B Weiser

Ah, Gin, 17 years is a pretty good run. I’ll do my best to hang on to some of the funnies you did (mostly because I am going to cheat and list them here because I am under no delusions that my memory is going to get better as I age). I’m sure your life isn’t unlike most other cats but it’s the one that I was there for.

You had the misfortune of getting hit by a vehicle when young but thanks to that peg-legged, blond haired rogue pup that we all knew as Dusty, you made it through when he drug you up to the house and laid with you in the cold until I found you and rushed you to the vet for a very expensive weekend emergency vet bill.  Thankfully, your good luck extended into the evening because I had no money to pay that vet bill.  So I did what every self-respecting pet owner does:  I went to play poker. I hoped for the best as I channeled ‘I’m playing for the cat fund’ all night and caught an unbelievable run of cards.  Thank you to Mitch, Meltz, Will, Len, Johnny Benz, Mills Lane and anyone else who may have been so foolhardy as to sit down at a table with a guy that clearly had Karma on his side of the deck.

I’ll never forget having to administer laxatives to you and the unique experience of having to literally squeeze the s___ out of you….but that part, I would be OK forgetting.

When you recovered, you paid that pup back for his sentinel behavior by saddling him up and riding on his neck when you were feeling frisky or by trying to wrestle with him….apparently oblivious to the fact that he had 70 pounds on you and routinely killed groundhogs with a flick of his head (what the heck were you thinking?).  Tell him we all say hello when you run into him in Four Legged Afterlife Land.

You had that knack for knowing that the owner of the house where you resided when you were young was not the biggest of cat fans.  You did however, figure out that he was also not fond of mice and other rodents either (especially when they ate his seeds in the greenhouse) so you would line up your evenings worth of bounty at the back step for him to review in the morning before taking them away to dispose of them in whatever manner you did thus garnering “at least you earn your keep” status.

You had such a lust for adventure (or at least that is what I had to assume when we received the phone call from a greenhouse wholesale customer from Maryland stating that he had received you as a parting gift in the back of his truck and that you were quite content with your new residence but he would rather not have another mouth to feed)

You were not exactly at your most warm and fuzzy when anyone intruded into the back porch which you mistakenly had assumed was for your roaming only.  We all bear the scars of your ‘playful’ swipes (playful = full on bear hug of leg or arm with claws and fangs out).  It was obviously poor planning on our part that we placed the laundry facilities in that same area.  Lesson learned.

You made a tremendous leap of faith by pulling up your comfy roots at the farm and moving with me to West Chester and apartment living, where you kept me on my toes by escaping continuously and graciously finding a nearby tree in which to reside until rescued.  You also survived numerous keg-driven frivolity and the occasional roomate who thought it would be a good idea to share their herbaceous goodness with you.

You carried on jumping from life station to life station, town to town, state to state with me, graciously accepting all of the new additions with a smile on your face.  The leg humping demon dog, the floppy eared cat-harasser, that frail Jersey kitten that has since outgrown you by at least two times and abused you on a playful, daily basis, one curly headed toddler who didn’t understand that your aging body was fragile and lastly a tiny baby boy that thankfully you will not have to endure any tail-pulling from.

So I’ll just say thanks.  For all of those memories, and the purring belly naps of our long ago yesteryear, and for a lifetime of faithfully reminding me when the water dish was empty and for making each and every one of your 9 lives a memorable one.

How Doctors Die

(first viewed by me at Josh’s litany-of-good-info site)

and the extrapolation

Doctors Really DO Die Differently

I encourage everyone to read the POLST link and keep it in mind for yourself and you loved ones.

HAPPY WEDNESDAY!!

Ever smoke?

If so, ever had the experience of pinching off the end with your thumb and forefinger to flick out the lit part for extinguishing?

Have you ever seen that emulated in life?

Friends and family of cancer victims have.  Brutal, unfair extinguishing of life that happens quickly and with life still left in the fuel giver.

But have you ever had to be a fly on the wall for the process?  Here’s how that goes for some:

-Cancer victim is identified. Cancer victim fights the first time around. Cancer victim undergoes physiological change, waves of vomiting, weakness, lethargy and a host of other unsavory symptoms.  Maybe cancer victim wins…..maybe.

-Cancer victim either lives in fear OR makes the best out of the next 4-5 years of their extended life. Intestinal fortitude in play here….

-Cancer victim has an “Oh [bleep], that isn’t right, moment that sends them to the doctor.  Hoping for the best, not wanting to alarm, knowing damn well they are lying to themselves and everyone else. (But we are conditioned to maintain the lie just the same.  Hope dealers are at times no more savory than the guy that sells heroin in a local high school…)

-Cancer victim undergoes a barrage of excellent treatments that make one feel nauseus, tired, weak, loopy and experimental. (Hope dealers and their cheerleaders [pharmaceutical companies] have their claws in at this point)

-Cancer victims quantity of life is increased…maybe. Quality can only be judged by the eye of the beholder or pursuer of sed life.

