lavenderose

I thought that I might dream today...

Sunday, October 31, 2004

El-Cheapo Digital Camera

It isn't big, it isn't fancy, and it's hard to focus. But it only cost 20 bucks. The Vivitar Vivicam 3350 is about 2 inches by three, doesn't have a flash, doesn't make a noise when it takes a picture (Did I get it? Did it take it? I don't know, I can't tell!), and the advertised LCD display (about 2 millimeters by five) displays digital numbers, not images. So far, I've noticed that the view through the image finder (even smaller than the other aparrati--about 2 millimeters by three) has a distorted sort of fishbowl effect, which makes me chop off almost everybody's head.

But I can adjust for this, yes, until the day when I can buy the big-time digital cameras. Until then, el-cheapo is a gift from God. For the price of developing two rolls of film, I have unlimited pictures, a cool enhancement program, and I can finally start doing photo docs. (He he he. Photo docs with no zoom.)

Oh yeah, it makes 17 second movies too, at the amazing rate of six frames per second.







My friend Robin organized (and decorated) the entire fall festival. I sewed my Indian costume. Posted by Hello


Cowboy + Monkey = Best Friends Posted by Hello


Cowpokin' ain't no easy job! Posted by Hello

Friday, October 29, 2004

Freaky Halloween Birds

Can you believe it? Two more birds have found their way into my house. However, this time they were huge blue jays, and they were dead. My door was open when I came home (did the cat open it?) and there was this dead blue jay laying right on the rug in front of the door. I screamed a long shrill: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!", like a woman being murdered. Then, I whimpered "why me?", collected myself, and used the dustpan to scoop up the dirty fowl and carry it very far away where I proceeded to sling it into the woods. I sprayed the rug with disinfectant (birds carry disease, you know, especially dead ones), vacummed, and tried to forget about it. This was hard to do, because each time my mind wandered it was filled with images of that freaky dead bird staring straight at me with its narly, black beak. Shudder.

So then, to just add to the spookiness, the next morning Issac was playing behind the couch, and he started saying "mommy, mommy, help mommy, help," so I went to see what was the matter and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
I screamed. There was another dead blue jay (or possibly the same one; Thanks, Lucky). At this point, I think I actually cried. Dead things are so gross. Eeeew.

I'm being haunted by birds. I feel like the freaking raven is after me, shouting "NEVERMORE..SQUAWK...NEVERMORE!" Alfred Hitchcock's birds might as well swoop from the sky and start pecking at me. It wouldn't be much less terrifying, or at this point, unexpected. Damn birds. Leave me alone!

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Some Maundering...

1) The Hand: My hand is healing nicely. I think three layers of skin have grown back, so now I'm only missing six layers of skin. That's a rate of about one layer per day. Not too shabby. I've also noticed that each day, the raw, red part gets smaller. The wound is healing from the outside in, not the inside out. YOU may have already known this, but I find it fascinating. It hurts to stretch out my hand; I should probably practice doing this, but I'm afraid. Will I lose mobility in my hand, or will the skin grow back completely and then s-t-r-e-t-c-h to accomodate my flexing? Will it hurt less if I stretch my hand out now, or should I wait until it is completely healed? Since it is a small area, I vote for the latter.

2) The Dentist: I went to the dentist today. It required five, yes FIVE shots of novacain and lambicain and other ---cains before I didn't feel the pain. They said I had an "errant nerve." Since I am going to the dentist regularly at a rate of about twice a month these days, I am beginning to feel like I am qualified to be one. I think I know how to do just about all of the procedures by now. Anybody need any dental work done?

3) The Ribbon: Last week was National Gay/Lesbian Pride Week. My church is a welcoming congregation, so we held a service dedicated to the gays and lesbians in our community. A lesbian shared her story, relating her own struggle with her own latent homophobic feelings. She was afraid, even as she was a lesbian, that people would think she was one. She told about an incident in which she was severly beaten, and how her relationships with co-workers are affected when they find out she is gay. She recieved hearty applause for bravely sharing her story.

The choir director passed out rainbow ribbons, which we all pinned on our lapels. We sang a rockin' song called One Breath:

I am a voice
I am a power
Let me be mindful whenever I see
an ugly spark
with a will to be a fire
all it takes to blow it out
is
one breath
from me.

Anyways, after church, I wore my ribbon in honor of the struggles gays and lesbians face, both with themselves and with others. I wanted to increase awareness that homosexuals are people too, and deserve to be met with the same dignity as anyone else. I wanted to show my support for these people.

