A stolen boot and a pride chaser..straight up.

The year is 1968, we've just moved from my home town of Montreal, Quebec to Tonawanda, New York. A little city in Erie county New York, about 20 minutes north of Buffalo, New York. I am all of 12 but look older..and enrolled in a school that is 75% black. My peers are predominately black, seem not to like that my soft leather, Marlboro man brown boots are “Bad,” (slang for 'cool') and my round, rose colored wired sunglasses have interchangeable lenses. Nothing seems to be going right on this 1st day of junior high in I am being followed home from school on this my second day..by what seems like ten or eleven black kids. I hurry along the dirty snow covered Tonawanda streets trying to remember the way back to this home we've lived in for all of 3 days.


I do not like it here..I miss Montreal..I miss my friends..I miss the comforting familiarity of people places and things I know...like I know the back of my hand. My only thoughts since arriving are of leaving as quickly as I can..of running away and back to that which I know. As a family we have changed addresses and countries like some people change clothes. Dad's job takes him and us..to many different places...sometimes more than twice a year. They do not understand this sudden transformation from the child who loved the changes to the now prepubescent need I have to be around that which is easily recognized..that which I know intimately...that which requires as little assimilation as possible.


There is five dollars and some Canadian change at the bottom of my fringed suede purse..it is my ‘get away’ money..my runaway money for the trip to Montreal..the trip back home. I smile as I rush..they don’t know that soon I will be gone..back to safe ground and friends..back to happiness. I look up from the ground to get my bearings..ah I think I see the new street I live on..good.


Whack..I am lying flat on my back on dirty slushy snow..there are what seem like ten’s and twenties of black faces peering down at me in anger..mouths all moving..words I don’t completely understand or have ever heard before..I look frantically around..what is going on?


“Give us your boots honky bitch..take them off her..you..you there, get her coat. I am standing outside of myself watching as one hard earned twenty-five dollar tan boot is being tugged and yanked off my cold unobliging foot..an arm is half way out of the black wool Maxi coat..some buttons are laying in the snow..I must pick them up. I am confused..frightened..who are these people..why are they doing this?


I see another black pair of hands reach down and pull at my fringed bag..I am back in the struggle..this..this they cannot have..this is my reprieve..my second chance..my choice and my plan. I fight back mightily..kicking and screaming at them to leave me alone..they will not take my purse, they will not! Many pairs of hands are reaching down to hold me in place. I manage to curl one booted foot under myself and dodge many of the blows..it seems now as if the blows are landing more on them then on me. I go limp..there..there in this dirty Buffalo snow is my treasured wallet. My purse is still wrapped tightly around the one wrist and hand..somehow though the wallet..my treasure is up for grabs.


I hear shouts and whistles of success..”Money, look, check it out man she has coin. I lunge forward on the snow..after all I am on the ground and closer to it..hands yank and drag me back. I am crying now..only now..now that my hope is out of sight and in someone else’s hands do I allow defeat to show. The tears are in anger too. I go limp again I don’t care any more..why should I fight back..I am stuck here now. I feel myself being pulled to my feet and the black kids are running away laughing..pointing at me..slapping each other on the back and high fivin.. not unlike a team after a well earned game point. I catch the face of the kid who I saw kick my money away from my hand as I reached to grab it back. I file that face away..I resolve to get my salvation back. Red & blue lights are coloring the yucky slush a surreal shade of pinks and soft blues.


”Are you all right..what’s your name. where did they hurt you?” “Miss..hey kid,” comes the voice of the man who shouted at them to break it up. Through wet eyes I finally see whose hands pulled me up and out the middle of what I will come to label as “My own eye in a human hurricane.” He reminds me of my father..his eyes show concern and kindness. Somehow they get me home..I am not hurt..not physically..as I limp up the slippery steps..I realize I have only one tanned ‘bad’ boot on. For the first time I begin to fully understand the meaning of this word I've often heard, ‘Pride.’


I understand it well..because that day..my battle scars were not visible to the naked eye..no, not to the naked eye. That day marked the beginning of my life where I could be hurt by another human being outside of my family unit..they could no longer protect me..no..nope not from this kinda stuff..not any more.

