HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!

 

(So sorry, Vinny-Guinea, left your pic out - EEK!)

~*~

Dear Friends, Happy New Year to each and
every one of you! We know that some of you
are facing the toughest challenges of your lives
at this time and we are praying for you.

For some reason, BLOGGER does not work.
So here's an update on The Kidz since a few of
you have lovingly asked how we're doing, should
I tell the truth? I will.

While in hospital the Pigz became so ill we
thought we would lose them all, but today
they are happily running about the floor,
enjoying life, and only Peter-Peanut remains
ill with heart disease for which he is on much
medication but no longer has to be wrapped up
in a "Guinea Burrito" since his meds TASTE so darn
good POI just squirts 'em right into his mouth
through his habitat hoping for "rapid extraction" (trying to 
retract it) before The PeaNUT chomps down, 
actually snatching the thin, plastic syringe - wanting to eat it!
Today Peter-Peanut feels healthy again, and happy, 
what a fat, funny, fine boy-pig he is!
I took photos (that i can't figure out how to post, sorry)
 of The "Guinea Burritos" (maybe we don't want to remember
those dark days?) but wish we could show you 
Squirrel's Red Castle, wherein he hoards
so many toys and mini-hay bales and what-nots
we can't figure out how he sleeps in it, particularly
since he daily knocks it askew at the funniest
angle before lying down on "his treasures" for
naps…he and all the piggies individually 
redecorate their habitat areas so hysterically 
funny I really hoped to share pics but my 'puter
needs to get in the shop first, so just imagine 
 pigs every morning setting out to undo their
organized, clean homes into completely JOYOUS
CHAOS!!! They keep me laughing.

The truth? The post following this one is my 
favorite song, our anthem, Beyonce singing
 at a very special event hosted by the United Nations, 
"I Was Here,"
because I've gotten sicker and being  
"shut-in" - so not me - makes me wonder…do i matter?
Yes, I am struggling to find
hope and meaning in a life i no longer understand.

We hope to move into a "real apartment" in a 
nice, residential, quiet, safe, tree-filled
neighborhood in about 6 weeks and my friend
already there says it'll really boost our spirits!
 My immune system broke and the doctors aren't sure 
yet how to treat four refractory infections and a
minor surgery scheduled, I am down to 107 lbs.
and losing about a pound a day, in a lot of pain,
then start counting our blessings and none of
it matters! Many of YOU have a son, brother, wife,
friend you may lose and are yourselves dealing with hardships,
 so I can't complain just wanted to be honest:
As strength wanes, how can Life Be Meaningful?
How to make a difference?
I felt Beyonce's performance at the United Nations
answered this yearning for Purpose: It's the Little Things.
Do a Little Thing. It isn't Little to the creature,
friend, or stranger who receives it.
Leave footprints in the sand.
Please try to enjoy it full screen, it's simply remarkable.
(P.S. Rashmi in India, you knew this was our anthem
and we love you for it! But, how - of all the songs in
the Universe - you knew ours was THIS ONE?!
YOU AMAZE.)
~*~
Chai's kitty gal-pal, Sami, now sleeps where he
used to with the piggies and cries 
every day for him, her grief continuing -
but the piggies cheer her up! Especially
watching Squirrel's hilarious daily obsessive-compulsive "EVERYTHING MUST BE EXACTLY PERFECT IN MY CAGE BUT NOT HOW MOM PUT IT, IT HAS TO BE ASKEW AND ODD, AND MY WAY, THE BEST WAY, SQUIRREL'S WAY!"AND BE NEAT (his version of it) every day as he rearranges everything entirely with his top-notchy-snout
and fluffy soft Squirrel-rump!

We are Here. Blogger Broke. So, it may be awhile before we can post again. Hope we're back better than ever real soon. Meanwhile, If a guinea pig smiles being skritchy-scratched in just the right spot, scampers about on a Happy Runabout, or eagerly snatches the soft round cardboard from an old roll of toilet paper before (How'd ya guess Squirrel?) pounding it up and down with all his might in a Guinea-Frenzy of JOY, then We Were Here. 
(And we need a new roll of toilet paper. See, don't get out much!)

