mlwms

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Hematoma? I don't even know...


Just in case you've all been desperately checking my blog, wondering the fate of my dear, sweet, kitty cat, well, have I got news for you. The incision where they drained the hematoma did not heal. Ever. So after the sutures came out, good 'ol Fezzik got another fresh set, this time only at the incision point. So he had to keep the cone on his head for another two weeks. That was a week ago. Last night my dear, sweet human friend Elizabeth came over for a glass of wine and some tasty salmon and Fezzik would not leave us alone. I reached into the cone to pet him, and lo! There it was. A brand-new hematoma, in the very same ear, in the very same space, all delightfully swollen with blood that lost its way. I couldn't fucking believe it.

I finally got my vet on the phone, and so after work, I trudged my way through horrendous harvest traffic, picked up my not-so-willing animal, and trudged ALL THE WAY back down-valley to go back to the way-too-familiar vet's office. This time, I forked out another bablillon dollars to do a blood work-up. There is some reason that he's not healing, but it is truly baffling. Worst possible scenario is he has kitty AIDS or some other rotten disease. Regardless, his ear will be super ugly for the rest of his life. By the time all is said and done, he will have been in the cone for at least three solid months. His ego will be forever bruised.

In better news, I had yet another terrific day at work. There are so many damn good people in this valley, who want great things to happen, and who actually believe that I might be able to do something here. Letting them down is not an option.

To that end, why don't all of you in cyber-space help me out? I need grant money, private donations, children's piggy bank contents the nation over. Everyone wants to fund our Arts in Educaton programs, but no-one wants to fund the organization that can bring those programs to the classrooms. We need to have lights and power and a desk and a staff in order to create the programming that brings arts ed into the schools. But that is a difficult correlation for the public to make. It's like the Red Cross. The Red Cross wanted to divert 9/11 donation funds to help themselves become a more effective and viable organization, and the public cried "FOUL!". Why? Because the Joe America wanted his $20 to go directly to a child who lost his parents. Joe American didn't understand that the Red Cross has been helping millions of people while just barely skimming by. As a Red Cross Emergency Service Responder, I made a whopping $70 a day before taxes- more like about $50 a day- and had to keep my full-time job just to be able to be of service. With a fraction of that 9/11 money, the Red Cross could have updated a computer system, repaired broken toilets, hell, paid their ESRs a living wage, but instead, they were forced to keep eeking by, and therefore unable to grow and serve even more people.

It's the same damn thing. Everyone wants to fund the programs I want to create, but they don't want to support my staff or pay my utility bill so I am ABLE to create the funding. Paying for light bulbs and staples is a lot less sexy than paying for a cute 6-year-old to slop clay all over an (also) underpaid art teacher. There is a disconnect, and I don't know how to remedy it. Everyone is slapping me on the back, exclaiming, "FINALLY, someone like you is here!!!" They are also saying, "oooh, that program is right up my foundation's alley!" I need one just one of them, one big fat donor to say, "I believe in what you are doing. I see where you are going, and I understand what it takes to get there. Here's $50,000." God, do you know what could happen with just 50 grand? That would be what it took to do all this groundwork, hire my program manager full-time, and get swinging! But until then, I'm stuck borrowing a toilet, rubbing my sore back that has been slapped a thousand times. If had a dollar for every time...

If you or someone you know just happens to be a) loaded and b) an arts supporter, well then hell. I've got a great write-off for you. I hope you think light bulbs and staples are sexy, cuz at this point, they are terribly attractive to me.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Twelve Hour Work Days


I live in the Napa Valley, and harvest is happening all around me, so I'm certainly not the only one working overtime. It's been weeks since my friend Jon saw the sun when he wasn't working. And maybe it's sad that I have the time to work twelve hour days right now- it means I don't have much of a life, right? But it also means that I have the energy, drive, and belief in this project to work long hours with little pay. I was sitting in the foyer of a restaurant tonight, picking up a piece of fish for my dinner, when I had a flashback of restaurant work. In that flashback I was working at Keller's new restaurant in NYC, making mad money and having four days off each week. But after this I don't think I can ever work at anything again that is not meaningful to me. I've made plenty more money in a lot less time, but things have changed. I can't do that now.

I've begun, and possibly also already ended, a relationship this week. Think what you will, but two elements in any relationship are simply necessary: you must think your mate is funny, and you must have some agreement on political issues. It's sometimes as simple as that. This guy is funny, sweet, smart, and kind, artistic and practical, loving and affectionate. But we can't seem to get over a political argument we had on our third date. The thing is, the content of the argument is a little disturbing, but ever since it seems we've been speaking greek to each other. We can't communicate. We've now discussed it for a total of several hours and we only met a week ago tonight. It's unfortunate, but I guess at least we are getting this stuff out in the open quickly. We may recover and bounce back and become all the closer for it, but at this point I think we are both thinking the same thing: we should be in the salad days, not the knots-in-stomach days. I don't know if there is a future for us. But it's actually a really positive reminder that I do want to foster and encourage a little more lovin' in my life. Of the emotional kind.

It's 9:18, and there must be Sirens in my bed, singing the sweet song of cool sheets and soft pillows. I can't think about anything else. Sometimes going to bed before 10 PM is absolutely delicious. Better than ice cream.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Happy Birthday, Jon!


That's about all I can say about yesterday right now.


Greek and Roman gods and goddesses showed up for the birthday celebration yesterday...



And here is Adonis himself, puzzling over the little metal box that has tiny people inside


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