The Story of Outside Tiger (AKA “Doodlebug”)

The Story of Outside Tiger (AKA “Doodlebug”)

When I moved into my condo in February 2001, it felt luxurious for me and my three felines to move from a 750 sq ft, one bedroom apartment into a 1100 sq ft, two bedroom condominium. Still, I felt I was on the verge of becoming the weird lady in the corner house with all the cats. I definitely wasn’t looking to adopt any more animals.

We settled in nicely. Tommie, Mommie, and Cat all found their favorite sleeping spots and especially enjoyed spending their days napping tummy-side-up on the patio. Spring turned to summer and summer turned into hot. After one uncomfortably sweatable day, I came home to discover my kitchen counter throbbing with ants.

I swore under my breath and began to evict the offending insects. As I cleaned, my furry trio danced around my feet, begging as though they were hungry. I shooed them away because I always left out a large bowl of kibble so they could freely feed.

My Outside Tiger

After banishing the bugs, I tugged off my work clothes and grabbed a shower. Still, the tabbies swirled and yowled outside the bathroom door. “What the heck do they want,” I wondered.

Before throwing myself in front of the TV for the night, I checked the kibble bowl. Damn. It, too, was alive with ants. I swept the kibble into a plastic grocery bag and tossed the bag outside of my front door. Ahhh, now I could cool off and watch the tube.

Just as the opening credits for ER started, I heard something rustling near my front door. Crap. I figured a possum had come up onto the porch, attracted by the kibble smell. When I peeked out the window, I saw a rake-thin tabby, wolfing down the kibble, shaking and twisting his head when the ants stung his face.

I ran and flung open the door. I wanted to give him fresh kibble—not trash. But he ran as soon as he heard me move.

I struggled with my thoughts. Four cats is definitely too many. And yet, this beautiful leonine animal was so thin I could see his ribs and hip bones nearly piercing his skin. I decided he could be my “outside tiger.”

Each night, I put a fresh bowl of kibble outside the door and wait next to the window to be sure he got his dinner. After a few weeks, I could leave my front door open and watch through the screen door as he enjoyed his dinner. Finally, after a month, I could sit on the steps and watch the sun set as my outside tiger nibbled kibble.

The best day came when, one evening, I felt a tentative paw on my leg. It was followed by a tentative tiger as he crawled into my lap. Tear flowed down my cheeks as I petted his golden tabby fur and sleek muscles. I had resisted loving this creature because I didn’t want the responsibility or stigma of being “the cat lady.”

But outside tiger taught me that creatures and situations are transformed by love.

Observation

I notice that I can be pretty dang project-oriented toward knitting rather than process-oriented. As a result, I put a lot of pressure on myself and rob myself of enjoyment. In my knitting, I'm working to be mindful of when that critic kicks in...and of when that GOTTA GET IT DONE, GOTTA BE PERFECT mindset kicks in.

Today, I was working on a purse. I made a few errors in learning the pattern (trinity stitch) and felt calm about it; however, when I got to the point of having to rip out a row of purling, I'd just had enough. Instead of forcing myself to rip, rip in that moment, I just put my knitting back in the bag and scheduled a teaching appointment with my teacher. And I feel peaceful. I can continue if I want to or I can wait until I see my teacher. But it's okay because I'm learning to master a new stitch.

Natural Highs

1. Falling in love.
2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.
3. A hot shower.
4. No lines at the supermarket.
5. A special glance.
6. Getting mail.
7. Taking a drive on a pretty road.
8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.
9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.
10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.
11. Chocolate milkshake (vanilla or strawberry ).
12. A bubble bath.
13. Giggling.
14. A good conversation.
15. The beach.
16. Finding a 20 dollar bill in your coat from last winter.
17. Laughing at yourself.
18. Looking into their eyes and knowing they Love you
19. Midnight phone calls that last for hours.
20. Running through sprinklers.
21. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
22. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.
23. Laughing at an inside joke with FRIENDS
24. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.
25. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep.
26. Your first kiss (the very first).
27 Making new friends or spending time with old ones.
28. Playing with a new puppy.
29. Having someone play with your hair.
30. Sweet dreams.
31. Hot chocolate.
32. Road trips with friends.
33. Swinging on swings.
34. Making eye contact with a cute stranger.
35. Making chocolate chip cookies.
36. Having your friends send you homemade cookies.
37. Holding hands with someone you care about.
38. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or bad) never change.
39. Watching the expression on someone's face as they open a much desired present from you.
40. Watching the sunrise.
41. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another beautiful day.
42. Knowing that somebody misses you.
43. Getting a hug from someone you care about deeply.
44. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.