 What I love about Beyonce's
song in the presentation you are about to
enjoy on the next post is that we can find ways
to matter, and we can make a difference, and
our lives will mean something, no matter how
large or small, if we Give, if we Hope,
if we Smile, if we can make someone laugh;
if a guinea pig who never knew love enjoys tons of
love now, and even comforts a grieving kitty 
who just lost her best friend,
We Were Here.

Don't know when we'll be back.

Soooo…..

To each and every one of you who cares about
all of us and have given so much of yourselves,
 we will keep fighting the good fight!

In BEAST MODE:
Thanks, Marshawn Lynch, you
inspire us.
Go Seahawks!

I Was Here (United Nations World Humanitarian Day Perform...

The Byrds - Turn! Turn! Turn! In Memory of Chai

To Chai…
Our Beloved Bengal: There was a Season…And a time to every purpose Under Heaven…"

"A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing…"

Today, we let you Go Home.

And the guinea pigs…coming home from the hospital three of four were terminally ill: Peter-Peanut had pneumonia, bronchitis, droopy, red eyes, and congestive heart failure. Poppity-Squirrel had pneumonia and his lymph nodes so swollen the vet thinks he has lymphoma. Bhindi had pneumonia and droopy eyes. Only Vinny was well…but pneumonia so contagious we feared losing them all. An extraordinary "exotics" vet (who was so sure we would lose Peter-Peanut she asked if we wanted to "put him down" - mortifying me!)…we have been treating them with lots of medication, diligently administering it by wrapping them up in a 
"Guinea Burrito" towel which I don't have a photo of. They get fresh wheat grass, take their meds, and are not out of the woods yet but they have become "Poppity" again and the vet was astonished how well Peter was doing - his coat all glossy - when she saw him Saturday!

"A time to be born and a time to die."

It feels like a slice of me just calved off like the glaciers are doing in the warmer waters of the Polar Ice caps, never to cleave to me again…all I knew was of no value. Only Love. Only the "uninhibited brain" willing to be vulnerable and reply to those who asked how we were: "We are suffering." We have been grieving.

"A time to tear down and a time to heal,"
This - this, then has been "A time to tear down" and we welcome it as Healing is sure to follow as the dawn is never far from Night's Darkness.

Today we let go of Chai. We do have faith that all the guinea pigs will heal. And so will we. But, that chunk from the Past that calved off in our grief has changed us, recreated the geography of our hearts, and we feel, as one of our favorite mystic poets, Jalaludden Rumi wrote: 
"The wound is the place the Light enters."

So, in the Heart of Darkness, in the agony of our broken hearted wound, we await Light.

Chai…you were amazing. Oh God, you were so amazing! 
"A time to be silent and a time to speak…" 
Now, Boyo, we shall fall silent and speak no more.
                                 
                                             ~*~

{Special thanks to "our family" at the Phinney Ridge Animal Hospital for holding us so tenderly while Chai slipped away.}

A MOD REMEMBERS: We Will Remember You Barbaro - A Tribute (+playlist)

O.K. FAIR WARNING - This is a true story, a real heartbreaker... and an
inspiration. Keep tissues handy if you watch.

THE OTHER DAY I opened my mailbox and discovered a cream colored
envelope from The Dean and Faculty of the University of Pennsylvania
School of Veterinary Medicine. Baffled, I wheeled back up in Black Beauty,
set myself in the big, blue stuffed chair overlooking Elliott Bay and the
Olympic Mountains, and just stared at it. Who do I know there? Did someone
make a mistake sending this to me? So, I stared at it because the envelope was
so beautiful.

Then I opened it.

Inside was a card with deep blue edges, a prominent seal on top, and the following
message:

"The Dean and Faculty

of the

University of Pennsylvania

School of Veterinary Medicine

wish to inform you that

a generous gift has been made to the

 

Bararo Fund

in your honor by

 

(a MOD we all know and love)

New Bolton Center
~*~
 

I just wept. (Yes, I have turned into a big crybaby.)

