Web Site: http://wildcelticrose.net
Bio: ~ L. Lisa Lawrence, aka The Wild Celtic Rose, is an artist based on Tacoma's Hilltop working in fire, dance, theater, written/spoken word, mixed media, fiber and photography. As an ordained minister and facilitator of earth based spirituality groups, she can also create and officiate unique wedding, commitment and handfasting ceremonies as well as other rites of passage.
Posts by Wild Celtic Rose:
I am at the “detail” stage of my orthodontic work at month 16.
I had the final wire put on at my last appointment with only one tiny adjustment. Other than the one tooth that was being adjusted, I had no pain at all.
I was sure that the rest of this process would be a piece of cake and an easy ride to my early release (for good elastic wearing behavior) from orthodontic torture.
Today, I discovered how very wrong I was.
I introduce to you… power chains.
They are elastics that wrap around each bracket and pull the teeth together.
These aren’t mine (mine are clear and won’t show up in a cell phone photo), but the bright colors show you what is on my brackets under my wire.
For those who have seen earlier photos of my teeth, I had no gaps in between my front teeth (more on that later) because crowding was the issue, but some of my molars needed to be pulled closer together.
Before these things got put on my top and bottom teeth, a rotary file was taken to some of my front teeth and gaps created (yeehaw…that was “fun”)
I knew the second these were attached that my days of “easy adjustments” were over. The discomfort was immediate and relentless.
Oh… but a few minor wire adjustments and the power chains weren’t the only thing done today that hurts like heck. I’m in new elastics.
My over bite was over-corrected (commonly done) to allow it to naturally relax into place, so I was only wearing my elastic bands at night and was back down to the super light ones that don’t hurt.
Now, I’m back to wearing them in a different configuration, 24/7 and they are worse than ever; they are much larger, with more tension, and they are doubled up running from a bottom tooth, up across two top teeth and then back down to another bottom tooth.
They are a giant pain to get on and off (have to take them out to eat and brush/floss) and are so tight that I can’t open my mouth more than a fraction of an inch. (oh the weird color on that crown is from extra bracket adhesive so the appliance would quit popping off)
So here’s the latest photo…
Let it suffice to say that in addition to being extremely painful, it’s not pretty and I do not feel cute right now at all (which is challenging enough at my age with all the weird stuff my body is doing and don’t get my started on my red puffy eyes due to allergy season)
To add insult to injury, my orthodontist’s decree that I had dropped my 24 month time down to 18 months doesn’t look to be that accurate.
I was hoping for a July removal, but the doc I saw today (had to go to a different doc in the same practice because I changed appointment dates due to a work event) said that I’m “on schedule” and ‘”while it would be nice to get them off early, that’s not the goal, perfection is the goal.” (maybe for my birthday in October instead of Mid-December? A girl can hope… right?)
I get that, I’m just in pain, not feeling pretty and am a bit discouraged after hearing that.
I could really use a hug and a cookie.
Oh wait… I can’t chew. No cookie for me.
This too shall pass.
Even though I’m supposed to be wearing these things 24/7, I can take them out for dances and other social events where I don’t want to look goofy/not be able to open my mouth/be in pain, and if I find myself around anyone I might want to kiss (although I’m not feeling very kissable right now at all)
I’m sure the pain will lessen in a few days as well.
Let this be a lesson to you kids… wear your retainers and have your wisdom teeth out if the dentist or orthodontist recommends it because trust me, you don’t want to go through this again as an adult.
*note, I wasn’t going to blog about today at all (because I hate whining), but so many of my blog hits are coming from adults all over the world searching for info on having orthodontic work that I feel compelled to keep writing about it so that they do not feel that they are alone in this.
Some first responders at the scene were trained police officers, firefighters, paramedics and EMTs.
Some were race staff and volunteers.
Many more were spectators just waiting for their friends, family and loved ones to cross the finish line in a life affirming event.
Some runners, perhaps having dreamed of this day, this chance to cross the finish line at the Boston Marathon their entire adult lives stopped their forward progress abandoning their dream, the goal they had worked so hard to achieve, in order to help others.
Regardless of title, training or lack thereof, they were all “first responders”.
They will never be able to unsee what they have seen. No matter how tough or experienced some of them may be, they will be haunted to varying degrees by some of the images for the rest of their lives.
To those who were there, who responded, who selflessly gave of yourselves,
Please avail yourselves (if you have not already) of any critical incident stress debriefing offered. If you were a spectator, a participant or anyone else who does not regularly have that offered to you, seek it out through your local EMS agencies.
While some of you who do this professionally already understand the impact and how long it is going to take to process the events of March 15th, 2013, it’s going to be even more challenging than you know to get past what you saw, heard and felt.
As a paramedic for 13 years, I can’t count the number of mass casualty incidents I responded to; to say they are shocking and overwhelming is a gross understatement.
Many years ago at a base station meeting, an emergency room doctor who sees the worst of the worst (in a controlled environment and only one or two at a time) when telling the story of one such event when he was a ride along couldn’t describe the feeling of helplessness he felt when confronted with so much critical trauma, death, dying and chaos. “I don’t know how you people do this day in and day out; I had no idea where to start.” he said.
The helplessness… knowing you can’t help everyone, knowing you can only do so much for so few and that it’s never enough, is a truly devastating feeling.
What makes this even worse for everyone involved in an event such as this, is that these were “your people” your peers, perhaps even someone you knew personally.
