SAD ELEGY FOR OAKLAND

(Art found on net. Work by Matt Mahurin)
I wrote this at work in memory of the four cops who were killed by a parole. He had just raped a little girl when he was stopped by a motorcycle officer. He opened fire instantly. During the course of the arrest, three others died. As angry as I have gotten at times over speeding tickets, I worked with the police during one summer and did research for them, and in so doing, I met some very decent human beings. At the time, I posted it on the website that was taking comments about the incident from my work computer. I'm sticking this on here at a later date, but reflective of the time it happened.
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Their shift began like any other; an ordinary day
No warnings were given of danger on its way.
The clock that rang, the coffee mug, the "see you" at the door.
The routine of life in uniform, which ended for these four.
The first two fell in a road-side stop.
A constant risk for the traffic cop.
No chance had they against this demon unleashed.
An overwhelmed system means mistakes in release.
Hate reared, prison punk, hollow point heavy.
To avoid his just sentence; to kill he was ready.
What thoughts did they have then?
When darkness befell them.
Yet the horror continued, as two more would die.
And leave in their passing a search for just why.
The bravest amongst us must give up their lives.
And leave in despair a child or their wives.
So as we begin this day all anew,
Let's give pause a moment for lost brothers in blue.

RIELLE HUNTER NEEDS A FRIEND

.....Rielle Hunter needs a female friend; an honest to goodness one to set her straight. Not another actor/model/whatever hanging with her because she has good coke. Not somebody that's there to party. No; a true blue friend that would tell her she is making a big mistake. I doubt she's ever had a real female friend in her life.

.....Elizabeth Edwards is the real deal and a class act. Not only is she fighting cancer with incredible courage (as she did the death of her son) but she's tackling her husband, John Edwards' affair with class and grace. She has to know that were she to vent while on the talk show circuit, she'd sell more books. You can be certain that she has been encouraged to do so. The shows themselves would love a soundbite snippet that would appeal to their viewership. It's the dreaded cliche---after years of support and hardwork he up and "nails a bimbo'.

.....Rielle Hunter, evidentally angered by the book written by Elizabeth Edwards, wants revenge. She can phrase it whatever way she wants. Getting her side of the story out, protecting her daughter's interests, etc. The female demographic will paint her further into the homewrecker category. Although she is perceived as worse then that as she knowingly approached a man who had a wife that was ill. Women do not take kindly to having pregnant women and sick wives hurt. We all know that they aren't exactly presenting their most desirable and sexual selves when they are losing their hair or puking into a bucket. It's playing with marked cards. Sure, the male wanted in on the game, but he did not stand a chance.

.....It goes beyond this. Many people out there think that Rielle made Elizabeth ill again, as her cancer had been in remission. A lot of people believe that there is a link between stress and beating cancer. I would suggest that Rielle learn from history and study the case of Assia Wevill. Who? Even in death, Assia is the detested "other" woman. The one who "killed" Sylvia Plath. To this day, her name is known in literary circles. Instead of recalling her as an early female worker in the all male advertising industry and an innovator of an interesting ad campaign, she led to Sylvia's demise and the loss of who knows how much future works of art.

.....Rielle proclaims that she is a new age seeker. Her website, which has since been removed, featured items referring to this and she alluded to it in an interview while she was making her documentary of John Edwards. If she truly believed in this, she would recognize the flaw in her thinking. All of these beliefs have some basis in karma. What goes around, comes around. What you put out, comes back to you. By seeking vengence, she is violating a fundamental tenant that will only hurt the victim more. Surely that has to be a lot of bad energy to come back at you. At the very least, you'd think she'd feel some guilt (if she believed).

.....Rielle needs a friend to sit her down and tell her that nothing good is going to come of this. Let it go. Issue a statement that she is sorry to Elizabeth for any pain caused and that she hopes her children are not hurt by this. Not only would this best serve Rielle in the future, it would alleviate the guilt to some degree should Mrs Edwards not survive her illness. For Rielle does need a future source of income. She cannot live off of men forever. I saw her video documentary and I must admit it wasn't bad. She obviously got too close to her source (she slipped in one and called him honey when she boarded the plane). She had wanted to be an actress but that had never worked out. This will not work out either if she persists in this course of action. Nobody will trust her.

.....In a way, her background can explain, but not excuse her behavior. There's a difference. She came from a family of four girls and a father that appeared to be indifferent. Her parents split when she was seventeen and her father, it is reported, dated much younger women. Rielle seems to have been in competition with women for the attention of males all her life. She had been a promising horse jumper and had loved her horse, Henry the Hawk. Her father, in an insurance scam, had the horse electrocuted via attaching one electrode to his ear and the other to his rectum. Rielle became aware that he had done this and I cannot imagine how this must have messed her up. She must have loathed this man, yet she was dependant upon him for income. She never completed college and she gave up show jumping. She left for New York, where the writer Jay McInerney based the book "Story of My Life" on her antics. It details a woman who used huge amounts of coke and slept with men to maintain her lifestyle. This included faking an abortion to get money. In the book "American Psycho", Brett Easton Ellis describes a sexual assault upon her. Whether true or not, any woman would have been angered and saddened to have such details discussed in an open format; artistic licence or not. She moved to Los Angeles, quit drugs, married a lawyer (as was her father) and tried to become an actress with little success.

.....She seems like a woman who's learned to use people, but it has to stop. Rielle, you've got a child now and it's a girl. There's a message you need to send her. Not all women are in competition with you and deserve to be hurt. Not all men are there to be used as a means of survival. Work on that video production company. If truth and honesty is still as important to you as it once was, start with yourself. Look at your motivations. Look at the men you pick. It won't fix what took place in the past. I hope you find some peace.

WHEN SILENCE ISN'T GOLDEN

Is there anything quite as depressing as being all excited about something and wanting to share it with a person only to have them display a total noninterest? Not just that, you're met with a disapproving silence and a stare. Any minute now you expect to be sent to the corner and have the proverbial dunce cap stuck on your head. If it happens to be on a dinner date, it's like the kiss of death.
You just hope that a sudden terminal illness hits or that should nuclear war break out, that it happens at that moment. Anything to break that uncomfortable silence. It's as though you had seriously misjudged some main character feature of this person.

I know that people do not all have the same interests and I do not expect them to. What I am talking about is that death stare of condemnation. Where they absolutely do not get where you're coming from at all. There I am, bounding in excitement like a lamb in the field with joy at some new band or film. Nothing. Nada. Then the proverbial...

"But, I just don't understand how anybody could find that funny?"

On the other hand, it is so wonderful to meet people who do understand. As a kid I read all of the books on "Anne of Green Gables" and she used the term kindred spirit. That about describes the feeling. To find that person who gets it. In highschool I had a friend who shared a love of Monty Python's "The Holy Grail'. We could do the skits from SNL. When I was in university I happened to be in a club downtown one night, when somebody in the washroom asked to borrow something. We began to talk and she knew somebody that I did. It turns out that she had to take the bus home early before the club closed. I said that I'd drive her instead. Over the years we've lamented breakups, my problems with food and a shared a love of old vampire films with Peter Cushing, similiar bands, etc. But what first cemented our friendship was some really stupid joke that both of us got.

