Thursday, March 30, 2006
As the spring refuses to visit us here in Carson City, Nevada. I remember the German spring.
We would see the Germans in their small gardens, turning the beds. As it came closer to the Vernal Equinox, we would see the flowers.
Daffodils--small and large--would decorate the beds. I love what they call them, Osterglocken--easter bells. I wrote this poem about a German spring.
Ode to Spring
easter-bells. Ring in,
gold daffodills, the
violent birth of spring
of blossoming lilacs, hyacinths, wisteria;
of budding oaks, ash, and birch;
of mating sparrows, blue tits, and orioles.
Ring in the life-giving rain.
Published in Bibliophilos 2002.
Monday, March 27, 2006
of the shaky tree
with thorny branch
It catches you
in twig-like nests
and eats your flesh
The cheeping finch
will guide you through
the ever-tangling brush,
And bring you
safely to your home
before the creeping dusk.
© 2006 Cynthia E. Bagley, all rights reserved.
Photo by Greg Gillson, The Bird Guide, Inc., http://thebirdguide.com
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Yes and yes. Collins has done both. I was taken back to Primary where we sang songs that were supposed to make us strong members of the true church. I remembered my parent's admonition to always be a credit to the family. I also remembered the family secrets.
Collin's mystery skills are extremely good as well. Her heroine eventually learns what happens to her childhood friend. Although horrifying, this knowledge frees her from guilt--guilt for not living the Mormon values and guilt for pulling away from her family.
I recommend this book to anyone who likes to read a good mystery. I am impatiently waiting for her next book--Behind Closed Doors.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
Goethe and Schilling wrote their masterpieces here. I know that my writings do not compare to the German poet and the playwright, but maybe, maybe...
Well, it is over, and I have some good memories of walking down cobblestone streets, and working horses, and museums.
I also have memories of English tourists complaining of the sparsity of relics. I soaked in the atmosphere, ignoring their upper-class accents. After all, Goethe walked here. And, I walked here.
I wonder what Goethe and Schilling would have thought if they knew the reverence the Germans have for them. Schilling's plays were irreverent. Goethe was not the remorse man of his book.
I wonder if anyone will remember my sense of humor.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
So that this post is not too long, I started the action of my young heroine after her vision, etc. She is being sent on her mission with weak knees.
"But I'm so young," I said, repeating her words.
"Yes," said the Counselor, "But, you won't receive a council seat." She paused, "We have examined the dreams, omens, and listened to your vision. Evil incarnate is corporeal in this world."
Evil made flesh, I thought, a fist clenched around my heart. But not evil, evil incarnate—the very essence of evil has been made flesh.
"Do the other's know?" I asked.
"No," said the Counselor. "We are deciding what to tell them first."
"What do you want of me?" I asked.
"Child," said the Counselor. "We need your help."
Oor found me packing. "You will need this," he said handing me a small ebony knife. I wrapped it in a cotton cloth and placed it in a bag that hung at my belt.
"You were not planning to leave without me," he stated rather than asked.
I regarded him.
"Ah, you think I'm too old for the journey," he said with a smile. "Well, our horses are waiting outside for us. Am I right in thinking you wanted to leave tonight?"
"How did you know..." my voice trailed off.
"That you were leaving?" he finished my sentence.
"Well, yes." I said.
"Not heard. I was waiting for you outside the Counselor's rooms. I was summoned to speak with her," he said.
"After hearing her instructions, I knew I would find you here, " said Oor.
"Master Oor," I said.
"You don't have to do this."
"And miss all the excitement?" He asked.
Walking into the fading sunlight, we watched the deep rose and gold tones touch the buildings, making them seem mysterious. Mounting our horses, we gazed at the busy community we were leaving behind.
"I will miss the beauty of this moment," I said, a lump forming in my throat.
Nodding, Oor asked. "Which way?"
"North," I said.
An hour later Oor heard the first howl. "The nightstalkers are out," he remarked. "Shira, we need to find a suitable campsite to prepare for visitors." I looked for a cave, brush, any place easily defended but it was too dark to see anything promising. The tall trees and trunks of the forest swayed slightly around us.
"Stop," said Oor. "We may have help."
