I'm Still Kicking... - charlee's Blog - Tehachapi News

Death Wish

I always say that I have driven the 58 between Bakersfield and Tehachapi so many times, I could do it blind. Well, I got to prove it last night. I left work looking forward to home, where my nice warm cats, a mug of homemade soup and a relaxing vodka tonic awaited me. Normally it takes me fifty minutes to make the commute. However, it became almost immediately apparent that my trip home would take a bit longer. The fog had thickened quickly after sundown, and upon reaching the foothills outside Bakersfield, the visibility was down to two or three car lengths ahead of me, and I knew I would have to drive more carefully.

Now, I have been driving in fog all my life, both back East and as a Tehachapi resident. And I must say, what bothers me the most about fog, especially in this state, is the moronic way people drive in it. They, not the fog, terrify me. Anyone with three brain cells should know that in fog, you SLOW DOWN. Yet, every time the fog gets thicker, the same people drive faster. It's like the increased humidity is temporarily rendering common sense inoperable. Last night, I could barely see the red flashing lights of a truck about four car lengths in front of me, and I slowed to about forty-five, pacing the truck. Behind me, headlights flashed at me to speed up. At least, I think they flashed; the car behind me was so close to my vehicle's rear end that I couldn't see the headlights. This guy was hell-bent to get around me. I think, also, that he was annoyed that he couldn't pass. Why couldn't he pass? Because he and I were in the right-hand lane, and there were so many cars flying past us on the left that he couldn't move over. When he finally hopped into the left lane and punched the gas, I got an earful of his horn as he hurried to catch up with the other idiots. I blew him a kiss in return. (Well, no, actually I threw my best bird at him, but the kiss sounded good.)

A few years ago, I stopped on my way down the hill to assist at a pileup so huge that the 58 freeway was closed in both directions for twelve hours. There were in excess of seventy (yes, 7-0) cars involved. And that gargantuan pileup was caused by...(wait for it) people driving too fast in the fog! It happens all the time, and still, Californians refuse to wise up and slow down. And then you wonder why the CHP closes the road for conditions that back East would not even merit a school delay. It's because Californians cannot seem to employ common sense when driving in less-than-optimal conditions. They can't be trusted not to kill each other on the road with their stupidity.

I can proudly say that I have never been involved in a fog-related collision. (Yes, I am knocking wood at this very second.) I plan to keep it that way, and to continue driving more slowly through the fog. I am certain that this will cause all those Andretti wanna-bes out there to try and invent new cuss words. I'm sorry that they have a death wish, but I would rather they would keep it to themselves. There are many other ways to commit suicide without taking anyone else along. Me, I just want to get home and feed my cats, and my family, in one piece.

Kitty Update

Hi there, Tehachapi bloggers! I am very happy to report that four of the subjects of my blog recently, Lacey, Dixie, Loki and Aria, have all been adopted! They are enjoying their new homes and families as I write this. Lacey and Loki were actually adopted by the same family, and so will continue their lives in each other's company, which is always nice for kitties who grew up together. Other STOP volunteers have also seen an increase in cat and kitten adoptions recently, which just goes to show that even when the economy sucks, the kindness of animal lovers still lives on.

I am so happy and proud to see so many Tehachapi residents opening their hearts to our foster babies in need of new homes. I am certain that these pets will give back the love they are given by their new families tenfold. And from what I have seen, our newly-adopted kids will be every bit as pampered as they were while in our care.

Thank you, Tehachapi, for the outpouring of love to our orphaned pets! Have a wonderful Christmas and a joyous New Year!

Saviors for a Tiny Kitten

larger view

On November 11th, at about 930 AM, I was preparing to turn right from Oak Street onto Rosedale/178, when I saw something that caused me to bite my knuckles so hard that I drew blood. A tiny black kitten was racing, terrified, between cars in the congested intersection, trying desperately to get out of the road to safety. I saw the poor little baby nearly become road pizza four times before I was able to park my car on the roadside, jump out and run into the road after him. To the credit of the other drivers on the street, most had slowed or stopped in an effort to avoid the kitten. I realized I was a much larger target to avoid, and hoped that if they had not seen the kitten, at least they couldn't miss seeing me. Still, my heart pounded as I chased after the little black furry racer.

