Hey Buddies, I've been pretty busy and overwhelmed and haven't been able to keep up with my journal. It feels like I just wrote this entry and it surprised me to see that it was three days old already. I have three other entries that I never uploaded, argh. Between Atra's homework assignments -- that she just can't handle but can't blow off because she'll fail this class -- and a lot of very heavy personal correspondence that I can't talk about, I'm seriously burnt out on even sitting here at this computer.
I hope I'll be able to write about this at some point but there are people who I have to protect and I can't really say much more than that darn it. You know me though, it's killing me not to be able to share all of this with you : ( I'll find some way to work around it, I just don't know how yet.
I picked up Beau's and my friend Phil today from the airport. I bought him a ticket so he could come and stay with us for Easter break. We had lunch at that weird retro sixties restaurant at LAX that is high up above the airport, the one that looks like something out of the Jetsons. It was even weirder inside with an elevator that gets dark and makes a kind of blast off sound when it ascends, and lava lamps and furniture that looks like it would right at home in Woody Allen's movie Sleeper. Anyone remember the orgasmatron? The kids had fun but they're driving me nuts, the way they interact, it's so jocular and aggressive, so teenage male, yeee. Phil seems happy to be having a bit of freedom here with us but he's also a little overwhelmed by all of the animals and junk everywhere and even though Beau has been trying to clean his room, it's still a total mess.
I have a lot of Easter shopping and gifting to do and not a lot of money to do it with. Beau is used to being super spoiled for Easter and I don't want to suddenly back out of our annual holiday tradition like my parents did when I was around his age. We went from these amazing Christmases, Easter egg and basket hunts, and birthday parties with dozens of guests, magicians and the real live Hobo Kelly to, "Here kid, here's some money, take it and go to Westwood, get yourself something if you have to, but if I were you I'd save it." So I have to find some way to do something nice for Beau and Phil while not compromising my health and sanity. I've never been less prepared, usually by now I'd be knee deep in baskets, green plastic grass, peeps and cello wrap, so it feels weird to be doing so much less. Maybe this is a good thing -- scaling back the compulsive gifting.
Did any of you read or hear that Terri Schiavo had considered getting a divorce from her husband before her heart attack? I heard that her ex, because that's what I consider him to be, had been so controlling that he regularly checked her odometer and bullied her about it if it was a mile or more than it should be for say a trip to the market. Also I heard that he hasn't allowed anyone to brush her teeth in five years and that a hospice nurse has sworn in court that he would constantly say things like, "When is this bitch going to die?" I also heard that it's alleged he was having an affair with the woman he is now living with, at the time of Tery's heart attack. I'm trying to remember what program I heard this on. He had a web site and there was this enormous amount of money that had been raised that Michael Schiavo could help himself to if he would just give over her care to her family. So, so sad...
I just wish everyone would stop lining up along political lines on this. I am a pretty liberal minded gal, you remember me; foul mouthed, vegetarian, animal right's activist, nudist, Burning Man festival attendee? I'm not for killing her, and certainly not in this way. I'm not for taking an adult child away from her family who want to care for her. She seems much more like someone who is profoundly retarded or minimally conscious than someone who is totally brain dead. If she can react to some stimuli, if she can follow objects with her eyes, and shy away from pain, if she can communicate in any way with her mother, then for Fuck's sake, let her live.
Why is it that we can feel such compassion for another species but not for our own? Why is it that all of my liberal comrades are taking such a hard line against replacing her feeding tube as if allowing her to live out her life would align them with some fundamentalist Christian sect or something? Here's how I feel about this; if there is any doubt, err on the side of life. I wrote some more about this a few days ago and if you're interested it's in the entry below.
I get so stirred up thinking about this it's making me sick. I stayed up all night last night watching the television because I thought that maybe the judge would allow this last appeal, as if my watching this would do any good.
Okay, I've got sooo much catching up to do. Here are my last two entries.
Love you guys,
Your pal -- Wacqui
PS: You know, I have just tried and tried to find a link to this one website about Terri Schiavo and can't put my finger on it. Here's a link to Blogs For Terri, though, there are lots of links there.
Scott came over tonight and we had cheese enchiladas, salad, and the wonderful macaroon cookies, that after six months of begging, I finally persuaded my pals at our local bakery to make. They're so delicious, I borrowed the idea from a bakery in Paris that is one of the few places I know of that makes them and the guys recreated these cookies perfectly just based on my description, and a photograph that I brought in to show them. If my scanner was working, I'd show you, but basically they're very small marzipan cookies, about the size of a half dollar, and they come in different flavors like vanilla, lemon, strawberry, coffee, chocolate and pistachio. They take two cookies and place a dollop of flavored butter cream in the center and then put them together like Oreo's. They made several test batches and then came up with the final cookies and have been selling them out every day. I love it when I'm right about something, but when I can be helpful as well as right, ahhh, that feels good. I just wish I were as good at generating money for myself, oh well.
I'm watching a documentary about the life of Frida Kahlo. This is so terrific. I adore documentaries and I love Frida Kahlo so combining the two is just a feast for my mind.
I took the dogs shopping with me today and we never made it to the dog park. Poor little doggies, but at least they got to go out for a while.
Beau just walked in, took a bite of one of my macaroons and said, "Magnifique." He is so funny, smart, and charming. He just looked at the television and said, "Did you know they were both communists? Communism was a great idea, it just doesn't work because you need people to follow through and a country can't be poor and have communism at the same time." It amazes me sometimes, how smart and cool he is. I love watching my little man blossom.