Looking closely I realized, we were surrounded by bushes.
"Bushes?" I asked.
"They use it as camouflage," said Oor.
"Who are we waiting for?"
"Do you remember the little people?" asked Oor.
"I thought they were a myth," I said.
"No, they're real enough. As residents of the second world, we don't see them much," Oor said.
A being about three feet tall seemed to appear from the bushes. "SPAKRSF," he said.
"SPAKRSF," said Oor.
"Mfad, gofelpms abkfms," said the little being.
"What is he saying?" I asked.
"You must listen with your gift, Shira," said Oor. "This is not a first world language, you can't learn it the ordinary way. If you listen with your heart you will be able to understand."
I tried to calm myself. Really, I wanted to understand what this magical being was saying.
"Ha, ha, ha," said the little one. "She thinks I'm magical. You need to teach her better, old friend."
"Be kind," said Oor. "She's never met a creature as ugly as you before. Remember when you met your first world creature? In fact, I think it was myself. If I recall, you ran."
"Well," said the little one. "You were big and scary."
"Surely, I haven't changed that much." said Oor.
"So, is this a reunion?" I asked.
"She speaks," said the little one.
"This is Stefan Gomez Alvirez Antonio McFarland. Shorty to his friends... His enemies call him Runt," introduced Oor.
"Hey, my name's not Runt," said Shorty.
"Can I call you Shorty?" I asked.
"Do you plan to be a friend?" Shorty asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
A howl echoed from the woods.
Shorty looked nervously around him.
"Can we continue this conversation in a better locale?" asked Oor.
Shorty whistled. Ropes were flung out of the trees, and several of the little people appeared.
"Hurry. Get off your horses," Shorty said. "We need to hide your trail."
We dismounted. Two of the little people led the horses into the woods. Two large baskets appeared.
"Get in," said Shorty.
We clambered into separate baskets. Several of the little band pulled the baskets until they were hidden in the trees. I had never been so high before. For the first time I felt real fear. Keeping my eyes tightly closed, the ride passed quickly. One of the little people helped me out of the first basket. I stood at the tops of the trees looking down on the forest floor. Shorty stood beside me.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
I nodded my head. "Okay, climb into the next basket." he said.
The basket dangled from a rope across the trees to a destination too distant for my eyes to see. I felt dizzy, but climbed into the basket anyway. As the basket began to move the wind howled against my face. Thankfully it was too dark to see the blur of trees as they rushed by. A howl of rage bellowed up from below me. In the distance I heard laughter.
“Is ambition evil?” the queen mused. “Have I condemned myself by my own actions?”
She stood, slim as she had been two decades ago, looking at the Corsindor through the same window.
“It would have been easier if I had been with child when the prince disappeared.”
If she had been wiser and guarded the prince carefully she would not be in the position today. Yes, truly it was an untenable position. Who would have guessed that the king would crack when he heard of the loss of the child. And he hadn’t touched her since.
The queen, unseeingly, gazed at the needlework clutched in her hands.
His lowborn Maria had died in childbirth. The remembrance was too painful. Yes, her marriage was a marriage of convenience. She soon realized her influence was more of a broodmare. Rhali, a courtier, had gained her ear. His words had made sense to her. If the prince disappeared, he had said, and she was with child, she could gain the influence and power she craved.
The notice of her husband would have been enough for her.
“If I sinned,” she said. “It was but jealousy.”
"Your Highness," said the underservant, who had just entered the room. "The king is calling for you. I think he's feeling worse."
He is as strong as an ox, thought the queen.
"I must go to him," she said.
As the queen walked into the king's chambers there was a slight smell of brimstone. In the center of the room was a pentacle, painstakingly drawn with white chalk. The king's pet wizard kept the pentacle freshly drawn. Anyone stepping on or across the lines was in danger of losing their head.
Ever since the loss of his son, the king had lost all interest in ruling his kingdom. He spent all his energy searching for his son.
"I have found him," he said. "I have found him."
"Where?" She asked.
"I have found him, I have found him." he repeated over and over.
The king's face was slack, all sign of intelligence gone.
“Guards,” she yelled.
