Within moments of the Casey Anthony murder case being handed over to the jury, the skies over Orlando, Florida darkened and a deluge issued forth from roiling, angry clouds. This morning, July 7, 2011, on the heels of a Not Guilty verdict on all counts related to Caylee Anthony's homicide and the additional shock that Casey Anthony will go free on July 17th, a Sunday, we learn that beautiful a pine tree located where Caylee's remains were at long last found was struck by a bolt of lightning yesterday ~ and yet will live on. God is healing our troubled hearts with His promise of inescapable, final judgement and justice... for Caylee and for all of our Unforgotten Angels.

People ask me how I can believe so completely in a God who would allow what has befallen baby angel Caylee Anthony to go unpunished. Actually, it is at times like this that my faith in God is strongest and brings me the most resolution, comfort, and finally... peace. Caylee has been denied justice only at the hands of man... and even if the responsible party goes unpunished here on earth, the soul's time here represents but the blink of an eye when measured against the the inevitable, unforgiving standard of eternity. Caylee is at peace, even if our hearts are not. God will see that TRUE justice is served in her dear name ~ and that of every other of His tiny angels given in the purest love... and callously thrown away for naught but evil's sake. Frolic with the angels, little Caylee ~ forever free of any more pain at mankind's hands and forever safe in God's loving arms. And please, if you will ~ pray for we who so keenly mourn your loss.
 

Osama Bin Laden is dead. Most will say this makes the world safer... but does it? Until we take stock of ourselves as a collective global society and get real about what we've made of the world... does it really make us any safer at all?
 

I turned 60 years young yesterday... how about that, Sports fans? My birthday gifts included the moon being so huge and bright last night, moreso than for many decades past and many to come, and two Reviews showing up in my mailbox for the poem below. Both reviews were very kind; both rendered by Reviewers who enthusiastically and deeply immersed themselves in the poem... and found therein the meaning I meant it to hold. There is no greater gift to a poetess than this, and I most sincerely thank them for it... particularly because this piece is so much my essence - who I am and who I'll always be.

Well, 'tis the morning of surgery on my spine (approximately 3:30 AM here in Midland, Texas) - and I have to be at the hospital at 5:00 AM, so since I've not been able to sleep and needed something to occupy my mind, here I bees!

I sure hope this surgery is successful, as severe and unrelenting sciatica wields sufficient power, I've discovered, to reduce even the most obstinate and strong willed of Irish lasses to floor pacing, wall climbing, babbling moron status in mighty quick order. I have a game plan to insure that the surgeon does a bang up job on my mainframe, though... before they anesthetize me I'm going to reach over from the operating table, gently take ahold of his family jewels, look him dead in the eye, and say, "we aren't going to hurt each other, are we?"

One very positive event has already come of the situation, I must say. Because nicotine is poisonous to newly forming bone, I had to quit smoking ASAP. The Doctor put me on Chantix, which adheres to the nicotine receptors in the brain, and I took it a step further and got myself a Greensmoke brand electronic cigarette starter kit with zero nicotine cartridges. Research on the internet indicated that Greensmoke is the overall best brand for adequate vapor and taste, and I concur now that I've tested it for myself. Between the medication and the e-cig, I'm having a relatively easy time quitting. Yay!

Well, it's about time for me to mount up for Odessa. Thank you all for the wonderful wishes and prayers! I'll be thinking of ya!
 

...so there I was, pushing 60, minding my own bizness and ka-poopilatin' along just fine on the 'Independent, Self-Sufficient Woman Able to Leap Tall Builidings in a Single Bound' front, when life had the audacity to kick me right in the bum... literally, it would seem.

In October I took a nasty fall at work, and knew on impact that my spine had taken a bad hit due to the pain, tingling, and momentary numbness that shot through my lower back and left leg. It flashed through my mind just after I kissed the carpet that I might be in big trouble, paralysis-wise, due to the burning, tingly/numb aspect of the shooting pain, but these scary symptoms passed within a few moments, replaced by good old fashioned pain sans the neurological red flags. I finished my shift and worked the following day, but the pain was unrelenting and I missed three days' work thereafter. Assuming that the healing process would take quite some time, I returned to work, but by the time Christmas rolled around this year, there was no denying that something was terribly amiss. A nasty little medical symptom known as sciatica and I had become intimately acquainted with one another and the big S was definitely in the lead. Fear of what may be causing the sciatica, the fact that the lower back, hip, entire leg, and even the surface of the foot were impacted, and the pain worsening to the point of incapacitation drove me to my regular physician, who promptly referred me to an Orthopedist, who, after spinal X-Rays and a spinal MRI, referred me post haste to a spinal surgeon without passing "go" or collectiing the proverbial $200.

Seems my 4th lumbar vertebra slid forward anteriorly and out of alignment with it's buddy below, Lumbar Vertebra 5, which in turn caused the spine to become significantly misaligned and the cartilaginous discs separating several vertebrae in the spinal column to herniate. This, in turn, compressed spinal nerve roots in that region, which is now manifesting as sciatic nerve pain that's two clicks short of excrutiating. It's affecting every aspect of life - ambulating, sitting, lying down and most of all... sleep.

