Am I going blind?

I first noticed something wrong on January 2008, when I got my apprentice driver's licence. When they show you the E's facing different directions. I aced that test, got my 20/20's but I had to strain for it.

I never had to strain before.

Now, since at least this January I have been sort of suspecting I am not seeing clearly. I do not pay much attention to my surroundings anyways, and the loss was mostly on far things, so I was not overly worried. Then the fuzzyness crept nearer and I got the hibbi-jibies.

Now I can deduce what traffic signs say, because of the shape of the words, but the letters themselves are too unfocused to be deciphered. I have trouble seeing things that my bespectacled co-workers say: "Daaamn, woman! And you say you can't see that?"

I can't imagine anything worse than losing my sight. I am a reader. I would die!
And yes, I am aware there is a certain thing called Braille, but I would have to learn to read all over again, and meanwhile I would not be able to read.

Also, I have not yet seen an ophthalmologist. I have an appointment for July, it was the soonest I could get.

I am probably drowning in a glass of water. I have no blindness in my family, on either side. Still, I am anxious.

Maybe this is my body telling me not to drive.....

JUST KIDDING!!!!

Learning to drive

At this age of mine,(turning 30 in two weeks, if you must know) I am learning to drive.

Carlos takes me for a spin in a parking lot we know that is totally vacant on Caturdays. At first he stayed on the car giving me directions, but now he gets off and tells me to drive around a few times and return for him. It gives me more confidence. No more sharp indrawn breath when I make something stupid.

I am still having trouble judging distances, and it's not like I'm learning inside a ginormous-monstertruck- SUV. I am driving in a sedan. Small, compact, automatic transmission.

Still, everytime I turn right I misjudge the distance and either invade the other lane or jump the curve.

I am aware that I sound pathetic. I should have learned sooo long ago that it would be second nature to me. Hindsight is 20/20.

the guys at work tell me that I should get me a professional teacher. Learning with family and friends is harder because they love you and will not force you to go farther than you want to go at that moment, so you learn slooooowly. Or they get nervous easily and rattle your nerves too!

They tell me a real teacher would place me behind the wheel on day one, and we would go on a long-ish trip. Two hours or so. After three days of this, they say, anyone is ready for the test.
And that is scary as hell to me.

I will do it, but after I have passed a slightly smaller test Carlos devised for me.

You see, Carlos goes to work at 4:45 am and takes me to my job. At the time there is very little traffic.

There is some traffic, so I am not in my confort zone, but since I fear I might be a risk to others on the road, this is the best way to test me and give me confidence for the professional teacher.

I will be driving to work on Monday morning. After a week of this, I will be ready for a trip to Ponce and will be blogging about it!

SCARE

I got the scare of the year yesterday.

My husband usually picks me up from work, but he is also what we could call " congenitally retarded". Not as in dumb, I mean he is late for everything. Eeeeeeverything.

He goes out of work 4 hours before I do. So he goes home and falls asleep. I end up stranded. I have begged rides from almost everyone at work.

So, the other day he is not there to pick me up. He is not taking his phone. I figure, he's asleep and beg a ride.

When we are a few streets from home, I receive a call from my Father-in-Law. He and my husband work at the same place, in the same department, in different buildings but both buildings are facing each other. They cannot sneeze without the other learning all about it. " Hey, your son just sneezed. Is he ok?"
Anyways, so he calls me and asks me : " Hey Kiki, how is Carlos doing?"
"Sleeping, I think. I'm not home yet. What do you mean?"

He proceeds to tell me of how Carlos felt a sharp pain in his chest at around 10am, the paramedics were called, they took his pressure and vitals, and they rushed him to the hospital where they were checking his heart. That is the last thing he knows.

I promise to call him as soon as I get home.

My co-worker leaves me a few streets from home, and that has been the weirdest walk in my life. It was the slowest and the fastest one. It felt slow 'cause I need to get there NOW, and it is all I can do not to run like the dickens. It felt fast 'cause I saw nothing, I walked completely immersed in my head, did not experience the road.

I get home. His car is there so they let him go from the hospital and he must be allright. Right?

