Another Week Bites the Dust

Why is it that a 4-day work week can seem so much longer than normal? Still, here we are at Friday again.... all together now: Thank all the gods! No great plans for the weekend. Maybe I'll clean the garage. *choke... cough... sputter* Maybe not. I do have other, more fun, projects to which I can lend my brilliance.

Noctilucent Treasures

Crazy wild dreams. Whew, wow, what a roller coaster. No wait, there actually wasn't a roller coaster involved. This time. But, suffice it to say, I'm not taking a train anywhere any time soon. I wish I could capture my dreams on film. Yeah yeah, I know I could write. I could do some kind of artwork. Y'all have seen the results of that more often than you'd care to know. It's just that every now and then something will fly by in my dreams and I find myself saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa... rewind that a sec... ok... hit pause... right... there! What the hell IS that?!"

Ok? So, someone invent that for me. No. Can you just imagine the kind of madness that would come of us being able to replay our dreams in a waking state? Pretty certain I don't want the full impact of my dreams thrown at me while I'm awake. Besides, what if the sex tapes got out?! Gads.


Can I go back to bed now?

I've Grown Accustomed

Last night was the first night I had the house to myself in three weeks. It felt strange. Kind of amazing how easily I've become accustomed to sharing 'my' space again. I'm not usually that good at it. I didn't sleep very well - kept waking up and wondering at the lack of sound.

I once read that trust is sleeping with both eyes closed. I guess I've learned to trust - my own instincts more than anything. It's not that I haven't usually had good instincts. More often than not, I'm pretty much dead on about seeing through to the who of a person. Always been a good judge of character. I think, in the past, it's my own character that I didn't quite feel I could rely upon... that ever shifting, sifting moody thing, the rambling thought pattern, the freekin' gypsy flights of fancy. Now I feel grounded in my own who. Probably a culmination of maturity and all the soul-spelunking I've done over the past year, but it still strikes me as a somewhat curious and novel feeling.

Well over half of you are probably scratching your heads and saying, "Huh?!" right about now. See... it's like this... Scott and his son Mark have been staying with me for the past few weeks. They just kind of gypsied their way into my life, and I've liked it. A lot. It feels good to have people to come home to, to wake up to. Been polishing my sadly neglected cooking skills for lads who clearly enjoy a good meal. I'd forgotten just how much I love to cook, and especially for people who appreciate it. The big trade off is that I get my lawn mowed and Birddog gets washed. (Would I complain?! Nevah!!!) Yesterday was Scott's birthday so they went over to his daughter's house to celebrate and crashed out there. No big deal... it just left me with a rather long night and a crazy jumble of dreams.
I've grown accustomed to your face.
You almost make the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune that
You whistle night and noon.
Your smiles, your frowns,
Your ups, your downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to your look;
Accustomed to your voice;
Accustomed to your face.
~My Fair Lady, Accustomed to Her Face

Mad Dog

"If you don't go when you want to go, by the time you do go, you'll find you've gone."
~The World's Fastest Indian

My imagination takes me everywhere. I can travel the world in my mind, and then some. It's one of the things that keeps me from ending up drooling in a corner. But, it's not enough. I want the road. I want to be on my way to somewhere, want to feel Birddog singing along down some distant highway. However, unless the gods see fit to dump the lotto winnings in my lap, that's not going to happen any time soon.

I'm feeling stagnant. Feeling mired. Feeling oh, so restless. Not a good feeling at all for this gypsy girl. Time is flying by at an alarming speed, and I'm nowhere near keeping up.

"I wanna run crazy
like the dogs in the yard
I wanna fly tonight
I wanna sleep all morning
I'm goin' out of my mind tonight
That's where I'm going..."
~Dogs in the Yard, Fame

Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day! Here's to all those who've gone before, especially those in service to country who have paid the ulitmate price to preserve freedom.



It's a cool, grey day here in the PNW - no surprises there. Enjoy your charbroiled bits and some brews. Be good, or be clever.

Barb's barbs

Why is it so difficult for me to measure my words? So often I say things without considering consequences, without giving thought to impact. Stuff flies out of my mouth like a hell-bent semi on a mission. I have a sadly inadequate filtering system. I blurt first, apologize later. It's a fault that I despise in myself. Yeah, true, things get said that are honest, but things get said that hurt. And I absolutely hate hurting anyone. If I could avoid inflictng any pain by being a hermit, to the cave I'd hie me home.