The diagnosis is two profoundly bulging lumbar discs, a third disc that has been compromised, and spinal misalignment with retinopathy (spinal nerve degeneration/pain). As of ysterday, the counter attack has been decided upon: open spinal decompression, laminectomy(ies) of the affected discs, and surgical fusion of lumbar vertebrae 3-5 with placement of pedicle screws (pedicles being the longer bony structures that protrude from the back of each vertebra). Not my idea of a great way to spend the coming 6 to 12 months, but there you have it.

I'm going to surgery on Jan. 25. They will go in through my back with a 5-6 inch incision, but I'll also have an incision to my hip where they'll harvest bone to be utilized for the spinal fusion. You're fitted for a back brace the day of surgery, and driving a car (or even being a passenger in one for more than 20-30 minutes) will be disallowed for at least a month, as will be lifting more than ten pounds, sitting for more than 15 minutes, twisting and bending. These restrictions will have serious impact on my lifestyle in general... and so much for my reknown celebrity status on the disco circuit.

All of this has taught me much, not the least of which is just how heavily we unconsciously rely upon our backs and spines in every imaginable aspect of daily living, including even slumber. Thanks to my upbringing, I've always practised sound back health measures - and am now profoundly grateful for having done so.

It won't be fun, but life is never guaranteed to be thus on a full time basis. And God and all His angels know a countless number of my fellow human beings face just as much and considerably more travails in this world every single day. I've decided to utilize Writing.com and this blog as one form of pre- and post-surgical therapy, and think I'll kick off the festivities by calling a few of my old WDC pals in real time.

So...I'm ready for the fight. Bring it on.


 

I have a new fur baby in the family! She is an absolutely captivating, exquisitely beautiful little creature, four years of age, who tips the scales at 6.5 pounds soaking wet. She is a long-haired chihuahua and right now has what they call a lion cut, which means her body hair is about half an inch long, but her "mane" hair is left long (about 4 inches) and forms a ruff encircling her cheeks, chin, and little neck. Her tail is also long and plumed. She's flame color, which means her fur emerges a cinnamon red color, then as it lengthens retains the darker shades at the base of the coat as the color begins morphing about an inch and a half out from her body to flame orange, lightening progressively beyond that point to a pale orange at the distal tips of the fur. She actually looks like burning flames on four little feet. She also has the russet brown eyes you occasionally see in some doggies, and all in all she looks just like a tiny little fox. I'm calling her Ginger.

What makes her so consummately precious is not just her sweet temperament, desire to spend hours curled in your lap being petted, adoration of belly rubs, sweetness toward all other fur babies she encounters, and her dear little spirit in general is that Ginger, believe it or not, is an emergency rescue doggie. A co-worker of mine who rescues abused/neglected fur babies approached me and told me Ginger's story... and just contemplating it makes my blood boil.

It seems some guy bought Ginger as a gift for his girlfriend, but as time passed their relationship began eroding and resulting arguments began including episodes of physical abuse. My co-worker told me that at some point the boyfriend realized he could inflict more pain on the woman by hurting her beloved little dog... at which time he beat a less than 7 pound, helpless little animal with sufficient force to break her nose and several ribs. And apparently, this was simply the most brutal of what turned out to be several attacks on the hapless little pup. My co-worker explained that she simply informed her girlfriend that if she insisted on being stupid enough in the name of "love" to get her butt kicked on a regular basis, that was her choice and no further amount of begging a cajoling was going to change it until the girl wises up. BUT, my co-worker told her, she was not going to stand by and watch Ginger, who had no voice and could not chose to stay or go, suffer one moment longer. And with that, my co-worker physically picked up the doggie and took her home with her. It took many months for Ginger to physically heal, and to this day she has slightly bumped, misaligned nose due to the fracture. It took nearly a year after that for Ginger to no longer reflexively flinch when someone picked her up or reached toward her to pet her. Even now, as you look deep into her eyes, you can see that she's witnessed and experienced horrible things in her short life. But the beauty of Ginger - and of animals in general - is that in those eyes I also see forgiveness, willingness to trust again, hope... and an abiding wellspring of unconditional love.

Man arrogantly and with supreme confidence has long declared himself the superior species. In that regard, you should pardon my French, man is full of shit.
 

Were I an individual who finds immense satisfaction in being correct about something, I'd be in great shape right about now - my poem for the Gotham Writer's Acrostic Contest failed to place or win . The winning entries, all of which are awesome in their own right, can be found at the link below. A hearty congratulations to the First, Second, and Third Place winners, and here's hoping they're all members of Writing.com!

