Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

When I called to make Lark’s appointment (R.I.P. Little Fluffy One) at the veterinarian I also made an appointment to get my Kitten Children their long overdue vaccinations. For one, brief, completely unhinged moment I considered taking them all in together. But realizing that Lark’s prognosis would probably not be good, and also taking into the account the ridiculous logistics of taking one really sick lil’ dog who deserved my full attention and two Kitten Children who HATE riding in the car, I made an appointment for them today.

I think I’ve reached my medical office saturation point for the time being. Not all of these visits have been bad – and only one completely heartbreaking – but between appointments of my own, the appointment with Lark yesterday, taking Shirleen to a pain clinic yesterday (for a procedure with REALLY LONG NEEDLES – I still thought it was fascinating to watch – no offense Shirleen – I know HAVING it was not fun), then I took Shirleen BACK to the pain clinic today (after which, I thought I might strangle or bitch-slap someone, grab them by the collar and scream, “GIVE HER SOME MEDICATION PLEASE!!!! THIS WOMAN HAS A PAIN THRESHOLD UNLIKE ANYTHING I’VE EVER SEEN AND YET SHE’S HARDLY SLEPT IN MONTHS AND MONTHS.” She’s frustrated and angry, but much more patient than I am). Perhaps this is because during special nerve injection procedure, which I watched from the doorway of the “operating” room, I unexpectedly saw the visage of the Virgin Mary in one of the myriad x-rays of her scar tissue and back hardware. Seriously. I’ve certainly never been a disciple of any religious icon, but I almost loudly exclaimed, “A face, a FACE!!!” It’s THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY! LIGHT CANDLES!! GENUFLECT!!! I showed great restraint, however, and did not say ANYTHING until she and I were alone at which point she responded that perhaps we should all now worship her butt, though technically the scar tissue is a smidgen higher than that. Since she’s in wretched pain and horrifically sleep deprived we can give her the benefit of the doubt. So perhaps the Virgin Mary apparition in her scar tissue gives her miraculously high pain tolerance. Why not.

OHHH – speaking of keisters, back to the five zillionth medical appointment, which was this morning with the Kitten Children. The first adventure was putting them together into the soft-sided animal carrier.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but since she’s not watching me type this, I am going to tell you a little secret (perhaps I should say a LARGE secret): Fiona Maura MacArthur, the younger of my babies, has a really substantial heinie. What’s more, as she grew she developed this hanging, baggy-skin, belly thing (they say it’s a calico proclivity). To top it all off, she has a wee little head. The amalgamation of these particular characteristics, to tell the truth, causes her to look like an optical illusion from some vantage points. The fact that she’s slightly bow-legged only enhances the effect.

I’m not being cruel; even my MOTHER calls her “fat-butt” (but in a very sweet tone so that ostensibly Fiona does not catch on). Besides, I relate.

For those of you who do not know me personally, no matter what my actual “size,” I have ALWAYS been “pear-shaped.” Oh, YES. As a matter of fact, more than once the jaunty tune, “I like Big Butts,” has lovingly been dedicated to me at a karaoke bar (one must admire the exquisite musical stylings of Sir Mix-A-Lot). It’s one of my life theme songs (everyone has theme songs for their lives whether they know it or not). Another of my life theme songs is “Mahbootay” by Laura Love. It’s an an insightful, astute commentary on the sizable derrière. I had the privilege of seeing her live at a folk and bluegrass festival a number of years ago. I had her autograph Shum Ticky with a fond inscription to my “big ol’ bootay.” In case you don’t believe me:

That day Janet asked me to grab a Lucy Kaplansky CD for her and get it autographed (since I was getting one, too). I had it signed, “To Janet, who was to lazy to come down the hill and get this signed herself.” I’m funny like that.

Anyhooooo, I suspected that Fiona had gained a couple of pounds this year (which – to me, anyway – feels substantial in a cat). I felt like BeBe (that’s Beatrice Alessandra Gatto, remember) was maintaining her lithe figure. I put them both in the carrier with GREAT DIFFICULTY, partly because they knew something was up (and were thus thwarting my well-intentioned efforts) and also because it was rather a tight squeeze. Nevertheless, I think that BeBe (who abhors car rides the most) was still more calm with Fiona in close proximity.

Then, when we got to the vet and went into the examination room, extracting the Kitten Children from the bag naturally proved to be rather a battle. But one by one they were weighed, had their temperatures taken (anally – BOY THEY LOVE THAT – I’ve tried that procedure on BeBe myself and am happy to leave it to the professionals whenever possible). They had their injections and nose spray vaccinations – I love that most of these now last for three years. They only need the FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis) vaccine every year by nasal spray. They really were very good Kitten Children. A little selective hissing and twitching, but that was it.

Then, after we’d conversed about various medical issues such as the acronyms and placement of the assorted vaccinations, we discussed Fiona’s weight. Yes, indeed, she’s gained two or so pounds and is borderline overweight. Just like me, she will always have a posterior of significant proportions no matter what her size, but I need to keep an eye on the weight issue. OR I could let her get corpulent, repeat the jojoba oil debacle and start calling her “Shorty Greasy Spot Spot.”