The wizard was in the next room. His body was cold. A feeling of pure evil filled the room.
Desperately she yelled, "Get out of here."
The guards grabbed the king and hustled him out of the room. The queen rushed behind them. She looked back.
Red began to glow around the door and a heavy smell of brimstone filled the air.
What have I done? She thought, as she began tracing runes in the air.
To her surprise, the runes glowed blue and encircled the door. The glow around the door turned green. A scream echoed from inside the room.
One of the guards rushed to the door. A light exploded, and everything went black.
I forgot to mention that all my characters happen to have problems with fainting or knocks on the heads... It was definitely an ouchy book. LOL
So I challenge you to show your first efforts. :-)
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
It is funny about how our personalities show in our faces. My sister on the left has that sparkling charismatic personality that would have won on American Idol. She had the opportunity to go to college in a theater program. Her hormonal imperative overrode her talents. She now has five beautiful children of her own.
I was always the observer. I would hide and watch. You can see that I was shy. I never had that 100 watt smile. I see why my father could see his grandmother in my face. I met my great-grandmother (she died at 98). She was a remarkable woman. Very quiet. But, she was a storyteller. Her father was a school teacher. He was also an artist with calligraphy. She had a peacock with his name that he had penned on her wall. I sometimes wished that I could have met him.
In the late 1800s, he packed up his family from the Jersey Isles and took his family west to Utah. My grandmother's pictures showed a handsome kind man.
My brother on my lap is now in his late 30's. He is a quiet man. His genetic heritage is also in his face. Of all my brothers (four), he is the child that is stamped with my father's genetic DNA. He has my father's face.
I was going to talk about being eight, but as I look at those lost days, I see our grandparents and our parents in our faces. It reminds me that we are all given potential which is encoded in our genes.
How we use that potential is up to us.
Monday, March 20, 2006
to dark hounds baying at fleeing gray hares:
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.
Oh, Holy Fool, quaking for Allah, break
the fox's chains, the fox who cowers in lairs;
as cold sweat pours from my body, I wake
knowing the hound, the fox, the hares will take
us from peace of hearth and home, from our cares
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.
Beware of false prophets, who shiver and shake,
serpents who delight in killing human hares.
As cold sweat pours from my body, I wake
to falling towers--a large death. They slake
their blood-thirst with innocent lives. Who dares--
to sounds of war echoing at daybreak--
who dares to strike again? My heart aches.
Is this the end of choice? Must we forbear?
As cold sweat pours from my body, I wake
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.
© 2002 Cynthia E. Bagley, all rights reserved.
Published in January 2002 Acumen Literary Journal.
Sunday was the three year anniversary of when the U.S. invaded Iraq. I wrote this poem during the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. We lived by the Ramstein Air Base and could hear the jets leave for their missions.
I remember the death of 2749 people connected to the WTC. I still pray for their families.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
I am so happy that I am having a hard time even remembering how to spell. So please bear with me.
Maybe by tomorrow I will be able to breath. Maybe I will be able to write. Maybe I will be able to walk without jumping up and down.
I'm so excited
And I just can't hide it
I'ma gonna lose control
And I think I like it...
Friday, March 17, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
I won't be going.
Other than it is dangerous for me to be around so many people. Other than I need to limit my protein. Other than we have another big storm rolling in today and tomorrow. I cannot see myself chewing on this western delicacy. Ummm. ummm.
I think I will save myself for the camel races in the summer.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
C: Good afternoon apartment. Hello! Hello. Hello.
(Nalini, how did you get your apartment to answer?)
C: Hello? (on my hands and knees) do you hear me?
A: You look ridiculous. I am up here.
A: If you'd look closely in the corner of the room... you see the spider web?
C:(Nalini... I refuse to continue with this interview... I am terrified of spiders.)
A: Ha, ha, ha...
Sometimes in the corners, the shadows seem to speak in Stephen King voices. Other times I overpower the room with light, so the shadows hide.
Maybe it's time to purify with sage. Maybe it's time to ignore the voices. ;-)
Once again, we are getting hit by a winter storm that crept under cover of darkness and surprised us with powdered snow. The finches flew in for a breakfast treat of thistles and sunflower seeds.