Having penned both rhyming and free verse poetry, the winning entries did give me pause, though, I must admit. Part of that stems from my own predisposition for automatically linking the concepts of "acrostic" and "poetry", when, in fact, that is not at all the case. Acrostic writing can embody prose or poetry, providing that the criteria for the first/first and last letters of each line (or the first/first and last several letters of each line) spell out a word or phrase is met. Though the majority of the acrostic examples the Gotham Writers provided, including that of Lewis Carroll's summary acrostic in Alice in Wonderland, were rhyming poetry, a couple were prose-based pieces. The three winning entries all happened to be prose, each an acrostic rich in vivid imagery. But as is ever more often the case for me as modern day writing evolves, I must confess to a certain measure of disappointment in finding no rhyming/poetic offerings nestled among the winners.

Poetry, and to a lesser extent, writing in general, seems more and more a mirror of increasing laxness in attitudes, bad habits and sloppiness, and declining standards once considered wholly unacceptable in the field of creative writing. For me, nothing is more distracting and hence, detrimental, to the smooth flow and communicative goal of creative - and for that matter, every other form of - writing than the plethora of spelling, punctuation, tense, and other grammatical atrocities that have infiltrated so much of what we're reading and hearing with ever escalating frequency. (Good lord, even the Gotham Writer's Contest two-sentence posting announcing the contest was closed and entries were being evaluated contained a grammatical goof - and they're a writing school! )

In the area of poetry specifically, much of what I've always found so beautiful about works such as those of of Frost or Bronte and their ilk is the meter, natural and non-forced rhyme, measure, imagery, and flowing, almost dance-like cadence with which their offerings are so eloquently penned. Of these, I'll be the first to assert that rhyming is the least important; certainly there is much beauty in free verse poetry that artfully adheres to the structural standards setting poetry apart from straight prose writing. It seems as if we poets are becoming a lax and lazy lot, resulting in an abundance of "poetic writing" just as random, poorly presented, and structurally nonsensical as the kind of "art" created by elephants and chimpanzees armed with paintbrushes and a canvas. Even more amazing - and amusing - to me still is the reverence and zeal with which many alleged writing critics ballyhoo such "poetry" in much the same way snobby, arrogant art critics unwittingly heap accolades upon paintings produced by pachyderms.

Yes, I'm a dinosaur... but not one altogether resistant to change. It's just that evolving toward something better is one thing - discarding the rules for the sake of laziness, expediency, or following the herd is quite something else. I believe much of the sub-standard writing we're seeing today - and unfortunately accepting as the norm - speaks volumes of an inexorable, sad progression toward the latter of the two.

Hopefully, though probably not in my lifetime, we'll come full circle in this regard. Hopefully, the tried and true standards of excellence will re-emerge in the field of writing... and how we live our lives in general. Only time will tell.

Well, I didn't plant any silver bells or cockle shells (neither does well in the Texas heat - ), but I'm pleased to report that my garden, finally, is all in a proverbial row. It's a total of 364 square feet - 24' by 16', non-inclusive of the the 40 sq. ft. potato patch. All of it is hand dug, not tilled - my agriculturally-influenced response to to James Bond's infamous "shaken, not stirred" philosophy. What crops did I plant, you ask? (I know you really didn't, but Ima gonna tell ya anyhoo...) potatoes, cucumbers, small, medium, and giganticus decorative gourds (I spelled it correctly this time, Mary Lou Who... !), mini- and maxi-girthed punkins, Indian decorative maize corn (I love this new kind that features earth-tone multi-colors), zuccini, dill, 13 tomato plants (cherry and several full size variety for canning), green and yellow wax beans, lima beans, and green bunching and regular bulb onions. And after all these green-thumbed years, I still run out to the garden first thing every morning in my jammies to see if anything has sprouted yet. Due to health issues, I toyed with the idea of not putting in a garden this year... hence, I didn't actually commence the annual sweat-soaked marathon of digging and planting it until Memorial Day, and just finished up yesterday. I'll NEVER do that again - it's been in the high 90's and extremely humid every day for the past ten days or so, and I nearly succumbed to a heat stroke more times than I can count . When it comes to hand spading and whacking and unearthing the prolific Texas sized, deep rooted, barbed weeds and copious, ridiculously tenacious and invasive Trumpet Vine so common to this region... I'm gettin' too old for this noise! I'm still glad I did it, though -and darn proud of myself, I must say, given that I'm less than a year away from sixty years of age. Nevertheless, for Garden 2011, I think I'll break down and invest in a tiller. . I'll post pics of 'Garden 2010, the Early Days' herein later today. (I'm too pooped to go find the USB cord and upload them right now....)

On the literary side of things, I entered the Gotham Writer's Acrostic Poetry Contest with the Alice in Wonderland, "wonder" prompt with the below offering. I think they announce the winners tomorrow, and I haven't got a prayer... . But I did enjoy penning this...

ID: 1668094   (Rated: E) The Answers Lie Within Us All  A secret is hidden herein - can you find it? by Of Fire Born ~ welcome, 2012!

Catch you on the flip side, Dudes and Dudettes!
 

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