Why I'm This Way

This is a typical e-mail invitation to a family event from my little sister Mary. This goes a long way toward explaining why I'm the way I am.

Subject: Holy crap Thanksgiving is coming

And despite the world going to hell in a handbasket, I feel extra hopeful and thankful this year.

Who wants to get together for the traditional bloat? As an added impetus, maybe we could watch the Canadian documentary about Jim and see if it's as bad as he thinks it is. Or we could watch something more seasonal, like "Shakes the Clown."

We've got cats for all (two available for take-home,) Jim will barbecute the turkey, old-fashioned hillbilly lawn fight if weather permits, food, food, food. (Assuming people bring some.)

What say? Answer me soon or I swear to christ I'll come after you bums with a meat ax!

(Then when you don't show up and people ask where you are I can say "I axed them, but they didn't answer," bwa ha ha!)

---MEW

My response:

I'm in. Don't hurt me. Let me know what to bring or I swear to God I'll cook something.

Looking forward to it!

Happy Thanksgiving!
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Mother o' God, What's She Up to Now?

This will come as a shock to those of you who see me as a carefree bon vivant and ultra sophisticate, but after a lot of soul searching, I've applied to and been accepted into a Religious Science practitioner training program. (This is not Scientology or anything related to it.)

A practitioner is a spiritual counselor who affirms that the truth of the client is greater than any apparent limitation. Practitioners don’t give advice or beg Reality to move into a specified direction. Rather, they affirm the good of what already is in order to bring our thinking and feeling into alignment with the idea that infinite good surrounds us. This good is in the form of love, harmony, peace, wellness, abundance, and any other good we can imagine.

The training program takes two years and has written and oral exams at the end of it (about like a masters degree). The program has a high attrition rate but my class is intact so far. If I pass, I get licensed and let loose on the world. As with any licensed professional, practitioners charge a fee, which is set by each individual practitioner.

I'm happy to answer any questions, but I must admit this has been a very private part of my life and personality, so I can get a bit defensive when I try to explain myself. But give it a go if you want to know more and I'll do my best to give lucid answers. Also, a good, objective write up is at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religious_Science.
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Life So Far

The whole cancer thing is well resolved. Thanks to everyone who was so kind and comforting. I am a little embarrassed because the problem wasn't comparable to the attention I got.

In other news, it was a fine vacation, after a more than rocky start. The most fun I have all year is at my friends' Ellen and Roger's. They have a hoolie—a rip roaring house party—in conjunction with the Sebastopol Celtic Festival. Musicians who play Irish music come from all over Northern California and have sessions at the house into the wee hours. We all go to the Festival, which is separate and public, but for me the real action is at Ellen and Roger's.

They have a great house and property for this event. Tents are pitched, sleeping bags unrolled, and the enormous kitchen is full of the best food imaginable. We pitch in to contribute, cook, and clean up, and Ellen is a master cook so no one goes hungry. Blessed Daniel, who has Wild Hog Winery, brings many bottles of his finest as well as wonderful vegetables from his wife Marion's garden. (Marion stays home for the crush.) All in all, it's a wonderful hoolie.

From there, Ellen and I drove down to Solvang and Santa Barbara for shopping, beaching, eating, and museum jaunts. We listened to election news all day, every day, and came home highly educated and shopped out.

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What I Did on My Vacation

So here’s how my vacation is going so far.

I’m waiting out in front of the house for the airport shuttle with my giant suitcase all set for two weeks in the sun. In a fit of efficiency, I decide to put my driver’s license and credit card in my pants pocket in preparation for all the times I’ll have to show them at the airport.

Credit card: check. Drivers license...no drivers license. Frantic search everywhere. Still no license. The shuttle driver arrives and I have to tell him to go on without me. More frantic searching. Nada.

I call the Department of Licensing (DOL) and they say, “No problem. Come to the Phinney Ridge DOL and we’ll give you a new one.” There is still time. I’ll get the new license and Terry agrees to leave work and drive me to the airport. It’s tight but doable.

