Samantha The She-Devil Cat

It wouldn't be Halloween without my telling you the story of Samantha The Demon Cat, who still haunts me. She was not a cat. Oh, she looked like a cat, and people often mistook her for a cat, but she was not cat. She was a demon straight from the bowels of Hades. She was very, very wicked and she was a drug addict as well. I didn't own her, she owned me. She let me live with her, as long as I fed her, gave her all my attention -- 24/7 -- and gave her drugs. I was her pusher, I was her enabler, I was her co-dependent. Our relationship was dysfunctional and pathological, and she had complete control over my every waking moment.

Oh, yes, Samantha the She-Devil Cat.

Samantha was very possessive of me. She insisted on being close to me at all times. If I went from one room to another, she would follow me. If I sat down, she would sit next to me. When I went to bed, she climbed in with me. Often when I fell asleep, she would howl like a banshee to wake me up. One night, in sheer exhaustion, I put her into a closet, only to wake up an hour later to find her lying next to me. I put her back into the closet, and pulled my heavy beveled glass coffee table in front of the closet door. It wouldn't budge, and it held the closet door tightly shut. I woke up an hour later with Samantha next to me, sound asleep, the coffee table pushed out of the way and the closet door wide open. The Hounds of The Baskervilles had nothing on Samantha. She would have made mincemeat of them.

She was jealous of anyone who came near me, and several of my family and friends still bear the scars to prove it. If I spoke on the phone with anyone, Samantha would pace back and forth bellowing, "Oh, yah, oh yah, oh yah, OH YAH..." People would ask me, "What the h*ll is that!?"

Funny you should ask...

I loved Samantha, though. She was not like any creature I had ever known. There are nights when I'm lying in bed and I can still feel her cold nose on my foot, and hear her rustling at the end of my bed. If any living creature would have found a way to come back, it would have been Samantha.

The Seven Beauties...

This photograph is considered scandalous. Yes it is. In the 21st Century when anything goes, and we have seen the private parts of almost every celebrity, either in movies or in print, this photograph has caused a huge sensation. But, it's not for the reason you may think. This photograph is considered shocking because it is a photo of plus-sized models. Yes! Plus-sized, as in larger than size 4. These women are considered chubby, plump, portly, large -- fat. Can you believe it?

The woman on the left is considered a "normal" woman -- used in advertising to represent "real" women. She is the image that advertisers use to sell products to women. Women who don't fit this template don't buy the products. So they change their bodies to fit the standard, and develop eating disorders in the process. The woman on the right is a "plus-size" model and is considered fat. Many modelling agencies -- including Janice Dickinson's agency -- refuse to hire plus-size models such as this woman.

In the movie "The Devil Wears Prada", Nigel snootily informs Andrea that they have nothing that would fit her, because she is a size 6, and all their samples are from 0 to 4. What is a size 0 anyway? Is that for someone who has no body? Designer fashions stop at size 10 or 12. If you wear a size 14, good luck in trying to find designer fashions. When I was 18 years old, I weighed 120 pounds and wore a size 10. By today's standards that is plus-sized, because the sizes have been reduced, but unfortunately women's bodies have not. The average Canadian or American woman is 5 ft. 4 in. tall and weighs 140 pounds. In other words -- plus size! And believe me, no one will ever mistake me for the woman on the left.

Let's get real and start celebrating our curves again. When we came into this world, God did not provide us with an air brush.

Adjourning Sine Die

It would appear the swine flu H1N1 virus is cutting a swath through our office, which means I don't have time for my favorite activity -- blogging -- at the moment. I am taking up all the slack for all the overload work. I have all sorts of ideas for posts and no time to do them *sigh* and no time to visit my favorite blogs.

I am of two minds about the H1N1 vaccine. I believe it is probably necessary, but at the same time, I wonder how safe it is. Do I want to be on the receiving end of an "uh-oh" moment? As in ,"Uh-oh, we didn't know it had those side effects..." Maybe I'll wait.

Have a wonderful week, everyone, and don't have too much fun out there without me.

Amelia Earhart Or Irene Bolam...?