That is the worst of the worst, parents responding to calls where children the same age as their own were critically injured; I lost it after a call where a “man” (if you could call him that) beat his 60-something year old mother viciously when she would not give him drug money (I had him bodily removed from the room so that I could work on his mother because I was honestly afraid of what I might do to him); she was the same age and looked like my mother, I had to call her immediately after I got back to the station.
Even worse when it’s someone you know… I responded to a dangerous and accidental drug overdose of one of my friend’s young children. On an even more personal note, my paramedic instructor had a serious heart attack (that required a quadruple bypass) and I was on the unit that responded.
There is more, so much more… I can’t count the number of times (after, always after a call) where I (the allegedly tough as nails medic and incident commander who’d been through it and toughed it out so many times before and always held it together on the call) sat sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of the emergency room bathroom.
I am very damaged from all of this. I have seen things, things that people do to others, to innocents, to children… that are so horrible I can not tell another person because it would quite literally scar them for life. So those things must live inside me, and I must manage them on my own as best I can. (it is never good enough)
How damaged you might ask? Most of my close friends have never seen me hold a baby other than in the process of delivering one in an emergency situation. Most people see a baby and want to hold/cuddle it. I, instinctively check it’s color, make certain that it has a pulse and is breathing and that it has not been abused or injured. I’ll spare you the stories of why I’m that way… you don’t want to know and I would never inflict that on you.
My hope is that all who were there that terrible day are able to seek out whatever help is available to them so that they can process what they experienced and not let it permanently damage their heart and soul.
No matter how old, experienced or tough you are, we all need help processing such things. It is OK to cry, it is OK to lean on others, it is OK, no, it is vital to seek help.
You can only be available to help others, if you are taking good care of yourself.
It’s taken almost exactly three years (closed escrow on this place on May 18th 2010) but I finally got rid of all the lawn.
Something that most folks don’t know is that lawn is bad for the environment, just like street and sidewalk, a well manicured lawn on compacted soil is an impervious surface, meaning that water won’t filter through the earth and percolate down to recharge aquifers, it just overwhelms the storm drain system carrying fertilizer, pesticides and dog poop (along with gas/oil/antifreeze and whatever else is on the street) with it out to the Puget Sound via Commencement Bay.
Over the years I’ve been in this house, I’ve been slowly converting lawn in to more useful area; a nice pervious gravel bed under my grape arbor, a fairy garden, adjacent to a small orchard of mixed fruit and one hazelnut tree, and a huge garden area. The only place out back where I now allow grass to grow is in the chicken area so that they can eat fresh greens when free ranging.
I converted the (very small) front yard slope into flower garden the first year I was here, but was left with a huge parking strip full of the offending green stuff. This parking strip is 15 feet deep (measured from the sidewalk to the street) and runs the length of the property.
A neighbor, one bock over on the other side of the street has a wonderful little guerrilla urban farm that I have been admiring since I moved here. It’s hilarious at peak squash season, as the vines go insane and sometimes encroach in to the street. Since the legality of taking over what is essentially city property (but we are required to maintain) for urban farming/gardening in the front, where people can actually [gasp] see it is somewhat questionable, I like the slightly “naughty” feeling… [raises dirt covered fist in the air and yells]…”POWER TO THE PEOPLE! SQUASH IN THE STREET!”
THIS is what I am aspiring to… (you can see my house in the background)
But first, I had to get rid of the stupid lawn…
I was pretty happy to have this be my LAST mow.
I didn’t want to dig out the sod or rent a sod cutter (sod this old doesn’t come out easily anyway) and really didn’t want to have to mass apply herbicide, so I decided to use the same technique I used for my actual front yard and garden beds out back, which has worked fabulously.
I raided my basement, then the Safeway down the street for cardboard boxes which I laid out over the lawn. Once weighted down with topsoil, mulch, or in my case Tagro, it will kill the grass with no cutting, digging or chemicals and then the cardboard and grass will decompose and amend the soil, no tilling required.
That big pile there is 3 cubic yards (that’s 4,800 pounds, over two tons) of Tagro
as it turns out, 3 cubic yards wasn’t quite enough to do it as thick as I wanted…
so I got another 3 cubic yards…
over the course of one afternoon and the following morning, I shoveled 9,600 pounds (oh so close to five tons) of Tagro, thus re-confirming my status as “crazy lady no one wants to mess with” on my block.
It sure felt good when it was all done. (Ibuprofen was my friend that night)
So just like that, I reclaimed 535 square feet of prime, sun filled garden space…
As I was shoveling and shoveling, I fielded a lot of questions from neighbors young and old. “Are you crazy?” and “Can I feel your biceps?” comments aside, they were interested in the process, my reasons for it and what I was going to put there.
I have been thinking about putting up some signs talking about urban farming and what is growing there due to all the interest the project has received thus far.
Anyone who knows me, figures out pretty quickly that I am a very serious and dedicated anti-Monsanto/Big Agra and pro local, healthy, sustainable, non-GMO food activist.
Of course, it was going to be food.
“What!? You’re going to grow food out here where people could steal it?”
If someone is hungry and wants fresh vegetables, they are welcome to them. I have way more than I need from my huge garden out back.
Last summer, my friend Jack, like many in this area had a bumper crop of plums. He harvested all of them, laid them out on a sheet with a sign that said “free”. He even provided plastic bags to carry them home in.