So why is my hand shaking?

He was sleeping.

Turns out the pain in his chest was muscular, caused by stress. They made a whole battery of tests and he was perfectly healthy. But they gave him a shot of muscle relaxant and that made him sleepy. He forgot to call me. Sorry.

But he had called his father and told him he was alright. He just omitted that part from his report. Arghhhh!

And then Carlos asks me, with a smug look on his face, enjoying this already : "Were you worried?"

"No way. I spent the walk home thinking how much money I could get by selling your stuff. I get home full of hopes and you have the bad manners to be alive! What a spoilsport!"

Kiki-chan in Mirror Land

I am putting here a post by Crystal, mirroring it, because it seems she might need a little help if a rich man decides he wants to punish her for what she wrote in her blog.
I do not know the guy. He is a country singer and the nearest I have ever been to the genre is Dolly Parton in Nine to five.
But a bully is recognizabe anywhere in the world. They speak the international language of "my stick is bigger than yours".

Crystal, I just started to blog this month. I have no readers as yet. But I guess I can contribute to the cause a little exposure to the two or three lost souls that stumble into these parts of the woods.

The Completely True Brad Paisley Story and Other Things I've Meant To Post

I had this long, drawn out explanation going and then I read it and realized that I can sum it up in one sentence: I was a shit when I was a kid. I was my mom and dad's only child and their kids from previous marriages probably ended up getting the short end of the proverbial stick for that reason. That's not to say my childhood was a Disney movie, but I wasn't torn between two parents who lived on opposite ends of the state and stuck with a snotshit sister (that would be me) who was so lonely that she did everything short of set herself on fire to get attention. And I'm sure I considered it.

My sister, Leslie, is my dad's daughter from his first marriage. She had been the baby until he and her mom got divorced. They basically despised each other and then all of a sudden, a short time later, I arrived. On the infrequent occasions when I remember her coming to visit, my Dad had a hard time with the guilt that most weekend parents feel, she had a hard time communicating with him (and in all fairness, everyone did) and I was in the middle, jumping around like a monkey on meth. When we moved overseas, I got letters from her every once in a while and she tried really hard to keep in touch. Then as she grew older and her life moved on, the letters stopped. I don't think I was very good at answering them (sent me an email last year? I'll write back! Sure, I will!) and before I knew it, it had been almost twenty years since I had seen her.

My other sister, Lucy, had stayed in the U.S. when we moved to Kuwait and, since she was eight years older than me, by the time we came home, she was married and had a child. But since my dad was still with her mom, she was kind of stuck with me.

Needless to say, I missed having a sister. Between the age gaps, the distance and the emotional turmoil of being the daughters of different women we each fiercely loved and a father who had loved them both, Leslie and I didn't really have a great chance. I wondered about her often and I was saddened that I had never met my nieces and nephews.

One day after I moved, I came across an old address book I had been carrying around since I was a teenager. I had a number for Leslie from years before when my Mom had kept up with those kinds of things. On a whim, I called it and was surprised when my sister answered. We somehow fumbled our way through that first conversation and a little while later, I drove down to her farm in Franklin and found out, much to my surprise, that there is another woman out there just like me. She introduced me to her pot-bellied pigs, Donny and Marie and fainting goats and Bacardi 151 and homemade hangover remedies and I was in awe of how much I loved her (I also found out on a later trip that when rocks get hot enough, they make a sound much like a gun being fired. I have been in Memphis for too long because the first time I heard one, I hit the ground like Tupac). She had, like, eight kids at the time and was thin and blonde and beautiful and I STILL loved her.

There is a point to all of this. Hang in there.

Leslie is married to this great guy, Chad, who wants to have about a dozen more kids, much to the horror of her uterus. Together with his parents, they have/had a non-profit organization called U-Grow that targeted troubled kids in really unfortunate and sometimes awful situations. Chad is always working. Always. They had a petting zoo, a bunch of wonderful service Labs, climbing walls and all sorts of things that made their farm a fun, warm and active learning environment for these kids that sometimes didn't have anyone else who really gave a shit about them. They opened their home and some of the children grew up with them as a family. They cared, they worked their asses off, they didn't live for themselves and they inspired me to be a better parent.

