I can do one (or both) of two things when I have anxiety. I can either eat a couple gallons of rocky road ice cream or I can knit. While waiting for the results of a biopsy (turned out to be not cancer, thank you God) I worked on a stress afghan.
First, I bought two big skeins of yarn. That’s what’s at the bottom of the afghan. Then, I realized two skeins weren’t enough so I bought more yarn. That’s what the rest of the afghan looks like. While it may not be great art, it’s nice to snuggle under.
The full moon this month was a super moon. I shot moonrise.
And I shot moonset.
There are problems getting the sky right when shooting the moon. The moon is so bright that it throws off the light metering.
The antidote is to put the landscape into the photo.
Fall in western New York, where I’m from, is yellow, gold, and red. Fall in the desert is mostly green with a bit of white and yellow tossed in.
Itty bitty flowering plant that flowers in the fall.
This is what the flower looks like up close.
So far, this barrel cactus has survived a two-decade drought. But something weird is growing on top of the cactus.
I’ve no idea what this is. I don’t think it’s a seed pod and I have never seen a barrel cactus grow a little cactus.
I’ve no idea what this is, but I thought it looked interesting.
A few flowers cling to the desert sage bush. The bush flowers after it rains and it hasn’t rained in a while. I doubt more rain now would trigger blooming. The shrubs know it’s fall and time to rest.
I decided to take my commissions from Spoonflower sales and order sheets. This is the pattern I used. What I love about the Spoonflower sheets is the fitted sheet actually fits the mattress and the top sheet is generous.
There’s something weird growing on my arm. It changed colors. It grew larger. The border is erratic. The thing is scaly. All the stuff that indicates cancer. I saw the dermatologist. He said it wasn’t melanoma, the most dangerous skin cancer. He did a biopsy. I will have to wait at least a week for the pathology report to find out what this thing is.
In the meantime, I find myself making a bucket list. There are two trips I want to take. One is to New York City to shop at Mood. I want to fondle fancy fabric and buy the kinds of fabric I’ve never worked with. The second is a Hawaiian cruise. I’d like to spend a couple extra days and see Volcanos National Park. I want to see flowers and green in the winter. I want to swim in the ocean again. I will take Brady on both trips. I will have to have some forms filled out by the vet for the Hawaii trip.
My iPad is from 2017. It still works, but it does’t have all the bells and whistles the new iPad Pro has. I ordered one this morning from the campus bookstore. Along with educational pricing, I get a free iPencil. I need a more powerful drawing program in order to design more fabric. I also need to work on the second novel. I’m at the point where stuff gets written only to get pruned.
I have a few bra kits in my sewing room. I need to sew them. I need to sew slacks to wear to school. I’ve got a free pattern from Mood and need to make a muslin.
I am frozen. I’m finding it hard to get going on projects.
I still have photography. I got my first SLR for Valentine’s Day 1980. I took that camera everywhere and shot everything. I got my latest DSLR for Valentine’s Day 2020. I take the camera everywhere and shoot everything.
I did some landscape/outdoor photography today. I’m able to walk farther and stand longer although I still have limitations.
Fall in southern New Mexico doesn’t look like fall in New York. Instead of reds, yellows, oranges just before the leaves fall, we get green. We don’t get rain in the spring; we get rain in the summer. This is one of the wildflowers that grow and bloom this time of year.
These are chocolate flowers. You can’t eat them, but they smell like the finest chocolate. Because it’s cooler, I could take this shot after lunch. In the summer, the flowers go to seed within a few hours.
This is one of the desert sage growing in my yard. The shrub is triggered to bloom when there’s sufficient humidity. The bushes will bloom several times during the summer. The flowers only last a. couple days and then the ground is purple.
I more or less survived last week. I’m still alive – which is a major accomplishment. Last week, I wrote about my sister’s yahrzeit and my emotional fallout. Tuesday evening, I lit a candle and said kaddish.
Meanwhile, I’m seeing more and more the effects of the hate crimes and antisemitism are having on me. I’m back on anti-anxiety med. My stomach hurts. I know I need to sleep but I’m wide awake and watching the clock go from 1 AM, to 2 AM and getting more and more anxious as the hands move around the clock.