But it was a weird feeling, wearing it all day in public. I went to my Dad's house. My Dad gave me funny looks, and said, with a supressed sneer, "I suppose thats for Gay/Lesbian Pride week?"

"Yep," I said.

My Dad tried not to giggle. Then Issac pointed at the ribbon and then to my Dad and said "Pop-pop." He did this several times, and this time I tried not to giggle. Don't tell me that kids aren't perceptive--Issac isn't even two yet, and he knows that his Pop-pop has issues with the gay pride ribbon.

I went grocery shopping, and received some curious looks, or rather people trying very hard NOT to look.

I went to Sports Authority, and I dunno, felt kind of awkward. What if these people think I'm gay? Are they going to treat me differently? Are they laughing and snickering behind my back, making fun of me? Are they saying "Look at that lesbo?" It felt like they might be.

I felt very vulnerable.

I recommend YOU try wearing a rainbow ribbon for an entire day, and seeing how it makes YOU feel. Maybe then you will begin to understand some of the marginalization that homosexuals face in the world today.

Even if you are a conservative Christian, who thinks that homosexuality is wrong, that homosexuals are just "confused," (some might be) and can be "saved" (maybe some can, ie. those who are bi-sexual or just too afraid to be who they really are), if you think that homosexuals don't deserve a gay pride week, if you wonder "what has America come to, publically endorsing and encouraging this loathsome sin?", I answer you this:

You have no excuse, you who pass judgement on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass the judgement do the same things. Now we know that God's judgement against those who do such things is based on truth. So when you, a mere man, pass judgement on them and yet you do these same things, do you think you will escape God's judgement?
Romans, 2:1-2:3


Not to suggest that conservative christians are homophobic because they are also homosexual, (this might explain some of it--like how some women bash feminists, because it is so "bad" to be seen as a feminist, or sometimes, even as a woman), but to suggest that all people have enough sins on their own hands, and shouldn't be pointing fingers at everyone else.

Is homosexuality weird? YES. Is it easily understood? NO. All of the controversy and emotion surrounding the issue overwhelms me, terrifies me. It's deviant, it's different, it's a little bit uncomfortable. Do people have a choice in the matter--are they just out of control, over-indulgent sexual beings who lack moral discipline-- or are people born with an incredible urge to make love to the same sex? Just how many people in this world today have homosexual urges?

What if homosexuals are born that way?

In either case, should any person be forced to lead an invisible life?

If only we could analyze the skeletons in YOUR sexual closet, Mr. Morality. In my omniscience, I know you have some pretty disturbing sexual fantasies of your own. Let's cut off your balls and prohibit you from MARRYING ANYONE, EVER. Sounds like a plan. Out with sexual pleasures experienced with a loving and committed partner, in with Puritanism. Turn out the lights and don't bother taking your clothes off.

For Bible quotes on both sides of the issue, check out this website: http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_bibl.htm

Sunday, October 17, 2004

All I Want Is a Well-trained Horse

On Saturday, I wanted to go horseback riding with my neighbor, Sally, who just moved in a few months ago. She and her family have built a gigantic addition onto the small barn that was on the property, and they now host a beautiful six-stall stable. They have two well-behaved horses, Maggie and Cinnamon. My horses, on the other hand, have been turned out to pasture for nearly two years, and in that amount of time they have been ridden less than ten times. To make a long story short, they have reverted to wild, animalistic, insane, unpredictable behavior when faced with a human.

Issac, Sam, and I drove my car out into the pasture (so that we wouldn't have to chase the insolent beasts on foot) and had fun bumping along in the grass. We rolled the windows down and approached the "horse pile," the place under the trees where the 6 horses stand swishing flies all day. A shake of the bucket, and we had six soft noses sticking in the windows. It was like a drive-through petting zoo. Issac was enthralled and we were having a blast. I should have left it at that.

But nooooooooooooooooo. I had to catch one and her back to the barn. I helped to raise her from a foal and thought I knew her well enough, but apparently, I didn't. I let Sam climb up on her back, expecting only the usual pissy head tosses and foot stomps in protest to leaving her friends, maybe a shrill whinney or two, a few antsy circles, some hesitation and pulling on the rope. What Annie chose to do instead was to start running backwards as fast as she could, while rearing in the air. (No warning). She eventually fell over backwards (I was devastated, as I thought she had landed on my 8 yr. old cousin Sam). Luckily, he missed near death by a few inches. After she hopped up, and I saw that Sam was OK (crying, but OK), the scene was over. Annie was calm and resigned, breathing heavily, shaking a little. (Mind you, I was holding Issac the entire time).

