drinking or cutting. Being self-aware, I also made sure that I did not spend the entire day in my apartment, enjoying 'alone' time. Although a lovely spring day, spent in the forest quiet that is my companionship with my animals, can be an amazing way to keep my sanity.

I spent some hours with my friend, the Saucy Brit, in her gem of a shop in Salem. It is an escape of mine that is a Faberge egg experience...the sunlight sparkles, and the scents abound. I can run my hand over brightly colored 'vegan' pocketbooks, or through shockingly colored dresses. It is every little girl's fairyland, just what I needed for my birthday. Lime, turquoise, hot pink, hot blue, early green, and the loveliest of accents always make my visits memorable.

Visits to her store, Plantagenet Rose, have turned into a get well pilgrimage. The colors change with the seasons and never fail to lift my mood. I don't know the secret here...but my best guess is that the colors, and most important, the woman I visit, reflect some part of the best of my childhood. Where fields are always the brightest of greens, and I run into colors and shapes and forms I have never seen before. How is it that, at almost 50 years on this earth, that I run into something so unusual to the eye, that I feel as if I am new, myself?

I will tell you a secret: I have been to Italy and Scotland, and love them for the same odd reason I love the Saucy Brit and her company. Everything is familiar, but is not...the houses are recognizable as houses, and the electrical outlets and bathrooms are obvious as to their functions, but the are all put together in a way that looks odd to an American.

Perhaps you have had this experience as well. It can be as simple as looking round for a door handle, and it's a foot lower or higher than our standardized housing requirements. Or several feet for that matter. Having to rethink opening a door is the closest thing to meeting an alien that I believe I will every experience...although I hope that they land on our planet in my lifetime...if it's good.

Today, the whirlwind of the past week's emotional experiences will start to settle. This is not to mention the change in physical surroundings. It snowed last week, and today is supposed to reach 90F. I will concentrate on trying not to, "I Should" on myself today. Because what follows "I Should" is always a judgement on myself.

I ask for the willingness to accept the experience of my emotions, without being quite so much at their mercy. I ask for the desire to stay sober today, without cutting. It is my most fervent wish to reach you today of all days...in my experience of being 'extra' human yesterday. I was more than enough human. I wish all of you the connection I felt, which kept me from floating to some underworld or above reality.

I will embrace my routine today. It's always dangerous to let it go. It is my foundation, the ground that I walk on. While exploring the emotions that have finally arrived with spring, and my birthday.

The birds have been up for hours, and the cats ask to go out earlier every day. The green and blue of the trees are changing; the yellow of the forsythia bursts out as a favorite memory comes out of it's pocket. I sit with Georgia, with her big, big eyes as she looks out. Some trees are still bare, some are wearing flowers, the green mist is coming. The slate walk is a lighter gray, and feels cool on the toes. One of the cats begs to come in, and then changes his mind when I open the door...that's the way he rolls at this time of year. He plays with Georgia through the door...

"Spring Will Come" *

Ok. The 5 kittens are back at Angels of Assisi because they have coccidia, which can be deadly for such small life. Just a warning, and I will keep you updated. A young woman who works at Angels is fostering them, despite losing two kittens last year to the disease. Solitude has a new aspect with their disappearance. The unicorn meat eating cats are very loving today.

Today is my day. I am 49 years old today, not 49 years young. That young thing only applies once the 80th birthday kicks in. Today, I am thinking of passing, as we all do. Did you know it is Ok to think about death on your birthday?

Harry Golden, a remarkable writer, once pointed out that, after your parents are dead, that you stand as the last bulwark against death and the younger generation.


The grass is growing. I am not nostalgically thinking of days cutting the grass, but admiring the emeraldness of it all. More trees are in bloom, and the grape hyacinths bloom in the grass here and there, at random and carefree. The pool is still the pond, neglected this year, so far. I would love to plant something today, but it is too early yet. But I might get myself some mint today, and plant it in a pot. At the Old House, I had three varieties of mint, and I miss the scent.

I don't particularly want this day to be nostalgic. 'Past tripping' is bad for the soul and I have a prescription from my therapist, specifically warning me away from it. So today, I will remind myself that my happiness is not dependent upon other people, they will fail us, as they are only human. I am responsible for my happiness or contentment, or whatever you and I call it, 3 hours before I take my anti-Evil pills.

