The Ying and Yang of it All……

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I am sensing a Thinning of the Veil in the sense that I am truly affirming and believing in the person I have grown to be.  I  sense a real love affair happening with me and myself, and I am hearing from God that I need to shed the negativity and heartache in my life.  I need to take my vitamins.  I need to do yoga.  These are all things we can and should do if we want to stay healthy: mind, body and soul.

I find myself having an absolute assurance that if I speak my peace and create my boundaries, like, as of this minute-well then, there’s no time like the present.  I have said this before and I’ll say it again:  I loved my life and I would do it all over again, of course, with greater wisdom, compassion and strength.  Through the heartache, tragedy and darkness of my soul~He held me, soothed me and  protected me through it.

Each fresh complication, illness or financial disaster we have faced, we see His provision; steady and loyal and true~oh so true.  He is LOVE and he wants us to be happy.  He wants us to live lives of joy-but the duality of God answering our most heartfelt prayers, and the principle fact that we have FREEDOM, well, that complicates things.  We have all of the freedom in the world, to make the right and wrong decisions.   We are free will entities.  If you have any doubts, ask Jesus, but you need to ASK…..and I promise you, you will see His gracious work in your life.

Another point I would like to make is this:  often we are afraid to even ask God for anything.  Did you know that He knows the hairs on your heads?  And do you know what His followers have in their hearts and minds and souls at ALL times?…it’s called the Holy Spirit.  We listen to the whispers, but first we must get quiet.  We must listen to what Spirit is trying to tell us.  The veil is so thin that you automatically, deep down in the pit of your gut know that what doesn’t serve you has got to go.  You see, it comes down to finally realizing your self-worth, and the ensuing rules, boundaries and all crap I refuse to take for one more second, especially one-way relationships.  Friends, mostly-but there are many, infinite ways we can feel an imbalance in our lives….it means there’s too much of one thing, and too little of another thing. And imbalance in our relationships causes imbalances in our lives.

In just this 24 hours alone, I have pretty much staked my claim in this world.  Spoke my peace, realized what must go and what can tag along.  I am finished with one way friendships.  If your relationship isn’t a two way street?  I say, “Get off at the next possible ramp.”  I am not speaking of Christian empathy, of which I feel I will always have.  I have finally learned that you can love people from afar, pray them well-but you absolutely, not in any universe have to put up with one sided friendships or manipulations.  I am cutting that out of my life as well as telling the universe that I deserve respect, thoughtfulness and love in my life.  I will no longer be made to feel guilt for my feelings, my thoughts or opinions.  I will not be incessantly critiqued, questioned or doubted.  If I say something is  true, you can bet your sweet ass that I am telling my truth.  How dare anyone try to tell another soul how to feel?

I have been an anxious mess for way too long to stand in that sandbox anymore.  From now on, I force nothing, consult with the heavenly realms and my main man Jesus, and do what I want, when I want to do it.  If I say, for instance, that I am “taking a nap,” please do not huff and puff and blow the house down.  When I drank?  I slept until noon, sometimes 1 in the afternoon.  It only got worse in my recovery-left over depression and grief after holding in or running away from raw, gnawing grief.  (It all comes back to you, you know.) I get my ass up at 6:30 a.m. these days.  I have a million things to do, a million.  But I must stop and live…with the childlike wonder He has given us!  Do yourself a favor and practice Kundalini as often as you can.  Don’t hold on to all of that venom, forgive and move on.  Learn to let go.

And as for me?  I have given enough, but too much to the wrong people.  If you aren’t part of my tribe, I HAVE to lose your vibe…..sorry, life is too short.  And I am out of carrots.  I am out of sticks.  I am out of panty liners, but…………..I promise you I’ll never blog about it.

The Cat Nazi Ruined My Day

15895190_1283241798409979_6389131430247254887_nThe Cat Nazi ruined my day today.  Allow me a few moments of your time while I rant about the current situation at Chez Hoffman Cat Sanctuary for All Unwanted Cats in the Tri-State Area.

I have lived on this beautiful, pond front area of land for 26 years.  It is a farmette, and I look back and laugh at myself because, being from Philadelphia, I was afraid of things out in the country.  Mice-((FFUCKKKKKKK)), Rats ((Whole story about the impromptu picnic we had one night at the pond in which we discovered that we had rats, they were running up and down the walls of our dog’s pen.))  My poor boyfriend was cooking steaks three feet away and our many guests that evening ran shrieking to shelter in the barn.  I think I fainted AND threw up in my mouth.  Yeah, pretty sure.  Spiders the size of my face would come up from the drain.  It was like living in a torture chamber.  I remember entertaining a friend on a beautiful, lazy Sunday.  We sat on the front porch admiring the countryside when my pointer Jesse jumped up with a baby rabbit in his mouth.  Alive.   I screamed so loud the words vibrated in my head:

Dwainnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Dwainnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!”I repeatedly and hysterically yelled at the top of my lungs.  Why isn’t he running to my rescue?  I said to my friend.  I finally had to run at warp speed to the back yard, Jesse and the bunny close behind, and found him shooting archery not 12 feet away.  “What the HELL man?  I’ve been screaming my head off for you!!!!!!!!” was greeted with “I don’t even run anymore because I know it’s something stupid.  I just ignore it.”  I don’t need to get into any specifics, but let’s just say, if I yelled for him right now, he’d hear me from work and come like the white night I taught him to be.