Not long after I reconnected with Leslie, her Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer after being told for months that there was nothing wrong with her. Sheila died in pain after the cancer spread, so quickly, and Leslie nursed her and cared for her until she finally passed away a short time later. Leslie was thirty-six and had a brand new baby. I wasn't the most comforting person during that time. I didn't know what to say and, "I'm sorry", seemed small and useless in the face of what she was enduring. I have always felt guilty for being the daughter that lived with our Dad and my sister was suffering and basically feeling like she had been orphaned. She moved on through it, rarely did I hear her cry or let on that she was in pain and she continued to be a fantastic mom even though I'm sure she wanted to curl up and sleep for months.

On the heels of that, the farm they rented was purchased by Brad Paisley. Franklin is a mecca of sorts for country singers because it neighbors Nashville and the hills and sprawling countryside are breathtaking. It's home to Tim McGraw & Faith Hill, Alan Jackson, Leann Rimes, just to name a few. For many reasons, the real estate pricing is astronomical and purchasing just wasn't an option for my sister and her husband. The farm they had lived on for almost a decade was a perfect compromise and even though the house was a hundred years old, it suited them. Leslie and Chad met Brad and his wife, the actress Kimberly Williams-Paisley and were relieved to find out that the huge piece of land they were buying wasn't out of interest in the old farm house. They wanted to build a house on the back side of the massive acreage and my sister and her husband were assured that they could continue to rent without any foreseeable problems. Basically, they would be living so far back from the farm house that it was as though they were living on another property. No problem, right?

Wrong.

Before Christmas, Brad Paisley's asshole manager came down (couldn't quite do the deed yourself, eh, Brad?) and informed my sister and her family that they had some ridiculously short time to be out of the house. Ten years of accumulating equipment for the non-profit foundation, climbing walls, a petting zoo complete with horses, pigs, chickens, goats, etc., several vehicles that had been donated and a giant barn full of stuff, but, hey, get the hell out! When my brother-in-law asked, in horror, "Hey man, haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'?" the asshole manager replied, "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'He who has the the most gold makes the rules'?"

In desperation, the organization asked for a donation from the Paisley's to help cover the massive cost of moving and were met with silence. In a nutshell, Brad Paisley and his lovely wife single-handedly buried the non-profit organization. My sister and her husband were frantically searching for new homes for the animals and trying to find a way to save what they had built over the years. The animals were given away to various places because there was nowhere for them to go and the kids who depended on the happiness they found at that farm were faced with yet another disappointment in a lifetime full of them. Kim Paisley was on Oprah or some such thing a few weeks later harping about her involvement with Purina's charity and how she lovvvves dogs and WHATEVER, ALL THOSE ANIMALS AND KIDS SHIT ON.

U-Grow survived in name only and my sister never complained. She laughed about most of the ridiculousness that is the Paisley's and never got ugly or hateful. She moved on.

A couple of months ago, Chad lost the business he had been building while trying to keep U-Grow afloat. Les has been a devoted stay-at-home mom since her kids were little and now they are trying to keep food in their house as they suffer, again, for being nothing but great people in shitty circumstances. My niece is graduating and doing so without all the frills of a girl graduating high school. No senior pictures, no graduation invitations. My nephew had his sixteenth birthday yesterday and my sister called me and was heartbroken that it was going by without a present. The other three kids are young enough that they're still mostly oblivious to the danger around them. And at the pinnacle of my shitty sister career, Leslie turned 40 on Sunday AND I FORGOT. I didn't call her, I didn't send a card. Nothing. My dad forgot, WE FORGOT. I cannot believe how much of a dickweed I am.

And she started her period.

AND WE FORGOT.

