a witch by a nose

witch.jpg

One of the distinguishing characteristics of the Halloween witch is that bump on her nose. Well, not only do I have one; I have three. I guess that makes me officially a witch.
The dermatologist says they are “fibromas,” which are benign kinds of tumors. Mine are under the skin, and so they are not really noticeable. I can have them “sliced off” (the doctor’s words), but insurances don’t pay for that because that’s considered a cosmetic procedure. He says it’s not a big deal to take them off, or out, or whatever they do to remove them. (But he’ll have to cut the skin, so how is that not a big deal??)
When I first got them (one ages ago, one six months ago, and one last month) I thought that they were sebaceous cysts, and so I put hot compresses on them and they eventually diminished in size, but they never went away.
At the moment, they don’t bother me, but I know they’re there. I can feel them.
I can’t worry about them now, however. In two days I’m leaving to head out to Massachusetts for my grandson’s sixth birthday, and I’m going to stay over at least three nights.
So it will be just my brother and mother. The hospice nurse suggested a change in my mother’s medication, so we’re going to try that. Her extreme anxiety is overwhelming her. And us too. I guess it’s her dementia getting worse. Between that and her increasing aches and pains, it makes it almost impossible to interact meaningfully with her. It’s like trying to take care of a sick toddler.
I often wish I really were a witch so I could get on my broom and fly away.

kitty corner

kittycorner.jpg

As I’m cleaning out old files, I found an old receipt from the vets with my cat’s age on it. (I’ve been trying to remember when I rescued her from the tiny pet store cage in which she could only sit in her litter.) As far as I can figure, she’s almost 12 years old. For a fat old cat, she sure is doing well.
Because I’m anticipating moving her with me when I finally get to my daughter’s, I invested in a large carpeted “house” for her litter box. If I had known that it weighs 50 pounds (the inside is melamine), I might not have ordered it. On the other hand, maybe I would have, since it also works beautifully as another sunny window perch for her.
My mom, who is older than my cat in cat-years, is not doing so well. She seems to only be able to stay awake for a couple of hours at a time. She often doesn’t eat unless one of us feeds her. The hospice nurse is stopping in today, but I doubt if there’s anything she can tell us that we don’t already know.
The only time I seem to get outside for any sun shine is when I go out to tend my kitty corner garden. For lack of any other place to put it that wasn’t overgrown with weeds, I tucked it into the space between the driveway and the woods. It’s not perfect, but what is.
hers.jpg

Not even my grandson is perfect, although he’s close. He can’t be bothered to put on matching socks in the morning, but, as my daughter relates on her blog:
Our big brained boy wanted to know yesterday how the first person ever born was, well, born — because if he/she were the first, how could they be if every person born was only born after the mother before them was born (this child is only turning 6 next weekend, btw).
So there I was, having to launch into a succinct, but thorough explanation of evolution from slimy muck to Man.

Myrln Monday: Poem Written in the City..

For a while before his death in April 2008, non-blogger Myrln (aka W. A. Frankonis, i. frans nowak), posted here on Kalilily Time some kind of rant or other every Monday. Our daughter, who has salvaged his published, performed, and none-such writings, continues to send me some to post posthumously.

POEM WRITTEN IN THE CITY
OF LANDLOCKED PEOPLE WHO
THINK THAT OCEAN IS ONLY
A WORD AND SUN IS A BALL
FOR SUMMER SUMMERTIME FUN

(for mdf)
bobbing seaborne
on flashing flat planes
of sun’s bouncing image,
a single dory —
oars shipped and tucked
inside for keeping —
seems adrift and lost
from coves safety.
but horizon blocked,
navigator waits —
         (dancing dolphins
         side the gurgling surf
         astride the swollen thighs
         of seaweed waves…
…candy apples and taffy twists
and caramel is a candy) —
with sleeping eyes
and fingled breath
and hands for firmly guiding.

