the Old Man's dying

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I've hadMugwart since the early '90s. He was born in my apartment in New Albany,
IN, right across the river from Louisville, KY. He had three moms: his
own, my cocker/basset mix Tica and me.

He used to be able to leap five feet in the air, to catch a plastic
tarantula on fishing line. He, his sister and mom and dad used to walk
all over the farm we lived on in Pekin, IN. Through the woods, in the
meadows.

Mugwart was the first to discover that, when I pulled in my line from
the water, there'd be a bluegill on it. He took to wading out into the
cat tails to catch fish as I reeled them in.

He could climb the barn's poles to the top rafters. He loved riding in
my Winnebago camper and would spend hours sleeping on the dash board.

He adored dogs.

He's nothing but bones now. He weighs nothing. His eyes are dull and his
fur's matted. He's so week, he can only walk a foot or two before
collapsing.

I put him out in the front yard, near the animal water. I had him in a
cardboard box lined with towels. But he crawled out and is resting in
the shade of a planter, by the water dish.

It's the first time he's been out front in a long time. I try to keep
the cats in the chicken yard, so Grace, my nasty neighbor next door,
won't throw rocks at them.

But he's not able to climb the wall into her yard. He'll be fine out
there. He needs to sleep in the sun.

I'm pretty sad. It's hard, watching a personality being stripped down to
a struggling organism.

Taz has killed two chickens in as many weeks. That was hard, too.

She has a muzzle now, as does Porkchop. She'll wear hers any time she's
near the chickens from now on. They both wear them for walks.

I need to get Porky his rabies vaccine soon, so I can submit the
paperwork to animal control.

The judge dismissed the warrant I had. I have to return to court on Mar.
1, for the original citations. But, since the animal control officer no
longer works for the city, I'm expecting the charges to be dismissed.

My radio program came off pretty well, I think. Ma's very proud and is
being very affectionate.

I'm editing it to burn to CDs to give to the participants and to submit
for a broadcasting award.

They say I'm getting paid for it, too, soon as the paper work clears at
the university (which could take a month.)

I'm planning to concentrate on gardening and writing now. I owe Paul
Ingles some "Your Top Stories" interviews for his program.I

've just been resting, yesterday and today. Ma & I got the flu last
week and are still pretty weak and coughing.

I keep going out front to check on Mugwart. I expect he'll be dead
before nightfall. Ma said she'd help me dig his grave. I expect I'll
bury him right where he dies: in the sun, in the front yard, near the
water dish, with chickens around.

I've ordered some hatching eggs: mixed barnyard. BUt I have my eyes on
some Muskovie ducks: giant, quackless ducks. I'm also watching Japanese
silkies eggs. They're my favorites.

Life goes on.

Ma and I are discussing the possibilities of moving to California in the
next, few years, if we can find suitable employment and a town with less
than outrageous rents. good luck, huh?

Well, that ought to keep my readers from emailing and callign,
complaining they never heard the outcome of my legal troubles.

I have LOTS to write about the Kicked Out Queers broadcast. It'll be in
the rriverstone radio blog. I didn't DARE write any of it before the
broadcast; I was afraid they'd pull the program, honest to gawd! sheesh.

But I'll catch u up on the behind the scenes stuff soon.

It was a wonderful experience, finally.

kicked out queers promo

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I'm sorry, but MSNTV can no longer hear RAM files of broadcast quality. Darn it!
http://kunm.org/cgi-local/stream/streamit.pl?str=021405KickedOutPromo.rm

War on the Poor

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Eric Garcetti: 'Bush transforms the war on poverty into a war on the poor'
Date: Wednesday, February 09 @ 09:58:52 EST
Topic: Economic Policy
By Eric Garcetti, Los Angeles Times

President Bush refers to himself as a wartime president, and he has shown resolve not to back down on the battlefield. But the budget he released this week waves a flag of surrender in another war, the 40-year "war on poverty."

The budget announces cuts of 28% � or $1.4 billion � from our arsenal of critical social programs. The largest and most vital to Los Angeles is the Community Development Block Grant. As more cities draw on poverty-fighting grants each year, Los Angeles' allocation has steadily decreased, from $88.6 million in 2003 to $82.7 million this year. Under the proposed cuts, our allocation would plummet by at least $15 million.

Alongside previously proposed cuts to Section 8 housing assistance, these reductions send a stark message to the country's poor, its elderly and its urban youth: You're no longer our problem.

In Los Angeles, these grants pay for after-school programs, home repairs for the elderly in blighted neighborhoods and intervention programs for youth on the brink of joining or already in gangs. They spur economic development projects and fund outreach to the homeless.

Now the president wants to cut these groups off from the prospects of economic recovery. That represents a radical departure from a nation's commitment to its most vulnerable citizens.

In the prosperous decades after World War II, the nation found too many Americans still without access to decent housing, education and economic opportunity. Later, from President Johnson's declaration of a war on poverty in 1964 to the expansion of federal anti-poverty programs under presidents Nixon, Ford and Carter, a national consensus emerged supporting the federal government's power and duty to alleviate disenfranchisement and powerlessness in our poorest urban and rural areas. Even President Reagan, a conservative hero, expanded block grants.

The programs Bush intends to cut enjoy bipartisan support in Congress: Conservatives often favor block grants, which allow local governments to set their own agenda to fight poverty.

Federal officials have suggested that the cuts are intended to hold local governments "more accountable." The Department of Housing and Urban Development already conditions grants on oversight and meeting exacting standards.

Even more perverse, the president himself has called the country's attention to causes that his own budget abandons. His State of the Union address admirably underscored the fight against gang violence. But the organizations that struggle to do what Bush called "giving young people, especially young men in our cities, better options than apathy, or gangs, or jail" rely on block grant funds.

The president has also sworn to end homelessness in a decade, but block grants finance the city and county's homeless services and make up 20% of the city's Affordable Housing Trust Fund.

New ideas are welcome in the struggle against poverty. Fiscal discipline will be necessary to balance an overstretched budget. But this budget attempts neither. The war on poverty has suddenly become a war on the poor.
Eric Garcetti, who represents the 13th District on the Los Angeles City Council, chairs the city's Housing, Community and Economic Development Committee.

Copyright 2005 Los Angeles Times

Reprinted from The Los Angeles Times:
http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-garcetti9feb09,0,2022770.story

This article comes from The Smirking Chimp
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com

The URL for this story is:
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com/article.php?sid=19833

President puts faith in religion-based social services

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President puts faith in religion-based social services
Date: Tuesday, February 08 @ 10:01:16 EST

Topic: Economic Policy
Bush favors private aid with a moral dimension at the expense of more traditional programs.

By Peter Wallsten and Tom Hamburger, Los Angeles Times

WASHINGTON � In the latest sign of a philosophical change in how the government should deliver social services, President Bush's new budget would cut some traditional aid for the poor in such areas as housing and health coverage.

At the same time, some religion-based programs that promote such goals as sexual abstinence and marriage and provide mentors for at-risk children would enjoy increased federal aid.

Both the shift away from long-standing social welfare policies and the willingness to step up spending on programs tied to religious organizations reflect the fact, analysts said, that the administration is more comfortable than many of its predecessors in advocating social service strategies with a moral dimension.

