Winking Angels Signal Me from On High

I got the signal yesterday to start pulling the next installment of my memoirs together. I've got most of the contents already, but I knew I couldn't finish it until it became more true than it is now. I know, that made you scratch your head, but you see, I've known what the title would be for years now. How little did I know just how true it would be. I thought it was more metaphorical than literal, but it turns out that it is both. My first book in the autobiographical genre is Slices of My Life: So Far, a gathering of stories from my blog, Slices of My Life. Volume 2 is entitled, Slices of My Life: Still Standing. I knew that was connected to the physical challenges I was battling, but when I named it that, I didn't yet realize how much of a challenge it was going to get just to stand up physically. I have a lot of it written already and more that can be added to the mix. Only I knew that I wasn't yet ready to write the final entry. The book is subtitled after the Elton John song, "Still Standing," and is intended to be a victory song before I start the next phase of my journey.

So what was the signal I got? Elton John appeared on Ellen yesterday afternoon, and of ALL the hundreds of hits he could have sung, he sung "Still Standing." Later he sang a song from his new album. That song was "Home Again," which was also telling but not the signal. I am indeed home again in Central Florida after having spent 25 years very much away from my childhood home. On top of that, when my housemate came home from work yesterday, I pointed out to her that I was in pretty good shape still by the time she got home. Many days, by the time she has gotten home from work, I've been pretty well spent. I've been able to get up and around the house, cleaning or doing little things, but by the time she's gotten home, I'm pretty exhausted from the day's battle to stay vertical and ambulatory. More on why this has been so in the book. Anyway, I even started singing that song while I was standing in front of the walker she's been letting me use for many months now. Sort of like, "look, ma, no hands!" from the commercial decades ago. Does anyone even remember what that was about? I don't.

But I digress. If I were to have a tombstone, which I won't since I plan to be cremated, my epitaph would read, "But I digress..." because that's what I do--in my writing, in my speaking, and in my everyday life. I think it's good if you simply embrace that kind of stuff. It's how my brain works, so why fight it? Eventually I do get back on topic, and since I've been doing this my whole life, no one can blame it on the aging process as I get older. Nope. It's just how I think, but I digress...

So having sung that song, which I hadn't heard in weeks, if not months, it was rather humorous that while watching Elton on Ellen, that he should sing that song. My song. Not "Your Song" or any of hundreds of his other hits, but my song, "Still Standing," after I had just been singing it by way of victory for having a really good day physically and having been standing pretty darn strong all day. Yay! While I'm not quite back yet to doing the Snoopy yippee skippee dance, I'm standing more on my own again and toddling around more sans walker. That song was the signal that I am coming back, and just in case I hadn't twigged on yet, and I hadn't, my housemate pointed out the fact, "Hey, Elton is singing your song!"

Now I plan to sing that as my song of triumph every day and claim the victory of being able to stand and walk and dance again. It helps that I already could dance. I just haven't danced very strong since before the vertigo attack, and everything else ensued since my fiftieth birthday, that I've been really strong in the dance department. I'm polishing those dancing shoes now and breaking in some new walking shoes so I can get stronger and stronger from now here on out. Perhaps if I lose this weight that I gained while being so sedentary, I might even earn the title "Tiny Dancer" but enough Elton John puns and digressing. Time to get back to dancing and singing and walking about the house, building up my strength again. I got the signal from those winking angels on high. That's my cue.

Life at Ground Zero

I came across an old journal that had some entries in it from when I first moved into the cabin on Hood Canal, about which I have written blogs in the past at this site. I thought this entry was interesting enough to share with my readers. It is dated February 11, 2005, two days after I first moved into the cabin.

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It's strange to think that in the midst of all this natural beauty and wonder, there sits a nuclear submarine base. The same view that grants me free and easy access to a breath-taking panoramic view of snow-capped mountains and an enticingly meandering canal also reveals the docking place for the nuclear submarines that call this place home. It is a truth that feels neither menacing nor comforting. It is a given in these parts. People grow up here, knowing and accepting that we live at Ground Zero. Never has that felt so real to me as it does now that I live in sight of one of the reasons why this place in the world as Ground Zero.

Ultimately, that concept feels less threatening to me than the thought of surviving a nuclear holocaust. Much better to be obliterated instantly than to survive to face the nuclear winter of human history. To be in heaven or try to make a life in hell? Ground Zero is probably the best place to be. Let the subase be. I'll take the mountains and water today and heaven for the "day after tomorrow."

