Because you can never have enough Walken

With surprises at the end!

Random roundup

A few things that have been going on...

We have a new neighbour who is a bundle of nerves. There may be other factors at work there, such as the possibility of early dementia or something. In any case, she mentioned she's 68 and I was aghast. I would have pegged her at about 8 years older. There is no doubt that she is excruciatingly lonely. She has a loud, high-pitched voice and speaks at rapid-fire speed without pausing often for a breath, and has a litany of woes that come out in a circular and disjointed torrent - everything jumbled up with an edge of near-hysteria. Her neglectful yet controlling sister, her own inability to make ends meet on a pension, injustices from the recent past, her sleep patterns, her phone conversations, her outings, her laundry. It's hard to follow the quick jumps from one train of thought to the next. But the themes are always the same, and one of them is poverty.

At first the women of our immediate entourage encircled her and helped out. A pint of milk here, a loaf of bread there, a loan of some household item, an ear to listen. But like most victims who grasp onto every lifeline with a death grip, she threatens to take us all down into her vortex of extreme need. And so, bit by bit, we've all kind of backed off. Not entirely. But significantly.

I went to a friend for advice. How do you practice detachment when faced with an elder person who frequently lacks basic necessities of life? He said: Find out where she spends her money. And the answer came the next day, when something she said finally sent the red flag up. Not for the first time, she mentioned taking a taxi, stopping for a cold beverage or an ice cream cone, eating a quick meal at one of our fast-food joints. And bingo. (The game. Not the moment of enlightenment for me.)

When a coffee will set you back $2.50, a regular ice cream cone $3.00, and a small dinner at McDonalds $6.00, and any single trip across this town about $7.00, that's where the money for milk and bread has gone.

So while I feel it unjust that a pensioner cannot permit herself small treats now and then, I no longer feel as though I am willfully turning my back on someone in need.

(I have shared my own food on three occasions, and bought milk. But that's pretty much over with, now. I could inquire about available assistance at the local community centre - she might be willing to get help drawing up a budget.)

I bought a dress
Cannot remember the last time I even looked at a dress on a rack. Skirts, yes, but dresses, no. I saw this one, tried it on. A good two sizes too small at the ribcage. (Mom always said I had a big ribcage. I always felt so insulted.) But! It was marked down $95 off the original price. It was not an impulsive purchase. I thought about it for 4 days before going back to the store. I told myself if the dress was still there, I would buy it. It was, and I did.

So the diet continues.

The cleanse
I finally, finally got around to embarking on the 9-day detox/cleanse/flush/whatever you want to call it. I began the same day I spotted the dress, although the two things were completely unrelated at the time.

Without going into dull details, it's all very scientifically valid and indeed, very complete and balanced. There are "shake days" and "cleanse days." Shake days are bearable (one meal + food options, 2 shakes). Cleanse days (which are strictly limited in number - never more than 2 consecutive days within a 7-day period) are tough. They involve liquids but no solids. On the evening of my second cleanse day I went into a form of mental crisis. Shopping at the specialty boutique didn't help.

That boutique was interesting, though. It's run on an estate by a community of cloistered Greek Orthodox nuns, up in the countryside northeast of here. They make their own cheese from their own goats, and also jams, jellies, baclava, spanakopita, bread and even fine chocolates. Everything handmade, all organic.

If you must be a nun, cooking and baking must make life tolerable.

I bought a few items, but ate nothing. On the way back, we stopped at a private home that had a small hand-lettered sign on the mailbox, and I picked up some fresh eggs.

And finally, summer vacations, or not
I was going to take a motorcycle road trip with a friend - the one I called "The Shark" here last summer... who has been an on-again, off-again platonic buddy. But I decided that if I'm going to spend significant amounts of money and time, it should be with someone who is joyful, inquisitive, and talkative. He is none of those things at the moment - has been downright taciturn and indifferent since mid-May.

So I've decided, instead, to take a few mini-vacations in the form of excursions into Montreal. I have two general invitations launched on Facebook (Torn and Traci) and also my son + backyard pool where he lives. Torn and his gang are enthusiastic drinkers, but I think the fun of actually meeting him and Serge will outweigh any doubts I might have about personal temptation. Booze lost its enjoyment for me long ago. There's also the jazz fest and some other city fun... and an AA friend who is interested in at least one excursion to an outdoor market and a spice hunt.

Then, at the end of July, is a small family get-together. It will be wonderful to see my siblings again. It's been a long time.

And now I must zoom, because I am going garage-sale picking with friends.

For my brother Paul

Two wins

In other news, such as it is, be it ever so not-terribly-interesting, I won a door prize today. It was a giveaway from a pricey local shop, a place that generally has very nice (but pricey) clothes, where I do not shop because of the prices. So what did they pick to give away? Probably one of the uglier items in the store, a shirt that was most assuredly overpriced and which I suspect only an active sportswoman with zero fashion sense would buy.