The story of Amelia Earhart is one that has always fascinated me, and now there is a new movie about her, and I can hardly wait to see it. To me, the really interesting part of her story begins when she disappeared on her final approach to Howland Island in the South Pacific, and no trace of her or her plane has ever been found. There are all sorts of theories as to what happened to her, and why she was unable to locate Howland Island. Some of the theories seem plausible, and other stretch the limits of the imagination. One theory that I had not heard until recently is that Earhart did in fact make it back to the United States, and lived the rest of her life as a woman named Irene Bolam.

(Click to enlarge)

Photographs of the two women were superimposed on each other, and it was claimed that they were such a close match, even the tear ducts were the same. It's much like the story of Anna Anderson, who claimed to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia, the only surviving member of the Imperial House of Romanov, who were assassinated by the Bolsheviks. Anderson's story has since been proven false, and I believe the claim that Irene Bolam was actually Amelia Earhart is false as well. But it is an interesting theory, and adds a whole new twist to the mystery.

One day Earhart's plane -- if there is anything left of it -- will be located somewhere at the bottom of the South Pacific Ocean, much the same way the "Titanic" was discovered. Until then, it's always fun to speculate about what really happened to these larger than life people. Folks still continue to spot Elvis filling his car's gas tank at a local gas station. Of course, he still looks the same as he did 32 years ago. And Andy Kaufman is alive and well, and living quietly somewhere as Tony Clifton.

Somehow these implausible and impossible theories are always much more fun, though, aren't they? It is said that truth is stranger than fiction, but that's not true at all. Oh, by the way, have you heard? When NASA crashed a probe onto the moon a couple of weeks ago looking for water, they found Bigfoot living up there. Who knew!?

The Joy Of Laughter

There is nothing more relaxing and refreshing than a good belly laugh. Laughter reduces stress, relaxes muscles, helps refresh the air in our lungs, lowers blood pressure, and releases nature's painkillers (endorphins). It has also been found that laughter sparks our creativity and rejuvenates our mind and soul.

Laughter is sometimes called our "internal jogging" because it helps strengthen our hearts. For people who are not able to get regular cardiac activity, laughing is wonderful exercise. It aids in circulation and delivers oxygen and other nutrients to the rest of the body. And, believe it or not, women receive more benefit from laughing than do men. I think that is one of the reasons women always seem to fall in love with men who can make them laugh.

Laughing is wonderful, but did you know it also helps your immune system? Yes it does. It increases the natural killer cells that attack viruses and even tumors. Laughing also wards off colds because it increases immunoglobulin in saliva, and has a cleansing effect.

Laughter is the universal language, and a great ice-breaker. Often groups of people will not share the same ideas, and that can create tension, especially over the long term. Most of us find ourselves in that situation from time to time. I work closely with a co-worker who never laughs. It is all business, all the time. There is no sense of humor, or sense of the ridiculous in this person, and unfortunately as a result, my co-worker suffers from high blood pressure. I am just the opposite, and I love to laugh. However, there are times when I feel as if I'm doing something subversive when I laugh. But never fear -- that doesn't stop me. We have a new young doctor who has the most wonderful, infectious giggle. Hearing him laugh makes me giggle too. His laugh is ... just what the doctor ordered.

No one has ever discovered the negative side effects to laughing -- it's free, and it's good for you. Find every opportunity you can, and laugh.

Rockwell, Images Of An Illustrator

There is a wonderful article in Vanity Fair this month about Norman Rockwell, and in particular about how he set up the compositions for his paintings. He photographed his subjects first, and now there is an extensive collection of his photographs, which I think would be as interesting to see as his paintings.

This is one of my favorite Rockwell paintings. The little girl is comparing herself unfavorably to the actress Jane Russell, whom she sees as beautiful and glamorous. But the viewer can see that the little girl will be far more beautiful when she is grown up. I like this picture because the little girl reminds me very much of Marigold.

Most people are familiar with "The Gossip". Rockwell used friends and family members as subjects for his paintings, and you can see the same folks throughout many of his works. I have never been a huge fan of Norman Rockwell's art. He really was more of an illustrator than an artist, but as an illustrator, no would could outshine him. He created images that today are referred to as "Rockwellian" or "kitschy", because they seemed to reflect a perfect way of life that perhaps did not really exist. But if you look closely at his paintings, you can also see images of reality. In his painting "Saying Grace", if you look through the curtains covering the diner window, you can see the diner is located in an industrial area.