Balance, balance, balance. Where the hell is my balance? I cling to this tightrope with all ten toes, rarely fall, and yet, I've never gotten used to the shake and sway. Never quit on my respect for gravity.

Even so, even when I know it's going to cause some kind of an ouch, I have a hard time mincing words. I can't hold back on how I feel. I guess because then I feel like I'm doing myself a disservice, and I did that for far too long. I shut up entirely, lips zipped shut, locked down, and key tossed to the murk. And it hurt. It consumed me.

*sigh* Begin human.

Mea maxima culpa.

Je regret.

One More Time

I won't say it again. I mustn't. No... oh, what the hell... thank all the gods it's Friday! Even better, it's going to be a 3-day weekend.

Yesterday, I took my own advice (I do, on occasion), and I adjusted my attitude. Good things happened. Busy as it was, it was a better day. We can create whatever texture we want to out of what we're given. The Universe might dangle the canvas and supply the brushes, but the color and shape is ours to bestow.
That's it. Lecture over. That's all you get today. But, chew on it for a while. Be conscious.

Jewel of Denial

Why don't we treat each other as the shining gems that we are? Why don't we treat ourselves that way? The people in our lives are beyond worth, no matter their ordination. Say you had a 10 carat diamond ring - would you carelessly set it down somewhere and go about your business without a second thought? Would you toss it into a heap of other stuff, only to paw through the pile later, shrug and say, "Oh yeah, well, there's that." No. No, no, and no.

Even if you didn't have an aesthetic appreciation for such things (I sure don't), you'd still treat it with the respect, reverence and care it deserved. You'd find a special place for it. You'd protect it just for the face value of it, if nothing else. And, hey... I'm not preaching here. I'm as guilty as anyone else. I'm just sitting here polishing my mirror out in a public square.

Still, here we are, humans all - each of us trying to eek out an existence, trying to make our own way down our separate paths, trying to find a little light to dispell the darkness. Every day there are people in our lives who make differences - some huge, some subtle, some mostly unnoticed. Even so, we treat each other with disregard and carelessness. We set friendships and relationships aside and wander off as if those will always be there - as if that ring is still going to be sitting at the edge of the gas station restroom sink when and if we decide to return for it.

Here are some words that top my list: respect, courtesy (there's a dying art), decency, compassion, and not the least of which (since it encompasses) - love. We are a precious commodity. Can we just please treat each other that way? Can we have just a little more awareness? John once said, "It's those precious little moments. Just live and love." Amen, Brudda J. I'm all too aware how fleeting those moments are.

"There are no ordinary moments."
~Peaceful Warrior

Without love, there is no art.

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

“… many times it is the things of nature that are the most healing, especially the very accessible and the very simple ones. The medicines of nature are powerful and straightforward… Continuance is a strange thing: it puts out tremendous energy, it can be fed for a month on five minutes of contemplating quiet water… The hallmark of the wild nature is that it goes on. It perseveres. This is not something we do. It is something we are, naturally and innately.”
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

I had a rather grueling day yesterday. Anything that could be fubar at work did so with great élan. Being that I am now the whippin’ post for all things that can and will go wrong in the Dingo accounting world, any smiling I did was through gritted teeth. By the end of the workday, I was ready to run screamin’ for… anywhere… anything. I came home, walked for a while, then without a thought (as I walked off my walk in the backyard), I started digging in the dirt - pulled some weeds, replanted a few things, raked the leaves, weeds and crud from the remaining empty raised bed, as well as tilled it. Who knows if I’ll get around to planting anything. It just felt good to dig, to get dirt under my nails.

It revived me - immeasurably so. I went from the piss-poor attitude of “what’s the fucking point of fucking trying to be a fucking good, fucking responsible fucking adult?! E-fucking-nuff!!!” to this totally energized, vibrantly purple inner-aural glow. I finally came back in, cranked the ol’ gypsy tunes and bustled my way through dishes and laundry, talked to a couple of pals, then fell into a creative vortex that left my internal artistic self orgasmically gasping, “Damn, that felt gooooood!”

I feel grounded again. In touch. The wild gypsy stands stubbornly, hands on hips - well, one hand on one hip, as the other hand is busy flippin’ the bird at the remnants of a day that tried to spin the wheels off’n her wagon. It was no surprise at all when I picked up WWRWW, blindly flipped pages, and landed in the chapter that contained the above quote. All too often, I flip to a section in that book that speaks directly to an experience I’m either having, or have just had. The wild, the random, the nature of the beast, knows just what I need to hear.