 

I couldn't believe my eyes.

 

I couldn't believe my eyes when Barbaro fell...

the horse with the Mightiest Heart!

 

We all wept then. We weep now; remembering

just as we do and did with each owlet

who passed away...

 

A MOD made a generous gift to the Barbaro Fund

in my honor.

 

Yes, I was one of those little girls but not the kind who wanted a pony,

I wanted a racehorse! I voraciously consumed every single horse
book written that I could find as as child;
took riding lessons & competed in a horse show or two...

BUT what I really, really wanted, as Yahoo Rose knows,
was to sit atop my very own racehorse and run proud, run free:
GALLOP!...FLY!
 

Barbaro Flew.

 

And then he didn't.

 

And a little bit of a nation died with him.

 

And no one will ever forget.

 

So, I wept. But not because of Barbaro, exactly,

I wept because of the Large-Heartedness of such a Gift!
And how many will benefit from it.
and...

Because, having told no one, I fell, too.
So, this was  personal. As every one of
you feel personal.
And so exactly, perfectly touching my Heart,
the way Squirrel does from his portrait on the wall,
the way every eCard, email, phone message, get well card,
every prayer, and every star wrap me up and tell me
to keep on fighting, that I am not alone even though
...it just feels that way a lot.
Because I am afraid to share.

Whether it's temporary and treatable

or degenerative remains to be seen, but I've begun
experiencing temporary partial to full paralysis events.
Not just falling.

It's new. There's not a top sheet on my bed because when

I woke up paralyzed at 1 a.m. just to get up and go to

the bathroom I wasn't wearing my riding gear so POI got

me into a gown and the First Responders, who could not

fit a gurney into the bedroom, simply ripped off the top

sheet, wrapped me up in it like a mummy, and off we hurled

back to the hospital. "Flaccid Paralysis" (possible electrical
nerve conduction thingy) and more new, fun stuff.
 "Secret Agent" POI & I have entered

an even more distant Galaxy we never noticed flickering

in the broad expanse of the Night Sky...

 

Barbaro fell with such courage.

You MOD who made this completely unexpected, generous gift -

and every single one of you MODS who have sent cards, prayers,
thoughts of love,

phone calls, emails, ecards, given so generously to the Guinea Pig Sanctuary
that they now enjoy warmth, coziness, fun, soft homes of their own here.
~*~
... all my near and dear ones

in India and stateside...and now Barbaro:

Courage.
Barbaro!

 

Fearlessly this horse galloped with full-hearted
determination to win...

until he couldn't run any more.

 ~*~

Thank you for making a generous donation

to the Barbaro Fund in my honor.

 

Now you have given meaning to this illness for it is

going to help other animals. But you've also raised

the bar for the kind of courage I require.

I can't give up now, for love of a racehorse.

 

Thank you for this donation. And thank you on behalf
of those who cannot but whinny, stamp their feet with glee,
ask for an apple or lump of sugar...
 

Thank you for taking time to think, to reflect, and truly

introspect about what kind of Gift would make me

happy. Every card, every prayer received has come

with so much attention to detail, so much love.

 

There is a saying: "God hears the cry of an ant before

the trumpet of an elephant."

 

 We endure amongst giants: guinea pigs who struggled

to live when - upon entering the Sanctuary dying, had been given up on.
They not only lived, they forgave, survived, thrived,

they loved. And love.

 

Thank you.

 

I always wanted to ride "Black Beauty." Didn't expect her

to be a wheelchair. Perhaps I will have to rename her:

Barbaro!

 

Thank you.

 

FRIENDSHIP

 

 

FRIENDSHIP...

Yesterday was one of those days.
We all have them.  The ones that
make you come home and wonder,
"God, did you NOT GET MY MEMO?"

Because we all have a plan.
And life is supposed to follow that plan.
But it never does, does it?

So, yesterday slayed me.

POI brought me home and we wearily
went to the mailbox and inside was a key,
a package had been sent.

