If You Are Able to Help, Here's How

I was asked how people can help out with my medical and living and other expenses while my sisters and I travel down the healing path.

We have set up a "Go Fund Me" page if you are able to financially assist us. Because I live in an isolated town, three and a half hours away from the hospitals where I will have surgery, travel and lodging expenses must be figured into the equation.

Her is the link:  Anne's Medical and Healing Fund . Just click on it and you will be directed to our page.

I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

How Am I Now?

How am I now? Mostly tired. And somewhat encouraged.

What seemed totally dire a week or so ago now seems inevitable and even mundane. Getting used to the idea of two major surgeries back-to-back and starting to trust the Western medical system.

Absolutely thrilled with Medicaid, at the moment. Tests that would normally cost me thousands of dollars are billed at $7 each. Seriously. Unfortunately, the benefits do not extend to my teeth. Still raising money online to get the dental bills paid for - tooth problems can cause bacterial infections during surgery.

I am world's worst dental patient. I need nitrus oxide for cleanings. My mouth is very sensitive and I have childhood dental trauma. Mother is a tooth-fetishist. 

 Driving 3 and a half hours one-way to get to two different hospitals. Spending lots of time on hotel discount websites, as my sister and I have had to stay in Albuquerque or Santa Fe, in order to make appointments. Becoming very familiar with lodging one step up the food chain from Motel 6. Thanking OPEC for lowering gas prices during this crucial time.

Hard to believe people are donating money to assist in all of these medical and related costs. Very grateful.

One day of running all over equals a second day spent mostly in bed. Today is a stay-in-bed day.

Nobody Wants to Touch Me

Just got back from my endocrinologist appointment. Luckily, my enchanting goiter has no cancer cells - but it has no thyroid cells, either. A huge cyst filled with gooey stuff, encasing my thyroid. But, this lovely goiter has pushed my trachea over an inch to the right. Because of this, the cardiac surgeon I was assigned, by Medicaid, won't replace my heart's aorta (with Dacron) until the trachea is moved back into place, so the ventilator can be inserted during the operation, without complications.

Now I learn that it is unlikely the ear, nose and throat surgeon will operate on my goiter until the heart is repaired. Because, it might erupt if my blood pressure rises during surgery. Endocrinologist said it was the second largest goiter she has ever seen. Perhaps I should name it. What do you think of the name, 'Gilbert'? Gilbert Goiter.

The doctors are consulting with each other. I can imagine the conversation:

"I'm not gonna touch her until you do".
"Uh no. You gotta go first - I am not going to take responsibility for this"
"Fuck that! I don't want to get sued"
And so on, and so on.

I feel like the last kid picked for dodge ball.
 

Trying to Digest the News

How do I handle this?

Several months back I wrote of my breathing problems and pressure in my chest during walks. Over the summer, a large lump also appeared on the left side of my neck. As a person who's gone much of her adult life without health insurance (god bless America), it isn't my first impulse to consult with an expensive medical doctor or specialist. I tried acupuncture and oriental medicine, first, as it was something I could afford. The goiter on my neck did reduce in size, somewhat, but it didn't go away. Also, for a while now, I have had weekly oxygen therapy which also assisted in my breathing problems. But, I still was having difficulty.

Because I live in this isolated tiny town, I have to drive at least 80 miles to see a cardiologist (the only one in town had a 2-month waiting time for new patients). After my consultation, EKG and echo-cardiogram, I found out I wasn't just imagining my chest pain. My aorta has expanded to a dangerous size - and has increased nearly a centimeter in the past year - and I will need open-heart surgery to repair the wall of the heart, so it doesn't tear. If it does, the results are always fatal.

The day after I got this news, I saw an endocrinologist (in a different city, 40 miles from the cardiologist), who told me I needed to have the goiter surgically removed, as well as the left part of my thyroid where the goiter was resting. Also, the lump has moved my breathing tube (trachea) over an inch to the right, which might make the cardiac surgery more difficult.

Mostly, I feel angry about this news. I thought I would never have to experience the physical trauma of open-heart surgery ever again, because I could have a non-invasive procedure to replace my bad valve, if ever it should be needed. The valve is holding up - 6 years later, it is fine. But, why is the aorta enlarging? I just found out my father died of an aortic aneurism. Perhaps bad hearts are hereditary. I lived through the radiation releases of Three Mile Island, 10 miles from where I grew up in Pennsylvania. In the tiny town where I currently live, the drinking water was recently shown to contain 300 times the acceptable amount of uranium. While I have switched to bottled water, I shower in this as well as brush my teeth and wash my dishes in the contaminated stuff. Either of these could be the cause. Or, that one day, when I downed a box of Pepperidge Farm Cheddar Goldfish - in a rash decision to break my gluten-free diet - could have caused an imbalance. I don't know.

How do I handle this? The next step is to get a CT scan from a cardiac surgeon, in Albuquerque, 3 hours away from me. Then I wait on the results of the biopsy of my thyroid goiter. Depending on the results - i.e. if the thyroid has CANCER, we can determine which surgery is first.