I've been around horses my whole life, and I know what to do in such circumstances. You are supposed to move with the horse, give them a little slack (otherwise the horse will obviously win, and you will have a horrible rope burn). But I couldn't keep up with her while holding Issac, and I wasn't willing to let her go and run away at break-neck speed with Sam on her back. So I ended up with a really nasty rope burn on my hand (it could have been worse--a common mistake made by inexperienced horse handlers is holding the rope the wrong way. If you don't hold it right, the rope can get caught around your wrist or fingers when a horse pulls back like this, and you can end up getting dragged to your death). All of the skin (and I mean ALL of it) has been removed from a spot on the top part of my palm and the inside of the top of my middle finger. It's almost all the way down to the muscle (Humans have 11 layers of skin; I estimate that 9 layers were removed). Rope fibers don't "wash" out of a wound, either. They stick into it, and you have to remove them with tweezers. Yeeouch!

Looking back on my life with horses, I am very lucky to be alive; I'm lucky that a fall hasn't left me paralyzed or that an errant hoof hasn't dashed out my brains. I love horses, I think they are beautiful, they smell good, and they are wonderful companions. But I have to admit that I've always been a little afraid of them, and for good reason.

The root of all my horsie problems comes from the fact that they make very difficult pets. They require attention nearly every day, or else they become unruly and potentially dangerous. I have too many memories to count of trying to force a horse to load onto a trailer while it she flailing about with all of her strength, ropes and guy-lines wrapped around her buttocks to pressure her into the small and dark compartment. I remember getting the first two hooves on it, then watching her violently revolt, eyes rolling back wildly into her head. Mom used to order me to hold the end of the line, (which was wrapped around the horse's butt and carried under the trailer, then twisted around the tongue for leverage) and take up the slack when the two people pushing the horse made any progress. I hated it, because it forced me to watch something unbearable. I wanted nothing more than to run and hide when I saw a horse getting so close to crazy. Shame on my family for not training the horses to load, and then forcing them to do it on the day when they needed to be moved!

But the training didn't work so well either. We tried that. Mom fed the yearlings on the trailer every night for a few weeks, each night pushing the bucket of feed farther and farther back into the recesses of the trailer, so that soon, the horses were voluntarily walking all of the way in to eat their dinner. But one night, she moved too fast. She close the butt-chains behind them, and then went to shut the doors. Sonnie was fine, but Annie had a cow. She started freaking out, rearing and bucking and nearly killing herself in her fright. The whole trailer was shaking; I thought it was going to flip over. Mom promptly opened the door to let her out, and Annie slid under the chain before Mom could unfasten it, scraping her back pretty severly.

Annie was orphaned when she was seven weeks old. Her Mom died unexpectedly while at the breeding farm (what she was doing there, I am not sure. She had excellent bloodlines and I think my Mom was trying to beat her biological clock and get one more baby out of her before it was too late). So Annie has psychological problems. We had to feed her formula and we even milked another mare (which was not fun--the mare really didn't like that). Mom made me hold the twitch around the mare's nose while she milked her, because the mare would try to kick and bite whoever was doing the milking. What's got to be done has got to be done, Melissa. Now just DO it. Farm mentality is tough, and never really very fun.

How about the numerous times that I was bucked off, sent flying into the sun? How many times have horse's hooves danced close to my aching head, as I lay in the grass, breathless? The galloping, out-of-control, bit-in-the-mouth, hang-on-for-dear-life run-away breaks across the long fields, the horse jumping over wide creeks and thick logs? I was usually able to stay on until the horse abrubtly stopped at the fence, at which point I would end up thrown over the horse's neck into a fence-post.

Catching the horses was an entirely different sort of adventure. At times, the horses were kept in a 350 acre pasture with a herd of cows, and at others, they were in our own ten acre pasture next to the house. Whether in 350 acres or just ten, it's hard to catch a horse that doesn't want to be caught. When in the big field, we had to worry about making the cows angry, especially in the Spring when they were calving. It's been more than once or twice that I've had to quickly climb a tree or jump into an empty silo to escape the angry wrath of a mother cow!