Photography is very much a form of art, and I think it would be interesting to see Rockwell's photographs. Somehow they would give a whole new dimension to his paintings.

The Story Of Frank Paul

The other night I watched a movie that has just been released on DVD called "The Soloist", starring Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey, Jr. The movie is based on the true story of Steve Lopez (Robert Downey, Jr.) who is a reporter for the Los Angeles Times. He discovers a Juilliard trained musical prodigy, Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx) living on the streets in downtown Los Angeles. Ayers had developed paranoid schizophrenia while at Juilliard, and he ended up alone and homeless. Both Robert Downey, Jr. and Jamie Foxx's performances were wonderful, even though the movie seemed to lack direction.

The most gut-wrenching scenes in the movie were the scenes of the hundreds of homeless people, with nowhere to go, no hope, and no one who seemed to really care. Most of them suffered from some sort of debilitating mental illness. I have never liked the term "mental illness" because it seems to imply a psychological connection rather than a physical connection. I believe most so-called mental illnesses are really a form of physical brain disease, and should be treated as such. There should be no stigma attached to having a "brain disease", any more than there is to having heart disease. But here we are in the 21st Century, still stigmatizing these poor folks. In the 1980s, the policies in many countries were to close the hospitals where people could receive the treatment they needed, and most of these folks who were powerless to help themselves were forgotten. The idea was to help people get better, learn new coping and life skills, and gain some independence. Unfortunately, we now see them now sleeping under piles of rags, in doorways and on park benches. Most of us walk past them, trying not to look at them, or to make eye contact.

A few years ago there was a Mi'kmaq Aboriginal man by the name of Frank Paul who used to panhandle outside the liquor store next to my local supermarket. Something about him touched my psyche -- or my heart -- if you will. He looked people in the eyes, and there was a whole world of communication in his expression. He appeared sad and ashamed of how low he had fallen, he had a certain dignity that I have rarely seen, and he seemed to be saying, "Don't look at me as I appear to be; I am really more like you than you realize. What has happened to me can happen to anyone, and I am embarrassed that it has happened to me." He also had a thoughtful look of gratitude when anyone gave him money, and I had the feeling that if the tables were turned, he would be more than generous in return. One day, Mr. Paul was arrested for being drunk in a public place. A sergeant at the city drunk tank refused to allow him to stay, and Mr. Paul was dragged to a police wagon and then dumped in the back alley, where he died of hypothermia.

Later on, Vancouver Police Chief Jim Chu issued a news release apologizing to Mr. Paul's family and the community. "We deeply regret the loss of life caused by the mistakes our officers made, who had a duty of care for Mr. Paul," said Chu. "Since that tragic event, we have strengthened and modified certain policies, our procedures and training have been reinforced, and we continue to work closely with our public health partners to further safeguard the lives and well being of those in our care."

While I was watching "The Soloist" the other night, I kept thinking of Mr. Paul. What talents did he possess? Could he have been a wonderful writer, artist, musician? Maybe with the right opportunities, he would have been a great diplomat, or a doctor, or a teacher. Would he have ever had the opportunity to find out? Well, certainly not on the streets of Vancouver, that's for sure.

Homelessness should not exist; it is unacceptable. And none of us really knows if it could happen to us, or someone we love. There but for the grace of God goes any one of us.

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes...

"You guys said we did this for a show...!"

Gotcha...!

Out of the mouths of babes.

What is wrong with people who exploit their children in order to become famous? One of the very first things children learn is, when they do something bad, they must suffer the consequences. But, what about when their parents do something bad, and use the child as an accomplice? Parents are supposed to be the big people. Now this poor little fellow - Falcon Heene -- is being used as a pawn, and he's being paraded on every television talk show from Larry King Live to Good Morning America. He's very confused and probably a little frightened, and he knows he did nothing wrong. As the days progressed, we could see the anxiety building in this little fellow, until he was sick to his stomach -- live and in living color -- on morning television. And then his father, the redoubtable Richard Heene, actually blamed the little boy, saying he was confused. For that alone, the father should be charged.

