Last Call

I know....been spending WAY...too much time in "da clubs" with my band lately.
But I'm talking about a DIFFERENT "last call"....

Tonight, I was talking to a friend who has someone in her life who has been told they have "TERMINAL CANCER".
Yeah....lovely news to get from the Doc...right?
Both she and I have been through this MANY times before. More times than either of us care to mention.
Here's the thing....the doctors that gave him the "terminal" news...no hope, no chance.....have put him on aggressive Chemo.
He's sick ALL the time. He hurts. He's tired. He's sad.

Okay.....so if it's "TERMINAL"......why the Chemo? To do....WHAT, exactly?
Tourtue him for his last days/weeks/months?
Drain his insurance companies wallets?
Prove a point?
Film an episode of "House"....(Google it...I'm too sleepy...)?

As most of you know, My Mom died September 7th, 1998.
She had a "blood cancer", known as CML.
They have a drug called Gleevec that can treat it now...but it wasn't ready then.
Granted, by the time they figured out what was WRONG (It took months!!! No one would take her seriously. All they saw was an over-weight woman with low income and their answer to EVERYTHING was...."lose weight"), it would have been too late anyway.
They gave her three months to live.
That was April 17th, 1998.

Now, even though they told her she had NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER of getting better......they INSISTED on more tests.
Some very painful. Some that made her cry. And get sicker. And hurt....more.

I was not "allowed" to make decisions for her. That was left to my Aunt. Her older sister.(there is a backstory there about 16 pages long....no need to go there now).

The point is....my family felt they "had" to do what the doctors said. It never occured to them that they could say...NO.
NO more.
Stop.
Now.
So my mother's last days were a blur of tests, trips, meds, pain, medical hustle and bustle.
When it was Granpa's turn, he too fely he could NOT say "NO"...but he had his own way.
He'd let them out in the needles, say thank you....and pull them back out. Every, single, time.
No tubes. No needles. No meds. He was 92. He was done. He was ready.
After my Aunt saw all of this unfold...it eventually becamr HER turn.
Now SHE had "TERMINAL CANCER".
No chance, no hope.
She refused all treatment.
The doctors FREAKED!!!!!!
How could she? How dare she? She was going to DIE???
Ummmm...yeah.....isn't that the whole point of "terminal", doc?
You're gonna die....big surprise.
So WHY was it SO horrible that she choose to go out on her OWN terms?
She had no more tests. No more weird meds.
Her last memories were of being in her favorite chair, with her cat on her lap (the same cat that is on MY lap now...shedding on the keyboard...), in HER home.
Her comfort zone. She slipped into a com in that chair. Never woke up. Died the next day.
Most of you also know I am a animal lover. Maknig that choice for their "last call" is a VERY hard thing to do.
It SUCKS!
Even when you KNOW they are ready...it hurts so MUCH to let them go.
But people tell us that's a "kindness".
Letting an animal linger and suffer and struggle and hurt....that's bad.
I AGREE!!!! They deserve better.
But.
If a human, of sound mind, chooses of their OWN FREE WILL to deny "treatment" that will NOT help them at all and only make their "last call" drag on in a horrible way.....they are wrong too?
Whoa...wait a minute.
Seriously?
Why?
Because animals don't pay insurance premiums?
And this "all life is sacred" stuff......
So, if it's sacred.....why let them die a slow painful death when they tell you they are done? They are ready?
If they refuse "treatment" so they can have a FEW days of peace before their "last call".......why is that so wrong?
It just doesn't make sense to me, none of it.
The creatures we "can't" communicate with....we can see in their eyes and their behavior that they are READY. We let them go becasue we LOVE them.
The creatures that "CAN" communicate with us tell us in our OWN language that they are READY.....and we let them suffer some more....beacuse we love them???
WHAT??????
Look, I don't have all the answers.
Cripes...I don't even have all of the QUESTIONS....but....
if ANY of you are around when it's my "last call"....and I tell you I am ready, I am done, I am NOT afraid.....
treat me like you would your most beloved "furry-baby", okay?
You can even bury me in the backyard.

I am SO Proud of my band!