I go to the DOL, I wait in line, I tell my story, and the girl says, “Fine. Look in the little machine and I’ll give you an eye test.”

I can’t see a bloody thing. I can’t believe anyone could see anything in there. She says read line 3 and then tell her the letters I think might be there. I say I can’t make out anything. We do this a bunch of times and she tells me my driving privileges are revoked because I’m blind!

I drive home, illegally, and have a really big meltdown. A howling meltdown.

After I calm down a bit, I go to the Shoreline DOL and, after a 40-minute wait, tell the nice lady there my story and that I just want to see if I can read the letters in her eye-checking machine. I read them fine, she gives me a license, and I tell her to call the person at the Phinney Ridge DOL and tell her to get her machine fixed. I wonder how many people will be told they are blind today until that woman actually comes out from behind the counter and takes a look into the machine herself.

Now I’m home, with my paper license, and calling Expedia to change my flight. An hour and $389.50 later, I have a new flight tomorrow (Thursday). Enterprise changed my car rental to tomorrow for no charge, and I am a dishrag.

Oh! And I had to take a new DL picture with puffy eyes and my makeup all cried off. It will get better after this or there will be ructions.
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Something to Remember

"In every decision you make, in every action you take, you either make the world a better place or a worse place…In every exchange, in every transaction with another human being, you either cut them down or you build them up."

— Aman Motwane
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Fun with Radiation

Radiation is D.U.N.! Last Friday, I finished up and am the proud owner of a truly alarming radiation burn under my arm that is starting to heal and peel. It is handy, I'm finding, at frightening young people. I wear a wife-beater undershirt and lurk around corners. When my granddaughter Olivia ambles along, I jump out, flash my black and peeling armpit, and fall down laughing when she freaks out.

Good times.

The Daily Zap

Every weekday at 4 p.m., I go to Northwest Hospital nuclear medicine department.

I put on a slightly too-small hospital gown and wait in the waiting room to be summoned. There are three people waiting for me: Mike, who used to be a merchant marine (he's in charge); another woman tech who changes all the time; and Mekdem, the very sweet Ethiopian girl intern.

They help me up onto a hard table, position my left arm over my head, and I grasp a handle put there for the purpose. This exposes — and I mean exposes — my left "chest" and underarm. They cover the naughty bits with a warmed towel but it's always pretty precariously balanced and I worry it will slide off. The right hand gets tucked up under my right hip. Then they line up a laser light with the two pin-point tatoos on my sternum and the one on my left torso. This takes a bit of adjusting so that things line up exactly.

Then everyone but me leaves the room and I start telling myself: "There is only one Good: omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent; there is only one Good: omniscient, etc." while a big, long zzzzzzzzzzt! goes off. They all come back and turn the table a bit so they can zap from another angle, leave the room, and zzzzzzzzzt! again. During all this, I am obsessed with that damned towel. I can't move to see if it's actually slipped into my armpit but it sure feels that way, so between praying I neurose about being exposed.

I pick up parking coupons, get dressed, and leave, except on Thursday when I meet with Dr. Cutie Pie about anything that's bugging me or him. We've become quite chummy. I'd like to take him home and tie him up in my yard.

So far, the side effects are a nasty radiation burn that covers my whole left armpit and folliculitis (don't ask) across my chest. They all assure me that both things will go away after the radiation ends, but I find that hard to believe.

On the upside, the "reconstructive surgery" (boob job) is an outpatient procedure paid for by insurance, and I will go to my death with the perky hooters of a teenager.

Grammy Kathy Has a Zoo, EE-I-EE-I-OH

My estimable granddaughter, Peyton Avery Gabriel Nesler, declared our house a zoo, and she is right. Here are the occupants.
Bodhi the Serious Pug is mine. I paid for him. However, like all the pets in the house, he belongs to Terry. Big Al is Ben's. Terry paid for him and he has hysterics whenever she comes home because he, too, belongs to her.

Al is a legendary food thief. He has to his credit: a 7-lb. ham, an entire package of Rollos, a half a pan of brownies, a sample-sized bar of Dove soap, many unprotected dishes of cat food and the paper towels they were served on, and much more.