Anyway. when I moved here I had to force my then boyfriend, now husband to let us take in one cat.  He couldn’t handle even the mention of it, and I later learned it was due to his ex-wife’s proclivity to obtain animals (horses, goats, dogs) and proceed to ignore if not abuse them.  So, we bring home our first cat, Tajia.  He was on third shift in a steel foundry at the time.  His step daughter Karen and I had just returned from the Humane Society and we tip toed up the steps to see if he was awake.  He wasn’t thrilled, and I had assumed he didn’t like animals.  I was dead wrong.  He loved them so much that he was afraid I wouldn’t tend to them, and he was working 60 hour weeks.

For the first year all was copasetic.  We acquired Jesse and were one big, happy family.  Until the morning I walked outside and found a yellow cat in our yard.  I knew nothing of cat colonies, let alone how one can start-I fed the poor little guy.  26 years later we have a cat colony of extremely healthy and loving feral cats.  Each year we have more kittens, drop offs and unfortunate accidents and heartaches that come with loving anything, really.  Today I have 15 outdoor cats.  My stupid heart has allowed seven of these cats to live inside.  I wish I could do better, but they have food, water and shelter.  And of course we treat infections or mishaps with our vet. We have had more at one time, I think 21 was the highest.  Our financial situation over the years has been one of struggle, angst and has recently suffered a blow from my PTSD, as I cannot even work a part-time job.  He has risen to the occasion by working hard for a company that stands out in its field.  My husband understands this and has been my source of comfort (next to Jesus) for the last twelve months.  We could never afford to have these cats fixed, or vaccinated for that matter.  I want to take this moment to profusely thank the amazing volunteers at Nobody’s Cat in Harrisburg for providing a service that meets these particular needs.  I had given up and now I can see the light again.

I was given the number of a local woman who devotes all of her time and effort trapping cats for the Nobody’s Cat Organization.  I have had her information for almost a year, and finally got up the nerve to call and arrange what I could.  She interviewed me and told me she would put me on a waiting list.  This was two Mondays ago.  The very next day, she called and offered to come and trap.  I was all for it.  (She had tried to fire me early on, saying I was too difficult to get a hold of.  I was so paranoid I took my cell phone to the bathroom after that.)   I had text her not ten minutes before she decided I was not worthy of her services, being the lame brain, irresponsible thug that I am. So that set the tone for the initial visit.  I will preface this by saying I am not easily intimidated.  My friends and family will tell you I speak my mind and take no crapola, and they would be correct.

She is sitting in her car, glaring at me.  I see she has a sting set up, so I close the door and go back to my writing.  “Could you come out?” She barked that I had a travesty of justice for cats on my hands.  She spit her words, in perfect English grammar.  It became so bad I would dread the next visit.  I’m the kind of girl that needs things to go slowly.  Cat Nazi would say she would see me in a week, ((JOY!!)) only to show up the next day with a two minute notice.  Yesterday, she asked me to trap both cats.  I would rather have had my head shaved.  I was once fired by a vet who told me I freaked him out when holding the cat for a sedative.  He would have me hold the cat, while he jammed a needle in their ass and then look at me in wonder as the feline had her way with me and my face, hair and clothing.  Sorry, there are kinder ways of sedation, but he was right, I was a wreck.  I would emerge from the OR bleeding like a Bloody Mary, his wife (the receptionist) would tend to my wounds and say kind things because she knew I had to get up the next day and do it again.

I digress.  Today she comes over and I can see clearly that we’re gonna rumble.  Pissed because my dog Jesse “knocked her string over,” she demanded to know where all of the cats were.  Now, she has been coming to my house almost every day for two weeks.  She has captured 13 cats.  They see her pull in to the driveway and set up a humongous cage and put out tuna.  She will catch many of their near and dear and this will frighten the bejesus out of them.  Seriously?

“I don’t know, the last two haven’t been around in days.”  (Why do you think I had to cage my two yesterday?  It was like Mission Impossible because they have been running , screaming and hair afire, from cages for half of a month now.  “I will understand if you don’t want to waste your time.”

“THAT IS THE SECOND TIME YOU SAID YOU UNDERSTAND,” she spewed, drooling and I kid you not.  “NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, SISTER.  OR YOU WOULDN’T HAVE THIS PROBLEM TO BEGIN WITH.”

