Oklahoma Dreaming: Tidbits V
by Donna Schoenkopf
I woke up this morning while it was still dark, made some coffee, turned on the TV, and watched an infomercial on a “new” kind of shaving razor. As the sun rose an hour or so later, painting the sky all orange and pink through the leafless trees in the east, I noticed something different about the outdoor world.
Everything was covered with rime, that thin coating of sparkling ice. It looks like snow at first glance, but when your eye rests on something for more than a second or two the sparkle and crustiness of that whiteness reveals itself.
It’s gorgeous.
When I buried the dead cat that I thought was Che Guevara, MY cat, and it was revealed that he was instead a mystery cat without a name known to me, I made sure to pile logs on top of the grave in order to keep the dogs from digging him up.
Well, the dogs dug UNDER the logs from the side, exposing the sweet arm and paw of the poor dead thing. So I piled more logs on top of him, but to no avail. The dogs (or SOMETHING) dug under the logs again and ... don’t read this part if you’re squeamish ... chewed off Dead Cat’s pretty little paw, leaving an exposed, splintered forepaw sticking out of the fur of his arm.
Now there is a HUGE pile of logs over a much larger area of the grave.
Rest in peace, “Not Che.”
Took Rosie to the vet’s yesterday. She had developed a huge sore on the nape of her neck. I treated it with topical antibiotic, but that wasn’t doing the trick. Just got more raw.
FINALLY, I realized it was ringworm. And she had been snuggling with me on my bed. Gaaaaaaaaack! And she had been canoodling with Che and the open wound of his amputated leg.
All I could see in my mind was my bed full of ringworms, Che’s remaining stump riddled with ringworm, and me with round circles of raw skin all over my body, oozing pus.
I poured her into the cat carrier and zoomed over to the vet’s. Dr. Bob, my hero, pulled her unceremoniously out of her cat carrier and plopped her on the examination table. He pulled out his Wood’s Light (it’s a light you shine over the patient which turns ringworm fungi a fluorescent green) and, sure enough, her neck shone like a beacon, and not only THAT, small particles of fluorescent green sparkled all over her fur.
Bet you didn’t know ringworm fungus starts as small particles, did you? Well, neither did I, so don’t feel undereducated.
It totally grossed me out.
Then I asked Dr. Bob if I would get ringworm. He said no, I was too old. Then he apologized profusely. (It was the first time anyone ever apologized to me about me being old.)
I had to laugh. I have been dealing with getting old for so long that it’s hilarious that anyone would think I am sensitive about it. After looking at my body in the mirror for the last twenty years and seeing something that I didn’t recognize as my own, and finally having to reconcile myself to the fact that, yes, indeed, that WAS my body in the mirror and I wasn’t going to do anything about it because, dammit, that’s what happens to us all when the time comes, and it was okay with me. Finally.
So Dr. Bob, if you’re listening, I’m fine with my age. It comes with perks. Like not getting ringworm or having monthly ups and downs with PMS. Yeah. All in all it’s A-OK with me that I’m 66 years old and happy. And ringworm-free.
ringworm fungus
ANYWAY, Dr. Bob showed me how to give Rosie a giant pill every day (hold her secure, prop her mouth open with one hand, insert pill in gullet, then PUSH it down) and I pushed her into her carrier (for which she was grateful, at this point) and paid the bill, $54.50.
Home we went, Rosie and I.
And then I decided I wanted to take an Outdoor Shower after having the mental picture of those green flecks all over Rosie, but forgot my towels, and left the door open and by the time I got back Rosie was halfway down the hill into the woods.
Damn.
And she didn’t come back last night, even though I put Angela Davis and Dumped Dog Number Eighteen (who’s been trying to impregnate Angela for a week now) in the shed for the night AND put Diego the Dog in the only closed room in the house—the bathroom—all night, even though he whined and carried on most of that night. I wanted Rosie to be fright-free and come back the same day.
Nope. Not happening. And you know what? I’m not sweating it. I’m not even mad. I’m pretty much detached. I think, finally, I’ve had enough of Rosie and her phobias.
Live and be well, Rosa Luxemburg. Come home or not. It’s up to you.
John is in California finalizing ads for his paper, L.A. Record. He is coming home on Christmas. I have a bottle of shampoo for him for his Christmas present, a bottle of Suave (orange-colored). It’s the shampoo he likes the most.
The reason I’m giving him shampoo is: for three weeks his hair was really gummy and horrible. Finally I asked him if he was washing his hair. He said, yes, every day. Then I went into the bathroom and saw only a bottle of conditioner in the shower. He had been “shampooing” with conditioner all that time.
Oh.
I am happy about the health care bill (even though it’s not single-payer) and the climate change conference in Copenhagen (even though nothing is concrete) and green stimulus (even though nobody pays any attention to environmental issues) and Al Franken refusing to let Joe Lieberman have an additional “moment” to finalize his remarks (even though in the next breath Franken let Lieberman continue).
As you wander on through life, Brother,
Whatever be your goal,
Keep your mind upon the donut
And not upon the hole.
And another thing I’m happy about is Don, a member of The Cell, actually looking up that saying and finding its derivation(s) because that’s kind of guy he is.
Affordable housing has many dimensions. The actual monetary cost of buying/building is one dimension. Another is how much it costs to run the house (utilities, insurance, etc.).
But a third factor of affordability is emotional costs and benefits.
Oklahoma is affordable because it has some problems:
Second highest in the nation for multiple marriages.
Lots of meth.
Low teacher pay.
Tons of fast food restaurants and not many healthy ones.
Hard to get organic meat or decent seafood.
Lots of child abuse.
High obesity, smoking, murdered women rates.
That’s the price you pay for living here. It’s expensive, emotionally.
But I find the benefits of living here at Chigger Lake, four miles south of Tecumseh, on thirteen beautiful acres, to be enormous.
I have just the right amount of alone time. I have great neighbors close by to whom I can go for any damn thing.
I have dear, dear old friends and a lovely remarried ex-husband who is married to a woman who is perfect for him.
I have the Democratic Club and Sustainable Shawnee Organization, filled with smart and good people.
I have quietude.
I have beauty.
I have a house that I absolutely LOVE. (The sun is slanting through the windows now, leaving long shadows and large blocks of light throughout the whole house.)
I’ve brought in all my winter-intolerant plants, the aloes and the succulents and the plumeria. They turn the house into more of a garden in the winter than in the summer. It’s positively tropical in here.
Sometimes I just sit here taking everything in. Peace fills me. I am home.
As I’ve said before ...
“Keep your eye upon the donut ...”
You will NOT believe this. Rosie JUST walked in the door. She’s got her tail up in her most fetching manner and wants to be fed. She’s been gone for a day and a half. This whole routine is getting to be tooooo much.
But ... NOW I know what the trick is to getting her back in the house. (I think.)
I have to put the dogs up. They chase cats. That’s how Che lost his leg, I’m pretty sure. If a coyote had been what had mangled Che’s leg, Che would have been his dinner.
About fifteen minutes ago I put Angela Davis in the car and Diego Rivera in the bathroom. (He’s whining in misery.) Dumped Dog Number Eighteen probably is posted at the car, watching for his chance to be with Angela Davis. Now that Rosie’s in I’ll let them out so they can resume their dog stuff. But NOT cat-chasing.
Welcome home, Rosie.
donna@fourstory.org
Comments
Wow, plenty of excitement at Chigger Lake. Don’t know if I can stand it…. Happy Holidays, everybody!
2009-12-22 by Judy Sing