Trying to get The Lizard's Attention

So, what do we know. We know that the Lizard had a birthday last week. In fact, I called to sing her a happy birthday song (lovely).

We know that the Lizard started out her professional career as a ballerina and later ventured into poetry and performance art. We know that the Lizard worked at the Canary Cafe and liked to do handstands on chairs. She also has been known to enjoy bananas and bagels.

She still hasn't notice that she has become the focus of my blog. And, so it continues. Now, with photos.......

Now, the pogo stick was purchased in Tucson to be part of a performance art piece she was preparing as part of her MFA program. I believe it was some kind of deranged ballerina piece. We were in a park practicing. She was quite good. I, not so graceful. The pose, I am fairly certain, was actually her trying to team me little ballerina tricks.

The Lizard was/is one of the most multitalented, creative and funny people I have ever know. She can make you laugh until you cry and she can make you cry until you laugh.

Think she is paying attention yet? I have more photos ......

Lizard: Part Two

Because my friend Lizard is not paying attention to my blog in the manner I think is appropriate. (meaning, at all) I am going to start posting regular funnies about her until she acknowledges I am here. If you know The Lizard, please inform her of this activity if she wants to stop the storytelling.

So, to recap, Lizard is a former Ballerina who can, while standing, raise her leg straight up to touch her knee to her ear. She is also a ballerina who wants to expand her creatively and starts to look at other performance avenues such as poetry and performance art.

I want to tell you about a summer that the Lizard came to live with me in Indianapolis. I lived in a little studio apartment in downtown Indy. I was a block of so from the Chatterbox and about three blocks from Monument Circle. I liked it for a lot of reasons, one of which was that I worked about a half block from my apartment. It took me about three minutes to commute to work.

Well, The Lizard had left Indianapolis on an adventure in a red Volkswagen van. She was traveling cross country with a friend and a big old fashioned typewriter. I am not going to tell the whole story of her adventure, but I will say that at some point things went bad and she came back and I agreed she could stay with me for a while. That led to the summer of the Julia Playhouse.

Lizard was there, writing, looking for work, trying to decide what to do next. I was there working, writing, going to Slippery Noodle for Readings and planning for my escape from Indiana. Our friend, we will call him ...... Barnes .... was working and hanging out with us. He lived up the street about a mile or so. And, then, sometime during this summer we met this kid who seemed creative, nice and had potential, but in the end turned out to be what he started as in the beginning -- a thief. He was a thief of ideas, focus, enthusiasm and, in the end, he stole really things from us like "stuff" and faith.

But, to the funny things. In this little (maybe 500 sq foot) apartment, we all hung out. We wrote, we created art with crayons, we celebrated, we danced. We ate bagels and bananas and we used lots of toilet paper. And I loved it. People were crashed out around the apartment, the energy was sparky and we laughed a lot.

One day, I came home from work. I must have been having a bad day. But, I had stopped on my way home for more bagels, bananas and, yes, toilet paper. I went up the elevator, opened the door to my apartment and there were Lizards and The Kid dancing around the living room. Now, somehow I don't think this is reality -- but I recall one of them doing a handstand on my rocking chair. The other dancing around the rest of the apartment.

This was my first sense of getting old. I was terrible jealous of their freedom as I worked all day at the newspaper, went and bought the necessities of our "family" and then came home to find play and creativity bursting around the apartment. For the first time probably in my whole life, I identified with my mother. Why did they get to have the fun while I worked and cleaned and bought the food. Now, in the end, the reality is that this was one of the most creative and wonderful summers of my life. But, that afternoon, that moment, I felt the burden that many "mothers" must feel. And, in the end, the work was worth the reward.

Here's the lesson from this: If we take care of people who need something, we learn and grow. In the end, what we get far exceeds what we invest every time. So, extending a helping hand always pays off in ways that investing in a stock never could.