Chocolate is supposed to kill dogs. No one has mentioned this to Al apparently. It doesn't bother him at all. He's always very ashamed, though. Bodhi shares in the spoils but is not in the least ashamed. He has no conscience.

Girlie is the oldest cat and the best hunter. She understands that we do not like her bringing her half-dead presents into the house but she's just so dang proud she has to show them off. So now she brings them in through the cat door in the dining room, trots down the hall, and parades her kill around the living room so all can admire it, with everyone yelling and gagging and ordering her out. She does a big circle, just out of reach, so everyone can appreciate her latest catch and then takes it back outside the way she came.

Buggy is a big doofus and I mean big, half Himalayan and half sneaky orange neighbor cat. He looks like a big, fuzzy, cross-eyed walking toiletseat cover. He stayed in the house the first six months of his life with us, then was let outside in the spring. He loves the outdoors. He has a dogloo on the deck where he goes if the weather is really nasty so he can stay outside and not be reduced to an icicle. He hangs with the dogs and will line up with them for treats, sitting just like they do.

Hootie is the youngest and a little bastard. He was weak and sickly as a kitten and as a young cat. Now he's a big strapping bully who harasses the other cats until they kick his heinie and he remembers his place.

Finally, there is Chloe the cockatiel. She doesn't cotton to anyone but me. She can't talk, she isn't affectionate, and she does her level best to kill anyone who tries to make up to her. All she does is eat and poop. Not a very satisfying pet.

The only less satisfying pets we have had have gone to Guinea Pig Heaven: Ping and Pong, Peruvian pooping machines. Also deceased are several rats and a gecko named Sticky. I decreed no more rodents (they stink) and no more new cats.

This is ridiculous.

Getting Nuked and Other Amusements

Here's the latest. Radiation starts today, July 2nd, and goes until August 18th. From all reports, it isn't too bad (knock on wood). I go every day at 3:30 p.m., which works out pretty well for my job.

First you lie on a really uncomfortable table, then they line you up by the little tattoos I got two weeks ago (two on the breast bone and one on the left side of my torso) using lasers. Then they zap you. I hope there are some positive side effects to this activity, like turning green and muscular.

The plastic surgeon says she can't do any reconstruction until I'm at least 6 months past the radiation (she prefers a year) so I'll be wearing a pudding-filled balloon on the left until then. We'll meet again in February and evaluate the situation.

That's all I know for now. Thanks for all your kind concern.

Tourettes Strikes Again

I have a personalized license plate that says PAYITFW, and it informs the way I drive and behave behind the wheel. I went to the Bud Galvin School of Offensive Driving, as my sister Mary says, so having to live up to my license plate is a good thing.

Unfortunately, I've been feeling crabby lately about being visited with breast cancer.

As I left my knitting group on Monday night, I drove down the alley as usual and looked left at the end of the alley in preparation to turning right onto the street. I didn't see the three hipsters in black on the sidewalk to my right. They looked peeved and I should have just said "Sorry," but I didn't and turned right onto the street. One of them smacked the side of my car.

I slammed on the brakes, lowered the window, and shrieked like a maniac, "IF YOU EVER TOUCH MY CAR AGAIN, I'LL KILL YOU!" Hip as they are, they looked stunned. Great visual: sweet. saintly white-haired grandmother in a socially conscious Prius with a holy license plate yelling like a trucker. I felt bad for the whole next day. At least I didn't call them little f******s.

More Damned Fun

I didn't intend for this blog to be about this little cancer thing, but it is serving the purpose of me not having to repeat the same story 90 times.

So, today's installment goes like this: things didn't seem right so I called the surgeon and told her nurse, "Things don't seem right." She said come in at 1 p.m. and we'll make things right.

First they swabbed with Betadyne, then injected with novacaine, then used a giant horse syringe to drain out 40 cc's of what was joshingly referred to as "old blood." And if that wasn't enough, the doc says she will undoubtedly have to do it again in a week.

Keep those cards and letters coming. Send white light in mega doses.