whacking weeds

Actually, as much as the weeds around here need whacking, they’re not getting it. They are pretty much out of control. Weeds: plants considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted,
weeds.jpg
It’s not just the weeds around here that are out of my control. I am still living under the tyranny of my mother’s growing dementia and dependence combined with my brother’s demoralizing rules and realities.
Not much freedom for me here, on this Independence Day.
Maybe I should go out and buy my own little weed whacker, vent my frustrations on that army of undesirables that are intruding over every path from the door to the world. Whack! Whack! Take that, you creepy things.
I did murder a whole bunch of Japanese Beetles today as they attempted an orgy on my tomato plant. Whack! Whack!
One can only hold in anger and frustration for so long. Yes, I think I need to go out and whack those weeds, clear a path, clear my head. I know that those weed whackers are pretty loud, loud enough to muffle the yelling I need to get out of my system.
Someday I will be able to celebrate a real personal Independence Day. Until then, I need to go out and get a weed whacker.
On Independence Day back in 2002 I blogged that there should be a “Interdependence Day,” and a commenter sent me to this page, where there is a Global Declaration of Interdependence, as follows:.

Preamble:
In acknowledgment of the many existing documents and efforts that promote peace, sustainability, global interconnectedness, reverence for life and unity, We, The World hereby offers the following Declaration of Interdependence as our guiding set of principles for moving forward into this new millennium. It is inspired by the Earth Charter, the essential values of which have been culled from the many peoples of the Earth.

Declaration/Pledge
We, the people of planet Earth,
In recognition of the interconnectedness of all life
And the importance of the balance of nature,
Hereby acknowledge our interdependence
And affirm our dedication
To life-serving environmental stewardship,
The fulfillment of universal human needs worldwide,
Economic and social well-being,
And a culture of peace and nonviolence,
To insure a sustainable and harmonious world
For present and future generations.

And tonight, as I watched part of New York City’s fireworks, I couldn’t help wondering how all of that money spent on fireworks all over this country could have instead been used for much more important and humanitarian purposes.
But rulers know how to pacify the people using bread and circuses, how to make them forget what the late George Carlin so eloquently reminded us about.

ye olde Macintosh

1984 — the year my dad passed away and the year that my son b!X acquired his first Macintosh.
I unearthed it from under the steps in my brother’s cellar today, padded khaki case covered with at least two and half years worth of cobwebs and twenty years worth of the dust it has accumulated as I’ve hauled it around through move after move. B!X long ago moved on to other parts of the country and other versions of the Mac.
I don’t know why I kept it. And I don’t want to have to lug it through one more move.
I can’t help wondering if it’s worth anything, this boxy Macintosh 128K.
I also can’t help wondering — if I kept it for another twenty years, would it be worth something then?
It’s astounding to realize that the damned thing cost close to $3000 back in 1984. My dad was a very generous man, both in life and in death.

the Russert Rainbow

I haven’t seen anything appear through a search yet, but both Brian Williams and Keith Olbermann mentioned that, as the people gathered at the Kennedy Center to honor Tm Russert, a rainbow appeared over the NBC Washington Studios.
That is such a lovely and uplifting piece of synchronicity.
Not surprisingly, there are no rainbows over here in the mountains — just lots of thunder and rain and some kind of blight happening on my little “oasis in the wildnerness” garden. And I can’t take a photo of it to see if anyone knows what it is because I dropped my little camera while away the other weekend, and it broke. I bought a new little one but haven’t had the time to figure it all out yet or download the software.
Meanwhile, despite taking an antidepressant, my mom is having more frequent bouts of uncontrollable crying. She keeps asking for her husband, my dad, who passed away almost 25 years ago.
We are sitting at the table, and she is eating some spaghetti with a roasted sweet red pepper sauce that I make. She decided that she doesn’t like tomato sauce and she doesn’t like straight alfredo sauce, so I mix my pureed sweet roasted red peppers with a little alfredo, and she wolfs it down.
“Where are your children,” she asks.
“They live far away,” I answer. ” Where are yours?”
She looks at me and says, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know which is worse, Alzheimer’s or “old age” dementia. With Alzheimer’s you don’t realize that you’re not remembering. With dementia, you are torn apart by a sense that you can’t remember even though you want to.
I look back at my original blog, which I began in November of 2001. At that point, I was already taking care of my mom, living across the hall from her in a senior citizen apartment building. Even back then, when she wasn’t so bad yet, I was struggling to have some sort of life apart from caregiving. With each month that went by, I lost more and more of my own life.
I never thought that it would all go on for so long.
No wonder I’m burned out.

communitainment

That’s what Bill Moyers, in his speech to the National Conference of Media Reform, indicated that the media is becoming.

