1monster's Journal - Archives
People who lie and manipulate as a way of life have no conception of truth and no understanding of how to tell or live it.
I had all my essential files backed up on a flash drive, but, horror of horrors, it did not work. (It worked fine the last time I put info on it, but looked like maybe it was stepped on in the case since I last used it.)
Question: Is there any way to retrieve the info from the flash drive? If so, how?
Thanks for any advice.
My bet is that it would become so big that broadcaast networks and cable channels would be fighting for the chance to air him (except Fox, of course.)
They say Christmas is a time for giving, but one shepherd mix in Canada really went above and beyond. According to the Winnipeg Free Press, this severely injured single mother found room in her heart to adopt an orphaned kitten -- raising the feline like it was one of her own.
Esperanza, a fluffy white shepherd mix, was discovered on a wilderness reserve near Red Deer in Central Alberta by animal rescue worker Criss Gerwing earlier this month, according to the Free Press. Esperanza had reportedly been hit by a car and her leg was badly broken.
When Gerwing approached the friendly pooch, this exceptional mother led her straight to a den where she was nursing a very unusual litter. "I cried because she was in such bad condition with her leg, but she was obviously nursing her puppies and this kitten," Gerwing told reporters.published. http://www.pawnation.com/2010/12/23/homele...
I just received this e-mail from Planned Parenthood...
By now you've most likely heard all about it ó the anti-choice group Focus on the Family is spending millions to run an ad during the Super Bowl featuring football player Tim Tebow and his mom talking about a deeply personal medical decision she made years ago. She decided to continue her pregnancy against medical advice, due to what had been diagnosed as a high-risk pregnancy.
People have been asking us at Planned Parenthood what we think about the ad and Mrs. Tebow's decision. It's simple. Planned Parenthood respects the right of every woman to make important medical decisions for herself.
Mrs. Tebow weighed medical and moral considerations and decided what was right for her. She made her choice in private, and without government interference. That's exactly what we want every woman to be able to do.
The truth is, the Tebows' experience is completely consistent with what Planned Parenthood doctors and nurses have learned from the millions of women they've served over nearly a century. Women take decisions about their health very seriously. They consider their doctors' advice, they talk with their loved ones and people they trust, including religious leaders, and they carefully weigh all considerations before making the best decision for themselves and their families.
That's the way it should be. And that should be our shared goal ó on Super Bowl Sunday and every day.
I hope you'll show your support for ensuring that every woman makes her own personal medical decisions by adding your name to a brief statement from Planned Parenthood. http://www.ppaction.org/campaign/superbowl...
Thank you for joining with us today.
Cecile Richards, President
Planned Parenthood Federation of America
P.S. For another perspective on this Super Bowl ad, watch this brief video featuring athletes Sean James and Al Joyner, two strong advocates for women's health. And then, share it with your friends! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utcxpuHF7jg
This heartwarming story needs a box of tissues nearby. Read to find out what happened when the owner showed up looking for his lost dog.
Lost and Found Dog Saves Life of Boy with Down Syndrome
by Helena Sung (RSS feed) Aug 11th 2009 5:00PM
Early one morning, Yolanda Segovia's neighbor, Stacey Savige, knocked on her door and asked her to temporarily take in a stray dog she had found. The scruffy terrier mix had no collar or microchip. Segovia eyed the pooch -- burrs sticking to his belly and mud caking his fur -- and reluctantly agreed to foster him for the day.
An erstwhile hairdresser, Segovia hasn't worked since 2006. At 47, she is a survivor of breast cancer and cervical cancer. A divorced single mother of two, Segovia shares her Port Tampa, Florida home with her 10 year-old son Azaiah and 21 year-old son Christian. Her elder son has Down Syndrome; he cannot speak or bathe himself, and he has had heart surgery and a kidney transplant, reports the St. Petersburg Times.
Azaiah immediately took to the dog, whom he named RaeLee (pronounced "Riley"). Segovia and her sons bought the dog a collar, leash, ball and brown bed from the dollar store, and all that day, Azaiah played with the dog, laughing gleefully whenever RaeLee licked his face. "Don't fall in love with him," Segovia warned. (snip)
One afternoon, the dog settled himself on the floor near Christian as he watched a "Barney" video in his room. Segovia was outside watering the plants when the placid moment was shattered by the sound of RaeLee crashing into the screen door and barking crazily. Alarmed, Segovia opened the door, only to have the dog race back through the house towards the boys' room. Segovia followed, screaming when she caught sight of her son. Christian was "slumped over, his body writhing in a seizure, blood streaming from his nose and mouth." RaeLee stood next to him yelping, but suddenly went quiet when Yolanda reached down to hold her son.