Clumping around in a boot designed to make sure I don’t aggravate an injured achilles tendon is causing me to have back, hip and leg pain. I’m cleared to go to the gym provided I avoid any machine that involves using my ankles. Except I’m too depressed to go to the gym. I hate this. I’ve had to go back to the full dose of my antidepressant. Being depressed is depressing which causes me to be more depressed. Depression – the ultimate perpetual motion machine.
I have some choices. I’ve contacted an attorney I know who handles civil rights cases. Apparently he’s not interested in my case because I never heard back. I could go to the State Police and ask them to investigate the campus police, but I doubt it would do any good. I could go to the US Department of Justice and ask for help under Title VI, but dealing with the feds means watching cobwebs grow around my case. I could go to the state attorney general although I’ve dealt with the general counsel for higher education who refused to help me. No one cases that Jewish students aren’t safe on campus. I am afraid of being physically attacked on campus. At least my handicap hangtag lets me park next to the door of the art building.
And I’m having a crisis of religion. Not faith – my faith is solid. It’s my temple that gives me pause. It’s a reform temple, and I fit into Reform Judaism. But the temple is now and has been in financial crisis for several years. The board had decided to arbitrarily raise everyone’s dues. They expect 20% of one’s gross income. Unless you earn $120K or more. Then the board expects 2%. Meanwhile, they are squeezing nickels and dimes out of people. There was a Purim celebration and members were asked to bring hamantaschen – special cookies made for Purim. Then, people were asked to pay $7 per family to get in to the celebration. Bring food then pay to eat it.
The only other temple in town is Chabad House. I like the rabbi. I loved the class I took on medical ethics. The rabbi is actively working with the university president to attempt to ensure Jewish students are safe on campus. My rabbi is doing nothing.
Unfortunately, Chabad is orthodox and I’m not. I dislike the separation of men and women under the theory that women will be a distraction to the men. That comes dangerously close to blame the victim. I dislike the limited role women have in orthodox Judaism. Their role is to have kids and have a dead-end job so the husband can spend his days in the library studying. Just one problem….women’s reproductive organs have an expiration date. So what is this woman with limited education and limited skills supposed to do after she can’t have more children?
So what am I to do? I miss going to services but I can’t tolerate the leave it alone and antisemitism will solve itself attitude the reform temple has. I fought too hard to get an education and to be an equally-paid attorney to give up and not be allowed to fully participate in an orthodox temple.
So here I sit. No temple to go to for services. Not going to the gym because I’m too depressed. Clumping around making me more depressed. Bleah.
Today is Yom HaShoah, Israeli Holocaust Remembrance Day. The day I remember those who were murdered and those who fought and died so I could have a homeland. I honored the day by confronting terrorists.
There was an encampment at the university. This was billed as free speech. The First Amendment is not now and never was absolute. You can’t yet fire in a crowded theater. But you can call for the genocide of Jews and the obliteration of Israel, my homeland. That’s perfectly acceptable.
I went to take photos to send to the FBI. Depending on how much walking I need to do, and I needed to do a lot, I have to use a walker. The terrorists called the police. And that’s the extent of the details I can talk about because of the possibility of criminal charges. I had hoped the officer would accept my passport as my ID. My passport has my post office box address rather than my home address. Unfortunately, he asked for my license which has my home address. Never have I been so glad to be living next door to the sheriff. I’ve sent her an email explaining the situation and saying there might be a problem if the terrorists get my home address. That’s not supposed to happen, but life doesn’t always go according to the script. I’ve told Jim to call 911 immediately if he sees anyone he doesn’t recognize around the house. I’ve got security cameras on the front, back and side of the house.
When my great-great-grandparents along with my 10-month-old great-grandmother left Europe, they came disguised as German Lutherans. They were Polish Jews. My grandmother, who thought she was a German Lutheran, was taught never to do anything that would make people think she was Jewish. I was always horrified by that.
Today, to my shame, I hid. I wore nothing, said nothing, and did nothing to make the terrorists think I’m Jewish. Because I hid, I’m home scared rather than in the hospital wondering what my insurance will cover.
Hate crimes don’t always include violence, hateful graffiti, or a fire bomb although all of those things constitute a hate crime. Terrorists don’t start with a bomb although they frequently end with a bomb.
