THE LIST OF BANNED WORDS FOR 2012

The list of the ten words that should be banned in 2012 is out and I am happy---no thrilled--to see that "baby bump" is on there. I am loathe to type it for fear of it being more than this keyboard being able to take and it exploding into a fireball. I hate that word. No, I am not one to think that we need to return to those days where Ricki and Lucy had a nightstand between them and they couldn't say the word "pregnant" on national television. I just despise that word. It's a ridiculous and manufactured and overly cute word. I would rather that they say somebody is "expecting" or even that "the rabbit died." I suspect, however, that most people would need to be told why the rabbit died (it wasn't for the fondue) and why a cute little pink stick didn't suffice.
So....a toast....to never hearing that word again in 2012.

2011---WHEN BULLYING CAME OUT OF THE CLOSET

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(By the way-the photo is not from elementary school. Sandra is not in here. This is the Track Team Photo and none of these people were ever an issue. )

I was bullied when I was in elementary school. I wrote about it and the profound impact it had on me. I also reported how odd it felt to have the person who organized all that torment to contact me, years later, to apologize. I didn't think it would affect me at the time the way it did. I thanked her for phoning and I accepted her apology. We chatted for a while about what we'd done with our lives. I didn't ask what had inspired the call---watching Oprah or working the steps in some Twelve Step program. I was overcome at the time by a very odd feeling. This girl had made my life miserable, as she had for others. There was some heavy girl whom she tortured for her weight. There was Linda A, who had the misfortune of looking and dressing like a 35 year old even though she was eleven. I had a wonderful teacher who stopped our class one day, mid-stride, when Sandra J tried her nonsense with our first African American student. The teacher shamed her, for this was before the P.C. nonsense of not being allowed to make kids feel bad in front of their peers.
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Oh, I still remember Sandra J to this day, even though I've forgotten the names of so many others. Thanks to her, large gatherings of women make me nervous. I forget the comedian who said that nothing could inspire fear in him like a group a teenaged girls, for he had been bullied as a boy. He had used comedy to make others laugh, but it was still with him, even though he was now rich and famous.
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I loathe speaking in front of people. I would have received much better grades had I raised my hands. I have Sandra J to thank for that. Never mind all of that feminist stuff about women not speaking out because of men...it's often the fear of the "mean girls" that silence us. When I was placed on the Topamax it brought all of this back and I retreated back into my wall.
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You see, I was teased not for being fat. If you look at the photo, I'm the blond in the front row at the right. I was teased because I had a Swedish accent. We'd moved to North America shortly before I had to start grade one, and I only had a few months to learn the English language. There were also some cultural differences. That was my big sin.
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This year, I've read story upon story of kids killing themselves because they were bullied. It's usually because they've been called "gay" or "fag." The one story that really broke my heart was a girl who was only ten or eleven and she'd cut her hair; the shorter style did it. It brought on the hate and she hung herself. Some of these kids have documented their pain in videos and posted them. Too late, of course, for the deed is done. They're gone. They don't know that there's an entire community of people out there who know what it feels like and care. They don't know that most of those bullies will never leave their little towns and their little lives and experience the world. Just give it time. Find some way to hang on. At least now they have the internet available to them.
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I realize now that we only tolerate the Sandra J's of the world and the ridiculous jocks who bullied my friend Darren because of how good they look. There is no way that we would put up with their nonsense if they didn't pass for "hot". They trade on that as their currency because they have little else to offer the world. Later in life, when I ran into the people who had been bullies, they were still the kind apt to use the "royal we," but the lumpen proletariat had changed. Some had lost weight or buffed up. They had done things with their lives and become the much more interesting people. In truth, they always had been the more worthy package (Trekkies, smart kids, whatever). People just didn't see it because the parcel wasn't as shiny. It really does get better. I am so glad that this is finally being talked about, albeit much too late.
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LET'S JUST DO THIS....

