Monday, August 23, 2010

You've GOT to be Kidding

I'm always appalled at the idea of banning books. Mark Twain said, "Censorship is telling a man he can't have a steak just because a baby can't chew it."

Thursday, August 19, 2010

You Look Like a Monkey, and You Smell Like One Too


My birthday, traditionally, has largely been a source of disappointment. This started out not being too much of a problem, and has slowly deteriorated to the point of preferring that it just plain go unnoticed. You see, the day before my birthday is my dad’s birthday. I love my dad. He’s really someone I would aspire to be like if I didn’t already know there was no way in the world I ever could. Dad’s much loved, and rightly so, by anyone and everyone he comes into contact with. And being that it was just practical to do so, our birthdays were always celebrated together. One party, one cake, that kind of thing.


I’m an old fart now and I don’t need my own cake. If anyone got me balloons at this point, I’d feel like an idiot and project that on to the balloon giver. I hate balloons. But I think when I was a kid, my own balloons, my own cake, and my own party would have helped a lot. It’s about as basic a psychology as I can make out. These tiny details, seemingly petty, are the thorns that made their mark. Growing up, I pretty much always existed in someone else’s shadow. When it came to birthdays, it was in Dad’s shadow. I repeat that I love my father very much, but he and I are individual people. Sharing a limelight robs a person of a tiny moment on a pedestal.


Like I said, growing up it was just practical to share the date with Dad. As I got older, I started being celebrated by friends outside of the family setting and that made a big difference. To them, I wasn’t my father’s daughter. To them there was no one else having a birthday at the same time. This put a twist into who I wanted to celebrate my birthday with… only to be followed by feelings of guilt for preferring friends over family. Guilt was soon followed by the sense of obligation to appear at my own birthday celebration, such as it might be. And guilt inevitably fermented into resentment. So, on top of knowing full well that the birthday dinner/party/outing was only secondarily for me, I had to go, and I had to feign joy.


And now, for the added ingredient. There are people in my family whom I don’t like. At all. If it were up to me I would cease all further contact from this day forward, amen. I’m not saying it’s a simple case of finding someone annoying. I’m saying there is real, actual dislike and a desire to not have that person in my life. Unfortunately, my parents’ son is important to my parents. So this is how birthdays look: dinner out to celebrate “the birthdays” actually becomes a torturous affair for me. This is not enjoyable. This is no way to spend a birthday. This is not a happy, joy-joy, warm-fuzzy celebration . Just knowing that he will be there makes me not want to go, but I have to go because it’s my birthday. So you say if it’s my birthday I should be able to opt not to go? Yes, but, see, it’s Dad’s birthday too, and not going is hurtful to him… on his birthday. And birthdays are for celebrating that person’s wishes. And since our wishes are contradictory, Dad’s wishes win out. ‘Cause he’s Dad and there’s not a person on the planet who would want to do anything to disappoint him.


I guess that what I’m saying is that my birthday has long ago ceased to really belong to me, much less to be in any way a joyous affair. Except for the dinner out with friends and the obligatory card from co-workers, the rest of it is something I not only could do with out, but truly don’t look forward to at all.


I wish it would occur to someone to really look at me and who I am. I wish I could have one birthday that was actually planned for me. I’m not looking for an extravagant affair. I’m saying that if anyone really stopped to think of me, they would know that my joys are simple. That I like simple things, not grand, but intimate. I like peace and quiet. I like softness and security. The easy thing would be to hand my family a list of what I want and how I want to be celebrated. But that’s just pathetic, isn’t it? That anyone should have to do that after so many years of supposedly knowing each other. It defeats the entire purpose of feeling special and only serves to underline the contrary: that the only way I'm going to be properly appreciated is to do it myself. I may as well write down what I want for a gift as well, right?


Just posting this makes me aware that if a given chain of events takes place, this could very well make it to the ears of people in my family who might very well take it upon themselves to “right this wrong” which is a kind and lovely thing to do. But then, we’ll never know, will we? …if they are only doing it because they read about it here or because they had planned something regardless and I didn’t just guilt someone into taking action.


This year, for my birthday, I want to be alone. I want a week alone somewhere away from everyone, reading, sleeping, eating good food. I want to be catered to by people who are good at that. I already know that’s not going to happen. This year, blessedly, Dad turns 80 and there is to be a huge celebration beyond anything we’ve had in the past.


I’ll be there, too.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

The Modern Ark

Today's vet visit is brought to you by:


Three of our star characters have had individual manifestations of the itchies all week. Sola, the calico, who had just had cortisone shots three weeks ago, had another outburst of hives and scabs that confounded us since for the two weeks prior, the shots had cleared up her condition, miraculously.