Administration officials said Monday that the increases � although generally smaller than the cutbacks � would be made in part through payments to faith-based organizations, a hallmark of Bush's self-described "compassion agenda."

An additional $150 million, for example, is proposed next year for programs aimed at treating drug addicts, keeping at-risk boys from joining gangs, and the mentoring of prisoners' children and newly released prisoners, among other items. Much of this money would be directed toward faith-based groups.

Programs for marriage preservation, "responsible fatherhood" and sexual abstinence would get about $280 million more.

Additional tax breaks would encourage personal contributions to charities.

The size of such increases appear minor, however, compared to the estimated $45 billion in cuts to Medicaid over the next 10 years and other reductions to food stamps, community development grants and housing for the disabled � cuts that social service advocates said Monday could bring major changes to the lives of many aid recipients.

But administration officials said the increases in faith-based funding reflected the philosophy of an administration eager to find what they viewed as better ways to deliver services.

"The president has chosen to go with the programs he thinks are the most effective and, of course, he has continued to maintain a strong belief that partnerships between government and America's armies of compassion mean a lot in the lives of our poor," said Jim Towey, director of the White House Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiatives.

Towey called the Bush plan a "compassionate budget in a tight budgetary time," and officials noted that many of the traditional social service programs such as public housing vouchers remained mostly intact.
But advocates for the poor challenged the administration's reasoning.

"The administration wants to abandon commitments that the federal government has made to serve low-income families, and to replace those practical commitments with very small pots of money and lip service about the faith community," said Deborah Weinstein, executive director of the Coalition on Human Needs, an alliance of social welfare agencies and labor unions.

The debate over the role of faith programs comes after Bush won reelection campaigning to increase government funding for religious charities that he maintained were often better at serving the needs of the poor than entrenched government bureaucracies.

Bush enjoyed broad support from conservative evangelicals drawn to his faith-driven views on moral issues.

The full scope of the proposed budget cuts was not clear Monday, and some advocacy groups cautioned that some faith-based organizations might suffer a net loss of federal dollars.

Still, in pronouncements by the administration Monday, faith-based programs were among the well-publicized winners.

The same division in the Department of Health and Human Services where the marriage and abstinence programs would be increased faces a $719-million cut overall.

"This budget signals a substantial increase in the redistribution of federal dollars to faith-based organizations dealing with topics like marriage and abstinence and away from secular organizations," said Paul C. Light, professor of public service at New York University.

Light sees the Bush budget as part of a slow but steady trend to fund conservative churches and organizations that have a clear social agenda, often at the expense of secular nonprofit organizations and traditional federal aid programs.

At HHS, the head of the Administration for Children and Families, Wade F. Horn, said that this year's budget showed a real commitment to topics such as marriage, child support, fatherhood and sexual abstinence for the unmarried.

"At the end of the day, those initiatives will be there for the benefit of kids," Horn said in an interview.

Horn said his agency had long provided funding to church-related organizations such as Catholic Charities that offered a range of social services.

"I think what's different now is that we try to remove as many barriers as possible" for smaller, independent faith-based organizations that have never participated in federal programs before, he said.

"Now what the president has done is put out the welcome mat for faith-based organizations," Horn said.

Copyright 2005 Los Angeles Times

Reprinted from The Los Angeles Times:
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-services8feb08,1,7817542.story
This article comes from The Smirking Chimp
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com

The URL for this story is:
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com/article.php?sid=19829

Queer & Homeless

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PRESS RELEASE The 8th Annual Homelessness Marathon
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
MEDIA CONTACT:
Rogi Riverstone
Albuquerque: 505-842-8175
Toll Free: 1-877-718-0691
(rriverstone@yahoo.com)

8th ANNUAL HOMELESSNESS MARATHON Broadcasting in Albuquerque

Local producers will carry a live, hour discussion, to be aired at 10pm local time, on the impact of homelessness on Gay, Lesbian, Transexual, Transgendered, Pansexual and Bisexual people in Albuquerque. Stay tuned to KUNMfm 89.9 and http://kunm.org for further details.

The 8th Annual Homelessness Marathon is a nationally-produced show. Participating Pacifica, NPR and independent, community and public radio stations will both broadcast and air it. The Marathon will be broadcast from 9pm, EST on Monday, February 14th to 11am, EST on Tuesday, February 14, 2005. The broadcast will be carried on KUNMfm 89.9.

The Homelessness Marathon has been called, "the most significant media event focusing on homelessness and poverty" by Donald Whitehead, director of the National Coalition for the Homeless. And it is unlike any other broadcast in the world.
The Marathon is almost entirely live, covers taboo territory and features the voices of people who are rarely heard on the air. Perhaps for this reason it has grown rapidly. The first Marathon, in 1998, was on one tiny station in central New York. The 7th Marathon, in 2004, was on 80 stations coast-to-coast, with another 30 stations across Canada carrying a parallel Canadian Homelessness Marathon.

As always, the 8th Marathon's broadcast booth will be set up outside, to dramatize the plight of people with nowhere to go in the cold, and calls will be taken from around the country. But there will be no on-air solicitations. The Marathon is a consciousness raising, not a fundraising broadcast.
The 8th Marathon will be distributed via the NPR and Pacifica satellites and will be streamed on the web. More information, including broadcast schedules and audio clips from past broadcasts may be found at the Marathon's web site: http://kunm.org and http://www.homelessnessmarathon.org.

Porky day

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It's almost 4 in the morning. I woke Ma at two, so she could start work on a special project for her job. She's typing away on her puter, in her bedroom. I can't sleep. I feel duty-bound to keep vigil, so she doesn't go back to sleep before she's done. It's going slowly. And she's cranky. So, I just keep feeding her Earl Grey tea, mixed with sugar free hot cocoa mix, with an occasional piece of Dove Christmas chocolate, to keep her caffeine levels up enough to keep her going.

I get Porkchop back from the pound today. The next door neighbor agreed to drive me out, and both of us back.

I had a dream, during Ma's and my brief sleep tonight. I was at the pound, holding Porky's leash. He LOOKED the same, but his temper was iffy. He wasn't the same. Something in the shelter had changed him. I was a little afraid of him. He seemed quite capable of attacking even ME, if startled. I was supposed to handle him, in a shelter full of people and other animals, while trying to sign papers and write a check.

I think I'll ask them not to bring Porky out until I've concluded my paper work and am on my way out.

He'll be hysterically happy to see me, I'm guessing. He'll probably be a little stunned and very hyper. I'll need both hands and my entire body to control him around other people.

Poor guy: he's been sleeping on cold, concrete floors, surrounded by frightened, angry dog noises, for ten days.

I've got to be ready for it.

Taz will be thrilled to have him home. She's been driving all of us crazy: Ma, me, the cats. She's had nobody to run and wrestle with. Porky's her favorite chew toy. My slippers, underwear and assorted decorations have paid the price of Porky's absence.

Poor Ma can't go to the toilet without a crotch inspection. And my old man cat, Mugwart, is going bald around the neck from so much chewing.

The chickens perch high on things, just to get away from Taz. I try to keep them seperated as often as possible. But, when they first go to sleep and first wake up, there's a small window when they're in the chicken yard with Taz.

I can barely wait to see the old bastard again.