I almost had my first panic attack ever yesterday.
I was subbing for an ESE teacher and had a free period. I was reading and thus not using my glasses... I think they were sitting on the top of my head.
The teacher's desk, while not untidy, was so filled up that just breathing in the wrong direction could make something fall off the desk. I noticed that a glass vase filled with silk roses was sitting very close to the edge of the desk, so I got up, walked around the desk and pushed it back some.
Then I went to put on my glasses before sitting back down. No glasses on the top of my head. I assumed I had placed them on the desk.
No glasses on the desk.
They must have fallen on the floor. My eyesight, without glasses, is not good. So I got down on the floor and patted around while I searched.
Still no glasses.
I lifted everything on the desk... perhaps I had placed something on them.
I opened the desk drawers to check even though I hadn't opened the drawers prior to this.
Of course, no glasses.
Checked the garbage can ... three times.
Checked my lunch box. (Why they would be in my lunch box, I can't say, but I was getting a bit worried at this point.)
Bent over knocking my forehead against the chalk tray on the white board to look behind the bookcase.
I checked my book bag AND the computer case the teacher left unzipped on the floor behind the desk (several times for both).
Sweating a bit now, I called DH and told him to go to the cupboard above the sink and take all of the glasses cases out and bring them to me at school. I wasn't sure that DH would be able to pick out the right pair of glasses...
(I have five glasses cases in that cupboard. Two are new frames that don't have prescription lenses in them yet. One pair is the right shape... nearly like the ones I wear now, but they are a dark pink and not quite me. Another pair are tortoiseshell aviators. I love the color and they are okay, but just off a bit... Then there are two old broken pairs. One where the frame spit into two at the bridge. The other pair was the last pair of glasses with real glass lenses that I had. Got into the car one evening to go somewhere and I heard a ping. The glass lens broke right down the middle. That is the second time that I have had a glass lens break while I was wearing the glasses. The first time was in 1975 when I worked at (redacted) Lab for the National Institute for Environmental Health Sciences -- what a mouthful that is.
Anyway, there was a lab tech named Steve (he looked like a marble carving of the Greek God Apollo and had a sweet personality) and an intern from Brown University, who had one more semester to go before graduating with a BS in marine biology... He decided that the life of a marine biologist was just too damned isolated and lonely. The last I heard, years ago, he was a manager at a Miami department store.
I was in one of the labs doing protein assays on some fish livers and kidneys when Steve came in rather upset. He said that he had a dream the night before of a terrible plane crash... and that Margaret, our boss, was flying down to Miami the next day for a conference. He asked me if I thought he should tell her.
I answered that it was probably just a bad dream and that I had a bad one myself the night before. "I dreamed that my glasses just shattered," and that he shouldn't worry Margaret with it. He said that Barry also thought the same.
So Steve and Barry went off to what was then the science library and I continued working on my assays.
I heard a strange grinding sound and my vision was suddenly somewhat obscured. I thought that I'd maybe splashed some the chemicals on to my glasses and took them off to clean them.
Only to find that one of the lenses had broken and the only thing holding it together was the wire frame.
I took off for the Science library... "Steve!" Steve, Barry, and I agreed that Steve should tell Margaret about his dream of the plane crash, and mine of the broken glasses.
Margaret canceled her flight to Miami and drove down that night.
There was no plane crash the next day or any time close to that date.
But who knows what might have happened if Margaret had been on that plane? ; ?)
The final pair of glasses are a pair I never used. One evening several years ago, I got a sudden excruciating headache and a piercing pain in my left eye. When the headache and eye pain finally passed, I noticed that my vision was considerably worse than it was before the headache. Especially in the left eye. It was also during a cold gray weather period.
That scared me enough to make an immediate visit to an ophthalmologist for the most complete eye exam I have ever had. He found nothing wrong, but gave me a new lens Rx.
