07.31.01

My Girl

Just a bit of a follow up to yesterday's post ... ... my deepest appreciation to all of you who sent notes, cards and thoughts regarding the health of my dear little doglette. My spirit was so very troubled. Your caring calmed the storm. As of noon today, it appears that the decision I made yesterday was the best for my sweet friend ... for now.

The meds she had been given were making her sick, but in a different way:

My wee girl was just not herself and was crying as if she was in fear. Not pain ... fear. She was wandering aimlessly perhaps seeking paths that she could not understand.  She would howl like a coyote at ghosts that did not exist.

She reminded me of all those that had passed before me in various emergency rooms flying high on speedballs or strung out on crank.

Without the vet's approval, I discontinued the med.  The decision could have cost my furry friend her life.

Hours later, the vet agreed with my decision.

After a stressful night of waiting, watching her and worrying ... ... she is no longer chasing the demons the drug brought before her and her coughing has somewhat stabilized.

She is resting comfortably and we are counting on Father Time to be on our side.

I asked for the assistance of your prayers.  You came through.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

07.30.01

I have a daughter.

She is of the canine persuasion.

She is the love of my heart and has been for seventeen wonderful years. When I look in her sweet face, she still makes me melt with love and wonder.

She has been sick. She coughs when she gets excited.

The vet says it is because her little heart murmurs.

No, it does not murmur. It speaks in a loud and open voice. My little sweetie loves everyone and you feel the love when she looks at you with her big, dark eyes.

I am so very worried about my girl. My heart is aching from fear.

Perhaps those of you who do not own pets will not understand how a human can be so affected.

Well, this little angel of mine does not judge. She does not get angry. She loves without distinction and forgives without remembering. She is always happy to see me. She only wants my love. She gives of her sweet disposition without condition.

She is the purest form of love.

When she looks at me, it is with the knowing heart of a creature well loved. She has trusted me. She has felt secure in my care.

This little 7.5 pound ball of fur once stood between me and a giant of a man trying to hurt me. She was as big as a mountain that night ... and her love was steadfast and strong.

I need to be her mountain now. I need to trust that the decisions I am making ... and may be forced to make ... are right, honorable and conceived in compassion.

I do not ask for much, dear God ... but tonight, let the decision be right. Please?

"For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." [Matthew 18:20]

ALOTW

«« AORTAL Link of the week: Scott Hendershot »»

Scott has combined his unique perspective through the lens with his skills in digital printmaking resulting in some truly spectacular images. Each image makes me wish I was "inside" the photo as a participant living in the space Mr. Hendershot has constructed.

07.29.01

Sensation:

Seeing white cotton clouds of a summer monsoon cross the desert sky.

Feeling the air grow heavy from anticipation.

Smelling the earth, dry and aching for release from desolation.

Tasting the acrid dust that rolls on the summer breeze.

Hearing the wind chimes resisting the air pressing them into service.

07.27.01

The Blog-A-Thon starts tomorrow midday.

Oh, I do so hope you all chose a charity and are showing your support.

But if you did not, may I suggest perhaps donating blood or plasma?

These dog days of summer here in the northern hemisphere leave our blood banks desperately low on this life sustaining requirement.

Donating blood doesn't hurt, I promise. It is quick, easy ... and safe.

Donating blood costs you nothing but time. It does not deplete your checking account or add to the balance of your credit cards.

However, the dividends are remarkable. Instant gratification: lives are saved daily by your contribution.

Due to previous health circumstances, I can no longer donate blood.

So, if you will ... think about it.

For me. For those you love. For so many.

Meanwhile, Becky ... blog well, my friend. And thank you for taking a stand to help the children of the streets in Latin America.

ALOTW

«« AORTAL Link of the week: oveRLoad »»

Zhi Ling presents a wonderfully bright and cheery site. This talented young Chinese woman, living in Malaysia, offers a youthful adventure online with her refreshing art galleries of images, drawn both digitally and hand rendered. Remarkably mature technique combined with the fresh voice of youth can be found in oveRLoad.

07.24.01

I sit here breathless.

Yes, breathless.

I opened the site and the spirit of beauty ... the power of art ... swept inside of me and simply filled me so completely that I had no room for oxygen.

Noah, depth of field stole my breath away.

Welcome back. Oh, yes, yes, yes ... welcome back indeed.

07.22.01

Ain't technology fascinating?

In the past few days, and more specifically, the last 24 hours ... I have witnessed first hand the brilliance and buffoonery of the technological world.

For days and days, I have been witnessing a travesty of logic and ethical practices unfold against a dear and cherished friend.

Big internet company tries to squash the little guy.

The bevy of emotions I have felt by experiencing this situation vicariously through my friend are wide and diverse:

I want to crawl through my computer monitor or perhaps the miles upon miles of phone line and give my friend a warm, heartfelt hug. Just to tell her I am here for her no matter what, no matter how long, and will use all of my resources to support her efforts.