Makes it easier to face my court date tomorrow, knowing I'll have reassembled my family before I go.

Ma's extremely busy at work...obviously...and won't have much time for household stuff. I'm doing most of her chores, now.

If I have to go to jail tomorrow, it's going to be very hard for Ma to care for all these critters and plants.

She gets her cash bond back tomorrow. They'll set my trial date, if I can't get the judge and prosecutor to dismiss the charges.

I don't know if I'll have to post bail for myself.

It's going to be a rough month...

Feeling the draft?

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Anya Kamenetz: 'Feeling a draft? Poor kids of color fight the Pentagon'
Date: Thursday, January 27 @ 10:14:15 EST
Topic: The MilitaryBy Anya Kamenetz, Village Voice

Chris Dugan, 27, signed up for his future hitch in the marines while still in high school. "I wanted to be hard and serve my country," he says. "My grandfather was a marine." Dugan was lucky enough to serve in peacetime, from 1995 to 1999. Included was a short stint as a recruiter for high schoolers like himself, patriotic working-class kids without a lot of options to pay for college, get job training, or find work. "These recruiters psychoanalyze you and pitch you a story," he says. "They have a quota, and if that quota isn't met, it's their ass. They'll do whatever they can to get you in."

But now Chris is out—far out. He's a master's student at Hunter College and a member of the International Socialist Organization and the Campus Antiwar Network. And he's a counter-recruiter, part of a growing grassroots national movement to keep kids like him out of Iraq.The No Child Left Behind Act, passed in 2002, included a little-seen provision stipulating that all public high schools provide a list of students' names, addresses, and other personal information to military recruiters. Douglas Smith, a spokesperson for the Army Reserve Command, says this provision is simply a matter of convenience. "It saves the recruiters a lot of research time figuring out how to get in contact with the students."But by the accounts of teachers, students, and parents, the officers in the pressed uniforms and shiny shoes are using those data to get more aggressive, particularly at poor and largely minority schools.

At schools like Bronx Community College, they set up tables three or four days a week; at many high schools, they far outnumber college or other job recruiters. They call kids at home, show up at their front doors, and even threaten them, anything to get the kids to boot camp.Activists report that one kid who signed up for delayed entry was told that backing out, which is legally allowed, would be desertion in a time of war, meaning he could be hunted down and shot. (Smith, the army spokesperson, said a recruit could be considered AWOL—less serious than desertion—only after going through all physicals and other screenings, and then failing to show up for basic training.)

On January 15 and 16, a coalition of local peace and student groups met in Manhattan to brainstorm ways to reach kids with the facts, starting with their right not to give up their personal info. "Schools are obligated to inform both parents and students of their right to opt out," said Amy of Youth Activists-Youth Allies (Ya-Ya), which helped organize the weekend counter-recruitment workshop. "Different schools and districts are doing a different quality of job with that"—ranging from letters sent home to each student to a small classified ad in the local paper.

Ya-Ya has been meeting with high school officials, convincing them that giving recruiters "equal access" does not mean giving them free access to roam the halls and pull kids out of class. The group's teenage members hand out flyers at area public schools about the dangers of signing up for an eight-year hitch. One of them is headlined "What Recruiters Don't Want You to Know." Others talk about institutional racism, sexism, and homophobia in the military, and false economic promises.

The army brags that it recently raised its top G.I. Bill award for college to $70,000. What the service doesn't tell you is that 43 percent of veterans see none of this money. You must contribute $100 of your own paycheck each month for the first year in order to qualify. Speaking of checks, for an army PFC in 2005, the pay is $14,822 a year. Combat pay, for those in Iraq, is another $225 a month, more if you have kids at home.

Many of the counter-recruiters, not just the socialists, see their issue as one of economic justice. "Who does the military target?" asks Peter, a 17-year-old student at the specialized Urban Academy Laboratory public high school and a member of Ya-Ya. "Young men of color like me. People from the ghetto with no way out except the military. For me personally, this is about raising social awareness.

"With the pressure of Iraq, Afghanistan, and who knows what other looming commitments, the army is adding 1,000 recruiters to its staff this year, and the National Guard, which missed its fiscal year 2004 goal of 56,000 new enlistees by nearly 10 percent, is adding 700 more. The question on everyone's mind is what will happen when shiny Hummers, free T-shirts, cajoling, and bullying aren't enough.

A Quaker woman at the workshop offered a how-to on conscientious objection—no church affiliation required."Students at Hunter have a vested interest in this issue," Chris Dugan says. "We start out by asking them, 'Are you under 27? If there's a draft, you could go.' "Copyright 2005 Village Voice Media, Inc.
Reprinted from The Village Voice:
http://www.villagevoice.com/news/0504,kamenetz,60395,6.html

night terrors

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They're not exactly dreams. I'll be sound asleep when I'll have an overwhelming sense of danger. I'll wake in fighting mode, ready to scream. I'm often kicking and hitting when I wake up.

I had a real sense of loneliness as Ma got ready to go into work last night. I didn't want to be alone; I dreaded it. I couldn't say why. I was on the verge of tears. I wanted to say, "don't leave me!" I felt silly, immature and irresponsible. I didn't say anything to her.

After she left, I curled up in bed to watch TV. Taz is so lonely and insecure, I thought it would be better to be in there with her and the cats, who also miss me very much. And several of my cats are irritable anyway, because I found the "leaks" in my kennel and covered them with old chicken wire patches. They haven't found a new way out yet and often wander the back of the house and back yard, looking forelorn. So, I thought I should comfort them.

Besides, it meant I wouldn't have to turn on the heater in the living room and waste the gas. My bedroom has a heater.

I made it to almost half of "The West Wing." It's a favorite show of mine. Or, at least, it was, until this very disjointed season. The writing is now too impressed with itself. The story lines are more soap opera now than political commentary. I've been losing interest.

Well, the fake tension between Donna and Josh was getting on my nerves. All I could see was young people, scurrying around frantically, saying precocious things that were hard to follow.

I turned off the TV at about eight thirty and went to sleep.

I heard Ma coming in. The dog barked and scampered.

But I couldn't get out of bed. I felt paralyzed. I thought, "what if it's not Ma? What if it's a burglar?" But I couldn't care enough to get up. I think it's maybe what dying feels like: the body can't move and the brain keeps trying to be alive.

Ma came in and sat on the side of the bed. I think I was supposed to get up, take my vitamins and asprin, join her in the living room.

At about midnight, I woke. The lava lamp on Ma's side of the bed was still on, shining in my eyes. She wasn't there.

I had to pee, anyway. So, I clumsily got up. We share a bathroom with connecting doors from each of our bedrooms. I opened hers. She was sitting in the living room, watching tv.

She followed me in, asking lots of questions about my health, pain, etc. I was too punchy to answer much.

Eventually, she came in to bed.

It woke me up and I wanted to talk. I told her about my experiences with that stalker. I told her about how abusive and indifferent the cops were, how nobody believed me, how nobody would help me.

I'm angry about the court date. I wish it HAD been over today. The judge is just another indifferent man, a paper pusher. He won't believe me, either.

The police did everything but hold me down, so that bastard COULD rape me. I escaped, but it's temporary. Now, the judge will finish the job the cops & stalker started. I'll be punished for being a woman, poor and independent.