An unexpected package arrived on one of
those days when what you really hope is
inside is a good friend into whose
embrace you can just sob until her
sleeve is soaked with your tears,
the kind of friend who would
never even notice. I needed THAT
KIND OF FRIEND to come out of
the surprise box...because it was
just one of those days.

I placed the package in a special place,
too upset to open it because on those days
when our capacity for joy is in short supply,
I prefer waiting so I can enjoy opening
surprise packages. We slept.

Not really.

The next morning all I wanted to do was
play with the guinea pigs. So we did lots
of treats and snacks, and Squirrel,
God Bless that PIG! He gets happy
over any small thing, just being
skritchy-scratched got him
popcorning ALL OVER HISSELF!
He's such a happy pig that in Bellingham,
I had a large color photograph of him
on the wall because you couldn't look
at it without bursting out laughing,
SQUIRREL and that HAIR OF HIS,
his attitude that Life is for Popcorning
and Being Happy and yet I gave the
photograph away to a dear neighbor,
one with five girl piggies of her own,
because she and her kids had been
so incredibly kind to us...if you remember
a few springs back the photographs of the
little boy with Down Syndrome sitting
in their habitats with watermelon and
pigs on his lap, a beautifully-ribboned
box of cupcakes nearby, piggies just
giving that boy a smile that went on forever,
remember that? So, my favorite and only
framed photograph of Squirrel was our
"Good-Bye" and thank you gift to them.

I opened the box.

READY?

INSIDE...before the wrapping paper,
before the ribbons, before the card,
I knew...
not exactly but enough to start
crying because I knew SOMETHING...

A DEAR FRIEND, the kind of friend
whose embrace you could fall into and
cry your heart out on and she would
never complain how wet you got her
sleeves or shoulder...
HAD COMMISSIONED AN ARTIST
TO CREATE A PORTRAIT OF SQUIRREL
AND IT WAS FROM THE EXACT SAME
PHOTOGRAPH I HAD GIVEN
(and later missed terribly) TO OUR
WONDERFUL NEIGHBORS AND
THEIR FIVE PIGGIES THE NIGHT
BEFORE LEAVING HOME...

My friend, a MOD, an iconic MOD,
one with whom I have never even spoken
to on the phone, actually contacted an
artist and commissioned a portrait of
Squirrel which you see above...
and...it hangs on the wall while
Squirrel and the boys gather
for their next round of snacks,
and I realized...

God did get my memo.

I cried.

Tears of...well, how it feels
to open a box and have your friend
come out and fall into her embrace
and...

This is the portrait of Squirrel she commissioned.

The artist sent a note that she really enjoyed
doing this portrait and the blog...who would've
thought? Guinea pigs. Barn Owls.

Friendship.

Thank you...we are so happy,
we feel so loved,
we don't feel sad anymore,
and we will never feel alone.

Thank you...

(POI doesn't have a computer and often
asks, exasperated: "What are you doing
on that thing? You don't really
know those people...why do you
spend so much time with them?")
This morning when I opened the box,
I said to him: "This is from
one of those people!"

And you know what? I think he finally gets it!

Thank you.
Thank you,
it's so beautiful...how DID YOU KNOW?
(((MODS)))
love you...good tears. Happy tears.
~*~

PIGGIES

 

"If I spent enough time
with the tiniest creature -
even a caterpillar -
I would never have to
prepare a sermon.
So full of God
is every creature."

~ Meister Eckhart

~*~

PRAYER...

 

"He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Dear Near and Dear Ones,
Thank you for loving us,
one and all.



(if this poem is a repeat, i forgot; just really love it and
Vinny-Guinea, left your pic out by accident, oops, Sorry!!!}
~*~

SUSTAINABILITY: A Different Definition...

 

{Drawing during Migraine.}


SUSTAINABILITY always meant a species could not survive if its ecosystem was destroyed, so we needed to create sustainability to enable that threatened species to not only survive, but thrive.

And it was always someone, something else, a prairie, wetland, arctic tundra, and all wildlife who depended upon that ecosystem for survival. That was my life's work. Giving "Voice" to those who could not speak on behalf of themselves.