Cleo's been chewing on her butt something awful such that it seems almost compulsive and I have to put a stop to it when I see her. I feel really bad for her, though, as she looks completely preoccupied with little else.

Coco - we thought - was a different case. He has developed this twitchy leg thing. He's lying around, keeping us company and his hind leg starts to kick like when we scratch him in his ticklish spot along his ribs. But now it happens even though no one is touching him. It looks entirely involuntary, as it happens spontaneously and repeatedly, with no pattern that we could see. In the middle of the night and on our wood floors, it sounds like intermittent but constant drumming. It can drive us batty, but mostly I'm concerned that he's not getting any quality sleep since he wakes himself up with each tremble and so it takes longer for him to really get to sleep.

So, it was time for a family field trip to our local vet, whom we adore. I piled Mom, Coco, Cleo, and Sola (in her crate) into the tiny blue car. Mom's SUV would have been more practical but Coco can't jump up that high any more and we're not strong enough to lift the 90 plus pup. So, little car it was. Right away, we knew the 5 minute drive would be a challenge. Sola cried bloody murder from her crate at a rate of one meow every 4 seconds. Coco tried, desperately, to balance in the reduced space and ended up sitting with his hindquarters on the seat and his front paws on the car floor. Cleo proceeded to give everyone headaches with her squeals and yelps. She's terribly excitable and makes these whistling squeals mixed with grunting that are hilarious for the first three or so minutes. Then the volume gets turned up as we actually start the car. Eardrums are in a very real danger at this point. If another dog is spotted during the trek, then all hell breaks loose and she lunges and barks at the window with a fervor never before seen. Our little psychopath.

Our vets (two fantastic women who work as a team) were happy to see Coco and Sola ("Hey! It's Corn Cob Coco!") and were a hit with Cleo right away, too. These ladies seem to have bought the business from our prior vet, also a wonderful guy, and at first we were concerned but now that we've seen them twice, we're really liking them. One huge bonus for me is that Cleo didn't bat an eyelash at them.

I got Cleo from the pound when she was still a puppy but already large. The first conclusion I came to with her was that whoever had her before me had beaten her. She was terribly skittish and not at all trusting. It's taken lots of work and bonding over the years, but she still sometimes does a double take if she sees one of us holding a broom, as I suspect that this was a favorite beating implement from some inhumane person from her past. The second thing I noticed is that she does not respond well to men. Smaller, leaner men are sort of ok, but tall or sturdy men are a real sore spot for her. At best she is distrustful and she steers clear. At worst, she barks and won't lay off until I have to intervene, either pulling her away from the culprit or (assuming the culprit is friend or family) giving him a hug and showing her that he is "friend, not foe". Even then, she only stays away from that kind. Again, I suspect that this was the body type of the bully who used to abuse her. So, to have two petite women attend to my little ADD child is a happy and welcomed change. She seems to have no problem with them.

We all piled into the examining room and there were hugs and kisses all around. Turns out Coco's kicking might be due to the itchies as well. His dry skin might be just tingly enough that it sets off an impulse to relieve it by simply moving his leg compulsively, like when a fly lands on an ear. His physiology just has him shaking off the itch instead of scratching at it. So we're going to attempt an oatmeal shampoo twice a week for a couple of weeks (I see an after-work project for me) and then see if that doesn't help.

Sola has been declared ultra sensitive to flea allergies such that the strong dose of cortisone only scratched the surface. She will be on oral medication for a while as we see whether she responds to it or not.

Cleo is somewhere between the two. She's allergic to fleas, but doesn't have any and the cortisone shot seems to be able to take care of the sensitive skin for her.

All our pets are on drops. Neither has fleas and I was relieved to have the docs attest to that as they did a thorough inspection of all three. So the fascinating thing was that each of them was manifesting a skin sensitivity in their own way. We're home now. The adventure is over and I have one over-exhausted Cleo sprawled on my bed next to me. Coco is in the hallway and I hear his leg shaking over the wood floor. Sola has run off, likely back to hanging out with the opossums. Mom has gone off to run errands including the purchase of the oatmeal shampoo.

I'm going to be cleaning out the fountain today. I've gotten more presents for the fish and can't wait to see how they take to them. More on that later.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Morpheus, Be Mine...


If you go to the link and hover over the strip, you'll see: "I'm not listening to you. I mean what does a SQUIRREL know about mental health."

Image:http://xkcd.com/