Leslie, I know you don't read my blog on a regular basis, but I'm making you read through this novella. I want you to know how much I love and respect you and that as corny and Hallmark-y as it sounds, you're my best friend. I wish to God I could make all of this better for you, somehow, and I want you to also know that if I had a million dollars, I would give you at least a hundred thousand. (Because I have to help Mom retire and Dad's medical bills and college fund for the kids, that's not included in the hundred thou I'd give you, that's separate and I would want to give money to different charities and U-Grow, get that started back and if I said I'd give you the whole thing you'd laugh and say, "No you wouldn't. Liar.", and we both know I would blow that shit on about a hundred things that have everything to do with paying it forward and how much of a sap I am and we don't bullshit each other like that, am I right?)

I hope this makes you smile.

LOSER SISTER OF THE YEAR AWARD, 4 YEARS RUNNING!

(and that's Sharpie. Permanent. And I have to go to Wal-Mart. And I didn't fix my makeup or pluck my brows or anything for this picture. I'm shamed into showing everyone how crappy I look)

EDITED TO ADD: I almost forgot to mention the most incredible part...they were told they had to move because the house was being torn down so that Brad could build a bus barn for all his tour buses. As of right now, the house is still standing.

Here are the links to move this around the internet so that as many people as possible know what jackass's the Paisley's are:

Reddit

Digg

Kirtsy

Posted by Crystal at Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Political doom and gloom (is there any other kind?)

I am not smart enough to get all this economic stuff that’s on the news lately.

But it looks bad.

I see people in the net bemoaning the current rate of inflation, and how much it is about to raise.

And I think, in Puerto Rico we are screwed. You have no idea...

Our inflationary rates have always been way, way above the USA.

Same with the unemployment rates. Ours was 12% in January 2009.
The same date in the USofA, it was 7.6%. Topped off in April 2009 at 8.9%


And it is going to get worse.

The governor of Puerto Rico, Luis “Milhouse” Fortuño is planning on massive layoffs to prevent the collapse of our economy. Turns out the government is grossly overstuffed with employees that paid for their jobs with votes. Decades, possibly centuries of paying for political favors with confy government jobs. We call them "batatas politicas", political yams because you bury them in the ground and let them just grow there. No more effort necesary.

Anyways. We can’t pay for all of them, says Luis. So out they go.

This is the idiot.
Except I doubt the political yams are the ones that should be worried.
Noooo.

Living as I have lived in Puerto Rico all my life, I would wager the political nobodies would go first. You know, the ones that refuse to say or craftily avoid a direct answer when asked for their affiliation. They can't cry Discrimination, can they? But they are not that many, so out will go the guy with the PIP decal on the car, the lady with the pava earrings.

You know how it is in unions, right? When there has to be layoffs, seniority is all that matters. They could spend the day drinking beer and playing dominoes, but they have spent so many years with us that they have to stay.

Something similar. Our political critters will find a way to save their constituents, whether or not they are qualified, interested, or actually bothers to show up at the office.

The unemployment rate is going to spike quite sharply this year.

Which means there will be less revenue from sales and such…

Which means next year around he might feel forced to repeat the performance.

Way to go, Luis!

Agüeybaná

Agüeybaná was our old warrior king.

He fought to keep the Spaniards from taking this land, his land. Legend has it that he died early in battle from a bullet aimed at the gold guanín he wore on his chest as a status symbol. He died a failure, brought down by the very symbol of his heathen ways, his deification and impersonation of the Sun.

Legend has been enshrined in history books. It makes a powerful image.

Truth rarely does.

Agüeybaná was a family name. It belonged to the ruling family only. Personal names were something else altogether. They were mutable, temporary only.

The Tainos had a custom of exchanging names to cement good relations and family ties. If your name is X and mine is Y, let’s exchange them, and your family will be like mine, and mine shall be like yours. When the Spaniards first came, Agüeybaná the First, uncle and predecessor of the one we are talking about, called for a name exchanging ceremony with the newcomers. The ceremony was called a Guaitiao. He exchanged his own with Ponce de Leon. His nephew and heir, future Agüeybaná II, exchanged his own with Luis de Whatever. (This was read in history books, out of my reach at the moment. And I could not find the proper links to the net. So my research is not impecable today. )

Thereafter his name would have been Luis Agüeybaná.

