Rescue

When I saved Mao, who knew that a year later, 
she would save me.

Goodbye 2011

MAOIE Christmas

Maomao has been a great distraction for me these past few weeks. I'm trying hard to get her to love me and she's trying hard to remind me that she's still a little bit wild inside. I have to remember that Mao lost a companion too when Sam died. Recently, she's become more social with us, as if trying to own us but on her terms. One way she shows me is by attacking me whenever I whistle. She hates whistling but only bites me. I used to think she was mad that I whistle but now I think that when she rakes my foot with her claws or clamps onto my eyebrow with her teeth, she's simply trying to train ME. Christmas carols are especially offensive to her. It doesn't matter whether it's Michael Buble on my iTunes or Tony Bennett on television, she immediately comes over to me and sinks her still kitten-sharp teeth into my skin whenever she hears it. People say, "Why do you whistle if you know she's going to react like that?" I think I'm trying to see if it's just a fluke or if I am really interacting with her. All of my pets have always communicated with me in some way. Mao keeps me at paw's length but I can tell that as long as we are "talking," we have a bond. I think it's sort of cute, in a way.  I just have to keep the Neosporin handy, that's all. This Christmas, our house is dark and my heart is heavy. But inside, I'm trying my best to coax a small black cat out from the underneath and maybe...just maybe, into my empty arms. Merry Christmas.

Climbing Back Up

 

Overcoming grief is a little like climbing out of a very deep, dark hole. A part of you doesn't want to make the effort to ascend because it's an affirmation, an acceptance that everything has changed. It's like resurfacing, but missing one of your arms. I don't feel whole. Some might say that's the definition of depression. Whatever it is, I am definitely not in the holiday mood. This Christmas, there's a hole in my heart. And at least for now, I want to keep it that way. I miss you, Sammy.

Sam

Tristan's My Sam 

June 10, 1999 - November 28, 2011

RIP Sweet, beautiful Sam. Our hearts are broken into a million pieces. We will love you and hold you in our hearts forever. 

"It's not that I am lonely for you. I am mutilated. 
For you were a part of me."  ~ Author unknown.

Why I've Never Spanked My Child

 This story is great. It perfectly exemplifies why I've never spanked my child.

 "When I was about twenty years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking--the first in his life. And she told him he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, 'Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock you can throw at me.' All of the sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. The mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. Because violence begins in the nursery--one can raise children into violence." 

From a peace prize acceptance speech given by Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking

Sickening

Too little, too late. Today, Ohio Governor John Kasich signed an executive order cracking down on the ownership of exotic animals like those killed in Zanesville this week. This story made me physically ill. Why  Terry Thompson was allowed to buy so many wild animals that he obviously could not afford to keep is bewildering and maddening. Ohio, like many other states, has some of the laxest regulations on the keeping of exotic animals as pets. While this horrifying incident has forced lawmakers into hotshotting legislation to keep this from happening again, it's obviously too late for the wild animals who were shot because they were being wild animals. Of course, blame should be placed on the idiot whose greed placed these creatures where they should never have been, but since he's conveniently dead too, then the onus should be on lawmakers whose job it is to protect us from our own stupidity. When I saw the pictures of these beautiful creatures, dead and stacked up on the lawn like bags of mulch, I seriously wanted to throw up. And even though experts from the Columbus Zoo and the a statement from the Humane Society of the U.S. assured us that shooting to kill was the proper course of action, given the lack of daylight and the frightened state of the animals, in order to protect humans, I was still not comforted. How could this have happened? Of course, had it occurred here in Texas, residents would have interpreted warnings of exotic animals on the loose as a call to arms and grandmothers and children would have joined in on some "good huntin'." Sometimes I am truly ashamed of my own species. It's no wonder the stories of bear attacks, mountain lion maulings and shark bites have increased in frequency in the news lately. Maybe it's God or Nature, or whoever you believe in, trying to tell us to leave the animals where they are and quit destroying them and their homes. I am sickened by what humans have done to other animals (yes, we are animals too) just because we CAN. There's no reason anymore for having circuses and zoos either. I don't need to go see a panther or an elephant in person to know that one exists. We have a new thing called "the internet" where you can see videos and pictures in high definition color of these creatures where they should be: in the wild. Seeing one chained up in a small enclosure decorated to look like the wild environment they belong in does not fool me into thinking I've seen one in the wild. Leave the animals were they belong and quit bothering them. Greed and ignorance will destroy creatures we are supposed to share this planet with, not manipulate for profit. I hope this nightmare strangles all businesses that profit from the existence of exotic animals, including circuses and some zoos. And don't even get me started on idiots who hunt for entertainment who I believe should meet their adversaries on equal grounds. Bear hunting may not be so much "fun" if the hunter were enclosed with the 7-foot tall grizzly with 8-inch daggers on his paws. THAT, I'd pay to see.