The stalker laws ONLY apply to upper middle class women who are the property of men. They don't apply to me.

I fear fines; how will I ever pay Ma back, and how will she pay off her debts? I fear jail time: it just means a lot more work for Ma. Ma gets punished, not me.

I'll beg to have the charges dismissed at the hearing. Otherwise, I'll plead innocent and go through the circus of being publicly defended.

Most of my evidence and witnesses are gone now, after five years. Cops never took reports, even when I stood in the church parking lot, covered in blood, with a torn dress, crying.

So, I'm having night terrors. This is, of course, bringing it all back.

I couldn't afford to feel anything at the time, so I repressed it. Five years later, all the terror is coming to the surface.

My memory's very bad right now. I'm pretty confused and dazed.

Ma has been tremendously supportive and understanding. She's my champion; I've never seen her more indignant, more nurturing, more encouraging than now.

I owe her a lot.

Whatever happens, no matter HOW long they string this crap out to torture me, it'll be over someday. They'll get their "licks" in and move on to the next powerless soul who can't defend herself against them.

For five years, I've dodged cops, lived in slums that don't check police records, been refused jobs, been threatened with extortion by landlords and cops, been afraid to assert my rights because I've had this warrant. For three years, of course, I didn't KNOW I had a warrant out.

Once this crap is over, if it ever is, I won't have to be so uncharacteristically timid. I can walk back into a certain place, where a certain person wiped her feet on me like I was nothing and humiliated me publicly and tell her and her supervisors EXACTLY what I think of her cruelty, incompetence and ego. And she WON'T be able to call the cops to get me arrested!

I tried four times to clear this warrant mysef. But the demand of three hundred, thirty dollars' cash bond forbid me from even seeing the judge.

Ma thinks I was worthy of the investment, even though it complicated her life. Someone believes in me. Someone believes me. Finally.

wrong date

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Well, I triple and quadruple checked the summons to appear. I could NOT find a DATE on the summons. To make sure we were going on the right date, I finally found the metro court phone number (not in the blue, gov't. pages, but the white pages of the phone book).

I don't appear until NEXT Wed. Yes, I FINALLY found it on the summons, but in the most cock-eyed, out-of-the-way place possible. It wasn't any where NEAR the day of week, time, room number and judge's name info.

So, I cried.

All this work to prepare. Ma took a day off work. She'll have a hard time juggling her schedule to be there next week.

It even threatened to cause a "bounce" in my bank acc't., as I was thinking we'd get the bond money back today.

I ordered a product called an "Easy Seat" off eBay. It's for my scooter. It's 2 platforms for the pelvis. It has no saddle horn, like regular bike seats. These horns cause me much pain, as my genitals are mutilated. Now, I just stand up to ride the scooter. The other day, I drove 25 mi, standing. The scooter has no suspension or shocks. Every bump is like being hit on the bottom of the foot with a hammer. It even makes the bike helmet Ma gave me hit me hard against the forehead. After 25 miles, my ankles, heels, knees, hips, back, neck, shoulders and head hurt pretty bad.

Ma's car needs a piston rod bearing. I'm planning to tear the car apart, take out the engine, open it and fix things. I'll clean it and replace all hoses, gaskets, etc., too, while I'm at it. Of course, it'll take me months to get it all done. We'll rent a cradle snatcher and I'll pull the engine out and place it on blocks, under a tarp, so I can work on it.

We won't have a car until I either: fix the old one or sell enough radio to buy a new one.

The good news about the court date is I'll be able to bail poor ol' Porkchop out of jail the day before. That's when his quarantine ends. Poor guy.

Taz misses him something awful. She's all insecure and needy now.

I'm feeling pretty bad. I'm achey. It's hard to catch my breath. I'm sick to the stomach. It's all the same symptoms I had when I had the first heart attack, while Ma was out of town. I haven't told her, though. She's got enough with her job, my warrant, Porky, the car...blah blah...

But I'm weak and it scares me. My legs, especially, are numb, tingling, hard to control.

It's a cold day. I've spent it all in the house with Ma. She just now got dressed and went in to work. She probably won't be back until after ten pm. I worry about her out there in the weather, in the dark, on that bicycle. But she loves it. She really does. It's her thing. Watching her on her bike, as I ride along on my scooter, I see how graceful and powerful she is on it. She's much more at ease on the bike than on foot. But this town if full of people who drive drunk and aggressively.

So, I don't get any answers for another week yet. I've waited this long.

I feel no shame or embarrassment about this. I was STALKED. The bastard STOLE my dogs, and one's tags. THAT's why the citation, which I didn't get because I ended up homeless. And that's why the citation went to failure to appear warrant.

I was BEATEN and nearly raped when I was supposed to appear in court. I was homeless within a week.

I'm having some delayed stress stuff. Normally, I would have SEEN the court date, even IF it was way on the other side of the paper, several lines above the rest of the info.

And I wouldn't have taken chances like that with my bank acc't., either.

But I can't afford genital reconstructive surgery. I can only afford a new bike seat that doesn't hurt me so bad. And I need it soon.

I'm sad and tired and weak.

But I'm very well loved, and that counts for more than anything. She's been very nice to me since this happened. She's been more affectionate and attentive than ever. And she was always very caring.

So, the rest of the day, unfortunately, is a matter of "doing time," waiting to feel better, waiting for warmer weather.

I've started on the garden. I've worked more on my chicken coop.

But today is cold and gloomy. I can't go out there very long.

good idea

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Ma and I were talking last night about how the penal system creates multi-generational victimization, specifically of the poor.

I began describing my own ancestry. African American escaped slaves, Cherokees escaping the Trail of Tears and poor whites who escaped endentured servitude and debtors' prisons in Great Britain.

She suggested I write about it. Immediately, I realized I could write a multi-generational, historical novel, based on my own family. I've studied enough social history to know WHAT to research for each generation, even if I don't know a whole lot about specifics and details. As Ma pointed out, I know my family's mythology: the stories of relatives and the like. It adds believability because the stories are specific events, involving specific people.

My entire family is a history of working very hard to remain "off the grid" and out of the System.

The more I tell her about the corruption and abuse of the so-called "justice" system, the more indignant Ma becomes. She's had no exposure to the realities of being poor. And it occurs to me that this is probably true for the majority of book readers, too.

Ma also pointed out that previous novelists have created social change with their writings. It wasn't until someone wrote, in a mass medium, that the general population realized the extent of people's suffering and began to demand legislative changes.

Ma's worried that I'll be given jail time as part of my sentence. I explained it would be OK, as it would give me first-hand research for the story. I can write in the joint. There's a library, too. I may have access to internet on a limited basis, for all I know.

I expect, though, that I won't be locked up. The jails are totally overcrowded. Violent criminals are being released, all the time.

I expect I'll get community service and possibly a fine. I'll work hard to prevent a fine; I'm borrowing from Ma for this and she's paying off large debts. It'll take me forever to pay her back. So, a fine would only punish Ma, not me.

I can do community service at the community radio station.

Cops I've dealt with during the past, 5 years of my warrant have shown little interest in locking me up for such a petty misdemeanor. I think the ONLY reason I was taken into custody THIS time is that Porky bit someone. If I hadn't commited any offense, I'd have been released again and admonished again to "take care of it."