But the very best moment was when, after our intelligent medical discourse, I mentioned something about how Fiona had always had a large rump. To this the vet responded – OH YES SHE DID – “Ah – she has a Badonkadonk Butt.” That’s by far the best diagnosis I’ve heard in a long time (PERHAPS ever). Well, if I hear that someone has actually been diagnosed with “Hot-Dog Fingers” that might run a close second.

I imagine if I were a tad more “Honkey Tonk” I might have to add that Trace Adkins ditty to my list of life anthems.

Hmm. My wind seems to be back, and it’s LONG.

Oh – P.S. Please imagine that every time in the above post when it says “today” it actually means yesterday and when I’ve written “yesterday” it’s really “the day before yesterday.” “Last week” is still “last week,” and a number of years ago… I think you get the picture.

Farewell, Sweet Little Lark (1990 – 2007).

I’m sorry if I let you hurt longer then was necessary. I didn’t know you had breast cancer. I didn’t know you were dehydrated, too, on top of your other symptoms because you kept using the “pee pads.” I’m so very sorry.

This week I’ve done some things I never thought I’d have to do alone. Thank you for putting up with what was undoubtedly at least partially misguided attempts to minister to your needs. Bless you for seeming unfazed in the car as we drove to the vet and as they examined you. I came back after they put the IV in and I held you while they injected the medication into the tube. You were still so calm; you must have been hurting. Your tiny head dropped right to my shoulder. It was so fast; I found great solace in that. I’ve seen death, but I’ve never been through that experience before.

I believe you had a good life. Rest in peace, wee little puppy.

It’s still a mystery. All of the sudden there are nuts and bolts ALL OVER the back patio. Oh – and one hook-shaped thingy (the scientific term, I’m telling you).

It did rain, I believe, but that is NOT the saying. And not a canine or feline in sight (well – in the YARD).

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin…
– William Shakespeare (Troilus and Cressida, Act III Scene iii)

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I found out today that my great-uncle Ron received a preliminary cancer diagnosis – evidently widespread – insidious and everywhere. He’s only seventy-two.

This is the man who, among so many generous acts throughout life, battled a vicious gander for us when we were kids (I’m not kidding – the thing was savage beast). After herding it away from my cousins (technically they’re my Mother’s cousins, but we were all the same age, so we never could figure out if they were “removed” or whatnot), my siblings and I, the blasted thing continued its mad onslaught. So Uncle Ron, in defense of life and limb, grabbed the thing by the neck and started to swing it about towards the pond we were standing by. Surprisingly, the momentum took him all the way around in a circle which ended with a perfect backwards landing (what’s the opposite of a belly flop?) by Uncle Ron and the Gander INTO THE DRINK. It has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. We’ve said for over twenty years now that if we had footage of the whole spectacle that we’d have won a “funniest videos” show hands down.

All our love, support and good thoughts are with you, My Idahoan Extended Family. I will honour you, too, Uncle Ron, on LIVESTRONG® Day from our Nation’s Capitol. It’s no doubt an honour on which you’d pass. And I certainly would opt for a shorter list (okay – a nonexistent list) of those who I love who are battling, who have survived or who have succumbed to cancer.

Oh no I di’nt.

Alas, I did. I put it right up front. Julianne, ever-cute spouse of my baby brother, Lil’ David (I cannot say more, or I’D HAVE TO KILL YOU), is THIRTY YEARS OLD TODAY! Yes, this very day. Huzzah and birthday greetings, Julianne! I hope you have a wondrous day full of joy and dazzling, splendiferous, unequaled grandeur.

Now, a confession. It was my idea to send you thirty things (preferably from the dollar store). At least MOM shopped for the items, not me. I’d have included items like axle grease and a package of four vinyl flower-bedecked floor tiles and one place mat (with a Southwestern theme) and a baton (WITH tinsel-covered ends) and a package of fifty-three fire rescue squad plastic figures and some cologne (yuuummmm) and some really large faux orange dahlias and a wooden spoon (?) and definitely a few glitter-encrusted Tchotchkes badly painted in a third-world country. Oh – and some socks.

SHE thought that perhaps you should actually receive some items that were vaguely utilitarian. Oh well.

I don’t care how old you are; everyone should have toys. And I have now experienced the toy that every single World citizen should own. It’s the Gazillion Bubbles® Jumbo Bubble Machine made by Funrise Toys®. My Mother purchased it at Costco, which is the best way to go, because not only do you get a great price there, but you get BONUSES, too (I love bonuses).

It was a present for Leif, who was having a sleep-over at our house a week or so ago. We set it up on the outside on the patio. This device purportedly would make “a gazillion bubbles” while making ENORMOUS bubbles within bubbles. Mind you, I am very skeptical of exaggerated product claims, but once we successfully set the thing up and turned it on IT STARTED MAKING A GAZILLION BUBBLES. Huge bubbles, small bubbles, bubbles within bubbles – streams and streams of bubbles.

