FOWL IDEA

Once upon a time, there was this pig-tailed girl who loved animals. Being the only child to a divorced parent who worked two jobs, she filled herself with whimsical ideas and surrounded herself with animals that were her best friends. 

This little girl more or less rescued and raised a plethora of animals growing up. In fact, her backyard would be a great archeological site with bones from lizards, guinea pigs, dog, salamanders, chicken, goat (yes goat), rabbits, turtles, doves, other fowl creatures of the like, etc. You get the idea.

So, little girl, me, is not so little anymore and has had quiet the life. Her constant companion is ‘Bidney’, the textbook perfect kidney. Bidney is just wonderful, and if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be writing right now. But seriously, if I were entertaining myself with Bidney conversations, I should probably be in a straight jacket, and that I don’t have time for.

So, my life now is far from whimsical and to say exciting would just be making my nose grow.  But every once in a while, when I come up for air, I get a good idea. Well, about a month ago, I’d say I had a fowl idea.

Literally… x 2.  While Paul was on business in Guam, over Easter,  my fowl idea was to have chickens again. Just a couple. With legitimate reasons. They will provide au natural eggs, get rid of unwanted bugs, and help fertilize the vegetable garden. I ran it by Paul via text and he replied, “That’d be interesting”, which unless it’s a flat “NO” means it’s a go. 

Well the two chicks (officially Chicky2 & Tabasco), which I generalize and call ‘chicks’ are quickly growing and becoming self sufficient young teen chicks.  One of them, however, is displaying bullying behavior and I’m hoping she doesn’t turn into a Chaz Bono situation.  Because cockle doodle doo-ers aren’t allowed where I live. Okay, chickens technically aren’t allowed where I live, but that’s not the issue. Plus, it only “isn’t allowed”  if someone complains about their noise. Chickens by the way, are much quieter than say some tropical Cockatoo or Macaw type bird. I rest my case.  And they are eco-friendly. (HAHAHA!)

So as not to be dubbed the OC Hillbillies with free roaming chickens, I decide to build my own coop. Custom. By Diana. This was after  trying to buy a coop online, only to discover buying a coop is preposterously expensive. From hundreds of dollars to more than a thousand.  Preposterous!

So off to Lowe’s I go to buy material. I’ve never built a coop, and trust you me, I will not be building another coop for a very, very long time.  First of all, when you build with soft pine, the cheapest wood I  could find,  use wood screws. Nobody told me about that. Because when I went to move the frame that I so proudly built with regular nails, well, it all fell apart at the joints like matchsticks. Damn nails just popped right off.  I’m sure the look on my face was priceless. But, after much ado about cooping, my 5’ x 5’ hen house came to shape. I even made my own free standing chicken feeder.  And that folks is what happened to my lovely, fowl idea.

The World According to Pong

I am my own master. I am also your master, you just don’t know it.

My name is Pong. Not to be confused with Bong. Pong means chubby in Chinese, which I am obviously not.

Sleepovers in bed with you? Consider me interested.  Call human for appointment.

I am like a heat seeking missile but better….I AM a FOOD SEEKING MISSILE!

Stress: When I see food, but can’t get it. (Ex: Cheeto wedged in my face).

Play opossum when it’s time for bed and humans just might leave you on the ottoman for the night. Has yet to work, but keep trying.

The world is my food bowl. I warn you!

I can actually hear myself getting fatter as I inhale my food. Chewing is unnecessary and a waste of time.

A juicy rib eye steak at my eye level means it is mine. Silly human.

Avoiding eye contact doesn’t work anymore. Especially to she-human.

I wish I was little bit taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl who looked good, I would call her.

Putting cayenne pepper/hot sauce to keep me from eating prohibited things don’t work. Didn’t know it’s a bonus topping for me, did you?

Human wants to use my head as a door jam when I get in trouble. See if I care.

If you love me, cuddle me, pet me and speak sweet nothings to my flat face, I will be your son-of-a-biatch.

Rats. Die.

I have issues. What do you expect from a peculiar dog with a peculiar look and perplexing character?  

I’ve done the math. Nothing about my Pug face is proportionate. I look like I’ve been smashed, punched and sat on… But if you pull my ears out, I tend to look like Yoda and with my mental powers, I make you think I’m the freaking cutest thing roaming on four paws. Therefore, I am.