According to the records, there was a Taino king called Luquillo or Luisillo who kept with the war after Agüeybaná’s death. He was also associated with the “Carib” revolt. At a certain point he brought the European population to less than 50, all huddled together in the city of Caparra. Then the Hurricane hit, and the stone-house dwellers fared much better than the wattle-bohio dwellers. That was the moment that broke the native resistance.

Weather. A mere roll of the dice.

Why do I care for this?

We are taught that Agüeybaná died a failure. He, often used as a symbol of our national spirit, was put out of action on the first round. Disregarding the evidence, we are told of his defeat, and the end of his line.

Just like in the Arthurian myth, the King is wounded and dying, and the kingdom dies around him.

There is a link between them. They are one and the same.

By killing our king, in story, if not if fact, they kill Borinken.

In the inner kingdom of a Boricua’s mind, the king has failed. He is wounded and dying; collapsing. And just like in the Arthurian myth, his land dies around him.

The answer?

The passing of the Grail.

A new king must come out of the mists to awaken the land to its glorious past and still more glorious future. The only hope is a hero who will take up the throne, cut the ties to the failed king and build a new kingdom out of old materials.

No one has proved pure of heart, yet.

And still, I wait for Persifal…

House

As I've told you before, I am married. Been married for 2 years.

The thing is I am sick and tired of renting. We both work, we should be able to afford it. Carlos works in a government agency and is a Permanent employee, so if for some reason they fire him he can take them to the wringers. He has JOB SECURITY!

I think. The rules are being rewritten as we speak, with all this ressession this, depression that. We might be all going to hell in a laundry basket.

As for myself, after two years working as a temp in the medical equipment industry, I was hired as a regular employee. Mind you, during these two years they had to lay off 5% of their workforce, High Management orders. I saw some good people go. At least one of them is still working for the company as an outside resource or something.

After all of this, they opened up a position for me. I still can't decide if I am in more or less danger of getting the axe. The pay is good, though, and I think I will invest it on some preps for the End of the World.

I am trying not to be too optimistic just in case, but things are NOT looking gloomy. We have a reasonable expectation of monetary health.

We have no children.

We should be able to afford a friggin house.

I can imagine it completely. Blame it on my rural upbringing, but the most important part is the garden. I would have it fenced front and back.

I would take a heavy metal testing kit when we go to check out houses.Want to make sure I can eat what I produce.

On the front lawn would be the citrus trees. I have one small lemon tree that will take center stage. I found a sprouting seed inside a store bought lemon on the day Carlos and I married. Talk about a good omen. So I planted it in a little bucket. Two years. It is smallish, container grown, but looks healthy. Very symbolical.

Anyways, this front garden would hold the citrus. Lemons, oranges, mandarins, and Dekopon, a weird Japanese orange that should fit in very well, if I ever find a seller. So if the S ever does HTF, we will not die of scurvy, at least. Heh.

I once saw something I want to imitate. It was a grape vine, growing from one of those little strips of bare earth they leave in front of some urban plots, as if to convince someone that they have a lawn. Seriously, it was like two feet wide and five feet long. The owners planted the vine, then trained it to reach the roof of the house where they had built a trellis, so that the leaves would go up and the fruit hang down. Loved it.

I would have to check what varieties of grape do well in the Caribbean heat. Grapes and Passionfruit.

Passionfruit is easy. They take care of themselves.

On the backyard I imagine stacks of yucca, yams, manioc and other root vegetables. I saw this somewhere done with potatoes. They used old tires, filled one with earth, placed the seed potatoes, placed spacers and stacked the next tire on top of it. Rinse and repeat.

Potatoes would not work in PR. Our yearly weather pattern goes like this: Rain season, Storm season, Second rain season, and "dry" season. Not all that dry, really; only in comparison.

Anyway, this method is similar enough to the way our Taino indians grew their root crops. It should work.

Plantains and bananas, for sure. Cabbage. Maybe a bit of sugarcane. Should be great to give bits to children.

Maybe a few chickens, if the local codes allow them. If they don't, I'll get quiet chickens.

I talked about a goat day or so ago, and my husband looked at me like I was crazy. So maybe I'm taking my daydreaming too far.

Sigh. It would be good, though.