To the birthday Lizard

I met -- let's call her "L" -- after a poetry reading at the Slippery Noodle. She was cute and tiny and a little timid and I believe her poem was about bugs. Cockroaches, I think (I could be wrong). To be honest, the poem wasn't very good but the passion and interest were there. So, I approached her, feeling as though I were a kind of seasoned poet in the group. It was her first public reading and she would certainly be interested in any input I might have. She was a dancer. Not a stripper dancer, but a real ballerina dancer -- which totally impressed me. I mean, I can barely tie my shoes. And this girl -- this woman -- could twirl around on the tips of her toes. Now, that is cool. Actually, what I found to be even cooler was that she could raise her leg and touch her knee to her ear. I loved that as a party trick ("Ok, "l" -- show everyone -- lift your leg and make your knee touch your ear"). It's not that I kept her around as a party trick, cause she was really fun and funny too, but the party trick was a good one. Anyway, she was creative, wonderful, fun and the crazy dancer bug poetry chick turned into one of my bestest friends ever. Her birthday was this week and so, to my friend, cheers. More stories to come later.

A little opinion ....

It's funny. And unique. And a strange place to be. For the last few years, I have endeavored to moderate my political rantings for many reasons. And, while on some level, I will continue to do so.... this date, this time, this urgency makes my tongue hard to still.

Arizona. Sad. We are the first state to eliminate its Children's Health Insurance Program. I don't have kids, so why do I care? Well, without sounding cliche, the health of the children is directly tied to the heath of the community. End of story. We cut health care, we cut education and we somehow thing businesses will come here if we simply offer tax incentives. Silly, short sighted thinking. And, these same people are saying, do not increase revenues -- cut services. What do they think these people -- these human, United State citizens are going to do when they get sick. Stay home? Die peacefully in an alley? Really? No, these people who are in pain and suffering will forgo health care until they are really really sick and then go to the most expensive place possible to get care -- the Emergency Department. Oh, and, because of this, Emergency Department waits will get longer.

It would be interesting to compare ED waits before and after Prop 204 passed to see if expanding health coverage improved access. I don't know the answer, but might try to find out.

Federal. Can the politics get any nastier? Do we have to be so uncivilized? It's no secret that health care needs to change. Dems .... Public option doesn't fix the problem of escalating cost. Republicans ... the free market system doesn't work for healthcare and end of life support and counseling is not a death panel. It's humane and compassionate.

How did we end up in a place where an individual. A brother, sister, mother, daughter, father's health and well-being became a political football. We are talking about a human being. Their health. Their ability to breathe. Live. Contribute.

It's funky and weird that more concern is paid to and more consensus around the health of our financial system than the health of our neighbors. The uninsured -- the mythical group -- is not a stranger. It is our community. Our neighbor. Our family.

For whatever reason, I recovered.......

I struggle with the purpose of this blog. Friends and family in foreign lands blog to share their experiences, some share about common experiences such as being a mother, raising a child, working in academia, being a nurse. Some blog and Twitter so people will know they exist.



I am not sure why I blog. Well, I know why I started but I struggle with why to continue. I do not think I am interesting enough to just talk about my life. I live in Tucson, where I have lived since 1993. I work at a hospital, where I have worked since 1996.



So, do I have stories that people can learn from, build from, benefit from. The answer, on some level, I think is maybe.



I grew up in this crazy family of Stranges! Crazy land. I am going to start to tell stories about life with Strange's. My first story is inspired by health reform and a recent visit to a small rural hospital in Arizona.



I spent a morning recently with the leadership of a hospital in Bisbee Arizona. This hospital has a 14 bed inpatient unit, a 4 bed room ED (with plans for expansion) and an intense interest in using technology to allow people to receive care closer to home. This reduces costs by eliminating a costly transport fee ($12,000+ for a helicopter ride/$3,000+for an ambulance). It also reduces stress for the people who face being transported to the
"big city" for health care.



This all resonated with me because of a story from when I was a toddler that has become part of my family's folklore. Father Jovian told be best, but it goes something like this ......



Living in a rural Indiana town, my parents had a sick young girl of 18 months. I believe there were respiratory issues, pneumonia, etc. (I am not entirely clear, because I was the sick one). The story goes that at some point the very small Batesville hospital couldn't handle the serious condition of this 18-month old and a fantic trip to Cincinnati began. According to sources, my parents (my mother is a nurse) put me in the car and drove as fast as possible to Cininnati, which is about an hour from Batesville. According to the stories, my dad drove as fast as a car in 1968 would drive and my mother cared for me as my lips turned blue.



Now, clearly, I do not have the entire story and I have no actual memory of this. But, I was in the hospital for a long time on all kind of life supportive equipment. In fact, the situation was so grim, I was "Confirmed" in the Catholic Church and I received my Last Rites. For whatever reason, I recovered. And, at this point, because there was indication that I was sick because of dust, all of my sisters received major hair cuts and I am pretty sure that my older brother had to let a hamster free in Indiana in the middle of January. Carpet and drapes vanished from our bedrooms and cleaning intensified.