Then the next emotion experienced is the urgent sense of need to crawl through this same monitor and do some serious damage to the butts and brains of the idjits calling themselves "technical support".

Then like a bright bouncing emotional ball, the aforementioned cherished friend and I released some pent-up frustration and much needed endorphins by playing with the online dictionary site of Merriam-Webster. Yes, a dictionary site.

Why?

They have a wonderful feature that plays a .wav file of most of the words you look up.

So, like pre-pubescent teenagers snickering over "R" rated movies, she and I looked up every naughty word imaginable and played them to each other over the phone line.

We ended up in fits of laughter, tears coursing down our cheeks and sides splitting from the sheer silliness of the adventure.

And this evening ... my fax machine rings. Paper prints.

A note from the same aforementioned friend advises me that all of my email is bouncing back.

So why fax and not call? I was on my conference calling feature attempting to remedy the situation and both phone lines were busy with two technical support numbers.

Whilst I enjoy the idea that the spammers who take such pleasure in gracing my email box with tedious mounds of crapola will get all their mail slammed back at them, it was apparent that I needed to change the forwarding email address. Simple. Tragedy averted.

Email, conference calling, fax machines, pagers, instant messaging ... and a way, way cool service that allows middle aged women to spend their Saturday night listening to a recorded voice say naughty words resulting in unbridled peals of laughter.

Yep, ain't technology fascinating?

07.18.01

'NSynch is in Phoenix tonight. Apparently Britney is here too. And the "Popstars" ladies, Eden's Crush.

Downtown Phoenix is invaded by pre-teen females: giggles, glitter, and girlish squeals of delight and anticipation.

Ah yes, the rite of passage that is youth.

Whoooo hooo, way to go Miz Suzn. Congratulations!

See? You CAN Design!

07.16.01

Just a normal day filled with wispy clouds of cotton, soft linen sheets, and silky moments of sweet laughter.

Nothing out of the ordinary. The fabric of normality.

Then, in the course of seconds ... the usual day crashes down around my feet.

I find myself picking up the remnants of the day wondering how the beautifully woven chintz that Monday wore so elegantly now has become tattered, torn shreds of rough hewn burlap.

A sentence or two heard through the wire and this seamstress of life wonders what stitch in time will save the shreds of hope, the belief in happy endings, and understanding that life's reward is worth the battle.

Reaching for the endless spool of spun silk that mends broken promises, I thread the needle to start over.

Again.

07.15.01

Saturday evening I sat at the desk in my home office doing some paperwork.

The lights went down low ... like a typical summer brown out.

I sat patiently waiting for full power. Within seconds, the power came back up to normal.

Then again, it happened ... the lights went low and some lights flickered.

Muttering to myself about the power company, hot weather and "don't they know this will happen", I reached over and turned off the computer, monitor, and peripherals.

Hearing an odd rumble outdoors, I stood and looked out of the window.

Directly to the east of me, the sky was an odd wash of white ... painted in downstrokes against a darker raincloud purple palette.

I had never seen the sky look so strange.

The trees were fighting the good fight against typical monsoon winds.

However, it appears that there was nothing typical about this storm.

It rumbled into the Valley of the Sun quickly and left moments later.

In its path, destruction.

80 mph winds snapped utility poles like toothpicks in a child's game. In one case, a pole became a projectile and slammed through the windshield of a moving vehicle, killing the driver instantly.

Mother Nature executed her wrath on east Phoenix, Paradise Valley and Scottsdale last night.

Next time, when the lights go down low, instead of getting angry with the power company, I will nod in understanding that you truly cannot fool Mother Nature.

07.11.01

"I would rather be ashes than dust!
 I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant
     blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot.
 I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in
     magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent plant.
 The proper function of man is to live, not to exist.
 I shall not waste may days in trying to prolong them.
 I shall use my time."
 ·· Jack London ··

07.10.01

di·plo·ma|cy n. 3. skill in dealing with people; tact

tact n.SYN. - in diplomacy, implies a smoothness and adroitness in dealing with others, sometimes in such a way as to gain one's own ends.

cour·te|sy n. 2. a polite, helpful or considerate act or remark.

When I see the email notice appear in my browser window, I know there is a greater than 50% chance that the incoming email will be some type of unsolicited spam.

I will be offered credit card services for businesses I do not own, software to become a super sleuth, herbal remedies to extend genitalia I do not possess, unrealistic weight loss programs, and a plethora of endless promises and 'too good to be true' deals.

However, when that sweet moment occurs that I recognize the sender's name and receive email from a cherished friend, distant acquaintance, or online associate ... I open the email with eager anticipation.

I open each email expecting to "hear" the words of someone I trust. I expect their words to inform, teach, update, enchant, or simply greet me.

Perhaps I am naïve in my old age, but I also open each email expecting the "voice" of the sender to be written with courtesy, tact, and diplomacy.

No, I am not Pollyanna.

I simply believe in treating others as I want to be treated.