What if everyone who could, grew some of their own food. What if they made the excess available to neighbors who didn’t have the land/skill to do so? What if we taught people how and shared our plant starts and seeds with them, and they in turn did so as well?
Can you imagine how much healthier, happier and more connected our communities would be?
While I’m happy to share food, vandalism and waste would make me very sad , so I am keeping “high temptation” things that could be vandalized out back, such as red tomatoes and corn (the neighbors down the street had some issues with kids picking their corn and throwing it some time back) A neighbor grows his really weird looking, off color tomatoes such as yellow and green zebra out front with no trouble.
I didn’t get my seeds started in time this year, so it was off to my farmers’ market and Gardensphere for as many organic/non gmo starts as I could get…
What I can’t grow from organic starts, will at least be heirloom and open pollinated (those are non-GMO) so that I can save seed.
One of the many scary things about Monsanto’s monopoly and GMO is the loss of genetic diversity. At the rate we are going, the only way to save these wonderful, much tastier and safe heirloom fruits and veggies is to save uncontaminated seed from season to season (you know, like farmers used to be able to do)
Seed saving is vital to the future of our food supply.
I have planted the front garden with broccoli, brussels sprouts, beets, carrots (from seed), radishes (from seed), red onions, walla walla onions, artichokes, zucchini, yellow crookneck squash, butternut squash, kentucky wonder pole beans and snap peas
I roped the area off in order to keep the tender young plants from being tromped on and just to make it pretty, planted double knockout roses in two whiskey barrels I recently acquired. If all goes well, I will be picking up some landscape timbers in the next few days which will help keep the neighbor’s grass out, and keep the dirt in the bed and off the street/sidewalk.
Now I just need everything to grow baby grow…
Of course, the back yard is getting some new plant action as well…
As a matter of fact, I’m sure that yesterday’s wind and freezing rain storm, and today’s hailstorm are directly related to the fact that I planted tomatoes on Friday. (well, the crappy weather on Saturday is mostly due to the law of nature that says it has to be cold and nasty on Daffodil Parade day)
and don’t forget…
The apples, cherries, plum, peaches, pears and blueberries are blooming.
It’s so amazing out there that I don’t even mind the copious amounts of pollen attacking my sinuses.
More photos of this year’s garden work and things in bloom can be seen by clicking on this link new photos will be added to this set as they are taken.
I have a lot of fun, hopefully interesting and much less serious things to blog about (and absolutely no time in which to do so), but I read something on a friend’s page today that got me thinking about this.
Said friend just got back from the hospital after a scare that involved chest pain. Nothing conclusive was shown (that’s a good thing) and returning for another test (right away) was recommended.
This got my friend thinking about what she would do if it turned out to be something serious enough to require invasive surgery such as a multiple bypass; (an uncle had one) Would she, at her (retirement) age put herself through such an invasive and recovery intensive procedure such as that, or accept that life is finite and just go on about the act of living?
Hopefully, it is tendon/muscle/ligament and/or irritation of the pleura or pericardium, perhaps/most likely something that is easily fixed by a shot of antibiotics, some mild medication or just rest and recovery and this will all be a mute point for my friend.
Since my cancer scare a year and a half ago, I’ve thought a lot about such things. What would I do if it it was ovarian cancer? Would I have chemo? Would I accept localized radiation? Or would I just tell everyone I love that I love them, live my life with as much zeal as possible and then go into hospice on a morphine drip when that was no longer possible?
I’m pretty sure that in that case, I would chose the latter. As a matter of fact, I am as positive as one can be without actually having to make that decision.
Like my friend, I do not have any children relying on me; if I did, I would most likely feel a different responsibility to them.
During that time, I also watched my close friend Houston battle stage four prostate cancer. For a year and a half after the diagnosis (when they told him he only had a short few months to live) he was mostly confined to bed in a nursing home and was in and out of hospitals for surgeries and complications of his disease and treatment.
He fought; he fought valiantly and up to the end remained positive and determined to beat it.
With my medical background, I knew that the prognosis and the likelihood of that happening was so miniscule that statisticians would not be able to quantify it. Granted, I have seen miracles, but did not really expect one in his case.
But this was his fight, not mine, his decision, not mine, HIS… NOT MINE. As long as my dear friend wanted to fight, I would be there with him, holding his hand (even when it required a gloves, gown and a mask to do so) and would support his decision 110%.
I know death. I know death all too well. In addition to having danced with it myself on more than one occasion, I have been with people when it came. I have seen the beauty and peace one feels when ready to end the pain and pass over, I have seen and felt the horrible struggle of those clinging to life they were not ready to let go of as it was traumatically torn from them, and I, as as medical professional have had people beg me to let them die in peace with dignity when the law would not allow it. That is the most heartbreaking thing of all.
So while my friend pondered what they would do and I watched mutual, concerned, loving friends beg, plead and demand action, I remembered a choice I made a year and a half ago.
A little known fact about surgery, about general anesthesia. More people die from general anesthesia, than from the illnesses and injures that require the surgery.
When I went in for my first surgery a year and a half ago, I updated my will and my advanced directives.
The most difficult choice, was finding someone to carry out those directives.
I needed someone (and a backup) that “loved me as much as they loved their dog”
That sounds weird.
I needed someone that loved me enough to pull the plug should things go bad.
I could not choose anyone whose religious beliefs would preclude them from doing that.