I am on the receiving end of a hate crime committed by a woman I strongly suspect is a terrorist. She told me to stop talking when I was speaking about hamas kidnapping an elderly Holocaust victim. Then, she lied, slandered me and attacked my reputation by claiming I said Palestinians are disgusting. I never used the word Palestinian and I never used the word disgusting. My fight isn’t with Palestinians, it’s with hamas – a group the US deemed a terrorist organization in 1997. Palestinians didn’t murder, kidnap, burn alive and decapitate Israelis on October 7, 2023. Hamas did all that. The people of Gaza voted hamas to govern them in 2006. There hasn’t been an election since. I suspect the majority of Palestinians wish hamas had never been voted in.
Although the people at the Office of Institutional Equity – the office New Mexico State University has designated as the proper office to report discrimination – said they didn’t believe the woman’s claims, her slander of me is protected speech. I’ve been an attorney for nearly 30 years. I was a cooperating attorney for the New York Civil Liberties Union for five years. I know slander is definitely not protected speech. Unless it’s anti-Semitism and it happens at NMSU.
Since October 7, 2023, there have been two pro-hamas rallies on campus. I doubt even half the students who participated realized they were supporting hamas. They thought they were supporting Palestinians when they called for the obliteration of Israel. The second rally is strong evidence that hamas is behind these rallies. The rally was held on November 9, 2023. November 9 is the anniversary of kristalnacht when the nazis went on a terror rampage, burned synagogs, destroyed businesses owned by Jews, and wantonly killed Jews. The only reason to schedule that rally on that date was to terrorize Jews.
I suspect the hate criminal is a terrorist. She’s most certainly a hamas sympathizer. If you see something, say something. Great advice. Try finding someone to say something to. I went in search of the FBI office is Las Cruces. I couldn’t find one on google. I walked into the federal court house in Las Cruces, walked up to a federal Marshall, and said: I need to talk to someone about a suspected terrorist. Result? I was sent on a wild goose chase in search of an office that didn’t exist. What should have happened was to have me sit down and then search for someone I could talk to. Has terrorism become so normalized that we no longer respond to threats?
Eventually, I discovered the only FBI office in NM was in Albuquerque – 230 miles north of Las Cruces. I called what was supposed to be the number for the Albuquerque office. After a half hour on hold, I finally got to talk to someone. I was puzzled when the person asked me to spell Las Cruces. That’s when I discovered the Albuquerque office phone number is not answered in Albuquerque but answered in Washington DC.
Arlo Guthrie did a piece about dedicating a song to the FBI. The story line has advice for The Last Guy – no one has it worse than that guy. All he has to do to have some excitement in his life is to bum a dime and call the FBI. “FBI? Yes. I dig Uncle Ho and Chairman Mao and all their friends are coming for dinner. Hang up the phone.” Arlo was wrong; I had it worse than the Last Guy. I couldn’t call the FBI because the FBI doesn’t want to be called.
I’m afraid when I’m on campus. How afraid? I’ve argued before the NM Supreme Court three times – the last time was to save an old man’s life, I’ve worked on death penalty cases, I’ve done more than 120 trials, I’ve got more guts than brains. I’m afraid when I’m on campus. I am armed at all times when I’m on campus and I keep my weapons on my person and not in my backpack. A weapon I can’t reach when I’ve only a few seconds to respond is useless. I have the number for the campus police programmed into my phone. I have a way to call 911 in an emergency by pressing two buttons on my cellphone. I keep my cellphone in my pocket. I have a way to call 911 in an emergency using my Apple Watch. I always wear my Apple Watch.
I had planned on taking another painting class and an astronomy class next semester. Now, I don’t know if it will be safe for me to do that.
This is the schematic for a painting I’m doing.
I’m afraid to work on it during class time because I’m afraid of what the hate criminal will do to my painting or to me. I’m Jewish. I have no protection. I have no freedom of speech even when I’m quoting what legitimate news sources around the world are reporting.
Every time I think I’m over reacting, I realize what happened is worse than I thought. First, I thought the person’s reaction was odd. Then, I realized it was anti-semitism. Then, I discovered the person slandered me. Then I discovered the university views slander as protected speech. It’s not; but I know the attorney who made that decision and I’m not surprised by such a glaring misstatement of law.
22K+ students at NMSU, and I’m the lone Jew. Hillel has no presence on campus. Chabad has no presence on campus. In 44 semesters of continuing education, only twice was there another Jew in my class.
I’m alone.
I’m armed at all times when I’m on campus. I carry pepper gel and a stun gun. I have a safety plan in place. I have the campus police telephone number programmed into my phone.