All I can do is state the facts. I don't like the thought of surgery. Why do they have to take out half of my thyroid if it is functioning correctly? Can't they just remove the lump? How will my body handle all of this surgical trauma? I guess it will or it won't. I'm not looking forward to all of this and I feel alone and unloved. That is an automatic response, for some reason. I know I'm not unloved - I have my sisters and I've shared all of this on Facebook and have plenty of contacts sending love and prayers. But still, it is not the same as having strong arms holding me and saying "we'll get through this".  I go to my pity place, I guess.

I know I'll feel differently in a few days and will edit this post. But right now, I just want to share what I'm really feeling. (which, I know, still sounds very fact-driven and Capricorn-like).

Like a Cat on an Adobe Roof

I had a Christmas meltdown yesterday. In mid-November. I freaked out, got high anxiety then shut down emotionally. I thought it started when somebody I used to work with in radio posted on Ye Olde Facebooke that he was tuning into the satellite radio station already playing Christmas music 24 hours a day. Can't fathom his holiday excitement and when others commented they too had started tuning in, I knew The Christmas Crash might visit early this year. Later in the day, another person innocently posted a 'meme' telling us how to find our Christmas elf name. I could feel my face redden and the blood start to boil. I retreated further inside of myself and posted a slightly offensive anti-holiday rant on my page. I ate a package of gluten-free crackers and some sharp cheddar cheese, hoping for the calm healing of carbohydrates. I went to bed 2 hours early.

When I awoke at 3am this morning, I examined yesterday's thoughts and behaviors. Why does Christmas put me in such a state? I thought I'd figured it out, intellectually, two years ago. Last year, while I wasn't jolly, I didn't sink into deep malaise, like I have every year in recent memory. Why was I reacting this way now? Then it came to me - the cat on the adobe roof.

For the past week and a half, I was cat sitting for a lady in town. She has a gorgeous adobe home with the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in and two soft and sweet kitties who live inside and two skittish and fluffy feral cats outside. My world was filled with petting and purring for nearly two weeks. All was blissful for eleven days and nights. On the twelfth day, I returned back from working as an elder caregiver, and the inside cats wanted to venture out of doors for a while. Since their mommy told me it was OK, I let them out. After about an hour, when the younger cat, who always rushes back inside when called, didn't return, I got nervous. I repeatedly shook a can of cat food and called her name. Finally, I heard a frantic little meow from up above. Little Skye was traipsing on top of the adobe roof, trying to find a way down. She was scared. I was frantic.

I found a step ladder and gingerly climbed. Each step higher made my head spin (vertigo), but I was desperate to reach the kitty and pull her down. I kept failing. It was getting dark and coyotes were howling, so I decided to call a friend in town who has a soft spot for young men and always has at least one 23 year-old hanging about, to ask for her help. I thought she could loan me a young nimble boy to scamper up on the roof and quickly scoop up Skye to bring her to safety. Surprise! People don't usually react the way we think they will. Instead of offering up sympathy and one of her friends, she took it upon herself to chastise me for my irresponsibility and ineptitude. I sure did not need that. I needed a supportive friend who could offer me some help! I was sucked into a vortex that took me back to my childhood and the overly critical voice of my mother. Not a happy place.

After five dark hours of panic and pleas, I was finally able to lure the kitty to the lowest part of the roof, where, after climbing to the top rung of the step ladder, I got her to come close to my quivering hand. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck I pulled her down to the ground and shuffled her inside. It was not how I intended to spend the last day of cat sitting. But, I was relieved she was safe.

While the situation had resolved itself, I was still pushed into a state of  childhood PTSD by my friend's words and my own self critique. For the following two days, I found myself overly tired and irritable. Then I stumbled across the Christmas songs and Facebook posts. It all combined into a mini-meltdown. I don't want to spend half of November and December, this year, in the fetal position or acting out dramas from my past. Am praying that this insight will enable me to calmly face the holiday season without feeling the anguish of being unloved. Poor little Skye. She didn't know what her dalliance on that adobe roof would do to me.

Art Again

My first painting in many years. No title just yet.

Prismacolor pencil and graphite on cardboard, 40" x 20" (apx - no ruler). 

What drives creativity? I don't know but I am sure glad it is back!

***Update 11-2-2014

Today, I hate it! The back-and-forth overly-critical mind gets its way today. Tomorrow, I might begrudgingly think it is OK.

Again, however, very thankful that I feel like creating again.

Shell Games and UFOs

It was a long, hot drive to the south eastern part of New Mexico, but I now have a fiberglass camper shell on Maxine. After searching for weeks, I got lucky on Craig's List, finally. I logged on only an hour or so after the man listed it and I was the first caller. He promised to save the camper top for me, even though it would take another week before I could drive down to buy it. Damn, those things are expensive, especially new. In 1994, I got one for $250. Now, the price has quadrupled! I was happy to pay $300 for a used one.