Of course, without Ma's help and economic priviledge, there's no WAY I could ever have come up with a $330.oo cash bond to satisfy the courts. That's why I've never taken care of it in the past.

And, living alone, I couldn't risk being locked up. Who'd take care of my animals and my property while I was gone?

I wrote Ma a detailed email, while she sat here and watched me last night. I gave her specific details on the operations of the house and all my user names, passwords and PIN numbers. So, she knows how to care for the plants and animals and how to operate my hinky washing machine and stuff now.

She's taking tomorrow morning off. She's going to court with me. I'm supposed to be there at 1:30pm. We'll walk, or take the trolley.

I'm taking nothing with me except my ID. If I'm locked up, I don't want to have to worry about any property.

Any money a prisoner has on them is applied to fines and to purchases at the commisary. For example, prisoners are issued: orange "scrub" type shirts and pants and rubber shower shoes, plus white tee shirts. But prisoners cannot use the exercise yard in shower shoes. And prisoners can't have shoes brought in from outside. All prisoners who want to use the exercise yard MUST BUY shoes from the commisary! It's all a McJail, concessions stand.

So, I won't be in the exercise yard, because I plan to boycott the commisary. They'll issue me bed linens, towels, the clothing I mentioned and basic toiletries.

The less I have, the less likely I can be coerced by other prisoners into making purchases for them, in exchange for their protection.

Nope, if I go to jail, I plan to just write, think and do research for this project.

If he demands jail time, I'll request they wait 'til Feb. 15, so I can complete the Homelessness Marathon broadcast.

If not, I have friends who will take up the slack. They've already been given instructions on how to carry out the broadcast.

I'm most worried about Porkchop, of course. If I'm locked up, how will Porky be freed, as I'm the legal owner? He gets out Feb. 1.

But, I'll figure it all out, somehow.

Today, I'm patching the parts of my cat/chicken structure with bits of chicken wire I found in someone's trash. I'll finish what laundry is out there, too.

It's a rainy, damp dark day. But, even as I write this, I see the sun coming through the clouds. So I shouldn't, I hope, freeze my butt off out there in an hour or so.

Taz is miserable without Porky to chew on and boss around.

I worry for Porky's sanity in that hell hole. I worry for his health, too. I heard a news report of an epidemic of parvo virus at our animal shelters. Porky was placed in a poop-smeared kennel in the transport van by animal control.

They could kill him with neglect.

And he's so nervous and traumatized, I don't know how he'll handle all the other dogs, yelling and acting out. It could drive him crazy and MAKE him violent!

I've told Ma that, when we bring him home, we should plan to be as quiet as possible for a week or so. No vacuum cleaners, circular saws, hammers.... nothing loud and startling. Except Taz, of course. I suspect she'll be very good medicine for him, anyway.

So, I'm going to have a snack now and then go out and cat proof my kennel.

There's no sense getting upset, worrying or stressing over my court appearance tomorrow. Whatever happens happens and I'm ready for it. I just hope I've prepared Ma enough so she can handle it if I'm locked up.

Beaten by a stalker, robbed, almost raped and now it's ME who might face jail time for it!

DAMN!

the green 18 miles

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Ma and I took the dogs for a walk Saturday. In addition to Porky, we now have Taz: beagle/cocker mix, female, puppy.

We needed some things from the pharmacy & I needed to deposit $ in the ATM.

We took Ma's bicycle cart: aluminum frame, twin "stroller," ripstop nylon body. We planned to bring home purchases in it. Additionally, it has a tight-fitting, snap-down lid. I put Porky in it while I can't attend him, so he can't bite people or be disturbed.

There's a minimall near us, with a Mexican grocery. I wanted to stop and look. Ma said she'd watch the dogs while I went in, so we didnt' have to hassle with putting them in and locking the trailer.

I had Oaxaca cheese and crema. I was looking at Mexican candies, just getting ready to make my purchases and leave.

A woman from the "religious supplies" store came in and said, "someone in here own two dogs?"

I replied.

"Well, the big one just bit someone."

I set my selections on the register counter and left.

Ma was shaken. Porkchop was peacefully lying on the sidewalk. Taz was wagging and sniffing.

A woman stood on the sidewalk. She said Porky bit her daughter. I had images of a mutilated, little girl.

The woman was worried about her daughter's jeans, said they were her only pair and that she didn't have money to replace them.

I gave her my name and phone number and asked for her address, so I could send her money to replace the pants.

Soon, the "girl" came out of the religious store. She was about 17. She was crying hysterically, carrying a cell phone.

I apologized profusely and asked to see the bite.

A small tear, in the frayed seam of her worn and filthy jeans, at the thigh. A couple of punctures in the denim, from Porky's teeth. Two small, pink marks on the girl's thigh. There was no blood, no bruising. Porky nipped her as she passed by.

She was crazy emotional; I didn't even try to talk to her after apologizing. She handed her mom the cell phone.

As her mom called 911, I prepared Ma. I said I'd be going to jail; they'd surely bring me in on the warrant for this. I said (based on misinformation from an animal control officer) Porky would be destroyed.

I removed my ID from my wallet. I put my things in the cart, including a scarf I was wearing.

I took Porky off their mutual leash and attached Taz, alone, to the cart.

I held Porky on short leash and instructed Ma to leave, with Taz, and wait to hear from me. She walked off as the police cars arrived. They didnt' even notice her and Taz.

I patiently perched on a concrete block. Porky lay peacefully at my feet in the shade.

The police would look over from time to time, obviously wondering why I was now in trouble. The paramedics examined the girl's "wound." The women left. The paramedics suggested a hospital exam. If the woman wants a civil suit, I suppose they'll go, but I doubt it.

They couldn't afford decent pants for the girl. But they drove away in a gas guzzling SUV.

Porkchop hates the smell of drugs and alcohol. The only times he's become aggressive with humans in the past is when he's smelled mind-altering chemicals on people.

I wonder....

When animal control arrived, I lead Porky to the van. I explained to the officers that he'd think they were heros and best friends, because they gave him a ride. He loves riding in vehicles.

They told me I could sign over ownership to them. He must be quarantined for 10 days (in case of rabies). After that, he'd be released to me.

But, if I were no longer owner, no charges would be filed against me for the "bite." I wouldn't have to pay boarding fees.

The dog laws will change soon. Then, if Porky bit a 3rd time, I'd go to prison.

I almost signed him over, so they could euthenize him after quarantine. But I couldn't decide, so I didn't.

They left with Pork, peacefully smelling his new kennel.

A police officer asked me to turn around for handcuffs. I explained that I'm disabled and would need help getting into the cruiser with hands behind my back. So, he cuffed me in front.

The cruiser has a molded plastic, back seat. I held onto the door handle for dear life. There ARE seatbelts in the back, but I was not able to put one on.

We drove down Central. The officer made personal calls and text messages on his cell phone, eyes not on the road.

We chatted about the new westside jail. It's 18 miles from town. Cops hate driving so far. He'd picked me up within walking distance of the old jail; it would have taken 5 minutes to get there. As it was, it took over half an hour.

I was processed, booked and searched. The new jail looks like a Walmart super store or a mall. It's in the middle of scrub land. There's nothing out there but jackrabbits and the dump. And dead bodies and other refuse, dumped in the mesas.

