“Great is the Lord and highly praised in the city of our God: the holy mountain, fairest of heights, the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, the heights of Zaphon, the city of the great king.” (Psalm 48:2-3)
I’ve started approaching Mondays with trepidation. And yesterday was no exception.
Our new director at the library is leaving. A registered nurse, she is returning to the medical field. I respect her decision but, it leaves me sad, too. She’s done an amazing job, bringing patronage up, implementing children’s programs, and creating a community gathering space that is friendly to all. It has been a pleasure to work with her.
Last Monday I tested positive for Covid-19, the new RA5 variant. A lot sleepy, a cough, some aches and chills the first couple of days and a splitting headache; I’ve had worse. The herbalist eschewed the Paxlovid prescribed and relied instead on the upper-respiratory tincture I use to control my asthma. If it can heal me of pneumonia and bronchitis, as it has in the past, I trust it far better than anything Big Pharma has to offer. And the doc says my lungs sound good so it hasn’t failed me with ‘Rona either.
The week before, I had my final mediation meeting with the attorneys as regards the foreclosure on my home. Though I recently received a significant raise and an increase in hours and will be submitting another application for modification, it’s likely only a matter of time before the mortgage company implements a short sale of the property. We’re measuring a place to lay our heads in months, not years. It’s frightening. And yet, a part of me is also anticipating a sense of relief to get the proverbial monkey off of my back. If I can get the modification, I still have zoning to battle. If I can sway zoning back in my favor, I have a roof that needs replacing, new gutters to consider, a water softener and hot water tank to replace, as well as some electrical and plumbing issues to address. The back door doesn’t close properly due to too much settling. The barn needs the doors re-hung. It’s one thing after another. And, even with zoning in my favor again, I’m limited in what I can do here. The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Rescue may never be realized in this space. So, while I have no clue where He’s leading me, or how we’re going to get there with the menagerie of animals in our care now, I have nothing left but to surrender to His will.
And hope that next Monday won’t be another harbinger of bad news.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS I’d be delighted if you could share this link. The wider the net, the better chance we have of finding a new home. And, please, pray for us without ceasing.
To all who celebrate Ramadan, bright blessings to you!
To all who do not and are unfamiliar with Muslim traditions, today marks the start of Ramadan. According to Wikipedia, Ramadan is when the “beginnings of what would later become the Qur’an” were revealed to the prophet, Muhammad, by the angel, Jibril (or Gabriel in English).
Muslims everywhere arose today before dawn to eat suhur (predawn meal) and will fast from food or drink until after sunset when they will break their fast with iftar. They will also abstain from tobacco products, sinful behavior, and, again, according to Wikipedia (not always the most reliable source but usually a good starting point), remain celibate during this time. They will do this every day for the next month. In addition to fasting, Ramadan is commemorated with prayer, reflection, the reciting and reading of the Qur’an, and almsgiving. Ramadan begins with the sighting of the crescent moon and ends with the sighting of the next crescent moon.
I am always amazed at the level of devotion and commitment Muslims show in their celebration of Ramadan. As a Catholic, I celebrate Lent, which also requires prayer, fasting–albeit only on Fridays when we abstain from meat, and Ash Wednesday and Good Friday when we can only eat one full meal throughout the day–and reflection. However, I often fail miserably. Is it a lack of discipline in myself? Or is it a lack of community support? Maybe it’s a little of both. But, whatever it is, I can’t imagine the dedication needed to fast from sunrise until sunset.
That being said, I offer up my prayers to those celebrating Ramadan that Allah’s blessings be many this year.
And, for all of my brothers and sisters of every religion and walk of life, may God bless you & keep you!
“Don’t just pretend that you love others: really love them. Hate what is wrong. Stand on the side of the good. Love each other with brotherly affection and take delight in honoring each other.” (Romans 12:9-10)
After hitting the “Publish” button earlier this morning, I flew out of my home office, behind as always. Roosters were crowing incessantly and felines threatened to trip me up all along my “route” as I filled bowls with food and water. Yet my mind was still racing along with my feet.
Our present social climate deeply concerns me. Not just media, or government, but friends and family, too, strive to silence any opposing opinion these days…encouraged and emboldened by that same media and government. They do so with scorn, with derision, by labeling and belittling. They embrace the constant fight-or-flight dialogue in media, and social media, the insidious fear-mongering that would keep us as sheep, never questioning what we see around us.