Now, while this may sound insane to most people, this is nothing unusual for me. I have been doing pet rescue for years, primarily cats, and I have no qualm about crawling into sticky situations when the life of a pet is in jeopardy. I've shimmied inot drainpipes and I've even been known to climb ladders and scale roofs despite the fact that I am terrified of heights. But I realize that not everyone would go to these lengths for an animal, and especially one they do not know. On this particular morning, however, I was surprised. I was not the only one who was running into the intersection. A gentleman and a young lady were with me, and they actually reached the kitten before I did. When I finally caught up, the kitten had jumped into the wheel well of a stopped car, and he was sitting on top of the tire. The man and the lady were attempting to pull the kitten out, but he had his tiny claws glued to the rubber, and it was not easy to move him. I reached in and helped extricate him, and together the three of us pulled him to safety. I cradled him against me, and I could feel his little heart racing in terror. He couldn't have been more than five weeks old.

"He's really tiny," the lady noted. "What can we do with him?" the young man asked. I told them that I was an animal rescue volunteer, and that I would take the kitten with me; he would not have to go to the pound. Relieved, they bid me farewell and returned to their respective cars as I carried the kitten to mine. Wrapping him in my sweartshirt, his face protruding so he could see and breathe, I placed him on the back seat and drove home.

That was over three weeks ago, and I am happy to report that the little black kitten is doing wonderfully. I took him to our vet, who treated him for worms and informed me that the kitten was indeed less than five weeks old when we rescued him. That makes him about eight weeks old now. He is playful and affectionate and so much fun. I named him Indy. I am not sure if that is for Indiana Jones or the Indy 500; I think both fit him well. I have often thought of the kind lady and gentleman who stopped to help little Indy, and I've wished I could contact them to offer my thanks for their consideration for a tiny animal in desperate need. I'm sure they wonder how their rescue effort turned out, and so I hope they read this and know that Indy is thriving and ready for a forever home. He is safe with me until his new family finds him. If anyone is interested in adopting Indy, I can be reached on my Bakersfield.com blog, I'm Still Kicking; my blog name is ghostriter.

And for the two people who rescued Indy, you're welcome to contact me if you'd like to see him. Who knows? Maybe his forever home is with one of those who saved his life.

Searching for Sam Heath

Has anyone here on the Tehachapi blog heard from Sam recently? He is a frequent blogger both here and on the Bako blog, but none of his blog friends have heard from him since the beginning of November. He has also not answered his emails. This is unusual for him.

I know he lives alone, I think in Bodfish or Lake Isabella, somewhere up there. We are all concerned for him and I am hoping that someone here has a way to contact him other than email. If you do, could you do so and let us know if he is okay? Hopefully he simply went out of town and is having a great time somewhere.

Thanks...please comment if you have an answer.

My name is Aria

Hello, My name is Aria. My mom wanted to name me Oreo, but since I am a girl, she changed the O’s to A’s. I am a black and white baby, and my whiskers are black and white too! I am only about three months old. I love to play with my brother and sister, and I enjoy being cuddled. I have a really sweet purr and a gentle disposition. I am also a polydactyl kitty, which means I have extra toes on all my paws, and that makes me extra special. I have had my first shots and will be spayed before you take me home with you. If you would like to see me, pleasecontact my foster mom, Charlee, via email at imstillkicking@msn.com, or post a comment to this blog.

****I am a S.T.O.P. kitty.

My Name is Dixie

If there has ever been an angel kitten, then I am one! My name is Dixie and I am the sweetest kitty you could ever meet. My fluffy little face and soft green eyes are very expressive, and I am always ready for a little love. I am also very vocal and I love to meow back to my mom when she talks to me. I just adore my brother Loki and we would love to find a home together. Please contact my foster mom, Charlee, via email at imstillkicking@msn.com or post a comment to this blog if you would like to meet me.

My Name is Loki

Since Loki is the name of the Viking god of mischief, it suits me just perfectly! I am a very active little boy and am always into something! I am still a really sweet baby, though, and I love to purr and cuddle! I have beautiful green eyes and and a soft meow. I would love to go home with you; I would really love it if my sister Dixie could come with me. We are very close. Please contact my foster mom, Charlee, via email at imstillkicking@msn.com, if you would like to meet me.

