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Mega Millions…

Ok.

2017 is almost out the door.

So many memorable political moments in the year as well as some notable human souls going into shadow that will leave a dent in our social fabric-most recently Erica Garner.

She passed on at the age of 27 from a heart attack or as Al Sharpton stated  Many will say that Erica died of a heart attack, but that’s only partially true because her heart was already broken when she couldn’t get justice for her father”.

Erica Garner was a warrior who turned tragedy into a platform for social justice instead of wallowing in bitterness and should haves, could haves.

Yea.

2017 is almost out the door.

Habits and routines are difficult to break because, habits and routines are dependable, always there, nothing to question and no anxiety.

I wanna be superwoman

I wanna make a major change in the world

I wanna be like Erica Garner and stand for social injustice

I wanna be a rebel and give the middle finger to every passive aggressive white person I’ve had to deal with

I wanna win the Mega Millions jackpot and take care of the people who have remained in my life along with its idiosyncrasies.Mega_Millions_Lottery_logo.svg

I wanna buy a large piece of Russian River land in Cali and set up an animal/artist sanctuary with a friend who is dear to mi alma.      fbae963da2b442690d03f6a3e8a1f7d0

 

Does that promote social justice?

It would be a sanctuary for the outcasts of America, the eclectics, insane, irrationals, unpredictable dreamers, wanna be r’s and the right to live without you eatin’ me.

Animals and artists, so much in need of love, support and hope.

Yea.

2017 left the building.

 

 

 

**photos from the World Wide Web-not mine.

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Tobias Walsh…Toby.

Tobias…

Tobias, Toba, Tub of lard, Mr. Tobes, Mr. T, Tobester, Tobadia, Mr Tobadia.

Toby, for me

YOU will always be…just Toby. 1440421056303 (2016-11-02T19_58_20.842)

I want to write down the words that tell my feelings about

YOU.

But…

When I think of

USTED, I get all mamba jamba boogied up tight lip and my chest hurts, missing your bunny hopping days through Ppark.

The pain is so real and so there…as

TÚ is no longer here, and neither is Pi and I long to touch and smell

USTED as I do him.

Although, stink, Pi did, as did

YOU, and it did not matter because being all mine, all the time, unconditionally, lovingly far surpassed the dirty dog, musty stink after swimming at the doggy beach in Ppark brought into the house.

USTED passed into shadow on Monday evening, October 9, 2017, licking peanut butter from my finger as Propofol made its way through the vein that would eventually connect with other veins on a path to your heart-unstoppable as your personality and love was.

TÚ paused in the peanut butter licking, confused somewhat and before I could acknowledge what was taking place, the ER vet plunged Euthasol into that same vein, which stopped, and ended the pumping of your sweet heart that held mi alma intact and made me realize that yes,

YOU and your love were stoppable.IMG_2112

Pi took my heart…

TÚ my dear first fur baby, the oldest of the pack, took my soul (mi alma).

Beat on…run on…free at last from the arthritis, the crippling of the joints, the senioritis which left you at times confused looking for our house on return walks the sometimes incontinence, the sometimes-foggy vision, free at last, thank HIM almighty you are free.

Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años.

Gracias for choosing me.

I want to say to

YOU all that wasn’t said while this earth was lucky to have your soul in its presence, it’s concrete jungle, pseudo Ppark in the woods landscape with me by your side. Gracias a

TÚ for finding and choosing me to spend time in your life. Pi was not part of

the package, pero

dscn0751

USTED accepted him or better yet, tolerated him on your own terms.

The residents at the now defunct Bishop Hulces nursing home would also join in this thanks to

YOU, the certified therapy dog who strutted through the dementia ward bringing the gift of words to those who would not normally speak. 1094724054094 (2016-11-02T19_58_16.355)

USTED, my sweet baby boy would allow the locked words to flow in their gibberish, unstoppable, accepted and not challenged or corrected way.

I remember the young teenage girl who was placed in the nursing home due to her disability of severed legs sacrificed from her attempted suicide gone wrong pact with an MTA train. Mother and father were at her bedside during our visits and the tension and awkwardness were too real to ignore. They spoke no English and who knows what if they knew what to make of you grizzly Adams appearance.

YOU jumped on me, and unto her bed, snuggled up to a hip that no longer had an extension.  She in turn was happy to pet your fur which brought forth a smile easing the tensions from the parents who now mirar a

USTED at what I perceived to be respect and admiration. The visits to her room always brought out the best in the soul that resided en

dscn1109

LOVE

TÚ and el alma that took my own away.

Bereavement is not so acceptable when it comes to fur babies because for many they are insignificant, easily discarded as the wrapper on a wad of gum. Going into shadow is as irrelevant as swatting a mosquito of an arm.

But guess what…

For me not having

YOU, the job of life can be done but trust me, it will be half assed done, for your unconditional no judgement love does not await me when I return home and I’m left with no defense to put the day’s sucking vampires behind me.

DSCN0073

I go to work, forced to converse in conversations when I’d rather be home licking my wounds and thinking of you. Grieving for your lil bro was much easier-I was unemployed. 580

To pick up your ashes, I must return to the place your last breath was drawn and I will bring

 

YOU home.IMG_2164

Which is where you are now, my sweet Toby boy.

 

 

 

 

 

** TÚ, USTED = You.  Mirar=look. Gracias a tú=thanks to you. en= in. pero=but. Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años=Thank you my doggy who lived in my life for 14 years.

Dignified Toby-001img_0555roomies-220140916_113709

 

Routines…routes…Peace out.

My,

easy to follow a staunch routine when it comes to others. For myself? Nope. Routines are erratic, completed by convenience, routines disguised as promises broken, no follow through or follow up-sounds like my childhood.