Black is the New Black

What Secret Asian Girl is (Finally) Reading: The Help

After two attempts, and threatened by a 400+ customer waiting list, I finally checked out The Help by Katherine Stockett,...and read it. No reason not to, other than being too busy. Once I got into it, it only took me a few days. No surprise that I really liked it. It's not the best historical fiction novel I've ever read, but it was easily read and emotional without being weepy. I did cry during the movie, which closely followed the book, only leaving out a few side stories. I love the plight of the underdog and, with a few exceptions, there's no more trod upon than the African-American woman, especially pre-1970. This is a story about strong women, both black and white, who had the courage to go against the tide, fearing not only the wrath of their fellow citizens but also the disdain of their peers. Although the heroism of this story is often aimed at Aibileen, the nose-to-the-grindstone maid who found strength in just taking one step forward each day after the death of her son, or Minnie, the smart-mouthed maid who struggled with knowing when to stop talking back or Skeeter, the reluctant Southern belle who saw injustice and dared to speak of it, I saw the most courage elsewhere. The bravest character, to me, was Celia Foote, a woman who, unlike the others, didn't enjoy the comfort of fitting in anywhere, but who continued to stand at the door of the party hoping to be invited in. While the others found sympathy in their friends or at home, Celia stood alone in her hooker clothes and fake boobs, not really sure why she was shunned. In the end, Celia became a stronger woman while losing the least. I closed the last page on this book wondering what happened to Skeeter and the others as the 1960's ended. The rest of the world changed but, as so often happens, not for those whose lives might be affected most. I'm also surprised at how white people have embraced this book, since it paints a not-so-flattering picture of how some attitudes were - and, in my opinion, continue to be. As a woman living in the South, I still see women who won't change their hairstyle without the expressed permission of their husband, or who decline lunch invitations because they have to rush home to fix a meal for their spouse. I'm curious about those women, and why they devalue themselves or need permission from someone else to live their lives. I can't decide if I'm more a Skeeter, who is unafraid to write what I think or a Minnie who speaks before thinking. Probably a combination of both. The fact that both these women can even be thought of as combined is a testament to how far we've come...and how far we have yet to go. I'd like to think I share both but I will tell you this: I have never burned my chicken.

Pure Fantasy

Wildfires - Labor Day 2011

Montgomery County wildfires, 3 days old, as seen 
from my neighborhood.

Back to School

The start of another school year brings back memories - of my own, and also of sending Tristan off to a new year, each one more dreaded than the last. I wonder if, in retrospect, he will look back upon those times as I do and think, 
"Those were the easy years."

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Caleb's Crossing

While I may have put off reading Caleb's Crossing because I was intimidated by its Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Geraldine Brooks, the novel's fascinating story drew me back in and I'm really glad. It's about Caleb Cheeshahteamuck, the first Native American to graduate from Harvard. What makes it unusual is the year: 1665. It's told from the perspective of a minister's daughter, Bethia, whose own quest for knowledge and desire to attend a school - any school, much less Harvard, will go unanswered. Not even progressive thinking at a soon-to-be major university will bypass the limitations imposed on her sex at this time in history. Acknowledging this, Bethia befriends Caleb and encourages him to explore her society's culture, religion and comparatively vast resources. She tells Caleb that by becoming educated, he can help his own people in ways that he can't imagine. He agrees, realizing that setting aside his Indian upbringing in favor of an uncertain future puts his own culture -and his personal safety - at risk. I found the story to be inspirational and uplifting, especially since Caleb Cheeshahteamuck was indeed a real person, a member of the Wampanoag tribe living on the American eastern seaboard in the 17th century, who did graduate from Harvard in 1665. The other characters, except for well-known scholars and leaders of the time, are fictional. Bethia's character adds a measure of irony as her aid and support for Caleb's (and other's) dream eclipsed her own dream of a formal education, which she was forced to gain by stealthy means: she took on the position of an indentured servant to help pay for her brother's schooling and continued to work there even after her brother realized that school was not his forté and left. By choosing a menial job in the Buttery, Bethia found she could listen to lectures through the walls of the next door classroom. She ends up every bit as educated and knowledgeable as the men in her life but sadly, is neither recognized nor compensated for it. As a woman, her options remain limited, but she is savvy enough to know that by supporting Caleb, and others like him, she improves the world for her children. This is one of the few books I've read that made me cry at the end, as much for the characters lives as for the conclusion of the story. I wondered, as I read the book, if the "Crossing," part of the title referred to Caleb's trip from the safety and innocence of his island to the intimidating world of foreign education and all the global implications of knowing what you didn't before or if it meant his returning to the roots from which he was born and accepting the part of you that will always be there - and to which you will always return - even when you know there are other possibilities.  I think the term "Crossing" does not necessarily imply going to a better place but perhaps to an inescapable realization of your true self. All the other stuff is fanfare and flourishes.  Wonderful read.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

Ham Solo

No reason...just made me laugh.