Agitated and Itchy

Damn but I'm agitated today. Not irritable. Just unable to settle down. I feel like jumping up all of the time. I start to work and I immediately want to work on something else.

It was dang near impossible to go to sleep last night. As David Byrne said, "I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax." Will I fulfill my hope and go headlong for glory?

I spose this is the upper boundary of normal, buzzing around the perimeter of hypomania.

Creative Hibernation

I think my creative self is mulling over what to do next; however, there's nothing I'm burning to knit. Even leafing through my stash of knitting books doesn't inspire. Maybe I'm a little burned out. I dunno.

Because of my restricted driving status, I didn't attend the felted scarf workshop in Long Beach. I did buy a drop spindle the other day. I haven't figured out how to spin yet though. I plan on creeping in on Tuesday night to give it a try.

My cats are passionately in love with the roving that came in the drop spindle kit. They really get freaky with it. They act the same way as they do with catnip. Cat is the sweetest girl kitty and yet, after a few minutes of rubbing her face on the roving, she spiked me (without claws) when I tried to take it away.

I leafed through the book "Intertwined" the other day. Wowee--that's some weird and intriguing yarn. I can't really imagine becoming a spinner...but I'm interested in learning how to make yarn.

I've been working my buns off at work and that sucks up a lot of my creative energy, too. Even though it's technical writing, it's still writing.

So, I don't know what's up with me creatively. But, it's normal for me to burn hot and cold, to wax and wane in my interest towards my hobbies. My brain is wired that way.

And yet, my creativity walks forward. After college I took drawing and loved life drawing. I took painting and loved the smelly, juicy forgiveness of oil paints. Through the Laguna Beach Festival of the Arts I learned to make paper, masks, and weave baskets. Mada Leach and David Speck were awesome teachers.

When I fell in love with basketry, I searched until I found the Misti Washington Gourd and Basketry Guild. I wove all kinds of baskets for several years. I even travelled to the AMB Convention in Michigan and the Indiana Basketry Convention.

One day, while I was shopping for basketry supplies, I saw a class for making books. I took the workshop and soon abandoned basketry for book arts. I travelled to the San Francisco Center for the Book to take workshops from master printmakers and book binders.

When I was hospitalized for depression in 2001, my desire to do anything disappeared. For years, the only thing I did was kung fu.

In 2006, I noticed a knitting store near my martial arts studio. I signed up for classes and learned to knit.

New Hobby?

It's weird. After obsessively knitting for months, I've absolutely run out of steam. Part of it is due to the restricted license preventing me from attending knitting classes, but another part is that I've got no interest.

I wonder if a new hobby is waiting for me.

Phoebes and Lantana

On this first day of the Year of the Mouse, I stepped out into cloudless blue skies and sunshine. I'm so grateful for the violet and ivory lantana that surrounds the office building and the peeping cheeps of Black Phoebes as they buoyantly bounce from tree to tree, looking for lunch.

Firetrucks and Slinkys

Today my lunch excursion to Target's dollar bin yielded a plastic firetruck and tiny Slinkys. I'm starting to be tempted to slow down a bit in my excursions, or to branch out and select a single $5 item.

I've even started to notice the sale items at Starbucks--wondering if a young person might like a cool coffee mug or adult "sippy cup."

Bipolar Disorder Defined

Bipolar Disorder Defined

An opportunity to learn
Creativity in coping with Chaos
Determination to defeat the deceptions of Depression
Self confidence in spite of Setbacks
Generosity to live for others when hope has Gone dry
Compassion for the broken.
Faith that God has a beautiful purpose—
even for me.

Diann Brannon - Don't be Afraid of Tomorrow. God is already there.

My friend, Diann Brannon, has been gone for nearly 5 years and I still miss her Texas drawl.

When I remember Di, I think of how much she loved her Italian grayhound. She always described Gracie as looking like a deer. She always loved to watch boxing on Pay Per View--not for the violence but because she loved the way the boxers "just glisten."

Her love of life was expressed through her ready smile, flaming red sports car, and bright red sofa. And, although most people would never think of a salad as being "mouth-watering," Di made such amazing salads that I'd leap at one of her salads the way a 5-year-old leaps at a chocolate chip cookie.

During the last years of her life, Di became a technical writer and she went through one layoff after another. It was a tough and stressful time for her. Everyday she'd call me with the Stump Report. She'd stand on an old tree stump in her backyard, look out over the neighborhood and local park, and tell me what she saw. In ne of her last Stump Reports, she told me about a rose blooming in her backyard that had been a favorite of her mom.