Gods of Old & Angels on High

One of the toughest things for me is filling the time..there’s just so damn much of it when one isn’t high. Not saying that’s a bad thing..on the contrary..it’s the point I suppose..to be here in the now..alive and well..finger on the pulse of ones exsistence.

After-all..we'll never be in 'the moment' again..yes this moment right here..you and me connecting as we are..it will not be again. It's why the Gods of old & Angels on high envied/envy us mortals so. It's why if we get it right..we shall not only inherit the earth..but Kingdom come too.

Still it's one hard act to get through isn't it.

If we live life according to the norms put forth by society..politics and religion..are we truly living our lives as they were meant to be? I for one don't believe we are..there are many who would say we've been programmed from, well, almost birth and certainly from the time we began to understand anything. I find so many of us are afraid to step out of the ideological box..afraid to dare ourselves to look a little deeper..step a little livelier...be a little odder..love a little stronger. Even if that deeper look gets us stuck in a whole lot of shit..is it not better than the facade we play when we march to someone else's expectation of us?

How much frigging time do we waste doing that..and won't we at some point have to come to terms with it all...or risk devolving for Lord knows how long..or worse..eating crow for how long. I think we will..at some point or another have to 'get real' you and me. And I'm so bold as to add 'others' to the equation because I don't believe I've ever met anyone whose had it so together they stood to inherit Kingdom come.

Have you?

Just a few of the questions I ponder on this day. Perhaps it's the economical crisis along with the disordered state of society as it is in 2009 that has me looking back on my life for clues, experiences and some semblance of understanding that I can draw on to muddle through these times. I mean if the superpowers of the world aren't there for citizens in their deepest hour..then hadn't we better take a cue from this experience and make sure as hell we are; there for ourselves and one another. Simply put, government is not even close to meeting the exigencies of its people anymore. It's become an RSVP only party and it's looking like we, the public, don't even warrant bleacher seat admission tickets.

It's really not funny..it would seem if you're not in the upper tax brackets..friends..relatives or loved ones of the self-elected important egos of society..you can just as soon drown where you sleep because no one is throwing you a lifeline or even noticing you've gone under.

Oh wait...that already happened (Katrina).

Something to think on anyway..and act on once figured out. Yea, like that's going to be a cake walk.

As for my addiction..I've been dabbling of late but not doing as much heroin as I did throughout the fall/winter months. The result..I'm often times moody..restless, without energy and one sulky bitch who even I cannot stand to be around..even with methadone coursing through my veins. Some of my more distasteful characteristics raise their demanding heads when I'm going through the motions of detoxing. I mean let's face it I seem to be a much nicer person when I'm high. But only for a little while..you see I've not spent much time being Mary not on a drugs..so who would really know what I'm like off of them..even I don't.

It's really a dilemma, being confused as to who you are inside..because of my headstrong nature and perhaps age..I now find it impossible to go into any type of rehab (later to change). A warning to all those in the..as yet early stages of their addictions..if it's what you want..get help while you can. It's either dealing with the good intentions of others while you're still able to listen..absorb and heal or concede you're probably going to be an addict for the rest of your life. The getting help suggestion may not seem like it melds with my prior thoughts on answering your own call..but there's a whole heap of difference between accepting and following..a big one. Help is help..take it..get it..do it..then live your life well. As you always dreamed you could.

It is possible you know..and so too..say the Gods.

~ ~ ~ ~

Do You Know Who You're Voting For

As governor of Alaska, Sarah Palin has championed aerial gunning of wolves and bears.

Using powerful images of this needless and brutal practice -- and the indisputable facts about Palin's promotion of it -- Defenders of Wildlife Fund's created a hard-hitting new television ad to educate voters about what Governor Sarah Palin really stands for.

"Sarah Palin signed off on the "propaganda campaign to justify the state's barbaric wolf slaughter from the skies."

Article & Source:

http://dwb.adn.com/front/story/9253882p-9168881c.html


Investigation to begin into whether Governor Sarah Palin abused her power in firing Public Safety Commissioner Walt Monegan

Articel & Source:
http://www.ktva.com/ci_10026165


Palin offered a bounty of $150 for each left front leg of freshly killed wolves

Article & Source:
http://dwb.adn.com/news/alaska/wildlife/story/8726730p-8628810c.html

Some truths about Sarah Palin you may not want to know:

http://www.grizzlybay.org/SarahPalinInfoPage.htm

These Boots Were Made For Stealing..I guess.

