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

I'm Still Kicking... - charlee's Blog - Tehachapi News http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee ...the sequel to "As the Stomach Turns" ...the sequel to "As the Stomach Turns" en-us Involuntary Dogslaughter http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/33045 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/33045 <p>I killed a dog on my way to work last Friday. No, I am not bragging, I am confessing. In truth, the death of this unknown dog haunts me so terribly that it has taken a week for me to be able to write about it. I have never hit a dog or cat on the road before. I used to think that was because I am a good driver, but now I know that I was only lucky. I hope I never do it again.</p> <p>I have made the commute from Tehachapi to Bako and back on the 58 freeway for years without incident, and I guess I have come to expect only the expected. The dog was decidedly <strong>un</strong>expected, especially since it seemed to appear in a remote area, far from the city. It was a golden-sandy color, medium sized. I could not ascertain the breed, but I suspect it was just a doggy-dog, which is my name for a mixed breed or "mutt". The only thing I really know about it is that it was a really fast runner, it was lucky once, and then unlucky forever. Oh, yeah...I also know that it is dead.</p> <p>The guy in the car ahead of me and to my left missed the dog by milliseconds, but the reason that I hit it is because the other guy missed it. Since the dog was in front of the other car, I never saw it until I watched it go under the front of my brand new car. Almost immediately my car began steaming and producing a horrid banging sound, indicative that the fan and the radiatior had just made contact with each other. I did not really notice, though; my eyes were glued to the rear-view mirror in horror and remorse. I finally pulled over about a mile down the road, and by the time I called my husband, I was nearly hysterical. My mind was filled with the image of the poor dog in my rear-view; I could not stop replaying that awful vision. But by the time my car was being towed to the shop, I was no longer crying; I was livid. What-ifs played over and again in my head; first, it was "what if I hadn't stopped at the bakery on the way to work?" Then, it was "what if I had been watching the other car more closely?" But what I finally ended with, and still stick to, is "what if some moron had not allowed that poor dog to run loose?" and "what if a nameless jerk had not abandoned their pet to the fields?" By the time I heard from my mechanic that my new car needed major front end repair, I was ready to string up the stupid, thoughtless idiot who had left that dog to his own devices. While I feel terrible about being the one to hit the dog in the road, it was only a matter of time. If not I, then someone else would have killed it, and all because of someone else's callous treatment of an innocent pet.</p> <p>One good thing happened just after I hit the dog. As I sat weeping in my car on the shoulder of the road, a CHP officer pulled up next to me. Usually, CHP's on the freeway are an unwelcome sight, but I was glad to see this one. He asked me if I was okay; I tearfully told him about the dog. He asked again if I was okay, and I told him about my car, and that I was waiting for a tow truck. And then, I finally told him that I was fine, but I asked if he had seen the dog. He hadn't, but he promised to take care of it, and advised that I keep my car doors locked until the truck arrived. He said that he would make a few passes in the area to make sure I was alright. Then he pulled away and made an immediate u-turn in the median, returning to the place where the dog's life had ended. The officer was as good as his word; I saw him four times before the tow truck arrived. Less than ten minutes after he stopped next to me, I saw an Animal Control van heading east on the 58. When I finally went home later that day, I looked for the dog, just in case. It was gone.I felt better knowing that, thanks to the thoughtful officer, the poor animal would not end up as road pizza.</p> <p>What will it take for people to care for their pets properly, humanely and kindly? What can be done to stop those who decide that a pet is too much of a burden and dump it on the roadside or in a field somewhere? How can we pound home the realization that letting a pet run amok is neglect, and that neglect is a form of abuse? Pets are happiest and healthiest if they are kept in a safe environment; they are not wild animals that "have a need to run free". When we adopt a pet, we have a responsibility to that animal for it's life and health. Pets are not disposable.</p> <p>I still don't have my car back. I will, however, get it back eventually. The dog will never get its life back. He will live on in my memory, however. I wish we had met under different circumstances. Maybe we'd have been friends.</p>

Title: AxelBabble2.jpg
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Credit: charlee

Title: AxelBabble2.jpg
Caption:
Credit: charlee