And the work is more important now than ever, particularly with the exploitation of the Arctic now that climate change is melting the polar ice caps and countries are clamoring for earth's riches: OIL. Who will save the baby belugas?

Today, my new physical therapist arrived for her first assessment.
And "sustainability" applied to me.

I have been asked by all care workers now coming for
"In-Home Assessments" what my goals are:
Simple: to live independently, to walk...
 Is that asking too much?

It may be. The temporary, partial paralysis I have been adapting to in my lower body is spreading to my upper body. My speech is becoming slurred. We now use the floor for a bed whereas we never had to before. We now do not get up whereas before we always did. POI & me, we always got back up.

I always responded to physical therapy whereas now...
I may not. After this morning's assessment. It was different.

This may not be only a G.I. issue, it may also be what so many doctors insisted before pissing me off to the point where I looked directly into their eyes, announcing with authority:
 "This is absolutely not a neurological disease, why on EARTH would you jump ship now before we have ruled out things I DO have symptoms of, like pancreatic cancer? Use common sense, this isn't ROCKET SCIENCE: I fall because I've gotten weak.
I am weak because my body hasn't absorbed nutrition from food for nearly a year. Who wouldn't fall? Not rocket science."
(Inside: "I hate you and want another doctor who will think and say and do exactly what I want to hear: Give me that doctor.")
The one who says I can safely pick up my guinea pigs without fear of falling or dropping one. Because now I am afraid to.
I want that doctor. For the guinea pigs. They need more love.

We will soon have that full G.I. workup. Nearly a year later
than I hoped, but have it we will! Thank you, "Transitions" Team!
I want to GIVE my AmeriCorps volunteer hiker-girl the snowshoes she tried on last week. They aren't allowed to accept gifts...but who else can I bequeath a lifetime of really awesome gear to?

Why isn't she my real daughter? I want a real daughter like her.

This week? Mandatory neuro consult; another 
stupid hoop to jump through.

Until this past weekend...

Falling isn't new. Not getting back up is.
New.

Slurred speech?
New.

Slumping forward from sitting position to "Blackhawk Down!"
New.

Lungs too weak to breathe properly; shallow, labored breath?
New.

Muscles behind the eyes not strong enough to hold them in place to focus, read, draw, see clearly?
Not brand new, exactly;
but new.

The physical therapist after an initial eval which I thought went swimmingly announced that "This is not sustainable, you falling so much. This is not safe. Carry a phone with you at all times."
new.

Which I interpreted as "Oh GOODY! I get to shop online for a pair of hiking trousers with a cell phone pocket, FUN!"
followed by...Or...uh-oh...how long will I be able to continue living here as "whatever is happening" happens faster and faster?

Before we can trick out the apartment with grab bars resembling an indoor climbing gym; shoving XC skis, poles, snowshoes, speedskates, backpacks, tents, hiking boots, and gear into storage?

Except all the grab bars in the world won't work without enough strength to grasp, hold, & pull up.
new.

I called the Housing Authority early last week, just in case, ya know, just in case, and asked: "Hey, now this is totally a hypothetical question, seriously, HYPOTHETICAL, but...how long could I be out of my apartment oh...I dunno, let's just say - what if I had to live for a little while in a convalescent facility or something, H.Y.P.O.T.H.E.T.I.C.A.L.L.Y...HOW long could I do that before I would lose my apartment, how long could I be away before losing my home?
Hypothetically, of course. He told me. I didn't like the answer.
So I made up a different story. Didn't like that answer either.
new.

Need one cup of Zen tea accompanied by deep, calming breaths.

Don't press "PUBLISH" and risk having a panic attack.

Or press "PUBLISH" not knowing how much longer
I will have the luxury of writing. Then later regret
not having had the guts to press "PUBLISH."

Deeeeeeep breath...three, two, one, PRESS!
No panic. Pet guinea pigs. Meditate. Inhale. Exhale.
Good tea.