So I am going on 28 hours without sleep, so this will be SHORT....but I am So proud of the group of misfit toys I call My Band!
We played at Piere's tonight....(BIG deal for independant bands in the Northeast Indiana area...).
They KILLED!
My poor little mentally-ill lead vocalist.....he was SO "ON" tonight!
Yes....dealing with his disability can be difficult in "real life"....but...WOW! The poor little thing DOES make it WORK for him on stage!
The girls were AMAZING....of course!
And the BEST part?
We have ALREADY been asked to come BACK!!
Truly, my little "motley crew" mad the OTHER bands seem like SUCH "3-cords-and-scream" amatures.
Do they drive me nuts?
Yeah.
Are they pains in my ass?
Sometimes.
Am I proud of them?
Oh...YES....VERY proud!!!

Now....pardon me while I sleep for 3 hours...and do it ALL again.....

I'm too BUSY to blog!

Yeah, I know. Irony, right?
Seriously, this week has been INSANE!!

Sunday was Easter. Did the family dinner thing with my hubby's extended family.Such CARNIVORS, these people!
Meat in the Salads!
Meat in the pasta!
Meat in the soups!
Meat, meat and freakin' MORE meat!!!
Blech!
I tell you....if they could figure out how to add meat the the jello and cookies...they would! Trust me.
Lordy.
Good thing I brought a Vegetarian dish or I would've STARVED!
Well, maybe not STARVED....but it would have sucked, nonetheless.

We visit a good friend. Have a nice chat. Drive home.

Then, about 8pm or so the lead singer of my band shows up in tears.
Yes. The big tough lead singer of my Industrial Metal band was in tears.
Girl troubles....AGAIN!
Will spare you the details, but sufice to say it took a few hours to calm him down enough to send him on his way.
THEN...the girlfriend calls!
So I try to talk HER down too. Oh my.

Then this morning, it suddenly occurs to me that I only had THREE DAYS to get stuff ready for the band's two BIG shows this weekend!! ACK!!!

I'm working, calling, taking care of the furry kids, phone rings
It's the lead singer again.
This time......?
CAT trouble!
Does it EVER end?
His kitty-baby is under the Dishwasher, won't come out.
She is a CAT afterall....
He's freaking out. MORE crying.
I've never seen a guy who only wears black and cusses out stragers on the street CRY so much!
He needs some meds...LEGAL ones.
Anyway, long story that I am WAY too tired to type.....but the cat is safe and sound.

Thanks to some power tools and tuna.

So now I have TWO DAYS!!!!!

TWO DAYS!!!!!
I'm never going to get this all done.
Do ALL band managers ALSO become relationship counselors/cat rescuers?
Or is it me.

But, yes. I am blogging to tell you I am WAY too freakin' busy to blog right now....but I hope to get back to it later.

And when YOU figure out how that makes sense.....let me know.

The Bird House

I like my home. Yes, it's small-ish. It's old (not in a cool, historic way. But in a "wow, this house needs a lot of WORK" kind of way).
But, I like my Neighborhood, my home in comfy, it works.
Having said that...YES it DOES need a lot of work! And even though I have lived here for ALMOST 13 years, it seems I almost NEVER have the right combo of money/time/enegry to do much "fixing".

Anyway, right outside my kitchen window is an old vent. It isn't attached to anything any more (not sure why), and was covered over on the inside with some lightweight metal/tin stuff.

The sparrows find this to be the PERFCET location for a Bird House! EVERY year, they come back.
And in the early morning? Boy, they are LOUD!!! Chip, chirp, scitch, scatch, ect.
Several times over the years, the sound was SO LOUD, I was just POSITIVE they were actually INSIDE my kitchen cabinets!
But, no.
I'd open the door, no bird.
So, over the years, I got used to the sound and I barely notice it anymore.

Then, Monday night, my Chow/Akita/Terrier Mix, the infamous Oberon/Obie, just FREAKED OUT in the kitchen.
Bark, bark, yip, yap, whimper, whine.
"OBIE!!! WHAT on EARTH is wrong? It's just the birds outside!"