Get outside people. Be part of it. Let the macrocosm rock your microcosm.

Everything Happens

Yes, I'm a bit fixated on the quote I used on this card and the one from yesterday. Everything happens for a reason. It's just a matter of moving your point of view around until you see it.

My life has been rich with experiences, both good and bad. All of them have led me down this path, and I wouldn't trade a single one. I've been considering how very different my life feels to me now than it did a year ago at this time. A year ago it felt very bleak, very empty. I was lost in the journey and it took every effort to stay upright and put one foot in front of the other as I stumbled my way over a rock strewn path at the edge of a a precariously high cliff. My mantra was, "Just keep moving." The pulse behind that was the promise I'd made to do so.

Perseverance furthers. It's gotten better, so much better. I wouldn't have guessed just how much. I couldn't have. And, much like Dorothy on her quest for the Emerald City, I've been helped along the path by a strange cast of characters that has made the journey that much more fascinating - some old friends, some new, some fleeting, some constant. It's all good.

Pardon my metaphorical jump (it's a helluva crevass, but you can do it!), but here I am again, smack in the middle of the chessboard, at the mercy of The Fates as they battle it out on a semi-intelligent, but seeemingly careless whim. Do I, The Black Bitch (as so many far too worthy opponents have refered to the dark queen), have what it takes to lure the pale king from hiding? To keep the dance going until he acquiesces at my feet? Until I gulp in disbelief and say, "Um, that's checkmate, isn't it?" And again I ask myself - who am I to be allowed, to be given so much, to be, not expecting, but thinking about possibilities? It feels terribly ostenatious to me, even as I forge ahead, to consider that there's another shining moment waiting for me on the other side of the board.

And yet... The Black Bitch rides again.

The events are static - it's Point of View that spins along on the axis of the theory of relativity.

Late Again!

Written at 4 this morning. I finally fell asleep at goin' on 5 a.m., and now I'm late for work. Agggghhh!!!


I am sleepless and lost in thought… too many thoughts. There are things that pry at the edges of my conciousness, unseen, just out of reach and… if only… I … could… stretch far enough. I’m having that feeling, again, of missing something that’s right in front of me. That looking for treasure in the dark. It’s a feeling fraught with restlessness.

*sigh* Road Trip!

Rose Colored Glasses

It's a flat out gorgeous weekend here. This is the kind of weather we don't tell others about, else everyone would move here. We like to let people think that it rains all the time. Shhh... don't mention the 80 degrees and sunshine.

I've been tripping through some old memories in preparing myself to write my Grandma's story. Beautiful memories, all good. In doing so, I've been wishing I could sit and talk to Grandma again, and reliving my time spent in Hungary. If there was ever a perfect time in my life, it was when I was there. It enriched me, it changed me forever, it saved me from myself. A big part of me longs to go back, but at the same time I realize that I wouldn't be going back to that time. Everything has changed. The country has changed, people have grown older, some have died. Even me - I wouldn't be seeing it with the same eyes that I did when I was younger - my whole outlook on everything has changed drastically over the years. This river of time changes the texture of the shores. So, maybe the biggest impetus for me writing the book is that I'll get to revisit not only a country that I love, a people that I love, and a time that was beyond diamonds in worth, but I'll get to spend some ethereal time with Rose Schmutzer as well. We're no longer separated by age and distance, but only by the rift that divides this world from the next. In my mind, it's a smaller gap to bridge. I'm looking forward to delving into Grandma's history, getting to know her better, assuming her mindset.

"Time is but a stream I go fishing in."
~Henry David Thoreau

Friday Fastball

Friday... and what a long, strange trip it's been. I feel as though I've been away, but I've been here the whole time. We've suddenly lurched into something resembling Summer here in the PNW, as is evidenced by the startlingly fast growth of my dandelion field.

I'm glad to have another weekend at hand. Time to refresh, relax, regroup... and... *sigh*... mow.

"In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king."
~Minority Report

Strange Bedfellows

Today is my first anniversary with my fuzzy buddy, Midnight. It was a year ago today that she adopted me. She's been such good company, and even better therapy. Crazy little girl loves me no matter who I am at the end of the day.

So, if you're going to wander through my dandelion field.

Watch out! You never know when you're going to come across...

The Wild....

The Ferocious and Untamed....

The Fierce Killer Instinct....

The Shameless Slut...