With that I collected my dog and drove out of the driveway.  It only hit me later in the day that she  had pissed me off, but she had also hurt my feelings.  So, do me a favor?  If you see an orange low rider, smelling of cat pee and driven by a bi-polar freak of nature with a really mean look on her face?  Would you thank her kindly?  Her maltreatment of me has precipitated a truly bad day.  It set the tone, believe me.  For the first time in a long time I craved a drink, and that can’t happen.  People need to be kinder to one another.  For crying out loud.  So, thanks Cat Nazi, for earning me a day in bed with a Bob Newheart marathon ((the really good ones, with Suzanne Pleshette) and my blankly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the Love of Dog

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I have had a brutal day, and I am still simmering a bit.  I don’t want to rehash the day, but I was judged, humiliated and insulted by a member of my church family:  publicly, on my Facebook page.  I was told to “stop revolving your life around your dog,” and “why don’t you count your blessings instead of worrying and complaining all of the time?”  I saw it at 6:30 this morning.  I was not fully awake when I first read her words.  I had merely posted a video of a wolf caught in a trap, and blogged that it reminded me of when Dylan (our other beloved golden, now in the arms of the angels) was caught in a coyote trap, and how painful an experience it was for us.

That being said, I don’t feel the need to apologize for my feelings.  I am honestly saying that rather than have it ruin my day, my near and dear ones rallied to the cause.  Thank you and I love you.  You lifted me up, and I  truly felt loved.   I had a day of inordinate anger towards  something I cannot change.  I felt as if I’d been slapped across the face.  She knows that I have PTSD, yet she called me out about getting a job and “learning how to deal with life.”  Ouch.

If you know me, you know I have come very far in the last 10 sober years.  But it doesn’t even matter-I don’t understand why Christians feel the need to not just pick up that stone, but throw it.  In your face.  I am still shaking, still reeling and yet I know that my tribe is with me.  You understand my love of dog.  You understand that next to Jesus and my husband, my dogs are family.  Period.   I should have asked her to stop spending so much time with hers.  But I cannot, will not, shall not play the game.  I am not a hypocrite, I live my life out loud and in the public arena because I am trying to help others, help myself to understand that all that Jesus wants is for us to love one another – how badly do we mess this up?

My loved ones know that in nature I find my solace.  I find my peace with my dog, Jesse, by my side, out on the trails of beautiful Lancaster county, and for that I apologize to no one.  JC and I are cool, if you know what I’m saying.  He knows how hard I fought my way out of a bottle, and he knows who loved me through it.  He was by my side the night I tried to kill myself, and again the next morning when I had to be taken to the bathroom by a cop in a hospital.  I was on suicide watch.  I will not go to the extreme of rehashing every step of the way-but I have dealt with crippling depression and anxiety, PTSD-every day I walk this earth is a miracle.  I won’t try to defend my right to spend time out in nature with my dog all damn day and all damn night, seriously, may I ask how this is  any of your business?

Here’s the thing:  I am healing in the best way I know how, and it has been a beautiful journey so far.  I cherish each and every day.  I don’t take a breath for granted.  Truly.  I want to live my life in peace.  I am fighting for our financial future and have plenty of socializing.  For me.  My friends know that I suffer from depression.   My family knows I fought drug addiction and take my sobriety very seriously.  I am a spiritual and loving person.  All I want is to have a good relationship with Jesus, give and show love to others and pursue my talents that He has blessed me with.  I want to live my life not so much under the scrutiny, or publicly.  It terrifies me.  But I keep trying.  Because I know that if I don’t-I will miss the entire reason I am here-and that is to be a light worker, healer and friend.  I won’t mess with you.  But when you attack me or my loved ones you best believe I am going to have something to say about it.

Please don’t put me in your box.  You know nothing of me.  I feel incredible sadness at your hands and life is way to short to live here.

And lady, my dog has more class in his fingernail than you possess  in your entire boudoir.

 

 

 

 

 

Sign This Petition to Ban Miniature Cotton Balls……………

16487424_1794527790561184_4728924737867663572_oSometimes I have to laugh at myself.  I have absolutely not one iota of patience, and quite frankly, enforce a very strict Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy.  I don’t like waiting,  I sigh in exaggerated frustration if my cat doesn’t get out of my way in, like, 30 seconds.  Part of the explanation for this endearing quality is my Irish temperament.  But the other, perhaps more important factor is that I am an Elkins.

The Elkins family has a love/hate relationship with inanimate objects.  Doors that don’t close the first time, eenie weenie pieces of paper that you pick up (and drop) for the eightieth time, any household object we hurt ourselves on, (I once stood and slammed a cupboard door for a straight five minutes because I hit my head on it) the dog’s toy that makes you fall head first down the stairs………you name it, we have murdered it.