This post, and the one before it, may have to be taken down at some point. They will likely get flagged on social media. God forbid someone openly considers an alternative to what has become the norm today.
I’ll risk it.
So much for Freedom of Speech, or Freedom of Press.
It is worrisome. Anyone who questions the efficacy, or the validity, of this *jab* is labeled: cultish; conspiracy theorist; domestic terrorist.
Why?
There has never been, to my knowledge, any drug, or medication, or medical procedure, that has not come with risks. We see the infomercials every day when we turn on the television. We hear them on the radio as we drive down the street. And we shake our heads at the often lengthy list of side effects associated with each one–many of them worse than the malady they’re designed to control (they never really cure you of anything; there’s no money in that). Somebody, somewhere, has questioned the efficacy and the validity of these medications in the infomercials. We don’t suppress those. Instead, we glorify them for the advertisers who hope to get you dependent upon them. Often with good outcomes, such as controlling one’s diabetes, or high blood pressure, etc., but the dependency is still made…if we CHOOSE the treatment encouraged by our medical practitioners. Always before we’ve been allowed to make these choices for ourselves.
But not this time.
This time, we are obviously too stupid to make any choices for ourselves…without having a blue ring stuck in our nose by which to be led around.
Why is it not okay to question this new medicine? Why are we being compelled to accept without question? What makes this *jab* any different from Prozac, or Metoprolol, for example, that it should be exempt from the usual scrutiny or initial distrust? And, more importantly, why does our government, and friends and family, seek to punish us by the loss of our jobs/income, by the loss of our homes and all that we have worked for through the loss of that income, by isolating us from each other for not complying? Why are we being labeled as social pariahs merely for making an informed choice as we have always been allowed to do with any other medicine or medical procedure…rather than nodding incessantly like a stuffed dog in the rearview window?
“It’s a pandemic” is the usual response to such questions; it’s catching.
So is the flu. We’ve never been threatened with job loss, or social isolation, for not getting a flu shot.
Perhaps that’s next on the agenda…
But, more importantly, we must ask ourselves, should we be normalizing the constraints and practices implemented under a special circumstance? For example, should we have grown up with each of us wearing one of those creepy, bird-masks used during the Spanish Flu a century ago…just in case it might still be “catching”? Yes, they were the stuff of nightmares, and it seems ludicrous in this context, but so is seeing the loss of personal autonomy over our own bodies.
I’ve talked a lot in my blog about growing up in an alcoholic home. I’ve talked about the abuse. And the suppression of following one’s natural instincts and inclinations. When my stepfather thought he was losing control of us, when we said something that he didn’t like, or disagreed with him, he got directly in our faces and, with each *point* he made, he slapped the counter beside us, pounded the end table, to punctuate it. Though he never laid a hand on us during his monologues, our bodies jumped with each slap, or pounding of a fist, on that hard surface. It was fear-mongering at its finest. Other times, he pulled the guilt card. How could I have called the cops on him? Look at that record album he bought for me last week…much like we all got $1200 in a stimulus check so we should be grateful and allow our bodies and minds to be controlled by those who gave it to us.
Perhaps we should all adopt a 12-Step program to cure our addictions to both the mainstream and social media’s biases…
Yes, there is a lot of misinformation out there. Sadly, it seems to occur more frequently within the same party that supposedly champions equality for everyone regardless of color, religion, gender/identification, or socioeconomic status.
Apparently, diverse political ideologies don’t deserve the same equal rights…even those of us who usually identify with a more progressive party, but are still questioning what we see in the media, and on the streets, today. How dare we!
This is wrong, and frightening, on so many levels.
Going back to one of my opening paragraphs, yes, family and friends do belittle and label those of us who are questioning and choosing differently than they have but, usually, only on social media. Rarely do I hear labels, or belittling tactics, in person. The armchair social media junkie is bold and brash only when they cannot see the hurt their careless remarks inflict on another human being. Like the alcoholic who hides behind their addiction, and tries to control the world around them because they, themselves, are out of control, these armchair *experts* who espouse their-way-or-the-highway ideologies, forget that there are fellow human beings on the receiving end of their tirades. Perhaps if we all remembered that, and responded accordingly, the strangle-hold of our dopamine addiction would finally heal. Isn’t that what Jesus would do? Instead, there doesn’t appear to be even a feigned attempt to listen to our brothers and sisters, or to try to understand where they’re coming from. Such humanity is discouraged…and labeled a threat.