My Name is Lacey

It is hard to imagine why someone would dump me out of a truck into an empty lot. But that is what happened to me, and my foster dad actually saw it happen! Lucky for me, he picked me up and took me home with him. Now I am a very happy kitty and I am ready to go home with someone who will appreciate a wonderful cat. I must have been loved before because I am very affectionate. Actually, I truly dislike being alone and I would be the perfect friend for someone who is home a lot. I am a dainty little girl, about 5 months old, and my fur is so soft! I love crawling under the blankets with my mom and dad. If yougive me a forever home, I promise to love you always. Please call Charlee at 238-9076. I can’t wait to meet you!

Jordan's Vigilant Watch: A Ghost Story

I wrote this around Halloween after Jordan had been gone about two years. I still like to go back and read it whenever I miss him, just to remind myself that he is still around, part of me and everything around me, everything he loved.

My youngest son, Jordan, was the darling of our family from the day he was born. His older siblings adored him and diligently looked after him. Since Jordan was possessed of a sweet, trusting disposition, I was always rather protective of him as well. He was truly Nature’s blessing from minute one, and we all joyfully doted upon him. He grew in the warmth of his adoring family to be a wonderful, unselfish, and truly loving little boy. And in return, Jordan often told us that someday he would take care of us, too.

On June 27th, 2003, only six weeks before his eleventh birthday, our beloved Jordan was killed in a tragic accident. Although we know he is gone, Jordan seems bent on proving otherwise, and determined to keep his promise to look after his family. Since his death, we have seen many signs that Jordan has kept his word; he seems not to have ever really left us. Several times since Jordan has been gone, things have happened that showed us that Jordan is still around. He watches over all of us, but since I have apparently had the most difficulty coping with his death, Jordan seems to have appointed himself Mommy's Personal Guardian.

One morning, when I was late for work, my keys had seemingly vanished from the kitchen table where I’d dropped them the evening before. Frantically, bordering on a full-blown panic attack, I was in the process of destroying the kitchen in search of my keys when I felt more than heardJordan's voice whisper to me in the center of my head: "They're under the washing machine, Mom!" It was as if he was annoyed with me that I had not been listening to him before. I could just see him rolling his eyes at me as he often did when he was frustrated. Of course, with some probing beneath the washer with an unfolded shirt hanger, I found the keys exactly there, near to the back of the machine. Apparently the cat had played cat-and-keys with them, and knocked them far beneath the washer, where I never would have even thought to look until the day I moved away from that house.

One night nearing my first Christmas without Jordan, I had another dream of him. He was playing in the snow, and he told me that I should not accept a friend’s invitation to spend Christmas Day with them at their home. "It’s going to snow like crazy…you’ll get stuck!" Jordan told me in the depths of my dream. This snowstorm seemed highly unlikely since we were in the throes of an unusual heat wave in December. Three days before Christmas, the thermometer climbed to seventy degrees. But regardless of the possibility of the men in white coats coming for me, I warned everyone I knew, prompting either giggles or pitying glances.

Jordan was right. On Christmas Day just before dinner, it snowed so heavily in our town that the power went out for eighteen hours; people lacking the benefit of four-wheel-drive were snowed in for days. I looked up the statistics later on; it had not snowed a significant amount on Christmas day in our area in thirty-four years.

And so my life went, with little reminders here and there that my little boy was still with me, and looking out for me. But the most profound one was in June, seven days prior to the two-year anniversary of his passing.

I was preparing for a dinner party with some friends. Feeling depressed all day, missing Jordan, I was reticent to go. When my friends arrived to pick me up, I attempted some excuse, but they would hear none of it, and chose to wait while I made ready. I was absently listening to my friends' happy chatting, ironing a linen tunic, the iron set at "scorching hot", when I set the iron down and reached for my drink. While my head was turned, someone grabbed my right wrist and yanked my arm upward so sharply that I nearly whacked myself in the face. Startled, I looked at the iron, which had fallen flat, directly where my hand had been resting seconds before. As I stared, the fabric of the window bench (my makeshift ironing board) began to smoke and burn, so hot was the iron. I spun my head to look for my roommate, my older son, or anyone who would have been standing close enough behind me to grab my wrist like that. But my friends were all in the kitchen, enjoying their drinks, at least thirty feet from me. My roommate laughed and asked me why I was hitting myself; he had seen it happen. My wrist still tingled, as skin will when touched firmly. Wrapping my left hand around my right wrist, I suddenly felt so good, so happy! Since Jordan had been gone, one of the things I missed the most about him was his scent, the smell that is unique to every child. But as I stood there holding my wrist, I would have sworn I caught the scent of his hair for just a moment.