I've noticed that the types of people with the death ray stare tend to fall into the zealot category. They are apt to be fearful of new ideas and often have their own agenda to push. Think Tom Cruise or those annoying people who knock on your door. They have such concrete thinking that everything is route; there is no spontaneity and it's a threat to them. Any great display of enthusiasm for something new or foreign is "wrong". Therefore, you are "wrong". I judge myself enough. I don't need attitude because I like a band, thankyou very much. I also resent then being put on the witness chair and defending my actions as though I have done something wrong.

I am trying really hard not to care as I judge myself enough. I don't need the help of some demented Church Lady/Soccer Mom hybrid who spent a little too much time listening to Dr. Laura. Likewise, I am not looking to have some alpha male lead me in the proper direction. There are worse things than being single. But I swear that sometimes we're still locked into high-school. On somedays it's just really hard not to care.

TAILS TO TELL

I am currently house and cat sitting for a friend and am falling behind on my own e-mail and cleaning as I am working nights at the same time. His poor cat has seperation anxiety; at least, were he a human that's how I would diagnose him. He was about ten months old when he was re-homed by my friend. There was nothing as to his history and how this wonderful kitty had come to be dumped off at Petcetera. When he gets left, though, he panics. I suspect that he may have been left alone for an extended period of time.

How many times have you heard that story? A person gets into a new relationship and they discover that the person doesn't like cats. So, guess who leaves? Even if the beloved pet may have been around for a long time and "Mr We Just Met in A Bar and I'm Desperate" may not be a sure thing.

I wish they could tell us, for they do have strong feelings. People who blow off the emotions of animals are clods. I once read a Phd's comments that cats merely bond with their owners in order to garner food. Idiot.

Yes, they want that. Shelter and territory and if they are not fixed, the feral males seek as many females as possible. They also enjoy play. I've also watched cats seek revenge. We had a racoon problem at work and the trapper came in to relocate them. The racoons had been particularily troublesome to the cats. One of the fattest, nastiest coons was in a cage. I watched one of the cats size up the situation. Realizing that the racoon could no longer do him any harm, he climbed on top of the cage and with what I suspected was supreme satisfaction, defecated on top of the racoon through the grill.

I had a domestic rabbit in my back yard who had gotten out of somebody's cage. After time, I began to see him spending time with this very feral tom that I fed. One night I spotted them sleeping side by side in one of my flower beds. A large tom and a domestic rabbit would naturally be enemies but I like to think that they wanted some sort of company. I would see them together often at night.

They also show gratitude and an understanding and comprehension of the source of the food. We all can provide stories of dead birds being dropped off on our steps. I have a story that still makes me upset when I tell it. At work there was a feral cat who I merely called Wildcat. That's a photo of him above the blog. He only showed up at night and would cover the grounds to make sure that his girls were okay. For years he ran the show and for years I fed him. I would bring the food in, put it down and step away. If I got too close, he'd give me a slurpy hiss. There was no messing with this cat. He certainly had a longer run then most wildcats too. However, he suddenly began to lose a lot of weight. One night I got a phonecall and one of my coworkers told me that "my cat" was looking for me. He told me that the cat had come into the building and was looking around and had then jumped into a chair. This was astounding. The cat had never been inside in his life.

I walked to the building and sure enough, the cat was there. I walked over and talked to the cat. He looked me dead in the eye and held my gaze. I put my hand out and pet him on the head. Just once. I lost it. I knew I was never going to see the cat again. I knew he was saying goodbye and thanks. The cat got up, walked out and I never saw him again. I hate crying in front of people and I had to go to the bathroom because I was so upset.

Tell me again that cats don't communicate and have feelings.

ODD FRIENDS AND A GOOD FILM

One thing about feeling out of sorts and not really being able to fully shake this viral thing is that I do not feel guilty about rewatching some old videos. One of them was "My First Mister". It's actually a gem of a film about an odd friendship and stars LeeLee Sobieski. I had picked it up in a delete bin and it really struck a cord.

It's difficult enough to try to convince people that men and women can be just friends. Try to do it if there is a really big generational gap. That's the subject of this film. These two people also happen to have, on the surface, very different personalities. The film brought tears to my eyes as it reminded me so much of my relationship with Pat.

When I was 23 I started to work with Pat. Like the girl in the film, I was the proverbial goth girl with a penchant for Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. I did not have the piercings, but on my own time I had the haircut and the thrift-shop clothes. We all had to wear the same item at work, so that wasn't an issue. We were on the same schedule and had a lot of time to talk. He was 30 years older than me. In addition to liking a lot of alternative bands, however, I also had an interest in Shirley Bassey, who he loved. And Big Band, Nat King Cole. Who would have thought?

Pat was the only other person I knew who had watched the film "Three Men in A Boat" and loved it. Like me, he had read the book. We both appreciated the dry humour and wit of British comedies. We also agreed that James Woods, by far, was one of the finest actors going. Roger Moore was the better Bond. We could debate a topic and the time would fly at work.

Sadly, I learned from Pat that it is not only women who can be hit in a relationship. This lovely man, with the Liverpool lilt and sparkling eyes would never fight back in his defence. Yet, he never became a cynic about romance. He was forever trying to set me up with a really nice guy whom he insisted was interested.

We both had a real interest in World War Two and various battles. We had more to talk about than just work.

Then....yes, there is always a then. I had to pick him up for work one day. The night before I'd had him and somebody else over after shift. We'd worked evenings and I'd made some cheese enchiladas, for which I'm quite well received. I'd lamented my migraines and he'd told me "Touch wood, I've never had a headache in my life."

Pat did not show. I had an odd feeling and I went to his door. I knocked, walked away and went back. My odd feelings so often mean something. I thought I heard something so I bent over and looked through the mail-slot. He was on the floor.

My friend only lived a month after that although he was never the same. He had a brain tumour. I would stop and visit and he would seem happy to see me, but I don't believe he knew who I was. I remember one visit in particular; I was on my way to the ballet and he was in a room full of old men with various degrees of dementia. I must have reminded them of their youth as my night on the town regalia consisted of a very exquisite outfit probably last sported when Kennedy was in the White House. I was the hit of the ward that night in my thrift store find. I was touched to find that, although the sign on the door said "Family Only", when I had turned to leave the nurse stopped me. She indicated to me that Pat's daughter and son-in-law had said that I was included. It meant so much.

I think of him often. He should have grown old and retired and travelled back to visit England. We could have watched "Three Men in a Boat". I'm sure by now they'd have released it on DVD.

I learned from Pat that friendship crosses time, as it needs to cross our bias towards appearance and race.