Left Boob as Hobby

This whole deal has many requirements—things I have to do, all of them during work hours and none of them paying a dime. Here's the latest skinny.

Saw Dr. Landis, radiation oncologist, last Friday. He spelled out the radiation thing in detail, right down to the two tattoos I have to get on each side of my torso so they can line up the machine. I've requested mermaids, at Mary's suggestion, but they keep insisting on tiny dots.

Next is a chemo consult with a Dr. Tolman. I asked why I have to talk to him, since I'm not having chemotherapy, and they waved around some vague references to hormones. Since hormones are what likely got me into this in the first place, it's not bloody likely that I'll take any more.

After that comes a CT scan so they can accurately plan the bombardment.

Finally, we go into 5 to 7 weeks of daily radiation treatments right in time to cancel out my vacation in Santa Barbara with my BFF Ellen and our nurse practioner friend Fran.

There are no fun chemicals involved in any of this; however, Dr. Landis says it increases the chances of no recurrence of the C word by 100%, so I guess I'm in.

I'd like to end this on an up note. I feel very good, I've discovered how many people care about me and they are just the people you'd want to care about you, and I'm not in the least bit worried.

FYI, here's something you might want to know. If you can't think of anything to say to someone having a hard time, say that. "I hear you are having a hard time and I don't know what to say, but I want you to know I wish you weren't."

Done

Surgery was today. All seems well, but then I'm zonked on pain meds. I feel OK, but then I'm zonked on pain meds. Doc says it was successful.

Thanks for all the the loving support I've received. I'm sure it has made the whole event flow with grace and ease.

Surgery Day

For those who have been asking: Thursday, 5-15-08, 1 p.m.

The warm-up starts at 10:15 a.m. with the checking in ceremony. If one more person asks me list my prior surgeries and current medications, you will hear about it on the 6 o'clock news. So far, there have been four requests for the exact same information. In the same medical facility.

Then The Girls and I go to a procedure euphemistically called "wire localization." It involves inserting wires right in the breast in a circle around the area to be removed, much like staking out an excavation. This is done with a local anesthetic. Can't wait.

Now we wait at least an hour for the main event, the surgery. I figure by then I'll be ready for some major druggage and may even have to be restrained from helping myself.

I'll go home after I wake up. No staying in the hospital for me, apparently.

That's all the news from Lake Woebegone. I probably won't be lucid until Saturday so phone calls might be a bit stranger than usual; consider yourself warned.

The Best of "Overheard in New York"

Every week I get an e-mail from http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/ and usually end up laughing until I cry. They are literally conversations overheard in New York and sent in to the web site. Here are some of the best recent ones.

Pissed girlfriend: You never want to do anything fun.
Exasperated boyfriend: That's because everything you call 'fun' involves heroin or fire.

Angry woman to friend: I have a contention with the way people pronounce my daughter's name. I did not name my daughter 'Lady Nasty'! I named my baby girl 'La Dynasty.'

Little boy holding pack of Orbitz gum: Mommy, is this kosher?
Mother: Sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you that we aren't Jewish?

Five-year-old boy: I want a spoon of peanut butter for breakfast!
Dad: Are you allowed to eat that for breakfast? I'm not sure, let's call your mom.
Five-year-old boy: You're an adult, you can make those decisions.

Thug #1 to Thug #2, while observing typical, plain, Midwest vacationing family getting off a tour bus: Get back on that bus! This New York! You can't handle this shit! [Teenage kids smile. The father, absolutely horrified, grabs the kids and throws them back on the bus.]

Mom: Oh my god! Why are these things so expensive?
Lil' boy holding fake jewelry: Hey mommy! You know what I want to be? I want to be a girl.
Mom laughing nervously: Can you believe some of the things these kids say?

Drunk woman: I won't sleep with people when I'm drunk. I'm not like that. I get drunk and I punch people in the face... I'm totally against infidelity. I can't deal with that. I mean, I've been caught cheating lots of times, and it totally sucks.