A while ago I had started to write about my father's death, thinking that I would share it in case anybody else had suffered a similar loss. I began to do so, and then stopped. I am going to complete it now. I will take snippets from a day here and a day there, as I spent so much time in the hospital that I actually have enough stuff to fill a book. It's how I dealt with it; it's how I handle everything. To this day, I have not displayed one bit of emotion to anybody. But, should anybody stumble upon this and they are going through the same experience---an ill person, the death of somebody they care for, I hope it helps. It's taken directly from my datebook, as I wrote it.
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I had been writing quietly in the room when the nurse asked what I was doing. I told her about the Topamax; how I had been put on it for my migraines and it made me feel like an idiot---that I forced myself to write to rewire my head. She spotted one of the photos of Dad I had stuck into the book and asked if she could see it. In it, he was vibrant and young. She was really fascinated by it and couldn't quite place it with the sick person in the bed, who had water seeping out of every pore in his body. She asked if she could show the other nurses and I told her, "Sure." They conceded that he looked so strong and sporty, etc.
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Summer was not willing to give up its now final grasp on things. It was holding on, with a tenuous hold, and not ready to give up the ghost. I stood in the hospital window and looked out at the lot of trees behind me. There's a path where the workers slink off, like kids in high school, for a smoke. I had seen an orange/tan tabby there one day (later in the parking lot) and I kept hoping I would catch one more glimpse of him.
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I stood and watched on this warm, golden day, as the leaves came down. They spun and danced on their inevitable fall from grace. I could not help but think that it was the perfect metaphor for what was going on. Inside these walls are people with roots still set. Many still feel vital in their core; the sap certainly isn't dry yet. As with the leaves, though, things are slipping away. Bit by bit, there is a letting go. The decline may be piecemeal or some furious gust may bring the entire barrage down in one event. No matter...the striping away and death of that wondrous and vital living thing is melancholy, for we know what's to come. It is harsh and ugly and cold. It is stark and barren. No hope lives here. All the people in this hospital with pasts and stories, every bit as colourful as these russet leaves. All of them trying to fight the decay, be it disease or age or time.
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The nurse watched me as I worked on a poem. I guess she found me odd, as most people read National Enquirer magazines up here. I just do really bad Sylvia Plath.
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There is no light here,
On this dying planet or star.
This black shadow, lost
.....In space.....
Adrift like those death nets
Ocean webs with no escape.
Where once was life,
A void, a blank.
Victim to gravity's force.
Sucked ever inward, a giant implodes.
It's true then, that saying:
"In space, nobody can hear you scream."
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Hospital---room unknown. There's a sign on the door keeping it restricted to "Family Only." It's like a reverse quarantine of sorts, or in a way, but it's feelings and emotions that get contained.
Mom and E just left. I need to say goodbye. I only just got here. I didn't make it. But really, I said my goodbyes already because I knew that he wasn't going to make it. That's what all of these pictures and this writing has been about. It's been my message to him.
I had a really bad feeling at work last night. I had said to somebody that I was tempted to drive out there and book it. I went home and I looked at things on the internet about the illness.
I got up around 1700 hours and laid there. I was exhausted as I hadn't slept. The feeling though...something needled. I'd said it to S earlier on the phone that I knew; I just knew. S tried to help by saying Dad was a fighter, but there's only so much. It gets hard and pain and the lack of dignity engendered by disease can allow for that surrender. It's like when people are lost in the snow and at some point they just get too tired of it all. The easy escape of sleep and what it ultimately entails is too inviting.
He was not a man meant for diapers and bedpans. He was proud. He was the person in those old pictures I had shown the nurses.
His skin is cold. Gone is that ruddy complexion of his. Forever closed are those very warm, kind, brown eyes.
I will never see him again, although this is not really even his face that I am looking at. He is ...or was...a bigger man with vibrancy and vitality.
Does writing make it real for me or is it just another way to detach? I look at life from some other place?
I have to go now; Mom is alone. She'd not eaten well. I have to move; to admit it is real...to walk away.
I must finally say it...
Goodbye.
(Unknown Hospital Room)

PATCHES, LOOKING THROUGH ROSY COLOURED GLASS

I have to work tonight and as I am going in early so that somebody else doesn't need to be there, I hope to get some sleep. I hope everybody has a great holiday.

