I have really done a disappearing act from my blog lately.  I've been caught up in my latest weight loss enterprise and just didn't have any spare brain cells left to write with. 

All day today I've had the hymn "Resting in the Arms of Jesus" running through my head.  Well, maybe not all day; just since the cat bit my baby viciously on the cheek (there's probably not a non-vicious way to bite someone).  This inspired the murderous thoughts that eventually led to my mental choice of hymns.  I've owned and hated this cat for four years.  It was abandoned at a rental house next door to us at our previous domicile and we quickly learned why.  But we felt sorry for her, so rather than abandon her a second time, we brought her with us to the house on the hill.  And we've lived to regret it.  While her name is Honey, it really should have been Lucifer, if you know want I mean.  Sure, she's all friendly when you come up on the porch, but if you make one wrong move, or stop petting her when she really wants you to continue, she'll bite.  At one time or another, she's bitten all of us.  We warn all our guests, but all are still shocked when she bites their little Johnny or Jane.   And now she's gone too far. 

My neighbor the vet says we need to keep her another 10 days to make sure she doesn't keel over from some dread disease that could impact baby.  But that cat has all her shots, so I'm not worried about her health.  But how does one do the right thing with a pet (execute it summarily at dawn, in this case) without traumatizing your children? 

My husband thinks we should try the direct approach and explain that she's simply not pet material for anyone and really, there's not another job available for cats.   His point being to convince them that sending her on to the next of her 9 lives is the right thing to do.  I, on the other hand, am still really, really mad at my mother for putting the family dog down when I was 10, so I think that's a terrible idea.  I'm thinking of calling in a hit man who'll just arrange for a sudden, unexplained disappearance.  And the kids can just believe she's found a better porch to cover with hair, or a warmer hearth, or maybe even some people that like her. 

But I'll know she's "Resting in the Arms of Jesus."  Or in her case, maybe she'll be off in the other direction... 

You can see that it might be in my children's best interest not to know exactly how mean I can be when it comes to that monstrous cat.  When you and your spouse have had to make these tough decisions about pets, how did you talk about it to your kids?  Or did you?  HELP!

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My friend Tim always has the most interesting and thought provoking things to say.  And he's always doing something interesting, active, or outrageous -- or all three.  "Doing" is something I really respect in life.  Not to mention, if you get a wild hair and just really need to do something spur of the moment like snow skiing or boating (you know, a TRUE emergency!), he's always game.  In short, he's the most reliable friend I have when action is required, along with his fabulously energetic and thoughtful wife, Adele. 

In his latest blog, he mentions an acquaintance going through a particular set of difficulties.  It really took me back.  And not necessarily to a place I wanted to go.  But no, I've never suffered from domestic abuse.  I've been uncommonly blessed in the domestic department -- on all fronts.  My parents are the best parents on the planet earth, for starters.  My husband is somewhere up there in the top percentile of everything a girl could ever dream of.  But still, aside from these permanent fixtures in my life, I've had some disappointments and some periods of deep, dark grief.  I was transported by what Tim said. 

I've often thought I should write a book about overcoming grief, but the way I accomplished it in my life when it became necessary sounds soooo shallow and stupid and ridiculous and 3,000 other things that do not add up to a New York Times Best Seller.  So I'm going to post my response to Tim's blog here and ask you to help me articulate it better.  I've thought of it so many times, I'm no longer objective enough to know how to say it.  I do know that it works:

"I have watched a similar cycle unfold for people near to me. It is so painful to see. And having been in a place a couple of times in my life where it is nearly impossible to get out of bed for sheer grief, I can feel your friend’s pain.

An approach that has worked for me in the past sounds so silly now, but I’ll put it out there anyway: Set attainable goals. If necessary, choose something you can’t possibly lose at. I kid you not, my “attainable goal” was to get a tan. Noone on earth can avoid getting a tan if they sit outside enough, so it’s a good example of an extreme baby step. I lived in California at the time, so it was a given. Nothing salves the soul like accomplishment, no matter how fish-in-a-barrel-esque. But there are other things one can set out to do that are difficult to fail at: Whenever they ask you at Krogers to give one dollar for Muscular Dystrophy research, give a dollar. I bet you can think of a million attainable goals. And that, I believe, is the secret to overcoming grief."

So, can you help me restate that in a way that makes sense?  Do you have any questions about it, like "gee, what did you do when you WEREN'T laying out in the sun and skipping classes in college?"  And most of all, when you have experienced the sort of grief that makes waking up in the morning a nightmare worthy of the movie "Groundhog Day," how have you worked your way through it?

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...and one of the many reasons God provided them. 

I was just telling Mrs. Partyoffive the other night (during our Lost Party) how fortunate I am in the friendship department.  I have a number of people I'm just darned lucky to count as friends because, well, frankly, I don't deserve them.  They are people who make extraordinary friends of themselves, whereas I'm really not even a mediocre friend.  It just isn't my gift.

1. I do not remember birthdays.  And even when I do, I can never seem to pull off anything magnificent.  On the other hand, I have friends who actually send greeting cards to my pets, my children, my extended family, plus remember to throw a soiree to mark every single event in my life.
2. I forget to call.  Sometimes, I even forget to call back. 
3. I just don't notice subtle changes in the countenance of my friends, nor do I thoughtfully inquire what I can do to help.  On the other hand, I have friends who offer the most outrageous gifts of service to me at all times of the day and night.
4. I actually forget to do things I've promised.  And even when I remember my promises, I forget whether or not I've fulfilled my obligation and have to ask... or worse, forget to ask.  (What's up with that?  Maybe I need some Gingko Biloba.)  On the other hand, I have a number of fabulous friends who are like clockwork and highly dependable. 