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Sunset at the Cabin on Hood Canal


Nuclear Submarine Passing the Cabin on Hood Canal

It was nearly a daily thing to have submarines going in and out. It wasn't as frequent when I first moved in, but as more subs relocated to this subase, the activity increased greatly. I knew some of the people who worked on those subs because they came to the book store I managed in Silverdale to buy lots of books for the long hours underwater when they went out on extended tours of duty. They were my customers and my friends. This is a way of life here. I sometimes wondered, when a sub went by, if I knew any of the submariners on board. Below is a shot of the canal with Bangor subase in the shot. It was taken from my yard too looking in a northerly direction. The photos above were shot in a southerly direction. In the photo below, the brown dock sticking out into the water is actually a submarine dock. I'm guessing that they used that for repairs because in two years of living, I saw them dock a sub there only one time.



Bangor Nuclear Submarine Base on Hood Canal

Beth Mitchum is the author of five novels, one collection of poetry, and one music CD. Her works are available at Amazon.com through the following link:

http://tinyurl.com/bethmitchumbooks

Update: My New MyFaceInSpaceTwit+ Account Address in Case You're Interested

In a lame attempt at keeping up with the times, I have updated my profile photo at LinkedIn so it matches the one at Facebook and Google+ finally. I've been trying for years to get them all in sync, but some of these networks were rather limited when I first started dabbling in them. I tried within the past year or two to update that profile pic at LinkedIn, but the photo was still deemed too big. Really? It was taken with a 2.1 megapixel camera about ten years ago. I'd think we'd be way past that by now. Okay, so I could have fixed that by saving it at a smaller dpi, but most of the time I'm doing stuff on the fly and don't have time to go back and doctor photos. Eventually I'll have to update this one, but I'm waiting until most of the world is caught up so I don't have to make a whole lot of effort to sync them again.

I have also synced several (although not all) of my past email addresses. I've been online for nearly twenty-five years now, so I have more email addresses than pairs of underwear, and I've got a lot of those too. I know, TMI, but whatever. I no longer use a couple dozen of those emails, but I've been online for so long that every now and then I run across one of them still listed in some obscure MS-DOS database somewhere. The point of this blog being: if you're on LinkedIn, then I have now closed out an old duplicate account and added that email address to the current account, which is, oddly enough, the more up-to-date address. In the closing and merging of accounts, I may have fallen off a few of your LinkedIn rosters. If you're still on LinkedIn, and you'd like to reconnect, by all means, let's do this thing. If not, then chances are you aren't reading this because you have gone into information retirement and no longer give a flying freak-out who is on your LinkedIn account. Either way we should be good, yes?

Now my old email address is my born-again address, since my current address is now what I consider to be all junk mail. I have dropped Gmail for the most part because Google has taken to reading all our email. Double really? *shakes head* I'm okay with leaving those accounts associated with junk only. It's pretty much all ads these days anyway. Does anyone ever email any more anyway? Argh! That is far too many words that begin in vowels! I think I might have sprained my vowel muscles just typing that. Anyway, emailing is so 2012, don't ya think? Not only is it not as private as talking loudly in public places over a cell phone, but it is just so slow compared to pushing a button on my ear and simply talking. Texting is more private, but you have to type a lot of keys to do that. I have yet to figure out how this is an improvement over anything other than the courier pigeon. Alas, this is much ado about nothing since, eventually all of these accounts will feed into a single Terra-Giggle account called MyFaceInSpaceTwit+ account. Oh my gawd, I am so ready for that. Where do I sign up? Oh, wait a minute. I bet that's when we have to get a barcode tattooed on our right hand or our forehead, right? Never mind. I'm not ready for that yet. Surely we have another week or so before Apple rolls out the new iPhone 666.

Coming to an Internet Cafe Near You: Furbook

*Sigh* It was bound to happen sooner or later. The attention from Li'l Grey having his own blog, Twitter account, and Facebook page has gotten too much for Bootsy to stand. After dropping several hints recently, wherein all twenty or more pounds of my oldest and largest son crawled up on my lap (top) for a rather pointed cuddle, I have acquiesced to help Boo start his own Facebook page too as a way of launching his writing career and work on his memoirs, The Cat with a Thousand Names. He was, after all, the first of my katz to show a real interest in social media and doing research online, so it's only fair that he get to start down that road too after giving Li'l a head start. Sandy/Dustin/Li'l Grey was my first feline soul mate relationship, so that was definitely fair. However, Bootsy thinks he's given him enough of a lead, and he wants to get started working seriously now that the parade of kittens has stopped.  

Bootsy Trying to Figure Out Fairyland on Facebook

Bootsy Reading His Mom's Facebook Page

Bootsy Branching Out Online

I knew it would come to this eventually, but it seemed that his interest had waned a bit after the staggered arrival of three kittens in this household in the past couple of years. First, in January of 2011, I adopted little brother, Li'l Grey, who took to blogging and writing his memoirs right away. Li'l Grey is also Boo's former older brother, Dustin, as well as my first cat, Sandy. Confused? No worries. All will be explained and re-explained until you can tell who's who and what's what. At least with a few pictorial cue cards. Although he's called Bootsy in this incarnation, he started out in my life as Van Gogh, a name HE changed to Bingo because he did not appreciate his mother's wry sense of humor. Bingo fit his fun-loving, gregarious personality better than the more serious, and somewhat depressing sound of Van Gogh. I have to agree with him, but when you see a photo of Bingo, you'll see where the name arose. It really was logical, if not appreciated by some of the cats in my life.  