Now, back to health reform and today. If we can leverage technology to help people receive care close to home, eliminate the travel and stress. That's good care for the patient, good environment of care for the physician, better quality and better outcomes. My outcomes were pretty good..... but I do not know what the costs were (I think they were pretty high for the time). It's possible, that mine was the case that was to be expensive no matter what, that I needed the higest level of care -- and that is appropriate in so many cases. But if more people like the CEO of Copper Queen Hospital in Bisbee, Arizona find ways care for people closer to home, well....... seems like smart medicine.

Where the poet went ....

If you knew me before Henry, before Tucson, before I stopped wearing vintage clothing -- you knew someone who called herself a poet. A girl who felt her life in words. Who felt her life in abbreviated sentences. Who wondered whether her "Tea Party at the Apocalypse" meant anything to anyone. She knew it must. It had to, right? She stood at the front of smokey rooms reading to the rhythm of the art. To the beat of the rhythm. She wanted to change a mind, shift a culture, change the world.



But, a bus hit a group of onlookers and her poetic advocate was gone. What to do? Move. Shift, delay. Do it alone. Find your voice. Of course, in the end, the voice of "poetry" as defined by academics vanished. And the words transfered to colors on a canvas. She painted. Not well. Not schooled, not workshopped, but she painted and, for her, it was relevant. This is how she became me again. Or, realistically, I was always me, but it's taken a long time to come to terms with what I perceive I lost when my poet died.

My poet transformed when I realized today's poets -- the type of poet I wanted to be -- are the musicians ... I could never change the world through my art, because, well, I have no rhythm. This is not bad, good or indifferent. There are other poets out there making a difference. Some are doing it as "poets" -- many are the singer/songwriters we love....

When people ask me now..... what about your poetry? I don't fuss about the words. I tell them my poetry is in the music of artists all around the world and I celebrate it. And my individual poetry comes out in colors of canvas and in the voices I shape at work every day to help people understand how to care about people. My poetry comes from how I live my life -- my cycling, my new found passion for running, laughing with friends, etc.

OK, so I might not (will never) win a literary prize, but I have come to understand that the value of art is not in the recognition of the masses but, instead to the contributions to individuals. Every day. Every breath. And, in homage to the poet Sting ... in Every Breath We Take.

Blessed Is This Life .... Thanks to Brent Dennon

Before you read this lyric, if you haven't heard this song ..... It' so uplifting and cheerful and soulful it makes me almost cry.......


I welcome the sun,the clouds and rain,the wind that sweeps the sky cleanand lets the sun shine again.this is the most magnificent life has ever been.here is heaven and earth and the brilliant sky in between.blessed is this life and I'm gonna celebrate being alive.blessed is this lifeand I'm gonna celebrate being aliveI dwell in the darknessI let in the lightI sleep in the afternoonand become the noise in the nightI trespass in temptationsuffered in sacrificebut I awake each day with a new sunriseblessed is this life, ohand I'm gonna celebrate being aliveblessed is this life, ohand I'm gonna celebrate being alive

And, in the words of yet another songwriter, celebrate, celebrate ..... dance to the music.....

Again, a "poem" I wish I had written ....... Thanks Talking Heads ......

Hey!And she was lying in the grassAnd she could hear the highway breathingAnd she could see a nearby factoryShe's making sure she is not dreamingSee the lights of a neighbor's houseNow she's starting to riseTake a minute to concentrateAnd she opens up her eyesThe world was moving she was right there with it and she wasThe world was moving she was floating above it and she wasand she wasAnd she was drifting through the backyardAnd she was taking off her dressAnd she was moving very slowlyRising up above the earthMoving into the universeAnd she's drifting this way and thatNot touching the ground at allAnd she's up above the yardThe world was moving she was right there with it and she was(Hey, hey)The world was moving she was floating above it and she wasHey, hey, heyAnd she was proud about it... no doubt about itShe isn't sure about what she's doneNo time to think about what to tell himNo time to think about what she's doneAnd she wasHey hey, hey hey, hey!And she was looking at herselfAnd things were looking like a movieShe had a pleasant elevationShe's moving out in all directionsOh, oh ohHey hey hey (repeated..)The world was moving she was right there with it and she wasHey, woo hooThe world was moving she was floating above it and she wasHey, heyJoining the world of missing persons and she wasMissing enough but feeling all right and she wasHa haAnd she was(repeated..)

