THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN

While in Australia I often saw Wallabies (pictured above) on roadsides at night, pinned in the brilliant headlights and frozen in terror as the glaring eyed behemoth roared towards them. They are marsupials like kangaroos but smaller.

All autos in the area had " 'roo" bars welded to the front as protection if one struck a kangaroo. Kangaroos are large animals and it does considerable damage to the auto and injury or death to the occupants if a kangaroo leaps in front of the auto at night. In Western Australia the Western Gray Kangaroos are the native species; adult males standing upright are from 5' to 7' tall and weigh from 150 to 200 pounds.

My photos did not come out well so I downloaded this similar one from the internet.

[Cross posted from a private blog on 02/21/'07WA]

Saturday, October 15, 2005

MUSIC HATH CHARMS....

I read articles tonight regarding the effect of music on people. One tidbit of information stated that music of any genre elevated the moods of the audience. Did they need a scientific experiment to determine that ? A long time ago someone coined the phrase "...music hath charms to soothe the savage breast..". Or was that savage "beast"?

Another article revealed how a few bars of music, even just reading the title of a song or seeing the cover of a record or cd, would trigger memories associated with the song or musical selection. Music does indeed seem to be a powerful memory trigger. There are a number of songs that instantly bring back memories of the time of my life when those songs were popular or had special meaning for me.

"Green Door" with its lyrics "one more night without sleeping, watching till the morning comes creeping..." became my insomniac theme song and a reminder of countless sleepless nights."...this lonliness is driving me mad..." became representative of the extreme aloneness I began to feel after I lost my independence in my home and especially later when I moved into this apartment building for the elderly. I never suffered from empty nest syndrome when the kids were all gone but I was greatly affected when I could no longer have the interaction with the extended family and the big family get togethers, and I had to spend so much alone time. Sometimes when I'm doing the things I do in this silent little apartment, I will suddenly become aware of some of those lyrics running through my mind.

"Going To Kansas City" always reminds me of Husband #2, even though the lyrics involve little application to him other than the fact that he was from Kansas, near Kansas City. I do not like reminders of him nor memories of him. Usually I pretend he never happened to my life. When events in your life are so emotionally and psychologically traumatic that you were literally driven mentally unstable for awhile, it is better not to dwell on those matters. Once you escape from such an environment, recover from the ill effects and come to terms with the events, it's healthier to just move on and not look back.

Some [ancient] country songs bring back memories of my youth when I bought my first radio and a record player [played 78s] with babysitting money. I had to wait until Mother was gone to play either machine because she disapproved of that sort of music. If Daddy was at home I could play them but very quietly in my room and never disturb him with "that noise". I came to know and like many of the old WWII songs too. Daddy ignored the rambunctious noise of children playing but he didn't like "that noise".

I have forgotten many songs from my youth but occasionally someone will play a goldie-REALLY-oldie and memories will come flooding back of my teen years and events associated with those times. I learned to dance to "Stardust", in a forbidden visit to a ballroom where the woman worked for whom I babysitted. Mother would have exploded! Not only did they DANCE at that establishment, but they sold ALCOHOL, too!! Den of iniquity!! And sailors from the NAS military base frequented it. A surefire recipe for a swift, greased, downhill slide straight to the fires of Hell. When I hear Stardust I can still see that cavernous place with the polished floors, the mirrored balls casting silvery lights all around, and hear how the music seemed to echo through the virtually empty afternoon space. Mother would never have believed how strict my "boss" was and how carefully she chaperoned me. I was as safe as in church.

Hah! Safer!! The first time I was molested by a stranger was in church. Mother had hauled me off to a revival meeting at a huge, downtown church. After services concluded all the women stood around in groups talking so the children scattered out exploring the rear sections of the building. I was with a group of 6 to 10 other pre- and pubescent children, and a man, nicely dressed in a suit and accompanied by a boy about my age appeared in our midst and offered to show us about. We preferred to explore on our own but didn't know how to refuse an adult's offer, especially one who looked important and authoritative. Ofcourse his presence put a damper on our enthusiasm and we walked quietly and sedately as he shepherded us about. He singled me out and kept touching my hair, my arm or shoulder which made me uneasy.

