Boycat has been struggling with feline idiopathic cystitis since early May. We've already done two rounds of antibiotics, pain-killers each time he flared up, and a full six weeks of buspirone.
He finished the last of his meds on Tuesday. All seemed like it was going well. On Friday morning, he started peeing only tiny amounts and licking himself again. Soon he was peeing outside his box.
We had a refill available for the buspirone and started him on that again Friday evening. He was in such obvious pain this morning and wouldn't/couldn't pee, so we made a flying visit to the emergency vet hospital to get him checked out.
Three hours and $182 later, he is home for the weekend with painkillers, anti-spasmodics and Cosequin. He doesn't have a blockage, and they gave him some subcutaneous fluids that helped him have a couple excellent big peeings. He's doing better now thanks to the fluids and his meds, but we have to go back to our regular vet early next week for a more complete work-up: x-rays, possible urine culture, etc. which means $$$$.
Sigh.
There is never a good time for these things to happen, but weekends are of course the worst (though I feel lucky and grateful that we have emergency vet services available). And for this to happen while I'm employed only part-time with not a lot of spare dough is of course not ideal, either. I just got a small "summer vacation" bonus from the website I write for, and I know now it's not going to be spent on something fun like a summer vacation.
But ... Boycat is family. I wouldn't consider NOT seeking treatment for him, even if I couldn't pay for it. I am grateful to have services available and to have money to pay for them, even if it means I'll be pretty broke in July. At least we got to come home with our cat and with medicines that will help make him more comfortable while we figure out if there is something behind all this. (As frustrating as it is, I do hope it is truly "idiopathic" and not something scarier like a tumor.)
There were several other folks there that were much worse off: a young couple whose dog had been attacked by a pit bull; a young woman whose cat has something similar to Boycat but who had to be admitted to the hospital for treatment and monitoring; an older couple who left the exam room crying, and without their pet. I'll take my big vet bill vs. not being able to bring my pet home, for whatever reason.
Update 7/7/2013: Boycat went for x-rays and a more complete work-up a couple days ago and they found nothing. It is truly feline idiopathic cystitis at this point. We're finishing up the meds from the most recent incident, and we're going to keep him on buspirone for a few months. We were advised to add additional water to his wet food, and were told to consider a type of wet food made specifically for cats with urinary tract problems if he has another flare up. Right now, we're relieved to find it's nothing serious, and we'll continue meds and watchful waiting, hoping for the best.
Been feeling nostalgic today. The day of the week I am most likely to go nostalgia-tripping through old photos and old music or do some webstalking of old classmates is always Sunday, for some reason.
I grew up in a little town that I hated, but it's been on my mind lately.
We moved from Lincoln, NE, where I lived from infancy until age 3, to this little town for my father's career. (We almost ended up in an even smaller town, but my mother had grown up in a small town similar to the one being considered and told my father she couldn't do that to her kids. Thank you, Mom!)
I wasn't aware of how small the town was, and what that really meant, until I was ten or eleven. Places that were bigger just seemed ... bigger, but the same, like with more stuff to do, but to a kid, it was just the same kinds of stuff and more people.
My sister and I walking home from the town library
By junior high, the town and I had declared silent war on each other. I went from being unaware of my town's size to being too aware of its size, hating it for its size and wishing I was somewhere else, and expressing this outwardly with my attitude and behavior and mode of dress. (And finding a few other like-minded individuals who felt the same way.)
Which is not to say I was some kind of juvenile delinquent. I did this in a very white, middle-class way, of course. I dressed strangely and took every opportunity to assert my individual style and specify my (superior, of course) pop culture preferences. If I wasn't going to be accepted and appreciated, I wasn't going to bother trying to fit in anymore.
I was, however, always a good kid. I didn't drink or smoke in high school (not that I had many opportunities, since I never got invited to the parties). I even used my good behavior, along with being smart and getting good grades in school, as a form of rebellion, to show them they were all "beneath me," and also because it meant that someday I would have a means of getting out of there. (I recognize now that my attitude was sometimes snotty and likely had at least a little something to do with the way people treated me.)
It was probably in my blood as well. My family were considered strange in the town. My parents were intensely private, with just a small circle of friends. Until I was well into my 30s, they lived in the same old house they had bought when they were poor as church mice, my father fresh out of law school with a wife and two kids already and hardly a pot to piss in. Long after they could have afforded better, they stayed in that same old house and continued driving their same old cars. (They did eventually remodel the home and my father got a wild hair when he turned 40 and bought a flashy Cadillac.) The town was small but had its "preferred suburb" area and social clubs to which the upwardly mobile belonged, all of which my parents rejected. My parents never joined a church (or even attended any).
(Yes, I've turned out a lot like them.)
So ... what's so terrible about my hometown?
Nothing.
Main Street
It is a typical small town in a Midwestern state. Its residents are traditional and church-going, socially and politically conservative. Its community is not diverse. It is hours away from even a medium-sized city like Lincoln. It doesn't offer much for young people to do--a movie theater and cruising the main drag are the primary teen pastimes. Its teens end up drinking at house parties or out in the country, and having sex at a young age, due to lack of any better options. Older adults still see movies and drink (but in bars), plus go boating, fishing and hunting for fun. The town has developed a huge meth problem since the 1990s. Its population has declined steadily since the 1970s, as it doesn't offer many career opportunities or decent-paying jobs that would keep young people around or attract new residents.
It's neither good nor bad. I realize that now. It just wasn't what I was looking for. I don't think I knew what I was looking for, really, until I was in my 30s, but I certainly knew what I wasn't looking for: a town like my hometown.