The "poem" I wish I had written..........

Something I wish I had writen, but Tori Amos did it better than me. For some reason, I keep coming back to this song in my head ..........

And if I die today I'll be the happy phantom And I'll go chasin' the nuns out in the yard And I'll run naked through the streets without my mask on And I will never need umbrellas in the rain I'll wake up in strawberry fields every day And the atrocities of school I can forgive The happy phantom has no right to bitch Oo who The time is getting closer Oo who Time to be a ghost Oo who Every day we're getting closer The sun is getting dim Will we pay for who we been So if I die today I'll be the happy phantom And I'll go wearin' my naughties like a jewel They'll be my ticket to the universal opera There's Judy Garland taking Buddha by the hand And then these seven little men get up to dance They say Confucius does his crossword with a pen I'm still an angel to a girl who hates to sin Oo who... Or will I see you dear and wish I could come back You found a girl that you could truly love again Will you still call for me when she falls asleep Or do we soon forget the things we cannot see Oo who...

Farrah: The Great Oscar Snub

OK, so Farrah Fawcett's acting chops never merited an Oscar -- I am not saying they did. But, over the years, she showed over and over again that she was more than a pin-up girl (although she was a darned hot pinup girl). Although the motivation behind the documentary of her extended dying process is up for debate, I believe showing the painful death of an icon shed some light on issues and topics most people never think about. So, the Oscars couldn't squeeze her in to their memorial sequence. Really? Farrah? When did Hollywood forget that sex has sold a gazillion billion movie tickets. Give Farrah her due..... Maybe not an Oscar, but at least acknowledge her contribution to The Industry.

This is a short blog for me .... but there you have it. My two cents!

Crazy Little Black Dog

So, I feel like I need to talk about Maizy. Maizy entered my life the day before she was set to leave this life. Meaning, she was one day from being "put to sleep" at the "Pound" when I adopted her. She was sort of a dull greyish black color, very mellow and very sweet. Henry and I met her and she caught our attention with her court-jester ears. My friend Candace met her when she first came home with kennel cough, all dingy and yucky and said "Oh......She looks nice...." Meaning, wow, you really picked a project with this one ...." (or that is how I remember it).

Now, in full confession mode, I didn't like Maizy after I got her home. She was needy, clingy and in your face in a way that Henry never was. I posted her as "free to a good home" two or three times but whenever I got an actual call, I couldn't do it. But, she was wild and crazy and needy and she exploded the dysfunctional rhythm Henry and I had established. But, I guess, I started to think of her as my "crazy" and, in the end, I had adopted her, so I was accountable to her. And, she loved me. I mean, kind of crazy loved me.

About a month after her adoption, we went to Durango. We thought about leaving her at home (because she was notoriously BADLY BEHAVED in a car) but decided to take her. First, she jumped out of the window on a snowy backroad that resulted in me getting my thumb stuck in the car, then she (with the help of Henry) dragged me through the mud to see a friendly looking dog walking by, then she vanished on a short sunset hike we took in the snow -- she was on her last minute before I gave up when she finally showed her face.

I will tell you that after about six months of not liking this little black dog very much, I started to change my tune. We were hiking in the mountains near Globe. A little hike really, but we were a mile or so into the trail. The dogs were ahead of Eric and I -- when we saw a strange movement on the side of the trail. Yup, it seemed to be Henry and Maizy kind of rolling down an embankment. As we ran towards them, Henry bolted past us towards the car. Maizy was ahead of us -- she had turned yellow. Very yellow. Shoot .... Those were bees covering the poor thick coated and very sweet little black dog.

"Maizy, run!" I yelled as I turned on heel and followed Henry. We bolted town the trail and Maizy followed, with what I image was a trail be killer bees releasing from her thick coat. She was a border collie/shepherd mix -- so she had a wonderful undercoat that made it hard for the bees to get to her skin. We ran ran ran -- me yelling at her, yelling at Henry, yelling and Eric -- feeling the bees breathing down our proverbial necks. We came to a creek and a splashed water over Maizy (Henry didn't have any bees on him) and we kept running til we reached the car. Henry jumped in while Eric and I combed the last few bees off Maizy, we jumped in and headed down the mountain.