I am having the hardest time writing this post. I miss my mother, first of all. I miss waking up early, to run and celebrate with her. I miss knowing that, no matter how early I woke, she wanted to be awake with me, and to relive what she described as the happiest day of her life. I don't miss my youth. I miss my mother. I loved the early morning discussion about what kind of cake I would buy for us on our day. I don't miss how much she hated asking me to buy my own card. I truly did not mind, it was a card for us on our day.

The right side of my face is very tender today. I have a headache. I have been having sore spots coming up on my head that bother me so much my doctor sent me to get a CT scan. Next up is the neurologist, and then an immunologist. 'We' know it's not a brain tumor. But it's hard to think it may be something trivial, when I feel the slightest touch will break my face.

And I wait to hear from my brother, and a woman I consider closer than a sister.

 I realize that 'past tripping' is part of the urge that makes me a writer. But, after a winter of it, I need to move on. So, today, I will color my mandala, maybe watch a Harry Potter, have lunch with a friend and love the ones who can't be with me today, except in spirit.


*My mother always wrote this on my birthday card.

Post

 

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."

~ Norman Cousins

 

"It’s not all bad. Heightened self-consciousness, apartness, an inability to join in, physical shame and self-loathing—they are not all bad. Those devils have been my angels. Without them I would never have disappeared into language, literature, the mind, laughter and all the mad intensities that made and unmade me."

~ Stephen Fry

 

Frost and Goat Milk

I got home from visiting a friend last night, and Verbena was dying...and then Ash. Long, long story short: I believe it was the Hartz orphan supplement. They are clean now, and warm and full of an emergency mix, of goat milk, Iams kitten soft food, and egg yolk. Do Not try this at home. It is absolutely shocking that Verbena made it. She could not raise her head when I got home. I wait for Angels to open, and Petsmart, to get the proper formula. Who the hell knew?

I felt a crowd of emotion when I was talking to the Angels of Assisi staff, one who called from West Virginia...and now? Nothing. I feel as if I were vaguely angry, but really, nothing. Is this the Abilify? I have been taking it since January, and have felt nothing but deep depression...is it the winter or the Abilify? The paranoia is somewhat lessened, but at the cost of being happy? I can feel panic...but nothing else?

It doesn't bode well for the Abilify, that I feel this way. I don't feel in charge, or calm. Just nothing, like a void. Actually, I feel fear, tinkling around in my head, like a broken window. And despair. I felt despair last night. I remember now.

I am grateful I didn't feel like cutting or drinking. The orphan I did raise successfully, Minkins, is curled nearby and his purr is calming. I have scrubbed the kittens. Their favorite place to sleep is the litter box, after they have used it, and Mandrake rolled around in some human baby food, and Iams kitten soft food all night. Every towel, bathcloth, and hand towel in the house is dirty, smeared with kitten stuff...

I took Verbena on my chest, to ease her passing, and I could not stop her head from lolling, or get her to swallow. Her eyes glazed over, and I stroked her and waited. Now it is morning and I am tired, as I am sure they are. My dog is tired, the apartment is tired, the furnishings. Small bowls of goop line the counter in the kitchen and used syringes, without the needle, to feed them.

I don't have racing thoughts, or feel manic anymore. It's simply near daybreak, and time to lie down again, for a bit.

Early Blossoms

This is Spring.

It is easy to fall into their habits...up at 1 or 3 am, a cigarette and some coffee for me, of course, and some high calorie, goat milk infused formula that sets like concrete, for them. Only God knows what it's doing to their stomachs, but it comes out looking....never mind. And it does set like concrete onto everything it touches, particularly their fur. I hate that the picture is taken with the bars of their cage, but free, they 'run for the hills' as we say in this corner of the world, and taking a picture is the last thing I can do.

For me? I can't figure out if my shrink is hinting that it's time we parted ways, or if he is just being arbitrary, as is his habit. I don't think changing one of the anti-Evil pills after a decade of use, is being precipitous but he does. When I am depressed as I am, after the winter we have had, I would hold his mother for ransom for a new anti-depressant.