FIX YOUR CATS (AND KEVIN FEDERLINE)

(Note on photo: Dot is neurotic. She just went crazy one day and began to hiss and carry on. The other cats don't know what to make of her. I had to get Dot her own stinky box, otherwise she'd just go on the kitchen mats. She will not leave the kitchen any more.)

(Note: This squirrel would jump at the window and slide down if I did not notice her to get my attention. There used to be a lot of them and I am sure the redneck behind me killed them as he had a pellet gun. I would hear the idiot firing it all the time, along with the chain saw he would sometimes start up at 0300 in the morning. I kid you not. Others have vibrators. I think he used his chainsaw. Anyways, all the squirrels were just gone one day. This one used to come up to me when I sat outside and read as I had the peanut bag beside me. The neighbours always give me the stink eye as I feed the strays, the squirrels and the birds.)

This orange Tom is totally feral. I've been feeding him for years. The poor old guy only has one eye which limits his ability to defend himself and has garnered him some nasty wounds. Only a while ago he had an ugly, festering infection on the side of his neck. I did not think he would make it this time. It has not limited his ability to reproduce.

One of the black cats in the photo is an old girl-friend of his. I had caught her after she had five kittens. All were females. I got them when they were small enough that they could be tamed and they found a home. The two previous kittens were too feral to be adopted. I got stuck with them. One is the grey one and the other is the exotic looking black one, who is handsome but a handful. The vet told me a sad story of an older woman that had passed away. She had taken in a number of feral kittens that responded well to her. When she died they tried to place the animals with other people but it did not work out and all of the cats had to be put down. These two cats are almost a year old now. With me they are loving, although they run around more than most cats. With others, they take off. I know that if something happened to me they would suffer the same fate. I got stuck with the mother cat also. I had paid to get her fixed and had meant to release her, but once her stitches healed, she made no move for the door. She knew a good deal when she saw it. Two of my cats are from a local prison that has a feral cat population. Two cats just showed up at my door; one was only about four months old at the time and showed up in the middle of the night in the winter. It was so hungry that it had been eating grass to survive and had large lumps in his intestines because of the consumption of items that weren't really food. He felt pregnant and had such a bad cold that it was touch and go.

Anyways, I am breaking the law because I am permitted only two cats. They all stay inside and are much loved although they annoy me at times. In the photo they are watching one of the strays outside eating. Unfortunately, I am forced to feed them as the people in this town are cheap. They do not fix them and the common refrain is "oh, they're just barn cats, they can look after themselves."

It breaks my heart. And my pocket book.

JUST A NOTE,'CAUSE I CARE.

I keep seeing photos of people walking around with masks. This is as a result of their fear of the swine flu. Unfortunately, they are often wearing the masks wrong.

A number of years ago, a friend of mine was a designated fit tester for the Portacount and its attachment. This measures how much particles get through masks and is meant to assure that a tight seal is made on masks and SCBA. He asked if I would be his witness when he tested people and assist him with filing the reams of paperwork that was generated. I told him I would. In watching him do this over a hundred times or so, I picked up a few things and I want to pass it on. I was also his guinea pig when he was getting familiar with the machinery. We tested a lot of different surgical masks. They are pictured above. The little silver prongs are what we attached the hose to. They are not part of the masks but were added by me when we tested them.

If you are going to get a mask, make sure it says N95. Anything below this level means that enough germs will get through the mask to make you sick. We were surprised to find that even some of the professionals had problems putting on masks properly and they failed the tests. Mold the mask to your face. Do not have any hair going under the elastics or the silver piece.

Think condoms. If a seal is broken on a condom, those suckers get in and your safety is jeopardized. Do not break any kind of seal.

Once the mask is on, you can move your head to the side and up and down as long as you do so in a smooth and easy fashion. Do not jerk it to the side. If you had to, you could drive somebody to the hospital wearing one of these.

It would be smart to have the sick person wearing a mask too. That way, if they coughed, they'd seal the germs in the mask much better than their hand would. Do not put on a mask if there is risk of vomiting. They can choke to death.

We found that the best mask was made by 3M. It is the one on the bottom and it is numbered 8210. We kept getting good readings with it. The one that looks like a traditional surgical mask failed on us when we had people do the side to side test as it broke the seal and germs got in.

So there you have it.

Let's Get It Together...

The photo was sent to me as part of a joke package of Barbie items. Artist unknown. .....Let's imagine this scenario, shall we? You pull into a gas station and ask for two gallons of gas. You pay and leave. At some point down the line, you pull into another gas station and ask for two gallons of gas and they give you half the amount of gas. Of course, I am assuming full service still exists, but I digress. How long do you think this would go on?

.....Well, it happens all the time in women's clothing sizes. There is no such thing as standard sizing. We leave it up to the manufacturers to determine what their version of a large will be, or even what they call a size four. As I said. There is no way we would accept this in the distribution of any other goods. Milk is always sold in the same predetermined container. They don't just decide to wing it and call it what they want to call it.

.....Men would never put up with this garbage. They would be crazed. Men like to have a garage full of tools in which each little screw driver is hung on the wall in its exact little spot. Do you think they would tolerate the whims of designers that have no standard of sizing?

.....I find it difficult to wrap my brain around the half sizing and misses and juniors and all the other nonsense that goes on. Add to that the idea of European sizing as compared to American sizing. Then, if you go to a retro store you discover that sizing has changed. Just like intelligence has dumbed down, so has our figure. You know how they always try to tell us that Marilyn Monroe was a size twelve? Well, actually she was not. The size twelve of today is not the size twelve of yesteryear. The cut has changed.

.....There was a brand of jeans that I had become used to buying. Now, there are many brands of jeans that I like, but it's hard for me. I am a strict vegetarian and for some reason designers are intent on sticking that stupid bit of leather at the back. I do not eat meat for moral reasons (it has nothing to do with health). Do not worry; I will never lecture. I believe it's like a religion and best kept to yourself. I finally found a pair of jeans that I liked that did not have that piece of leather and didn't look like Mom jeans.

.....I was in a rush one day and I tried a pair on. I knew that I had not lost weight, yet somehow my normal size did not fit. I asked the sales woman what was going on. She told me that the brand had changed the sizing. I am no fool. A miracle of God had not taken place. The jeans did not hold the long, lost answer to weight loss.

.....So, basically what it amounts to, I said to the sales woman, is that the designers think that women are so gullible and vain that they will buy the jeans if the size is a smaller number. The sales woman told me that it works and that all the designers are doing it. It is an effective marketing tool. This only served to piss me off. On principle I did not buy the jeans. So, I am now walking around in a really old pair of pants.

.....If this nonsense keeps up we will be walking around in negative numbers soon. Please. We need to have numbers that we know mean something. When I bake something I know that the measuring cup equals one cup. Why can't we get standards set up that we know for certain that when we buy something that x=x? Is that too much to ask?

SIGNS OF SPRING (finally).

The endless winter finally stopped and there's signs of spring. Now, if I can just get myself motivated to do some walking....

IS THE SCALE MY HOLY GRAIL?