AxelBabble2.jpg charlee Calypso, et al.... http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/32312 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/32312 <div class="blogbodyheader">Calypso, et al....</div> <div class="blogbodycontent"> <div style="float: left"> <div class="bako_media_picture" style="float: none"><center> <table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0"> <tbody> <tr> <td valign="top" width="200" height="220"> <div id="32160picture0" style="display: block; visibility: visible" align="center"><a id="firstimg" href="javascript:launch_middle( 'Largeview', 'http://people.bakersfield.com/home/ViewImages/blogpost/32160', 920, 620 )"><img height="200" src="http://people.bakersfield.com/file/picture/282808/0/0/" width="164" border="0" alt="" /> <div>larger view</div> </a></div> <div id="32160picture1" style="display: none; visibility: hidden" align="center"><a href="javascript:launch_middle( 'Largeview', 'http://people.bakersfield.com/home/ViewImages/blogpost/32160', 920, 620 )"><img height="195" src="http://people.bakersfield.com/file/picture/282809/0/0/" width="200" border="0" alt="" /> <div>larger view</div> </a></div> <div id="32160picture2" style="display: none; visibility: hidden" align="center"><a href="javascript:launch_middle( 'Largeview', 'http://people.bakersfield.com/home/ViewImages/blogpost/32160', 920, 620 )"><img height="150" src="http://people.bakersfield.com/file/picture/282810/0/0/" width="200" border="0" alt="" /> <div>larger view</div> </a></div> </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> <div style="width: 200px" align="center"> </div> </center></div> </div> <p>My little rescued kitten, Calypso, is now a happy, healthy eleven-week-old bundle of love and fun. She is just beautiful! Her big jade-green eyes are so unusual, and she has the softest fur. She runs to me every night when I get home, rubbing her little nose into my neck, purring loudly. I have never seen any cat so ecstatic to see me.</p> <p>Well, except maybe her brothers and sister....</p> <p>Calypso is one of a litter of four born to one of the feral cats who were residing in the sump area next door to my office. When they were three days old, the mother decided to move the kittens. But she forgot one, and hence, I adopted the tiny baby, and I named her Calypso. I bottle-fed her, took her nearly everywhere I went, and watched with joy as she thrived. But I always felt sad that I had been unable to do anything to help the three other kittens. Weeks passed with no sign of them, and I despaired that chances for their survival were bleak. I have had to dispose of dead kitties before; such is life in a feral colony. And then one day, I went outside to feed the ferals, and I was greeted by a tiny black-and-white fluffball stuck to the chainlink fence out back. The poor baby was terrified; she had climbed up the fence but did not know how to get back down, and she was mewing pitifully. When I approached her, she spat at me in fear, sounding more cute than threatening. I recognized her as one of Calypso's three litter-mates. After I helped her get four paws safely on the ground, I watched as she ran for the relative safety of the hedges, where the mother and other two kittens joined her, a white one and a coal black one. I noticed that the kittens were pitifully thin, and I resolved to rescue them. A friend helped me catch the kittens the next day, and I took them home to be reunited with their pampered sister.</p> <p>Upon closer inspection of the kittens, I discovered that they were horribly infested with fleas, and the black one had a bad eye infection. They were all much too thin, and I was surprised to see that Calypso was notably larger than her siblings. They were otherwise healthy, though, and each possessed of a ravenous appetite. It took a week to dispel the flea infestation and infection before I could bring them in the house, but upon reintroducing them to Calypso, it was as though they had never been separated.</p> <p>Now, it is as though they were different kittens. Whereas they were terrified when I first brought them home, they are now loving, playful little things who take great joy in tearing all over our bedroom and bathroom. Upon my arrival home from work, I am greeted by four little racers crashing into one another in an effort to get to me first. Excited meows drift through the house as soon as I open the back door. I find I cannot wait to get home. It is wonderful to be loved!</p> <p>We had four cats already before they joined our household. There is no question of my keeping Calypso; I know without doubt that I can never give her up. But the others are up for adoption: Comet, a little cream-colored boy with Siamese-like markings; Cody, the jet-black boy who is still a bit shy; and little Lily, the smallest of the litter, the fluffy little girl whom I first saw stuck to a fence. Alas, I cannot keep all of them. That doesn't mean, however, that I won't lose a piece of my heart when they go.</p> </div> Ackstabbing Itches http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/27938 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/27938 <p>I had planned on this being a happy blog, and in some ways, it is. However, the inherent callousness of some people has once again reared its ugly mug, and I must change the tone of my writing to match the angry grinding of my teeth.</p> <p>On Monday, I became a mother again. I adopted a three-day-old kitten whose mother had abandoned it. We have a feral cat colony at my office, which lives for the most part in the fenced sump next door. Some of us have been taking turns feeding them; on the sad occasions when we have found one dead, I am the one they count on to take care of that, too. So no one was surprised when I took this little baby in. My boss even understood that it would be necessary to bring the kitty to work with me; as long as I was discreet and it did not interfere with my work, he had no problem.</p> <p>When some of the women in my office found out about the kitten, they went kazoo. Just the thought of a cat in the office, regardless of its size or age, was repulsive to them. They automatically assumed that I was heating cat food in the microwave, which I was not. But instead of talking to me about it, they went whining to one of the other bosses, who promptly called MY boss on the carpeting for allowing me to do such a sickening thing as keeping a baby kitten in the office. It was suggested that I "just leave it out there and let nature take its course", and someone even had the temerity to tell me I should drown it! I had no choice but to put the kitty in her carrier outside, behind our building, and go out there every two hours to feed her.