Never Fear, The Gysy is Here

It's ok, it's ok... calm down... I'm here... still. Been bowing to the whims of some unrepentant Zulus who deigned fit to stab me in the lower back with some rather blunt spears. I'm alright... just owchy, and decided it was best not to sit in front of a computer for a couple of days.

While I was lazing around, I found an old book that my Mom had sent me months ago. It's a children's reader that she and my Aunt shared back when they were youngsters. The note says, "Barb, found this among Grandma's things - one of the few books we had as children. Toss if you want. Just thought I'd share..." Ahem. Mom! For shame!!! "Toss if you want" ? ! ? ! This is NOT the same woman I grew up with. Toss a book? I'm ... shocked.

Anyway, the poem on the very first page I flipped to gave me the heebie-jeebies. Not because it's such an amazing poem, but because of the title of it. Whoodathunkit? Without further ado...

Gypsies
by Rachel Field

Last night the gypsies came -
Nobody knows from where.
Where they've gone to nobody knows,
And nobody seems to care!

Between the trees on the old swamp road
I saw them round their fire:
Tattered children and dogs that barked
As the flames leaped high and higher;
There were black-eyed girls in scarlet shawls,
Old folk wrinkled with years,
Men with handkerchiefs round their throats
And silver loops in their ears.
Ragged and red like maple leaves
When frost comes in the Fall,
The gypsies stayed but a single night;
In the morning gone were all -
Never a shaggy gypsy dog,
Never a gypsy child;
Only a burnt-out gypsy fire
Where danced that band so wild.

All gone and away,
Who knows where?
Only the wind that sweeps
Maple branches bare.

On & Oft Off

Yes, yes... as is evidenced by the above, my artistic Muse is back from vacation. Bitch ever ditches out on me again, she's fired!


I had a great review at work yesterday - it was a regular Barb Love Fest. In short, I don't run with scissors and I play well with others. The dingos love me, they really, really love me. Truthfully, my boss is a good man... yet another one of those people, without whom, I wouldn't have made it through this past year.

*sigh* Even so...

I had a long, relatively sleepless, night - once again spent considering selling it all off and just roaming. Or, at the very least, packing it all up and going to live some place... else. I feel like time is speeding by at such an alarming rate. If I don't make a leap of some significant sort, and soon, I'll go stagnant. And I can't abide doing that again. Ever. I'm restless, and anxious, and driven, and... I want off the friggin' merry-go-round.

*heavier sigh* The Moon's comin' on again, isn't it.
Give me a moment
Got to get this weight up off my chest
Don't feed me sorrow
Pain is a poison I digest
Find yourself another soul to hold
You think, you thought, I know
Off upon my journey I must go
To where the river flows
~Collective Soul, Where the River Flows

I need to walk. For a very long while.
Gypsy... out...

Wild Kingdom

I'm up for review today. Hopefully the Dingos will be kind (and generous).

I have much to contemplate (we won't talk accomplishment just yet) this weekend. I need to move soon and/or get a roommate. I love my house, but it's just more than I can handle alone. I need to up my walking program - time marches on, and I need to as well. I have all manner of creative projects that I need to get done. I've been neglecting them in my self-imposed 10-day creative sabbatical.

And, here I am, smack in the middle of The Dating Game. Ugh. I've never been good at it. It's as if someone dropped me on to the playing field in the middle of a game, with no instruction, and inadequate protective devices. I'm not good at the game, I'm not good at any game (unless you want to play cribbage or euchre). I don't know how to be coy. Subtlety is not something with which I'm graced. And yet, as autonomous as I am, I dislike being alone. I miss cuddling and being hugged on a daily basis. I miss the connection - I'm just not good at being unplugged. No, I'm not whining, nor am I desperate - I'm just talkin' here. Y'all have been here through this much, you might as well continue.

*cue Marlon Perkins's voice*

Join me for a look at the 46 year old female as she tries to re-connect with the male tribe. Can a slightly flawed specimen find a new mate among The Great Unwashed? Tune in as we explore the intricacies and pratfalls of... The Wild Gypsy on the Prowl.

And So It Is

Yesterday was interesting. I took the day off of work. I know myself and my emotional tollerance well enough that the notion of facing the general public wasn't a good idea. So, I spent the day home, alone with my thoughts, with my occasional tears. I let it all come as I said goodbye to a year that I never expected to have to walk through. I talked to Timothy last night. He said, "We did it. We're still hanging in there." I said, "T, we're more than hanging - we are standing! And we're keeping the promises we made."