At the very last minute, something told me I was going to need help lifting the thing and centering it onto my truck bed. I called and asked a young musician friend if he could help me out. After agreeing to buy him a pack of cigarettes (my first time, ever, making that purchase. I didn't even know where to find them in the grocery store!) he came along for what turned out to be a seven hour drive. To pass the time, I told him stories of the road from my younger days as a traveling singer. He couldn't believe how hard the bands worked and how long we played, each night. The thought of doing 4 or 5 sets of music a night, five or six nights a week was unfathomable to him. Since Maxine Mazda doesn't have a CD player or MP3 option, we played the radio. David was in charge of changing the station when directed. We both learned a lot about music that day. The newer "Jack" and "Ed" radio formats allow for lots of older songs from my era and when newer songs played, he explained the term "acid jazz" and made me understand, finally, the difference between rap and hip-hop. (Since rap is so pervasive, it is just like singing. Hip-Hop is the style of music and one doesn't even refer to "rap", anymore).

As the drive took us from 7000 feet down to lower and lower altitudes, my ears, which have been plugged up for months, finally popped, at around 4000 feet. The terrain became flat, barren and boring. Thanking my lucky stars for a working air conditioner, I welcomed the 92 degree day. Finally, we got to Roswell, New Mexico, the UFO meca of the world. In 1947 a reported crash of a flying saucer put the little town on the map and it found its purpose. There are little green men with almond-shaped eyes glaring at you, wherever you turn. I especially like the sombrero-wearing variety, at the Mexican restaurant.

Even the McDonald's is shaped and lit like a mothership.

I didn't know that Roswell has a military academy. I found that to be curious, given the town's history!

Anyway, we finally got to Carlsbad, 130 or so miles south of Roswell, where the camper shell, resting on cement blocks, was waiting. A very nice and patient man came running outside, along with the rest of the family, when my truck pulled up about 3 hours later than expected. Damn, that was a long drive! He recruited his son, and along with David and me, we got the thing centered on the back of the pickup. And, he threw in 4 awesome clamps to secure it onto the bed. David went to work with a lug wrench to tighten it, and it had to be repositioned several times before the back closed without banging on the tailgate. Phew!! Now I am set for the winter. All I need for camping is a great futon to put into the bed and I am good to go!

Since I wasn't up for another 6 or 7 hour drive home, We spent the night at a Motel 6 in Roswell. The next morning, I INSISTED that David and I visit the UFO museum and 'research center' on the town's main drag. What a hoot! To somebody with my Coast-to-Coast AM producing background, this was ground zero. I loved the little library, aka research center. All manner of cryptoid or alien was categorized by type. Phenomena, such as crop circles, have their own shelves. On the back wall, copies of the original July 1947 newspapers, entailing the crash, are posted. In the museum, there is a large diorama of 5 aliens in front of a craft. Near the ladies' room, a rubber alien is submerged in a suspended animation chamber and another one is in a glass coffin. More accounts of the crash adorn the walls. There is a whole area for skeptical debunkers, a cheesy film with a reenactment of July 4, 1947, and a big replica of a Mayan carving from 600 AD, of a man at the controls of what might be a spacecraft. Well worth my $5. David even liked it, too.

After fueling and feeding, we began the climb back to Taos. A successful and memorable journey. I was happy to feel a cool breeze and see the mountainous terrain of Northern New Mexico again.  

Truck Love

Now that I have Maxine Mazda back, I'm on the lookout for a camper shell, (aka cap or bed topper) for her back.

I fondly remember my old Toyota pickup, Ruby, who had a matching red camper top. The little truck resembled a rolling barn on the road and I had so much fun in her. But, she never had air conditioning and when I moved to sweltering and humid North Carolina, I had to find a different, more heat-friendly vehicle.

I took Ruby on quite a few cross-country trips. The longest one was between February and April of 1995. A ten-thousand mile journey. On that trip, I first visited Pilar and Taos, New Mexico. I also went to the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Oklahoma City, visited my aunt and uncle in Birmingham, AL and my father in New Port Richey, FL. Except for a couple of youth hostels, I spent most nights sleeping in the back of Ruby. I had a futon in the bed, pillows and a sleeping bag, and a cooler filled with food. I fashioned little curtains for her windows and had a small camping lantern for light. I have to say, I was very happy back there most nights.

When summer came, my friend Ron and I would take off the shell and head up North to Everett, WA to the drive-in movies. We backed the truck into the lot and leaned on big pillows off of my couch. That was fun. Many a night we'd return well after midnight and put the shell back on the truck before I headed off to bed. I remember how heavy it was but the two of us managed.

Moving from Seattle to Ohio in August of 2000 was quite the hero's journey. I drove a pretty big U-Haul and towed Ruby behind, on a trailer. My kitties, Saturn and Picasso had their own space in the bed of the truck. I dubbed it "Happy Kitty Land". They hid under the sleeping bag sometimes, the litter box set up in a corner and their food and water secured in a box on the other side. Periodically, I'd drive to a rest stop and climb in to the back with the cats for some lovin'. They were very calm during that 5-day drive.