Suffice it to say, Leif and I were BOTH vastly impressed. Obviously our mission was to destroy as many bubbles as possible. Leif, at one point, decided that we should each have “ten powers.” However, when he to his sixth power, he decided that we should have “six powers.” I opted for five – my first power being “poking” (okay – not so violent, but nonetheless effective). Leif’s moves had a real Taekwando flavour to them – very athletic. But lest you think I was PURELY wimpy, one of my powers was a VERY cool two-handed swooping move.

Without a doubt, we had a BLAST. Leif took the Gazillion Bubbles® Jumbo Bubble Machine home (I tried to be brave, but as the machine got farther and farther away, a single, noiseless tear trailed down my face).

Leif, Anders & Cousin Isaac Take on the Bubbles with WEAPONS
(At Janet and Erik’s house, DAMN THEM)

I told my Mom that we need to have a Jumbo Bubble Machine at our house. I stressed that it was VERY IMPORTANT to our health and well-being. Also, owning this apparatus is essential to our future as SCIENTISTS (what with the surface tension and such). I hope she grasps how serious this issue is.

Thanks, Jared and Nancy, for the picture. Credit is better than permission, yes?

Just because one determines they have designed a medical strategy that incorporates Universal Precautions and therefore have designated it as a “sterile surgical” procedure does not mean that it should be performed.

In my bathroom.

By me.

On my own face.

I am not a doctor, nor have I ever played one on TV. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever played a physician on stage either – a man, a pirate, severally mentally insane individuals (type-casting), and a myriad of other lively characters – but no doctor.

I did have a Fisher-Price® doctor’s kit, but I don’t know where it is, and the one they sell now looks like cheap knock-off crap.

There are things in life which you’ve endured that you manage to bury deeply in the layers of your subconscious – somewhere beneath the stratum containing your fifth-grade haircut but not as deeply interred as the horrific and disturbing bowel trauma incident (DO NOT EVEN ASK – I BEG OF YOU). Then, in one reckless, thoughtless moment, someone RIPS that memory from the innermost sanctity of your dark, sheltered psyche. And your life is never the same.

This happened on Sunday. Spontaneously, with no forewarning, Shirleen’s kids (her biologically-derived adolescents and the select handful of other “adopted” teenagers – it’s a long story) burst into the theme song from a show, the memory of which I’d suppressed years and years ago in preservation of that last vestiges of my sanity. Oh, THE HORROR, THE HORROR!!! And what was this abomination? Bananas in Pyjamas. Oh, yes, BANANAS IN PYJAMAS:

Bananas in Pyjamas on a FARM? CREEPY!

And there I was, having neatly tucked these animated fruits with the impudence to don sleepwear, grown on the herbaceous, cultigenic plants of the genus Musa, into the most secret recesses of my inner self, when a few bars of a wretched theme song dragged them right back into the cold, unforgiving present. Damn you, TYLER, SARAH AND BEKAH – DAMN YOU!!!

And here’s a disturbing tidbit: THEY STILL EXIST IN THE MAINSTREAM – well, in Australia, at least. Nothing against all y’all Aussies – we certainly have our lion’s share of crap TV in the states – but Bananas in Pyjamas are really scary. The “main characters” – hmm, who are they? WAIT – BANANAS IN PYJAMAS – have written a poem for our gratification:

Is that you, B1?
It is, B2!
You look just like me!
And I look just like you.

A moment of silence, please, because I think we’ll be able to hear all four Lake Poets turn over and VOMIT in their graves.

I will admit this, there was some artwork on the site that I did find rather brilliant:

Thank you, Eve, for giving some semblance of dignity to these fruits.

Henrike Hirsch (which I presume rhymes with “cherry” auf Deutsch, co-founder of the LIVESTRONG® European Cycling Team, an International collaborative fundraising endeavor raising funds for the Lance Armstrong Foundation, now has her very own website, Rise to the Challenge:

Henrike, a cancer survivor herself, has raised money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation for five years. This is also her second year as a International Mentor for the LIVESTRONG® Challenge in Austin. Here she as as International Mentor (she has THE WHOLE WORLD in her hands):

Henrike is the ONLY One Brave Enough to Wear Yellow

This year, as part of her fundraising effort, she is asking who possibly can to donate $5 to her campaign (in honour of her fifth year as an LAF fundraiser). Please consider donating this nominal amount to a very worthy cause.

And don’t forget Mic! This is team effort. Please remember that we need you as a a link in the chain.

Go HENRIKE!

Ah yes – Henrike also speaks almost perfect English – she even studied a year in Wisconsin – CHEESE-land – and seven thousand other languages (CURSE these multi-lingual Ìber-brainiacs!!! In a nice way, of course). Furthermore, she is DEUTSCH, which is SUPER TOLL!!! If that doesn’t mean what I remember it means, then forgive me; I recollect that it’s a high compliment (something along the lines of “cool”). If not, just let me know, Henrike!