According to the president of the university, if I’m upset by what’s happening in Israel, I should go to counseling. According to the Office of Institutional Equity, if I’m upset by the hate crime hurled at me, I should go to counseling.
This past Tuesday, I went to the campus police to report that what I thought was odd, rose to the level of a hate crime pursuant to New Mexico law. Knowing I couldn’t manage without Brady, my service dog in training, I took her with me. I had to hug her twice just to get through the day.
After taking to the police, I was so upset about being on the receiving end of a hate crime, I couldn’t eat and could not enjoy the drink I ordered at Starbucks. Brady and I explored the library. Here she is looking at books and searching for the book with the recipes for dog treats.
I had arranged to meet with my painting teacher outside of the painting studio. It was a good plan. Except I had to go into the painting studio to fetch my paintings and the hate criminal was in the painting studio.
The next morning, I woke up and decided the hate criminal had taken all she was going to take away from me and I was taking back my life. The hate criminal isn’t done with me yet. Apparently, she has the mental capacity of a 12-year-old and is doing petty, childish things just to piss me off. I’m doing my best to ignore her. She’s not going away, but neither am I.
My art has changed.
It’s not finished and the painting is on an easel so there’s only so much I can do to eliminate the background.
Also not finished and also still on the easel. Suddenly, I’m painting about being alone, I’m facing evil, and no one is going to help me. I’m trying not to hate Muslims. I’m trying to remember that Muslims are not terrorists and terrorists are not Muslims. Terrorists worship hatred and murder. News organizations have gotten recordings of terrorists’ cell phone calls bragging about murdering Jews on October 7, 2023.
According to the Anti-Defamation League, “Since the October 7th terrorist massacre by Hamas in Israel, we’ve seen a nearly 400 percent increase in antisemitic incidents across the United States.”
The fact that the crap that has happened to me is happening to Jewish students on college campuses across the country doesn’t make me feel better. There’s a new rallying cry at Columbia law school: Fuck Jews.
I’m alone.
I’m scared.
I have only myself to rely on to protect me.
The last time I had this much anxiety, I was studying for the NY bar exam.
It took a mere 5 hours to set up my iPhone 15. And it still isn’t right. All my data was supposed to transfer from my iPhone 8+ to my iPhone 15. Contacts transferred, but nothing else. I had to manually add some photos. I had to reinstall my apps. I had to do a hard reset and then pair my Apple Watch.
Why did I buy this phone? Because the iPhone 8+ was not holding a charge all that well and it couldn’t be updated with new IOS versions. My Apple Watch cannot be updated unless I update my phone which cannot be updated. Hence, I broke down and bought an iPhone 15. Now, I’m updating my Apple Watch. Per my phone, it will take 3 hours to update. Apparently, I missed a few updates.
After much angst, I settled upon the design for my next painting. The painting will be a study for a fiber piece. In descending order of size, the Stars of David represent: soldiers killed by Hamas, men murdered by Hamas, women murdered by Hamas, children murdered by Hamas.
I’m still furious about what happened in my painting class last Tuesday. In case you missed the previous blog post, here’s what happened.
There is more than one class taking place in the painting studio when my class time is. As I was packing up to leave, a teacher, who isn’t my teacher but who knows me and my art, asked if I had family in Israel. I do not. We spoke briefly about what’s happening and I said that Hamas had kidnapped a Holocaust survivor. At that point, a woman who wasn’t part of the conversation and who was on the other side of the room told us to talk about something else. The woman wears a hijab so I assume she’s Muslim. I was so stunned, I did nothing.
When I got home, I filed a formal complaint with the appropriate department of the university. I expected them to do nothing, and they met my expectations. The same day, there was a mass email from the president of the university to all faculty and students. We were told if we were having difficulty with current events, to get counseling. I sent a reply saying I didn’t need counseling; I needed to know if the university’s inclusion policy included Jews. I received no response.
Obviously, I’m on my own and I am armed every time I’m on campus. I carry bear spray and a stun gun both of which are legal in New Mexico.
I’m old enough (I’m 71) to audit classes for $5 per credit. I’m not working towards another degree and my purpose in taking this class is to improve my painting skill and to have a place to paint. With the exception of Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9-5:30, the painting studio is open to any student who wishes to paint. I prefer working when it’s quiet so utilizing open studio time is perfect for me. My teacher is willing to meet with me during open studio time.