All of these truck-love memories come flooding back to me as I search in this tiny town for a camper shell for Maxine Mazda. Can't wait to find another futon for the back and make some more memories!

Why Is Car Buying So Hard in America?

I am exhausted, enraged, ashamed, frustrated, and angry.

Why do car dealers try and cheat people? Is it because they can? Why does this business attract the least savory characters - people (mostly men) I would never want to be in the same room with? Why do they immediately try to confound and confuse and bewilder potential customers? Why do they lie and use so much double-speak?

And I was only trying for a $3500 car loan.

It shouldn't be this way. This kind of behavior shouldn't be rewarded. Yet, it is.

They use phrases like "I can put you in a ..." - to psychologically manipulate the buyer into seeing themselves in a particular vehicle, so backing out of the deal is less desirable. Then, they won't give you a straight answer when you ask a price. They counter with "How much can you afford a month?" and then they change the terms of the loan between the handshake and the signature. They wear you down until you can fight no longer and just want to get the hell out of there.

Their oily smiles and the way they refer to a woman as "Miss _______" (insert first name here) sicken me. The damnable service warranty. The "GAP insurance" and so many other add-ons  that increase the original price by thousands and thousands. Awful.

And, oh yes, when you have marginal credit and don't have utility bills and use a PO box, they SLAP A GPS UNIT TO YOUR TRUCK SO THAT YOU CAN BE TRACKED IN CASE YOU SKIP OUT ON YOUR LOAN AND THEY CAN REMOTELY SHUT YOUR TRUCK DOWN. Yes, I had to agree to that, in order to get my Goddamned $3500 and a loan that was 9 months longer than I agreed to.

AND, I lost my most favorite CD, Gino's Yonder Tree, in the loaner car's sound system.

It was an exhausting 2 days - but I have my truck.

yay

Cranky Cranky Cranky - What did you say?

I just woke up in a foul mood today. Even as I lay in bed, I reminded myself of all the blessings I have. I reminded myself that my car is still working and that I have enough to eat and a little money in the bank. I told myself to be grateful I have a place to live and occasional employment and good health. I remembered that I took a lovely trip to Santa Fe the other day, where I attended a free outdoor concert and ate a delicious vegetarian meal.

Yet, my foul mood persists. As I sit on top of the hood of a car, surfing the Internet, I hear thunder rumbling in the distance. I know I can walk back inside at a moment's notice, if the rain comes. I am happy that I can get wifi on this laptop. I am glad I had enough freshly ground Sumatran coffee, a working French press coffee pot and sugar and cream for two cups.

I wonder if I am cranky because I fear losing my hearing. My tinnitus continues, with low notes and high pitches, and I'm not having as much fun listening to music these days. Maybe I no longer like avant garde or dissonance. I used to be able to pick out the notes between the notes, to appreciate subtle nuances and make sense of nonsense. These days, I need a good strong melody and distinct harmonies. I have no patience for amateurism. And I am very disappointed in myself, for sounding more and more like an amateur when I sing. And I am a little jealous of my sister, for sounding more and more like a professional and for her experiences singing with top-notch musicians, while I just sing with hobbyists

After I took Ron Fein's class "Classical Avant Garde", back in the early '90's, I felt a whole new world opening up to me. I was so affected by this music that I remember saying to myself "I hope I don't go deaf!!" My father and grandfather lost some of their hearing and grandpa wore a hearing aid. And, they didn't sing in rock bands in their '20's or work in radio, wearing headphones, in their '30's.

I hope this is treatable.

What's Goin' On Lately

Hello to whomever might be reading this.

My life is pretty uneventful, these days. No crashing depressions or exotic vacations. Just meandering down the road, doing what I please. Not a bad way to live, I suppose. After a few fits and starts, I abandoned painting again. I wasn't inspired by the canvas or colors and found only frustration.  But, last week, I happened upon a rather large, glorious slice of cardboard and suddenly wanted to draw. Had run out of my favorite kind of colored pencil and lo-and-behold, they were on sale for 50% off online. Still waiting for them to show up in my PO box. The urge to put pencil to paper continues and I am counting the hours until my precious parcel arrives.

The Taos Farmers' Market continues its season-long run in the town plaza. I love getting up early on Saturday,  if only to watch the people and see what is ripe. I bought a bunch of succulent-looking beets for only $3.50 last week but haven't roasted them yet. I buy vegetables, in the hopes that I'll actually cook them, but invariably, they wind up in the chicken coop. Did I tell you I have chickens? Well, my landlord does, but they often get my scraps. Most days I'll stop by their cage and say hello and the four feathered ladies will cock their heads and murmur soft clucks, hoping I'll put something inside the pen to peck.