“There is a saying, ‘Love your friends and hate your enemies’. But I say: Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!” (Matthew 5:43-44)
I have a different opinion than my “leftist” brothers and sisters. It is an opinion based upon news articles, and both independent and foreign news outlets, because I don’t consider our own mainstream media trustworthy. Their advertisers, who support their programming, are all too often big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies, and/or corporate America. That creates a bias. Who, in their right mind, is going to bite the hand that feeds them? As I re-enter academia to receive my Masters, I am reminded again that biased information is to be avoided…and how to tell if it is biased or not. I look for peer-reviewed information, when I can find it, and really dig down deep for any reason that might create a bias when I can’t find a peer-reviewed article on a subject. I’m not perfect, but I do my best.
Sadly, it’s becoming dangerous to think for yourself. Were the men who orchestrated The Boston Tea Party to rise up against the tyranny of the British monarchy today, like the Canadian truckers, they’d be labeled fascists and white supremacists, even with no evidence to the contrary. How dare you fight for individual freedom? Considering the outcome of The Boston Tea Party, it’s not much of a stretch to think that maybe the Canadian government is afraid of a similar outcome. They’re certainly afraid of a loss of control.
And, by proxy, so are our U.S. leaders.
These are scary times. That almost cliched expression of our Founding Fathers rolling over in their graves is apt; they would be if they could see us today.
I’ve been homesteading and prepping for years, albeit with some major setbacks (shoulder injury with subsequent job loss, pending foreclosure, zoning challenge). I see the hardships coming as big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies and corporate America continue to crush the working poor, the small business owners and the family farms by ever stricter regulations…with these shutdowns being the final nail in the coffin for far too many. I see the challenges to our individual freedoms, the hypocrisy of “my body, my choice” when it comes to ending the life of an innocent child, but how dare you fight for that same bodily autonomy when it comes to getting jabbed with something whose long-term affects are still unknown and that has neither stopped the spread, nor protected any from contracting, this new *bug*. I see the attempts to keep us divided, distracted, and ignorant.
An acquaintance of mine posted a picture on social media of her well-stocked pantry last October after she’d finished canning everything from her garden. Her post was tagged. She is considered a “radical” and “a person of interest”. For canning her produce instead of wasting it?
Or for independent thought and action?
So, I guess I have joined “the cult”. Like Senator Bernie Sanders, who embraced the “socialist” label, rather than rebel against it, I, too, will accept the label. You may disagree with me. That’s okay. Sadly, though, by labeling each other, we shutdown the time-honored tradition of debate and discourse that has been the cornerstone of any grassroots’ movement, of any significant change or advancement of our society. Closing the door to one’s mind only leads to a dead end.
Open the door. Open your mind. And pray without ceasing.
“The Lord’s blessing is our greatest wealth. All our work adds nothing to it!” (Proverbs 10: 22)
First, a quick shout out to anyone reading this who celebrates the Chinese New Year, which is today. 2022 is the Year of the Tiger in the Chinese Zodiac. Anyone born in The Year of the Tiger is said to be passionate, brave, possess an unusual sense of adventure, be philanthropic and trustworthy but, also said to be stubborn, opinionated and often rebellious. In truth, I’ve found most zodiac descriptions to be quite general (i.e. many of us can claim traits like these even if we’re not born in The Year of the Tiger) but, it’s fun to read and learn, and wonder about. And greater minds than mine studied and learned and gave us the zodiac as a gift; there is also something to be said for the sometimes uncanny accuracy in these descriptions as well. Regardless, I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year today if you and yours celebrate the Chinese New Year! And, if you’d care to share, I would love to know more about how your family celebrates. Feast? Parade? Dancing? Please share in the comments section below…=)
Today is also Imbolc, Brigid’s Day, or St. Brigid’s Day. This one I know a little more about. Celebrated traditionally in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man, and amongst Wiccans today, Imbolc is the first day of spring. And, if you’re paying close enough attention to nature, even here in New England where we have almost 2 feet of snow on the ground, you’ve probably noticed the days getting just slightly longer and a softness to the air that speaks of the warmer season just ahead.