I hate being afraid. I survived 16 years of child abuse. I put myself through college and law school. I’ve been a criminal defense attorney for 29+ years. I’m a fighter. I’m used to fighting alone. I’m still afraid and I’m royally ****** that I have to fight this battle alone.
Ignore the squares on the photo above. This is the original shot. I cropped off the squares on the bottom so I could upload a design that had no blank space.
Getting all my designs into my Spoonflower shop took longer than I thought because I had to deal with Social Security. They insist on telephone interviews, but they fart around with their phone system so my phone won’t ring. My phone will have no record anyone called me. If I go to my voice mail, I might inadvertently find a voice mail from someone at the Social Security office. Finally, I managed to reach a human who wanted to call me back. So I went through all the reasons why that wouldn’t work and can’t we do this now? He agreed. I’ll start drawing on my Social Security account in October. I have been drawing spouse benefits under an program that doesn’t exist any more. While I have been drawing spouse benefits the last four years, my account kept growing. I’ll be getting about twice what I get now, and about $1000 more than what I would have gotten when I turned 66.
NMSU decided to switch where we get our prescription meds. As much as I hated Express Scripts, I hate CVS more. Not all of my prescriptions switched over. Jim had to talk to customer service to find out I need to set up my account within his account. I’ve no idea when or if the refills I ordered will arrive. I wanted to talk to customer service because any company that makes it so hard to do the simplest thing deserves to discover what a pissed off, bipolar attorney sounds like.
Only one thing to do when I have that much stress: grab the camera and find something to photograph.
Some of the cacti in my yard are blooming. I thought I wanted a shot of this cactus flower to make a whole quilt design. Then, I realized this was the absolute worst type of photo for quilting. Too busy and I can’t quilt around each of the petals.
I’m finally at a point where I can talk about what the misogynous judges on the Supreme Court did when they overturned Roe v Wade and sent us back into the 19th century.
If you don’t know what the items in the photo are for, you better learn because the Supreme Court has made pregnancy mandatory.
In the mid-70’s, I went to Planned Parenthood for my annual checkup. I got checked by a foreign doctor whose English vocabulary consisted of “you’re pregnant.” I was on the pill, and told the doctor that I wasn’t even one day late. He still insisted I was pregnant. After I gave a urine sample which showed I wasn’t pregnant, he still insisted I was pregnant. I got hysterical, and one of the Planned Parenthood workers led me through the waiting room to another room to discuss options. I was crying hysterically and felt like telling the women in the waiting room that it was okay, I didn’t have to have both breasts lopped off, I was only pregnant. I got referred to a gyn who performed abortions. I asked about birth control and the woman opened her desk drawer and brought out a handful of condoms in assorted colors. I told her I better use plain condoms because I couldn’t stand any more excitement.
At the time, a husband’s signature was required for a wife to get an abortion. I had no money of my own. I’d have to take off my wedding band, pretend I was single and had no health insurance in order to get an abortion. At the time, the cost of an abortion was about $180.00 and I only had a about 6 weeks to come up with the money.
I took the bus home, and got to listen to a screaming baby. I remember what I thought at that moment. “That’s what I’m going to get stuck with.” The next day, I had blood, lots of blood, in my urine. I weighed 110 at the time, and I lost 6 pounds in two days. Shortly thereafter, I got my period. Crisis averted.
I thought this trauma was just me until I found someone else who had the same horrendous experience with the same doctor.
As I write this, the horror comes back to me. No woman should ever have to go through what I went through.
I remember arguing with my grandmother about nuclear weapons when I was in grade school. I thought then, and have never thought otherwise, that dropping an atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was morally wrong and never should have happened. My grandmother thought atomic bombs were the appropriate way to end the war. It was the only time she agreed with a decision by a democrat. The only time she criticized a republican was when Bush went to Hirohito’s funeral.
Mine was the first generation to grow up with the terror of nuclear war. Even as little kids, we knew about skeletons on fire and melting flesh. I had nightmares about being where a hydrogen bomb was dropped. Our fears weren’t groundless. We had useless air raid drills twice a year in school. I’ve never figured out how leaning my face against my locker and putting an arm behind my head would protect me from radiation poisoning and the school being reduced to rubble.