Still the snow falls. I can see the apartment buildings and houses from the balcony. The pine trees are frosted. This morning I decided not to carry my three batches of clothing down the stairs, so that I could take them to our mini-laundromat and wash them. I miss not having a washer and dryer in my apartment. Nevertheless, it would probably cost too much in electricity to have them here. I was horrified that our bill was over ninety dollars last month. Last year, I spent about fifty dollars for the same amount of kilojoules.
I could rant about the energy costs this year. I could jump up and down in my little apartment wondering why inflation is hitting our pocketbook when the news media assures us that we are living in unprecedented wealth. Gosh... who are they kidding.
Still the snow falls. Hush, hush. A coat of white covers the desert's brown bones. I drink another cup of coffee. My blood pressure slowly falls. I know I need to remember that there are many things in this life that I cannot solve...like my illness.
Fate. Destiny. Each day is a gift. My purpose is to learn to be grateful for what I have.
The golden breast of a finch flashes in the window. I hear their gleeful cheeping. I want to be like them.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Any conversation can suddenly turn into a round of "Charades".
A "good hair day" is when you realize you have some left.
You tell your kid to "clean up the floor" and they just get the broom out and start sweeping.
You make a grocery list so you won't forget anything, and then forget where you put the list. (On a REALLY bad day you also forget where the grocery store is!)
You bathe the lawn, fertilize the dog, and brush the kids.
You use the smoke detector to tell you when dinner is done.
You try to type and discover that you've invented a whole new language.
You keep sunscreen by every door.
Getting some fresh air means sitting near an open shady window.
You have a temperature- and moisture-controlled room for keeping your large quantity of meds.
You're the only one who believes you're THAT sick.
You sit in the car for three hours wondering what you needed to do, not even sure where you are.
Someone asks you what vasculitis is and you've forgotten.
It takes so long to get one project done, because in the meantime you've been distracted by at least a million other things.
You put the ice cream in the cupboard (and then wonder why somebody else did something THAT stupid).
You know every doctor, nurse, within 50 miles of your home--AND you'vefinanced most of their vacations.
The pharmacist sees you coming down the aisle and doesn't even have to ask your name.
You decide to buy stock in pharmaceutical companies (because you buy their products so much they ought to make lots of money) but you can't afford to invest (for the same reason).
Posted by Bruce WG 97 on the Wegener's Discussion Group. Thanks Bruce. Everything here is true, true, true.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Your Hidden Talent
You have the natural talent of rocking the boat, thwarting the system.
And while this may not seem big, it can be.
It's people like you who serve as the catalysts to major cultural changes.
You're just a bit behind the scenes, so no one really notices.
There was a church that had its paint damaged in a flood to about four feet up the walls.
The church was white and it was decided to repaint it. Well, they started this project, but had just enough paint to finish up to the damage point.
Then, they discovered that the white didn't exactly match the old white paint so they thinned it so it would go a bit farther.
They made it almost to the top of the walls and realized that there would not be enough so they thinned it again. They then made it half way up the steeple and decided that they would have to thin it again.
Just as they finished there was a bright flash and a loud voice said, "Repaint and thin no more!"
*Picture from Nevada Appeal of the First Presbyterian Church of Carson City, NV (Mark Twain helped build this church).
**Joke from FEMA folks at the Reno JFO.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
You belong in the Enchanted Forest! A place where
fairy tales are misconstrued and princess's
go to work for a dragon willingly. Where a
witch is not melted by cleaning water with a
bit of lemon juice but a wizard is.
Which book do you belong in? (w/pics)
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Friday, March 10, 2006
I hope spring will get here soon. I know I am a wimp. I have seen about three or four good snowfalls and I am ready to move to Hawai'i.
The gold finches are snuggled up to the balcony. They hang off of the sock, eating thistles. I have counted up to ten of them. They snuggle up and cheep at each other.
Today, I will clean the apartment (if you read the Lord of Idiots humor blog you have a good idea what my living space looks like), and then do some studying.
The Cowboy poetry convention is this week in Carson City. We were going to check out the poetry and barbecue, but to our chagrin, they are charging 25 dollars per person. Nope, not going. I need those few dollars for seeing my doctors.