So what has one of my glorious, undeserved friends done for me now?? 

A year or so ago, I mentioned in a blog that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).   While the hubby recently disappeared on a very, very, very (have I said "very" enough?) extended trip overseas, I really struggled to cope.  And "coping" and "coping gracefully" are two very different things to begin with!  It was 2 weeks -- weekend and all.  I really survived fairly well until about 3 days prior to his return.  The single parenting thing finally got to me and I sincerely wanted to lock myself in a quiet closet and hide from my beloved children.  I also said and did some other pretty weird things, like turn down a snow skiing trip for next weekend that the king offered because I wanted to go to the Dominican Republic instead.  That should have been the first clue.

BUT, before I could do any one of the 5 or 10 things that it occurred to me to do, my good friend Mrs. MonkeyParade proclaimed "I know what's wrong with you!  You need your lights!" 

"Lights?" I asked, totally perplexed. 

"Yes, you are having Seasonal Affective Disorder!  Shall I go get you some of those light bulbs? I can bring them by." 

And suddenly, it all made sense.  What a relief. 

So, I really didn't need to:

1. Hide in the aforementioned closet.
2. Pack it all up and go join the circus.  I'm certain I would have been hired into the high wire act.
3. Drop the kids off at Mom's and move to Tuscany, where I could learn to mash grapes with my toes.
4. Move to Bali.
5. Keep reading so many Clive Cussler books -- it just felt so good to be a marine biologist out on the deck of a NUMA ship, even if only in my head.

It has been much cheaper to fill my Ipod with my old favorites and hit the sunny road with Sally-the-Golden-Pyrenees, my cell phone, a bottle of water and all the boys in the groups Yes and U2.  Yes, I know -- they are very OLD boys, by now!  (All the Queen's boys must stay home, or the whole purpose is defeated.)  Of course, I can't have this little micro-getaway when the king isn't home, so I'm still going to need some very cheerful lightbulbs for when that time comes, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  Spring is on its way, for sure.

But if not for the blessing of friends, I'd probably still be swirling around the bowl of depression and not-quite-knowing-what's-wrong. 

And Tim will be happy to know that I kept the TV off all day and not one child over two years of age even noticed or commented.  All the kids were very amused to dance around to tunes from such winners as Def Leppard, Toad-the-Wet-Sprocket, The Cure, Nickelback, and Matchbox Twenty.  Did anyone get a little blast from the past, there, or am I just the oldest person I know??

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I know I should get to Part 2 of the Fluoride Mystery before everyone loses interest, but we've been afflicted with the epizootig again and also, spent some time this week actively working against the introduction of fluoride into the local public water. 

Oldest Son (OS) is not an early bird, but on the day of a recent board meeting of the Utility District, he got himself up at the crack of dawn, showered and dressed and insisted on going with me to join a protest we heard about the day before.  I had visions of truancy officers in my future, but couldn't come up with a single rational explanation for why he shouldn't enjoy his right to freedom of speech on a homeschool day!  What better civics lesson is there?  What better way to learn what democracy is about?  What better way to teach him to "Never believe that a few caring people can't change the world. For, indeed, that's all who ever have." [Margaret Mead.]

So here are a couple of photos to document that he was there -- lterally ripped from the newspaper headlines.  It is hard to believe that there were maybe 10 or 12 other people there total, when OS is pretty much the only one pictured in both the papers.  But then again, I've never seen a more enthusiastic sign waver in my life! 

It was very gratifying that a couple of other homeschoolers came to contribute to our numbers during the protest, and I received emails after the fact from folks who would have participated if they had known of the event.  We didn't succeed in getting the Mayor to reverse his decision, nor did the Utility District board decide they had the courage to fight, but they have delayed the actual release of the chemicals until after the next board meeting.  This makes me think they are hopeful there will be something dramatic occur between now and then.  OS and I'll help out in that department best we can.   

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I love a good mystery.  Especially ones with signs of conspiracies and cover-ups and government complicity.  Probably a symptom of WAAAY too much Robert Ludlum and Tom Clancy reading, back when I used to have free, uninterrupted time.

My latest case as an amateur sleuth began with a decree to add fluoride to the public water supply from our local mayor, a former lawyer and political party leader.  I thought these strange credentials in making healthcare decisions for the community, and since I strenuously believe that nothing he does is motivated by anything good, it bore looking into.

The two week odyssey of research took me from the 1930s through the present, to Sarnia, Ontario, and other disparate places like Hooper Bay, Alaska; Bauxite, Arkansas; and the Aluminum Company of America. Not to mention from science to junk science and on through the politics of expediency. 

First of all, let me just say that, like with the terms "homeschooler" and "alien," I am aware that there is an immediate and visceral reaction to the term "opponent of fluoride."  You know instantly that all homeschoolers are dressed in jumpers, are ultra-conservative Christians, and have a dozen children.  You immediately know that all "resident aliens" are actually illegal aliens.  And you equally assume all opponents of fluoride are either quacks or kooks.  (Or maybe you don't have the same visceral reaction because those of you reading this are also homeschoolers?)  But as a friend of mine said to me last week:  "Just because they are kooks doesn't mean they are wrong."  Reminded me of that old chestnut, "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get you."

Either way, a fresh look at the evidence on safety and efficacy of fluoride may reveal to you the uneasy truth that while there may be evidence of its effectiveness in reducing dental caries, and while it is frequently repeated that it is economical, you may actually come up dry on hard evidence that it is safe.  I aspire to demonstrate this using facts not garnered from "kooks," but from the Belly of the Beast itself.

Look for Part 2, coming soon to this blog, near you.