Went dancing a couple of weeks ago at an outdoor concert, featuring the Steely Dan tribute band out of Denver, Citizen Dan. Except for some bad notes by the sax player and an occasionally out-of-tune backup singer, they were awesome. Their lead singer sounded like a better Donald Fagen - he had a very similar tone and range, but he had much more vocal dexterity. I have seen the genuine article in concert a couple of times but their ticket prices are currently out of reach.

I have been dealing with a rather large lump on the left side of my thyroid. Had an ultra sound and blood tests on it. Hate how Western doctors refer to the thing as a "mass". Sounds so ominous. Happily, tests results all good, and don't point to cancer. Have also been getting regular acupuncture on the spot, which has shrunk to a fraction of its original size. Down from 5 inches to less than one. However, I am feeling run down and yesterday, when I looked in the mirror, I saw dark circles under my eyes. If my health care is resumed, I might drive down to Los Alamos, the site of the Manhattan Project, to get a biopsy. No doctors in town to handle endocrinology.

Even though the animal shelter where I volunteer has countless dramas involving management and former volunteers, I continue to make visits, two or three times a week, to "love the kitties". It helps me to connect with them and I know they need the warmth of human kindness. It has been very hot, lately, and the cattery has been over 100 degrees inside some days. But, sitting on the concrete floor, with a wire brush in my hands and getting the mats out of a cat's fur still bring me much happiness. I had fallen totally in love with a very mangy boy, named Darren, and begged my landlord's grown children to let me keep him. But, the possibility that they might one day bring their allergic children to sleep in my space, once I no longer live here, killed that hope. They did say I could have a dog, however, and one has caught my eye at the shelter. I'll keep you posted.

Still no decision on Bernard, the car's, fate. I might not be able to collect disability for much longer and need to keep every penny I can, for the time being. He continues to drive OK, though. But, boy, that hole in the muffler really announces my arrival to everybody from blocks away. I am doing much better in the heat than I did last year. Even so, I would love to have a working fan and air conditioner. We'll see what transpires, money-wise.

I still have days of crippling sensory sensitivity. Don't know what else to call it. Yesterday, I tried to go grocery shopping and it seemed that every aisle in the parking lot had a big pickup truck coming my way. It was too much, for some reason. It took forever to find a parking space. Once inside the store, I did my best to avoid other shoppers. Too crowded, too many carts. I have never liked shopping, and recently, it is completely overwhelming. Some times, after I'm done at the grocery store, I need a 2 hour nap, just to recover from the over-stimulation.

I think it is good that I don't live in a crowded city, anymore. I like knowing and saying hello to somebody nearly every day. Being here has also taught me to be kindrt to folks, especially since I might run into them again in the near future.

So, nothing earth-shaking in this part of the world, but nothing awful, either. Life goes on.

Bernard's Slow Decline

I am used to checking and filling the rack-and-pinon steering fluid in my car, Bernard, every week or so. I am vigilant with the oil and add some when necessary. Since last summer's radiator scare (2nd one in a year), I check and add more Prestone regularly. While I visually inspect the engine, I have no idea what kinds of defects I am looking for.

The driver's seat only has one  position that works. Luckily, it is the one I use. After I was rear-ended last year, I can't adjust the height of the seat. Bernard's muffler has a hole towards the back, that was patched shortly after he became mine. The patch needs to be replaced. Right now, the car sounds like some angry teen boy's hot rod. The CD player chews up CDs. And now, the fan and air conditioner only work on the two highest settings (but pumps out half the air it used to). The sound it makes is deafening. Not having air in the arid Southwest is the end of the line, for me.

I am grateful I got nearly a year's worth of driving out of the old boy, after he was "totaled" last September. I paid $2,000 for him and the insurance company gave me $2,200 as a settlement. I used him for 20 months and he was a godsend. But it is time for a change.

A Wanted Woman

Imagine my surprise this morning when I opened a letter from a Texas magistrate, informing me there is a warrant for my arrest in the lone star state.

It was very late in 2012. A crisp December morning. I had just spent the night in my car at a rest stop somewhere outside of Amarillo. I wore a tee shirt, 2 sweaters and 2 coats and wrapped myself in a reflective blanket, to stay warm. I was down to my last dollar and did not have a credit card to pay for a night in the local Motel 6. When I awoke, I drove to a McDonald's, piggybacked onto their WiFi and logged into my bank account. A brilliant shaft of light shone down on my HP laptop as I saw $335 had just been deposited in my account, my final paycheck from my last job. I could afford a real breakfast and fill up my tank and continue on my journey West. Huzzah!

Freshly fueled and fed, I steered onto Interstate 40, knowing I would reach my destination, Santa Rosa, NM, by afternoon. I chose Santa Rosa because the town promoted a dry climate with abundant water, in the form of a big lake and something called "The Blue Hole". Originally directed to the town by a State of New Mexico website, advertising several job availabilities, I knew a brighter future lay ahead. Anyhow, I was in high spirits when I cranked up my radio to hear the opening chords to Midnight Oil's "Beds Are Burning" - a rousing anthem to start my drive.