Brigid, both the goddess and the saint, is said to protect homes and livestock. She is also associated with the lambing season, spring sowing, the blooming of the blackthorn, blacksmithing, healing, wisdom, poetry and, some sources, also associate her with seamstresses. Saint Brigid’s Day is a traditional Gaelic festival celebrating the midpoint between the winter solstice, or Yule, and the spring equinox, or Ostara. Brideogs–doll-like figures of Brigid–and special crosses are often fashioned out of rushes, or reeds, and displayed in the home. In earlier days, the brideogs would be paraded from house to house, and beds made, food and drink left, to welcome her blessings. Sometimes a wand made of birch may be left near the bed to represent the wand she is said to use to grow vegetation. In pagan lore, she is a fertility goddess. Along with St. Patrick, she is a Patron Saint of Ireland. In Christianity, she has the added virtue of having wet-nursed the Christ child.
Whether Brigid is goddess or saint to you, she is said to visit virtuous households and bless the inhabitants. And I pray that today, she will bless your family throughout the coming new year.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.” (Ephesians, 2:8-9)
I want to be a writer, but I have to have some other career to support it, I have to do something else besides write…well, not all of us can be the next Toni Morrison or Stephen King so maybe there’s some truth to this one…but there must be something defectively wrong with me to not have found another career option that I feel just as passionate about…
Like some of my favorite authors who write 8 hours a day, I have to carve out 8 hours of my own to dedicate to my novel, my blog, etc; I can’t be a writer if I don’t write every day for 8 hours a day…even with a “day” job and a small hobby farm and the need to eat, sleep and, well, you know…
Like a favorite singer/songwriter, I do my best writing at 3:30 a.m. so, if I don’t get up at 3:30 a.m. every day to write, I’m not doing my best writing?
I can’t run a used bookstore; I won’t make enough money from it to support myself; I need another career to supplement it (it’s like the writer thing…)
I want to rescue animals, to offer them sanctuary–and often do–but, I’m a single female and I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder–or so the media tells me. If I was married, or a man, and still took in the occasional stray cat, and the free-to-good-home rabbits and goats, etc., found forever homes for some and offered a forever home to others, because their original humans were being evicted and no longer had a home to offer them, would I NOT be in danger of becoming a hoarder?
I want to homestead, to grow my own food and produce my own clothing, to live as sustainably as possible and lower my carbon footprint, but I don’t have enough land, enough money, enough knowledge, and I have to start right here…well, I have, sort of, but I’m also facing foreclosure myself so there’s a bit of apathy getting in the way. Why keep investing here when here may soon be gone?
In my youth, I wanted to be a rock star but, I didn’t keep my guitar strapped to me day in and day out. I only spent an hour or two each day practicing after work, so I guess I must not have wanted it so badly…
When I worked in living history, I told myself I didn’t know enough about either herbs or gardening to manage an heirloom herb garden. I felt like a fraud and everyone would find out eventually that I didn’t have what it takes. It’s called Imposter Syndrome; I just learned about it in my first class as I work towards my MFA in Creative Writing…
I made a mistake 10 years’ ago and rushed headlong into an abusive relationship with someone. I knew better, saw trouble coming a mile away, heard the voice of Reason in my ear saying, “Walk the other way” and ignored it; gave him a chance. I no longer deserve God’s grace…or His love…or the love of another man should I ever meet him…
These are the lies I tell myself, among others. Having just turned 55, “I’m too old” is another…even with the evidence before me that age has nothing to do with success or love or, well, anything…except maybe wisdom and experience, and the appreciation that usually comes with them.
“I’m not worthy” is the overall underlying message in each of these. I have to *earn* it. And, yes, if I want to write, I have to write. If I want to grow food, I have to plant a garden. If I want to be taken seriously at any endeavor and meet with success, I have to do the work. So, these things I tell myself each day have an undercurrent of truth and practicality ringing through.
The Serpent is cunning, to say the least…
There are conditions to everything, especially when you grow up in a house with addictions and abuse. A loving Father is an alien concept. And, no matter how much love, support, etc. you receive from others, that nuclear family unit that consists of parents, siblings and yourself, has the power to shape your way of thinking for life. So, it’s no wonder I’ve tied myself in knots and can’t seem to get out of my own way. Writing books, selling used books, caring for unwanted animals (or those on the receiving end of someone’s hard luck), homesteading and prepping, even learning an instrument by themselves may not be *enough* income to survive, let alone thrive, but together? Or, even if I still work a “day” job, I’m not allowed the joy that each may bring to me?
They’re idols.