I don't know who the artist is. I bought this years ago and it hangs on my wall.

There have been points in my life where, should I have died in a traffic accident and somebody had to clean up my effects, they would have thought that I was a member of the Nicole Richie Fan Club. Not at all; yet, why the photos of her on my fridge and in my datebook? An examination would reveal that they tended to originate in articles of the genre "Deadly Diets Revealed". You've all seen the stories as you line up to pay for your gas or groceries. You know the magazines I'm talking about.

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Once upon a time, people had missions. Some would crusade in search of the Holy Grail. Many others set forth in rickety boats filled with rats on a voyage that took months. Think of a ship that had no indoor plumbing and people were stacked atop each other like cordwood. They had dreams of a better life and of freedom from persecution. They were driven by hope and guided by the North or Polar Star. So, what has my guiding light been reduced to at times? A scale. Numbers on a pair of jeans.

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I know the thinking is illogical and wrong but my mind still goes there at times. It goes there a lot.

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When we focus on achieving the wrong goals there is a price to pay at some point. The last two decades had an emphasis on the accumulation of goods and wealth. As a consequence the entire world economy is now collapsing. People like us are losing their homes and joining the ranks of the unemployed. The emphasis on the superficiality of looks is driving people into relationships that can not withstand the arrival of the newest, shiny model on the market. So much for "til death us do part and in sickness and in health." Replace that with "until some hot looking nanny comes along." Girls will select friends based not on their merits but on their genes.

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I think this craziness has just made a lot of people give up on their weight. The ideal is so unrealistic that people fall into the all or nothing thinking pattern and start to compulsively overeat. After all, the images we look at aren't of real people. They are altered creations which do not even bear any real resemblance at times to their human counterpart. Our view of food is so skewed that it gets to the point where it has nothing to do with the satisfaction of fulfilling actual hunger or enjoyment of the fare. The food is junk. It's empty, fast food that's crammed in there to satisfy some other unfulfilled need.

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And I guess it's that void that we have to fill with something meaningful. Not procedures which leave us freakish in an attempt to find eternal youth or hitting one spinning class after another so that we look like the hamster on the proverbial wheel.

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I want food to mean sitting down with a friend in a nice restaurant and freely enjoying the taste, the ambience and the company. I want my life to have made a difference to at least one other person or creature. I want to one day be free of the caloric encyclopedia in my head which remembers everything yet cannot remember my mother's birthday. And damn it, I want to take Nicole Richie off my fridge like I really and truly mean it!

DEAR ABBY AND EMILY POST...

A note on the photo. I took this right after I graduated from highschool while on a student language immersion program while in an airport waiting room. A bunch of smoke suddenly came up and the people working there said that "They hoped it wasn't one of theirs." We then had to get on a plane. It's not great quality, but that's a plane in the background (with the smoke behind it) and a hangar to the left of it.

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.....If you read any of the advice columnists in newspapers or magazines, a lot of them involve questions about neighbours. Well, mine would have been a new one. Never mind the barking dogs or unruly children. My neighbour has moved so I can blog about it now and not offend should he by chance come upon this.

.....What would you do if your neighbour disclosed that his very good friend was a terrorist? Oh, excuse me---an accused terrorist? My friend was talking with my neighbour and in so doing my neighbour admitted that his friend was currently facing trial for a bombing which had brought down an airplane that had killed well over one hundred people. My neighbour also brought to light a little known fact that his friend had interests in a hotel in a tourist area near the town where I live. I can see keeping that bit of knowledge hidden. It tends to keep the customers away.

.....There's an old adage that you can't pick your family but you can pick your friends. It does say something about you. What kind of a person would choose to hang around with somebody who did that? I had always been polite to him in the past, especially given the fact that I felt he had been unfairly targeted. There had been a letter in the local paper about his electronic's repair which he ran out of his basement. I had seen the police there. I felt that it was related to his ethnicity and what I often called the "vanilla wonderbread" mentality of some of the people born in this town.

.....Things began to get odd, however, and it seemed like a scene out of the film"Arlington Road." I have OCD when it comes to certain things. One time he told me he was from Kuwait. Another time he said that he was from Saudi Arabia. He had a wife with two little girls. Before I knew it, they were gone and there was a new wife.

.....The strangest event of all was when the trial finally took place. The day it ended, my neighbour was gone. He had never had the house for sale and had never talked about it. He left the country literally in a flash. The new wife? He left her too. He told the new owner that he was in Kuwait, yet when something needed to be finalized, the phonecalls came up as originating in Pakistan. And perhaps it is sour grapes, but those in the electronics business said that he wasn't qualified in the trade. All very odd.

.....So, what would you have done? I continued to be polite. I am reserved with most people at the best of times. But I could never get the image of those people falling from the sky out of my head.

A VIRUS (ME) + BROKEN PARTS (COMPUTER) = NO BLOG

I think I'll save the computer company rant for some other time. Let's just say that each time they send me an update, the computer runs worse. In fact, it no longer burns CD's or reads simple texts like it did when I got it. A while ago, it needed a simple part. This town, being the great metropolis that it is, lacked it. I bought the wrong one and hey...if anybody lives here they're welcome to it. I then meant to drive to purchase the right stuff but then something happened.

I never get sick. But, I was waiting for the plumber to show. I had worked nights and at two in the afternoon I decided that I had best get to bed. I had to go into the crawl space to turn off the torrent of hot water. When I climbed back up I felt odd. Suddenly, I felt like the guys on the Apollo missions must have felt when they got sick in space. There was no gravity and no direction. I hit the floor and had to crawl to bed where I felt nauseous and where I stayed for the rest of the day. When my friend drove me to the clinic two days later it turned out that I had picked up a viral infection which had caused a fluid imbalance in my inner ear. I wasn't allowed to drive and I wasn't allowed to go to work. It's a good thing I had a lot of sick leave in the bank.

Anyways, I am now playing catch up. The house is a mess. I had to track down the plumber who had forgotten about me. In the meantime, I am surprised the neighbours did not report me as having a grow operation. The windows in the bathroom were totally steamed up. I decided to take advantage of the situation and hung clothes in there to steam out wrinkles and perk up plants. It looked suspicious.

The car repairs ended up being more costly than expected. And kitty took off the other day too. I opened the door to feed the stray, who happens to be his Dad. The cat inside is feral and quick and since my balance is still not 100% he slipped by me. I didn't sleep for two days worrying about him and feeling guilty. Finally, he came back. One good thing in a run of really crappy events.

So, I have ammunition for blogging on bad behavior in Doctor's offices but I need to catch up on e-mail.

VENTING...ONE, TWO, THREE...