In the small pasture, the horses would mob you for feed, circling around you and snorting hungrily and greedily, and then proceeding to fight with each other. This is really only a problem when you are caught in the middle, with hooves flying all around you as noses nudge you to and fro. If you try to run, they chase after you. When I was little, and more easily panicked, I would get so frustrated and scared that I would eventually just throw the bucket on the ground and run.

Once the horse is caught, the rider faces many more problems before even getting the saddle on. Like the horse that won't tie--it's absolutely terrifying to tie a 1,200 lb animal to a tree, and then watch him freak out and try to break his own neck in his attempt to get free. It's even more terrifying to run in toward the flailing animal and release the slip-knot.

Once, Annie and Sonnie were tied to the boards of a stall. Hannah was visiting us for the weekend, she was about 6 years old then. She was sitting on the top rail, and the horses were being saddled and groomed. Everything was peaceful. Hannah thought it would be nice to feed them, so she was giving them handfuls of grain. The horses started to fight about who was getting the most, and Annie kicked Sonnie. Sonnie got indignant and started pulling back on his rope, trying to get away from Annie. Then Annie thought some imminent danger was near, and SHE began pulling back on the rope too. The end result was that the board broke off from the post, Hannah fell on the ground in the midst of frightened hooves and had her hand pinched, Sonnie's rope (he was near the end of the board) came loose, and Annie was running across the yard, her lead attached to the board, the board knocking between her flailing legs. She ended up running out of our yard, down our long driveway, and out onto the highway. We had to chase her several miles, the whole time afraid that she was going to break her neck or cause a horrible, bloody car accident. Of course, I had to be involved in the "chase." I was terrified! When we got her, her legs were bruised from the board. We spent the next few weeks soaking them in epsom salts.

I am afraid of horses. They are gigantic, magestic, graceful, beautiful animals, and they are also very strong and powerful, and at times unpredictable. Please make sure that you ALWAYS ride with a helmet (as I did NOT). I will continue to have a healthy respect for equines, maybe I will continue to be a little afraid. Oh, that I could go back in time and erase those painful memories, that I could have ridden only well-trained horses!


Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Bird

1) A bird is in my house--it's a little finchey looking thing. It gave me a terrific scare when I was contemplating the feces found on my dining table ("hmmm.... what is this? Disgusting. It looks very much like bird poop," I said to myself. "But it can't be bird poop. It must belong to a sneaky, indolent mouse. The nerve! What type of mouse poops right on the table, as if he's not afraid of humans! Ewww! He's just asking for it, I'll show him!"). Just then, the bird swooped over my head and crashed into the window. He made a terrible racket as he scuttled two and fro in a desperate, wild-eyed, terrified search for freedom. I watched him flit around my house for a while, and then, finally, I put a piece of bread in one of the baskets hanging from the ceiling, set out some water, and chased him into the laundry room where he ricocheted between the washing machine and the wall about fifty times before stunning himself into a stupor. Then, since it was dark, I turned on the porch light and opened the door. Maybe he'll head toward the light. If not, the cat, who snuck in through the open door, will soon take care of business. I don't know. I've done all I can do.

A few months ago, some similar birds visited my house. There was a nice spring breeze outside, and I left the front door open for a while. I remember watching them fly in, a pair of them. They may have been looking for nesting materials. I thought it was cute, but eventually decided that they needed to leave (afterall, they would only perish in my living room--not the best type of guests) so I tried to shoo them out. I succeeded in exhausting one of them, who darted into the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink and got bogged down by the misfortune of landing in a bowl full of sticky oatmeal. I was able to cup my hands around her and carry her outside. I even managed to wipe off some of the oatmeal. Her mate however, was not so easy. He hid under furniture until I gave up. I left the door open a lot that week, hoping he would get the point. The she-bird waited outside on my porch rail all day, looking, in my opinion, rather despondent.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Thirty Years Later

I deal in drafts and draughts,
I like anyone with a military history
(those must have been the best days of my life,
I haven’t stopped

saying so). My carpenter’s hands are cracked and
dry. I have arthritis in my elbow and a yellow liver
that nobody sees. I never look in my bank account,
there’s money enough to last through the week.

I drive a Chevy 1500 with no power-options. It’s got
Cold AC. (It gets damn hot pouring concrete if you’re old like me).
I’ve got a Honda ATV and an imitation Harley D, a Vulcan 750,
An old cuff like me never goes for the real thing.