It’s hard to explain, but you know I’m gonna try.  Impatience is at the root, but so is the notion that the chair, ceiling fan, minute amounts of dirt that won’t go willingly…all of these things purposefully, and with great malice have aggravated us to within a hair’s width  from committing Hare Kari.  Full blown temper tantrums have been known to occur, not just at the Hoffman Ranch either.  My sister once broke a cupboard door because she couldn’t fit the frying pan in.  I myself have wished I had a camera crew to film my hysterics, and I believe the Channel 8 News team was on their way the day I screamed like a woman gone mad because my water bucket had a hole in it.  I took care of that.  I beat it against the garage door frame.  I kicked it, not once, but at least 100 times.  I made sure that stinking water bucket knew it’s place in the world, and that I, not the bucket, was in charge of my life.

A few years back my brother, in a mad dash to clean the house before his wife came home, stood there, being beaten half unconscious-all the while not knowing that the ceiling fan was behind the massacre.  I can only imagine, laugh out loud, what he put the pesky air distributor through after he cleaned up the blood.

I was in the hospital with a broken leg years ago.  My brother and sister had come from Philadelphia to visit with me prior to surgery.  I will never forget this for as long as I live.  Courtney was standing in front of my bed when from out of the metal cabinet/closet came a metal iv holder, hitting her right on the head.  Our family also has a penchant for laughing at the misfortune of others.  It was a good few minutes that my brother and I held our collective breath;  I was afraid a nurse would walk in at that minute and become a hapless victim, ignorant of the fact that my sister was about to shove that monstrosity up someone’s ass, and it was probably going to be her.

I could go on and on about the number of necessary and helpful objects that  I have mutilated in my day.  But what I really want to say is that I loathe miniature cotton balls.  It’s not as if I have all day to take my nail polish off, I mean come ON…….oh the humanity!  And I’m not going to tell you how I put them to a grisly death just hours before.  No cotton ball worth it’s salt will try to mess with this sister again.  Believe it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sign This Petition to Ban Miniature Cotton Balls……………

16487424_1794527790561184_4728924737867663572_oSometimes I have to laugh at myself.  I have absolutely not one iota of patience, and quite frankly, enforce a very strict Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy.  I don’t like waiting,  I sigh in exaggerated frustration if my cat doesn’t get out of my way in, like, 30 seconds.  Part of the explanation for this endearing quality is my Irish temperament.  But the other, perhaps more important factor is that I am an Elkins.

The Elkins family has a love/hate relationship with inanimate objects.  Doors that don’t close the first time, eenie weenie pieces of paper that you pick up (and drop) for the eightieth time, any household object we hurt ourselves on, (I once stood and slammed a cupboard door for a straight five minutes because I hit my head on it) the dog’s toy that makes you fall head first down the stairs………you name it, we have murdered it.

It’s hard to explain, but you know I’m gonna try.  Impatience is at the root, but so is the notion that the chair, ceiling fan, minute amounts of dirt that won’t go willingly…all of these things purposefully, and with great malice have aggravated us to within a hair’s width  from committing Hare Kari.  Full blown temper tantrums have been known to occur, not just at the Hoffman Ranch either.  My sister once broke a cupboard door because she couldn’t fit the frying pan in.  I myself have wished I had a camera crew to film my hysterics, and I believe the Channel 8 News team was on their way the day I screamed like a woman gone mad because my water bucket had a hole in it.  I took care of that.  I beat it against the garage door frame.  I kicked it, not once, but at least 100 times.  I made sure that stinking water bucket knew it’s place in the world, and that I, not the bucket, was in charge of my life.

A few years back my brother, in a mad dash to clean the house before his wife came home, stood there, being beaten half unconscious-all the while not knowing that the ceiling fan was behind the massacre.  I can only imagine, laugh out loud, what he put the pesky air distributor through after he cleaned up the blood.

I was in the hospital with a broken leg years ago.  My brother and sister had come from Philadelphia to visit with me prior to surgery.  I will never forget this for as long as I live.  Courtney was standing in front of my bed when from out of the metal cabinet/closet came a metal iv holder, hitting her right on the head.  Our family also has a penchant for laughing at the misfortune of others.  It was a good few minutes that my brother and I held our collective breath;  I was afraid a nurse would walk in at that minute and become a hapless victim, ignorant of the fact that my sister was about to shove that monstrosity up someone’s ass, and it was probably going to be her.

I could go on and on about the number of necessary and helpful objects that  I have mutilated in my day.  But what I really want to say is that I loathe miniature cotton balls.  It’s not as if I have all day to take my nail polish off, I mean come ON…….oh the humanity!  And I’m not going to tell you how I put them to a grisly death just hours before.  No cotton ball worth it’s salt will try to mess with this sister again.  Believe it.