My sister and brother-in-law and nephew still live near there. They like the small-town atmosphere and feel most comfortable there. My nephew is in college but it won't surprise me if he returns there after school, or moves to a new town that is similar in size and demographics. They obviously want something different than I want and they enjoy the pace of rural life.
I haven't actually been back there since 2005, when my father retired and a small celebration was held (and he left the next day, to join my mom in the new house they had purchased several months before, in a bigger city). During the last five years, my niece and nephew even graduated from their small rural high school that is near there, and I attended but stayed at a hotel in a bigger city a little further away, just to avoid my hometown.
And yet, now that I don't live in Nebraska anymore and probably won't visit again until there's a wedding or a funeral, I find myself looking at the hometown newspaper website more often. I did an earlier entry about learning my high school boyfriend's dad and my old babysitter had passed away, but the obituaries are not the only section of the town's newspaper that I read. Old family friends celebrated a 54th wedding anniversary and I saw the announcement in the paper and sent a card. I occasionally recognize a classmate or one of their children in a news story, but there are many names I don't know.
I miss the crappy old drive-in/restaurant that still has customers place their order via individual telephone handsets at each table. I've been craving the jiffy burgers a "rival" drive-in used to sell, and for which I have the coveted special secret recipe.
A friend posted Facebook photos of her visit a small town that still has a drive-in movie theater, and I remembered my town had one, too, until 1980ish? My mom worked there briefly when I was a kid. I saw Superman and Star Wars there, among other films.
A new friend who is a Montessori teacher got me thinking about my old elementary school, which took advantage of an unconventional classroom layout and created an unconventional (but very successful) teaching model. (In googling to see if there were any images, I learned that it was sold to a private investor and is being developed for mixed use business/upscale housing.)
Watching Freaks and Geeks again on Netflix reminded me of my 9th grade art teacher, who looked like the guidance counselor on the show.
So ... yeah. It doesn't define who I am, but that little Nebraska town is part of me. Simon and Garfunkel already said it better than I could, so I'll let them close this entry.
When I first began exploring art again in my late 30s, I was short on materials and unwilling to spend a lot for supplies on what I was not certain would be anything but a passing interest. I found myself wasting a lot of paint and paper as I attempted to learn new techniques and improve my skills. The truly "failed" art would wind up in the trash, and after several expensive "lessons" of this variety, I decided to scale down in my projects in an attempt to preserve supplies and save money.
I was familiar with Artist Trading Cards (ATCs) and also ACEOs from my time on Etsy.com. I bought a beautiful set of ACEOs from one artist, and it got me thinking about what I was trying to accomplish.
For those not familiar with ATCs (which are also a popular format with scrapbookers in addition to artists), they are essentially miniature works of art roughly the size of a baseball card or playing card (which some artists even use as their "canvas"), done in just about any medium, designed to be traded and collected among artists. Some artists have also commercialized this concept with the creation of Art Cards Editions and Originals (ACEOs), which are just ATCs that have a price tag on them. Wikipedia has a great entry that gives some background on the history and philosophy of ATCs and ACEOs and I'll let those who are interested read more over there.
As it turned out, the small size of ATCs were a great format for beginner artists. I was mainly doing watercolors at the time, and with the help of a set of miniature brushes, I was able to create very fine details, even with my rudimentary skills. I began experimenting with other techniques like pen and ink, collaging of two paintings on a single card, and with a synthetic type of paper called Yupo. Yupo is still one of my favorite materials, because it's basically a thin sheet of plastic that doesn't absorb the paint, which makes for some interesting effects as the paint dries. Plus if I really screwed up, I just gave it a quick rinse in the sink and started over. No waste, no worry.
I joined a Yahoo group of active ATC makers and traders and did a few swaps with other folks around the country. Some of my favorite ATCs that I created are actually no longer in my possession, as I've swapped them for cool ATCs by other folks. Here are a few I did that I really liked (click on any image for a larger view--remember, these are actually quite small in real life):
"Golden Orb," watercolor on Yupo, traded
Untitled, inspired by Klimt, watercolor on paper, traded (this one took
three hours to make with tiny micro-brushes)
"Lila and Lou," watercolor and ink on Yupo, traded
"The Dreamers of the Dreams," watercolor and ink on paper
"The Passengers," watercolor and ink on Yupo
"There it Goes," watercolor and ink on Yupo, traded
(the background here is a good example of some of the interesting
effects Yupo can produce)
"What They Saw," watercolor and ink on Yupo
I will also show you a few of the cards I received in trade (and one I purchased), all of which I treasure:
Clockwise starting from the top: "October Kitties," digital ATC by Cynthia Peck; "Daydreaming," mixed media ACEO, artist's name illegible; "Squidlicious," mixed media ATC by Melody Hansen-Herman; "Ornate 002" pen and marker ATC by Marissa Childers; "Seven-Day Forecast" mixed media ATC by Carolyn Dickson
Want to learn more or give it a try yourself? First, know that you do not have to paint or draw to be able to make amazing cards. Collaging, stamping, sewing, cut/paste/glue, printing of digital images you Photoshopped and manipulated, etc. are all allowable and make for some amazing cards. Do a Google image search or visit Flickr for more ideas, plus here's a Wikihow that will help you get started. There's also a great book called Artist Trading Card Workshop by Bernie Berlin that is full of creative and cool projects you can try on your own. ATCs are also lots of fun for children, if you are looking for an art/craft projects for the kids in your life.
If any of you get started making your own cards and wanna swap, let me know. :-)