I want to take a few electrons here to thank all of you who've stood by me this past year, all of you who've so patiently watched the metamorphosis, my dear readers, my virtual pals, friends and family. Please know that I would not have made it this far, this well, without you or your love and support.

As for me, I will continue to challenge myself to become. Whatever it is that's waiting for me, I stand wide open to it. I will keep writing, creating, making music, laughing, sassing, walking, losing weight, drinking bean, searching the tapestry for stray threads, looking for another soul to call "my mate", working, playing... I'm alive. So alive. Let the Universe take me where it will.

And so it is...

Yarzeit

Miracle on 58th Street
by Merritt Malloy

He built a trust
smile by smile
. . . Faith is a cellular
phenomenon

It was he who took off the bandages (those old clothes)
to let my body kiss nature
with its mouth open
. . . It gave me back
all my arms and
every one of them
were holding hands
with
him (it was
a
sacrament)

This may not make the
papers . . . or break the safe reserve
around your heart . . . But
A great knife has been lifted
out of my childhood and

I am free
to dance in the
living room
again

Stone by stone
. . . He built a smile
Faith is a cellular
phenomenon . . . And

Trust is an
extra
arm

Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter


Weep not, and say "he is no more."
Rather live in joy that he ever was.

John Philip Johnson
24 September 1960 - 7 May 2007
"Live and Love"

Kia Ora

The Māori have an idiom: See further than your eyes. Māori warriors use this tactic to bolster their spirits in preparation for battle. The idea is to take in one's surroundings and draw strength from the deeper meaning of some objects. For instance, I can look out the window and see Birddog parked under the tree - just a truck parked under a tree. But, for me, it's a symbol of freedom - I draw strength from that freedom.

The sky isn't just the sky, but a symbol of the vastness of this universe, and a reminder to me that while I am merely an insignificant speck in all the flotsam, there is an infinite interconnectedness that makes me part of a bigger picture. Think pointilism - take away a single dot from a Seurat painting, and the entire picture suffers the loss. I draw strength from that sense of union.

When people (those brave and privileged few) walk into my studio, they see a desk cluttered with stuff - computer equipment, ink pads, stamps, containers holding colored pens and pencils of various sorts, glues, tape, glitter, books, notepads, brushes, and tools. My focus always lands on an old enamel tin cup that holds a collection of markers. It's the cup that Grandma brought with her on the boat. I draw strength from it as a symbol of courage - the courage that comes in facing the unknown, in taking a chance on what may be rather than what is. I also see, and draw strength from, an ancestory of tenacious individuals that has lent itself to my existence - the dots in the painting that made way for my dot. Ultimately, I draw strength from another woman who never gave up; a woman who met everything in life, good or bad, with a bemused "Vell, vhat you gonna do?"

Take a look around you today. See further than your eyes. Find a symbol of strength outside yourself from which you can draw and nourish your inner warrior. Make it a daily practice - I plan to.

Kia kaha.

That Was Zen

When the going gets tough, the tough get mowing. That's what I did, anyway. Then I baked cookies. Then I grabbed a couple of beers and sat in the backyard and grilled some chicken. It ended up being a peaceful, beautiful day. Yes, I sang the taters and they are doin' fine - happily unfurling their little tater leaves and enjoying their staid little tater existence.

Here we are at Monday again, another work week loomin' large. Oy vey.

I had a slight epihpany (can one have a slight epiphany?) yesterday (thanks JF). I write, therefore I exist. Nietchze would be so proud. Truly, it has become my raison d’être - the force behind my waking and moving through the day. It's more than just putting something out there that might be worthy (or not) of anyone else's perusal. It's the act itself that signifies. Sure, it helps that I've had several new readers tell me recently that I should be writing. One went so far as to say, "The world needs this story."

So, once again, I'm contemplating The Book. Over the years, and particularly this past year, I've thought of writing a book about the beautiful side of cancer. Yes, there is one. There are moments so pure in the experiences I've had (sadly, there have been many), so profound, and I wouldn't have met those moments in any other way.

I'd also like to write a somewhat ficticious account of my Grandmother's life. That notion has been with me a very long time. She was a fascinating woman, and I believe her story is not only worthy, but should be told. She's one of my heros. That one... well, I've pondered it for so long that I know exactly how I want to write it, and much of it is already in my head.

Ok. So. Who wants to pay my rent for a year so I can dance with the muse? As Shel Silverstein once said, "There's no present like the time."