The vehicles I own take me over terrain I’ll never know,
Like how to beat through the brush and the sedge. Instead, I’ve
Worked below my means, fifty-hour work weeks
In G----------, on roof-tops, in flannels and jeans.

I have a daughter, she’s twenty-four,
and lives on her own with her bastard child. She buys
me watches from Wal-Mart, dark trouser socks, leather
loafers with tassles.

When she was little she was a terrific hassle:
“Daddy, no, you can’t smoke in here” she would say, rolling
down the window, and she never would cut through the field to get to school.
We’d idle in traffic thirty minutes before she’d be delivered.

Now, she arrives at my house each Sunday for dinner. She struggles
With love and men and I hope she does better. Every other week I slip
Her a twenty; it’s not penance, but it eases my mind. She might
Be the only thing in this world that I leave behind.

Issac Has a Problem (but he Won't Admit it)...

I think I need to enter my two-year old son into a 12-step program. I'm worried about him and his aberrant behavior. He, however, is in denial. He walks around the house all day saying "No, no, no, no, no."

He won't admit he has a problem. I ask him "What's wrong?" He says, "No."
I say, "Do you need to talk about this?" He says, "No."
I say, "Is there something you need to tell me?" He says, "No."
"Are you sure?" "No."

Friday, October 08, 2004

Solomons Summer

I knew that you were looking, shy, into the lens.
I didn't feel like a picture, turned away.
Now, your eyes, like mirrors, shout at me,
And I see that they were crying If only...

Those were the newborn days, soft and gold,
Exceedingly vulnerable; they begged us for protection.
The born-again days, the virgin days
Made us afraid to speak
While we ate cake at somebody's birthday.

In this glossy square, we are sitting on a porch swing,
Flinching at our lusty sin. The first sign
That we were growing uncomfortable in our lover-like skin:
I ate too much and you stopped altogether. Then
there was my dedication to looking away.
Committed to keeping the shot candid,
I refused to say we were trying too hard.


We're sitting with our legs drawn to our waists,
Arms clasped in circles around our knees, behind our smiles
Is a hint of something darker. I'm talking to someone's shoulder,
But I'm touching yours with mine. We're holding ourselves

More than each other. If I could make her tilt her head to whisper in your ear, I
would have her say, "relax, I finally see your point."

Hardly Constitutional


The reason I chose this parchment looking background is because I wanted to be able to title all of my posts with that supe- scriptive, curly-swirly, founding-fathers type font to the left, in honor of the upcoming elections and the patriotism I am recently experiencing. But I can't figure it out, so oh well. The day will come when my web-page skills will rock your world. There's a very good chance that in 30 years, at the ripe age of fifty-four, my web-pages will kick ass.

PS--Did I tell everyone that I met Ralph Nader when he came to UF, and that he signed my book and I shook his hand? He's my hero! Yeah Ralph! Check out his website. I actually like everything I've ever heard about the guy, and I think he's the only one with enough guts to do what really needs to be done for the good old USA. I'd be proud to serve in the military if he was my commander-in-chief. Plus, I always thought he was smart, but in fact, he's really very smart (and funny to boot).

It's sad. In class, 6 out of the 7 random democrats I talked to recently said that they liked him better than Bush and Kerry, but they're too afraid to vote for him, since a vote for Nader is a vote for Bush. If these numbers are reflective of the rest of the country, we have over 40% of the population wanting to vote for Nader, but scared to death to do so.

Nader said in his speech that he would never run on the Democratic ticket. First, they would never take him because he fights monopolies and corporations and refuses soft-money, but also because the Democrats are no longer the progressive party. They've compromised too much, sold out for too long, and now they are just a shell of the vision they once held. They spout rhetoric about being the people's party, but if you look at what they do it's just a milder version of the Republican plan. I'm talking about some real change, here, folks. About standing up for what you really believe in, not standing up for what is not-quiet-so-bad-we-hope. If you ask me, a vote for Kerry is a vote for Bush, because ultimately, they belong to the same people, rich CEO's and big corporations. (Example: NOT A SINGLE DEMOCRAT IN THE SENATE VOTED AGAINST BUSH'S NOMINEES FOR SUPREME COURT JUSTICES. NOT EVEN KERRY).

After I campaign for Kerry this year, I vow to devote my life to Nader's campaign. I heard someone say something sad yesterday--that Nader is like a sad boxer who is past his prime. Blasphemy! I'll rally in his corner until he's 103!

No hate mail please.

(I've gotten in enough political scuffs this week to last me another four years).