-Cancer victim gets “the news”.

-Cancer victim: “What the hell am I going to do with X amount of time?”

(Here’s where it gets to the point where you have to close your eyes and imagine yourself in the shoes of the cancer victim. X amount of time is short. Really [bleeping] short. Imagine less-than-a-month short)

And this is the conversation that happens:

“I’m okay to die, but it is surreal that I am here having this conversation and a few weeks from now…………..”

“I want to know what is going to happen to me.” So they ask a medical professional. “Get Roxanol, get a fan, forgo the O2, don’t be a hero, take the drugs, say what you want to say to people now.  NOW.  Today.  Right [BLEEPING] now.”

*poof*

Life extinguished.

Dying with grace is an acquired skill…….

If you are going to write something that people to see, spelling is important.  Grammar is probably just as important but tends to self-regulate a little better.  Work on that.

Christmas is a lot of things for many people.  For some a celebration of faith.  For some a celebration of family.  For others, it is a unique gift giving bonanza that has nothing to do with the value of the gift but better yet, the analysis of how well your gift giver knows you, the receiver.

Case in point.  As you may or may not know, I have a few specific interests that provide a wealth of excellent gift opportunities (backpacking, food, sports, etc).  However, I am also a mercenary of thrift shopping so if I find what I want at a price that is exceptionally soft, I will typically spare the rest of you the agony of paying full retail and I will just buy it for myself (Like how I just took the one thing that is really aggravating about me and made it a personal act of heroism for your benefit?   SO what does one purchase for the guy who may go out and purchase your home run of an idea for himself?  How about some of these:

Sleeve of Madagascarian (sp?) spices

 Or perhaps a few of these:

Schnapps (not the sugary kind)

 Or perhaps you go completely off the grid and go for something like this:  Everlast Heavy Bag Gloves

Nothing says Christmas like a small satchel of spices from Madagascar, Bitter Herb Schnapps from Sweden and some good old-fashioned whuppin’ mitts. 

Odds are, that 99% of you who might read this probably could not care less for any of these items but I LOVE them!  They are fascinating, challenging, aromatic and story-telling all at the same time.  And it shows that my loved ones have the pulse of who I am and what I would like…and that goes beyond just these few extreme examples.  For instance, I know I can expect coffee for Christmas.  The lack of surprise does not detract from it at all because it is always something that is nicer or more flavorful than anything I would get for myself (and shoving your face in a bag of pent-up coffee aroma is never a bad way to start your day either…see?  you just imagined it, didn’t you?  Invigorating).

Hooray, Brad!  Your friends/family/co-workers know you so well!  You are to be commended!!  (Now….what is your point, you self-absorbed literary midget?)

My point?  My point is that I am not as good at this excercise as the rest of you and I wonder why?  I typically form narratives in my head about the people for whom I will be getting a gift and and I puchase/knit/can/dehydrate the item or items that fit the narrative.  Ask my wife sometime about my marriage proposal.  In my head, it was a sweeping adventure leading to a fantastic tipping point.  In reality, with out all the imaginative cues and my personal vision (which can be difficult to create with the spoken word) it didn’t translate as dramatically to her (I still think it was awesome).  Am I too caught up in imagination to translate to reality?  That doesn’t sound like me.  Too out of touch with gift giving to be good at it?  Too focused on the rush of the season?  Maybe and maybe….maybe not.  Going to have to look into it. 

Hello newly discovered New Years Resolution!

Ah, emotions. Depending on your viewpoint they can single handedly catapult you into a euphoric, smiling stupor or pull you into an insurmountable abyss or perhaps unearth long suppressed agonies that are best left in their soulful grave. Sometimes they just shake you from your coma and you come out in a field of Alaskan paintbrush flowers as you inhale deeply and gaze upon the captivating landscape and feel renewed. Whichever way you view it, it is unlikely that you go through your entire life in a hummed monotone and when you vary from that centering pitch emotionally, odds are there are long lasting implications.

The trick is whether you want this variance to be seen as creating scars that will be eternal reminders of the roller coaster or as healing salve that that steels your resolve and gives you a whole new foundation of perspective.  I think we all come pre-programmed with the ability to channel our life experiences in a constructive way BUT it comes password protected.  We have to unlock it in order to be able to use it.  How the heck do we do that?  Constant trial and error over a series of life experiences?  Is there an instruction manual?  Medically prescribed flat-lining?  Refusal to adapt? There is no set answer.  It’s part of the challenge of being human.  YOU have to figure it out.  No one can tell you.  They can tell you their experience and it may help guide you to the answer but ultimately the answer has to be yours and you have to own it and be responsible for the collateral implications.  They are rhetorical questions (or at least questions that are maybe best left to be answered in our own head or with those whom we are very trusting of):  How do we cope with the down?  How do we embrace the up?  How do we temper both so that the regression to the mean isn’t so precipitous that it requires a trip to a decompression chamber?….