Just a vent. I don't know who said that "A man's home is his castle." Well, my kingdom is in turmoil. The chariot is getting repairs (just under five hundred dollars and I won't get it until tomorrow). The plumber won't be here until next week so the hot water is still running, along with the electric bill. So much for the royal flush. The feral kittens continue to act like Axl Rose off his medication in a newly minted hotel room. One of the other cats is bulimic. I swear he is. How else to explain the hair balls that look like road kill? I'm too depressed to get my lazy butt into proper cleaning mode. I know the neighbours actually look forward to doing the lawn. I don't put down weed kill, which means dandelions. If the cold ever stops, they will grow. I suppose one day they will storm the house, like the peasants in Frankenstein stormed the castle, with torches ablaze. They will be in a frenzy over the fluffy things on the dandelions. They will want to prevent the spread of the evil monster and will thus burn the castle. Heaven forbid, those fluffies take to the wind.

A LITTLE ARM CHAIR ANALYSIS

`````Time for a little armchair psychoanalysis. I've been a bit interested in the Caylee Anthony case. Again, I am more interested in how seemingly "normal" people can sit back and support those who do evil. Yes, I am talking about Cindy Anthony and her continueed support of her daughter. For I don't think unconditional love of one's child exists, nor do I think it should. If somebody in my family were to do a horrid act, I would not allow them to go on with their charade or their actions. In this case it involved another family member; a younger one that could not defend herself.

`````When I first saw a small snippet of this family on some news segment I could have sworn that I was watching an episode of "Intervention". There's a strangely familiar dynamic on that show. The kid had a problem. The kid told Mom or Dad (although it is usually the mother). Mom opted either to not believe the child or did not act on the information as it would have interferred with her love life. Years later, Mommy Dearest feels guilty and then tolerates the addict's behavior. I think that in almost every episode of that show involving a female addict, abuse as a child is involved. When police searched the Anthony home, they found that prior to the little girl going missing, Casey had looked for information on her computer regarding incest. Why? Had she been a victim of some relative at a point in her life and told her mother about it only to have it ignored or worse, to be called a liar?

`````My summation of Cindy Anthony is that she has to control everything. Even with a toddler living in the house her living room was immaculate. I believe that her daughter Casey used lying as her way to seek a control mechanism, as do people who develop eating disorders. It was her form of protest and her rebellion. It was probably the only way she felt that she could have any privacy in her life when she was young. Once it was selected as a coping skill it became entrenched. I think she has Borderline Personality Disorder; thus the stealing and need for constant affirmation from new boyfriends.

`````Her manufactured world of lies would only work while Caylee was a baby. As she grew, the child could give away her secrets to her mother. The child could divulge that in fact she had no job, that there was no babysitter, that mommy liked to party a lot and had many boy friends.

`````Sadly, I believe that the little girl, Caylee, had been drugged for some time when the mother went out. There is also the possibility that the gasoline that Casey's father had reported her as stealing could have been used to put the girl to sleep. People were shocked to hear that many residents of a town in Labrador actually thought it was okay to use gasoline soaked rags to enduce sleep in a restless child. Perhaps one night, Casey just lost it. There were reports that she'd had a huge fight with her mother Cindy. One of many that they'd had all their lives. Perhaps she gave the kid way too much than usual to knock her out in her frustration. A classic passive aggressive move.

`````My guess is the duct tape over the girl's mouth was placed there in a symbolic way. Obviously there is no need to put tape over the mouth of the dead. However, there is when it has meaning to you. Now she cannot reveal the lies. Now she cannot betray your secrets to your mother.

`````George Anthony is also interesting in that he had squandered a huge sum of money from the family's finances on the classic internet scheme of the money in the African bank account. As George had been a cop, he must have known that this was a scam. It only makes sense if this was his one form of rebellion against his wife. The only way he could get back at her.

`````I watched the police intereviews of Cindy and George. Cindy tries to take control of the interview, as she does in her media interviews. I suspect there was a lot going on in that house we will never know about.

`````It is obvious that Casey killed the girl and that she was sane when she did it. The fact that one may have psychological issues does not mean that one cannot differentiate between right and wrong. This entire case shows us that we never know what goes on behind the doors of that perfect house and how important it is that we look after children. When a child can disappear for one entire month from under the noses of a nurse and an ex-police officer it means we still need to work on the system. Every kid that is abused or hurt or has their personality destroyed is one too many.

NOT THIS GIRL

`````For the life of me, I cannot figure out why anybody would be photographed naked. I couldn't help but think about it this week. I admit to picking up one of "those" magazines at the checkout and it was speculating on whether Rihanna had a secret sex tape with Chris Brown. Then, there were two papers with stories involving teens sending explicit photos to each other. It even has a name (though I doubt it's yet recognized by Webster's). Sexting. High tech "Ill show you mine if you show me yours." Except it usually only goes one way. It's apt to be the Homecoming Queen who gives up her title for revealing too much of that royal sash. It's highly doubtful that the King will photograph and send the crown jewels around the school. All this came on top of another story warning kids not to post explicit pictures of themselves on social networking sites.

`````Never mind the dreaded ten pounds which the camera adds. I don't get this sudden desire to take pictures with your tongue down a friend's throat. Call me a prude. I've been known to ingest a huge and complex variety of alcohol in my time. Other then a sad foray into the basin of the washroom, my tongue has stayed in my mouth. It has yet to be filmed anywhere---especially near anybody. Nowhere on my Facebook account is it visible.

`````I've always had male friends and that would certainly bring the desire to point, click and snap to a grinding halt. Trust me, guys talk. They say women gossip but it's nothing on men when they get to dishing. Anybody in possession of such photos would want to share. It's sad, but there is still a double standard. If you're a woman and you do that sort of thing, your stock goes down.

`````The sharing of the pictures doesn't always have to be in a smutty way. I had a guy show me a series of wallet sized boudoir photos his wife had taken. They were classy and well done. But, I highly doubt that she would have been thrilled to know that he was showing the guys (and one female) the "goods" . He was merely proud of her and wanted to brag. Like the new car.

`````So many relationships break up. There are actually revenge sites where people go to post intimate photos of their dearly departed. Unless they invent photos that can be triggered with a device that self destructs when the partnership does, I shall keep the camera safely away from my naked self. One would also have to worry about prying eyes and thieves. Perhaps a safe with a combination akin to the launch code of a nuclear silo might keep it safe, but I suspect that Tommy Lee and Pam had pretty good security and their moment of passion has had more hits than Amy Winehouse's bong.

`````I guess people could always claim to belong to one of those religions where they fear that cameras steal their souls if somebody is very keen on this. Or that they're a vampire. Just one more thing that I blame on reality television....ah, the decline of Western civilization as we know it.

VICTORIAN? HARDLY.

`````Just when you thought that it was safe....she's back. This woman has more lives than a cat, evidentally. At times she has an uncanny assemblance to another cold, young, female killer who is currently on trial in Italy (Foxy Knoxy). However, while Meredith Knox smiles and primps as she smirks for the camera, Kelly Ellard showed only a grimace and disdain. For, Ellard seems to lack the intellect to know that she should at least fake having a conscience or personality for the viewing public. Sarah Palin may call herself a pitbull with lipstick. Kelly Ellard is the shark sporting the same.

`````Kelly Ellard showed no remorse at all over her involvement in the killing of Reena Virk, whose body was found under a bridge in the staid, quaint town of Victoria. She had orchestrated a beat-down of Reena for petty, teenaged girl stuff. She thought that Reena was spreading "shit" about her. As is so often the case, there was a boy that Reena had a crush on and Ellard did not take well to this.