I grew up watching dead, burnt bodies in Vietnam on the evening news. We ate dinner while watching the news. I saw a naked child running down the street after she had been burned by napalm. I saw a Vietnamese man get his brains blown out of his head. Every time Lyndon Johnson came on TV, I told myself, “this time he will say it’s over.” He didn’t. He always came to us with a heavy heart. I was in high school when LBJ decided not to run for reelection. There was an announcement over the PA telling us he wasn’t running. That’s how much against the war people – even conservative people – were.
After my clock radio alarm woke me up on May 5, 1970, I listened to the news about how the Ohio National Guard opened fire on unarmed students and murdered four people. I felt cold terror in my bowels. Ten years later, I was in college during Commuter Daze – a time to blow off steam before final exams – and saw the sheet hanging from the second floor of the student union. “My God, my God, they are killing us.” I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I was halfway through eating a hot dog. Being seven years older than my classmates, what they learned about was what I experienced. I remember hearing someone say the message was about “some kids got killed.”
Yesterday, February 24, 2022, I had a court appearance via zoom. This was a worker’s comp case and we had already worked out a settlement. All that needed to be done was the judge to ask my client if my client understood the terms and to approve the settlement agreement. Purely a formality. I’m comfortable in court. I love hearings and trials. I spent the morning on edge and anxious. After a while, I realized it wasn’t a hearing that concerned me. I was anxious because Russia invaded Ukraine and had captured what had been contained radiation from Chernobyl after the reactor melted down. NATO is going to have to respond. The US is already sending troops to Eastern Europe. Russia is aligned with China and North Korea. All three countries have nuclear weapons capable of hitting the US and all three countries are run by madmen. We are sitting on the edge of a world war. This time, there will be no winners. There will only be radiation.
What terrified me as a child, terrifies me now.
Thank God the narcissistic sociopath lost the election.
I did the final shots for Shalom Shabbat and Yahrzeit. Yahrzeit was shot at the beginning of the yahrzeit for the person I knew who committed suicide three years ago. Then, I let the candle burn down and thought about how the person’s life burned down and disappeared. I still don’t understand why the suicide happened and I’m not enthralled with the idea I will never understand. This is the first time I was able to say kaddish. I broke down after the first two words and had to force myself to say the rest of the prayer.
Shabbat ShalomYahrzeit
I’ve taken a few more shots for the sense of place assignment for my photography class. I made the decision that I’ll do the assignments that interest me and forget about the rest. It’s a difficult class. The subject matter isn’t difficult – it’s the class itself that is causing severe anxiety. The class is taught by a grad student. I’ve had grad student teachers before and some are fantastic. This grad student is far from fantastic. She proclaimed Annie Leibowitz is a fashion photographer. Certainly what John Lennon was wearing in the famous shot taken a few hours before he was killed was fashion forward. I had no idea Rolling Stone had a fashion section. Yes, Leibowitz shot several covers for Vogue, but those shots are clearly portrait shots. To shoot a good portrait shot, you have to focus on the person’s eyes. Fashion photography focuses on the clothing. The covers Leibowitz shot focus on the face and the clothing is an after thought. The student next to me said that Georgia O’Keeffe was “some sort of artist, I think.” I live in southern New Mexico and it’s impossible for me to imagine any art student here isn’t familiar with Georgia O’Keeffe’s work. I try not to have physical reactions to things the other students say, but I did a face plant when I heard that.
I started playing around with a photo of a bunny-munched prickly pear cactus pad.
I got out the macro lens to shoot yucca seed pods.
Apparently 14 years is the lifespan of an iPod. I had to break down and buy an iPod Touch. When I want music, I want music. I don’t want texts. I don’t want phone calls. I don’t want games. If I’m going to watch a movie, it won’t be on a 4” screen. I blasted off all the apps I have never used on my iPhone and certainly would never use on an iPod. Next, I had to buy new earbuds. The ones I had will only pair on one ear. I bought a set of JBL earbuds. They stay in my ears and both pair with the iPod.
I’ve been working on whole cloth quilt designs and I’ve gotten proofs for 42 of the designs. They are now in my Spoonflower shop here: Click on “New” and all the newest designs will pop up. My shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I got my Pfizer booster shot on Thursday. On Friday, I had a reaction which wasn’t unexpected. I had a reaction after the second Pfizer shot. Brady knew there was something wrong. She insisted on sleeping in the bed with me. She covered me with puppy kisses because she’s convinced puppy kisses will cure everything that could be wrong with her human, and she brought me some of her toys to play with.