The year is 1968 we’d just moved to a little suburb outside of Buffalo, New York. I am 12 but look 15..and enrolled in a high school that is 75% black. My new peers seem not to like that my boots are “Bad,” (slang for cool) and my round wired rose colored sunglasses have interchangeable lenses. I am being followed home from school on this my second day..by what seems like ten or eleven black kids. I hurry along the dirty snow covered Tonawanda, New York streets trying to remember the way back home. I do not like it here..I miss Montreal..I miss my friends..I miss the comforting familiarity of people places and things I know..like I know the back of my hand. My only thoughts since arriving are of leaving as quickly as I can..of running away and back to that which comforts this sudden onset of teegage angst.

As a family we have changed addresses and countries like some people change clothes. Dad’s job takes him and us..to many different places..oftentimes more than twice a year. They do not understand this sudden transformation from the child who loved the changes to the now prepubescent need she has to be around that which is easily recognized..identifiable. safe..that which requires as little assimilation as possible. In their hectic, demanding adulthood my parents have long forgotten the ‘teenage’ years. I am fending for myself now.

There is five dollars and change in my fringed suede purse..it is my ‘get away’ money..my runaway money for the trip to Montreal..the trip back home. I smile as I rush..these strangers don’t know that soon I will be gone..back to safe ground and friends..back to happiness. I look up from the ground to get my bearings..ah I think I see the new street I live on..good.

Whack..I am laying flat on my back on dirty slushy snow..there are what seem like ten’s and twenties of black faces peering down at me in anger..mouths all moving..words I don’t completely understand or have ever heard before..I look frantically around..what is going on?

“Give us your boots honky bitch..take them off her..you..you there, get her coat.” I am standing outside of myself watching as one hard earned twenty-five dollar tan boot is being tugged and yanked off my cold unobliging foot..an arm is half way out of the beloved black wool Maxi coat I am wearing..some buttons are laying in the snow..I must pick them up. I am confused..frightened..who are these people..why are they doing this?

I see another black pair of hands reach down and pull at my fringed bag..I am back in the struggle now..this..this they cannot have..this is my reprieve..my second chance..my choice and my plan. I fight back mightily..kicking and screaming at them to leave me alone..they will not take my purse, they will not! Countless pairs of hands are reaching down to hold me in place. I manage to curl one booted foot under myself dodging many of the blows..it seems now as if the hits are landing more on them then on me. I go limp..for there..there in this dirty Buffalo snow is my treasured wallet. My purse is still wrapped tightly around the one wrist and hand..somehow though the wallet that holds the getaway cash..my treasure..is up for grabs.

I hear shouts and whistles of success..”Money, look, check it out man she has coin.” I lunge forward on the snow..after-all I am on the ground and closer to it..hands yank and drag me back. They have my money. I am crying now..only now..now that my hope is out of sight and in someone else’s hands do I allow defeat to show. The stinging salty tears are in anger, as I taste them on my lips I go limp again, I don’t care anymore..why should I fight back..I am stuck here now. I feel myself being pulled to my feet and the black kids are running away all helter-skelter like..laughing as they go..pointing back at me..slapping each other on the back and high fiving, not unlike a Basketball team after a well earned game point. I catch the face of the kid who I saw kick my money away from my hand as I reached to grab it back. I file that face away..I resolve to get my salvation back. Red & blue lights are coloring the yucky slush surreal shades of pinks and soft blues.

”Are you alright..what’s your name. where did they hurt you?” “Miss..hey kid,” comes the voice of the man who’d shouted at them to break it up. Through wet eyes I finally see whose hands pulled me up and out the middle of what I will come to remember as “My own eye in a human hurricane.” He reminds me of my father this savior of mine, this modern day Sir Galahad..his eyes show concern and kindness. Somehow they get me home..I am not hurt..not physically..as I hobble up the slippery stairs..I remember I have only one tanned ‘bad’ boot on. I begin to understand for the first time the meaning of this word I’ve heard, ‘Pride.’