College girl #1: Which way to the Eiffel Tower?
Suit, puzzled, pointing East: That way?
College girl #2: How far is it?
Suit: About three thousand miles.
College girl #1: No! No! [Makes peak with fingertips of both hands.] The... Eiffel... Tower!
Suit: Yeah, that way about three thousand miles—across the Atlantic Ocean —in Paris.
College girl #2, also making peak with hands: No! No! It's a... It's a... The Empire State Building!
Suit, pointing at looming Empire State Building: The Empire State Building is right there.
College girl #2: You have to excuse us—we're from Oregon.

Father to son running towards intersection: Remember! A foot in the street means a foot in your ass!

The Upside of Letting It All Hang Out

Someone asked why I would tell people—lots of people—that I am dealing with cancer. Boy, that wasn't my first instinct. My first and strongest instinct was the pull in on myself and not tell anyone, not even family. But I changed my mind and here's why.

• I want to feel supported. I could more easily go through it alone. I think. But I don't want to find out if that's true and I don't want to be the kind of person who shuts others out in order to maintain a perfect image.
• I want to overcome separateness. That's a personal goal and boy, did it work. I received such amazing responses.
• I want to create connection. I've been thinking for the past year about just what constitutes "love." It seems to me that at least part of the definition is about feeling connected with one another. This looked like a good connection possibility.
• I want to practice being my best self. My best self is the same on the inside as on the outside—integrated—and this is a great chance to let down the portculus.

That's it. If you would rather not see my inside self or be connected or otherwise hear this saga, just let me know and I'll remove you from the distribution list but not from my heart.

Next I'll have an MRI. They are lots of fun. Not. But things go better with Valium. After that, a surgical consult. Stay tuned.

Big Drama

Well, it looks like my plan to live forever just might not work out. A routine mammogram turned up some minuscule calcium deposits. This led to a real fun morning with an alien probe machine on Thursday and a call from the doctor at 8 a.m. Monday morning to say there were some early signs of cancer and I needed surgery. I wrote stuff down and made appointments and tried to work from home in a kind of fog for the rest of the day.

Since the contractor and his minions were prancing around with power tools and deconstructing my upstairs from 8:30 a.m. on, I didn't have time to think until four in the afternoon. All of a sudden the house was empty, things got quiet, and I could sit in my purple suede rocking chair next to the fountain and think.

Much to my surprise, I felt bad. Really bad. Crying bad, and I don't cry except for once every 6 years or so. My mind didn't feel bad but apparently my body did, so I just sat in the purple suede rocker and looked at the back yard while I blubbered and rocked for a while. It was a gorgeous spring late afternoon and I could see a riot of forget-me-nots, tulips, camellias, and other growing stuff, and all I could think of was I would really miss living if I had to give it up. Besides, I'm just getting good at it.

Having a good cry cleared my mind and I am expecting the best possible outcome. Thanks to everyone who has expressed such kind and loving sentiments. I love you back.

My Sister Mary

That's my little sister, Mary, on the right with her BFF, Carmen, and her belly dance teacher, Kat, on the left.

One of Mary's hobbies is belly dancing and she's been doing it since college, maybe even high school. She has purple hair to her waist and is quite the vision when she dances, which she manages to make look elegant instead of just wanton hoochie-koochie (which, as Mary points out, it never really is). Doesn't she look spectacular? I'm very proud of her and like her a lot.

I am the first of the family litter and Mary is the last. She was born cheery and amusing. I call her Meem, short for Mimi. I am 5'3 and a half and she is almost 6 feet tall (our mother said it was 6 feet tall, but Mary denies it).

Mary is very creative. She invented a drive-in breast implant company called Jiffy-Boob. It should make millions.

The Ten Suggestions

Saint Kathleen will now pontificate for you. But be careful—this is a touchy subject.

"Commandment” is such an irritating word. “I command you to…” “Thou shalt…” “Thou shalt not…” And if you don’t do as you are commanded, you are committing a “sin.” Ooooo.

Sin, really, is just an error for which you are responsible. You have a good bow, a straight arrow, and a stable target, but you miss. A slip-up. An error. And you did it, so it’s your "fault." Guilt is irrelevant unless it moves you to not do this again.