I didn't make it to the second chorus before I saw a Texas State Trooper make a wide U-turn and follow me with flashing lights. SHIT! I couldn't have been speeding!! The very curt and clipped voice of the trooper informed me I was going 85 mph. I protested. I know you shouldn't do that but I knew my 14-year old Honda Civic would not drive that fast. I had tried to get the speedometer up in Tennessee but it only reached 75, no matter how much pressure I put on the pedal. The trooper did not appreciate my attitude. I was handed the ticket and told if I wanted to protest, I had to appear in court within the month. Not very likely, given my financial state. And, it was not very likely I could pay the fine, either.

After I spent a couple of weeks in Santa Rosa, I saw very few opportunities for me. As I have written, I wound up in Taos where a (too) quiet life has unfolded. When my Texas court date arrived, I called the magistrate's office and told them I protested my fine. I asked if there was any proof - radar reports or otherwise, that could be supplied to justify my guilt. I was told there was none - I protested, saying there was no evidence. I hung up the phone and was very angry.I spent the next several months living on about $120 a month, along with food stamps. There was no way I could think about paying a speeding fine I didn't deserve. I guess I forgot about it.

That is, until this morning. Well, thanks to an auto accident that totaled my car (although my Honda still drives), I now have a small cushion in my bank account. I hate to dip into it to pay an undeserved fine to a state known for its phrase "Don't Mess with Texas". I don't know if I have another choice. Maybe the band Midnight Oil really did make me speed. Maybe being right isn't worth the hassle.

Crazy-Ass Dreams

I don't know what I've been doing lately, but my dream life has been out of control!

Last night's dream, for instance, I was hanging out with somebody I briefly knew in the early '90's. He has since become a world-renown music sensation. Anyhow, I was hanging out at his place and he was telling me that some intense storms were headed my way.He advised me to hide out at some motel in Albuquerque.  Apparently, he was trying to get rid of me as he had a date coming over or something. Next thing I knew, I was watching somebody's scull being partially stripped of their skin and electrodes being placed on various parts of the brain. Then, I was sitting in a chair and my skull was having its skin rolled down towards my eyelids. Somebody was poking parts of the brain to see which of my limbs moved. Later, somebody yanked on my leg and screamed "WAKE UP NOW!" And so I did.

Another one had me arguing profusely with another man I used to know. I don't know what we were fighting about but I awoke very upset.

And a third dream had me walking along a highway bridge. Suddenly, a big truck veered out of control and ran me off of the road. I think I awoke mid-fall.

Anybody want to summon the ghost of Sigmund Freud to analyze these?

Conspiracy Karma

Those years spent tracking down conspiracy experts to talk on the radio have come back to haunt me.

It was great fun and quite a challenge to endlessly seek out authors and lecturers who could talk at length about Kennedy assassination plots, 9/11, aliens from outer space and their unidentified flying objects, LSD experimentation, guardian angels, the bloodline of Jesus Christ and countless other topics. I learned how to conduct interviews and tease out answers from occasionally shy and reluctant authors. Those people didn't often get on the show, as they had to sustain a conversation for nearly 3 hours - in the middle of the night. Each show I produced was broadcast to nearly 16 million people across the country and around the world. I was very proud of my work - I was a nameless, faceless, behind-the-scenes person (the host never said my name on the air). I really didn't care that much. It was enough reward, knowing that an idea, conceived in my studio apartment, could become conversational fodder for millions of insomniacs.

Northern New Mexico is a magnet for all sorts of people who don't seem to fit into conventional society. The other night I met a woman who described Taos as "an open-air insane asylum". While I used to be considered a "wacko", in Pennsylvania, here I think I could be called conservative.I have fallen into a family of folks who spend a lot of their time playing music, carving stone and wood and writing books from their channeled extraterrestrial guides. Somehow they eek out a living or sustain themselves with a modest government stipend, like me. Most of them are night owls and insomniacs and guess what they listen to, late in the night. Yeah, my old show. And they are not discernible listeners. They believe it all. Hell, I used to believe most of it before I worked for the show.

Last night at a group gathering (a memorial service for a beloved dog), I was barraged by 4 or 5 night owls who lectured me, at length, about the global conspiracy to change the Western tuning from A 432 to A 440, (in order to create disharmony in the populace), the Princeton University report that discusses America's change from a democracy to an oligarchy, the vortex surrounding Taos and various UFO sightings, and the imminent destruction of Western society and the return to a local, agrarian way of life. And this happens all the time in this place. Everybody has the Internet, but nobody is watching Miley Cyrus's latest scandalous video or YouTube cats. They are going to websites (frequently linked to my old show's) and passionately devouring information about the end-times. While I am happy there are others who look behind the propaganda veil, a little goes a long way.

I wonder if it is my Karma, as a former producer of this food, to be forced to ingest it until I throw up?

