Progress

Our aunt Veronica fed strays,
cats, dogs, she loved them all.
But did not claim them for neutering.
This is how it was done in Bucsa, Hungary
where she spent her formative years.
When the cats bred, she took the large
metal basin, filled it with water and
drowned the hours old souls.
Not from cruelty, just from unconscious habit.

My brother Rudy recently found four stray
kittens on his acre in Nevada.
Abandoned by their mother.
One I took home. 
Kahtohm, the orange tabby, is now my pride and joy.
One went missing, presumed eaten by the
coyotes who must also eat and breed,
who may have eaten their mother.

The two remaining have been kept,
grudgingly, by my brother and his wife.
In an unheated back room
which is warmer
than the dry, frigid Nevada nights.

Yesterday was the day to take these two
remaining kittens to the shelter --
for their care or killing --
it would not be on my brother's soul.

A county shelter refused them, they were born
in the city.
The city shelter wanted twenty precious dollars
each, for transfer of responsibility, 
being sure to note that they'd soon be put to death 
if no one adopted them.

My brother, also raised in Bucsa and well used to
the routine slaughter of creatures said,
"Well for forty dollars, I can wring their necks myself!"

But he wouldn't; and didn't.

These two strays remain his, and are now part of our family.

Reclaiming My Foot

Today I touched my right foot, my fractured ankle right foot, for the first time in a month. It had been under wraps in a too tight large blood blister pain causing splint; in a too heavy, feeling like I'm dragging a 100 pound ball and chain plaster of Paris cast; in lighter yet terribly confining and still too heavy fiberglass casts. I'd not seen my foot, my skin had been untouchable, for weeks.

Today I was free to look and touch. To take a good look at the shriveled, reptile peeling discolored skin, healing blood tattooed blister scabs, the edematous toes, the suture scars, the badly shrunken calf muscle, the clean nicely healed incisions. Today I was finally able to see what one month post fracture, two weeks post surgery does to the human foot.

Today I touched this foot, this fractured appendage which I'd disowned, which I'd only related to in disbelief, incredulity, shock, denial. I had disenfranchised myself from this painful visible evidence of my inconceivable fall, this inconceivable fracture which overnight caused major disruption to my life. I had distanced myself, my heart, my being from this fractured foot.

It caused tremendous pain, especially at night disrupting sleep; it could not be wet; it lay uncomfortably propped on always falling pillows. It was the encumbrance reminding me of the terrible inconceivable life altering fall of January 14, 2012. The fall occurred while walking my two doggies. I'd bent down to adjust one collar and when I stood up, the leash got tangled in my fancy, new, distinctly flawed design of the soles of my Saucony Pro Grid running shoe. The leash wrapped around the fancy "support" round outcroppings of the sole, and suddenly I was lassoed, as in the old cowboy movies. Boom! I was down! No warning! Down I went and landed on my right foot, badly fracturing my ankle.

Today I slowly felt this fractured foot. My foot. I slowly allowed the reality of my injury to curse through me. I took ownership of my mishap, my misfortune, and the ugly repercussions. Today I gently applied a sweet scented body cream to every inch of my poorly neglected foot. I massaged, felt, caressed and poured love and my life back into this so taken for granted vital part of me.
And I cried.

Details of Living

You ask how I am
I say
"Good. I'm good."
Hear that you're not.
Not 100% physically.
I hear it in your voice
but you brave on
and ask me details confirming details
about friends of mine you barely know
whose existence and details
you've committed to memory.
Questions which keep you from talking
about you.

I don't tell you how I really am.

I don't tell you that I struggle daily
with my demons.
Those pieces of me that only want an end,
a way out, a resolution of the deep
loneliness
I feel.

Those demons that would just as soon have me
dead
onto the NEXT
the truly unknown.
The pieces which believe
nothing is new here
so why not just move on.

I give them traffic, a respectful due,
acknowledgement.
I listen and sometimes succumb to the deep emotion
they elicit.
Crying. Praying. Appreciating G-d
and finally reminding myself to
Trust.
Fully Trust that peace will pervade my life.

And suddenly they're gone. Negativity is played out.
The duties of the day creep in.
I busy myself with some detail
and I see really see
appreciate the beauty of the day.
Tending to the details of living.