Sneaking into human bed and laying in the pillows is like being spooned from every direction.

It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Dog who run behind car gets exhausted. Dog who run in front gets tired. Dog who ride inside is just right. 

Don’t wake me up unless it is interesting. Anything but food, walks or something I can chase need not apply.

I work hard.  Sleeping.

My sister is perfect. She glows white. My genetic factor makes me mischievous and naughty, hence the black.

I turn invisible when I turn my back to humans or hide behind something bigger.

I love my body. I love being  naked. Clothes are for humans.

A special day to celebrate my mother

All that I am, I am thanks to my mother. The weather couldn’t make it’s mind up on whether it wanted to share its sun or not, but that didn’t stop us. We bundled mom up, took her down to the beach, carried her across the sand and plopped her down on a chair. It was cold, she was having difficulties, but we were able to catch a couple smiles here and there. Something about the ocean air gives her energy and brings a little sunshine to her ALS riddled body. Mom, you are a fighter, a heroine, a lioness. I’m sorry you are suffering and know that you have thrown in the towel. It is ok. I get it. I wish I could ease your pain and lessen your suffering. I love you.

LOVE.

love  [luhv]  noun, verb 

1. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend; maternal love for a child 2. warm attachment, enthusiasm, strong predilection, or liking for anything 3. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart. 

Love.  A mother’s love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever. I always hear about it, but I don’t have children, so I cannot fully comprehend the magnitude of a mom’s love. I have dogs. That doesn’t count. Recently however, okay it’s been more than a month now, I had a special moment with my mom one evening. I curled up in her bed and laid next to her, half my back-end hanging off the edge, but it was ok.  In that short period as I lay next to her on her hospital bed at home, we had a mother-daughter moment where everything around us fell away, time stood still and I felt the power of my mother’s love for me in a way that I’ve never felt before.  I love my mother. She loves me, too, she loves me more than life itself.  We  laughed and cried. Mom recounted the early years when working hard and saving paid off.  Mom brought back the memory of how she would ride me on the back of her bike to church on Sundays and around town.  It saved gas. But there was a small price to pay. Mom always told me to keep me feet away from the spinning spokes. As she pedaled and I daydreamed on the back, I would forget and on more than one occasion I would end up in crocodile tears as I found my feet had been churned up and streaked with bike grease. Then came the worried scorn in her Asian accent, “I told you so many times, why you don’t pay attention?”. Sob.

Love. For those who know me, you know I’ve always loved adventure. Extreme adventure. The last month or so, I felt like the Greek God, Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.  So when Bidney’s twin, Brian decided to visit my mom and the Bidney, I decided to surprise  Brian and the kidneys with a little, almost out of this world experience…falling out of the sky at 13,000 feet! 

WHEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!  We are a bunch of suited up morons stuffed into a make shift mini cargo plane, like a pack of sardines. One by one, we tuck and roll to a freeee falll. Peaceful, serene and then exhilarating as the wind hits you so fast it’s hard to breathe, but the view…the view is breathtaking. This is what it’s like to soar like a bird. Soaring for about a minute until the rip cord yanks you back to reality and you remember you are human tied like a toy to a big piece of nylon fabric.  A few minutes later and we are back on solid ground. I took a breath and was all smiles. And that’s all I needed to refresh me and keep me going. It’s amazing what the human spirit is capable of doing. We, our souls, our spirit to fight and live and make it through hard times is what keeps the world going. And it doesn’t hurt that there are little angels floating around us all the time in the form of good friends, and neighbors.

Love.

Chivalry is not dead. I love Paul Lawson III. Some call him Bub. Honorable. Handsome. Honest. Noble. Fun loving. Funny. Respectful. Athletic. Quirky. Good communicator. Best friend. Loves me.  I love him more than I did when I met him.  With the past year (plus) full of trials, I am blessed to have Bub by my side.  He stood by me when I was on dialysis. He pushed me up a hill (Angel’s Landing, Zion Park, Utah) when I was too exhausted to take another step but wasn’t mentally ready to turn back.  He walked slowly along my side when I could barely hike a little grassy knoll and flattered me by not holding me back from being adventurous even though I had to hook myself nightly to my life machine.  He shared the bedroom with Lola, my dialysis machine, and now he share the restroom with Bidney.