Eventually we came to a split level section, with a step down to the lower area. He exclaimed to me, "Oh, be careful, don't fall. Here, let me help you" and reached under my arms to lift me down. Except he reached far enough around that his hands cupped my budding breasts, and he clung to them even after he set me down. I twisted around to look at him and the expression on his face distressed and frightened me even more than his obviously wrong touching. I told the other children, "I gotta go find my Mama" and they scampered after me, unsettled by the man also. I hung at Mother's elbow until she finally left the church. I don't know why I never told her about the man, but then most children don't tell.

These many decades later I can still recall the expression on the face of the young boy that accompanied that man and how he looked when the man was cupping my breasts. Shamed, yet curious. When I matured sufficiently to understand the situation, I wondered about that boy, how his character and morals were shaped by observing his role model, if in later times he participated in child molestations also, or also took a son or younger boy under his wing to re-enact the past experiences.

Early Elvis songs and "Mr. Earl" open the doors to late night drives to the hospital where I worked 11 P.M. to 7 A.M., tooling along with radio blasting. Certain other C & W songs by Johnny Cash and other popular singers of his early era brings back the "honkytonk" post- divorce days when I ran around with my best friend I met in nursing school, Susan. She always had to attend functions at the country club with her husband but when she had free time she loved the music and ambiance of the old fashioned honkytonks and introduced me to that segment of society. It was a whole new world to me. I loved music of all kinds but I really liked the country music and dancing to it. I never did drink much but I surely loved to dance.

When I hear "Crazy Arms" I recall a romance with a cute little Louisiana Frenchman from the piney woods. I had a terrific crush on him but knew a committed relationship was not advisable. I had 4 little children from my first marriage to think of and he was not stable enough to offer a future for them. If I had not had children I may have taken a gamble on him as a husband, but not when I had children to consider. But dang! he was a cutie pie and it tore me up to end the relationship. Especially later when I'd see him with another woman. Such is the contrariness of women.

I love Cajun music. I learned to waltz at a night club across the Texas border in Louisiana where another nurse friend and I would go to dance. Mary Nell's father was very strict so we had to get home before he awakened in the mornings. Many times I danced the bottoms out of my stockings, and my feet would be so swollen I couldn't get my shoes on. People thought we went down there hunting for dates but all we wanted to do was dance. We never dated anyone from there. Now I hear some of those old Cajun tunes and I am transported in memory to the Moulin Rouge club. Great times. Eating Cajun food and drinking chicory coffee at 4 or 5 A.M. on our way back to Texas. Feeling foolish in our evening finery when other people were coming in dressed for their day's work, grinning sheepishly at their good natured raillery.

Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Mikado", and how my eldest daughter loved it. None of the children ever came to like Grand Opera but she liked the light operettas and all my goldie oldies. In fact, she can recall more of the oldies and lyrics than I can.

So much music, so many songs, and how very many bring back memories of people long gone, places, times and events.

Memories. I love the song, "Memory" from "Cats". So meaningful to me. I was beautiful then....
posted by( deleted)Insomniac @ 10/15/2005 02:25:00 AM

A young Manx with stumpy tail like Sheba's. Sheba looked like this when she was younger. Now she is mature and is heavier. This youngster's face has not yet filled out.
This Manx cat is standing with back somewhat bowed but shows the high hindquarters and the stumpy tail like Sheba's. She could be Sheba's twin. Sheba's face is round like this cat's, and her eyes are yellow-green.
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Sheba is my cat. I fell in love with her when she was a kitten but Joanna didn't give her to me until she was about a year old. Jo had her spayed, vaccinated, and wormed but did not have her declawed. Sheba was a half breed outside cat. Her father was a black Manx and her mother was a white mixed breed "alley cat". The Manx genes were strong and all the kittens in the litter exhibited the Manx characteristics. Sheba was the only black one; her siblings were calico. All were stumpys but Sheba's stump was the shortest. The spine extends only about an inch of tail and curls into a C shape, which gives her miniscule tail a rounded pom-pom look.