I was lead into what looked like a clinic waiting room. One tv babbled "educational" films into the room. A huge area, like a nurses' station, housed the office equipment and corrections officers.

There were free phones in the walls. There were unisex bathrooms with windows in the doors. Men on the left; women on the right in molded plastic chairs.

It was sterile. It was hell: the eternal waiting room.

I called Ma. Three hundred, thirty dollars' cash bond only, to be paid at the Metro Court window, 4th and Lomas. She waited out doors, in the dark, for hours until the clerk stopped fussing with papers to take Ma's money.

I called a friend; I gave him Ma's cell phone number. Ma's car isn't running. She'd talked about riding her bike up and calling a cab to bring us down. It would have cost a fortune.

I could wait for a "shuttle" ride back down to the old jail, 1/2 block from where Ma paid the fine (all within walking distance of our house). But the don't run them regularly. Ma would have had to stand in the cold and dark, outside the court house, for up to eight hours, to sign a waiver (taking responsibility for my release) so I could leave their custody.

I sat in the waiting area. I exercised my legs (the chairs are bad on my circulation. I couldn't put my feet up on any furniture. I couldn't lay down in a cell.)

I was "arrested" at about three in the afternoon. They finally released me to Ma about ten that night. I'd have been out hours earlier, but that metro clerk had to spin on her thumbs. The MINUTE they took Ma's money, I was moved to the "release" part of the facility! By the time I was processed out, Ma was signing the waiver and our friend was waiting in the parking lot!

I asked Ma to bring me: a jacket, cigarettes, a lighter, a soda pop and some food.

But there's no soap in the bathrooms. I had to squat over the commode to pee, covering myself with my (thank gawd) long skirt as passersby...male and female...looked in. I hadn't washed my hands in all that time.

So, I couldn't eat. And I didnt' want to hang up our friend by making him wait for me to smoke. So, I just got in and we drove back down.

I said I'd sign over Porky. I warned Ma there'd be a delayed reaction, once we got home. I spent my whole time in jail thinking about ANYTHING else besides how I'd let Porky down.

Ma thought it was her fault. But I kept saying: I should have TRAINED her how to guard Porky from people. He's MY responsibility.

Well, when we got home, I tried to eat. I sobbed over how I'd failed Porky. He bites because he's been SO badly abused. He bites to PROTECT those he loves from those who smell dangerous. Now, for being loyal and loving, for being abused and damaged, he had to die?

When Ma saw the depth of my feeling, she said that, if I was willing to go through the hassles and legal issues of still owning Porky, she'd support me.

It'll cost a lot of money to save him. I could be civilly prosecuted. I could go to jail.

But we'll see. I have to call Animal Control this morning to find out the details.

I go to court on the warrant on Wed. Ma wants to come.

I'll write more about that, later.

But, without Ma, I could NEVER have come up with $330 on cash, just to see a judge and clear the warrant.

After all this is over, I wont' have to be so scared of cops all the time. I'll be able to get a driver's license, too. It'll be easier to get work without a warrant.

I'll write more later.

Homelessness Marathon

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Homeless?

Gay, Lesbian, Transgender, Transexual, Bisexual, Pansexual?

We want to hear from you!

Join us for a live discussion.

February 14, 2005

(hour still to be determined)

KUNMfm Albuquerque (http://kunm.org) will host a one-hour broadcast during the Homelessness Marathon. Our local focus will be about the issues facing the Queer community who are homeless.

Participants have the options of remaining anonymous. We can even digitally alter your voice, so you can't be recognized.

We want to hear your experiences, not cause further victimization. Your voice matters. Your experience is important. This is an opportunity to tell a national audience what life is like as a homeless person who is maginalized as a result of your sexuality, gender and orientation.

(505) 842-8175 Albuquerque or 1-877-718-0691

rriverstone@yahoo.com

The URL for this flier is

http://rriverstone.com/homelessmarathon/flier.html

Please feel free to print, distribute and post this flier anywhere!

Parasites

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It's a good thing, methinks, that I know how to pick trash and work the food banks. Could be a necessary skill in short order.

Katrina vanden Heuvel: 'Ken Lay would love Social Security privatization'
Date: Tuesday, January 04 @ 09:47:23 EST
Topic: Economic Policy
By Katrina vanden Heuvel, The Nation

A New Year's Day story in the Washington Post reported that President Bush's allies in corporate trade associations, the financial and securities industries and Fortune 500 companies are raising millions of dollars for an election-style campaign to convince Americans--and skeptical lawmakers--that social security is in crisis, and that the proper remedy is to establish private social security accounts.

Bush's privatization scheme--he calls it his #1 domestic priority--has clear winners and losers. The winners: the financial industry which is lusting after the hundreds of billions in fees and commissions it stands to earn if it can hold Social Security funds in individual accounts. The losers: tens of millions of retirees and surviving spouses and children, plus some ten million disabled workers and their families, who will lose the dignity of a guaranteed income and the financial security that the system currently provides.

Bush's scam is clear: sell out to Wall Street and destroy America's most successful social insurance and anti-poverty program. (Social Security is the difference between a decent life and poverty for half of all Americans over 65.)

In the coming months, we're going to hear a lot of flimflam about how social security is in crisis and privatization is, as Bush has said, a "plan for the people." Don't believe a word of it.

Check out the expert testimony of America's most eminent economists (including Nobel laureates) who gathered at the end of 2004 to rigorously debunk the Administration's fear-mongering.

"In reality," as Co-Director of the Center for Economic and Policy Research Dean Baker wrote in the pages of The Nation last month, "For more than two decades, [the Right has]spread stories about the baby boomers bankrupting the system and multi-trillion debts left to our children and grandchildren. In reality, the program can pay all scheduled benefits long past the boomers' retirement. According to the Social Security trustees report, it can pay full benefits through the year 2042 with no changes whatsoever. The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office puts the date at 2052. And even after those dates, Social Security will always be able to pay a higher benefit (adjusted for inflation) that what retirees receive today. Those scary multi-trillion dollar debts translate into a deficit equal to 0.7 percent of future income--presented in very precise form in the Social Security trustees report for those who care to look."

If you need more evidence that privatizing Social Security is a lousy idea, think back to the Enron scandal .
Remember what we learned: Greedy Enron executives sold stock for millions while the company was still riding high and then gave themselves big bonuses as bankruptcy loomed. Meanwhile, they lied to employees and stockholders about the company's finances and then didn't allow workers to bail out of 401(k) retirement plans that held Enron stock. Thousands of people not only lost their jobs but their lifetime savings.

After Enron's collapse, the largest corporate bankruptcy in US history, you'd have to be pretty dense to fall for the Bush Administration's callous scheme to encourage workers to take risks with their pension and retirement benefits.

Bush and his cronies have worked hard to ignore the lessons of Enron--continuing to fight against serious regulation of corporate misbehaviour and abuses. Don't let them ignore Enron's lessons when it comes to replacing a successful government guaranteed program for a greed-ridden privatization scam.

Maybe we need a new slogan: Ken Lay would love social security privatization.