THAT BIG COMPUTER COMPANY DID IT AGAIN

I was trying to blog about Christmas in Finland this morning when THAT BIG COMPUTER COMPANY suddenly decided to start its nonsense again. I had uploaded the photo, when...

....Yes, suddenly there arose such a clatter as I had a message that they wanted to turn on some filter key. I type fast...always have. It got me many a job to put my way through university. Nothing worked---AGAIN! I hit the keys and I heard a slow tick, tick, tick. I went into the system and tried to reset it and it wouldn't let me do it. It kept reverting. Then, it started "Talking to Me" (slowly) about ease of access, as though I were unable to read and needed audible prompting. Ugh.
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Now I am not in the mood to talk about my fond memories of Christmas in Finland. Thanks, guys. Let's see how long it works before the next fiasco.

I FORGOT---HERE'S A PICTURE OF THAT BEAST

Scott D. Covey: CAT BLOGGING: Ok so this is not a booze recipe I will be tweeting to Robert McCammon. He and I have been trading poison concoctions. I like a vodka ton...
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My friend got back from Vegas, and people may recall that I used to look after his cat. This is the one who jumped up and nipped me. I love this cat but I think he has separation anxiety for he waited until I had the food in my hand before lunging. My friend has moved and somebody else had to do the deed. I asked if they were still on speaking terms. I hid the real name of the cat last time and shrouded him in a veil of secrecy, but since Scott has blogged about him and used him as a character in his book, I thought I'd show his Mug Shot. Here's the link. I am pleased to update, also, that book sales are going well.

THE XMAS PAY-OFF

.....I tipped the woman who delivers the post rather nicely, as it's a small town and the mail goes to a box with a big puddle in front of it. She has to drive, no matter what the conditions.
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I also tipped the garbage man---a lot. You see, and I've mentioned this before, I'm breaking the law and he has to know it. This town passed a bylaw which prohibits people from owning more than two pets. They didn't think of how stupid said law was, given the size of most aquariums. Yes....there could potentially be a guppy Gestapo. All kidding aside, people have phoned in and reported their neighbours for having too many animals. When I say animals, I mean "cats." For, this is a redneck town and while dogs that bark all hours seem to be no problem, people gripe about cats. Cats have been known to disappear. I used to hear the guy behind me shooting off a pellet gun and then the squirrels were all gone. And the strays.
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My cats are indoor cats but I have more than two. The reason I have more than two is because they are rescues. People here don't want to spay or neuter them, so Toms will do what is in their nature. The last cat that I rescued had just had a litter of five females. I managed to catch her (with the help of a male coworker who's a fan of cats, as is his wife) and we paid to have her fixed. I had thought that this was a feral cat, but after her healing was done, she decided that she wanted to take up permanent residence in my house. She had obviously been a domestic cat at one time and is the most gentle of creatures.
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I learned from somebody at the vet's office that people have not only reported their neighbours, but have done so even if the animals remain inside and are well treated. I could somewhat understand the motivation if a person were angry about their garden being torn up. This smacks me as a way of dealing with old vendettas. The by-law staff have shown up and investigated. I live in the province known for "B.C. Bud." Two days ago, they showed up to replace the meter, which they are doing across the entire province. The theft of hydro is rampant; it's used for illegal marijuana grow operations. They don't have the staff to deal with it. Yet....cats?
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So, each and every year I slip my garbage man a little something extra. It's like something out of The Sopranos. I am buying his silence. He's got to know that my garbage contains almost no food waste. It's all bags of clay clumps. Hmmm......
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Three of my cats are black so I hope the neighbours think they're all one cat. In the meantime, when people ask me how many cats I have, I smile and say....whatever the law says I can have.
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A photo of Ollie with a photo-shopped hat on his head. He'd climbed on top of a ladder I had left sitting around to change a light bulb and eaten every single leaf on a vine. His grin says it all...what can you do to me now?