`````The beating was particularily brutal and extended. Imagine being surrounded by a large number of girls, some of whom you thought were your friends from school. It is dark. She was hit so hard that it caused damage to the liver and pancreas. The muscles in her abdominal wall were bruised to the point that the fatty tissue separated from the muscle tissue. One would expect to see this sort of damage in car crash victims. The internal bleeding in her chest indicated that they had stomped on her. There was extensive bruising on her face and scalp. Reena's brain was swollen. In fact, there was a bruise on her brain itself which bore a sneaker print. The actual cause of death was drowning.

`````Reena, it turns out, had been held under the water by Kelly, who later told people about the bloody froth that came up. She smoked a cigarette while Reena sucked up 18 pebbles from the bottom of the bay in a last gasp for air.

`````I mentioned in a previous blog that I expect bad and evil people to exist in the world. What fascinates me is that a very large number of "so-called" normal, white middle-class kids knew who did this and said nothing. This harkens back to my blog on an event in highschool and what inspired me to study Criminology at university. It was only after the rumours had spread to the point of outsiders hearing of them that a dive team found the body. Kelly Ellard almost got away with murder.

`````How it takes four trials to convict and keep her in prison is beyond me. Nevertheless, she had just been granted her fourth kick at the can. Who does this serve? The victim's family can have no peace. The tax payers continue to foot the bill. The public is rightfully angry. On one of her retrials she beat up a 58 year old woman in a park that she thought was looking at her. Her co-accused accepted guilt and did his time. He has since cascaded through the system and Reena's family accepts that he seems truly remorseful.

`````The greatest display of grace came from Reena Virk's mother who hugged the mother of Kelly Ellard at the trial. She saw that this monster was not a reflection of her failure as a parent. Somewhere she found the strength to do that. Unfortunately, while Reena was dragged from the cold water, Kelly Ellard continues to bob like a cork in avoiding accountability.

`````May I suggest that people read "Under the Bridge" by Rebecca Godfrey. It is an excellant recounting of this entire case, up until the granting of this fourth appeal. Ms Godfrey spoke to the participants in the event (including the coaccused) and truly gets to the heart of the matter.
CBC News Indepth: The murder of Reena Virk: A timeline

JUST LET ME HIDE IN LEFT FIELD

I hate training days. It harks back to school when I dreaded speaking in front of people. Trust me, it does not get better with age.

It starts with the scheduling of the event itself. Despite people who actually profess to do this, it always comes as a big surprise. I might as well call the psychic network and talk to Jackie Stallone for $3.99 per minute as I'd probably garner more information. There's also the insanity of having me come in for one midnight shift, then do two day shifts of training and then expect me to come in for my graveyards that night. Uh, ha. I haven't slept more than two hours in two days. I bought a box of Gravol the other day and took six of them alone last night to try to get some sleep. I slept one hour. Good times.

I've always been told that I was a latent lefty, despite being right handed. I have horrid memories of elementary school team sports and teachers telling me that I was holding whatever piece of equipment wrong. I made sure that I always hid in far left field. I hated team sports. You couldn't get me to sign up for a team if you paid me. I digress, but I honestly think that gym teachers do more in developing a dislike for all eternity of sports and fitness than encouraging it. If they'd just leave the damned kids alone, maybe they'd like activities. Another topic for another blog, perhaps.

Today's training day, as was yesterday's, was self defence. Bear with me. If I spent time thinking about where my latent leftie self should place my footing, the bad guy would have me. I am not going to have the time to act out "Dancing With the Stars" type manoeuvers in my head. I'll just do what works for me. Call me a spazz, but it won't be fixed after all these years.

I hate having to do this stuff in front of a bunch of people that I do not know. Today there was me and one other woman and the rest of the room was all males. I freeze up when I have to speak in front of people and at some point I literally wouldn't be able to tell you my name. Try it on two hours sleep in two days, a Gravol hangover and six Tylenol three for the headache.

The advice given is great, I guess. I don't know. I am so flustered and in such a tizzy and hoping that the great flood and plague will arrive so it will end my disgrace. Where is that comet strike when you need it? Spare me this ignomicy. I am literally wishing for death. Ah, yes...training day...

I also get weird about having to touch people and having them touch me. It's always going to be there. The weight thing. I've also always had a huge personal space and my family was not demonstrative at all. Then there is the realization all too late that one of the cats may have sprayed my boots. My Diet Pepsi exploded all over me too. So, this was not a great day at all. Yes, training day sucks. Perhaps if I looked like a supermodel I wouldn't feel this way. Maybe if the teachers hadn't badgered me about how I held my bat when I was eight years old. Whatever...just leave me alone and let the bad guy, if he ever shows up, get me. I think it would be less painful then having to stand in front of people and having them watch me make an idiot out of myself.

TICK THE BOX AND MAKE YOUR CHOICE

`````The recent news reminded me of the choices which we are sometimes forced to make. By having a living will we can make it easier.

`````I had a friend ask me if I would be with him to help him die, should the time come. My friend knew that his fight with AIDS was lost. He was now literally a skein of translucent, gossamer flesh over brittle bones. Gone were the days when he could sit on the patio and sip cocktails under the lights which he'd strung. He had once built things; a big, strong lean body had been his to flaunt. Now there was a box attached to the outside of his heart so that injections could be made easier. His veins were gone.

`````He loved life and had been raised Catholic. He had once rejected the idea of assisted suicide but he knew that if he went into the hospital, his mother could never make the choice to turn off the machines. He also could not tolerate the idea of dementia. He knew that my friend and I would do it right and that we would not balk at the end---leaving him to suffer alone. He also knew the consequences.

`````Friendship. The true meaning of it sometimes comes down to these sorts of decisions. We said yes. Thankfully, he went quickly and without pain in the hospital. We did not have to risk it all.