For now... it's off to my day job. *heavy sigh*

Wash Day

My mind is awash in a sea of memory, in the vast, endless ocean that engulfed me last year at this time. There’s such clarity of vision and sensation in the replay… washing John, changing catheters and dressings, giving him sips of water, soothing his brow, holding his hand, murmuring to him about the great joy he’d brought to my life, about the wisdom I felt fortunate to have learned from him, about the beauty he’d graced me with. Ultimately I'm watching a replay of the harshness that comes in witnessing a brilliant mind obliterated by the agony of a slow death. I would curl up beside him and just hold him, let him know as much as I could, even as he slept, that he wasn’t alone. The ironic juxtaposition of me being an anchor, even while I felt so adrift, isn’t lost on me.

And here I am, wishing for the same. Wanting only to be held through an agony that there is no cure for, and against which there is no guard.

Slow Dance

It's the bandaid holding his glasses together that cinches this one for me. Also, it reminds me of the words of a guy I worked with long ago, "I never have sex standing up... it could lead to dancing."

Got an email from a pal yesterday who wrote, "...how DO you think of that bloggy schtuff @ that hour of the morning?? Gads..."


Oh, I don't know. Really, I don't.

Sometimes it crawls into bed with me the night before, and like an eager lover pries and prods all night long.

Sometimes it’s just there at ohgod o'clock, much like my silently staring cat, when I open my eyes in the morning. Just sitting. Just waiting. Allowing me to wend my way up from dreams before it begins pacing and demanding attention.

Sometimes it rises along with the steam in my first cuppa bean. The scent hits the air, my awareness kicks in, and I fine-tune it.

Sometimes I have to sift for it. It's in there somewhere, that little sparkling speck, floating amid the rest of the flotsam.

Sometimes I have to dig. It's like the old coffee can your relatives used to hide money in that's buried somewhere in the back yard. If only I could remember where I buried it.... it's there. I know it.

Sometimes it’s nowhere to be found and I have to fake it. You'd be surprised at how realistic a woman can make a phoney orgasm sound. Not that I ever... I wouldn't... I don't need to... oh, nevermind.

It's all just there. Somehow. One could easily say that I'm just ....

quixotic


Pronunciation: kwik-sot-ik
adjective; Origin: 1805–15; Don Quixote + ic
1. resembling or befitting Don Quixote.
2. extravagantly chivalrous or romantic; visionary, impractical, or impracticable.
3. impulsive and often rashly unpredictable.
Synonyms: fanciful, fantastic, imaginary

Worm Your Way Out of This One

I find the above disturbing on sooooo many levels that it's difficult to know just where to begin. It's a minor comfort to know that the worms are sanitized, though I'd like to know how that comes about. The claim is also that there is no danger, and that are no ill side effects. Sure, ok. It's just a parasite after all. We all know how innocuous those are - anyone who's ever had a bad case of relativitis visitus for more than 2 days will understand what a pile of horseshit that statement is. The claim is also that they're easy to swallow. Don't know about you, but I can't imagine what might make me gag faster than trying to swallow a live worm (shush, Laura, you salacious thing - that is NOT what we're talking about!). All in all? It's just wrong. Wrong. Wrong Wrong. So wrong.

At one time, before the big surgery a few years ago, doctors actually discussed using maggots on my bad leg - just plunk 'em on there and let 'em eat up the bad stuff. "You won't know they're there. It'll be a very controlled thing." Uh. NO! Oh, hell no! I won't know they're there... not enough morphine in the world for me to forget about something like that. My psyche would have ended up being more scarred than my freaky lookin' leg!
I've heard that leeching is back in style. Demi Moore recently announced on David Letterman's show that she gets it done to revitalize her blood - makes her feel great, fresh, perky. Yeah? Have at it Demi. A fine meal and really great sex does that for me, and is much prefered. Besides, what would you rather tell your friends? Damn, but life is good; I had a killer steak and a good bottle of red last night, followed by some amazing knock-your-socks-off sex (and the friends say, "Dude! I wanna party wid you!") - or - I had a couple of leeches stuck on me for two hours, because I wanted to (and the friends say, "Uh, Dude. I'll talk to you later.").


And, your new word (Thanks, Paul!) is: Noctilucent
Nock-ti-loo-suhnt
It's an adjective derived from Latin: nocti meaning night, and lucent meaning shining
It quite literally means shining at night. The cat's eyes are noctilucent.

Oh! And Happy May Day!!!