That Manx tom cat apparently was a rover who paid his respects to other females in the area. Jo and Lloyd found an abandoned black Manx kitten at the local Dairy Queen who also appeared to be pure bred, as does Sheba. Appropriately, Jo and Lloyd named their Manx DQ. Lloyd heard that there was a Manx cattery in the town so it appears that one of their breeder toms must have escaped for outside adventures. When queens are in estrus, it is difficult to keep them confined and males will find a way to answer the call of nature. What red blooded tom cat can resist the husband-hunting cry of an amorous female. It would not be gentlemanly to fail to accomodate the lady.

When Sheba was a kitten Lloyd decided she looked like a little bear when hanging over someone's forearm, so Little Bear she became. Not that she answered to it; she came when food was placed on the porch for her, her litter mates, mother and other assorted outside cats who recognized a soft touch and came from near and far to reside at the farmette.

I didn't think she looked like a bear and did not care for the name, so when she came to live with me, I just called her Cat. She ignored that name as independently as she had ignored Little Bear. My youngest daughter is a confirmed cat lover and our home had always been full of cats. Jeannie was aghast that I called the cat Cat and insisted that she must have a proper name. She determined that the cat was a Sheba, so Sheba she was christened. I was taken to task rather sternly every time I called the cat Cat so eventually I conformed. Sheba ignores that name just as she ignored the others. She also regally ignored the call of "kitty, kitty, kitty".

I concluded that she failed to respond because of her year as an outside cat, interacting with people only at feeding time and the occasional petting. Roy and I once owned a black Manx tomcat, who became known as C'Mon, as in "come on". Roy was not fond of cats and merely tolerated the innumerable cats Jeannie always owned. He did bond with one female named Faces and would even play hide and seek with her. The rest were a necessary nuisance to be tolerated as our child's pets. However, he came to love C'Mon and taught him several tricks. Roy would not deign to call "kitty, kitty" but instead would slap his thigh and gruffly say, "C'Mon" as if calling a dog. C'Mon responded to that and everyone else had to use that call to get him to come to us. I began using that method to call Sheba; usually she just looks at me but if she condescends to respond, will come to that summons. In spite of being a people-cat, she retains her feline independence, and there is no animal as independent as a cat.

It was clear that she was intelligent and learned quickly. Upon her arrival at my home, I prepared a litter box for her. She sniffed it, then looked up at me as if "you've got to be kidding!" and stalked away. She had always taken care of her private business somewhere on the farmette and had never seen a litter box. There was no place in the apartment that I could put the litter box that appealed to her. Fearing an accident, I finally put the litter box in the bathtub , drew the curtain and showed it to her. As long as I stood there, she just looked back at me with those round, yellow-green eyes. When I finally walked away, in a few minutes I heard the scratch, scratch of her claws as she covered her deposit. She just wanted privacy! A litter box in my bathtub wouldn't do, even though I took showers instead of baths.Terry took me to the store where I purchased an oversized litter box with a cover, like a small doghouse. Her privacy assured, she consented to use it when it was placed outside of the bathtub.

She tried clawing my couch one time. A squirt from the water bottle and an angry "NO!" was all it took to teach her not to do that. Thereafter she used her combo scratching post/cat house. Other transgressions required merely a squirt and a "No!" and eventually just a "no" without a water squirt. Now she no longer transgresses, having learned which activities are forbidden.

Sheba is very playful and scurries around chasing toys or any small object that she can bat around. Since she is not declawed, she uses her front paws and claws much as we use fingers. She can fish out an object from any place from which we can extract something with fingers. She selects and removes for play any of her toys from her toy basket, and has been caught removing wrapped bon-bons from the candy dish to bat around like toys. She is the epitome of "curious as a cat" and investigates everything new brought into the house, and as the article below states, she is right in the middle of any of my doings, "helping" me and seeing what I am up to. She follows me about the apartment like a puppy, always wanting to be near me. She sits or stands beside me when I am in my rocking chair or at the computer, and often shares my footstool. She also spends time perched on a window sill staring out at the world below. Sometimes she watches the movement on the TV screen.