Along the Side of the Road

Things you see in this town for sale along the side of the road:

Used cars with their prices on the windows, written in white soap.

Roasted ears of corn, still in their husks, drenched in butter and chili powder.

Pickup truck and driver, waiting with a cord of wood, ready to follow you to your house.

Truckloads of potatoes, $10 for a 40 pound sack..

Authentic New Mexican souvenirs.

Wreaths and long strands of dried, red chili peppers.

Bales of hay.

Hand carved pot pipes and whale bone feathers.

Knock-off genuine Indian rugs.

And today, I saw a trailer with a sign that read "will pay cash for your antlers" parked at the gas station. Inside, the thing was filled to the ceiling with deer and elk antlers.

Again with the Writer's Block - Small Town Activities

I believe it was Bukowski who said the secret to great writing was to wait until you are inspired - even if it takes years. Well, at this rate, I might not blog for years. Again, please forgive my lack of inspiration.

Last weekend, I was able to volunteer at the Taos Shortz Film Festival. While I wasn't able to attend the pre-festival meeting, I was able to work at the will call desk, box office and usher positions with little difficulty. I met a few new people and was able to see several little movies, all under 30-minutes. One was only 10 seconds long. The films came from around the globe, one of the best, from Japan, an action movie about a company that erases memories for a fee. Wish I could remember the name - mostly because whatever song played during the closing credits had the coolest bass line. Another amazing prize-winning film was from France or Belgium, about a little ballerina, who charms a trio of thugs when she gets the wrong address for an audition to play Tinkerbell in Peter Pan. After my third day of volunteering, I felt empowered and was surprised at how many familiar faces I saw. 

On Thursday, after doing the shopping for my landlady, I headed to the radio station / bar and concert venue to volunteer for the animal shelter's radiothon. Listening in, I was absolutely stunned that everybody who called in to donate had to give out their first and last name and PHONE NUMBER over the air!!!! That can't be very safe. There was another phone number to call if you did not want to be on-air, but I only learned about it later in the afternoon. While I was listening, I never heard them give it out over the airwaves. I was placed at the front desk with 2 other ladies. It was our job to take walk-in donations, sell raffle tickets and collect money and distribute pledge premiums to folks making good on their previous on-air pledges. It was a very stressful afternoon, for me. I could not multi-task at all, and the conversations of the other ladies and their friends nearly blew out my head. There was way too much going on and I was unable to concentrate. I felt like I did that day when I worked at the real estate office and wound up in the fetal position on the floor. When I was younger, I used to love front desk jobs and was very good at being the epicenter for the office buzz. Not any more. Not since the mid-90's. I just can't do this kind of work anymore. I gotta find some kind of skill where I can concentrate on a task. 

Anyhow, I was so stressed out from volunteering, Afterwards I had to go out and get a drink. Deep breathing wasn't helping. The drink helped a little, but then I needed to stay home and decompress for an entire day afterwards. I wonder what is wrong with me? I seem to feel everybody's emotions all at once these days. I can't filter them out. 

In fact, earlier in the day, I stopped for gas. While waiting for a free pump, I felt myself get more and more anxious. I couldn't figure this out. I mean, I only had to wait about 3 minutes for one to clear. Suddenly, a police man ran in front of the station. I said to myself "this can't be good". And then, another cop streaked past. Then 3 police cars sped by. After they passed, I instantly felt better. I wondered if I was picking up their stress and thought it was coming from me? I need to find a way to filter out this stuff.

Writing with Writers Block - Trip to Alamosa

Oh God, we're in a real desert here! Massive writer's block for months.

OK - just pushing through it, advice recently received from "The Pioneer Woman", on her blog.

I have kept myself pretty busy, recently. Back in August, I was in a minor car accident but the insurance company totaled my car (whose name is Bernard). However, I have had severe spring fever, recently, and that means I've been itching for a road trip. I have been thinking of taking a drive to Denver (5 hours away), as I miss city life and corporate coffee. I wanted to take Bernard on a test drive. So, on Wednesday, I pointed his headlights north and decided to see the scenery.

Once you get about 30 miles outside of Taos, there is NOTHING. Wow. Barren roads. Desert and sagebrush and mountains in the distance. A couple of ranches and houses and that is all, for about 25 miles. And then, a small town and the choice of making a left or a right. I turned the wheel to the left and decided to go to Alamosa, CO., the town from where the public radio station broadcasts. I was happy to see clapboard houses and pitched roofs. Different from the adobe saturation I have become used to. Downtown Alamosa has some restaurants and coffee shops and a very old looking J.C. Penney's. Funny to see modern fashions adorning the headless 1970's-era mannequins. I saw a Safeway a few blocks down the road, and a STARBUCKS sign. I satisfied my yen for corporate coffee.

Heading down another street, I came across a sign for "Community Acupuncture". In Seattle, I regularly received the needles in a group recliner chair setting. It was wonderful to do it again, and the acupuncturist was a young man who was very easy on the eyes. A double bonus. I learned that a community acupuncture office has opened in Taos, recently. I'll have to check it out.