I was worried about their reaction to any potential bee stings. So, I bought hot dogs and Benadryl. I figured the Benadryl would stop the reaction and if they eagerly ate the hot dogs..... they couldn't be that bad off. Well, the scarfed the hot dogs and the Benadryl and we all headed home, each with just one or two stings from the day.

From that adventure on, I liked Maizy more. I didn't think about finding her a new home any more. But, when four or five months later, Henry was diagnosed with bone cancer, I made him promise not to leave me with the crazy little black dog I had only gotten to keep him company.

Strangely, he kept his "promise" -- he lived longer than anyone expected -- I think in part to ensure he didn't leave me with the crazy little black dog I came to love so much. It's funny, when she died from lymphoma -- Henry was still hanging on. He stayed with me for about six months after she passed. And, about four months after Sedona arrived. An Australian Shepherd version of Maizy.

Funny, I didn't get Maizy as a companion for me. But she was. And, if reincarnation in dogs is possible, Maizy is still with me today. In the form of a crazy little red merle shepherd who is smart, loving and 100% CRAZY BLACK DOG.

An Adventure In Four Movements

When I was in high school taking piano lessons, I would tackle classical compositions that would take the musician and listener through a series of distinct emotions, feelings, experiences and sensations. One would be energetic, one melancholic, one thoughtful, etc. For some reason, trying to write this blog about my experience at the Ragnar Del Sol Relay Race feels a lot like trying to master those piano compositions.

So, what are the distinct movements of this adventure?

First Movement: Camaraderie. We took 24 people from diverse backgrounds -- stuck them in vans for 24+ hours, asked them to run really long distances up and down mountains at all hours of day and night. What did we get? New friends, different understandings of old friends, trust, faith and fun. And, the camaraderie went beyond our team. On every leg, I was encouraged by other teams, offered water and assistance, offered encouragement and support from strangers. We can learn a lot from this -- perhaps Congress should be required to participate in a Ragnar together. Maybe then, well ..... I don't want to get political.

Second Movement: Laughter. All day and all night, we laughed. You could hear people in the other vans laughing too. You knew that the guys running in tutus were laughing. The clown with the horn was clearly laughing. People running in hotdog, pizza, grape costumes were laughing. I know this was a race and we joked about smokin' the competition -- but it was just fun smack talk to get us pumped for the next leg. We laughed so much that post race, my abs hurt almost as much as my quads.

Third Movement: Sadness. Late into the night we received word that a race participant had been hit by a car. Rumors about the circumstances and severity were rampant. Confusion raged as the course was diverted, the race redirected and we were all struggling to understand what was before us. When would we run again? Could we run again? Was it safe to run again? But more than this kind of inward questioning was this somber beat, beat, beat of thoughts, prayers and sorrow for this runner most of us never knew, never saw, would never know. We now know his name. That he was 18 and a beloved son, brother and friend. He was running with friends, living life to the fullest. His prognosis is not good, and on the afternoon of March 2, I learned that he passed away. So, this leaves me wondering -- clearly adventures of all kinds -- running a relay, climbing a mountain, riding in a bike race, taking a stand for a cause-- are full of opportunities and risk. It's clearly safer to stay home not taking the risks, not putting yourself in harm's way. But what does that do to the quality of life? I don't know the answer and I will not have the wisdom to answer by the end of this blog. Henry (if you have read my previous blogs you will know Henry) would have suggested that a life without risk is a life lived un-fully. He would say .... jump the fence, run down the roads so you can experience what life has to offer. If you don't - you are clearly alive but not truly living -- that was Henry's philosophy. This doesn't mean the grief of tragedy is less when an adventurer is struck down -- but somehow it makes it more understandable when the person is doing something they love with people they care about.

Fourth Movement: Elation. Joy. Relief. I can almost feel what this movement feels like playing out beneath my fingers. As previous blogs have revealed, I do not fancy myself a runner. But, I was challenged, I agreed and I ran. Slowly, but I ran. And, as I am learning is the nature of runners, no one cared that I ran slowly. They cared that I ran with them. Laughed with them. Mourned with them and stepped through the movements of this adventure with them. I thank my van for the elation. I thank my team for the joy. I thank the finish line for the relief.