We take our beloved fur children to the vet and have them “put out of their misery” when their short lives are going to be filled with nothing but pain, misery and suffering, yet only in Oregon and Washington states, do we have a death with dignity law in which we can make that choice for ourselves.
Whilst that choice would be made by only me and my doctor, well ahead of time, the idea behind it is the same.
Do you love me as much as your dog?
Do you love me enough to pull the plug and end all of our suffering?
Luckily, I have dear friends Janet and Betsy who agreed to do that for me should it come to that.
My advanced directives are clear…
WHAT! You don’t have advanced directives?
Fill them out, have them notarized, DO IT NOW!
Having worked in emergency medicine for well over a decade, I (and most, if not all of my colleagues) would prefer to just have “no code” tattooed on my chest.
Since that is not an option, my advanced directives are clear.
No respirator, no feeding tube. If I can’t be brought back with basic CPR and a zap with a defibrillator, save my loved ones and the staff the hassle of trying to bring me back from a vegetative state.
You see, the brain dies after 4-6 minutes without oxygen. You can “save” someone and get their heart beating again, but it does not mean that they will “live”
As a paramedic, I experienced this far too often.
The expectation, the legal mandate was to “save lives”.
In the absence of “no code” orders signed by the patient and the physician (and not expired), at the bedside, we were required to do what we were trained to do.
Yes, it sounds exciting and exhilarating to bring someone back from the dead and get their heart beating again.
The harsh reality is, that in most cases, they “come back” brain dead, only to code over and over again in the ICU as their family mourns their death many times over, and is driven to bankruptcy in the process, or they “live” in a vegetative state in a nursing home being fed through a tube and have their diaper changed by underpaid staff.
I cried far more often for the patients I “saved” than the ones I lost because I did not feel like a hero, I felt like Dr Frankenstein, only prolonging pain and suffering.
I am not afraid of death. I’ve been clinically dead once as a child with a severe allergy/asthma attack brought back to life with an intracardiac injection of epinephrine and as an adult made peace with the fact that the most likely scenario is that I was going to die after a river guiding accident that fractured my spine and pelvis.
and please in the name of all that is sacred to you, harvest my organs and give them to people who need them. What! You don’t have an organ donor card/endorsement on your license? If you are so inclined DO IT NOW!
What I am afraid of, is having a stroke or an accident and not having a choice, putting my friends and loved ones through hell on earth and being a drain on the system.
But back to my friend.
I fully expect her to live a long and productive life and have strongly recommended that she get back in for the tests ASAP. After all, you can’t make a decision if not given all the information you need in which to make it.
But if for some reason, that is not the way it goes and she makes a choice not to undergo something so invasive.
I support her decision.
I will be there for her.
Today was a big day.
It is the day that the final wire was put on my braces.
For those who have not had braces or who were good kids and wore their retainers long enough (in my own defense, mine fell out of my pocket at work, my horse stepped on it and the replacement never fit right) and didn’t have wisdom teeth come in and ruin previous orthodontic work, braces have changed a lot since the 70’s.
I can not stress this enough… wear your retainers kids, and if a dentist recommends getting your wisdom teeth out. DO IT! It’s a lot harder to deal with at 50 (OK, I was still 49 at the time) than when you are a teenager or much younger adult.
You know those videos that show dental patients happily stoned on good drugs being taken care of by their parents or loving partners?
My reality was driving myself to the dentist (so no drugs other than novocaine and a bit of nitrous gas) and hearing all the popping and crunching as the teeth were wrested from my uncooperative jaws (which I thought might unhinge like a snake’s), and then standing in line at the pharmacy with my swollen and bruised mouth stuffed full of bloody gauze while my prescription was filled.
Back to the fact that braces are much easier to deal with and way less painful than in the old days…
There is no more violent cranking on the wire. The damon braces have little doors on each bracket that close over the wire to hold it in place and adjustments are made by changing the shape and thickness of the wire. Yes, adjustments, especially those where teeth are snapped in for the first time or when there is a big jump in wire gauge to hurt for a few days, it’s nothing like the old days. As a matter of fact, I think I’m going to be able to eat solid food this evening.
I’ve got at least three months left (instead of getting my hopes up for a Summer Solstice removal which is a “best case scenario” possibility if everything goes perfectly) I’m going to be happy with July, which is way better than the original estimate of December. (and there’s always some final tweaking that ends up being done, no one ever gets them off exactly when planned)
This last wire is made of a different metal than previous wires (they all have memory which is what pulls the teeth into the proper arch/alignment) and can be tweaked by the orthodontist to move individual teeth.
Normally he doesn’t make adjustments when the wire is first put on because they’re already enough going on in one’s mouth with a new wire, but the right top tooth next to the front is annoying the heck out of both of us, so he adjusted the wire to bring it out and down a little bit. Next time will be the final adjustment for that tooth and any others that aren’t cooperating.
The end is in sight…
So here is the latest/greatest shot of my braces. It’s a far cry from the photos of the first couple of months of braces tacked on to the end of this post…
So just for comparison… here are the braces the day I got them on….
You can see what a big pull it is on the front tooth and the spring on the bottom (probably a hint of the elastic in the back as well)
|From February 29, 2012|
Here they are about a month later.