`````I have had to be in the room when the plug was pulled for others that I cared for. To watch the family make that decision is sad and it is important to have others around. To hold the hands of the dying is a profound experience to which I cannot find words. The whispered last words. More than anything, there is the hope that they know that they were loved and valued and that their loved ones will continue to be cared for. For while we are but animals, I think we want to have some meaning in our lives and to think that we made a difference---that it means more than just foraging from one day to the next.

`````As soon as I was legally allowed to do so, I signed a donor card and made my wishes known. The CCU is not the place for somebody else to have to make that decision. Now, if only I can find a placement for my brood of cats.......

JUST PUZZLED

The Weather Camera near my area on March 16. ...........................................................This is from a few months ago and shows flooding (local newspaper).

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Just curious. We've been told that we've had record snow and cold. Yet, the radio just reported that we may have to restrict our water this summer. Now, I don't water the lawn anyways, as I figure why encourage the damned thing. But, something isn't right. I think it's a scam to drive up the price of our energy bill in the summer months.

SCHOOL MISHAPS

I am saddened by the news of Natasha Richardson's skiing accident and I wish her well. I do not downhill ski despite living in a place where there is certainly a lot of chance to do so (it snowed here today---again---in the middle of March). In fact, I recall the first time I tried the sport. It was with a school event. The person in front of me on the rope tow fell off and there was a sickening snap as her leg bone broke in two. I saw and heard the entire thing. I hobbled off and stood with the poor girl until help arrived. I merely remember being cold and miserable for the rest of the day.

I guess that I have a few "what were they thinking?" moments from school. I had a teacher, who I loved and I must admit has truly inspired me. One of her beliefs was that we should all learn to play chess. We also carved our own chess pieces with x-acto knives. The girl at the desk to the left of me was working intently on a piece when the knife slipped. It went into her arm and like a salmon's underbelly being opened, her arm was sliced open all the way down. The newspaper below her desk which had meant to catch the droppings from the carving was sodden with blood instantly. I watched her head down the hall with the teacher. There was literally a stream of blood the entire way.

Then there was the field trip where I knocked myself out. The one and only time in my life. We went to a rockwall in the area which would be familiar to people as it is often used in films and television shows. I stepped backwards and there was a large dip. That was the last I remembered except that I saw stars. I've fallen numerous times since then and hit my head hard but I was out for a bit. I actually bit through my lower lip and had teeth marks on the outside of my face. My reaction? The usual; I downplayed it and did not seek help.

Another memory is quite amusing, actually, in a demented way. The end of school had arrived and we were assembled in the gym to watch a film. They had opted to show us a Disney classic. The choice? "Old Yeller". For those not familiar with the film, the dog is shot at the end. Imagine an entire auditoriumn full of weeping children on the last day of school prior to the summer holidays. Good times.

Were it to happen today I am sure somebody would sue for pain and suffering, then demand that the teacher be reprimanded. It's sad how we've made everything so safe, however. Our playgrounds were more rough and tumble. Now, it's all so bland. I have scars on my knees but I had fun getting them. I think that the kids now may be more protected but they are missing a lot.

THE DENIAL OF NEED

~~~~~I had a friend phone from back east and we talked for about four hours again. In doing so, it solidified something for me.

~~~~~I realized that somewhere along the way I equated the need for help or assistance, especially in regards to physical and mental health, with weakness or failure. Conversely, doesn't this also mean that I feel some degree of contempt for people who don't hold their needs in check? Won't I, therefore, look down on people who crave an emotional connection? And what if it's directed towards wanting something from me? How can I then respect that person? There mere fact that they are interested in me then somehow makes them flawed and suspect.

~~~~~There's a belief that smart people should be able to fix their own problems, but it just means that smart people can over analyze them to death. An intelligent person need not know anything about pipes, so there's no shame in calling in the plumber when there's a leak. Why not ask for help when it's of the emotional variety? I guess not having control of the toilets isn't as scary as not having control of the internal crap. Bizarre how I'd pick the plumber metaphor. I guess it's actually quite Freudian. I equate emotions and needs with waste matter---both embarrassing things that one does not talk about; best dealt with in private. Both bad things to be gotten rid of. Dirty.

~~~~~Then it really hit me. We always say that Eating Disorders are about control. Well, what if they are more about the denial of need. Because need is scary. It gives others the power to disappoint, and invariably they do. People are human and will let you down. But, how come I can see that fallibility in others and accept it yet not allow that imperfection in myself?

~~~~~It is impossible to predict the behavior of other people, so it's best to avoid them. You tell yourself that you don't care or need them. When it gets impossible to live that way, just channel that energy on food instead. I do not need even that which is most basic to human survival. Yet, the experts have also concluded that we need human touch and close bonds. So won't the outcome of shutting down emotionally be the same as rejecting nutrition? It just seems to be part of a self destructive pattern that was meant as a coping mechanism but now destroys and isolates.

~~~~~Obviously, we can fixate on our jobs, or cleaning or any other crazed activity that we choose to replace the actual thing that we need. At the end of the day it does not serve us; we remain disconnected from people and events around us and guarded emotionally. It's very limiting and frustrating when the solution seems so simple. I sometimes think that my life is like trying to get that air bubble out from behind a picture which I've mounted. I try to fix it, but it just moves around and doesn't go away. It's always there beneath the surface. So, while I may no longer be starving, I am doing something else. I am certainly not doing it with another human being. My anxiety or depression, like that air bubble trapped under the photo, just keeps popping up in other ways.

`````"Sticks and stones may Break my Bones,

``````But names will never hurt me." Perhaps one of the biggest lies to come out of childhood. For those names that people call themselves, and how they attempt to silence those voices, can ruin their lives.

LISTEN TO THE VOICE

`````Have you ever had the experience of owning a dog who likes everybody yet will display an aversion to a person for no obvious reason? The hackles will go up and the dog will growl as though it felt the need to defend you. I doubt that the animal was chasing windmills.

Dogs, like many animals, are extremely sensitive to things such as scent, changes in heat, etc. Interestingly enough, these are the same sorts of things that high-tech lie detection devices measure.

`````We are still part of the animal kingdom. We no longer have to rely on our senses to survive the way others in the food chain do so I think we've lost touch with those abilities, but I believe they are still there. People still make reference to that sort of chemistry when they talk in terms of romance. For example, they'll say that they were drawn to somebody. There's a multi billion dollar perfume industry that's looking into the power of pheromones.

`````I think that instinct can keep us alive and safe too, if we pay attention to it. I've always been very good at reading people. I've used numerous terms when I discuss it---vibes, feelings, whatever. I have not often been wrong. Even as a little kid I could tell when somebody was being insincere. I could see that while their mouth was smiling at me, their eyes had all the deadness of a shark.

`````The saddest confirmation that I ever had of this involved a man who worked for my Dad's company. My parents had gone away for their annual trip and I was looking after the family business. "John" came to pick up his cheque and I spoke with him for no more than five minutes. He was polite and did nothing wrong. When my parents returned I told my Mom that something was up with "John". I told her that I got the same vibe from him that I'd gotten from men who had real issues with women. I said that he was hiding something. My mother got really mad at me. She told me what I'd studied and done for a living had warped me and my perception of people.

`````Only a few years later, the truth came out in a horrid fashion. "John's" current wife had wanted to leave him and suddenly both were missing. It turns out that he had done ten years for killing his first wife. He had been sober since his release from prison but had started drinking when his marriage fell apart. Their bodies were found; murder/suicide.

`````I think we're socialized to be polite and because we don't want to be rude we don't pay that voice enough attention. Predators know this and take advantage of it. This is how women get hurt and made use of. This is certainly how they take advantage of the elderly. They know that they are probably on a train heading off the rails, yet they find it hard to pull the safety cord for fear of being disrespectful. Women put themselves at risk for diseases by staying with men that they suspect of cheating and most likely laughing about it. When the truth comes out, there is the double whammy because they are so often angry at themselves for having been "so stupid". That voice was there all along. Listen and heed.

