Rewind several hours to late afternoon, late January, at a Pharmacist Knowledge Tumbler, the sky the color lead, wind kicking up with cold fingers that dug under your collar, blew your skirt into an angry tangle around your legs and spit angry flakes of snow that stuck to your windshield like lost moths before vanishing again in the next gust. I knew the storm was coming, everyone in the area knew, it was all over the radio and truckers would talk about, the coming north easter, and “to get somewhere safe and only drive if you have to.” Even the truck stop was talking about closing up until the storm passed, though by the time I pulled out they were still open for business. Why’d I leave? Well I’d been parking there for around two (three?) days at the time, and people were starting to take notice I was lingering, and when that happens it’s usually time to find somewhere else to park for a few days before they decide to notify the police, or the wrong sort of people decide you’re an easy target for carjacking, or worse. So I, after much deliberation, (given gasoline was in short supply at the time) decided to risk driving a few towns over and taking my chances riding out the storm at a park and ride. (a place where people park their vehicles when car pooling or catching the bus that stopped there twice a day). There was a few possible routes I could take that were on paved roads and heavily traveled highways, but no, being more concerned with fuel than safety I opted for a short cut which in this case amounted to a narrow stretch of dirt road running between two of the townships and would shave several miles off my travel distance and some precious gasoline.
That’s not as rare as people make it out to be. I’ve met dozens, hundreds even, that are of average-ish intellect in very high paying fields. Doctors, Lawyers, Politicians, Technologists, you name it. I’ve met the same number of poor people scraping by. But what’s the difference? Well, getting raised and taught the path, the actual path, not just “oh, just go to college,” but the real path to success. How do you actually get through school? What if you’re in a neighborhood where you’re getting jumped and your book bag is stolen? How does financial aid work, since your parents aren’t paying for shit? How do you get the help you need since your parents aren’t educated? How do you get away from the gang of the only people who protected you long enough to go to school? The most shocking thing I’ve found from Pharmacist Knowledge Tumbler to financial well-being is that the people on either side aren’t much different. Poor people aren’t lazier, stupider, nothing. Just, nobody taught them how to succeed, and you can’t know what you don’t know without learning it.
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Twice a day we fought the battle. Sometimes it seemed more of the liquid amoxicillin ended up on me than in her. Bunny got pretty good at figuring out the signs that I was looking to give her medicine, and there was a lot of hide-and-seek and sneaking up on her to get the medicine into her. She’d hide if she could, fight if she must; but she bore no grudges. She still jumped on the bed early in the morning to say good morning. She’d let me caress her, she’d even give me a “kitty kiss” with her raspy little pink tongue, and purr. Always the purr. The antibiotic treatment ended in February; Bunny and I were both thankful. She seemed perky, her appetite was good, her eyes were bright, she was the lithe and graceful athlete she’d always been. She in no way acted like a sick cat, or a Pharmacist Knowledge Tumbler in discomfort. But the weight loss continued: slowly, inexorably. Back to the vet in late June. Another blood panel. The white cell count was double what it had been in January; Bunny’s weight was just below 6 pounds now. The vet and I discussed the results, and in that conversation the “C” word figured prominently. There were no palpable tumors, but the vet suggested an ultrasound. I agreed.
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We also know that’s utter drivel from her as even her friends have gone on record, advising us that in her younger years, she was obsessed with Diana (like the world). She had the Andrew Morton – Diana book (on her bookshelf in multiple houses of hers). Note I say multiple houses, if you move and keep a book with you, clearly it’s a favourite..but remember she has no idea who Harry was….(what a joke). Again from proven quotes and testimony of her childhood friends, when Diana died, Megan sat with her friends sobbing for the whole 7 hours ie: most of the day of Diana’s funeral. Anyone who watched all 7 hours of the funeral and sobbed as a teenager about a Pharmacist Knowledge Tumbler Princess, clearly is invested in that persons life. Plus she would have seen Diana’s sons being made to walk behind their mothers coffin. Harry was 11 I think. No child should have to do that in public on TV in front of millions. However Megan saw it, and saw Harry and that (terrible heartwrenching) beautiful wreath that just read ‘Mummy’ from the boys.
Tucson’s All Souls Procession for Dia de los Muertos (day of the dead) is probably what I miss most about living there. It’s about a 2 mile parade from near the UofA on 4th Ave all the way downtown, you get to see so many families dressed up and celebrating their lost loved ones, lots of floats, and Pharmacist Knowledge Tumbler culminates in a fire-dancing celebration…with some people on stilts. It doesn’t sound real when I am writing it, but it’s amazing Tucson Meet Yourself is a great festival that showcases local businesses and restaurants downtown. The 4th Avenue Spring and Winter Street Fairs are awesome – like big flea/craft markets as well as good food, all along the coolest avenue in the neighborhood. Jose Guadalupe Posada, a turn of the century Mexican etching master created images for broadsheets and other publications. Jose created skeletons as saterical characters in political cartoons. Jose created the iconic female cálca (skeleton) known as “Catrina”. Catrina was a representative image of the social elite and rich. I believe in the 1970’s a San Francisco arts organization created the North American version of the El dia de los Muertos (day of the dead) celebration and adopted Posada’s Catrina into the art imagery. From there it took off in North America.