I am Tallulah

Tonight I lost another of my cats, Meaghan. Two weeks ago she started sneezing, then developed swelling at her nose. A week ago Friday I took her to the vet where she was diagnosed as having some form of cancer. The vet wanted to euthanize her right then but I said no. I asked what else we could try but this vet was very hesitant to try any other form of treatment "because of the cost". Finally she gave Meaghan a steroid and some antibiotics and I took Meaghan home. She seemed to rally around a bit but on Saturday night I could tell she was not going to make it.

When I brought her back from the vets after the first diagnosis I decided to bring her into the house. It was the first time she had ever been in the house. It was warmer and I could tend her better. 

I take some small comfort in knowing I let her pass away on her time, instead of hastening her death. I could not euthanize her. I just couldn't. She passed away quietly, in a warm bed, knowing (I hope) that she was loved.

In the last 30 days I have lost four cats. Pumpkin, Marmelaide and Benjamin all died within three weeks of each other, most likely due to old age-related disease. They were all barn cats, and were nearing 20 years of age. Still, they are truly missed.

Meaghan was always a skittish cat, and was quick to nip. She was not close to the other cats, except with her three sisters and one aunt. That is all that's left of her family. And Ginger, who is the oldest cat in the barn, at least 20 years old.

More changes; more death.

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It has been just over three months since Momma passed away. Momma had said to me that I would have to deal with my father and brother, and that there would be trouble between them. I hoped the problems would not arise until at least six months, but they have begun now.

This weekend the two of them got into an argument about repairs on the farm and money. As I knew would happen, I had to play mediator and soothe the waters. Guess that is my purpose in life. I mediated between my parents, and now between father and brother. I should be angry about this, but I'm not.

I am too tired to care.

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One of the charities took away some of the things we had removed from the house, but there is still a lot to go. They don't want it so I've called one more group, which will came in November. Hopefully they will take away the rest, including all the clothing. I'd like to have it all gone by the time the snow falls. Once that stall is cleared out I will bring the treadmill into the stall and use it over the winter.

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Am still unwilling to deal with people, preferring to stay home. I have no desire to see anyone. I don't want to hear their platitudes, or hear that I am "sounding much better" when, in fact, I feel dead inside. I have learned who my real friends are, and these people are not friends. Not that it matter. Just something to write about.

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One thing that has come out of all this is a realization that I must seriously put my thought and focus to more artistic pursuits. I have neglected this for a very long time.

To that end, I have a project in mind: a CD of Celtic poetry. This will also include music. At first I was hoping to do a collection of Welsh poetry but my research thus far has not turned up the kind of poetry I want to do. There is a lot of Welsh poetry to choose from, but most of the subject matter leaves me cold. Still, the project is only in the research stage so I may turn up enough for a CD.

I have also taken to studying some of the art masters. There have been some informative programs on television and they have offered some food for thought. If I can get the energy to finally finish clearing up the stacks of things that still need to be put away here, I plan to start painting.

The one thing I have not done is write. There just doesn't seem to be much point, as I have nothing interesting or positive to say. That is why I haven't written here in a while.

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Quotes To Remember:

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." ~Dame Julian of Norwich, 14th century mystic

"Art can break the heart of the artist." ~Joseph Giunta, artist 

Have just spent a couple of frustrating hours searching the internet and not finding what I want. There is a plethora of information available via the 'net, but there is an equal amount of junk, too!

I am searching for a Mickey Mouse tee shirt, but Mickey must not be centered on the front of the tee but located on lower down and to the left. All the tee shirts I have seen all feature the artwork spattered front and center. But then I saw this tee:

Do you think I can find this kind of tee shirt? NO!

I found some great Disney artwork on a site called zazzle (I think...) and I saved some Mickey art, so I may copy it to an iron-on transfer sheet and make my own tee shirt.

There ya go, Disney. One more sale lost.

 

They took Momma's truck away today. A '68 Ford Ranger. Hadn't run in years and was falling apart, but it was hers.

I remember when they bought that truck. It was a demonstrator at the Ford dealership and had very little mileage on it. Dark blue, standard everything, and a dark blue bench seat. Momma was so happy with this truck. It was the first almost-new vehicle she ever had.

My dad made a large white box for the bed, and that lasted until the wood began to rot.  The box was later used to house our ducks. After the box, he bought a smaller white metal cap and that was on the truck today.

It wasn't an easy truck to drive, believe me, but she handled it better than my dad. I remember the guys at the feed store thinking Momma wouldn't be able to back up the truck to the loading dock. They offered to do it for her but she easily swung this big truck neatly up to the dock with no troubles. She used to pick up almost a ton of feed at least 4 times a year, filled it with loose shavings for the animals, my dad used it for picking up and delivering furniture to his clients. Momma drove us to school every day with the truck, and it was a familiar site at the end of the school day waiting to take us home. Every kid got to know who owned the beautiful blue Ford. That truck also carried goats to be bred, and a couple of times even my pony, Sandy.

It sat for years after Momma's back injury. It was too hard on her back to handle the standard steering anymore but she couldn't bear to part with the truck. My dad wanted to get rid of it but she adamantly refused.  Once she did attempt to find someone to buy and restore the truck but the people who looked at it only wanted to take away parts for their own truck. She couldn't stand to see her beloved truck taken away bit by bit, so she turned their offers down.

The guy who came today was so thrilled to see how much of the truck was in such good shape. He was particularly excited over the chrome grill work, still shiny after all these years. Apparently he plans to use the entire dashboard and panels for his truck. He said there are lots of parts useable on this truck, so it won't go to waste in a junk yard.

I couldn't bear to see the truck taken away so I spent the afternoon in town. I know the truck was useless now and I had no money to restore it. Still, it was Momma's and it is one more thing gone.

The wheels had seized up and they had to work to free them to get the truck on the trailor. They managed to free all but one wheel, and it dragged all the way up onto the trailor.

Almost as if the truck didn't want to leave. 

An odd thing occurred this week. I received email from a McGill University student who was seaching for information for a project she is doing on forgotten Canadians, or something like that.

Apparently she utilized one of the search engines to find information on Canadian Vietnam veterans and came upon my Share The Voice site. In particular, she read a piece I wrote on Canadian Vietnam veterans.

She wrote to ask if I could put her in touch with the veteran I had interviewed, or speak to the writer of the piece. I told her I no longer had a viable email address for the gentleman, but if I could offer any insights I would be happy to help.

I find it odd that this piece garnered any attention from the search engines in the first place. Stranger still is the fact that no one has ever wanted to print this piece, which is why it ended up on my website.

The sad fact is, there is little information regarding Canadian Vietnam war vets. I originally had hoped to write a book about the subject but was not able to find anyone who wanted to talk about their experiences.

Understandably, those experiences were probably not ones they would eagerly revisit. Also understandable is the fact that these men were never officially recognized as war veterans in Canada. They have been ignored by their government, and therefore by their country as a whole. 

I hope she decides to go ahead with the project. Maybe a new voice asking questions and offering up proof that Canada really does have Vietnam War veterans, might offer focus on these forgotten people.

As for my book, the idea was shelved due to lack of information. If I could find people willing to be interviewed I might make another attempt. However, if no one wants to talk about this issue, it will soon disappear, as if it never happened. That will be a great tragedy.