Coffee

Bustelo coffee, brew the same way, everyday

Mind you,

attachment to mom, my mom is akin to that of a momma and baby bear where the roles flip flop as a fish on dry land.

Oh boy,

this writing started out as a five-minute morning routine I seldom follow and of course, forgot to set the timer. Five minutes tops, not a minute under or over.

writing

The writing desk with all the idea prompting chutskies.

Well now,

guess this writing turns into a post about routines, easy to establish, impossible at times to follow. Routines are predictable structures set in place by the grandest of intentions, never veering from its designated path, constant.

Alrighty then,

let’s give a cheer for the routines I follow when it comes to others, but nope, not for myself.

-cinco minutos a escribir-(NOT)

Big E

The feline furs demand the 6am breakfast-6pm dinner.

Fragile…or How grief takes hold.

DSCN0869     Today, this day, the sky is grey and rain comes down. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes taking a break and sometimes…still waiting for the next sometime to write.

In November I posted my blog piece, ‘I No Longer have a heart…’ on an animal mourning website. Not sure what prompt me to do so but at the time felt a need to release my mourning by whatever means necessary.  Forgot about the post, months passed and then Tuesday came.

I received an email from a pet owner. She lost her fur baby two days prior and was on her 18th hour of crying, screaming, lashing out and not knowing how to deal with the pain.

Like me, she had to make the decision to end her dog’s life and wanted to know how I was doing after six months had passed.

photo.PNGFloored I was.

Did not expect this.

Came out of nowhere into my email which I was checking via Iphone while sitting in Fairway’s parking lot.

Started crying in the parking lot.

Cried, when I got home.

Cried touching his ashes.

Cried.

So f*****g sick of crying.

I responded to her email to let her know it does get better. Memories and pictures guide you through. Allowing grief to take its course is a given.

And it does get better.IMG_1071.jpg

I’ve surrounded myself with so many memories of him. His leash hangs on my coat rack, his collar on a peg in my bedroom where his ashes also rest. I live in the place, Brooklyn and in the house, Berkeley where the memories began. I run in the park he so cherished, especially on Monday mornings after the weekend barbeque garbage lays waiting.

Pi Patel will always be with me.

 

“I want a golden goose and I want it NOW!”

Wrote this in 2012 but hey…Still want a golden goose!!

Anelemc's Blog

I want a one-bedroom apartment with a fireplace, indoor parking garage, a pool and a backyard.

I want to live in a neighbourhood where the only sounds I hear at night are crickets.

I want a grand piano and no, not a Steinway but a Bosendorfer.

I want to win Mega Millions and not the $2 prize but the bunch of millions prize.

I want to lose allot of weight in two weeks’ time.

I want new clothes to compliment the weight loss I lost in two weeks’ time.

I want a female pit bull.

I want to name my female pit bull- Ms Piti Bee or maybe Ms Piti Me.

I want a house in the country, in a gated community, in case Jason Voorhees tries to contact me.

I want the entire Fall 2012 Mulberry bag collection.

I want a road bike.

I want to ride my road bike in…

View original post 72 more words

Cats rule my world!..or  I’ve totally lost my sanity to cats.

Cats rule my world.

That is…the cats in my household.

Tara-Habby rules the first floor. (Queen Bee will have a blog entry of her own,very soon.)

My second floor apartment is home to three cats.

Three cats who rule my world.

Of course, words cannot describe their rein over my abode but pictures, yes, pictures are visual proof.

Beds

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My bed.

img_1197

Big E’s Bed. 

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Fate’s Bed.

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Winnie’s Bed.

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Big E’s Napping Chair.

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Fate’s Day Pillow.

Chairs

img_1187

My chair.

img_1184

The Cats Chair.

img_1188

The Cats Chair.

 

Gym

img_1189

My gym.

img_1190

The Cats Gymnasium.

 

Scratching Post

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The Cats Scratching Post.

img_1185

My scratching post.

 

Groceries

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The Cats Groceries.

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The Cats Groceries.

img_1192

My groceries.

Cabinets

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My medicine cabinet.

img_1181

The Cats Medicine Cabinet.

 

The visuals could go on, and on…it stops here.

Yes.

My cats rule my world. (sigh)

 

Let the rain come down…

Nov. 9, 2016

So here I sit in my lonely room
Lookin’ for my sunshine
But all I’ve got is two cigarettes
And this broken heart of mine

-Prince

Cigarettes I no longer crave. I stopped smoking years ago.

I spend allot of time sitting around trying to figure out which way to go while feeling lonely for Pi.  Yes, my heart is still broken but not the broken of being just broken as on October 24 when he passed. It’s a broken of what was fragile, now gone and can’t be put together again.

It’s been 17 days since he passed and 17 days since a drop of wine has touched my mouth. Grief took place with no escape from reality brought on by a bottle of wine. In order for my grief to form, grow and dissipate to where it is comfortable to live with, my mind and body had to be completely clear. It’s working and for that I thank Pi.

The results of the 2016 Presidential election brings fear, trepidation, uncertainty and longing to be in the frame of mind I was in on Nov 7 before the shit let lose.

But…

No regressing, the present is fleeting and the future ‘is not ours to see’ (Que Sera, Sera).

I miss Pi Patel.  img_1125

(Although, I told HIM, I’d drink three bottles of wine a day to have him back.)

But…

As a dog parent friend posted on my FB on Nov 12, “Showing up for life when we don’t feel like it is very healing”.

It is healing.

And although I’d like to stay in bed, sorting through pics of my fur baby, it’s not possible.

Bills gotta get paid, and I gotta start living.

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