Like the Manx, she has a low, very quiet meow but can get a little louder when she asks for treats. However, she rarely meows but will stand before me staring fixedly, as if trying cat telepathy. When I arise, asking her what she wants, she will proceed ahead of me and lead me where she wants me to go, to the pantry for cat food to refill her bowl or to the kitchen for treats. At first she would scamper ahead of me but she apparently learned that I move slowly, so now she marches sedately ahead with ears laid back , tracking the sound of my shuffling foorsteps as I follow. She exhibits the voice genes of her alley cat mother, though, when she is confined to her carrier, which she hates. She can then meow almost as loudly as any other cat. She also has the Manx "trill", a small , soft vibrato rather like a cross between a purr and a meow. She uses that trill sometimes when she talks to me, especially if I startle her by tugging gently at her pom-pom. Her purr is almost inaudible, more felt than heard.

Sheba takes her frequent cat naps as do all cats, usually on my bed, and at night time she sleeps with me. If she is ready for bed and I'm doing one of my all-nighters at the computer, she will come to my side, twine around my legs, stand and stare at me fixedly. If those tactics fail to get results, she will then offer an insistent meow, letting me know it's bedtime. If I stand up, she will instantly leap upon the bed and walk up and down the side, looking up at me, as if, "well? are you coming?" She requests a great deal of stroking, assuming the "stroke me" position and waiting patiently, but she is not a lap cat. She will tolerate being held for a few minutes then begins to squirm to get down.

Although she rarely meows, she does sometimes take me to task when I return from an absence. She will meet me at the door and meow repeatedly, meowing back as I speak to her. It is as if she is scolding me or questioning me about leaving her. At other times she will maintain an aloof silence, curled up on my bed and just staring at me, refusing to meow when I talk to her. Giving me the silent treatment, I suppose.

The little creature is company for me and I am somewhat concerned about her future when I die. I know that Jeannie would take her immediately and add her to the cattery of her household. Jo would also take Sheba but she would resume being an outdoor cat, not the healthiest or most desirable state of affairs. Jo already has 5 housecats and may not want another, but she might add Sheba to her house of cats. I am quite fond of the little animal and enjoy her presence in the quiet solitude of my life.

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The two cats below are shown to demonstrate the general conformation of the breed, including the high hindquarters. Manx cats come in all colors and with different lengths of tails or no tails. Rumpys, the cats with no spinal extension for a tail, are the most desired for show. Sheba is a Stumpy, having a stump of a spinal tail extension.
Manx Cat - White............
Manx Cat - Red Tabby
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http://www.fanciers.com/breed-faqs/manx-faq.html
Description
The Manx is a stocky, solid cat with a dense double coat (long or short), a compact body, very short back, hind legs that are visibly longer than the front legs, big bones, a wide chest, and greater depth of flank (sides of the cat nearest the rear) than other cats. The standard weight for males is 10-12 lbs. and for females is 8-10 lbs. The Manx head is broad-jowled with round eyes, and the ear-set is distinct to the breed--when viewed from the back, the ears and the top of the head form a "cradle" or "rocker" shape. The ears themselves are broad at the base and taper to a narrower, rounded tip. This is the general appearance of all Manx cats, regardless of whether they are show-quality or not.
Although the completely tailless, or "rumpy," Manx is the desired show type, Manx may also have tails. A litter of kittens may include a rumpy, a "riser" (has a bit of cartilage at the base of the spine, under the skin, that may be felt when the cat is happy), a "stumpy" (any tail length not long, but visibly a tail), and a "longy," and all are Manxes. Only rumpy and riser Manx may be shown in American competition, and the riser's cartilage must not stop the judge's hand when the back is stroked.
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The Manx is a mellow, even-tempered cat, friendly and affectionate. Its origins as a "working" cat are still strongly seen in the breed, and any Manx which lives an outdoor or outdoor/indoor life is a fierce, dedicated hunter. Many people call the Manx the "dog cat" because of its strong desire to be with its people. Manx cats will follow you about the house, "helping" with whatever you happen to be doing at the moment. Manx cats are not prone to restive movement, and even kittens like to curl up in a lap for a nap. Manx do like to get on things, and if you're looking for your cat, look about the room at eye-level (yours, not the cat's) on tables and the backs of chairs and on bookcases. Chances are, you'll spot your cat pretty quickly.
The Manx voice is usually very quiet for its size. Even a female in full-blown heat doesn't make very much noise at all. The Manx has a distinct "trill" which you most often hear from females talking to the kits, but with which they will reply to their people's verbalizations as well. Your Manx *will* talk to you.