Different religions have slightly different versions of the Ten Commandments, but these following are generally inclusive of the several meanings in each religion. They are just statements of fact, cause and effect: if you make a mistake, there are consequences. Some mistakes are small, like forgetting to water houseplants; they die. Others are big and have big consequences.

Here’s my take on the subject and this is my blog, so I can say this stuff. Besides, what’s the fun of getting old and batty if you can’t flaunt it?

Suggestion #1: I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol. You shouldn’t value anything more highly than good—that is, whatever makes for abundant life—because if you do, you’ll be really, really peeved on your deathbed. Or maybe even before. The other stuff doesn’t last. Knowing you were kind whenever you could be does last. Idols can be money, power, children, or just about anything—whatever you think you just have to have in order to make your life work.

Suggestion #2. You shall not make wrongful use of the name of God. You shouldn’t use language lightly; it has power and can come back to bite you, especially with children. I’ll bet Mr. Hitler is sorry he berated and smacked around little Adolf. Or Mr. Borden, who was famously unkind to little Lizzie.

Suggestion #3. Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. You shouldn’t be a Type A and work all the time because you will have a big, nasty comeuppance some day when you realize that accomplishments, while satisfying at the time, are pretty temporary and you end up on a hamster wheel trying to top your last accomplishment. Besides, if you don’t sit down and shut off your mind, your interior computer can’t toss up insights and creative ideas.

Suggestion #4. Honor your Father and Mother. You should cut your parents some slack because what goes around comes around and you might want someone to cut you some, especially if you have kids. Your parents were doing what they thought was the thing to do, even if it went wrong. And as my mother used to say, “Every teacher has something to teach you, even if it’s a horrible example.”

Suggestion #5. You shall not murder/kill. Don’t do that. It doesn’t make you feel any better and even if you don’t get caught, you won’t like yourself, which leads to all kinds of nasty mental health problems that poison whatever you thought you were going to gain from offing someone.

Suggestion #6. You shall not commit adultery. This assumes you and/or your adulteree are in a committed relationship. Is there a bigger cock-up, as the British say, (no pun intended) than getting into someone else’s business?

Suggestion #7. You shall not steal. This causes lots of the same complications as #5, though usually not on the same scale. Aside from the possibility of jail or retaliation on the part of the robbee, there is the emotional snarl you get into when you do something you just know you wouldn’t want done to you, unless you are a total sociopath and have no empathy for other people, in which case this won’t compute for you and there is nothing known to man that will straighten you out.

Suggestion #8. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. This is gossip or the “sin” (error) of calumny, an old-fashioned word that means discussing other people in a false and/or negative way. It means if you are trashing someone, especially falsely, there will be big consequences, not the least of which is that all people, especially those who are listening to you, won’t trust you. Don’t do it.

Suggestion #9. You shall not covet your neighbor's house. Suggestion #10. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife. These two are really the same thing. It’s the “sin” (mistake) of thinking that someone else has something that you would be better off if you had. You won’t because your basic POV (that’s movie talk—point of view) is that you aren’t well off. It’s the Law of Attraction: you will get more of what you already have. If what you believe you have is mediocre material goods and a not-good-enough relationship, guess what you are going to get? More second-rate material things and another lousy relationship. If you want more of the good stuff, identify what good stuff you have and applaud it, admire it, celebrate it. Then you’ll get more and you’ll feel good.

All in all, these ten activities have two problems that make them unappealing:

• you can get caught and the consequences will be nasty, now or eventually

• you will mess with your own peace of mind in a big way.

However, if you do make a mistake, my advice is to admit it, feel bad for a while, make what restitution you can, and learn from it. “Move on with your life and don’t make that mistake anymore,” to paraphrase a smart dead guy.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Morning Frolics

Our Pixiebob is named Sparky Heinie the Wonder Cat. This is because he chews electrical cords and I fully expect to find him some day flying around the room backwards with sparks shooting out of his bum.

At about 4:40 AM, Sparky Heinie the Wonder Cat turns on his motor and sits on the side of my head that isn’t facing the pillow. If the noise and pressure on the side of my head don’t get my attention, he leans over and licks inside the nearest nostril. This never fails to animate me.

