“Among the personal objects inside a 2100-year-old Chinese tomb, archaeologists found nine acupuncture needles, four gold and five silver. Long before knowing why, ancient doctors knew that pain must be fought with pain” ~ Luljeta Lleshanaku, from “Acupuncture” (Trans. Ani Gjika)
Friday evening, absolutely beautiful day and evening, 60 degrees.
Got the spring cleaning bug today. Deep cleaned for hours, and now I can’t move. Seriously. My back is spazzing, and I have shooting pains going down my right leg. The back/leg pain hasn’t been this bad in years . . . but my house is getting clean.
In my head, I can relate to those poor women called porteadoras, or mule women, the ones who are paid a pittance to carry heavy bales of goods across the border between the Spanish enclave of Melilla and Morocco for merchants. I cannot even imagine what that must be like.
Anyway, good thing I have an appointment with a pain management doctor in only seven . . . weeks. Yep—weeks. Nothing is ever easy around here. Absolutely nothing.
More later when I can sit in this chair without cringing.
Selections from “Mythologies”
If you were a painter, you’d paint the wind
Green. It would shake the boughs of the honey locust trees.
It would chase the leaves across the continent.
It would scatter their crumbs in a twist of swirling snow.
It would be colorless and green at the same time,
The wind that aligns the pond and the cloud,
The wind that is everywhere, in constant motion,
As buoyant as Ariel and as scornful of gross Caliban,
The wind that holds up the fly ball, drives it back
Into fair territory, causes it to drift within reach
Of the right-fielder, who waves off the second baseman,
Until a last gust lifts the ball over both their heads
And it lands safely for the double that ends the game
In extra innings, costing our team the pennant.
If we were painters we’d favor vibrant stripes,
Primary colors, flat surfaces, a lot of white
Remaining on the canvas. If we were composers
We’d take the music of exotic jungles with us
When we visit the vast vacant tundra. “If I were
Rich enough,” vowed the philanthropist, “I’d move
To a magnolia mansion and spend my days
Translating modern literature into ancient Greek.”
Great plans, distant vistas, a rearguard action
To sabotage the present—and here we’ve all assembled,
At the antiseptic airport, with haunted looks on our faces.
Occasional eye contact between man with tan and woman in white.
“You look like your voice,” she says, breaking the silence.
The rest of us know where we’re going, but we don’t know when.
Sorry. Lost power this afternoon. Sat down to write, and my screen was black. Thought it was my laptop. Messed around for a bit with cords and such, only to realize that the entire house was without power. Lovely………….
“Our hearts teach us how to fly with wings of pain.” ~ Frank Lima, from “Felonies and Arias of the Heart”
Saturday afternoon, sunny and warmer, 57 degrees.
This afternoon Corey is adding a modified barbed wire to the pasture enclosure so that we can move the goats there. It should keep them in and keep predators out, at least, that’s the intent. I really don’t like barbed wire, and I know that part of that is because of how it looms darkly through the movie Legends of the Fall. Hey, at least I’m being honest.
On Thursday, Corey and I made the trip to Bristol, Tennessee so that I could have an echocardiogram and ultrasound. The echo was to check out a suspected murmur, and the ultrasound was for my thyroid. But as usual, things did not go as planned. I did have the correct day this time, but I did not know that I would have to pay the copay upfront for the ultrasound. While it was only $16.78, I did not have the local bank card with me; Corey had it, so I had to cancel the ultrasound; this was the second time I had to cancel it. However, when I reschedule I might be able to have the test done somewhere closer to home. Here’s hoping.
Anyway, it seems that the echo went fine; the tech said that my heart pictures were “beautiful,” which was about all that she could tell me, of course, because they aren’t allowed to say anything as the test has to be read by a cardiologist. I wasn’t too worried about the murmur as such things are supposedly fairly common, and obviously, it wasn’t something that I’ve had all of my life.
However, years ago, my heart used to click whenever I lay on my side. It did that for a couple of years and then went away. I remember telling some doctor and was told that it was nothing, and since it went away, I never thought about it again until the echo.
“We’ve paid our dues. Our hearts are inscribed with loss after loss.” ~ Luci Tapahonso, from “The Holy Twins”
So after leaving the hospital and while I still had a 3G signal, I tried to call my insurance company to see if I could change my PCP. I’ve tried a couple of times to do so online, but I’ve locked myself out of the account. Turns out, the doctor with whom I have an appointment on Monday isn’t even in network, even though she’s part of the local medical network. It’s all such bullshit. I ate up minutes trying to clarify with the insurance rep, only to find out that the echo that I had just had done wasn’t covered; the urgent care visit that I had when my fingertip was bitten off wasn’t covered either.