Bingo the Stray Cat Who Stayed

Anyway, this evening, after much wrestling over control of the laptop in the living room, Bootsy has announced to me, none too subtly, that he too is starting his own Facebook page. Really? I litterally (snark!) couldn't wrestle control of the keyboard from him until I promised to let him. It's not the I don't want him to, because there's nothing I could be happier about than helping Bootsy to launch his own writing career and social media network, but you parents of teens get it. There are only so many laptops in the house. I do need to use more than one for work because I have to use them unplugged from the wall. Otherwise, the electromagnetic waves get to me. At least one laptop is always in the wall recharging. Perhaps I can just let da boyz have total access and control over Auntie Jan's old Windows XP laptop. It's a little slow, but sheesh! It's not like they don't have seven or eight hours a day to take turns working on it. The rest of the time, they're sleeping. You know how teenage boys are with all the sleeping they do. 

Well, I suppose it's not fair to lump Bootsy in with teenage boys. He's fully grown now, hopefully. If he gets much bigger, I'm going to have to build him a special cat tree. Although he's a bit on the filled-out side, Bootsy isn't fat. He's simply enormous! He's a big boy Maine Coon cat. If you've ever had or seen a Maine Coon cat, then you'll understand. It's more like having a furry small pony. Thank goodness his litter mate sister got some different genes mixed in there because, while she's beautiful and furry, she's only about half his size. My back really appreciates that. I think Bootsy and I are going to need to do some renegotiating into between lifetimes next time around. As I age, I think that it might be a good idea to get slightly smaller models so I can at least pick them up. I can pick him up now, mind you, but we're beginning to push those boundaries seriously. It doesn't help that Boo has the spinal column of a slinky either. If he doesn't want to be picked up, he simply turns himself into a glass of water and pours himself through your fingers. That's the only way I can explain it so you have a prayer of comprehending one of his many unique talents. 

Liquid Bootsy

Anyway, after winning me over last night to his view of things, we started working our way back to the bedroom for the night. By the time I was out of the bathroom and getting into bed to write this blog to introduce Bootsy, he was already ensconced in bed at the top of the cat tree. Even that didn't come without a bit of a tussle for da Boo guy. After having been a fairly easy-going (i.e., pushover) big boy, Bootsy has finally grown a pair (five years post-neutering, no less) and decided to stand up for his rights in the pecking (purring) order in this household. He has been, after all, the "eldest boy" in the house for nearly three years now, but he's such a gentle fellow that he has pretty much let everyone push him around. Last night the pendulum swung way to the other side. 

As I mentioned, he was on the top tier of the cat tree in our bedroom after we'd had our serious discussion about him having his own Facebook page. He was thoroughly settled in for the evening when I came in and started getting situated in bed with the "nighttime laptop." Yes, I do sometimes write from bed. How else do you think I keep up with all these blogs and websites? Anyway, Yeti came in and tried to oust his big pushover cousin, as has been his habit in the past. Much to his surprise, Bootsy didn't budge an inch. I somehow got the impression that the light bulb went off in Boo's head last night that he really is the "BIG GUY" in this house. He might be a heavy weight, but he looks and acts fluffy, adorable, and sweet. I think in his mind all this time, he was still a tiny little guy. Only last night, there was a noticeable paradigm shift, and Yeti, who can be pretty insistent, and who has gotten rather big himself, simply could not move Boo off the cat tree. I had to laugh, despite my shock. Go, Bootsy! I have to say that I like this new, more assertive Bootsy. Given what a lion-hearted small guy he was last time, I have wondered how this much bigger boy turned out to be such a Pollo (his actual rescue kitten name). Now it seems that, although he may have started out somewhat timid, he is now "large and in charge," as his auntie is fond of saying. 

So now there will be two of my katz online starting this week. I asked Anjolie last night if she wanted to join her brothers in their social network circle of literary lions, but she just wanted to head butt me and cuddle. She may reach the point where she wants to write her memoirs about being the ass-kicking stunt double kitten for Anjolina Jolie's character, Lara Croft, tomb raider, but I think there may be some incidents along the pages of her life that she doesn't particularly want to remember right now, just when life has thoroughly calmed down for us. Maybe later if her looks go. Right now, she's still strutting her gorgeous princess stuff and enjoying it. Being a princess is good work if you can get it. However, that doesn't mean that she won't decide to have her own Facebook, or "Furbook," page, as my katz call it, in the near future. We shall see.