My mom has been suffering miserably from ALS (Lou Gehrig’s ) for the past couple years. Bub has been so understanding and I believe it’s because he had such a special relationship with his beloved mother. Mrs. Dolores Lawson passed away March 24.

Until the end she handled herself with dignity, honor and a concern for the well being and happiness of all those around her. She will be missed. I thank her for her smiles and golden personality, which she’s passed on to her son. And I thank her for having Bub. She is loved and that twinkle in her eye that sparkled when she smiled will always be remembered.

 Love.  Spring brings new birds, bees, flowers and trees. My mom is known for her green thumb. She grows organic fruits and veggies that are bigger than ones you buy from the store on steroids! We’ ve had these flowers outside in the front of our house for years. They bloom once a year. This year they came in so full, thick and high…it was a sight to behold. They are the biggest, brightest flowers on the block.  They are a celebration of my mother.

      

Love.  It comes in different shapes and sizes. Mostly, it can not be measured.  I’ve learned that when I see and feel the most pain, I also see and feel the most love. Trials can bring people closer and love is always just around the corner. Sometimes you’ve just got to stick your neck far enough out there to see what’s on the other side. And when you do, I hope you’ll feel that golden light of endless love.

Grounded. Literally.

I would like to say the earth cracked under my feet and swallowed me up.  Or even better that I was abducted to a remote island with nothing but a good book and certain amenities to meet my blissful needs. (Tom and Todd, I haven’t forgotten about you over on St. Lucia).

But I assure you…to my dismay…that I am here. In Irvine. Usually in a tailspin, trying to make sure my mom is taken care of since it’s ridiculously hard to find a true and through, qualified caregiver. My mom’s ALS (Lou Gehrig’s) has been slowly robbing her from her body. Mentally she is still sharp as a nail, and she feels everything. Itches she can’t scratch. Pains she can’t tend to. She no longer walks. Barely talks, and needs 24 hour supervision and help. But she is hanging in there most days.  That woman has always had a will as strong as steel.  She is China tough. And her faith in her church has been her foundation of goodness and charity. Mom’s good friend, Jill, calls her a “Quiet Giant”.

With all of mom’s stuff going on, I have had to clip my travel wings for the time being. No globe trotter here. There once was a time when the question of the day from my friends were, “Where are you going now?” or “Now where’d you get back from?”  I went from traveling daughter to caregiver.

That was hard, but not compared to hearing the doctor’s tell me last Friday that my mom has only a few months to live. I wanted to cry all Friday afternoon, but felt like the plug to the overfilled bathtub was jammed. Until it got pulled. I’ve been crying on and off for three days now… Geez, cry me a river already! I think mom and I have cried more in the last couple months than all our lives. We have never been much of a crying family, mom and I. But it’s all kinds of tears now. Happy tears. Sad tears. Angry or frustrated tears. Slap-happy-tired tears. You name it, tears are so in style right now in an unwanted way.  I’ve discovered the sweeter our relationship has gotten over the last few months, the more vulnerable and emotional I have become. I am exhausted.

My will is stronger than my heart, but neither are willing to give up my mom yet. Now that we’ve finally gotten to the relationship I’ve always wanted with her. I used to wish and pray that when God thought it was time, He could just take her without pain and suffering. Well, she’s in pain and suffers and I’m selfishly not ready to let go. Yet. I’m not done loving her or talking softly to her. And I’m not done scaring her with my extreme adventures in skydiving, back country snowboarding, snowmobiling, etc now that I have ‘B’idney to help out!

So on a more positive note…Bidney, has successfully passed his 1 year transplant mark last Dec 9th. We are doing well and though I still get monthly blood work and discuss my results via phone with my awesome doctor up at St. Joe’s, I won’t need to go down to UCSD  for a transplant follow up with my team until August. And remember how they’ve been trying to biopsy my kidney for the last several months? It is no longer necessary for the time being. Woohoo! Remember that will of mine? It proved stronger than their wanting to take a piece of my Bidney. Ha!

Carry on, carry on, carry on!!!

9 months

Blood draw. Check.

Meet with the doctors and team down in San Diego. Check.