I did not wail uncontrollably into the telephone, which was my internal reaction; instead, I just asked the rep to transfer me to tech support, but when she did, I was put on hold. I just didn’t have it in me to stay on hold any longer and eat up valuable minutes just to have the online account unlocked. Frankly, I’d had more than enough stress for one day. I don’t even want to know what my blood pressure was at that point.
I’m keeping the appointment on Monday with the out-of-network PCP because I’ve had such a horrendous time finding competent doctors around here. Apparently, the co-pay will only be $5 instead of $0 for an in-network doctor, so that’s not prohibitive (she says even though we are currently broker than broke and sorely lacking in things like, oh, milk . . . whatever).
“And I knew you, a swelling in the heart, A silence in the heart, the wild wind-blown grass Burning—as the sun falls below the earth— Brighter than a bed of lilies struck by snow.” ~ Brigit Pegeen Kelly, from “Elegy”
In other news, Max and Ruby (the goats) are finally beginning to forage, which they weren’t doing initially. The pair of them are actually very quiet. For some reason, I always thought that goats were loud when they bleat, but I’ve only heard them bleat quietly. Maybe different breeds of goats bleat at different levels. I suppose we shall find out.
Dallas hasn’t been around here since the dog fight. Apparently, the fight frightened him. I’m not complaining as it’s been an unexpected boon for me. It’s been quiet, but that’s not to say that he still doesn’t call Corey frequently for rides to various places or for help, and of course Corey so generously assists..
Speaking of animals, we’ve been dragged into the periphery of a local feud of sorts. Dallas has a nephew who has property on the ridge. This is the same guy whose livestock has been frequently found grazing and roaming on the road in search of food, something we’ve witnesses ever since we rounded a corner and almost hit a horse the first time we came here.
Well apparently this guy had a cow and its calf who wandered onto someone’s property, and the idiot son of the property owner shot the cow, leaving the nursing calf without a mother. Unbelievable. Corey and I heard about it, and I was livid at the ignorance that would make someone think that this was an okay thing to do. I mean, what happened to saying shoo and waving your arms?
It seems that calling the police and suing one another is another local pastime around here, and Dallas and this nephew do not get along. The day after this happened, and to be neighborly, Corey stopped while he was out and asked the guy if he had found the calf yet. The guy hadn’t found the calf, but he had accusations to throw, mentioning Dallas’s name and insinuating that Corey might have something to do with it.
Corey assured him that he knew nothing at all about the situation other than hearing about the cow being shot, and then he drove off. When Corey told me about this, I did not have a good feeling, and Corey described this guy as being incredibly arrogant. Nevertheless, we had hoped that would be the last we would hear of things.
“It’s raining in my heart.” ~ Tim Dlugos, from “Come in from the Rain”
Listen, we moved here to get away from nosy neighbors, petty comments, and city regulations, and we’ve made it a point to mind our own business. We’re friendly, and will wave and say hello, but for the most part, we don’t know or care to know who is doing what to whom at any given time, including the saga of the cow and her calf.
Unfortunately, things did not end there.
Dallas took the cow carcass to his property supposedly to get rid of it, but not quite. And then the next day he and Travis, another neighbor we know, wanted Corey to help them load up the calf. Dallas said that he was going to let the calf nurse on his milk cow. Neither Corey nor I wanted any part of this, but Corey agreed to help round it up but nothing else.
I had real misgivings about all of this and was still really upset about the jackass who murdered the mother cow. Corey helped load the calf and came home. When Dallas and Travis got down the ridge, the police were waiting for them and wanted to know where they were taking the calf. Smooth talker that he thinks he is, Dallas said that they had found the calf and were returning it to his nephew. The cops had them unload the calf and then let them go.
That night, Dallas said that around 1 a.m. he heard horns honking, and he went out to find his nephew’s horses in the road. Dallas said that he rounded up the horses and put them in his pasture for the night and then went back to bed. The next morning, the local cops showed up with a warrant (kind of fishy, the timing of that), claiming that Dallas had stolen his nephew’s horses. Corey happened to be at Dallas’s at the time. They took Dallas in, and said that he’d be released that afternoon.
“She treats the dark like a cathedral. She is all swallow, the heart working under every scale to outgrow a fortified spiral.
The cathedral swallows the heart.” ~ Amber Flora Thomas, from “Shed”
This whole situation is unbelievable, but that’s not the end. That night, one of Dallas’s RV campers was set on fire. Dallas sometimes sleeps in this particular camper, which is behind his house and on the edge of his property; fortunately, he didn’t happen to be in it on this particular night.
Now Dallas is talking about getting his lawyer involved, and he still has to go to court over the horses, and his nephew has apparently moved his horses and cows somewhere else. I’m just hoping that wherever he has relocated his livestock, that he takes better care of them and feeds them better because they were always breaking out and wandering in the road looking for areas in which to graze.