You can’t really notice much cosmetically yet, but there was a lot of movement of the cross bite and back teeth (the ones that are wired)
|From February 29, 2012|
Here they are with the slightly thicker wire, heftier spring. The bad front tooth is pulling down nicely and the cross bite is corrected (he’s having me wear the elastics though the next appointment so it doesn’t go back before the thicker wire goes on) The bottom tooth still isn’t ready to be pulled forward (it’s tied to the wire) until the teeth on either side of it push out just a bit more.
|From February 29, 2012|
Here they are after my last appointment with all the teeth snapped in and things really starting to move
At that appointment I briefly got to lick my teeth after the front brackets were taken off so that they could be moved…
It happened one Monday afternoon early last November.
I was in my home office doing market accounting when I heard a huge screaming match erupt in the street out in front of my house.
I walked out on to my front porch and saw a bunch of older teenage girls fighting about some sort of Facebook drama.
I stayed out there just in case it got out of hand, and/or spilled over in to my flower beds.
As the ruckus broke up, a young woman, Danielle, who was not involved walked over to me and and said, “Excuse me… Ma’am…” Worried that she was afraid of being jumped and thinking I might need to bring her into the house or call someone for her, I beckoned her closer.
Then she said it… “Do you want a baby chicken?”
Positive I had not heard her correctly, I asked her to repeat herself.
As she did, she held out her hands; in them she held a scared little baby chick who was only a few days old, nestled in a pillowcase.
She had been visiting friends/family in Spanaway the previous day, and was being told a story about how all of their chickens (20 of them) had been killed by a pitbull two days prior. At that very moment, they saw the dog playing with something.
It was a baby chick that had somehow survived not only the initial attack, but survived out there alone in the cold November weather, for two days.
Once they got it out of the dog’s jaws, they discovered that it was missing a few feathers and was a bit bloodied up. Not knowing how seriously injured it might have been, they were going to “put it out of it’s misery”. She wasn’t having it, snatched it up and took it home.
She spent the night sleeping with it in a shoebox on her bed. She fed it oatmeal and made sure it had water and was warm (pretty impressive chicken care for a city girl) here in the Hilltop.
She had no idea how she was going to find someone to take care of it, and was carrying it with her everywhere, in hopes that she would find someone in the hood who could take on a baby chick. She was beginning to get discouraged and was not sure what to do.
So as she was just about give up hope, the person she was walking with randomly ended up being accosted over a facebook fight which erupted in the middle of the street.
Unbeknownst to her, she was standing directly in front of the Crazy Hilltop Chicken Lady’s house…
What are the chances? Seriously?
Despite my declaration the previous spring of “No more chickens in the house.” there was no way I was turning this young woman and injured baby chick away.
“Of course, I’ll take the chicken.” I told her.
As I was bringing my brooder cage, heat lamp and chick waterer/feeder up out of the basement, her eyes got really big.
“You have chickens?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes, sweetie, you ended up at the Crazy Hilltop Chicken Lady’s house.”
Her eyes got even bigger, and for the first of many times, she solemnly declared, “God brought me here.”
I took her out back to meet the rest of the girls, gave her my business card so that she could contact me, and let her know that yes, she could come visit the chick.
I hoped it was a “her” as roosters aren’t allowed in the City of Tacoma. I did make arrangements for one of my farmer friends to take her, in case she turned out to be a he.
We named him or her “Lucky” as it seemed to be the most appropriate name we could come up with.
Whatever injury that little chook had, its lungs were fine; that poor lonely thing cheeped LOUDLY 24/7, probably wondering where all of it’s flock mates were and calling out to them.
It became apparent to me that there was no way I was going to be able to safely introduce her to my flock comprised of much larger, older chickens (you never introduce a single chicken to a flock like that, they’ll get pecked to death)
I promised Danielle that she was indeed saving the chicken by leaving it with me, and I was fond of the cute little cheeper, despite the noise, smell, mess and fact that I didn’t want to have baby chicks in the house again after raising Laverne and Shirley from two day old baby chicks.
About a month later, I was running out of ideas, when I had a chance conversation with my friend Wendy, who lives just down the street from me. About a month before this occurred, they had traumatically lost all of their chickens to a dog attack (neighbor dog that was allowed to roam free, dug into their yard) A friend gave them three young chickens, one of which had died. (it happens)
That’s when we hatched (pun intended) the idea of having Lucky live at their house since she was only a month younger than her chickens and it would be much easier to integrate her into their small flock than my large flock of angry birds. (really, they are vicious little velociraptors)
It took a bit of time and patience on their part, but the other two girls accepted Lucky (once pecking order was established) and now are very protective of her, nestling her between them when they are roosting at night.
I walked over to see her today and am very happy to report that she is happy and healthy in her new home and is indeed one lucky chicken.
Here are a couple of photos from today’s visit.
I also got to meet Rorshach the neighborhood bunny… (who roams freely on that end of the street, but likes Wendy and Todd’s yard best)
Danielle and her mom were getting ready to move from the Hilltop just as this happened, so I’m not certain where she is now.
I just hope she knows what a good thing she did, and learns how well it worked out.
Every year I ask for help with my out of control human, and every year my pleas are ignored. What am I going to have to do to get some help here? Come barf up hairballs in your shoes? Don’t tempt me, I’m that pissed off and desperate.
Let me tell you just how bad it’s been…
She is more out of control than ever (yeah, I know I say that every year, but her insanity far outreaches imagination) So much so, that I couldn’t get her to sit still long enough to let me dictate the holiday letter until the Lunar (Chinese) New Year… Seriously? It’s the year of the snake. I don’t like snakes (or rats, or monkeys, or dogs or any of those other weird animals they use to celebrate)
The beginning of the year was fine, she was recovering from the 2nd surgery she had which included getting fixed “while they were already in there”. It’s about time, everyone should spay or neuter their human, there are far too many of them running around and they breed like rabbits, especially the stupid ones.There was some celebration about not having cancer; that’s a good thing. Someone’s got to feed me.