Results. Check.

All is mostly good.

Endlessly pumping ‘Bidney’ is going strong. He’s keeping my body’s creatinine, BUN, and other levels in the green zone. Proteinuria issue is still there, but holding steady. Chief Steiner has concurred there is no need for another biopsy at this time.  Bidney (heart) Chief Steiner. Steiner even blushed when I confessed my adoration with excitement.  I mean, who wants their new organ look like Swiss cheese instead of a healthy lima bean (or is it kidney bean, haha)?

So now my next follow up with the transplant team will not be for another 3 months, perhaps 6 if I continue steadfast. Oh, and my hair is finally growing back. Yay. In fact, the immunosuppressant drug, Cyclosporine, has a bit of the opposite effect. Hair growth. That combined with the Prednisone which is making my physique a bit square-ish has dubbed me a new nickname by my beloved boyfriend, Paul… Sasquatch. Lovely.

That’s the update, for those of you checking in. Thanks for the faith. The posts are far and few, but I have  good reason. Bidney is busy caring for a family member suffering Lou Gehrig’s disease. It’s a full time job. But thanks to little angels around me, I am once again able to spread my wings and escape for a few days every now and then. This weekend, Bidney will be flying over some mountains and desert to visit his twin kidney. It’s a reunion!

I Dream Rocks! (A wrap-up of white water rafting down the Grand Canyon Aug 18-24)

It’s been approximately 9 months since I adopted ‘B’idney (Brian’s kidney). It’s been recommended by my doctor’s that I wait at least 1 year before doing anything…"too adventurous”. But in just a few days, I will be resident at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, white water rafting for 6 days. My neighbors will be all types of scaly, slimy, multi-legged or non at all kinds of critters, not excluding any types of lizards, rattlesnakes, scorpions, spiders, goats or packs of coyotes. All which have been sited, some too close for comfort, in my 6 days of unadulterated fun. My partners in crime will be Paul, ‘Bidney’ and a bunch of  good friends. 

I awake at 5am, throw my belongings along with myself  into a make shift school bus by 6 am and patiently wait while we travel 2 hours to the launch area. There we meet the guides and get outfitted with life jackets that were each individually named. One was named ‘Big Horn Sheep’, another was ‘Sheer Wall’. Must we wear these faded jackets cinched so tight, I might actually be confused with an orange marshmallow? Yes. I immediately felt better when I learned that on the back of my jacket, scribbled in black magic marker was,

“Scarlet Monkey Flower”. We have officially left land and started paddling. I am excited minus one thing. It’s kind of crappy. The one and  only thing that gets my face all disgustingly contorted. Meet… The Groover.  In order to experience the majesty of rafting down the Grand Canyon, there are rules that are placed to keep humans from destroying a beautiful place that has been around for billions of years. Rule #1. Pack out what you pack in. That includes the obvious, trash, etc…and to the not so obvious…your poop.  Enter Groover. Groover is a little tin box with a modest seat on it for your comfort. The Groover will kindly hold everyone’s do-do until the end of the trip. And since you cannot pee in the Groover, there was a lot of butt-box tango-ing back and forth. I was absolutely grossed out when I first heard of the Groover, but a few days in and it was, “Hello Groover, nice to see you”.   As for ‘B’idney…it never crossed his mind to be disgusted. Must be a guy thing.

Now for the beauty of the trip.  I exhale at the beauty and grandeur of the canyon. Who knew cracks and crevices could be so beautiful. I am at a loss of words to properly describe this grand canyon which I float down. If I were a geologist, this would have been a dream for me with the amount of rocks around. I learned for hours upon days about the layering of rocks ranging from the Coconino to the Limestone to the Redrock to the blah blah blah. If you were to tell  me about rocks in any other setting, you would have been talking to my eyelids, but with how grand everything was, I really enjoyed hearing about the earth…while I was listening, which was most of the time.  Check out the horizontal layers near the water, to the mid sand layer. And there are a couple different vertical layers touching the sky.  Now check this out below. We float down this narrower canyon area and come into view of a giant cavern. See the specks inside? Those are people. I took this next shot below from our beached boat just to try and scale the magnitude of this cavern. Gigantic. Deep. Cool.