My husband and I had a fun time in Ren0 yesterday. He had to deliver some equipment. Also, we ate at the Liberty Bell. It is a 19th century restaurant that is filled with Nevada memoriabilia. If you make it to Reno, NV, you need to eat there.
So, I am ending this blog for today. I am busy, busy, busy.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Description: The wild rice adds a nutty flavor to the soup.
3 cups low sodium chicken broth
1 cup water
1/3 cup wild rice, rinsed and drained
2 (8 oz.) boneless, skinless chicken breast halves, chopped
1/2 cup thinly sliced onions (or green onions)
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1/2 cup carrots thinly sliced
1 1/2 cups sliced fresh mushrooms
1/2 teaspoon dried tarragon
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup fat-free milk (or half-half, cream)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
Directions:1. In medium saucepan combine chicken broth and wild rice. Bring to a boil; reduce heat. Simmer, covered, 40 minutes.
2. Heat oil in large saucepan. Add chicken, mushrooms, onion, garlic, and carrots; cook, stirring constantly, until vegetables are tender and chicken is no longer pink. Add rice and broth. Add water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat.
3. In a small bowl combine milk, flour, tarragon, thyme, and pepper; stir into rice, chicken, and vegetable mixture. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir for 1 minute more.
Garnish each serving with sliced green onions and toasted silvered almonds or fresh tarragon leaves if desired.
Number Of Servings:4
Preparation Time:15 min./Cook Time: 50 min.
I enjoy experimenting with food. Because of the kidney involvement, I have to cut the chicken portion in half. Also, I combined a couple of recipes and came up with this concoction. If you notice, I do not use celery because of the phosphorous content of that vegetable.
So this soup was dinner last night. Umm. ummm. Good.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Yesterday was the day of reckoning. I spent a few hours with my nephrologist reading my results. No, I do not have any problems with my thyroid and parathyroid.
Because my thyroid seemed large, the doctor thought that I might have a goiter. Lucky for me, my thyroid has a large isthmus (center piece of the thyroid that connects the two parts together), which is normal for me and rules out a goiter. Also, my parathyroid blood test is in the normal range. The reason my doctor was worried about the function of these organs is because they can affect the function of the kidney. And, there is no doubt that I have kidney problems.
My main problem is protein leakage. Anyone who has had kidney function problems may have dealt with foamy urine. When the urine is foamy, it means that the protein is leaking through the kidneys and the glomera area of the kidneys is not working properly. This area is important because it cleans out the toxins in the blood.
My doctor cannot prescribe ACE inhibitors for me because I have a reaction to them. They cause my kidneys to work inefficiently. Also, I have problems with the subclass.
He convinced me to try a calcium blocker. This type of medication will also cause me to carry water weight and possibly to gain weight. But, it is supposed to help my kidneys with the protein leakage and as a result, my kidneys will last longer.
My nephrologist repeated our goals for keeping my kidneys in shape.
1. Keep my Wegener's Granulomatosis under control. I am accomplishing this goal by using Imuran/prednisone and having regular blood tests.
2. Keep my blood pressure under control. At this point, a combination of channel blocker and lopressor should keep my blood pressure under 120. My blood pressure has been about 130/80.
3. Lower my protein intake. This goal is much harder to accomplish because I am NOT a vegetarian. Also, I do need some protein to keep my muscles from deteriorating from prednisone use.
4. Limit protein leakage. At this point, we are hoping that the channel blocker will work and that I will not have a reaction to it.
I have fought this disease for three years. Finally, I feel that if I am not completely well that I am adjusting to my limitations. My friends, I appreciate your support these years. And my husband, thank you for being there.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
One of the fun reasons for living in Northern Nevada is the wide variety of feathered friends. We have a red-shafted Northern Flicker that flies onto our balcony once a day.
This particular bird is very shy. Whenever he shows up, I am very careful not to move. I admire his colors and patterns, especially the bib on his chest. He looks very much like the Gila woodpecker, except that the shafts are delicately painted red. You can see the change of color in his underwings as he flies away.
I love birds. And, I love watching them.