I roll over really fast onto my other side, and Sparky repositions himself on the bed for the next maneuver, which is to do his commando crawl along my torso, then under my arm, worming his way toward my face, purring aggressively. I play dead. He bumps my nose with his cold, wet one, which might be affection or it might be a cat torture technique. I roll over. We keep this up, with variations on the theme, until 5:30 when I give up and get out of bed.

I plug in the curling iron in the bathroom, then go back to the bedroom to turn on the yoga tape in the bedroom VCR, Sparky trailing along and inspecting, batting at, and obstructing everything. I’ve tried feeding him first but he doesn’t want food. He’s just a morning person and is overjoyed to start the day. We do yoga for about a half hour (and I do mean “we”) before I get dressed.

I’m making my lunch when I hear a low growl in the living room. I walk in very quietly and Sparky is staring at the wall of windows where the giant evil white poodle from down the street has his nose pressed to the glass, staring witlessly at Sparky. It’s a standoff. I back out quietly and get my slingshot.

There’s something just so damned cheeky about this dog menacing us in the windows after pooping on our lawn. He does it all the time. And he runs up to me in my yard and barks like I’m intruding on his territory.

Ordinarily I love dogs. I’m a saint; ask anybody. But this dog is an idiot and I project that his owners must be, too. I’m ready for him. My plan is to stun him with my slingshot and, while he’s out, truss him up with an old phone cord so I can decorate him with various colors of spray paint and glue-on plastic jewels as a warning to his owners to keep him home. I’ll paint his toenails with gold airplane dope, pencil in eyebrows with a Magic Marker, and feed him food coloring so his tongue turns blue. Then I’m going to shave “Crapper Go Home” across his butt and let him go.

I go out the front door and sneak around the house to the east side where he’s still glued to the window wall. Horse chestnuts are my ammunition of choice—substantial but organic and virtually untraceable—and I have the slingshot loaded, ready to go.

Just as he senses my presence and starts to turn toward me, I quickly move out a bit from the side of the house, taking aim at the same time. I have a clear shot at the area between his big brown eyes. He starts barking and I let fly and am reloading even as the horse chestnut hits him hard on the nose. He lets out a yelp and lurches backward, pivoting in mid air as he goes. I nail him again in the butt, which he tucks gracelessly, shagging for home.

I call this round a draw and continuing getting ready for work. I'll get you, Crapper.

Dreams

Dream interpretation is more an art than a science, but this method is one I've found to be quick and effective. Just remember a couple of things:

• a dream is a picture of a feeling.

• a dream is always about something you don't know or don't want to know.

• The negative stuff represents how you are feeling, not who you are.

• The positive stuff is pointing you in the direction that you need to go—your growing edge.

• Nightmares are intense because they are designed to get your attention on some important matter.

Here's an example.

1. Write down a dream

The Dream

I’m on my way to a party or wedding or ceremony in a place I’ve been to before. It was hard to get to then but now it’s easy.

It is in a rustic area, like Chatsworth Lake.

The road is nothing but a narrow gravel track, but I remember how to get there.

Along the way I see local people hanging out, laughing and talking. It makes me realize that I admire their experience of community, even though the people are not well off or sophisticated.

2. Pick out all the negative words—words that indicate limitation, disrespect, constriction, avoidance, damage, etc. These indicate how you are feeling.

I am feeling...	The Dream
difficult to get to	I’m on my way to a party or wedding or ceremony in a place I’ve been to before. It was hard to get to then but now it’s easy.
undeveloped	It is in a rustic area, like Chatsworth Lake.
narrow access, unimproved	The road is nothing but a narrow gravel track, but I remember how to get there.
poor, unsophisticated	Along the way I see local people hanging out,laughing and talking. It makes me realize that I admire their experience of community, even though the people are not well off or sophisticated.