The Circle of Love that is my support group is wonderful. They, too, live real lives, and have problems just as anyone does. Sometimes, if the force is truly aligned, I get to listen to their troubles and offer my love, which surely does much more for me than feeling as if I am a burden. That is not how they make me feel, by the way, it is simply one of the effects of having a mental health diagnoses...

But, more than usual, I feel in balance. I know I am slightly manic right now. It's a wonderful state to be in, when I realize it and take safeguards. I feel as if I should have more to bitch about today, but I don't. Today is not even started in this time zone, yet...I know the stars are out. The sky is clear and I am sure I can spot the Huntsman, if I go outside. But why wander outside, when the outside has come in for a while, in the form of one homogenous mass with ten legs?

The pool is still the Pond, with no frogs yet. Green as the grass in Scotland, and no end in sight. Work will have to be started on it soon. But my eyes drift to the pots for the geraniums...my Mother always had geraniums on her deck that were as red as a matador's cape. And I would like to do something with the owner's front bed...cukes? Onions? Bell pepper?

With the slow winter passing, I notice the grass is getting longer, and greener, not soon enough. I crave azaleas, and pink roses, and zinnia, and lavender. I don't crave weeding, but it has to be done. I want dried flowers this year: the hydrangea, zinnia and lavender. It's not time for flowers yet...and the nights are too cold to chance planting now. The pink tulip tree blossoms have died from the snow. But there are some marvelous blooms, early, in the next room.

 

More Than Enough

I have 5, count 'em, 5, 3 week old kittens: Mandrake, Verbena, Tiger Lily, Mickie, and Ash. I go from not enough Spring to the edge of more than enough. Of course, my cats hate the change...cats are not good with changes in environment, at least mine aren't.

Some idiot, with good intent, no doubt, "rescued" them. Despite the fact that they were healthy, and well-fed. They, then, took them to the pound. Maybe they didn't have good intent. Maybe it was just their way of avoiding 'fixing' the mother.

If that sounds like bitterness, it is. Although I am thrilled to have them in my life, I can tell they miss their mother...they swarm over me like bees on honeycomb. And that's after I feed them. She must have licked them, like I do with a bath cloth, with her tongue. She must have purred at them, which I can't do. I can only murmur softly, and call them by name. They have entered the human world, and it is cold and lonely for such as them, for all my efforts. Let's hope it doesn't stay that way.

They are on the very edge of weaning and using the litterbox. They have food and some litter to play with, but at this stage, it is much more interesting to play with me and each other.

I'll take pictures for you later. They are sleeping well and I am not about to shine a flash on them. Let sleeping kittens, lie.

It was a good therapy session with my psychologist yesterday, although I cried through most of it. I just don't have that thrill that Spring usually brings to me, this year. It was an enormously hard winter, and it is lasting longer than usual. The sight of trees blooming makes me ecstatic, and in love with the moon, but not this year, not yet. I suppose I have my heart set on that particular green of spring on the trees, and nothing else will suffice.

I feel no joy in writing at the moment. But once in a while, during meditation, I get a glimpse of peace. It is supposed to be very fine this week, and I hunger for it: the race of clouds overhead, with my hands deep in the dirt. Picking out what to plant, I want an herb garden this year...

Not Enough

After dinner with a friend last night, I woke this morning with my eyes almost swelled shut. It is allergy season. The occasion of the dinner was prompted by the arrival of another friend, who is a pioneer in the field of domestic violence and Asian women. She will be speaking tonight at VA Tech.

This will be a short blog today...or so I am planning. Being manic at the moment, with lots to do, I am just not getting enough sleep. That's what I call 4 hours a night. Not enough.

And with lots to do, I am not blogging enough, but I didn't want to go 2 days without reaching out. I had Borderline Personality disorder group therapy yesterday. The group is dwindling, which is a normal course of events. Only the most devoted will come out once a week for a year. The program at another facility is 3 years. That's a lot of commitment for anyone.

Yesterday, the group was reminded of how very little the professional community was interested in investing in the hundreds of hours required to work with people with a Borderline diagnoses. The stretch for people in the field can be incredible. There is just not enough of them. It is not a specialty that pays, except in emotional satisfaction...and it is not a disorder that is 'romanticized' in any way. There is just not enough known about it, and the treatments are so new. It's actually The Treatment, Dialectic Behavioral Therapy, invented about 20 years ago by a woman whose name I don't recall...of course. There are precious little drugs for BPD.

