Thursday, October 8, 2009

My mother had her moments.

When I was a little kid, we went to Church #1, to wit:

Note the steps. Lots of steps.

When I was in 2nd grade, I got polio. While I was in the hospital, which was costing my parents a metric shit-ton of money they didn't have, the church called on her at home one Sunday afternoon to inquire when she intended to resume meeting her annual pledge! She basically told them they could stuff their pledges up their collective arse.

When I was able to go back to church, they refused to relocate my Sunday-school class to the ground floor (as I recall, it was on the 3rd) to accommodate my inability to climb flight after seemingly endless flight of stairs.

My mother basically told them to stuff it, she was going to find a new church. And she did. Church #2 was all on one level.


Thursday, October 1, 2009

Where'd everybody go?

According to The Post-Polio Experience, by Margaret Backman, there are 1.5 million of us polio survivors in the U.S.

So where the heck are all you people anyway? Let's talk!


a tear for Daisy

Today is--was? would have been?--Daisy's 15th birthday. But she got so old by the time she was 14 that we had to put her to sleep.

I dreamed about her this morning.

I love Diana: She had my heart before we were halfway home from the pound. But Daisy was born in my house. I toweled her off and handed her back to her mother to nurse.

We had an incredible bond. I adored that dog. She went nearly everywhere I did, including to work every day, for years. I thought we would always be Daisy and me, as if time might pass all around us but we would never die.

Of course that cannot be.

So. I love Diana, and miss Daisy.