Where are Child Protective Services? Don't they have them in the U.S.? Why are they allowing children such as this little boy and the Gosselin children to be put in the spotlight until they squirm with apprehension and fear?

The sheriff in Fort Collins Colorado is expected to charge Mr. and Mrs. Heene with felony charges. They deserve it, but now their children will be faced with more anxiety that Mommy and Daddy are bad people and may end up in prison -- just what every child needs.

This would all end of people would just stop watching reality shows that involve children. "Nanny 911", "Supernanny", "Wife Swap", "Jon and Kate + Eight", "18 Kids and Counting" ... and so on. We get to watch these children throwing tantrums, being potty trained, and all the other normal things that children do, and it's supposed to be entertainment. The producers of these shows are to blame, the parents are to blame, and the people who watch these shows are to blame. Would any of you folks want your children involved in something like this, and exposed to the whole world on a day-to-day basis? These children have no voice in the matter. How far does it have to go before the authorities step in and put an end to it? Someone is making a lot of money off this, and they're using children to do it. Make it stop...!

I now relinquish my soap box and return you to your regularly scheduled broadcast.

Interesting Times

My favorite thing to do at this time of the year is to go for a long walk, crunching leaves. Today I plan to do just that. When I come home, I am going to make some of my famous killer delicious beef stew, have a cup of tea, and visit all of your fabulous blogs. Did I hear someone whispering back there, "She needs to get a life?" Well, I suppose it's true. My life can be rather dull and uneventful at times. What is that ancient Chinese proverb, "May you live in interesting times." One should be happy to live in calm, serene and uninteresting times.

This is a little pencil sketch I did a few years ago of the fallen leaves. I loved the colors. In the meantime, I am going to leave you for today (get it? leave you -- oh, never mind...) with one of my favorite pieces of music, "L'autunno" from Vivaldi's "Four Seasons". I hope you get outdoors today and kick some leaves.

The Black Widow Spider And The Black Knight

For several years I have had an idea -- a suggestion -- that would cut the back log of work in our organization and would also significantly impact the turn-around time of patient care from a couple of weeks to a day or so at most. And for several years I have pitched my idea to the Black Widow Spider, only to be told, "Oh, no, no, that would never work, uh-uh, can't be done. Nope. It won't work. This is the way we've always done it, and your suggestion just can't be done."

Oh, okay...

Enter The Black Knight. I thought, here is an intelligent person who perhaps might see the advantage in at least trying my suggestion to find out if it might possibly -- maybe -- actually work. I sent her an e-mail, I requested a meeting with her and with all the people who are involved in the process. We met, and once again I pitched my idea.

The Black Widow Spider spoke up, "No, no, no, it can't be done. It will never work."

The Black Knight, "Why wouldn't it work? Shouldn't we at least try it to find out?"

Yes! Finally -- the voice of reason. I silently cheered The Black Knight. This is why this person was hired. The new broom sweeps clean, as my mother used to say. Here is some someone with some intelligence and common sense.

The new process I suggested was implemented. It worked immediately. It took a backlog of work that was chronically backed up for two or three weeks -- or more -- and brought it current, and it remains current. And not only has it eased the burden of work in general, it has directly affected patient care in a positive way and it has greatly lessened the stress on the support staff. Of all the changes that have been made recently, it has produced the most significant results with the greatest impact, and for that I am pleased. For several years I have given the idea a lot of thought, and I knew it would work. It has seemed to me to be a "no-brainer", as they say.

Yesterday I discovered -- quite by accident -- that The Black Knight is taking credit for my idea, and is being supported by The Black Widow Spider. At at off-site management meeting, The Black Knight received kudos for her (my) suggestion that significantly reduced the turn-around time in the backlog of work regarding patient care.

It is always impossible afterwards to speak up, "But that was my idea...!" At that point, we have to remain silent. But, I know it was my modest contribution, even if the credit goes to someone else. The Black Knight may even believe it was her idea. Memory is a strange thing. We sometimes edit and prune the things we don't choose to believe, and embelish the things we do until we believe it ourselves. But it was my idea, and I pushed for it until it was done.

"Lives of great men all remind us, we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leave behind us, footprints on the sands of time."

... Henry Wadsworth Longfellow