Copyright 2005 The Nation

Reprinted from The Nation:
http://thenation.com/edcut/index.mhtml?bid=7&pid=2097

This article comes from The Smirking Chimp
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com

The URL for this story is:
http://www.SmirkingChimp.com/article.php?sid=19350

Winter Solstice

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Her plane should be departing for Oakland, right this minute. It's about a 2 hour flight. Then, she'll board a plane for home.

Two of the boxes of her things she shipped here arrived today. I've already put everything away.

The meatloaf she requested is already baked and cooling in the refrigerator.

My new curtains and quilt arrived today.

So did the flute: over a month late, dirty, damaged, with parts missing, stinking of mildew. Jees. I've wanted a new flute for twenty years, and got this?

I'm still waiting for today's mail. There may be other packages in it, too.

She has an entire new wardrobe, from socks on up. I'm waiting for earrings and some other jewelry, a few items of clothing and odds and ends.

The floors are clean. We're stocked up on everything. I took the trash out this morning. The dishes are washed. The animals are fed and watered.

Her bedroom is wonderful. I painted pink, Mexican-looking flowers on the corners of walls, up by the ceiling. They match the 4 flowers on the 4 panels of her lavendar, folding door, which is hung. 4 Chinese silk, embroidered panels are on the side facing the living room.

I made pink, tissue paper flowers to hide the hardware on the bracket I made to hang the door. The door way is festooned with pink flamingo party lights.

I got her lots of toys and models, too. She has a book, a movie I already sent to her sister's. She has jewelry boxes, new razors, hair gel, a huge lot of lipsticks.

She has pretty camisoles, to wear under the more sheer blouses I bought. She has three new dresses. She has about a dozen blouses and sweaters. She has three new vests and four new pairs of trousers.

She already got her Cashmere scarf, which I hand embroidered with her name in purple silk and real seed pearls.

Her room is cheery and bright, well-organized.

I bought her a radio-controlled, rollerscating doll.

She has a dozen pair of socks, with pretty designs woven into them.

She'll be here in seven hours.

I'm wearing my poodle skirt to the air port. I'll wear my pink sweater with silver sequins. I'll wear my white cotton bloomers and slip, plus my black tulle petticoat. And my pink high heeled sneaker/boots, of course.

I'll be wearing a Santa hat and carrying mistletoe.

The cab will be waiting outside baggage claim.

I'm planning to blind fold her and guide her into her room. I'll close the door, so she'll get the full effect before I remove the blind fold.

The Christmas tree in the front room is gorgeous.

This will be the first time in about ten years when I won't have to spend the Solstice, Christmas and New Year alone.

I have no plans. I'm just grateful to have this wonderful home, and her for my family.

I'm hungry and tired. I got busy, attending to last-minute details (plus the unexpectd and very large boxes to unpack). I forgot to eat breakfast, which I'll do when I finish here.

After the mail comes, I'll shower and attend to my hair (which I trimmed yesterday).

I have plenty of money left in the banks. I'm thinking of stopping for some little token to take to the airport with me.

I'm spending the majority of this day stretched out on the sofa, resting up for her return.

I'm very happy.

Two, more nights...

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I finally stumbled out of bed, for real, at about ten 'til five this morning.

I got up once, around midnight. I was hungry, so I went in the living room to finish the cheese and chicken I'd left in there. Also had a handful of cashews.

I had no problem getting back to sleep. The covers were so warm. And I had 3 cats and Porkchop with me.

I just lay there and meditated awhile and finally drifted back off.

So, I slept about thirteen hours.

This happens; it's nothing unusual.

Periodically, I need to "hibernate."

Usually, it happens after several days of pretty serious, physical activity, such as digging gardens or building things.

And it rarely happens two times in a week.

Since living with you, I've napped for an hour or two on occasion, but haven't had to hibernate for half a day.

I guess I just haven't let myself. I'd have dinner to prepare, etc., and didn't want you coming home to a dark, foodless house with me in bed.

While I have been physically active, I haven't really been pushing myself. So, I guess I just need the extra sleep for healing.

But the house is warm, well-stocked and cheerful.

The kitchen got a good cleaning, two weeks ago, and won't be that difficult to straighten up now, since I haven't been cooking all that much.

There's just not much left to do, before you get back.

I know what movies I want to watch on TV today. Tomorrow, I want to video tape the last time Bill Moyers appeared on "NOW." I slept through it last night.

There will only be 2 more opportunities for packages to arrive before you do.
Several things are still pending, and I'm curious to see what will get here before you return. Something I very much wanted to be here when you came home is waiting for you. I'm pretty excited.

I've sent some presents to Sonia, too.

I got 2 sets of African American dolls for preschoolers, for her daughter. And there's a poet, named Sonia Sanchez. She ran with Malcolm, back in the day. And she's both Black and Latina, like my Sonia. One poetry book is already being shipped to Sonia; I need to bid on the other tomorrow.

I'm going to thaw some turkey for us.

May start thawing some hamburger, too, which would be ready about Tues. or Wed, if I take it out on Mon.

Sure wish hams would go on sale!

There's also vegetable soup with pork in the fridge.

We'll need to get you some more juice soon. And I'll need eggs and butter.
Sounds like we need to go to that discount grocery up on Central.

It's almost 6 now: still too cold and dark for the chickens, but two cats and a dog have already gone out front with me for a cigarette and coffee.

Two, more nights. Two, more nights...

dead of winter

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This is the hardest time of year for me, biologically.

Morning comes so slowly. It's almost 6:30am, and there's only the faintest blush of sunrise in the sky. It'll be more than an hour, before the sun's really up.

And the cold! Even in a heated house, my feet and hands are stiff with cold. It hurts to walk; it hurts to grasp things. I have to wait for warmth, so I can work.

Evening comes too quickly now. I have to plan to come in early enough, so I won't be stuck outside in cold and dark.

And it starts getting too cold by 3pm, which is normally the warmest time of any day.

This house is large enough that I don't, at least, get my normal cabin fever. Most places I've lived are so small, I have every inch memorized and feel so shut in, so trapped, so confined.

I feel myself waiting for Solstice. I feel myself waiting for The Longest Night to pass. I feel myself enduring the dark and the cold, waiting for it to be over, waiting to be on the other side, climbing slowly back to light and warmth.

I stand outside at night, bundled but still shivering. I look at the sharp stars, blink the cold from my eyes. I feel how thin is the membrane between us and Deep Space, eternal night, eternal cold.

It's in the dead of winter that I feel most that we're on a planet, dependent on a mote of cosmic dust.

Winter makes me realize how fragile we all are.

Fragrant soups, creamy mugs of cocoa, fuzzy slippers, thick socks... these all give some comfort, some cheer to the existential nightmare of floating on a ball of dirt in nothingness.

But, just outside the sparkling windows and amber lights, the Universe looms over us. It is Kali: mother destroyer, killer and bringer of life.

I feel like a mouse, burrowed in fur and grass straw, huddled in my tiny hole as wolves howl outside, shivering and silent.

I know it will pass.

Yet, every year, it surprises me: so brutal, yet indifferent, yet beautiful. I admire and fear deep winter.

I'll shuffle out to take little peeks at it, acutely knowing how easily it can kill me. I'll shiver my way back inside, glad for heat and light and very aware how tenuous it all is.

I count off the approxemately ninety days I'll have to wait until it would be safe to live outdoors again.