Already, newspapers and magazines (and soon TV programming) are encouraged to sell key words to advertisers – so-called “in-text advertising” – in the online versions of stories. Can you imagine advertisers going for stories with key words such as “health care reform,” “environmental degradation,” “Iraqi casualties,” “contracting fraud,” or “K Street lobbyists.” I don’t think so. So what will happen to news in the future as the already tattered boundaries between journalism and advertising is dispensed with entirely, as content, programming, commerce and online communities are rolled into one profitably attractive package? Last year the investment firm of Piper Jaffrey predicted that much of the business model for new media would be just that kind of hybrid. They called it “communitainment.”

Moyers also said great stuff like:

…this Administration – with the complicity of the dominant media – conducted a political propaganda campaign, using erroneous and misleading intelligence to deceive Americans into supporting an unprovoked attack on another country, leading to a war that instead of being “quick and bloodless” as predicted, continues to this day. (At least we now know that a neo-conservative is an arsonist who sets the house on fire and six years later boasts that no one can put it out.)

and

Democracy without honest information creates the illusion of popular consent while enhancing the power of the state and the privileged interests protected by it.

Democracy without accountability creates the illusion of popular control while offering ordinary Americans cheap tickets to the balcony, too far away to see that the public stage is just a reality TV set.

Nothing more characterizes corporate media today – mainstream and partisan – than disdain towards the fragile nature of modern life and indifference toward the complex social debate required of a free and self-governing people.

This leaves you with a heavy burden – it’s up to you to fight for the freedom that makes all other freedoms possible.

Be vigilant; the fate of the cyber commons is at stake here, the future of “the mobile web” and the benefits of the Internet as open architecture. We’ll lose without you: the only antidote to the power of organized money in Washington is the power of organized people at the netroots.

You can go to the FreePress site and read, listen to, or watch the whole amazing speech.
A couple of years ago, I agreed with Molly Ivins that Bill Moyers should be president. Maybe what he should be is Barack Obama’s Carl Rove.
It’s too bad that there isn’t a Corporation for Public Blogging (like the Corporation for Public Broadcasting). Maybe if there were, b!X would have been able to continue his city-based and well respected journalistic (but not economic) success, the Portland Communique.
Surely there must be some foundation or trillionaire somewhere who might want to give out grants to independent citizen blogger/journalists? I nominate b!X to be first on the list.

reluctant reentry

mewindow.jpg
I spent last weekend in a place as close to perfect as I’ve been in a long time. Good friends, good food, a good book, a lake, mountains, a spacious home with lots of decks, pitchers of Cosmos, and laughter-filled games of Boggle. I could have stayed there forever.
Now I’m back in the situation I should never gotten into, and I’m finalizing plans for my escape, with support from both the Hospice nurse and social worker. I would like to take my mother (92 years old and demented) with me, where we would be with our extended family in a home with beautiful gardens on a dead end street with lots of neighbors. She would have pleasant distractions from the painful movements of her body and mind. I would bring in the help we both need.
But my brother doesn’t want to let her go. And I just can’t stay.
As my hair grows gray, I need to spend more time in places of peace.
mewater.jpg

carefully care-free

Four days free of caregiving!
I am heading out tomorrow with my gaggle of friends to Lake Luzerne, which is not far from Lake George, which, as fate would have it, is the site of the annual motorcycle Americade at the same time. No doubt, the roads will be crawling with hogs of all kinds and their wannabe relatives
Back in high school, I dated a guy with a motorcycle — unbeknownst to my parents of course. It might be fun to ride on one again. I mean, isn’t there some commercial where a grandmother rides in on the back of a bike that her grandson is driving? Hmm. Maybe I’ll run into a senior citizen biker.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out if the itchy bumps popping up on my arms are flea bites or hives or some sort. I can’t seem to find any fleas on my cat, but I know those critters are pretty tricky.
Also, meanwhile, the hospice nurse continues to check in on my mother. Mom somehow fractured a rib while I was gone a few weekends ago. While the pain seems to be finally subsiding, she is getting less and less stable on her feet and just is not happy about very much. The nurse brought in a young woman who played the guitar and sang, and my mother seemed to like that — although after they left, she was sure that they stole some of her jewelry.
I don’t know how my brother is going to handle four days and three nights taking care of mom on his own. If it were me, I’d hire someone to come in and help. I’m leaving a list of available private hires on the refrigerator and a stockpile of food that mom likes inside.
I am sooo out of here.