Obie was not giving up.
So, in an effort to sooth his little doggie mind, I opened the kitchen cabinet. As I have mutiple time in the past.
Expecting to show him there was NOTHING in their except tupperware.

However, imagine my surprise when I turned to look, and there was A BIRD IN MY CABINET!!!!
A male Sparrow.
And he looked down at me like: WTF????? WHY ARE YOU OPENING MY HOUSE?!?!??!?

He did not seem happy with me.
I closed the cabinet.
No way. It COULDN'T be!
I imagined it. I MUST have!
So I openee the cabinet again.
AND THERE WAS STILL A BIRD IN MY KITCHEN CABINET!!!!!

Oh my.
I get my husband.
"We have a small problem in the kitchen."
"What kind of problem?"
"A feathered problem"
So we went back to the kitchen, proped open the back door, and once again opened the cabinet.
OUT flew the sparrow! He was REALLY annoyed by this point.
He flew! He swooped! He zipped from room to room, with Obie, Rosalind, Travis and I following him.
"Fly out the door! Fly out the door!!"
We yell helpfully.
Perhaps, the bird did not speak english.
EVENTUALLY, he either had his fun, or got tired of being chased, and he FINALLY flew out the door.
WHEW!!!

For the rest of the night, Rosalind and Obie kept going back to the cabinet in the kitchen.

"Do it AGAIN Mommy! Do it again!!! That was fun!"

Perhaps, if I ever sell my home, I can use that as a selling point.
After all, HOW many people have an active birdhouse on the INSIDE?

Cheyenne - I love you - Goodbye

Cheyenne is gone. It happened Monday. She was ready, but it still hurts.

Cheyenne was a Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab mix. She spent most of her life being "the dog"....NOT family.
The family that owned her before were not loving people. Not kind people.
The dumbass, worthless daughter pawned poor Cheyenne off on her elderly parents when she was about 10 years old.
She lost interest.
A ten year old dog isn't "fun" anymore.
The selfish biznitch might have to....."work".
HEAVEN forbid!
So the elderly father did his best.
But he was married to the "Wicked Witch of Fort Wayne".
Evil, hateful old woman.
She did not want Cheyenne in the house for fear she might get fur in her pristine home.
I will spare you the details, but eventually Cheyenne was sent to the garage.
To live.
Or die.
14 year old bones. NO bed. Lying on the hard cement floor.
Day after day.
Potty in the Garage.
Sleep in the Garage.
Die in the Garage.
A good friend of mine and I basically lied our (CUTE!!) little arses off to get poor Cheyenne out of the goulag.
When I finally got her, she was 14 years old.
Her hair was falling out in clumps.
She was SEVERLY malnourished and dehydrated.
She had an untreated Urinanry Tract infection that had been working on her frail system for MONTHS.
It permanently damaged her kidneys and bladder.
I was afraid she would not make it through the weekend.
That was August 4th, 2008.

Amazingly, after my husband and I got her some medicine, GOOD food, water and an orthapedic bed, she not only improved, she FLOURISHED!!!
She romped in the yard! Chased squirrels! Balls! Dug holes (yeah, THANKS Obie!! Why do they ONLY teach each other the NAUGHTY stuff???). She went on walks and rolled in green grass!
She sat on the couch. Ate pizza crust (her favorite!)! I cooked her meat (I don't cook my HUSBAND meat!!).
She was loved.
Viola, our HUGE Maine Coon would sleep with her each night.
Viola is sleeping on Cheyenn's bed right now.....alone.
Evenyually, poor Cheyenne's body began to break down.
She turned 15 in October.
She stopped eating. Stopped drinking. Stopped romping.
She was READY, I know it. I could tell.
Her eyes said "Okay, seriously? I'm just done now."
I know it was the right thing to do to have her put down. She was ready, it was time.
Why does it still HURT so bad?
Since Febuary 2008, I have lost 5 of my children.
Othello (my most PRECIOUS baby boy) at 13, Molly (Travis' baby, VERY hard for him, VERY hard) also at 13 yrs, Milton (8 1/2 year old ferret...OLD for ferrets!!), and poor sweet Angelou to the..."incident"
It's in my blogs. Don't want to talk about it anymore.
And now Cheyenne.
So, I am left with 6 babies.
3 cats. 2 dogs. 1 ferret.
The house feels oddly empty.
I told the others they are FORBIDDEN to die!!! Or they will be in SERIOUS trouble!!!!
I'll let you know if that works.
Seriously, I need a break. I just cannot DO this anymore. Not for awhile.
The death. Saying Good-Bye. Ashes. The "room" in the Vets office.
It hurts too much.
It sits in my brain. In my soul.