Tonight Scott brought over, or actually he e-mailed, the first rough draft of the cover for his new CD. He wanted my opinion so I looked it over and told him what I liked and didn't like, then I called Beau in to ask him. Scott seemed a little put out that I was going to take up some of our precious private time by inviting Beau in for his opinion but Beau was so right on and I think Scott doesn't give him enough credit for the parts of him that are more mature and grown-up. I think he's heard me complain too much about him -- tell him too many naughty-boy stories for him to get that Beau could have an opinion and offer feedback that would be of real use to him. Beau has an eye like I do, he sees things so similarly to the way I do, and it's been thrilling watching this develop in him.
Here is a rough mock up of the cover. None of us like the photos the graphic artist chose. We don't even really like the pictures he took of Scott. I think the cover photo needs some Photoshop work, there's no reason why he can't clone out that one old acne scar on Scott's face, or make his eyes a tad bluer, and that picture on the back, oh Lord, why choose that one, with his mouth open like that? When Scott asked him about this he complained and said he doesn't like to do a lot of retouching. Oh puhlease.
I swear I just don't see any reason why Scott can't have a happier album design if that's what he wants. He says he wants a kind of retro album with a photograph of himself on the cover that has energy and zip, but the problem is that it is really hard to get pictures of him that look this way so it has to be done with color and style, I think. He wanted a sort of solarized or slightly cartoonish version of himself a la Neil Young's early albums. I don't know what he means by this or even if that's a good idea. I'll have to Google Neil Young album covers to see what he means.
Anyone here want to take a stab at this? The titles aren't the actual titles of the songs, just words the designer made up. I'm worried for Scott because he has sunk everything he has into his house and this album. He sees this as his last chance at succeeding in the music business and now that the album is finally mastered and all ready to go all that's holding him back is the cover.
Wow, I just looked over and noticed that Legs, our poor little club pawed kitty, is sleeping upside down. Her body is hanging off of a blanket that is on top of a pillow -- her head is hanging over the edge -- and her body must have kind of slid along with it, so she's sound asleep upside down and her brother Curly is snuggled up next to her with his face tucked against her thigh.
Last Night -- 3-21-05
I feel so sorry for Terri Schiavo, I can't stop watching this on the television and listening to anything having to do with this on the radio. I know we all have pretty strong feelings about this one way or the other and I am completely open to debate. I don't mind your expressing disagreement, I just feel strongly that she should be allowed to live.
My heart goes out to her parents and family. I seem to be one of the very few people I know of who in her position would want to be kept alive. I value life that much. My poor Daddy was pretty out of it in the last year or two of his life. The doctors wanted to insert a feeding tube into his abdomen but my Mother wouldn't let them. I knew that without this tube this meant that he would eventually die of aspiration pneumonia and he did. But as out of it as he was his life was valuable, and right do we have to be making value judgments about human or any other kind of life anyway? We did everything we could to make him comfortable, and he had moments where he would surface and appear to be making contact with us. I felt that he had work left to do here on this earth before he could go and I believe that when he was ready to leave he did. He may have been astral traveling, zipping around the planet visiting other places, processing memories, or doing whatever important work his soul needed to do before it could be free, I can't know what he was doing that kept him tethered to his body, but something needed completing, something was going on for him that kept him here with us. He couldn't have fed himself or changed his diapers, and he did not want to wind up that way, but does that mean that I should have withheld food from him, or not allowed anyone to brush his teeth for five years like Michael Schiavo has done to Terry? He may have been hanging on just for us and who's to say that's wrong, or selfish? Who is to say that Terri's life isn't worthwhile or valuable? Maybe she is staying for her family and maybe that's okay. The whole thing makes me so sad. I just pray that one of these appeals is heard and something good comes of this.
Tommy just gave me three of the worst back foot cat scratches on my leg. Oh man, ouch! He was using my leg as a bridge to get to my nightstand where he was planning on fishing out an orange spongy ear plug from the drawer -- the cats are mad for these things but I worry they may be harmful to them -- when he lost his balance and ripped into my skin with three of his claws in order to keep himself from falling.
These guys never seem to understand just how fragile human skin is. Right now my reincarnated cat Honey Bear, now Summer, is doing the kitteny paw-paw thing on one of my boobs. Oh and that reminds me, I finally saw that Oprah episode where this beautiful woman who, like me had weighed three-hundred-and-some pounds, had weight loss surgery, lost a lot of weight, and then ended up with serious saggage. I am beginning to look forward to the reconstructive surgeries I need to have. Right now I am in a kind of no-woman's land, I need to lose more weight before I have these surgeries, and I'm not doing it. I so wanted to have my breasts lifted and my tummy tucked before Burning Man rolls around again next year, then again I won't exactly want to go around naked with Frankenstein scars all over my body...
I think my beloved Buki's skin is responding to this miracle cream we finally managed to get for him. Oh great, here's Tommy again thinking he's going to repeat the same rip-open-my-skin maneuver, nope, not gonna let you do that again cat pal-'o-mine.
I spent hours today sitting here writing. First I completed another one of Atra's college homework assignments, (Yep, codependant, that I bees, but also kind and helpful to a friend in serious need), Then later I spent hours composing a long, painful, and super important e-mail. Gak. Life is so overwhelming...