My Jordan still looks out for his mommy; I see subtle evidence of it nearly every day. My only wish is that, someday, he will let me see his face, his beautiful eyes, one more time.

Against Medical Advice

The dog lay prone in the road directly in front of my house. She was very still, although a gentle breeze ruffled her fur and mimicked movement. In the light of the nearly full moon, I easily recognized the unfortunate dog as Tasha, the Welsh corgi who belonged to one of our favorite neighbors, a very sweet elderly lady named Marlene who lives in the house across the street from us. She lives there alone, except for Tasha, who always accompanies her mistress outside while Marlene works on her front garden. As I stared at the poor little dog in the road, I willed her to get up, hoping in futility that she was only sleeping. It was nearly three AM, and Tasha is never outside at that time; she passes her nights curled at the foot of Marlene's bed. I was utterly heartsick. Tasha is an adorable little thing, very friendly and affectionate. She's always had a talent for escaping her back yard by digging under the gate, and often ran across the street to visit us on weekend mornings.

The longer I stared at the apparently lifeless dog in front of our house, the worse I felt. How would I tell Marlene that some idiot had callously run over Tasha in the road and left her to die? And what despicable person would do such a thing? Surely anyone in our friendly, caring neighborhood would have stopped, had they hit a dog in the street. But maybe, I thought, the driver had not seen Tasha, had not realized that it was a dog that they had hit.

It was at that thought that I started getting angry.

I am an ophthalmic medical technician by profession. I have worked for eye doctors my entire adult life; for vanity's sake I will not elaborate on just how many years that could be. Suffice it to say that I know my job very well, and have counseled countless patients and their families regarding their eye health and vision. I also have no qualms about telling someone when they are not using their brain regarding their eyes. Never a day goes by when I don't see a patient who has been without glasses for an extended time, but who can barely find the bathroom in broad daylight without them. The infuriating thing about these people is that they still insist upon their ability to drive safely without glasses. Unfortunately, it is quite often some mishap in a motor vehicle that brings them stumbling into my office. Usually, they find it amusing that they are going through life with blinders on, but it really chaps my hide; I am definitely NOT amused.

As I watched the dog in the street for signs of life, only seconds passed, but the mind can race to a conclusion in much less time than that. With the sudden clarity of mind that only comes from stress and a sleepless night, I just knew what had happened to Tasha. She had to have been hit by one of those jerks who should have been wearing their glasses! All I could think of was the patient I had seen only the day before. Without vision correction, she was only able to count fingers at ten feet. She had not worn her glasses for over a year because she "didn't like them", and all that time she continued to drive. It was only when she nearly ran over her own son in the driveway that she conceded the point and came in for an exam and new glasses.

I couldn't let Marlene come out and find poor Tasha, and I couldn't even think of leaving that sweet dog lying in the road. I ran to my room and hastily began throwing clothes on. My husband, who is a very light sleeper, woke up and asked me what was wrong. Tearfully, I told him that Tasha had been killed and was lying in the street out front. Ever the one to look out for me, he jumped out of bed and grabbed his robe. "I'll take care of her; you stay inside," he said gently. His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the door; he likes Tasha and Marlene as much as I do. I watched him as he went out the front door and knelt beside the dog. He reached out a hand and touched her fur, and then shaking his head, he stood and came back up the front walk. When he came into the house, he glared at me in silent annoyance. Without a word, he walked back to the bedroom.

"Well, what are you going to do? Just leave her there?" I asked as he removed his robe and began to climb back into bed. I was incredulous at his sudden apathy. But when I started to go outside, he called me back. What he said next made me feel like the star of one of those 'real men of genius' commercials.

"Next time you see a dog in the road in the middle of the night," he said, "put on your glasses and make sure it isn't just a pile of dead leaves before you wake me up."

So much for taking my own medical advice. As I write, I am wearing my glasses. I wouldn't want to accidentally type a profanity and miss it.