I throw a blanket over my chilled, aching legs and sigh.

Oatmeal Carrot Cookies

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In my continuing effort to cook without either sugar nor wheat products, I've decided to try the following recipe.

The local grocer is giving me all the culled produce, to feed my chickens. He includes "people food," too. today, I got a pound of broccoli, several pounds each of carrots, zuccini and squash, bell peppers, a bunch of parsley, 2 cucumbers and 2 red cabbages.

I'm making a "lasagna" from the squash and peppers.

I'm making pickled cabbage and cucumber salad.

I'm making cream of broccoli soup.

And I'm making these cookies:

Oatmeal Carrot Cookies

1 c. mixed, bean flour & spelt flour
1 c. quick-cooking rolled oats
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 c. margarine or butter, softened
1/2 c. honey
orange, grapefruit, lemon and/or lime juice, to taste
1 tsp. vanilla
1 egg
1/2 c. chopped nuts and/or dried fruit
1/2 c. shredded carrots

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease cookie sheets.

Lightly spoon flour into measuring cup; level off.

In a large bowl, combine first 8 ingredients at low speed until well blended.

Stir in nuts and carrots.

Drop by rounded teaspoonsful a couple of inches apart on cookie sheet.

Bake at 350 degrees for 8-12 minutes or until edges are light golden brown.

Immediately remove from cookie sheets.

Makes 2 1/2 to 3 dozen cookies.�

EBay item: Incredibly bad advice.

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http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=1523&item=5543550438&rd=1

Hey, the guy's just trying to stay warm!

warmer, please!

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Oh, I wish it would warm up already!

We've had a week of below-freezing nights and very cold days.

I'm getting cabin fever.

There's a lot I'd like to do outside: paint the door for Ma's room, build a chicken roost from the scrap wood my neighbors gave me, wash laundry, finish putting the also-scrap plywood roof on the coop.

The car's not working. I'm using Ma's cart to push for errands. The other day, I found a neighbor is throwing out 6 huge bags of leaves and pine needles. I've managed to drag home 4 of them. I want to put them in my compost pile. I can only haul home 2 at a time, but I'll get the last two on Monday.

Washer hose and discharge tubes freeze over night, so laundry's fun. I do have a waterbed heater element I submurge in the full tub over night, to prevent freezing. And the chickens roost over it, so that helps keep them a little warmer.

But the chicken shelter isn't warm enough, so I need to nail together that scrap wood and insulate the "box" with old blankets. They need to sleep warmer.

It's sunny out, and not too miserable: hovering around freezing, with sun and no wind. But I can't change freezing, and must wait 'til the hoses thaw to finish laundry.

I've been buying Ma a whole, new wardrobe on EBay. It's really fine stuff. New things are delivered every day.

She bought me prescription glasses before she left, and several nice new pairs of shoes. She needs new clothes, and this is payback. I THINK everything I've gotten so far is stuff she'll really like to wear.

She's been wearing bleached-out, thread-bare, stained old crap. She didn't want to buy clothes 'til she lost weight. Well, she's already lost a ton. And we've committed to eating healthy and exercising. We think it's realistic to plan to drop 20lbs. each by April.

The clothes I got her are loose fitting, anyway. She rides her bike to work; she needs comfortable stuff.

But this stuff is also very pretty, tailored, neat and feminine. And it's all in her favorite colors.

It's nice, being able to afford to do this for her. Oh, I still need a minidisc, a mic stand and a bunch of other stuff, but I have confidence now that I can afford those things. I can now earn some money. And my living expenses have dropped to nearly nothing.

And, if anybody deserves some pampering, spoiling and dressing up, it's Ma.

We email now, just about daily. We talk on the phone almost every day. Doesn't mean I don't miss her, of course. She MAY come back a little early, so we can just hang out together. But she's not sure.

So, I'm working very hard to be a good sport about probably spending yet another Christmas alone.

My neighbors gave me an artificial tree. I put it up immediately. It's decorated in red and gold metalic bead garlands, red velveteen bows, blue glass balls. I also put some small ornaments, shaped like toys and teddy bears.

So, in a quiet way, it's nice and snuggly and christmassy in here.

I have lots of projects to keep me busy.

But I sure wish it'd warm up about ten, twenty degrees, so I can work outside!

The animals are keeping me company. There's no end to the entertainment they provide.

But it's too cold to go out much. And, because it's the holidays, I'm not calling anybody to come visit.

So I'm feeling the aloneness a lot. I got spoiled, living with Ma. We talk about everything together. And we do a lot together, too.

So, I'm rattling around in this house, feeling a little lost.

Yesterday, as I was putting the plywood up on the chicken roof, I had an oops. There was a big chunk of ice on the plastic sheeting up there. I tried to push it up, over the edge, onto the ground. I didn't realize how BIG it was, though! It slipped back down and smacked me, hard, in the nose! My nose bled, inside and out. I couldn't see for a few minutes, 'cause my eyes were watering so bad. So, I couldn't get down off the ladder. Just had to stand there and hurt for a bit.

My nose turned bright red and swelled up. But it went back down in a few hours. It's very tender. I may have disconnected part of the cartiledge, from the way it feels. ANd my upturned nose now has a temporary hump on the bridge.

Won't be able to pick my nose for awhile; hurts too bad.

other than that, I'm doing ok. It was pretty rough for a little while; there's a personal crisis that's just ending, about which I can't write. It was pretty devistating, for awhile. I haven't been that scared and frantic since my baby died.

But it seems to be passing ok. Nobody died; nobody is permanently injured, I hope.

But I got left out of what was happening, and was just FRANTIC for information, which responsible parties not only wouldn't give me, but used to torture and abuse me.

It was a nightmare.

It's all going to be ok, it seems. But my old heart took a bruising in the process and I'm recovering from the shock.

Jees, it's COLD!

You are reading http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com

Dear Ma,

It's down in the mid 'teens at night and doesn't get near fifty during the days.

I was just out, feeding the chickens. I'm wearing thermal, long underpants and my heavy, denim skirt, but my legs still got cold!.

Porky and I are going to the Pueblo Center in about an hour for cigarettes. I always swing by the Walgreen's up there, too, to see if anything is marked down.

I think I'll have to wear my new, cotton petticoat, too. Otherwise, I'll freeze out there!

Sun's up now, soon to be over the mountains.

There is jackfrost inside my little green house, even with the lamp on inside and a blanket thrown over it at night.

I'll have to bring in my rose bushes.

There's jack frost all over your car, too, and it looks just beautiful!

Porky still wants to go out front with me when I smoke, but he sure wants to come IN quick!

I cooked the brisket yesterday. I'm making myself some burritos and enchiladas. Aren't you jealous?

I should be back from the Pueblo Center by about ten, my time.

It's too cold to work outside, really, so I'll be working on my Big Project today.

The homeless shelters are over filled and turning people away! It's unseasonably cold, and no sign of relief.

The sun's bright, though, which helps midday. But the cloudless nights expose us to Outer Space, and we lose whatever heat we got during the day.

By about two in the afternoon, if it's not windy, I can walk around outside without a coat, but only for an hour or so.

I'm very grateful to have this snug, cheerful house.

I miss you.

Love,

Ma