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

 

This Sunday morning I picked up my mail and
enclosed was a stunning, glossy, inviting catalog
of Adventure Trips to the "Arctic Kingdom"
so I needed to get out of the building.
Since I cannot get out of the building, I went to
the roof. This is the first summer I am happy
to see leave us. Having the windows open to
the unending roar of a big city
was hell. Next spring, if feasible, I am
definitely moving to a flat, quieter place.
Close to nature.

DREAMS...the Arctic...last night I began to
remember how it felt to be a wildlife photographer,
how it felt to wake up in the morning knowing that
if God asked: "Good morning, Chana, today you
can do anything in the whole world that you want!
I will give you your heart's desire, what would you
like today?" The answer? I wanted to be a wildlife
photographer, an outdoor writer, an environmental
educator, an activist...and I was!!!

Outdoor adventure, awesome people, sacred moments
communing with wildlife in Cathedrals carved by God,
tallgrass prairies, marshes, swamps, mountain peaks who
beckon the soul like Towering Sentinels...and wildlife
who...if you learn to be quiet, not move, and just listen,
whisper secrets and reveal Gorgeousness that was too
breathtaking to photograph. My best photographs
never got taken because I could not place a viewfinder
between myself and them in those Holy Moments,
which - if I can learn to scan Kodachrome into digital
images, I hope to share...the most indelible memories
live on in my heart & soul, not Kodachrome.

Did I want to adventure in the Arctic?

It made me need to sit on the roof.

Life has been the most extraordinary Gift bringing
friendships, adventure, solitude, introspection...
Communion.

There is nothing to regret.

The question now is how to accept the "unlived life"
 finding out within the next few weeks whether a
diagnosis and treatment mean it will be lived.

The hospital is going to admit me, thanks to the
Transitions to Hospice Team. And the AmeriCorps
Volunteer who comes to visit...she could be my
daughter...a cowgirl from Montana she is an avid
hiker and we went up to the roof while I showed
her how to strap on snowshoes, what gear she needed,
and how to learn about avalanche danger for
safe, wintering, unforgettable
Adventures in our North Cascades.
For hours we sat on the roof and talked only
of Mountain Adventure and horseback riding.

The day after that was the first day I didn't wake up
at 5:30 a.m. crying. Because Life woke up instead.

Then the brochure arrived about the Arctic.

Beluga whales actually have facial expressions
and if you dunk your head into the water (if you
can stand to) they are curious and will come
up to you and they will smile.

I always wanted to smile at a Beluga Whale.

Who wouldn't?

Squirrel Opens Shop!

 

Please see my expertise on Mom in
the blog post below.
Available by appointment only.
"Have Wheatgrass, Will Travel"

Mom: "No you won't."

Squirrel: "Oops, O.K. Bring wheatgrass here!
if you want to be as gorgeous as mom in the
blogpost below."

Mom: "Oh...no...no...not good, not good...
Stop HERE...read no more...you've been
warned. We assume no liability, none."

help.

 

{Hair Courtesy of "Squirrel's Coiffure"}

Disgusted with me sleeping on his pillow,
Chai gives me a bath, licking me clean.
Cuz, after all, it is his pillow!
The post below (explaining why) was written on 9/11,
after looking out the window to flags flying at half-mast.

My posts are becoming "stream of consciousness"
rambles and not narratives because the experiences
we are living I have no vocabulary for,
save than to just write from the Heart
knowing you all love enough to forgive
the ramblin' life Within.
Thank You & God Bless.
Your prayers are making a difference!
For that what thanks can be offered
than to share, and keep you in my life?

BLACKHAWK DOWN: Confessions of A Dirty Shirt

Hey y'all, it got hot today, yeah, we didn't escape the record-breaking "last gasp of summer" and are roasting in Seattle.