</p> <p>One of these "ackstabbing itches" who complained about my heating cat formula in our microwave heats menudo in that same microwave at least once a week. Just the thought of that stuff makes me nauseous, and it ruins my appetite to watch her eat it. Another one of them actually brought in chitlins! The office reeked for the whole day. But warming kitten formula made of milk, egg yolk, yogurt and corn syrup is repulsive, right?</p> <p>I have had this kitty for five days now, and she is thriving nicely, the "ackstabbing itches" notwithstanding. They can choke on their chitlins, for all I care. I'll just wait until one of them needs my help for something again. Rest assured, my baby and I will just turn our "acks" and walk away.</p> Cell Phone Shocker http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/27441 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/27441 <p>Today on the msn homepage, there is an article about some teenager who ran up a $1400 cell phone bill. Fourteen hundred Bucks?</p> <p>That's nothing...I can do better than that.</p> <p>We got rid of our land line months ago. In light of the fact that, between my husband and myself and three kids, there are five cell phones in our family, we thought we could save money by cutting out the fifty bucks a month it cost for the home phone. We're never home to use it anyway, and that fifty bucks can buy a couple gallons of gas, right? I thought we were doing great until I got my cell phone bill last month. Usually it is between $109 and $120 a month, depending on how many ringtones my son Alex downloads. I opened the bill and nearly fell over. Glaring at me from the front page was this: <b>$14,624.00</b>.</p> <p>I grabbed my cell and dialled the Sprint customer service faster than you can say OMG. A sweet-voiced lady answered and asked if she could help me. I should hope to shout! I explained that Sprint had sent me the bill for the entire block instead of just my own. She laughed. "Oh, yes, ma'am. We've had many calls about that. It was a computer glitch; just disregard it."</p> <p>Thank dog for that; it was the answer I was looking forward to. Either that, or Alex is done downloading ringtones for a long time.</p> A Terrible Tragedy http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/19030 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/19030 <p>Tehachapi lost one of its young shining stars on this past Christmas night. Cierra Redenius was killed in a traffic accident on Highway 14, on her way home from a holiday trip. According to the newspaper report, she was almost home, just north of Lancaster, when the car she was in rolled over, killing her. </p> <p>I did not know Cierra. I might have met her in passing; she may have been one of the many kids who visited my son on any number of occasions. She was in my son's graduating class; in fact, her photo shares a page with my son's in their graduation yearbook. After I read the story of her death in the Bakersfield newspaper, I went there looking for her, hoping to place a face to a name that sounded familiar. And there she was, young and beautiful and full of the promise of future years that will no longer be. I cried for her, as did my son, who was her friend, and who is heartbroken at the news of her accident. I cried most, I think, for her family, her parents, because I know how they feel now. For them, a life colored in shades of gray is only just beginning. I know, firsthand, because I just spent my fifth Christmas without my youngest son, Jordan. </p> <p>I lost Jordan in a different tragedy in June 2003, when he was only ten years old. I still miss him, still cry for him, and life remains gray in his absence. Nothing has been exactly right since Jordan has been gone, and I know that the same will be true for Cierra's family, who are now faced with the horrible reality of life spent missing their child instead of watching her thrive in a joyful future that they surely imagined for her. </p> <p>Cierra deserved so much better than a tragic end, as did my Jordan, and every other child who dies before they have had a chance to show the world what they had to offer. But such things happen, unfortunately, far too often. None of us have the remotest clue as to just how long our personal "forever" might be. Some say, "such is life", but I say such is the nature of death, the heartbreak that lies in wait for us all. Every one of us will someday lose someone we believe we cannot live without. So much more the reason that we must appreciate those we love, every minute, and never for a second believe that a tragedy cannot strike us where our lifeblood flows. </p> <p>Show your love for your family, your friends. Do not fear the words "I love you". Never part from one another without a kiss or a hug goodbye, for you never know if that will be your last chance. That last hug could be your only comfort someday. It could also instead be a haunting regret if neglected.</p> <p>To the family of Cierra, I wish you peace, and the memory of her love forever. Know that you are not alone, and that someday, the colors, although forever changed, will begin to creep back into your lives.</p> Mister Know-It-All http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/17823 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/charlee/17823 <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font size="2">           My ex-husband was the first to admit that he could be rather mean-spirited; in truth, he often boasted of the fact, as if his ability to snap someone’s head off with a cruel retort were a virtue to be proud of. It was a “talent” he learned at an early age from his stepfather, but he perfected it beyond even the old man’s ability. Unfortunately, during the five years I was married to him, I found myself most often on the receiving end of his cutting wit. At first, I had very little defense against this verbal abuse, until I realized that, while able to pull a nasty name out of the air at any given moment, he had very little common sense, and could be positively gullible at times. Laughter is the best balm for hurt feelings, especially when the laughter is at the expense of one’s tormentor. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">On one day, shortly before we finally decided to split up, he was in an especially nasty mood. He had managed to find fault with nearly everything and everyone around him. The kids had scattered to safer places, and I was feeling completely dejected. It was just after Christmas, and I was busily un-decorating the large cut Christmas tree in our living room when he came in from outside. I braced myself for yet another biting comment, but instead he, for once, simply made an observation. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“That tree still looks fresh,” he commented. “Look, the needles don’t even fall off when you pull on them. It is a shame we have to throw it in the trash.”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">I looked up at him and considered for a moment. “Well, we really don’t have to, actually,” I said in all seriousness. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“Why not?” he asked, playing right into my hands.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“I read a story in [some magazine] a few days ago, about a family who replanted their Christmas tree in memory of their dead grandma. They just cut off the bottom, so the fresh wood was exposed; then they planted it in their yard and watered it.”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">His eyebrows rose in interest; he was hooked. “Did it work?” he asked, as I dug my nails into my palms to maintain a straight face.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“Oh, yeah, it worked wonderfully. They showed a picture of that tree, and it was twenty feet high already, and they only replanted it a few years ago.”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">That was all it took; I had scarcely removed all the ornaments from the tree when he dragged it out to the front yard. Painstakingly he sawed off the bottom six inches from the trunk, and then he set about digging a large hole while the dead tree lay waiting patiently to be resurrected. After I poured myself a stiff rum and Pepsi, I went out to enjoy the show from the front yard sidelines. As my ex began planting the tree, my friend next door joined me at the edge of our yard. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“Am I missing something,” she began, “or is he planting a dead….”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“SHHH! Not so loud, he may hear you,” I answered in a whisper. Living next door to us, she was often the unwilling witness to my ex’s foul temper, and she just smiled in understanding and sat down in the lawn chair next to mine. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">For several weeks my ex-husband went out religiously every morning and watered the dead tree before leaving for work. He even gave it gallons of blue plant food. He became famous in the neighborhood; people often asked me in passing if the miracle had happened yet. And whenever he yelled at me or told me how stupid I was for those wonderful days, I just smiled, knowing that he was not nearly as smart, and I was not quite as dumb, as he thought.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">As time passed, the once-fresh needles on the tree turned from green to a dry khaki brown, and still he poured water and effort into it. Of course, this amusement could not last forever. One day he went out to water his beloved dead tree and found it leaning a bit to one side. He took hold of the trunk and attempted to straighten it. What happened was a scene straight out of <em>A Charlie Brown Christmas.</em> Nearly every one of the brittle brown needles dropped like a rock to the ground, leaving my ex holding the bare trunk of an obviously deceased tree. I watched from the front window, my eyes pouring tears from laughing so hard and trying to keep it silent. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">Amazingly, he took his failed efforts at raising dead plants in stride. He pulled the tree’s remains out of the ground and proceeded to chop it up for compost. He then scattered the pieces over the front yard. Having no experience with compost, he did not realize that the pieces have to be smaller than six inches to decompose into fertilizer. There were still dead-tree parts all over the yard when we moved out several months later; we were divorced within the year.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">I got a lot of mileage and many laughs from this story over the next few years following our divorce. So when my daughter brought her boyfriend to our house one night the winter after her graduation from high school, I relayed the story of my ex and the dead tree to him as we all sat soaking in our Jacuzzi tub. He roared with laughter, but for some reason my daughter did not seem to think it was as funny as it had been when it first happened. At first I thought that she was being protective of her father. “What’s wrong,?” I asked her. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">“It’s not funny anymore,” she said with a disgusted expression on her face. “He made me water that thing every day. I felt like a moron.”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">I was perplexed. “He did not; he watered it himself, every morning. He never asked you to do it.”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">She folded her arms, clearly annoyed. “Oh, yeah, he did, last year, while I was staying with him over Christmas break. <em>He did it again!</em>”</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">I nearly drowned laughing in my hot tub, and so did the boyfriend. </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 150%"><font size="2">It is always a satisfying turn of events to see a bully get his comeuppance. However, there is nothing more gratifying than watching as the bully unwittingly amuses those he’s abused. Except, of course, if he does it again, and again, and again….</font></p>