Most of the drugs for it are off label, and it is not understood how they work on the brain, just the same as the meds for Bipolar disorder. Which is very frightening to think about. Think about it.

I promise a longer blog tomorrow...just have to close my eyes for a bit.

The Death of Darkness

Well, the cat foster didn't work out. The momma is just too feral and upset to move from her Angels' home. That's just the way she rolls...

Yesterday was another beautiful gift of a day, although windy. The boy cats insist on going outside, but Georgia just watches from her perch. Soon, nests will be full, and I am sure that the lure of bathing in sunlight will be an overwhelming call for her. Me, I am waiting for the frogs to show in the Pond. It will be another month or so of cleaning to call it a pool, and be able to swim in it.

The bloom of the trees is eternal and uplifting, but there is still winter in my heart. At this happiest time of year, I still grieve over the loss of my Mother, and my distance from my brother. Both of my parents were raised with large, extended family surrounding them. They moved so that my brother and I wouldn't have to live with the horror. It makes for a very lonely life sometimes, especially around the holidays. My parents' admonitions of how lucky we were, in childhood, sits like a rotting stump, covered in moss. It makes for lovely sounding words, but brings no fire.

Now, I would be talking about how wonderful spring is, if I had come home with kittens yesterday. Puppies are equally as charming, and I got to smell puppy breath yesterday at the shelter. But, let's face it, I have a gift with cats, and luck with them, knock on wood. How can I go wrong with a creature who is born knowing what a litter box is?

Do you know that a mother cat will lick kittens' poo? They ingest it, to keep predators from finding the kittens. After that period, all cats head for the litter box, on instinct. Designed for comfort from the get go, from a human standpoint. Warmth and the ability to purr, are all designed to make them attractive, I won't even get into personality. Whoa. That they keep rodents at bay, is just so much awesome sauce...

Today, this morning, I ask my Higher Power to lift the burdens of my diagnoses from me, and to let the sun shine in.

Artist Unknown: Please contact if you are the Artist.

Not An April Fool

Yesterday was beautiful in it's Spring-like way.

                                                                  not original to me

Today holds the promise of some kind of gentle spring. I am not insanely happy that it is April Fool's Day. I love the notion of a day to celebrate the medieval concept of a fool, however, considering my antipathy towards clowns...it ranks right up there with Valentine's. We all know how Alise feels about Valentine's, don't we?

Yesterday was a subdued day, a spring day, a rainy day. The unicorn meat eating cats have laid off from the hunt, at this birthing time of year. They huddle closer inside to me, and yet remain longer outside.
The celebration of the birth of the year is a happy thing for many, and as old a celebration as it gets.

The flagstones that compose my front door were dark slate all day, and a fine mist fell. Pink and white trees bloom. It's also puppy and kitten season, for those who are heartless and careless with the small lives entrusted to their care, and don't spay or neuter.

Today is a day, I will meet an Angel of Assisi, and pick up a terrified mother, and two smallish kittens, to foster for the next four weeks. It's my job to try to socialize the mother, and then the kits. Mother is first, as there is no way to get to the kittens, except through her, at the moment.

ATTENTION: A contest is started right now, for the names for the kittens and mother. The honor of naming goes to the several winners. Please start your suggestions below OR on my Facebook page at: Alise Stewart, Blue Ridge, VA. More pictures to follow. GO.

Eostre and Winston

It started as a celebration of Mother Earth, Eostre, and from that we get the symbols of fertility: the bunnies, the eggs, and so on. It is Sunday, Easter Sunday, and I miss my mother's Easter gift and card.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, and let's hope we are done with snow. I spent the day driving in the country, trying to save a dog. When I got to the county pound he was staying at, a miracle happened...he got adopted right in front of me. My small contribution was that the pound volunteers had him in the lobby, right there, for a meet and greet with my dog. He was quite a looker, and very frightened. He appealed, I am sure, to this woman, as the beautiful beagle that had caught my eye in a photograph.