3. Identify the positive words.These represent your growing edge and indicate what you need.

I am feeling...	The Dream	I need...
difficult to get to	I’m on my way to a party or wedding or ceremony in a place I’ve been to before. It was hard to get to then but now it’s easy.	ceremony, familiar place, easy
undeveloped	It is in a rustic area, like Chatsworth Lake.
narrow access, unimproved	The road is nothing but a narrow gravel track, but I remember how to get there.	remember
poor, unsophisticated	Along the way I see local people hanging out,laughing and talking. It makes me realize that I admire their experience of community, even though the people are not well off or sophisticated.	community

4. Put it all together. This is the interpretation part.

I am feeling...	The Dream	I need...	INTERPRETATION
difficult to get to	I’m on my way to a party or wedding or ceremony in a place I’ve been to before. It was hard to get to then but now it’s easy.	ceremony, familiar place, easy	I am on my way to improvement of a familiar situation.
undeveloped	It is in a rustic area, like Chatsworth Lake.		I am undeveloped in this area.
narrow access, unimproved	The road is nothing but a narrow gravel track, but I remember how to get there.	remember	I'm not adept but am aware of what's important.
poor, unsophisticated	Along the way I see local people hanging out,laughing and talking. It makes me realize that I admire their experience of community, even though the people are not well off or sophisticated.	community, connection	I need to have more interaction with people who value community.

5. Identify the location—the area of your life being pictured.

6. Give the dream a title—the summary of the what dream means.

Location	Neighborhood where there is lots of interaction between residents = connection, community.
Title	"Getting Back in Touch with What's Important "

See the Irish dream web site, Aisling, for some good descriptions of common dream symbols. However, your associations with a symbol are more important than any generic description.

Welcome to My Blog

Well, I tried this out on a few close friends, and they were shocked and offended, so I guess it's OK to distribute.

This winter in Seattle has been cold and grim—the coldest and snowiest I've experienced here—so we find our entertainment where we can. This is my way of keeping in touch and indulging a teensy tendency to show off.

Stay tuned...

Why I Peed in the Mens Room

So, here’s why I peed in the men’s room.

I’m working on a fascinating project and I love the guys I work with because not only are they computer geeks extraordinaire but they are literate. And they ask me questions about my field. They really want to know the difference between “disinterested” and “uninterested” and why punctuation goes inside quotation marks. They are great writers, too.

Back to the story. I’m at my desk doing hard thinking work about how I’m going to depict this graphic that we’re working on that will determine the cyber security methods for the whole company for the next five years at least. It shows things like biometrics and RFIDs and complex passwords. Then I have to go to the bathroom. Still thinking and imagining solutions intensely, I head for the restrooms.

The restrooms are down the hall, at opposite ends of an alcove. I wheel into the alcove, hit the door, and head for my favorite potty, the handicapped one. (No handicapped people had better ever challenge me on using it, either. I’m a woman, I'm fat, I’m old, and if that isn’t a handicap, I don’t know what is.)

So I’m sitting on the pot, still thinking and imagining how to solve this problem when I notice that the woman next to me has some pretty hefty brogans showing underneath the stall wall. And she is flushing the toilet over and over again, non-stop. Weird. But I’m busy so I wash my hands and turn to leave the deserted restroom. The woman in the brogans is still flushing like crazy.

As I near the door, I glance to the side. Urinals? What are urinals doing in here? Aw, Holy Mother of God.

A couple of days later, I’m driving down the freeway, and I start laughing in a way that is a danger to me and everyone else because my driving is definitely impaired. I realize the “woman” next to me probably noticed my cute little ballet flats and thought he was in the ladies room. What repeatedly flushing the toilet was going to do to remedy the situation, I don’t know, but I almost made an unsafe lane change I was laughing so hard.

Aren’t old people fun? Ah, well. Back to my chow mein.

Another Saturday Night...

and I'm starting a blog.

If you leave parties early, as I just did, you have time to do interesting things, like start a blog or prank call your ex-boyfriends or paint your dog's toenails.

At any rate, I'm not sure what will appear here, but I'll try to make it worthwhile. For example, here's a useful idea to program yourself with: "This has come to pass but it isn't staying." Apply to all unwanted conditions and people.