All in all, I’m really over all of this. These people around here need to find better ways to spend their time and leave us out of it. I know that it’s a small-town mentality to be up in everyone else’s business, but seriously? WTF, people?
I had thought that my old neighbors on Benjamin were busy bodies, but they were small time compared to these people. I’m just glad that we had already been pulling back in our dealings with Dallas. The whole “painted by the same brush” mentality apparently applies: if you associate with someone, then obviously you are guilty by association.
Give me a break.If this is how it’s going to be, then perhaps my decision to become a hermit has not been ill-founded after all.
More later. Peace.
I lied a little. There are things I don’t want to tell you. How lonely
I am today and sick at heart. How the rain falls steadily and cold
on a garden grown greener, more lush and even less tame. I
haven’t done much, I confess, to contain it. The grapevine, as
usual, threatens everything in its path, while the raspberry canes,
aggressive and abundant, are clearly out of control. I’m afraid the
wildflowers have taken over, being after all the most hardy and
tolerant of shade and neglect. This year the violets and lilies of
the valley are rampant, while the phlox are about to emit their
shocking pink perfume. Oh, my dear, had you been here this
spring, you would have seen how the bleeding hearts are thriving.
~ Madelon Sprengnether (from Angel of Duluth)
Music by Jane Olivor, “Come in from the Rain” (a favorite song from my past)
“A day in February or March or April, when the sun of early afternoon scythed a swathe of light across the dark water;” ~ Arthur Rimbaud, from “Fragments According to the Gospel”
Thursday afternoon, cloudy and mild, 71 degrees.
I went for a longer walk today with all of the dogs, past the old cement apple house and through to the small brook on the northwest part of our land. It’s a part of the property that I haven’t explored yet, mostly woods and rocks and wildly beautiful. Yesterday, I just went for a short walk with the dogs. Actually, I was trying to get a signal on the phone so that I could make some phone calls, but I never got a signal, so I just kept walking.
My walk took me past the big pond, and the dogs were disappointed that I didn’t stop so that they could jump in, Tillie in particular.
I took a few pictures of where I walked and a few of the dogs, which I’m posting here.
I’ve been trying to upload these pictures for hours, and for some reason, I keep getting an error code. I don’t know why. I guess I’ll try again later. Sorry.
“Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.” ~ William Shakespeare, from Measure for Measure (I,iv)
Monday afternoon, partly cloudy, 55 degrees.
Monday misgivings . . .
I was so eager for the internet to be restored, and then when it was, I think that I froze internally. I stared at the posts that I had written on Word, and then realized that I didn’t have images or poems or songs, and I immediately became dismayed, and then distracted, and then I ended up playing hours of spider solitaire.
Later, I was so angry with myself that I decided I would post everything today, with or without images. I compromised with that perfection side of myself and settled for adding an image at the top of Friday’s and Saturday’s posts, even though it makes me view them as being incomplete, somehow. I tend to think that since I’m so heavy on verbiage that the inclusion of images helps to break up everything and make it easier to read. (Does it?)
But I did have a good idea about which music to include, and the poems were actually easy as I keep a collection of them for future posts; it’s just a matter of marrying themes, if possible.
Anyway, that’s what happened to my big plans for back posting yesterday. Whatever . . . . . . . . . . .
Sorry no post yesterday. One of the horses, Petra, was very sick. According to Dallas, sometimes horses get sick from eating too much green grass too quickly. Anyway, he picked her up in the horse trailer and worked with her, giving her electrolytes, and some concoction for constipation. Corey went back over last night to double check on her and make sure that Dallas hadn’t just shut her up in the barn. Fortunately, he was pleasantly surprised as Dallas was genuinely taking care of her.
I won’t even get into details on the last thing he did when one of his horses died, but suffice it to say that had I been present, I might have beat him with his cane . . .
Anyway, while he was here, Dallas also loaded up Amy, Boots, and Franklin. He had said that he wanted to separate Franklin from any of the mares that might be going into heat, which is fine, but I still don’t know why he took Amy or Boots. He assured Corey that he’d return Boots and Petra. At least he knows not to touch Napoleon.
More later Peace.
We should all strive to be the people our dogs imagine us to be. Just saying . . .
I can actually see something like this happening . . .
I don’t know if this one is true, but it’s what I imagine I’d do if ever I was forced to be a greeter . . .
What the hell are people learning in school lately? Anything? Anything? Bueller? Bueller?
Is it sad that I can relate to this kid?
Me, at the end of “Orphan Black,” or “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” or the upcoming final season of “Game of Thrones.”
And finally, I will always, always, post Nurse Rat-chit: