When sorrows come....

I promised you a post on the road trip I just took with my dad. And I will write it. However, if you're expecting this to be it, I'm sorry to disappoint.

Warning - if you don't need anything sad in your life right now. Please stop reading.

A family cat that we've had for 14 years died in my arms this afternoon, as I was driving him (as fast as the law might let me get away with) to the emergency room.

I won't get into details, but he was attacked by a loose pack of three dogs whom I've never seen in the neighborhood before. I was all alone at the house when it happened. He liked to challenge other cats when they dared set foot on the property. He often lost these challenges. When I heard him cry, I thought it was another cat.

One of the most wonderful qualities about this cat was that he loved dogs. A lot. Some of you might recall my post about the death of our family labrador, Lady. We had to put her down shortly before Christmas due to complications with cancer. Timon, our cat, loved Lady beyond belief. He would groom her, cuddle her, follow her around the house. We often used to joke that Timon was part dog. There's another black lab who lives elsewhere in the neighborhood, who was walked every evening at the same time. After Lady passed away, Timon would follow the lab and his owner for about half a block, thinking it was her companion. I'm not sure Timon ever realized that Lady had died; merely that she was living and being walked by an entirely different family for some unknown reason. It is then doubly tragic to think that Timon, the feline lover of dogs, would probably have walked right up to these dogs in a friendly greeting, an exposed belly, and dip of his head, which was his standard greeting to just about everyone (except other cats).

When I found him I yelled at the dogs and chased them away. I ran into the house, grabbing my keys, wallet, and cell phone, before running and grabbing a towel from the bathroom. I threw my wallet and keys in the car, dropped my cell phone, which split apart, hurriedly threw the pieces into my car. I scooped him up as gently as I could, got in the car, and started driving.

As a I turned onto one of the exiting streets of our neighborhood, I saw the devil dogs casually trotting down the road, and a non-chalant teenager walking past. By this point I was wailing in my car - he could probably hear me. I kept saying "please!" over and over again ... I kept checking him, to make sure he was awake. The emergency animal hospital is less than two miles away - it felt like hours. I finally pulled into the parking lot; I didn't bother to park.

Sometime between me pulling into the parking lot, and me giving him, sobbing uncontrollably, to the vet tech to be taken back to surgery, he died, though I didn't know it yet. The vet tech took me into a back room. I sat there shaking, trying to fill out paperwork. The vet came in, I looked up, he shook his head and said, "I'm sorry." He asked if I'd like to see Timon, if he wrapped him up. I said that I would. It all seemed completely insane (it still does) - Timon had been lying next to me all day while I worked on my bed. I let him out when I was putting away the dishes. I went to pull my laundry out of the drier, I heard him cry, I went outside, and then I was sitting in an exam room, waiting for the vet to bring in my poor, beautiful, kind, loving cat, the body that was no long living wrapped in a towel. When they brought him in, all I could do was pet his head and say, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I've been wondering all night what would have happened if I had bothered to check the mail as I let him out, or if I had managed to make it outside faster than I did. And I know that it was a freak occurrence - I'd never seen these dogs before, let alone any *loose* dogs in the neighborhood. But I can't help feeling as though there was something I could have done to prevent this. Because if I had, he'd be curled up right next to me right now. And I wouldn't be crying, my heart wouldn't be breaking, and the necessity for this post would be non-existent.

Instead, my entire family is mourning, once again, for the loss of a family member. And all I can think to say is, "When sorrows come, they come not in single spies, but in battalions."  I know it's not my fault. I know that when dogs form packs they go crazy, and even the most kind dog can be vicious. I know that plaguing myself with "what if's" is fruitless. But I will never get that image of him out of my mind. And I will never stop wishing that he were still lying next to me.

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Road Warriors, Bradac style ...

Tomorrow I leave for a 7 day road trip with my dad. We're going up the California Coast, through Oregon, and stopping a few days to visit my Uncle Daniel and Aunt Kari in Oly,WA. Then we'll head back down, and stop at my alma mater on the way.

I'm sure I'll be blogging from the road. Yes, there will be pictures.

This is kind of a momentous trip - I think the last time my dad and I traveled together by ourselves for this long, I was three. We've certainly never been on a road trip like this either. I'm looking forward to this trip - and am curious to see what unfolds. I am also acutely aware of the fact that this might be the last time I get to do anything like this with my father.

Let the Odyssey of the Bradai 2010 begin.

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Ooops! I've been tagged!

On Monday I was apparently victim to a blog tagging and didn't know it! Yikes! I apologize for the delay.

I was tagged by my ever award-winning bloggin' best friend to write 6 things about myself, and at least one of them has to be false. And then I get to tag 6 other people. As you all know, I rarely *gag, sputter, hack!* write about myself. I fear this may prove difficult. But like the mild, meek, yet persevering person I am, I'll struggle through. 

1. My birthday is April 15th. Not only am I a tax baby, but this is the day the Titanic sank, Abraham Lincoln died, and the day the city of San Francisco was incorporated. I also share my birthday with Leonardo Da Vinci, Catherine I of Russia (not the Great, but the ancestor of), Emma Thompson, Henry James, Bessie Smith, and Emma Watson (aka Hermione Granger in the movies). 

2. I once ran away from school when I was in kindergarten. I took the "early bird" bus and walked the two blocks from my bus stop to my father's work. All because I didn't like the substitute teacher. 

3. In college, a friend and I stole 10 white chairs from the music building on our campus for a production we were working on in the theatre. We each carried 5 chairs across the open grass quad, in broad day-light, and didn't get caught. We returned them after the show's completion .... a month later.

4. I have not only met, but received an autograph from my hockey hero, Scott Niedermayer.

5. I was quoting Shakespeare by the time I was 3.

6. When I was younger, I used to believe that I could communicate telepathically with horses and dogs. I was never able to crack the telepathic code of cats. 

Any guesses as to which is true and which is false? 

Okay ... taggy tag time! I tag.....

Queen Fee!

The Eternal Orangutan

U-Holler

Daily Violets

Ms. Cleaver Chronicles

Coffee & Curiosity

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A quick explanation...

Okay. So all of this esoteric "character" writing (for lack of a better term) is for me.

When I was in college visiting my aunt and uncle in Olympia, Wa., I heard them call each other by a few different names other than their own. When I inquired as to the reason for these misnamings, I was told that they had named various parts of their personalities to better tag and talk about behavior. And also to keep a sense of humor. A summarized version of the conversation:

me: "Aunt Kari, why do you call Uncle Daniel 'Harold?'"

AK: "Because Harold is who Daniel turns into when he gets cranky."

UD: "I wasn't being Harold!"

AK: "Yes dear, you were."

UD: "Huh. I'm sorry. I think I'm just hungry."

AK: "We've named some of our different personalities other names to clock when we go to those various places. And to keep a sense of humor about them."

UD: "One of my favorites of Kari's is 'Olga' the Norse Woman Warrior."

*quizzical look from me*

UD: "It's who she slips into when she's ultra ambitious. Like when she decided to build our Sauna in two days."

me: "You built that by yourself??"

*Aunt Kari smiles*

UD: "Well you didn't think it was me, did you??"
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I've long wanted to do this. My Aunt and Uncle have been happily married for almost 30 years. They're still in love, they still make each other laugh. And they can call each other on their shit and not get upset about it. And I thought that perhaps if I did this for myself, I could better clock some of my reactions to people, events, words, etc. and maintain a sense of humor about it. If I can name the various places in me that I go to, then I can better gage when I need to pull myself out of them.

We all have fractured personalities that handle the different situations of our lives. It's how we live - how we cope. So what happens if you name that cranky, un-fed monster you turn into? Or that passive-agressive part of you who deals with your family? Or the super-competitive nut who evolves after your favorite sports team loses? Or the inner-child who hasn't had a voice in x number of years, and perhaps never had a real voice to begin with?

That's what I'm doing. That's who these "people" I'm writing about are. Little Orphan A is my inner-child. Alexander is who I am at parties, or when I meet new people. Maybe I should have my own beer commercial. But I'm just trying to express them in the ways that make sense to me.

I know I should have explained all of this first, but I went with inspiration while I still had it.

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Alexander

Alexander is suave - he always says the right thing. Alexander goes to parties and has an easy laugh. He knows where the great places to hang out are. He can recommend the prefect drink for you, and smiles as he shares his knowledge. Alexander likes to smile, even though his teeth are slightly crooked. It makes him more attractive.

He wears flip-flops in the rain. His jeans are torn, his shirts are thread-bare. He always has a sweater with him, just-in-case. Alexander is always prepared for anything. He carries a book with him wherever he goes. It's always an interesting book, and people always stop to ask him about it. People love stopping to talk with Alexander.

You've never met a more charming human. When he speaks, everyone listens, even if they don't know why. He makes people feel at home. He smells like freshly mowed lawn and sea spray combined. He's the most interesting person you've never met - your instant best friend. He walks tall and upright, like an Olympian. He's been mistaken for Apollo, Adonis, and even King Arthur. Both men and women have loved Alexander.

Never egotistical, merely confident; Alexander will open doors for anyone. He will help senior citizens cross the street, and make them feel like they're 25 again. He always says, "Please," and "Thank you." Alexander knows which fork to use with which course. He is highly useful in the kitchen. He can speak three or four languages fluently. He writes Italian sonnets just for fun.

Alexander is on a first name basis with the band. He has a life-time backstage pass. He doesn't fist bump - he prefers to shake hands. His handshake is strong and warm. Alexander will always remember your name. He looks you in the eye when you talk to him, even if you have to avoid eye-contact with him. He'll give you a hug at exactly the right moment. He never turns anyone away.

His voice is low and sure. He is seen most in sun, between 60 and 72 degrees. You can find him at the beach, in the forest, or outside drinking coffee. He is not a fair-weather friend, but he won't be where you search for him - you have to let him come naturally, on his own conditions. He can be bribed with beer, music, and a good dinner party. He won't ever leave you, but he wants you to figure out your own sadness.

He can not be called, but he can be conjured.

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Little Orphan A

Some days, little Orphan A has a family. And some days she doesn't. She spends her time window browsing, and imagining somethings out of nothings from the reflections of clouds in shop windows. No one has a more active imagination than little Orphan A.

Once, little Orphan A saw some parents at a flea market. They were on sale at 30% off. It occurred to little Orphan A that the parents in question looked awful lonely, like they wanted a child as much as she wanted some parents. She would have been over-joyed to take them home, but the salesman wouldn't let her pay in stories and dreams, and so little Orphan A looked on.

Little Orphan A never cries when she falls down, she never gets angry at other children, and she never raises her voice. She's never thrown a temper-tantrum, never cursed in a bathroom corner, and never once told a lie. She has no one to tell a lie to. Instead, she makes paper cranes on string and hangs them on strangers' fence posts.

She often remembers faces from the past, glimpses of memories that play tag with her mind. She often tries to catch them, but sometimes she tries to forget them. She writes them down, though, and puts them into songs. She sings the songs at night as she tries to fall asleep. No one knows these songs but her.

There is no one more resourceful or self-sufficient than Little Orphan A. She can cook and clean, arrive on time, and find a way to get just about anywhere. She can even drive (though she doesn't have a driver's license) - her feet can almost touch the pedals. She even pays bills, but doesn't know what any of them are for.

She is a friend to everyone. She belongs to no one. She doesn't trust that anyone will stick around, but when they do, she sticks around too. She can talk to animals and fade in and out through walls. She doesn't like it when voices are raised, but she can turn the voices into symphonies. Little Orphan A can conduct an orchestra.

Little Orphan A is quite quiet - she never makes a sound. But you can hear her in the crunch of autumn leaves and the sloosh of rain boots in puddles. And in the stillness of the evening, when the cat meows at the front door to be let in for supper, you might spy the last wisps of her hair as she runs out of site. And your heart might say, "You can stay here, Little Orphan A. You can stay right here."

If you say it enough, she will come.

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Hello, my name is Lady MacDeath.

Here's something I've never admitted.

I kind of really love Roller Derby. A lot.



When I was younger, like 5 or 6, my step sister and I took roller skating classes at a rink in Whittier. Twice a week, after school, we'd go skate. Amber was a much better skater than I was. She could even skate backwards. I was good at going slow and staying near the rail. My major problem was that I was afraid of falling. I did get better as time went on, though I still never figured out how to do it backwards - I was, however, able to do the Hokey-Pokey on skates. I am so cool.

I fell a lot. I mean, I fell a lot in general - in my every day young life (tall kids are giant puppies with over-large limbs...it's to be expected). But when it came to putting my giant tentacle-like self on 8 tiny hard-plastic wheels ... well, you can imagine. The last time I went roller skating was in 2007 for a bosses' birthday. I went around the rink three times, and at the end of the third lap, as I was heading back to the benches, I fell backwards - which would have been fine - except that I didn't take my right foot up in the air with me. It stayed underneath me. And as I landed, my foot, complete with skate, bent all the way back. I couldn't walk for two weeks, and the swelling lasted for almost 6 months.

Anyway, at some point in my still-rollerskating years, I saw an re-run of Laverne & Shirley in which the girls have some crazy roller derby antics. It was kind of brilliant. And I kind of loved it. I also saw an episode of Charlie's Angels where the girls rollered their way to justice. Or something. I really just remember Farrah Fawcett's feathered hair sweeping out of the helmet. Awesome. I obviously missed Roller Derby's hay day in the 70's. But it's always been on the periphery of my consciousness throughout the years, and something I always secretly wished I could do.

I watched Whip It! tonight (one of the 10 movies I bought at the dying Hollywood Video). As you could imagine, I was geeking out. Not to mention the fact that Kristin Wiig and Ellen Page are in it, as is the fabulous Marcia Gay Harden. Add in an awesome soundtrack, Juliette Lewis as the Derby villain, and a surprisingly non-formulaic script, and you have yourself a party.


    (Hot, no??)

After watching the movie, I mentioned on facebook that I wanted my own Roller Derby name. My friend (and adopted big brother) Sean came up with "Lady MacDeath," Which I think is disgustingly awesome. Some of the poorer suggestions included "Zsa Zsa Ga-Gore," "I'm Gonna Kill You-inator," and "Slam Let." The runner up was "Snakes Spear." You know you love it.

Want your own Roller Derby name? You can go here, though I suggest a facebook poll. Laughing at the creativity of your friends is fun! Hopefully they're down with the Derby... if not, go to the generator. ;) I'm also fascinated with the names of the derby teams. If they had Fantasy Roller Derby on Yahoo! Sports, I'd totally name my team "The Suffer Jets." Huh?? Huh?? That's what I'm talking about!

At any rate, Roller Derby is totally making a come back. As depicted in Whip It!, Austin, Texas has a thriving Roller Derby culture. London, New York City, Atlanta, Boston, Seattle, San Francisco, San Diego, Cleveland, Calgary and Los Angeles all have active Roller Derby Leagues. There are thousands more, but I think you get the point. Roller Derby in the Olympics? I think this needs to happen. 

Come on. You know you want to go. ;) 

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This blog post is brought to by: 

Ben & Jerry's Dublin Mudslide Ice Cream

Roller Derby
Futurama

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