Di's mom died of breast cancer when Di was 19. Two of Di's worst fears were that she would Di in poverty or die a lingering death of cancer.

In August 2002, it was me who went into the hospital for a lengthy stay. At about the same time, Di was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was too ill to visit her in her last months. She passed away in February 2003.

It's a funny thing, but I always think of Di's death as evidence of God's love for her. He walked with her through her illness and kept her from facing her other worst fear. One of the last things she left me with was a little sign that said, "Don't be afraid of tomorrow. God is already there."

Another remembrance of Di is here.

An Untraceable Saturday Night Fever

Since my Friday meltdown, I've been working on the things my counselor told me to do: write down 3 achievable goals and do one nurturing thing. Today, I sat in on a software Beta testing session all day at work. It was fun to be learning a new product, but the teacher is definitely a grumpy, impatient guy.

At 5 p.m., I decided that my reward would be a trip to the movies with popcorn and everything. I wavered between racing across town to see "The Great Debaters" or staying near work and seeing "Untraceable." I figured that racing across town and wrestling with parking would be a drag, so I opted for Untraceable.

I'm sorry I went.

The acting was fine and the plot held my interest, but it greatly disturbed my soul. Untraceable is not so much a thriller, but one of those sadistic voyueristic torture films, like the Saw franchise. As I started to watch the movie, I knew, as a Christian, I shouldn't be there. I shouldn't support this kind of entertainment. But I stayed because I'd already paid my money and was too embarassed to ask for it back.

And I started to think about how horror movies have changed over the years--starting with supernatural monsters like The Mummy, Frankenstein, and Dracula and moving to the villian being your sociopathic neighbor. There's something weird about our culture because a lot of us love murder as entertainment, whether it's something as simple as CSI or Law and Order or whether it's suicide videos available for download from the Internet.

Where are we going with all of this violence? With our preoccupation with violence and our penchant for reality shows, I wonder how many years will go by before we have shows like the executions and animal hunts held by the ancient Romans in the Colosseum. The ghoulish blood lust that was in them is the same as the one in us.

But I can't completely point my fingers at "society." I chose Untraceable over The Great Debaters. And my soul is less for it. When I left the theater, I was not lifted up. My soul felt as though it had crawled over into a corner to hide. It made me remember that, back in 1977, my Dad insisted on going with me to see Saturday Night Fever because it was originally rated R. After he left the theater, he said he would rather have been dipped in the gutter than have seen that movie because "at least you can wash that kind of filth off."

I didn't understand what he meant then. At the time, I thought he was a prude. But I understand him now. Thirty-one years later, I can still remember the scenes from Saturday Night Fever that made my Dad so disgusted: the disinterested stripper dancing on the bar, offering her breasts to the patrons; Tony's gang taking turns with Annette in the backseat of Bobby's car; and a guy stepping out of the backseat of a car turning to ask the girl, "What was your name again?"

And so, I hoped I've learned my lesson with Untraceable. What I put into my mind might stay there forever. There's no real way of knowing what I'll remember and what I'll forget. And what I put in my mind affects my soul. And just as I would be careful in what I would feed a child, I should be more judicious in what I feed into my mind and soul.

Nurture

Okay, so after having a nasty day of suicidal ideation style depression on Friday, I turned the corner this weekend. God bless my counselor for taking the time to help me find my ability to cope with life. And God bless Pastor Coffin for delivering an amazing sermon on Exodus 17: how God speaks to us, how we get off track, and how to get back into gear.

One of the things my counselor advised me to do to break the depression is to:

• Set 3 goals every day
• Do something that nurtures me

Part of me feels that this "nurture myself" stuff is self-centered and not Godly. On the other hand, God cares for us. He doesn't want us to be in terrible pain all of the time any more than a parent wants a child to be in physical, emotional, or spiritual pain.

So, on Friday, I accomplished my 3 goals and bought myself a bouquet of beautiful flowers. I put the flowers in the entryway so they're the first thing I see and smell when I walk through the door.

And I woke up with a bit of happiness and energy on Saturday. So I cleaned up months of trash, books, projects, clean and dirty clothes off my bedroom floor. And I vacuumed. And I felt HAPPY and PROUD. My reward was to go to knitting; however, that turned out not to be a reward. So I bought 2 new fluffy pillows. And they are absolute heaven.

I awoke again on Sunday with energy. I set 3 achievable goals. I cleaned up months of books, projects, and trash off of my living room floor. And the momentum is building...

It's so exciting to have the depression break.