It’s not always easy living with bipolar disorder. In mid-September, I had reason to believe I had been exposed to covid. Even though I’m fully vaccinated, I could have a breakthrough infection or worse, be shedding covid virus while asymptomatic. I got the first available appointment for a covid test. The results were supposed to be available within 24 hours. The results were 9 hours late. By that time, I was having stress pains in my chest. Fortunately, the test was negative.
Once I have a major anxiety attack, I’m susceptible to severe stress pain for a while. A friend passed away recently and the funeral was yesterday. For an assortment of reasons, there are people I never want to see again who were likely to be at the funeral. I made a plan. If I absolutely had to interact with one of these people, I’d say hello and walk off. Even with a plan designed to spare me the greatest amount of stress from seeing any of these people again, I still had severe stress pain. Fortunately, none of the people I never want to see again were there.
Today, safe from people who tried so hard to hurt me, I’m having major stress pain. I’ve taken extra klonopin. My choices were increase the dose temporarily or have chest pain for a couple days.
Now that I can see distances clearly, I’ve noticed I have invisible eyelashes. So I bought some mascara. Being a bit eccentric and not wanting boring brown or black mascara, I bought a tube of purple and a tube of green. If you’re going to a funeral, make sure your mascara is waterproof. Mine wasn’t. I had to try to soak up liquid purple mascara before mascara ran down my cheeks.
One of the side effects of cataract surgery is the need for reading glasses and the never ending search for my reading glasses. To that end, I’ve got more than one pair. One for my office, one for the living room so I can knit while watching TV and one for my sewing room. I’ve made beaded strings to replace the ugly string that allowed my glasses to go around my neck.
Last night, I looked up at the sky and saw a thin slice of moon. I tried to get both the moon slice and the tree in focus but couldn’t. So I have three versions of a moon shot.
Slice of moon. Nice, but boring.
Fuzzy moon. Almost, but I really wanted both in focus.
As I write this, I’m awaiting the results of my covid-19 test. Jim called Thursday morning and said his work study student called in sick and it might be strep throat. There’s an overlap between strep throat and covid-19.The phone call triggered a massive anxiety attack. I was scheduled to model on Thursday, but the class got cancelled. Covid-19 has to be taken seriously. Covid-19 kills.
The first appointment I could get for a Covid-19 test was yesterday, Saturday, morning. The PRC test is the most accurate, but there’s no way to know how long it will take to get the results and I’m scheduled to model on Tuesday. I need the results before Tuesday morning. The least accurate test results are theoretically available in an hour. I chose the Rapid Response test. Although it’s not as accurate as the PRC test, I can get the results in 24 hours. Except I can’t It’s been 27 hours and I don’t have results. I’m scared. Although I was vaccinated in March, it’s possible, albeit unlikely, to have a breakthrough infection. The vaccine gives me the best chance of staying out of the hospital and living. I waited in line for 45 minutes to get tested. I had to stick a swab as far up my nose as I could and move the swab around. It felt weird and I kept wanting to sneeze. I have no symptoms but that doesn’t mean the test will be negative. It’s possible to be asymptomatic and shedding virus for several days before having symptoms. I’m still having that massive anxiety attack.
The best way for me to stay calm is to make art. I have lots, and lots, and lots, of beads. And now I have seven new necklaces. I haven’t decided if they will go in my store or if I’ll take them to the farmers and craft market to sell. I also haven’t figured out a price for each necklace. Prices are based on time, cost of materials, multiplied by the number of times I have to swear at the beads and adding the square of the number of times I have to go on a search and recovery mission to retrieve the beads I dropped on the floor.
I’ve been working with my dwindling supply of Swarovski crystals. Someone at Swarovski decided to dump the bead line and concentrate on unimaginative jewelry, tacky knickknacks and rhinestone cellphone covers. That’s it. There are no other products. Then one of the honchos stated the bead line should have been dumped years ago. It’s a horrible insult being told the honcho considers me not worth the trouble regardless of how many beads I buy.
I’ve also got a good supply of semi-precious stones.
The blue beads at the center of the necklace are K2. The stones are granite – an igneous mineral. What makes these granite stones special is they come from the base of K2 – the second tallest mountain in the world. The mine is in a remote spot so the beads are expensive.
Carved amazonite in the center.