Oh, hey, THIS is fun. The evil old woman who sent Cheyenne to the goulag called my Vet.
She wants my address. Wants to send me a "note".
Can't WAIT for that.

But would I do it again? Take in an animal I knew had a short life span ahead. To help them. To show them some peace and love and comfort in their last days?
Even if it ripped out my soul one more time.
YES.
Always.
It's what I do.
It's WHY I am here.

The Spagetti Incident....

When our Dalmations, Molly and Othello, were still alive, they were an ENDLESS source of entertainment!!
And it seemed that a LOT of their antics revolved around food.
So here is the first in a series of TRUE Dalmation stories:

THE SPAGETTI INCIDENT (Also known as the Case of the Traveling Trubador)

We had Othello since he was just a little puppy. He was born deaf, a common trait in Dalmations. There were challenges with that, but benefits too. One being that a dog that can't HEAR tends to not BARK very much.
We adopted Molly from a family was moving across the country (for a job) and were being put up in a NO PETS apartment by their employer. They loved her greatly, and they wanted her in a loving home, PREFERABLY with people who had experience with Dalmations already as they can be......unique!
We were happy to take her in, and she was the same age as our Othello!

But Molly could hear just fine......and OH BABY.....could she BARK!

Being in a NEW home surrounded by NEW sounds, she barked a LOT those first few weeks!!!

Sometime shortly after we adopted her, a musician from the college on our corner came to our house just as we were getting ready for our Spagetti dinner.
He had his acustic guitar with him, and some of his self produced CD's, and he asked if he could play a few songs for us.
It was a beautiful June night, and we both love music, so we sat on our porch, on the swing and listened to him play.

Naturally, when he FIRST came to the door, Molly (our new "doorbell") barked like CRAZY, as if to say "WARNING! WARNING! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!!!!!"

I was initially worried that she would bark through the young man's ENTIRE performance!
Othello, calm big boy that he was, sat quietly on the porch with us and watched. (Always making sure this strange dude did NOT get too close to his mommy!)
I remember feeling relieved when Molly quieted down.
I remember thinking that maybe she was FINALLY getting used to things around here!
I also remeber being somewhat surprised that she was NOT on the porch.
In fact, she wasn't even at the screen door.....odd.....

The traveling trubador fished his set list, we thanked him, bought one of his CD'S, and went back in to eat our Spagetti dinner.

Except. SOMEONE had already done that for us!
Oh yes, there before us was the dining room table, tablecloth puuled almost completely off....and two EMPTY plates that minutes ago held Spagetti. Not to mention a totally EMPTY bread basket.

And there was our Molly. Sitting beside the table. Red marinara sauce all OVER her mostly white face.
And she kinda looked at us like "OH! Back already? Ummmm.....how was the music?"

And for YEARS after that, almost until her death in April of last year, EVERY TIME we had Spagetti, she RUN to the door and bark WILDLY...hoping to get us to abandon our dinner in search of a non-existant Trubador on our porch.

At least she left us the wine.

FAMILY

Here it is....blogging about my family. Oh Lord TODAY....am I ready? Apparently.

Short Synopsis (most of you know this already anyway!): Born Mach 22nd, 1970, Single Mom. Had an affair with married man (he had 3 kids), dunno ANYTHING else about him, do not CARE at ths point. (If ANY of you refer to me as a "bastard". "out of wedlock" or "illegitamate"....I will find you...and kill you...)

Raised in a SMALL conservative town. My mom was called all sorts of names....sorry, still not ready to go there.
If any a woman was a candidate for abortion...she was IT! She was from a poor farming family..."he" was a "richy-rich" and a "name" in our small town.
My mom was Pretty, VERY pretty.
"He" was smooth, and he lied, and he had money.
And "he" had a family...children...and a wife who...(wait for it...)...DID NOT UNDERSTAND HIM.............