One day a Northern Flicker landed on my balcony. He carefully looked at my smorgasbord of bird delights-peanuts, thistles, and sunflower seeds. We even have a brick of suet hanging from the roof.
He hopped to the peanuts and tried to stab one with his beak. After three stabs, the peanut rolled off, he watched it fall on the patio below. Then he went to the next peanut. After stabbing five or six peanuts with only a taste of shell for his pains, he surveyed the sunflower seeds. He didn't even try to taste them. Then he saw the suet.
He flew up to the suet and beat it with his beak. After a good lunch, he flew away. Ahh... it would be so nice to only have to worry about my next meal.
I have not seen him on the balcony again, but in the evenings, hanging on the wall outside our apartment, we see him--fast asleep. I think he steals a taste of the suet.
**You can find this photo at the following link: http://www.mbr-pwrc.usgs.gov/Infocenter/i4120id.html
Monday, March 06, 2006
HON. MIKE ROSS OF ARKANSAS IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to recognize the contributions of American citizens who are members of the Amateur Radio Relay League, known as HAM radio operators. Citizens throughout America dedicated to this hobby — a hobby that some people consider old fashioned or obsolete — were true heroes in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina as they were often the only line of communication available into the storm ravaged areas. Amateur radio operators are often overlooked in favor of flashier means of communication. As communities across the gulf coast and America learned this year, technology can be highly vulnerable. HAM radios, entirely self contained transmitters, require no cell towers or satellites, simply a battery and a strip of wire as an antenna. Just as after major earthquakes, tornadoes, and the terrorist attacks of 9/11, HAM operators around the country received an alert to stand by their radios to listen for calls for assistance. Following Hurricane Katrina, when cell phones and e-mail were useless, a HAM operator located in Connecticut alerted authorities about a woman trapped for 4 days without food or water and a Coast Guard Auxiliary in Cleveland arranged for a medevac for a woman in labor in New Orleans. These are just a few examples of the many lives that were saved with the critical intervention of HAM operators throughout the country. Now more than ever, I am proud to be a licensed amateur radio operator. It is important to realize that every HAM radio operator in the Amateur Radio Emergency Service is a volunteer. This year, when disaster struck, hundreds of HAMs moved to the gulf coast to help in every way they could. Every one of which did so on a volunteer basis and their only goal was to assist in what became one of the worst natural disasters in America. The dedication displayed by HAM radio operators in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina sets a tremendous example for us all. The people whose lives were rescued as a result of the tireless dedication of HAM radio operators will forever be grateful to these selfless public servants.
What amazed me more than the bones of ancient civilizations was the attitudes of the modern Germans. They are tired of history. They love to come to America to see a culture that is new with new buildings and miles of nothing between cities and urban areas. They are amazed that we have so much land and so much freedom.
A German can expect to have his or her life managed by the government from the time he or she is ten or eleven years old. They go through a schooling system that categorizes them at this time. If their grades are good in certain areas, the government will pay for their academic training. In most cases, they will go to a technical school and graduate at sixteen with enough education to be a retail clerk, or other job of this type.
Many of them are content with this type of control. They give a huge amount of their income in taxes. This money is spent for retirement, re-eductation if required, and health care. But, like a lot of the modern social democracies, the German government is going bankrupt because of the added stress of including Eastern Germany into the new modern Germany.
Those few Germans who dream end up in America marvelling at our wide spaces and freedoms. Who knew that having control of your own money would be freeing? Why do we want to become another socialist democracy in the style of France or Germany?
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Sorry, everyone. No essay today. I have some important writing that I have been putting off for my Amateur Radio Group.
So think of me in the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas, under a flourescent light, writing a Standard Operating Procedure for Emergency Communications.
I will not think of you. I will be too busy.
Friday, March 03, 2006
At work or in school: I work best by myself. I like to focus on my ideas until my desire for understanding is satisfied. I am easily bored if the subject holds no interest to me. Sometimes, it is hard for me to set priorities because so many things are of interest.
With friends: I may seem reserved. Although my thoughts and feelings run deep, I am uneasy with frequent displays of emotion. I enjoy people who are interesting and of high integrity.