Let me try another angle. This is from the inside of the cave capturing the boys playing a little ultimate frisbee to break up our day of rafting. Isn’t it AMAZING?!

And a crescent view from inside the cavern. I guess it’s kinda of freaking cool. What caused this one cave to develop here? How many millions of years has it been around and what other fossils are hidden from man’s eyes? How can you not believe in God after witnessing all this beauty?

                                                                                                                                         And looking back up the narrow part of the canyon we just rafted down. I was in such awe, and I am probably putting too many pictures up, but I just can’t seem to not put them in. Blame the ‘ Bidney’. He doesn’t get out much.  This travel stuff is new to him.

The rest of the trip was just as great as the cliffs surrounding us. The crew and friends created enough laughter to bring slumbering animals out of their sleep 

(Above:Teddy- the lead guide;Ashton, Me, Clare-helper, Sharon-guide)

One warm evening, after we finished eating, Somer, one of our river guides came up to me with a can of nail polish asking if she could paint my toes. I had to decline at the time only because I was on my way to find Paul.  Somer, who is in her early 20’s is a super sweet, cute gal who always has a smile on her face . She’s solid as a brick, but enjoys fun, girly stuff. She brought a bag of tricks, as seen above ,which she tried to get the group to participate in. Us girls, had no problems playing dress up, and neither did some of the boys, with a little bit of alcohol influence (sorry, no pics will be posted). It was Nathan’s birthday and much to his dismay, we were finally able to get close enough to his feet to leave a spectrum of colors on his toes. He suffered a bad cold and had a few beers to boot. Poor guy. There’s no way he could have gotten away. At least he got a great big chocolate cake and boy was it YUM!

  The camping site in the picture right above requires notable mention. The coolest thing happened that evening and is something I would consider beautiful and eerie. The guide books mention coyotes as one of the animals at the Grand Canyon, but rarely do people see or actually hear them.  After we had dinner and the lights went out, a few of us stayed up to play a fun card game called Idiot. Paul. Joe. Diana.  We were laughing and having fun when a short distance on the far left side of camp, we heard a pack of coyotes howling in the distance. The canyon provided amazing acoustics. I thought, how cool. Paul thought it was someone pulling a prank. A few minutes later, more coyotes started howling on the hill to the right, behind us. Close.  And then they started howling AND yipping back and forth to each other. It was so high pitched. And we were in the middle. They were so close to camp, it felt like they were a few bushes away. Kind of like hunters corralling their prey. This was the coolest natural affair I’ve ever been a part of. My senses were alive as I looked over at Paul to share this amazing moment. The look on his face well, lets just say his heart skipped a beat and fell flat on its face.

I think “?” to myself. My hucklebuck of a boyfriend who used to trap raccoons and skin fish alive has gone soft, for if he had a billy club  it would surely have been up close to his body, wrapped in nothing short of a white knuckle grip. I watched him, head cocked,  as his eyes darted around, body fidgety, ready to be in the fight position as soon as he caught the reflection of the coyotes eyes in his headlamp. I almost chuckled as my imagination envisioned him going bananas on some coyote that entered our camp. I guess camping out in the wild is a little different that the woods in Ohio. I love him.

 

During the day, we were back on the water. Paddling through calm waters and paddling even faster through the rapids. The guides main objective was to teach us irreverent students how to paddle in unison. One would think that paddling in unison to head in a straight line would be easy. Not always true.  It only takes one to mess up the rhythm. And if it’s the lead paddler that gets distracted because they are admiring the landscape, there will be a lot of clanking paddles and not much forward motion. As a group, I’m sure there were times when our guides thought we were a bunch of misfits. One minute we were silent,  the next suffering  from fits and giggles.  And if you were on the same raft as Greg Levine, then there was never a silent nor dull moment for very long. This equation was not complete unless Greg was on the same boat as our dry humored guide, Jim. There were stories, jokes, some of which were at the expense of others, which always erupted in friendly laughter. Jim was super cool. He always let us get our cameras out and take pictures. He even let me ride cowboy style on the front of the raft, holding onto nothing but a small rope with my legs hanging over the front as the rest of the group paddled through rapids that punched me in the face with water.  At the end of the day, we always arrived safely at our campsite.