But words, written in haste or perhaps in frustration, can be "heard" with ears of disappointment, resulting in misinterpreted anger ... and vague misunderstanding.

When I write, either herein the journal or in email format, I "read" my written words as they are meant to be spoken.

Why?

Because I want my recipient to "hear" my voice. A voice that will undoubtedly be courteous, diplomatic and tactful.

Why?

I have learned first hand the disappointment of seeing the email notice appear in my browser window only to be met with discourteous, tactless and far from diplomatic content.

From someone I trust.

For today, I prefer the spam.

07.09.01

Yes, National Blonde Day: July 9th.

I am blonde. And yes, I am naturally blonde ... thanks to my Swedish heritage.

I love the myth and silliness about dumb blondes. I love blonde jokes. I even love my own "blonde moments".

So why National Blonde Day?

According to the website: "Blonde Legal Defense Club - Our Mission: To stop the widespread belief that blondes are dumb and incapable. To destroy blonde stereotypes and publicize blonde accomplishments throughout history, dispelling the myths and mistakes about blondes, both natural and chemically created. To ultimately make sure hair color isn't a factor in any work or social environments."

Uh huh, yeah sure. Alrighty then.

National Blonde Day coincides with the release of the new movie, "Legally Blonde".

Vidal Sassoon Salons in Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, Miami, San Francisco, Scottsdale, Toronto, and McLean, VA are honoring the world of blondes by giving free "blonde transformations" today.

So why not hug a blonde today? Take a blonde to lunch. Become a blonde. Celebrate blondeness and all that is blonde.

Blonde is beautiful.

07.08.01

Yesterday. Arrrgh.

Rain at Wimbledon.

A dead giveaway that the day was going to go to Hell in a handcart for me.

Dealing with the disappointment, I headed out to run errands.

Clang, clickety, clang, clickety, clang.

Vehicle is making noise. Loud noise. Embarrassing noise.

Damn car.

Dropped it off at Mr. Mechanic's little shop of expensive horrors.

Mumbling under my breath quiet obscenities at not being able to find friend, family or foe to tote me home, I began to walk.

Toasted soles, charred neck and flambé de arms later, I finally reach someone to provide transport.

Rent a car and head home.

Become obsessed with buying a new car.

Lay down to take a nap, doze off inhaling the camphoric scent of Noxema on my charred flesh ... and get an obscene phone call. En Español.

Nope, no strawberries and cream for me on the green grass of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

«« AORTAL Link of the week: BirchLane Vol. I, No. I »»

As part of the 20Things.org Project, this first issue offering by Bruce is oh-so-beautifully compiled with poetry, art and photography.

And if you haven't discovered Bruce's journal, go take a look at Birchlane.org. This man can write! My, my, my.

07.06.01

An interesting story tonight on the local news.

I looked for it online but could not find it (yet).

So you will just have to trust me on this one:

Last night, a young and rather attractive guy, decided to burn some things in his fireplace.

Just a bunch of stuff that he felt he no longer needed.

Why?

They were his soon-to-be ex-wife's clothes.

Yes, she is divorcing him. He, apparently, is not too pleased.

So into the fireplace they went.

This morning, Mr. "Burn Me And I Will Show You Burn", was awakened at dawn by a neighbor warning him that his apartment was afire ... with flames shooting out of his rooftop chimney and smoke coming out of the attic.

Ooops. Seems the fireplace was made for gas logs only. The kind that does NOT generate cinders.

When asked by a news reporter how much this self-admitted garment arsonist thinks he lost in the fire, he just laughed and casually said:

"Hey, I am getting a divorce. I have lost everything already."

Was he contrite? Was he feeling the emptiness of loss? Or was he being flippant?

His smile spoke volumes.

07.04.01

07.02.01

I waited.

The wind blew and the sky rumbled.

I still waited.

Anticipation gilded by energy ... generated by the dangerous play of lightning around me.

I watched as the summer sun dipped even further into the western skies brushing the rainclouds with kisses of color.

The sound of the tinkling chimes in the distance slowly faded.

It's over.

I've been robbed again.

07.01.01

Last night, quite late, I stepped into the desert darkness and slipped quietly into the water.

Thermostat set somewhere between 104° and 106°, the water of the jacuzzi began its cauldron dance of bubbles and whirlpools. Swirling against my skin, caressing sore muscles and mesmerizing me with the white noise of water meeting air ... and air escaping into the stillness of the desert night.

I lean back against the cool tiles and smile as I gaze upward towards the dark sky. The silhouette of palm trees execute slow, sultry summer choreography against the bright moon.

I whisper. I ask the gods of night for a cool breeze.             

The water is liquid heat. The air is enveloping heat. Climatic synchronicity even at this ... the bewitching hour.

I am breathing: but is it air? Is it water?

As my body temperature rises, I envision myself melding into the night ... becoming one with the liquid, one with the air ... and executing a slow, sultry summer dance on the palm trees silhouetted against the night.

Go say "hello" to Jeff.