Dumorterite, mosaic shell, and shell pears. Shell pearls are made from ground up shell and compressed into spheres. Nicer than glass pearls but not as expensive as cultured pearls.
I like ladder pendants and this one is lepidolite. I like this shade of purple and I like the sparkles in the stones.
Smoky quartz and rutilated quartz, tiger eye, assorted other semi-precious stones.
When I updated the operating system for my MacBook Pro, the update played hell with my email accounts. I’m now unable to access my Facebook account. Facebook has no tech support. No support chat. No number to call. It appears Zuckerberg is too busy selling ads to dubious and sometimes fraudulent advertisers to consider the people who use Facebook.
I think I’ve finally processed my reactions and emotions from September 11, 2001. I couldn’t express my feelings at the time and my reactions seemed to be about a week behind everyone else’s reactions. As they were recovering, I was starting to feel something other than numb. This year, I read everything I could find abut 9/11. I cried. I watched documentaries. I cried. I felt the edge of fury. I felt the edge of outrage. Maybe someday I’ll be able to feel the fury and outrage in their entirety. I’ve healed to the extent I’m able to heal right nowI’m having flashbacks of the crap that happened to me as I grew up. As I raised myself and three siblings and listened to my drunken, violent, narcissistic mother tell me I was lazy and selfish. If I were gone for a bit, I’d come home and be told by her how peaceful it was while I was gone. I hate that woman although I haven’t felt the extent of my hatred for her. PTSD is an emotional landmine and there’s no telling when a trigger will step on one of those landmines. I rarely cry anymore when I have a flashback. I used to cry uncontrollably when the flashbacks first started 49 years ago. Now, the flashbacks are a nuisance. Unwelcome. A pain in the emotional ass. I’ve given up thinking I’ll ever be free of PTSD. It gets tolerable – I can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare – but PTSD never gets gone.
Armed with a coupon and about $43 Spoon Dollars I put together a 42 cheater square yard featuring the best 42 designs from what I’ve been creating lately. I also splurged on five yards of fabric to make myself a dress that will double as a robe when I model nude. I will be the best dressed nude model in the art department. But only if my test results are negative.
Brady barks non-stop if I put her in her crate and leave the room. So I took her into the bathroom with me so I could take a shower. While she had fun trying to drink water from the shower spray, she didn’t like it when I gave her a little squirt. She tried to wipe off the water with her paws.
Jim cut a piece of foam and I made a pillow cover so Brady has a lovely, new bed….that she refuses to lie on. The cover is made from heavy duty upholstery fabric. I pre-washed the fabric in hot water and put it in the dryer. If it’s going to shrink, I want it to shrink before I sew. The pillow cover has to be machine washable.
I went through computer hell yesterday. First, I tried to hook up a Brother printer. Per the box, it works with Mac. Except it doesn’t. Turns out, Brother hasn’t bothered to keep up with Mac OS updates and the only Macs that it will work on are at least three updates ago. Next, I tried hooking up a Canon that’s supposed to work with Mac. Except it doesn’t. Jim is dealing with the university book store to see if it will work with a cable or in the alternative, what do they have that works with the latest OS update for Mac. All I need is a printer that prints color as well as B&W, and will scan a document. I don’t need, and am not going to pay $200+ for options I’ll never use. So far, I’ve brought home two overpriced doorstops.
I don’t handle frustration well and was screaming (literally) at the inscrutable instructions. Would it kill manufacturers to put some words with those schematic drawings? Canon claims to have 24/7 customer service. It doesn’t. It claims to have a chat function. It doesn’t. I don’t know how to handle situations like this. I don’t want to be screaming at instructions. I did take three klonopin, but it didn’t help. I’m at the point where if I have to try to hook up yet another printer and can’t, I’ll gladly scream (literally) at a customer service rep. If a company puts out useless products, the customer service people deserve what they get. I’ll be discussing calming techniques with my psychologist.
I had never tried binder clips, but after having miserable experience after miserable experience sewing binding on quilts, I bought binder clips. I like them. Not only do that make binding a quilt a stress-free event, they also work better than pins at holding two pieces of heavy fabric together.
After having FMQ misery, I wrote to Superior Thread and asked for help. I bought the needles recommended on the website – 90/14 topstitch. That sort of helped, but the real solution was to use a different quilting foot. Pfaff makes a sensor automatic quilting foot and a spring quilting foot. Superior threads work best with the spring quilting foot.
Deb's Art 