During the times we weren’t on the water, we were usually eating lunch or hiking. There were some  very cool hikes.   Hikes which thanks to ‘Bidney’, I am now well enough to participate   in. (Nonetheless, not well enough in shape to climb up to the Anasazi ruins as shown in the middle picture below. Grrr).  

    

And when we weren’t hiking or paddling or eating like kings, we were goofing around the campsite. Since we were usually off the water by 5ish in the evening, done with dinner, campsite set and cleaned up for bed around 8, there was some extra time before some of us went to bed. Blake Seely, who works for Apple and is a guru with technology, did a photo shoot for some of us camera bugs.  Hollywood A-listers, move over. We love the Papparazzi. Our stars were very willing to participate and full of character.

 

 

 

 

 

The little photo session started out small, but by the time we were half way into it, there was a line up for shots to be taken. Some mocked,while others loved. And by the end, most of us shined to some extent.

Six days of rafting down the Canyon equaled nothing short of six days of fun. This was a great trip. One that I’ve always wanted to do and can now check off my list. I only wish I was able to continue onto the Lower, which had more hikes, and bigger rapids where one second you’re looking up only to find yourself looking down. If I had enough transplant meds (2 days short), I would have stayed, but since ‘Bidney’ has given me this second chance at life, it is only fair that I make sure I take my medicine so that I can keep him around.

I think the most challenging part for me was the 7 hr hike, an 8 mile trail (4,500 vertical feet) out from the bottom of the Canyon on the last day. I was almost frustrated to tears at myself for needing to stop and rest several times. Most of the guys had made it to the top in 4-5 hours and were already drinking cold beer back at the lodge.  (They also workout 5-7 days a week, but that’s beside the point).  I was still on the trail, sore, sweaty and exhausted. My body couldn’t keep up with my mind and it wasn’t until my amazing boyfriend reminded me that it hadn’t even been a year since my transplant. That before ‘Bidney’ joined forces, I was breathing hard just walking up several steps.  That I should be proud of myself . So I thought, “Ok, I guess I am not doing so bad after all”.  We even photographed this picture as proof, but trust you me, this wasn’t as much of an affectionate picture with Paul, but more of a please stand in front so I can prop my sorry body against you to keep me from collapsing. Meg, the guide that followed me (literally) up the mountain stated that 99% of visitors that visit the Grand Canyon don’t even hike the Bright Angel Trail that I am hiking.  Some past rafters have taken up to 12 hours to make it to the top.  I guess I’m doing alright. Smile.  Would I do the trip again? In a heartbeat.

(I made it all the way up. Was I excited when I finally reached the top, 7 hrs later? You betcha! Hoorah.)

So, if you ever dare to run the rapids down the Grand Canyon, make sure you have great company with a great crew that cooks even better food. We ate steaks and salmon with spinach salad and all kinds of deliciousness. And remember,  despite what you are told, never paddle straight. 

Love,

‘Bidney’ n Di!

Below are some more pictures for your enjoyment: Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The view I’d wake up to from where I slept. It was different every morning and not bad at all.

 

This is an amazing shot taken by my friend, Todd. See us at the bottom? He took the shot and flipped it upside down. This is the water’s reflection of what was surrounding us.

 

 

 

John took this shot capturing some of the amazing landscape we witnessed. I’m in front, Kevin is sitting behind.

 

 

 

 

One of my favorite shots. The water is like glass. Wish I could water ski this!

 

 

 

Low and behold, there it is! The Scarlet Monkey Flower. It’s an actual flower that blooms generally in the spring.

 

 

 

 

Some huge kind of moth. Very pretty and very intense looking. I couldn’t help joke that it was a baby Teradactyl. Funny.

 

A collard lizard watching me check it out.

 

 

Oh, a cute, smiling, Canyon Frog. He loved the camera.

 

 

Remember the neighbors I mentioned? Meet Mr. Rattler. He was the gatekeeper to The Groover. Many people lost the need to go as it was camped out en route to ones final destination.

 

Perhaps a Millipede? Eww. That about sums it up.

 

 

 

I don’t know how it managed to smoke the cigarette. It’ll kill ya.

 

 

 

If you can guess what this is, leave a comment and I’ll send u a prize.

 

Answer: Ant. Well a very fancy, furry, ant all dressed up for the night.