After that, we had a wicked ice storm which made it impossible to safely drive anywhere, so she was home a lot to pet the kitty which was perfect. She was super stressed when the huge tree in the back yard bent over and touched the ground (and laid on the house, the grape arbor, the greenhouse and the neighbor’s yard) but it sprung back to life after the big thaw. (she now calls it “the magic tree” what a weirdo)
Then she went back to work which really pissed me off. She’s working for an environmental non profit running the internship program and managing a farmers market. Do you think her farmer friends ever send anything home for the kitty? NO! Jerks! She’s still writing and photographing for that magazine too which is an acceptable activity since the writing part keeps her home where I can yowl for attention and lay on her keyboard.
She’s still bellydancing which just looks silly, although I do enjoy napping on her fluffy skits and batting around her jingly things. She’s still fire dancing too (which she actually gets paid to do. Seriously?) I secretly laugh when she burns herself. She’s also found a new way to burn herself, blowing glass… For some reason, dipping a long pipe into 2100 degree (f) molten glass and blowing into it is a big deal in this city… something about a madman with an eye patch named Chihuly who grew up here. Some people are actually silly enough to buy the stuff she makes. She’s also still playing with clay which she then glazes and fires. Seriously, what is it with this woman and fire?
She did another triathlon which really ticks me off because that means she’s spending way too much time out of the house running, cycling and swimming when she should be home petting the kitty.
She’s still playing that stupid violin too. I hate that thing. Even worse… she has friends that play instruments and they come over to the house. There was even a [gasp] accordion here the other night. She met these weirdos contra dancing. I don’t know what that is, but when accordions start showing up (the next thing you know, it will be a banjo), you know your human is hanging out in the wrong circles…
She’s still hiking, backpacking and finding any excuse she can to wear a tutu… (they are nice to lay on)
Oh, my human turned 50 in October, isn’t that super old for a human?
Shouldn’t she be slowing down? I mean really, 50 is practically dead right?
You would do better to check out my facebook page
Since she was too lazy (and broke) to send out cards this year, she made a video slide show recapping 2012 with obnoxious music.
It’s badly done, there isn’t even a picture of her gorgeous feline in it.
Someone please talk some sense into my human… Please?
Don’t make me come barf in your shoe.
Happy Holidays/Lunar New Year (whatever…)
~BK (THE BadKitty)
It was pretty difficult (OK, impossible) not to know that there was a “big game” going on yesterday afternoon for anyone who is plugged in to social media (or who left their home)
Over the course of the day (well, the short amount of time I was either at home or plugged in on my smart phone) I saw many internet memes regarding it…
While I don’t care to waste my time/energy by acknowledging things I have no interest in and actually have disdain for, I did think a couple similar to this were cute and posted one (cute owls and a play on words, what’s not to love)…
I was tempted to post this one, but didn’t feel like expending all that much negative energy since several football fan friends of mine were getting quite upset at the “posers/intellectuals/pretentious folks” posting anti-football rhetoric online.
But to be honest, it’s pretty much the way I felt.
I wasn’t going to speak of said spectacle because I’d prefer to spend my time and energy thinking/talking about other things, but I’ve been seeing a lot of interesting things online today.
In addition to the advertising (much of it extremely sexist if not downright misogynistic) I discovered that Super Bowl Sunday is the number day for sex trafficking; I’m not talking about prostitution here between consenting adults making a business transaction, I’m talking about the sex slave trade including minors. You can read about sex trafficking and the superbowl here
While that sort of horrific thing is going on, I’m reading posts from people who want to boycott GoDaddy.com and have their ads banned because the are “offensive”.
Really? Are those ads as offensive as selling 12 and 14 year old girls as sex slaves?
Even if some of the ads are so offensive as to make banning them and boycotting advertisers something worth doing, the issue runs much deeper than that.
The problem my friends, is not any one advertiser; it’s the culture that surrounds this event.
This is a primitive, testosterone laden ritual where badly behaved “men” are paid obscene amounts of money to play a game and held up as heroes.
Hey, here’s an idea, lets pay/hold up as heroes those who are actually deserving of such praise such as teachers, emergency workers, etc…).
This stuff starts in college, when boys are given scholarships to colleges, don’t do the work and instead get passing grades handed to them because they can throw a football.
What does that tell the kid who is working hard to get an education and be a contributing member of society whose place/scholarships if they need it are being used on someone who could care less about an education?
Even worse, those who engage in criminal activity are often excused from having to pay the price because it’s so much more important to throw that ball around and make the team owners big bucks.
What on earth kind of message does this send to our next generation? Crime pays? You can harm anyone anything you want as long as you can throw a ball?
Not only are these guys paid obscene amounts of money to play a game and often be a bad example, but have you seen the price of advertising? 3.8 million dollars for a 30-second spot.
Imagine if all that money was put towards job creation or social structure…
Women of course, are relegated to prancing around in costumes that are barely there for the pleasure of the men both on the field and in the advertising. (great message to send to your daughters guys… “go fetch daddy another beer sweetie and don’t worry about picking up your dignity or self esteem on your way to the kitchen.”