And my mother, bless her, wanted to BELIEVE him. She wanted to be LOVED. She wanted to be....SOMEONE...

And she WAS....until....OH LORD. PLEASE! NO!
He doesn't love me, does he? What about his wife? His kids?
What will my parents say?...How will I care for this.....oh, help me.

And there I was. And I did not know.
I was a cute baby (OF COURSE!!!), and she loved me. And her family loved me.
And he never saw me. And he could care less.

Yes, fine. I had trouble with men. I made bad choices. I was looking to "save" them...and myself.
I wanted to make it right. To show "him" I was worth Something.
Anything,
I think "he" came toher funeral, maybe.
I think I spoke to "him"....maybe.

He seemed shocked to see me. At 28. A real Human being.
Not a "mistake". Not an "illegitamate child". Not a "bastard".

A REAL living, breathing person.
With FEELINGS.
With THOUGHTS.
With a SOUL.
I was Real.....I AM real.
I AM a REAL person.
I DO Exit.
I AM human.
I. Am. Not. A. Joke.
I. Was. NOT...a MISTAKE.
I'm HERE.
I miss HER so much.
"Him"...no...not at all.
But, he should miss ME....because I was worth it.
I AM worth it.
Right?

ORANGES in my car.....

Fort Wayne is known as the "City of Churches". An appropriate description, to be sure!
We have churches...EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!
And, we have (I think) almost EVERY DENOMINATION POSSIBLE available....SOMEWHERE in our town.
Not to mention Jewish (two Synagoges, I believe), a Buddist Temple, Jehovas Witness, Hindus, Mormons, Catholics (I do NOT consider them to be "Christians"...kinda long story I'll share sometime....),Wiccans, Agnostics, Atheists and MANY others I have undoubtedly missed.
We also have Nation of Islam......right down the street from where I live.

Now, I am ashamed to admit I do NOT know a great deal about their beliefs.
(I could google it...but I'm lazy like that.....).
What I DO know, is they have a very AFRO-CENTRIC view of religion.
Fine, except I believe that makes them RACIST....in a DIFFERENT way.
Nonetheless, I must state that with all of the Nation of Islam people in my neighborhood, they have NEVER caused me ANY problems....

EXCEPT FOR THE DAMN ORANGES IN MY CAR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Every Monday thru Saturday, there they are, young (CUTE!) Black men in their sharp suits and polished shoes.
At the corner, the main intersection in my neighborhood, at the stoplight.
With bags and bags or bananas, apples, Nation of Islam lierature.....ORANGES.

I swear to you, I get stopped at that light EVERY DAY!!!!!!!!
And then here they come.......
If your window is rolled down, they stick ORANGES in my car, had me a Nation of Islam pamphlet.....and ask me for money.

"Just a dollar, Sister, to pay for the ORANGE"....
I don't LIKE oranges.....TASTE good.....too much work to eat....
And if they don't like WHITE people (and, TRUST ME.... I am SO white....ALBINOS look TAN next to me!!!), then WHY do they want ME to know about their faith?
What do they think I'm gonna do.....STOP being white?

And, if I can accept them and love them for who they are.......why can't THEY do the same for ME???

And if I smile, give them a slight wave...and keep my windows rolled UP......does that make me a RACIST?

My Godson is mixed. The member of the band I manage that I care for the most is mixed. The friend (CRAZY, though she my be) that I have had for almost 30 YEARS!!!!!!......(oh, I... Am.....OLD!!!) is black.
I STILL think Prince is one SEXXY MF (as his song goes...oh YEAH baby...!!!)
I am PROUD to finally have a BLACK (okay...mixed) president!!!
Baby, I hate LOTS of people....but for GOOD REASONS!!!!
If you want to HATE somebody, there are LOTS of good reason, BESIDES their race...TRUST ME!!!

So their they are.....with their ORANGES.....and their literature....and their sharp suits....
And I smile.....and I wave them away.......

Because I am NOT a racist......

But I just DON'T want ORANGES in my car.......