My lessons learned, I understood it well..because that day..my battle scars were not visible..no, not in that naked city and certainly not to the naked eye. That day marked the starting point in my life where I could be hurt by other human beings..I was outside of family now..they could no longer protect me..not anymore.

It also marked my real first taste of the merciless, callous actions people could be capable of..and the good ones.

And some of that realization can..hurt all over.

Cats Mourn too - Griefs Spectrum

It had been 4 days since her son had passed, and as many that she had not eaten. During their whole time together there had been only one day of seperation. It was humbling to witness the result of her broken heart, she lay on her side, legs extended, breathing barely noticeable, empty eyes fixed on nothing. No reaction when I called out to her, what was she thinking, where was her mind. Knee deep in her precious memories no doubt, soaking in days gone by, the only place where she could still be with her beloved boy. I brought his smell to her in hopes it would trigger something, anything, and though I did see her nose move the tiniest bit her eyelids only closed in pain and I drew it away. Her emotional suffering in its hugeness the only life sign she gave us, had now manifested to her physical.

'Inconsolable' came the message loud and clear.

"Other than a slightly elevated Thyroid Gland, we've found nothing in her bloodtests or x-rays to indicate a physical reason for her current state," said the Veterinarian. "No, no I didn't think you would" I replied, "She's in mourning, I know that's what it is." She looked skeptical mentioning more tests were needed and would I authorize them.

It was day 9 and still she would not eat, the IV's were keeping her alive, but how much longer before her will to live disappeared forever? Every day I arrived to spend with her seemed worse than the day before, no amount of coaxing, no words, not music, nor the softest of touch, or the sunshine I made sure would pour down on her body as it made its way across her cage, none of it gave me the slightest reason to believe, she wanted help or needed it. Was she lost to us forever, what about we who still loved and needed her?

She was drenched in hoplessness and it was scaring all who witnessed it.

We humans and our ego's seem to think we corner the market on everything..certainly on all things emotional since it's what defines and seperates us from most if not all other species (or so we think). So when we are privy to another kind suffering it comes as almost a shock and surprise.

The mother whose grief surpassed expectation is a 14 year old Tortoise Shell cat. Her name is ZuZu and she lost her son Woody of 12 years 3 weeks ago. We are not positive but we suspect the recent Pet Food recall and food tainting had something to do with his death as it seemed to come out of nowhere. Of course until more truth comes out, if it ever does that is..we may remain in the dark.

ZuZu did decide to come back to us, on the 10th day I took her home for a trial run to see if being there might stimualte her. Nothing at the vet's was working, she belongs to a friend of mine who could not pill her or force feed her so I agreed to help. On her second to last day at the vet's I took her out of the cage and laid her on the floor coaxing her to move. She tried to stand, but couldn't for very long, she was that weak. Still she did try.

We didn't force feed her for 24 hours thinking it might stimulate her natural hunger but it didn't. So I force fed her for another 2 days, although 'force' is over stating it as she just lay there and allowed me to do it. She was moving around on her own but very slowly..no jumping up on the couch or any such thing, she was still way too weak. At the end of day 3 I got a call from David telling me she'd just started to groom herself..a first since this whole thing started. As we were celebrating over the phone she moved on to her hard food bowl and ate only a few pieces on her own for the first time. It's been a slow but successful and very happy recovery.

She taught me alot that little cat did, I'd heard animals grieved and being a huge animal lover myself, always believed they would, and why not. However the extent to which she did threw me. Though I was but an onlooker she showed me life is a choice, every day we choose to live it, she taught me the depth of love touches every living thing, just because we might not share the same genes does not mean they are less than we are, on the contrary, sometimes I think they see and hear things we have no clue exists. She showed me that she was capable of loving past her own pain and grief, unselfish, she choose to stay with David and continues to love him unconditionally.

They are angels on earth animals are.

In hindsight I wished I'd taped the whole thing to share or if nothing else to show those who think animals are nothing more than an inconvenience, that they are far more than that.

Far more.



ZuZu with 2 of her 3 litter Kittens, Woody is not in this picture. She was an amazing mother to them all.

In closing I leave you with a favorite quote:

"The animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extension of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren; they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth."
~Henry Beston~The Outermost House, 1928



Woody is the Orange Tabby on the right. Here he is with casper, one of my cats, they were great friends. He is sorely missed.