After my treatment, I drove back home, using a different 2 lane highway. 70 miles later, I headed up my driveway. I had put 198 miles on Bernard, and he didn't pop or ping or lose much fluid. Sure the heater and air conditioning fan isn't working on settings 1 or 2 anymore. 3 and 4 seem to work just fine - even if the noise drowns out the radio.

Now that I know what lies directly to the North, maybe I will make that Denver trip. Armed with the knowledge that there is no cell phone service and no gas stations for 50 miles, I'll have to drive with a lot of faith.

Feeling Kinda Scared *

I don't know how to have this conversation with anybody I know, so I might as well post it on the Internet.

Here goes:

I am starting to feel a pressure and a tightness in my chest, again, whenever I go for a walk. This has happened during the last 3 times I've headed out. I have also felt dizzy, recently. I don't know if these two symptoms are related or not. But, what it might mean is this: my replacement aortic valve is wearing out. I can't believe it has been 6 years, already, since my operation.

Clear heads will tell me that I need to go see a doctor. Perhaps I am just out of shape and living at a high altitude causes these problems. I have had a difficult time adapting to life at 7,000 feet. After over a year, I still get light-headed. I can get loopy if I skip a week of oxygen therapy.

I think back to those 9 days in the hospital, after my AVR surgery. The pain of having my chest cracked open, the 22 medications I took daily, the loneliness I felt in the hospital, the Prednisone-induced insanity.. I don't think I can do it again.

I guess I don't have to if I don't want to.

*UPDATE*

Since writing this, I have taken 3 more walks and, happily, NO CHEST TIGHTNESS. Perhaps I just am out of shape.

At This Moment in Time

How have we all wound up in Taos? Seemingly random people, from all walks of life have been drawn to this place.

Music brings us together and as I learn more about the people from the weekly jam, I can't help but wonder why we are here.

The guitarist with the dazzling smile used to travel all over South and Central America, fishing from the beaches for his living. He became an honorary citizen, a Latino brother, bonded by the color of his skin, learning to become a temporary local. During periods of political unrest, he never felt unsafe. He and his father ran a printing business for decades, until it folded.

The woman who talks to her Reptillian alien guides moved here from Los Angeles, by way of Toronto. She spent many years teaching disaster preparedness and earthquake safety to movie studio employees. Somehow, she wound up here and became a sculptor. Her pieces used to fetch several thousand dollars. But now she plays her drums and bass guitar and studies world religions and philosophies on YouTube.

Earth mother, Lynn, was married to an academic, raised two sons and audited courses at some of the most distinguished universities in the country. One of her sons became a Grammy-nominated pop star. She met a nomad who lived by his wits, chucked it all and spent a few years off of the grid on the Mesa west of Taos, and now sells Native American drums at craft shows and online.

Our Louisiana-born songwriter was a well-paid high-tech engineer. Man, can he cook! We all drool over his pot-luck offerings. After wounding his foot, he came to Taos and now bounces from couch to couch, hoping to earn a modest living from his hand-made pipes.

Our patriarch once told me he was a "Buddhist and a nudist". Came from San Francisco and married a couple of women. At 70 years old, he is one of the biggest flirts I have ever met and he shows no signs of slowing down.

Then, there is the "accidental harpist". Hailing from Kirkland, WA, he grew up, raised a family and got sick of the climate. He built his home, way out in the middle of nowhere, by hand. He loves the solitude.

At this moment in time, we come together and breathe the same air. Except for the patriarch, we are all single and in our 50's or 60's. We used to play by the rules and enjoyed societal success, for a while. Then, something happened. We made a mistake, lost what we had or decided to leave it behind. I don't know if this is a weigh station or a permanent oasis.

Painting Again

Painting again.

The process is more important than the result, perhaps a metaphor for life.

Abstractions, bright colors, very wet raw canvas. I paint while sitting on the floor. My hands, arms, legs, and feet wear drops of splattered colors. Painting is almost like meditation. Quiet the mind and feel the colors. Some canvases are cursed. Tortured. Then something magical happens and they come alive. Or not.

Feeling the canvas, wetting it with a spray bottle filled with water, dropping paint and spreading it with my hands. Tasting the colors in my mind - synesthesia. Tasty orange - yellower than tomato red, a color that pulses and vibrates and feeds the soul. Still searching for the ultimate purple. Frustrated when it comes out a shade too red or a little too grey.

I need more implements. Not brushes. Odds and ends, sticks and strings, plastic twist-ties. Chopsticks! I need to mix the paint with something to make it foam and react on its own. Bromo-seltzer, perhaps. Do they still make that? I love how it makes the paint fuzz and bubble and move of its own accord . Peeling dried acrylic paint off of the mixing cup and stretching it, applying pieces of it to a still-wet canvas to shock and add texture.

Sensuous, alive. Painting makes me feel whole again.