That’s another lie echoing through my mind. The Lord has brought me to this place because I’ve made “idols” of animals and books, and I’m trying to live self-sufficiently, which means I’m not relying on Him…or so I’ve heard said. To punish me for this “idolatry”, He’s going to whisk it all away. Hence, the impending doom of foreclosure and zoning challenges…
Who would follow such a God?
Or am I wrong? Will I be stripped down to nothing? Am I being taught another lesson in not judging others for decisions they’ve made during hard luck circumstances? Again, I don’t deserve His grace because I haven’t always given grace to others…
Praise God we don’t get what we *deserve* for our mistakes. Ultimately, I know there’s nothing we can do to *earn* his grace; it is already freely given but, my faith needs a good bolstering today.
“The whole world spoke the same language, using the same words. While men were migrating in the east, they came upon a valley in the land of Shinar and settled there. They said to one another, ‘Come, let us mold bricks and harden them with fire.’ They used bricks for stone, and bitumen for mortar. Then they said, ‘Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the sky, and so make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered all over the earth.’ The Lord came down to see the city and the tower that the men had built. Then the Lord said: ‘If now, while they are one people, all speaking the same language, they have started to do this, nothing will later stop them from doing whatever they presume to do. Let us then go down and there confuse their language, so that one will not understand what another says.’ Thus the Lord scattered them from there all over the earth and they stopped building the city. That is why it was called Babel, because there the Lord confused the speech of all the world. It was from that place that He scattered them all over the earth.” (Genesis 11: 1-9)
I have been remiss the last couple of weeks. When I printed out a copy of the Interfaith Calendar for 2022 from Diversity Resources, there was a reason behind it: to commemorate the holidays celebrated by all faiths and walks of life. And here it has sat collecting dust for the last several days. (heavy sigh)
First off is the Feast of Epiphany on January 6th. As a practicing Catholic, I know that this is the day commemorating the “first manifestation of Jesus to the Gentiles for Christians”. It marks the day the three kings arrived in Bethlehem, 12 days after the birth of Christ. As we celebrated it recently at church, and I was the lector doing the Bible readings to commemorate it, you’d think that I would have remembered. (again, heavy sigh)
Of course, if you follow the Orthodox calendar, Christmas isn’t until January 7th. (Do Orthodox Christians celebrate a Feast of Epiphany on January 13th? There is no mention on the calendar but…) Anyway, this one I should know as I dated a man who was Ukrainian and his family had a celebration every year on January 7th. A belated Merry Christmas to you all!
January 10th is celebrated by Mahayana Buddhists as the day of Buddha’s enlightenment. This is Bodhi Day. I hope that it is acceptable and appropriate to wish you a Happy Bodhi Day; good thoughts and intentions are meant in the wishing. As I realized my lax this morning, I did not research further than the brief descriptions offered by this calendar. Going forward, I will do better with research, learn and share any traditions, or customs associated with each day.
Lastly, I missed the birthday of Guru Gobind Singh. He was the tenth Sikh Guru and spiritual master according to Diversity Resources. A shout out to everyone who loves and follows the teachings of this man. Again, I will do better to research the many holidays throughout the year so that future commemorations do not sound so stilted or pat.
Why am I doing this? Because the best way to lesson any division between us is to learn about each other. While we may be of different faiths and cultures, when we scratch below the surface, we usually find we have way more in common than not. And, for anyone reading who celebrates the holidays that I gave so little information on, feel free to share more details in the comments below. While I outlined my hopes and dreams for an animal sanctuary yesterday, I hope that this blog will become another sort of sanctuary for the readers who visit here. All are welcome!
“A home for misfit animals and books, and makers of herbal, apian, and natural fiber products.”
Sanctuary – Focuses primarily on small livestock and pets that are being relinquished due to zoning regulation issues, foreclosure, or eviction.
Tomestead – A different sort of “rescue” or sanctuary, one that keeps used books out of the landfills. The bulk of the books will be from donations. Patrons will have the option of in-store credit (20% off purchase) or a check for 20% of estimated resale price. Campus will consist of re-purposed sheds, RVs, trailers and/or mobile concession booths. Each upcycled building will host a different genre, or subject(s) and be themed accordingly. Additional outbuildings will host various natural fiber, herbal and apian products produced on-site and throughout the local community. topography will include a 9000 square foot heirloom herb garden where walks and talks will be hosted; a petting zoo featuring some of the rescued animals at the sanctuary, and a cafe featuring menu items that would have been popular in the 19th century. Proceeds from sales will be re-invested into the business, as well as providing for the care of the animals.