Did you know that due to the combination of testosterone, aggression and alcohol, this day has one of the highest rates for domestic violence calls to local EMS agencies?
I cringed when some acquaintances tried to get me to join their “Women Who Love Football” group (which was pretty much just an excuse to drink) I had to explain to them (and the multitude of friends who invite me to Super Bowl parties every year) that not only do I not “love football” that being in a room full of alcohol fueled fanatics with a too loud big screen TV, eating crap food, glorifying these guys is kind of my idea of hell. I’ve been told by this specific “the women who love football” group, it’s not about loving football, it’s about meeting men and looking at cute butts. (which I can better find on any given day on a man who is out running, cycling, hiking, etc…)
I am perhaps most amused/perplexed by “the women who love football” group in order to “be cool and meet men” than the rest of the fans because what they are supporting in an effort to attract men/get men to like them is so incredibly sexist. (and really, I’d rather attract a man who is out doing something healthy instead of one whose idea of a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon is sitting on his butt getting fat and drunk watching a game)
With that said, those who are on my side of the fence in thinking this is ridiculous and who have better things to do (and who have the audacity to defy social convention and say so), are also regularly accused of thinking we are “too cool” and being called “judgmental” (among other things). [edit-I have received more passionate/angry responses to a blog about not liking football, than I have to all the blogs I've posted about religion, politics, war, drugs, abuse, gun control and other hot topics, which pretty much makes my point about priorities in our culture]
As a woman, my disdain for the event can be written off as “Oh, the poor little girl just doesn’t understand the game (now go bring me another beer sweetie).”
It’s even harder for the men who don’t care for it, because face it. In this football crazed culture if you don’t want to get all testosteroney and root for your team, you are not considered a “real man”.
It does make me wonder how many people feel the same way I do, but are afraid to speak out, lest they be labeled “un-American”, “not a real man”, etc…
At the risk of sounding “pretentious”, I chose to spend my day with my trail running group (actually participating in a sport rather than watching), then working with youth on a community project and finally enjoying dinner and good conversation with a friend.
I refuse to pretend to like something that I actually hold in such disdain because it is primitive, sexist, misogynistic and sending all of the wrong messages to our youth.
If it’s your thing, enjoy… just please leave me out it, and don’t talk to me as if there is something wrong with me for refusing to waste my valuable time and energy on it when I have so much else I could be doing.
If you don’t like any one aspect of it, perhaps it’s time that you take a look at the entire culture surrounding it and decide if your support is part of a larger problem.
I’ve remained silent on the issue of gun control since the Newton CT school shooting.
This is not because I don’t care or don’t have an opinion (I have lots of them) it’s because I see too much emotion, hysteria, knee jerk reactions and unreasonableness on both sides of the issue, and I prefer to wait until a calm, reasonable discussion can be had when topics are this important.
I have opinions that support both sides of the issue, so this post is likely to piss off everyone who has a strong opinion, but such is life.
I am a gun owner. My weapons are registered and I have a concealed carry permit.
I am well trained in not only their use, but in the ethical implications of their use because I am a former federal law enforcement officer.
No matter what a lay person sees on television, you do not “shoot someone in the leg to wound/stop them” or brandish a weapon in an attempt to “scare” them. Pulling a gun ALWAYS escalates a situation.
The ONLY reason to pull a weapon is to STOP the threat (here’s a hint, “shoot to stop” is the phrase that replaced “shoot to kill”) because you believe your life or the life of someone in your care is in imminent danger (and you better be able to articulate that in a court of law)
If someone who is amped up on enough adrenaline to need to pull a weapon in the first place tired to hit an arm or a leg, it’s not going to work; the only safe shot to take in order to hit anything is center of mass (go through some professional tactical training if you don’t believe me)
Even if someone could “shoot to wound” you know what happens? They lose the lawsuit in court because they obviously didn’t feel that their life was threatened or they’d have shot to stop.
There is ONE reason to pull a weapon and that is to kill someone.
If someone is not mentally, physically and emotionally prepared to do that, a gun is not for them and will most likely hurt or kill them or someone else who is not the intended target.
The first day of my law enforcement academy, our RTO asked us a question. “How many of you could take a human life?”
Half of the class either didn’t raise their hands at all or hesitated so long that it was a moot point. Only a handful of the other half, myself included put our hands up without hesitation.
“All of you that hesitated… You’re DEAD… Because the time it took you to decide that, gave someone else the time they needed to kill you.” He chastised.
Why did I not hesitate? Because I’ve seen what humans are capable of doing to one another. As a paramedic and one who had already worked in field law enforcement, I saw things I can’t tell regular people about at all. In addition to the horrendous things I’ve seen done to others, I’ve had people try to kill me.
Yes, given the right circumstances, I am capable of it.
With that said, I’m grateful that in my years working law enforcement, that I never had to un holster my weapon anywhere but on the range (I’ve had it unsnapped and had my hand on it however) Thankfully, I have been able to defend myself with a baton and/or my hands.
Despite what those who hate police like to think/espouse no one (barring mental illness) wants to take a human life in that manner. Those I have known who have had to make that choice are forever changed, forever haunted and damaged by the most terrible (and split second) decision one can be required to make.
The first thing that the self proclaimed constitutional scholars throw out there is the second amendment to the constitution.
Let’s take a look at it, shall we?
A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed
The words that so many zealots find inconvenient is the part about the “well regulated militia”. This does not appear to give everyone the right to an insane arsenal of assault weapons.
With that said, there are many texts that list the following pre constitution reasons for the right to bear arms (sorry, if it’s not getting graded or paid for, I’m not citing multiple sources on my lunch break… you all know how to use the internet)
• Enabling the people to organize a militia system
• participating in law enforcement;
• deterring tyrannical government;
• repelling invasion;
• suppressing insurrection, allegedly including slave revolts;
• facilitating a natural right of self-defense;
I didn’t see hunting on that list, but I would add it myself.
Sorry folks, but cruelly treated factory farmed meat is much less humane and healthy than hunting.
But in the name of brevity (and to illustrate my point), let’s just say that we have no right to bear arms except as part of a “well organized militia”.
Let’s say that “guns are banned”.
I ask those who want “all guns off the street” how exactly they plan on facilitating that plan of action?
The guns are already out there people…
Folks, the genie is out of the bottle…
Should the military go door to door and search every home, every car, go through every back alley and dig holes in people’s back yards?
There’s another “pesky” little constitutional issue there; it’s called the 4th amendment which protects us from unreasonable search and seizure.
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
As much as I hate to say it, “If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.” it’s true.
Yes, horrific incidents occur when legally purchased guns are stolen/not secured, but in my opinion, the answer to that is education and to enforce the laws that we already have.
All you’re going to have by pushing for a total gun ban is unarmed innocent people who are easy prey for the criminals (who do not acquire their weaponry through legal channels in the first place)
The whole idea of “arming teachers” is ludicrous at best; dangerous and negligent in common practice and criminal at worst.
The fact is, that not everyone is cut out to safely and responsibly carry/handle/use a fire arm. Putting them in the hands of people who are not is no solution, it just exacerbates the problem.
I have mixed feelings on gun registration. On one hand, we have to register our cars; on the other, it’s an expensive program, another layer of government and will have no effect on criminals.
I wish I had an “easy” solution for all of this, but I don’t believe there is one.
So here are a few ideas I have floating around in my head.
* Teaching our children to value human life
* Better mental health care for EVERYONE
* Enforce the laws we already have on the books
* Hold people responsible for their weapons/choices
* Stop glorifying “thug life”
I’m sure I’ve pissed everyone on both sides off with this post.
GOOD! That means I’ve made you think.
We need people to calm the heck down (the hysterical partisan BS I’ve seen from both sides doesn’t do anyone any good), think rationally and work cooperatively together for solutions.
Sometimes when we least expect it, something amazing and profound hits us out of the blue, more often than not, it comes from a source that we least expect.
I am one of “those people” who prefers to use the words “Happy Holidays” to greet people during the winter holiday season in order to respect and acknowledge the fact that the season is shared by many faiths and traditions. It’s not a “war on Christmas”, it’s merely being inclusive and respectful.
I am not a Christian, but I do celebrate Christmas as a holiday of shared seasonal traditions. I celebrate it as a season of light, hope and ideally, peace on earth. To me, rebirth and renewal is a universal concept.
On Christmas morning, I walked to my neighborhood corner market to pick up something for a celebration that I was going to attend later in the day. The weather was beautiful, the air was crisp and clean, and I was still enjoying fond memories of a celebration with good friends the night before.
As I looked out on to the deep blue waters of Commencement Bay, I also contemplated all the stress and depression that many people feel at this time of year, and how truly sad that is. I thought of all the pressure that our society puts on people to be happy and have the “perfect” holiday, and how many end up disappointed and frustrated. I thought of those who have lost loved ones, and for whom this time of year brings only painful memories of loss.; and as I watched a homeless man digging in the trash, I thought sadly of those who don’t even have a home and a hot meal. It seemed so wrong to me that a season that is supposed to be about happiness and joy brings stress, depression and sadness to so many. I was feeling pretty darn jaded.
I was distracted from my train of thought when I stopped to chat with a friend from work at the little coffee shop on the corner, and was then greeted by familiar faces and smiles at our little neighborhood market. I made my purchases and began my walk back home, my mind drifting back to the sadness I was thinking about earlier..
And then, I heard it on the air.
At first it was faint and distant; then it began go gain strength and seemed to be coming from all around me.
Music, bells, magic.
I live in an old, historic neighborhood where most of the buildings are at least 100 years old. It contains several beautiful old churches.
Resounding across the waters of Commencement Bay, the castle that is now Stadium High School and the old brick buildings filled with history, was “Gloria, In Excelious Deo…” coming from real bells in an old church (I don’t know which one) that has an organ controlling the bells. Next I heard, “Joy to the World” and was reminded that this indeed is a season of hope for many traditions.
I stopped walking and just stood there to listen, appreciate the world around me and experience something that was very powerful. It was then that I noticed other people stopped on the streets, also mesmerized by the magical sounds. They came out of their businesses and homes to sit on the stoops and listen, some even pulled their cars to the side of the road and turned off their engines. Everyone, regardless of their religious upbringing, traditions or even current life circumstances was smiling in shared joy for the beauty in the air surrounding us. Most of us did not know nor had even seen each other before that moment; yet we felt an undeniable connection of the spirit.
For one brief moment, the world stood still, filled with peace, love and joy.
It doesn’t matter which church, religion, tradition or building that joyful sound came from. There are certain messages in this world that are universal.
If only we could all share more moments like the one I experienced Christmas morning in a tiny Tacoma neighborhood.
The world would be a better place.