With family: I am probably seen as a loner because I like a lot of private time to think. Sometimes, I find family activities boring and have difficulty following family rules that don't make sense to me. I show love by spending time with my family and sharing ideas and interests.
What Color is Your Brain?
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When I step out on the balcony, the cold hits me. I can feel my kidneys shrivel. I shiver.
Even the birds are shivering in their hidden nests.
This morning before the snow's arrival, the gold finches clustered around the sock filled with little bits of seed. They eat upside down, and then strain their necks in our direction; you won't bother me, they seem to say. They eep and cheep at each other.
Gold finches are the clowns of the bird family. We saw one last summer flying around the pine tree. The finch flying pattern looks like a roller coaster. This little finch yelled weeeeee-weeeeee, weeeeee-weeeeee. After three times around the tree, the gold finch flew away. My husband and I laughed for hours. Weeeeeee. Weeeeee. We would say to each other.
"All that glitters is not gold," my husband says, "it might be a finch."
So, I watch the snowflakes whirl and settle around me. I know that when it calms my little friends will visit. Eep.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
This view is from Prison Hill above Carson City, Nevada. This photo was found on the State of Nevada Natural Resource site.
Yes, folks... it is only a fifteen to twenty minute ride to this spot where we are wowed by the natural scenery all around us. If you are quiet, you will find that the place is scrawling with critters--chipmunks, squirrels, snakes, and assorted birds.
Whenever I feel down about my illness, my husband takes me for a short walk through the sage brush. I get extremely tired. And, when we arrive home, I sleep for about two-three hours. But, there is nothing like the high of fresh air mixed with sage.
Well, unless it is fresh air mixed with the smell of books. I originally wanted to put up a photo of the inside of a library. I was not impressed with the photos I found. I think that libraries are better noted for their smell of old books. I get a high when I have a new book in my hand, but an old book is ambrosia.
I am definitely a bibliophile. No offense, but the internet with the computer screen that pulses with pixels is not my idea of a good reading experience. No siree! (I had to put that in there because I am in an old cowboy, miner town.) No, the best interactive experience known to womankind is having both hands wrapped around a book. And, I think Mark Twain (Samuel Clemmings) would have agreed with me.
I can claim Mark Twain because he lived in Carson City for awhile after his infamous time in Virginia City. His brother lived here for quite some time. I feel that I have done enough bragging for awhile.
50,000 people make this town big enough that we have two Walmarts and a movie theater, but small enough that we can find a good place to breath that is only a few miles from town. And, the view of the Sierra Nevadas has not been obscured by the tainted touch of the urbanites.
Hope I haven't insulted all you folks. It's just nice here.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
This clock tower in Rodenbach has stood for almost a century. It was originally part of a school, but now stands by the protestant church. Time and clocks have been on my mind lately.
Each day ticks one second, one minute, one hour at a time. I look at the clock hanging on my wall and I see that it has taken twenty minutes to find the perfect picture to post on this site. In about another half hour I will need to eat my breakfast. Time for breakfast means that I must take my prednisone. It needs to be taken at the right time.
Time clicking away also means that little bits of my life are clicking away too. Sometimes I wonder if I should sleep. In my case sleep equals good health. But, if I sleep I will miss a small portion of my day. That portion could be vital or interesting or might mean something... someday... maybe?
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I sometimes hate that I have only a few more years. I feel guilty that I must be grateful for life now. And sleep, sleep is the little death.
When I was going through that first year of Wegener's Granulomatosis, I hated sleep. I would do anything to not close my eyes because sleep felt too much like death. I had skirted too close to it. I did not want to have anything to do with it. I chose life. My fear was that I would die with my eyes closed. I wanted to live each moment.
But I was tired, so tired. My husband would gently rub my head and back. He would ask me to lay on the bed. He would tuck the covers around me. The little Jack Russell, Herky, would crawl into my curled-up legs. I would sleep, knowing that my husband and Herky guarded it. Time had no place. Its relentless pace did not control my heart, my lungs, my kidneys--not while I was guarded.
Time is still my enemy. I want to finish this post. I want to finish my schooling. I want to finish before I lose it again. It being my mind, my heart, or even my life. Today I know that I have such a short time here. And I am so tired.
Relentlessly, it ticks.