I had it filled, but the specs were not right. They had ground out coke bottle lenses that were way too thick for the partially wire frames. The lenses kept falling out. I had those glasses back for fixing about six times. By the time they had them wearable, my eyes had changed back to what they were before the headache, and the lenses were too strong for me to wear comfortably on a regular basis, but were okay for an emergency spare pair.
Then I went into the next classroom and borrowed a student to help me look for my glasses. She looked for the next eight or so minutes with no luck. They seemed to have disintegrated into molecular particals or have been abducted by little green aliens...
Even thought I had another pair of glasses coming, I was more than a little upset by this point.
The bell rang and my class came in. Those kids started looking for the missing specs, also with no luck UNTIL...
One young man asked, "Are those your glasses there, in the flower vase?"
Sure enough, there were my glasses in the vase with the silk roses.
Apparently, when I moved the vase, the glasses fell, unnoticed by me, from my head into the flower vase.
I called DH to cancel the run down to the school with my spares (I'm now carrying them with me despite their fragility) and carried on with teaching my class...
I never really realize how helpless I can be until I don't have my specs... \O-j-O\
Elvis wasnít a feral cat. He was likely the unwanted kitten of somebody's pet. Or he was adopted by people who later decided they couldn't keep a cat. Whatever the reason, it became obvious that he had been dumped in our street, coldly, left to become a homeless stray with few survival skills and no support system.
However it happened, Elvis, a snow-white, male cat about three or four months old, was dumped in our neighborhood. One day he was just there. We would see him across the road or down the block usually when we were in a hurry to go somewhere. On the few occasions we tried to gently lure him to us, he'd take off. We weren't sure if he belonged to one of the neighbors or not, so there was no real effort to catch him.
Then one morning about six to eight months after he first appeared in our neighborhood, the white cat showed up on our back deck and wrapped himself, purring, around my husbandís legs.
He immediately called to me to get some cat food. I understood why as soon as I saw the cat close up. Elvis, as my husband named him, was painfully thin. He had fight wounds all over his body and about his eyes. There were poorly healed scars and his fur was thin and rough. Elvis was starving. In his condition, I doubt that he would have lived another week if he hadn't chosen to come to us.
Over the next two months, Elvis came to our home everyday for food and affection. We plied him with premium cat food, tuna, and salmon. Sometimes he would sleep in the flower bed all day and into the night.
He wouldn't come into the house. We had three other cats at the time and he saw them as threats. (Mr. Squeeks and his sister Gatita were our first rescues. Amber was another cat who had been dropped off to fend on her own near where my husband worked. And later, there was Annie, the sweetest-natured cat I have ever known. She also was dumped in the same area as Amber was.)
Elvis gained weight, although he never got anywhere near fat; his wounds healed nicely and his fur became thick and sleek. We decided that the time had come to take him to the vets and have him neutered and immunized. I got the cat carrier out so that it would be handy for transferring him to the vets. Then I waited for an opportunity.
Of course, at this point, Elvis disappeared. He no longer came to our back yard, and though we would catch glimpses of him now and then, he no longer came when we called. Cats are smart. I believe he knew what we intended and decided that there is a time to stay and a time to run.
About six months later, he showed up on the deck to, once again, wrap himself around my husbandís legs.
He was in worse shape than he had been the first time. His coat was very thin and rough, the fur brittle. His eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed sensitive to the sunlight. And there were wounds that were barely healing.
I gave him a can salmon, hoping that these bouts of near total starvation had not weakened him to the point of serious illness. This time, I decided, I would take him to the vet as soon as he showed enough improvement to be able to handle the car ride.
Elvis ate and, in gratitude for the meal, rubbed up against me, purring. Then he found a nice spot in the sun to lie. He was gone in the evening.
He never came back. We had to assume that the damage from the starvation had been too much and he either died from that, or had encountered another animal in the night and had been too weak to defend himself.
Whenever I hear of feral cat colonies, I think of Elvis. Elvis was not born in the wild. He was thrown away by thoughtless owners. These people either had no understanding of the suffering that they caused this cat, or they just didnít care.
Had Elvis been born into a feral cat colony, he would have been taught by his mother and other members of the colony how to fend for himself. But he was alone.
There are far too many stories like Elvis's in this countryÖ.
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