Needless to say, I don't plan on wearing it.

Last May at my last intensive retreat the nuns were holding a bazaar. On the second day they held a raffle. I didn't know about it until five minutes before the draw. Tickets were cheap so I bought 10. Second prize was a bottle of champagne and 4 flutes. I was not interested (even in my drinking days I got no kick from champagne) in winning that, and I didn't. I got a Discman. Which is cool, because although it's virtually obsolete technology nowadays, I can use it at home.

I never used to win anything. Now I'm sort of hoping I win the next raffle, for which I bought a $10 ticket two weeks ago (to encourage a buddy) although I never thought to ask what the prize is. A Pontiac Solstice would be acceptable.

Kits

CUTE!

I can't really tell them apart. So I call them Eeny, Meeny, Miny and Mo, or just "scoots" or "zoomies" as a group because of the way they scoot around in little spurts. Usually I just have to speak (phone calls have become hellish) and they come running. I am, after all, The Mom with the Food.

I started putting down a plate of milky baby cereal for them. This intrigues them enough to keep three busy while I bottle-feed the fourth.

Appreciating what you've got

For a few weeks this past winter I wrote a daily gratitude list: five things which made me happy each day. Sometimes it was a phone call from my son, a great night's sleep or a good meal I'd made myself.

After a while I sort of let it drop, but I still express my gratitude in my head every time something good happens in my day.

The first geese, the first robins, the first crocuses of spring. The first days warm enough to sit out in the sun in the morning. Not having to wear winter boots. Finding great sandals on special (I bought two - yes, two! - pairs in the past week. At that price I'll be happy if they last the summer.)

At first, I was pretty down at the prospect of caring for the kittens. They were peeing everywhere and it was such a chore, feeding them and wiping their butts and washing loads of urine-soaked towels and old sheets. But we're now into a manageable routine, I got them litter-trained over the weekend, and I must admit that now they are starting the fun stage. They scoot around like little puff balls - my lord, they can move fast. They are starting to play. And they still sleep all night, which is amazing. They let me sleep in until 8:25 this morning! Unheard of!

So today, not overly pressed for time, I fed them, let them play, reminded them to pee in the box, fed them again, let them play, then went out to my noon meeting - my first group here in town, my home group on the "French side" of the program. I am chairing the discussions each Monday throughout this month and it is great to have a smaller crowd than we had all winter (8 today, as opposed to 28 two months ago). It gives us all a chance to speak at length about what's on our minds, instead of being limited to the usual 3 minutes.

Then a friend and I went to Walmart and I picked up a few important items I haven't had enough time to detour over there to buy. This afternoon I will do some translation and cook the eggs for tomorrow's school breakfast. Tonight, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to get the kittens fed and settled and attend an evening meeting.

And I have appreciated every minute of this day so far. I have enough work, my rent and bills are paid, I have good food in the fridge... I have what I need. Nothing needs to be extraordinary. The ordinary is good enough for me, today.

Time in different increments

The kittens are 24 days old. I've been feeding them for 9 days. Thankfully, a friend took two, so I'm only handling four (all grey, can't hardly tell them apart). They eat about every two hours lately, but they sleep all night (6 hours).

Tomorrow is my six-month sobriety date. That's a lot of one-day-at-a-time-ing. It hasn't been hard, though. The desire to drink is gone, and that alone makes everything else a lot more bearable.

Slow but steady

Lots of stuff has been going on, boy oh boy. Most of it relating simply to learning how to live. I did the big cleanup which we call a "moral inventory" last weekend and shed the worst of the past. That in itself is... the experience of a lifetime. There is an acceptance of all that came before and, while not shutting the door on it, let me tell you none of it hurts anymore. And that is a big load off.

After that, Teitei disappeared on Tuesday morning and I was left holding the bag (bottles, actually) with the six babies. So I've been feeding them by hand. It's manageable, once you realize that they won't starve to death under your watch, but it's a burden. On the other hand, they sleep right through the night! I kept looking for mommy, but there was no sign until today...

This babysitting duty makes it impossible to have long-term plans (anything longer than 6 hours), but the local no-kill shelter says I have a better chance of being allowed to drop them off there when they are six weeks old and eating on their own. It involves a donation of money on my part, and that's alright.

Meanwhile, as some Facebookers know, Teitei was euthanized this morning when she turned up with a broken back and paralyzed hindquarters. I wrapped her up, put her in the carrier, and took a cab to the vet. It wasn't a tough call, morally, but it was hard emotionally. They gave her two tranquilizers first and the ultimate needle worked within seconds. I had about 20 minutes between the two phases to sit with her. (Bawling my eyes out, whaddya think?)