Shut up I'm counting!

Knitting class was absolutely jammed today. I was starting a new project but OY! I didn't get very far. I was sitting at the table with a person who was incapable of shutting up. Don't get me wrong--I enjoy chatting while I'm knitting, but I also enjoy periods of quiet where my mind can rest, I can count my stitches, and read my knitting to see if my project is on the right track.

I also enjoy a conversation about an interesting topic where there's give and take. And I always ask the people at the table about the projects they're working on. But THIS WOMAN nattered, blabbed, blathered, blethered, chattered, and jawed about NOTHING. It's like she had to blurt out every thought that came into her head. She kept yapping at me even when I said, "Could you hold on a sec, I'm counting my stitches" and "I need a minute to look over my knitting." But Miss Yappity Yap just giggled said "Oops!" and immediately blared on. Ninety minutes later, when she finally shut her cakehole, she realized she'd made huge mistake in her knitting. She had to tear everything out and start over.

This woman is a blabbermouth, completely insensitive to others around her. I would love nothing more than to smack the crap out of her. Part of me hopes that, by ripping out 8 rows of stitchings, she's learned that you sometimes need to shut up when you're knitting.

Another part of me hopes that God would make me sensitive to the people around me. Perhaps this woman is lonely and needs to yap-yap because no one listens to her at any other time. I dunno.

Trolling for needles at Michael's

I was rolling through the knitting section of Michael's, innocently buying some needles when suddenly, I was accosted by 2 shoppers. They were baby knitters whose brains had glazed over in trying to figure out how much and what kind of yarn to buy to crochet an afghan. They waved their patterns and peppered me with questions--and I could answer them!

I realize that I am now a true, official knitter. (Also, it's lucky there isn't a 24-hour yarn store or I would sleep there, gently snoring in a pile of DK.)

In Our Own Voice

I'm getting back into the swing of doing In Our Own Voice presentations through NAMI OC.
One of the presentations I'll be doing is for Providence Community Services in Norwalk. I'm a little nervous because I'm not at my highest functioning level. I've probably got too dang much on my plate and, and and.

I'm tired of feeling tired and scared. I'm tired of feeling overwhelmed. I'm tired of feeling angry. I'm tired of feeling worried.

And yet, I want to knit stuff to give other people comfort and to do public speaking about mental illness to give other people hope. It feels a bit hypocritical, but they're the only ways I find meaning in life.

And, I know the cost of doing a presentation. They zoom me into hypomania for a day and crash me into brutal depression the following day. But it's still worth it. I've seen family members be helped when I tell my story.

Hookie Lau

I'm driving to the hoop on the Hawaiian lap robe. Only three stripes and the edging to knit before it's ready to go to Mary Beth. I'm feeling some urgency to get it done because some of MB's fingers are turning dark. This is the same thing that happened to her toes before the doctors decided to amputate both of her legs up to her knees. I guess I'm thinking that, if she has to go into the hospital again, I'd like her to have a cuddly afghan in the hospital with her.

I'm knitting this lap robe because I remember that, when I was in the hospital, Joyce gave me a chenille afghan. It was great because it's sometimes chilly in the hospital. But, even more, it was like getting a hug from a friend every time I wrapped it around me...and that was something I really needed in the long, dark hours of the night. Having that afghan meant that somebody loved me--an awesome thing to remember when you're feeling yucky.

Does mobile blogging work?

Very cool. I can send email from my phone or anywhere. This is useful when I want to use large pieces of an email. I can just forward the email to go@blogger.com and edit it like a crazy thang.

Everyday Christmas continues to continue

Today the items I scored for the shoeboxes were two rubber balls that light up when you bounce them, 2 Hot Wheels cars with hot metallic paint, and two boxes of Crayons. Toys of joy for only $6.41.

Now that I've discovered that Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars can be purchased for only 97 cents, I know I'll be making them part of my regular skip-lunch-and-buy-Christmas-toys shopping ritual.

Every day with Everyday Christmas

Today I went to Joann's to pick up some stuffing for my teddy bears. They had some fun stuff in the dollar bins: rhinestone-encrusted emery boards, pink lamé headband...all things glitz and glam...for the Pedragales boxes.

Knitting a Teddy Bear for Ashley

Last night I got the news that my kung fu Master's little daughter is in the hospital with 3rd degree burns on her face, neck, arms and torso. She's a curious 2 1/2 year old and pulled a pan of boiling water off of the stove.

So, I got some yarn and (hopefully) a simple teddy bear pattern. I'm going to try to finish teddy by Sunday night.