The Herbal Hare – Farm side of the campus will host various fiber-producing animals, in addition to rescues, such as sheep, goats, alpacas, and rabbits. Spinning, weaving and dyeing demonstrations, herbal workshops, and “bee” school are future offerings. Fibers will eventually expand to include basket weaving, chair caning, and straw hat making, and sericulture (silkworms). Herb store will eventually be expanded to include a couple of greenhouses for growing heat-loving spices, such as cardamom and turmeric; mushrooms; microgreens, and sprouts.
Planned fiber products – primarily yarns and some woven products to start. Straw hats, baskets, silks and linen in future.
Planned apian products – honey, beeswax, candles
Herbal products – seeds; dried and fresh herbs; young plants; skin care products; scent mixes and tea blends
All facilities will be zero-waste. Reusable bags, boxes, upcycled Mason jars will be available for patrons. We will also seek out compostable wraps, containers and utensils for our envisioned cafe. Compost will be re-purposed in the herb garden and future greenhouses.
Where is this wonderful place? For now, it’s on the drawing board awaiting either an angel investor (or two) to help with start-ups, or a great, big pot of luck!
What expertise do I bring to this endeavor? Besides being a writer, I am a certified herbalist who worked in living history, both as a volunteer and as paid staff, for many years where I learned spinning, weaving and caring for natural fibers, and straw braiding for the making of hats. I am also a Master Gardener with the University of Connecticut, and a librarian. I have been rescuing and giving sanctuary to unwanted animals for much of my adult life–over 35 years!
This is my dream. With God’s grace, it will one day be a reality.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS The link to my Go Fund Me campaign to make this a reality:
“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)
I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.
Wow.
I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!
But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.
Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.
Sgt. FeathersTank
We also lost two beloved felines this year.
Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.
But Rosco had already been adopted…
…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).
Rosco
Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.
He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.
He proved me wrong.
Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.
However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)
Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)
Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.
Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)
In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.
I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))
However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.
But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.
Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!
**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.
Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!
“Mocking the poor is mocking the God who made them. He will punish those who rejoice at others’ misfortunes.” (Proverbs 17:5)
I received an invite to an outing to go whale watching from a cousin recently…which was then recanted after seeing my Go Fund Me campaign link on Facebook. Of course, nothing was said initially. As the date of the outing was coming up, I messaged her to ask if we were still on. She didn’t want me to feel “bad”. I’m not sure exactly what that meant but, I want to believe her heart was in the right place, and that she was simply being sensitive to my financial difficulties. I sincerely hope she wasn’t thinking I might “mooch” off of her, or others, in order to go. The expense was minor and, despite my situation, I would have enjoyed the outing…as a day of respite, perhaps, from my situation. I confess to feeling rather hurt, even if good intentions were meant.
It seems a common theme these days.
For those of you new to this blog, I fractured my shoulder two years ago and lost a full-time position as a result from my injury. I have yet to find full-time work again and am behind many months on my mortgage. It has gone into foreclosure…and even Covid allowances aren’t doing much to stall the progression. My inability to get the vaccine is making it harder to find that full-time position, even if I trusted the “poke” enough to do so. I have new neighbors who got themselves on the Planning & Zoning Board and are challenging my right to farm, to raise livestock, despite having engaged a zoning attorney over a dozen years ago and getting the okay to do so. Now I have beloved animals at risk if I cannot find an attorney to take on this case…and, of course, pay him/her to do so. The roof leaks. There’s mold growing. Something is driving my electric bill up to $700 each month (from $100) and the electric company sends me to Community Action who sends me back to the electric company to find out what it is and try to remedy it. The yard is overgrown, as usual, because I lack the proper tools to keep it up…or the means of hiring out for what I cannot do myself. I’m getting the runaround from the DMV. And I have nowhere to go if I can’t save my property and pets that I cannot bear to lose.
All of this bearing down on me, and I’m trying hard not to succumb to “victim mode”, but I really hate how society treats those who are either inherently poor (i.e. from birth), or simply have fallen on hard times.
I may have recanted the aforementioned outing myself after taking a careful look at my finances. I do work. I do have some income coming into my home. It’s just not enough to cover all of my expenses yet. So, while I appreciate the concern, it would’ve been nice to have been asked/reminded of the outing and still be regarded as a thinking, feeling human being…
Even if I had determined FOR MYSELF that, no, I couldn’t handle this expense this month (I get paid monthly by the library where I work).