`````Women can also manipulate or con others by playing the role of friend. In the meantime, there goes the bank account or the husband. One of the best movies is "All About Eve" as to some degree we've all had a "friend" like this at some point in our lives. It is actually one of the biggest and saddest betrayals out there. Yet in hindsight, when we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit our complicity in our own demise in some small way by wanting or needing that person in our lives to the point of ignoring the red flashing lights.

`````So, recognize that it isn't good to be paranoid, but don't be afraid to cross the street when those alarm bells start ringing upon sighting somebody. Know that there is a bit of a guard dog within you and let it rescue you.

E.A.P. FORGETS THIS ONE

`````"What happened to her?" Admit it. Either you've asked the question or somebody close to you has. After getting a job a woman you know has suddenly changed drastically in dimensions. I'm not talking the few extra pounds that a person might gain the first year they move away from home; I'm referring to the change which makes people step back. The elephant in the room (no pun intended). `````I've abused food out of anger and frustration myself. While I've written about my eating disorder in past blogs, it takes a long time for it to ever really "go away", especially if one doesn't seek treatment. Like any addiction, a person has relapses. Like any addiction, it is what one falls upon in times of stress.

`````There have been times when I have opened the fridge that I might as well have screamed the "F" word at the top of my lungs. The door was unleashed with the full fury of the prison gates after an evil dictator was felled. Out, out came the demons. The cause? Work. I was 22 years old when I began working in what had until then only recently been a mainly male occupation and they were not happy to employ women. We were sometimes reminded of that on a daily basis. To let them know that they had upset us would let them know that they had won.

`````I laugh when I hear people say that they binged when they refer to eating one cookie too many. I'd go full out. I'd pick up a take out order of spanokopita and then a pint of Haagan Daz. I'd top it off with a can of spray on whipped cream. Don't forget the batter; just eat the cookie dough raw. Of course, the finishing touch was the pink laxatives. They had a speed like effect on me in that they'd make my heart pound and skip and I would not be able to sleep. It took me a while to stop the food abuse. At some point the pain just got too bad. However, I now have severe TMJ so I think my coping mechanisms has just shifted. I still just clamp my mouth shut.

`````When a bad incident would happen at work, the men used to go out afterwards, once upon a time, to have a drink at the Legion. That used to be what people did. However, a woman couldn't do that. If she did, she would be accused of trying to steal somebody's husband or she would be labelled a tramp. How to deal? I think a lot of women resorted to the misuse of food. The Employee Assistance Program, which was developed sometime in the late l980's always seemed to direct itself towards problems which were male centered. Don't drink. Don't take it out on your spouse. I remember one pamphlet which they gave us that actually advised us to take up hobbies such as fishing or hunting. Great. For those on the edge, get a gun and kill something.

`````One woman that I once knew took up body building to the extreme. She would fast prior to a competition and eat nothing but egg whites. She managed to find a doctor who prescribed Ionamin. She somehow managed to sneak clenbuterol across the border for weight loss (which isn't even prescribed for humans). I'm sure she was on steroids, as one day at work she threatened to hit a male supervisor for no reason at all. Her jaw also developed the square build associated with the abuse of certain steroids.

`````I knew somebody else who exercised compulsively and went on and on about its benefits. There is nothing wrong with keeping fit in moderation, but I could tell that this person had crossed the line. We all know when somebody is using a behaviour for the wrong reasons.

`````I've thought about it, and I guess it comes back to that issue of control. We still do not have it to the same degree as men in the work place. Or, we still don't feel like we can voice our opinions. Unfortunately, we still find solace in food.

MY TAKE ON WHY PEOPLE JUST LEAVE

`````Migraines suck; I'm not talking about those ones on the television commercials where the woman takes some over the counter medication and goes on with her life. I spent my weekend with my head in a bucket and lost seven pounds just so that I could spin my sleeping rotation around. Anyways, I don't want to whine. Others may be in a chair or be forced to wear a burqua. I live with a chronic pain condition and have a shift-work sleep disorder which has changed my life.

``````I had to do a couple of day shifts so that I could requalify on CPR and get my certification for the AED . It got me thinking again on the comment that people no longer seem willing to stop and help at accident scenes as it came up in discussion today.

`````I have stopped two times on almost exactly the same stretch of road. The one time the road was a sheet of ice. I spotted a vehicle which had flipped over onto it's side, hit a pole and spun completely around. I stopped my car and I could hardly walk upright due to the very poor condition of the road. I could hear screaming coming from the inside of the car. While I have dealt with some ugly sights at work, I was preparing for the worst---maybe a car with kids inside. Luckily, it contained a very healthy, but confused woman. I had to climb onto the side of the vehicle, open the door and get her out.

````` My thanks? One year later I was driving through that town when I was pulled over by a police officer who thought that I looked familiar. I wasn't doing anything wrong. Yes indeed---I was familiar. I was the person who kept the woman in my car until that very police officer showed up and took the particulars of the accident.

`````A few years later I was on the same stretch of road and there was a man on a motor cycle a head of me. Out of no where, a car hit him. I slammed on the brakes and managed to stop as I always give riders on bikes more than the two car lengths recommended. I ran up and began to warn the man against moving, as I feared spinal cord injury. We had been doing fifty miles per hour at the time of impact and he had flipped a couple of times. I had fully expected to find a dead person. I thought that he might be going into shock as he was getting pale and shaky. His wife had been in the vehicle behind me so I was also trying to talk to her in a normal tone of voice to keep her calm.

````` After the ambulance removed the victim, the lone police officer asked if I would mind staying until the scene was cleared up so that he could take my witness statement. Every single person in the long line of cars stared at me as they went by. I've also gotten interviewed by the insurance agent at my house after my graveyard shift and by the victim's lawyer. I was savvy enough to write up the statement the minute I got home that night, as I know our memory changes. However, it is going to court. For my help? I've been asked questions such as "Was I perhaps playing with my stereo or cellphone" As I was a witness and in no part a contributer to the accident, this is an ignorant question. Besides, had I not been paying attention, I wouldn't have hit the brakes in time and I would have run over his client.

````` You hear stories more and more about people turning around and leaving the scene of an accident. My witness statement verified that the man on the bike did nothing wrong and was a good driver. I stopped to give the man help. I do not expect a reward. What I don't expect is undue consequences.

`````Sadly, I know somebody who is a top trained OR nurse. She will no longer stop for fear of being sued; good Samaritain Act or no. The proliferation of camera phones has made the paranoia worse. How something may look from a distance while filmed can differ from what actually went on. I guess I will have to wait and see how my day in court goes. I loathe public speaking. Wish me well. And yes...I heard the man had pelvic injuries but thankfully no spinal injuries although it's going to be a long road to recovery.