My shirt hasn't been washed in a month. I use it for a napkin. Who has energy to go get one? All the meals I've had are wiped on it. It resembles a Jackson Pollock painting...a volunteer may come Friday to help. I've never been this filthy before, outside of backpacking trips...and even then we could always find high country lakes to splash about in...i really stink but am too weak to shower or bathe and the place hasn't been retrofitted with grab bars and stuff yet. I'm disgusting. Laundry room is way down in the parking garage. For the entire building, three old washers, two dryers, none of them accessible. Guinea pig cages are cleaner. (And always will be, if we have to make a choice with precious little energy.)

There's no photos with this post, just felt like rambling about tiny things...little losses and amusements, the cultural vocabulary POI and I are developing...he's a Veteran of the U.S. Military, so whenever i fall down in the apartment and he hears a 
Ka-LUMP! it's usually followed by a puny: "Blackhawk Down."
(In reference to the 1993, tragedy in Mogadishu, Somalia, in which 2 Blackhawk helicopters were shot down...)  POI and I watch lots of documentaries and military films together because he explains, too often first-person, the nuances and subtleties sacrificed by our Service men and women: those who served and those serving now...his co-worker pitches for the "Wounded Warriors" softball team and is the only amputee on the team who made his own prosthetic leg. They received a standing ovation after playing First Responders of Boston following the Boston Marathon Bombing once children amputees joined them on the field at historic Fenway Park...it was amazing - and he totally had the coolest leg out there! We are so proud of him. 

It's still 9/11, isn't it?  Are we at war in Syria yet? I checked "The Daily Show" from last night, but am afraid of The Nightly News. 

Thing is: this is such a great country! I just have problems knowing that some of the men and women sleeping beneath the roaring Interstate are wounded warriors...do not, have not received the care they deserve and are entitled to...yes, POI reminds me how fortunate I am to have an apartment, but it isn't a home until THEY HAVE HOMES, TOO! Food doesn't taste good when they are hungry two blocks away. It's agonizing, falling through gaping cracks in our severely flawed medical system living in housing not conforming to the "Americans With Disabilities Act" or "Fair Housing" laws but by the Grace of God, at least i HAVE HOUSING AND FOOD!

POI told me to quit calling my doctor "Barbie." He's a very respectful person. He's a better person than I am. 
(Would it be wrong just to say "I have Tourettes Syndrome and don't mean every snarky thing that comes out of my mouth...and, yes, I can tell by the expression on your face I DID SAY THAT OUT LOUD, DIDN'T I?") 

So many have no doctors at all. So many too proud to admit they need help. So many who served and are serving, both here and overseas...our flags at half mast, our country still at war, wounded warriors walk invisibly amongst us, unrecognized for their valor.

POI just walked in so now it's safe to get out of bed and cash in frequent flyer miles for a flight to the bathroom...

Outside flags still fly half-mast and as sad as I feel at 5 a.m. every morning when I wake up realizing "This is NOT A DREAM? For REAL?" I feel sadder for our veterans. POI makes legs for them.
Their stories put my situation into perspective. A very different perspective. 

Every time I fall and eek out "Blackhawk Down," POI wakes up and picks me up or at least gets me comfortable on the floor until we can get me back into bed: How many never get picked up? Have no beds? What happened to LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND?

Our warriors are proud. They served and serve with dignity and courage; they and their families, our families sacrifice lives to preserve freedoms we take for granted.

It's still 9/11: America, "BLACKHAWK DOWN!" Please...
pick us up. 

{Update - since this writing, "Blackhawk Down" events are increasingly becoming "sheltering in place" events. We were taught by the Transitions to Hospice Team how to get cozy with the floor. TRANSITIONS folks are indescribably AMAZING!  Moving from "Blackhawk Down" moments which end up getting lovingly tucked back into bed to "Sheltering-in-Place" events in which the floor becomes the bed are details, such tiny losses, yet - taken together - represent a gradual disintegration of life that comes out easier in tears, cannot be spoken of, requiring so much vulnerability to reveal, explaining why I write, re-write, remove, delete, even replace posts like a real Whack! Because this IS WHACK!
Such intense vulnerability frightens me initially until it becomes part of the warp-and-woof of life and we pay no mind.
But, it's a process. Thank you sincerely, readers all, for your profound forbearance...}