I don't know how far she had to crawl to make it back here. I heard her meow under my living room window, saw the horribly splayed back legs, and ran down. Her knees had been scraped to the bone.

The lesson learned -- at long last -- is that feeding strays in winter, even when you feel desperately sorry for them, allows them to procreate and if you aren't ready to assume the responsibilities and costs down the line, you must look the other way and let nature take its course.

Subsequent to doing my moral housecleaning, I began to tackle two other parts of my life which I had put on hold - financial (accounting) and medical. Now that the ball is rolling again in those areas, there is also a sense of relief. Procrastination, at which I excel, is being actively worked on.

Lastly, there is one habit I retain: that of forming quick resentments. A current one involves my back porch. My neighbour (EM) and I share it, and he hooked up a system of laundry lines which can be set up and disassembled when need be. Problem is, he lets other neighbours hang their wash on the line, and I am tired of seeing other folks' sheets, towels, underwear and socks hanging on my side -- in my face, as it were. When it's sunny, they block my sun and frankly, it's also unsightly. One neighbour even moves any stuff I might have on my part of the balcony to that she can hang her clothes!

For my own esthetic enjoyment and also to curtail their encroachment on and lack of respect for my space, I am about to buy planters and flowers to hang on the railing. I called Emphysema Man this morning to warn him of impending changes and restrictions. I hope there will not be any need for confrontations with the other ladies. Otherwise they might find their clean panties languishing on the dirty ground one storey down.

Just sayin'. Sometimes the wind can be fierce.

She's "cured"

I just had such an intense visceral reaction I can hardly find the words. My energy and attention span were flagging and I was considering making coffee, but decided instead to try some of an electrolyte mix that's part of my (as yet untouched) cleanse regime. It's full of natural this-and-that-whatever energy-stuff and it's a pale yellow powder you mix with purified water.

Problem is, I used one of the tall drinking glasses I favoured for... imbibing other stuff... and when I poured the water, the glass filled with a yellow liquid which was EXACTLY THE COLOUR OF WHAT I USED TO DRINK and I had this terrible rush of near-nausea and disgust as though I were pouring an alcoholic beverage. With all of the feelings of guilt, shame, and fear that go with it.

It was like having a 10-second waking nightmare. A flashback, I suppose you'd call it. (UPDATE: "Associative memory" in real psych parlance.)

I could barely lift the glass to my mouth because I almost didn't believe it would taste like lemonade.

But it did.

A messy entrance

Teitei notified me that she was ready to start birthing, except I didn't know it at the time. I woke up partway through the night to find her sitting on me, which is the only time she's ever initiated such close physical contact. Then she went behind the divan and I awoke some time later to the sound of a faint squeak. I thought "That sounds like a newborn but I'm going to pretend my stomach just made a funny noise." I guess I went back to sleep because an hour had passed before I realized that my own gas was not at issue.

It is now 4 a.m. and my night is shot. Every time I try to go back to bed one of the kittens goes astray and freaks out. It's hard to describe where the grand event is taking place - that couch of mine is a fold-down type which, when in the upright (seating) position, has a shelf along the bottom back, and that's the perch which Teitei chose. So, naturally, there being a slight gap between the shelf and the wall, kittens keep falling onto the floor. And I go to retrieve them, because momma's just lying there purring and thinking, "No problem here. I'm gonna catch a few winks and you make sure everyone locates and stays plugged to one of my nipples, m'kay? Thanks. Oh, and be sure there's plenty of food in the morning, because I'll be famished, all these placentas notwithstanding."

AND ME, I AM REALLY FRIGGING TIRED. I came back completely wiped out from a weekend retreat and crawled into bed at 9 PM. I'd rather hoped the cat would take care of this business while I was gone, so I could come home to a fait accompli. Not only did that not happen, she also decided the box in the nice dim, quiet, roomy, dry closet wasn't good enough. No, she had to choose the one and only precarious spot in this tiny damned apartment.

Anyway - three kittens and counting so far.

(Update, 8:00-something: I have definitely learned some detachment, because I went back to bed, put the pillow over my head, and let nature take its course without further vigilant observation from me.

I remember other litters at which I was present for each birth like an anxious grandmother. Sometimes a newborn would get stuck under a mom and I would retrieve it before it could smother. Often one or more would shriek (usually the runt) in frustration at not finding a teat, and there was gramma, ready to show the way! You kids share nice, now! Now I think I'll just leave things be. When I awoke again this morning I went to look, and yet another had just been born - umbilical cord intact and all. I think the count is five now, but I didn't do a head count. Coffee first. Human priorities.)

(Final update: Six in all. Four all-grey like mum, two 2-tone. God help me.)