The poor, the downtrodden, the down-on-their-luck individuals are half-humans for most of society. We’re too stupid to manage our own money…even though I lived on the savings, 401K and other investments that most experts advise for two whole years after being laid off in 2009 from a corporate position.
“We brought our poverty, or difficulties, onto ourselves”…even though we work whatever menial job comes our way and carefully budget, save, practice a frugality that most of society would never be able to handle if they were in our shoes, and either we were born into poverty already and so have a tougher climb up the ladder of success, or our difficulties are the result of a recession, depression, or an injury or illness. Not sure how that equates to bringing it all on ourselves but, so be it.
“We don’t want to work”…oftentimes, the poor in this world work harder than anyone but, wages, and hours available, seldom keep pace with the cost of basic needs. Despite the media hyping a “booming” job market, most are still part-time endeavors…and now we have mandates crippling our economy even more.
The financially-challenged are not allowed to have any enjoyment. God forbid you should have pets. Or buy a pizza for dinner on a rare occasion…even if you save some of it for lunch the next couple of days and, thus, get multiple meals out of it.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, maybe feeling a little sorry for myself. But, more, I’m feeling a sense of loneliness that has this computer screen blurring even as I type. When you’ve been struggling as long as I have, there’s a sense of apathy that settles over you. Anxiety and depression war inside in an endless cycle that can often be crippling.
Yes, I’m partly to blame for my loneliness. I don’t reach out. I don’t pick up the phone just to call and say “hello” or find out how others are doing, but rarely does anyone do likewise for me. Mom and I could die over here and it would be weeks before anyone discovered our remains. Granted, in my apathy, in the uncertainty that such financial struggles bring, I have let everything go. My home is a fright so I don’t invite anyone in. I’ve gained weight, been eating mostly unhealthy, and most of my social interaction has been work…or the doctor’s office (I have a stress test coming up). I sleep a lot more but, it’s rarely solid. The mind races at night when all is quiet. Insomnia visits from time to time…as do nightmares and chronic fatigue syndrome. In short, I’m suddenly ashamed and I don’t want friends seeing how badly things have gotten. I am overwhelmed. And pride goeth before the fall.
Of course, I know the Adversary uses all of this to whisper his lies, to drag us down further and further away from God…and humanity. I’m not worthy. I’m unloved. God has forgotten me. I’ve used up all of His grace. The litany drones on. Rather than praise, my prayer life–when I remember it–has been a pathetic begging to be taken out of this storm. Maybe my lack of attention to the blessings He’s already bestowed upon me is part of the problem…even as I acknowledge the lack of means to provide some of that upkeep. (See how the Adversary works…)
And yet, I’m mindful that He is teaching me a lesson in all of this, too. Like many others, I never really recovered from the Great Recession so, when I fractured that shoulder, there was much less to fall back on to sustain me. Since 2009 I have had to swallow my pride many times to visit food pantries, apply for heating assistance and medical coverage through the state, and a host of other things just to survive. I used to judge others…much the same way I am lamenting being judged. I looked down my nose, rejected friendships from anyone who might be too “needy”. Now the shoe is on the other foot and, yes, it pinches. Bad…
But the greatest lesson of all has been three-fold. First and foremost, I cannot do this without Him. He’s asking me to rely on Him. To trust Him…no matter what happens. To believe that He still loves me, always has, always will. That’s a tough one for a survivor of abuse, the concept of a loving Father in heaven. The Adversary’s still whispering doubt in my ear even as I type. Proof that I need to draw closer to Him in this storm, rather than reject and withdraw.
Second is to remember that picking up that phone costs nothing. Even in my own need, there are others who could also use a friend…and it’s nice to be remembered “just because”. Walmart sells boxes of generic cards for under $2 each. A remembered birthday, a sympathy card when a friend loses a loved one, a get-well-soon might be appreciated far more than a quick blurb on Facebook. And it’s always nice to be asked.
The third part is to start sharing my life again…even if it is in chaos. Rare am I going to have posts about some amazing workshop that I attended or an outing I enjoyed; it’s simply not possible. And, while I hate constantly posting about my situation, maybe those kinds of posts would be less if I wrote more consistently about other things…and not just when my anxiety is through the roof and I’m in need of an outlet.
To everything there is a season…and I still have hope that He has a plan in all of this.
The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary 