Praise the Lawd and pass the ammunition: The Cartoon

This cartoon, written and illustrated by the resident humorist and guitarist/vocalist for Bloody Discharge:Rigel Behrens was originally distributed with our first cassette tape with along with song lyrics.  1992 I believe. I'm the one carrying the Boom-Oh-Matic, Rigel's hoisting the Box-of-Power and Jessy has a fully assembled drum kit (of course)  The Broom Outlet is a near reference to Bernie's Bagels (really?  We're playing a Bagel place?!?!?!) in Columbus Ohio.  I love the Phi Kappa Data Rapa Shirt.... so befitting of a portion of the crowd that showed up for that event.  

A Punk Singer

It's been YEARS since I've seen a movie in a theater, but I made Kim go see The Punk Singer last weekend.
Overall a good movie. It was nice to see Lynne Breedlove on the big screen, and a little tragic to see Joan Jett up close.  I do really like Bikini Kill, although I'm not a big fan of Kathleen Hanna personally.  In fact, when the Riot Grrl movement happened, I was a bit of a detractor.

Bloody Discharge:  Rigel Behrens, Jessica Ring, Sarah Heidler  1992?

Here I was, stomping along as bassist and singer for my band Bloody Discharge pushing the limits of the feminine mystique, thrusting myself to the front of the pit and screaming and kicking the entire way (with the help of my two lovely bandmates, of course) and suddenly out of the blue, people are asking me if I'm a Riot Grrl.  I had been slogging along, spitting on the men who patly called me girl (I was not 11) and suddenly I'm expected to embrace the term because some group of college kids decided, with a little thrust from the main stream media, that I should label myself this?
The Riot Grrl movement didn't appeal to me.  It was too white, too middle class, too intelligentsia.  I was a single mom, partially on welfare, working minimum wage jobs, putting myself through technical college, and singing in a band and doing my best to be a radical activist.  Kathleen Hanna and her ilk knew nothing of my life, my art or my struggles.

It's easy to sit in your room and make music when there's nobody who needs you to feed them.  There's no caseworker to go see and no social worker standing at your door to answer to because somebody thinks your dangerous to your kid because of your clothes, friends and neighborhood.  It's also easy to pontificate feminist theory when you have all of your needs met.  But what does feminism look like when the pressures of just existing - just getting the very basics of life (food and shelter) take up so much of your time?
It looks different than Riot Grrl, I think..  and yet suddenly this label was foisted upon me for doing something I had been doing all along.  I rejected it outright.
So, I'm not a Riot Grrl, never have been.  Never will be.

Today I let go of my dog friend Leo.

We made this decision after a fight that seemed to occur out of the blue right in front of the entire family that did not involve food, affection, bedding or toys.  Two Fridays ago, Leo started a fight with our other dog Diego that lasted minutes, left Leo bloody, and Diego sore, limping (still) and missing a canine. (MAN, that's a particularly large looking tooth when you find it with root fully in tact on the dining room floor!) Additionally, it left our 12 year old son, Raphael, in hysterics, having watched the dogs attempt to kill each other for minutes.  We decided it would be best for everybody if Leo found a home that had no other animals in it.

We got Leo four years ago from the Humane Society.  He had kennel cough, was severely underweight and had very little information as to his history other than the previous owner got him from a newspaper add and   that he might be okay with dogs and cats, but not with small kids.

Four years later I know that Leo has severe skin issues.  He is not allergic to any food that we know of... we've tried several different forms of food restrictions and it's made no difference.  We've tried six or seven different over the counter allergy/ anti-histamines (under the advise of the Vet)  with two week trials for each.. none of which made much of a difference.  We've ruled out an over reaction to fleas.  We've tried, unsuccessfully, to help him with herbal remedies, creams, sprays, and all manner of bathing techniques.  Nothing has helped much.  The only thing that really made a difference was a steroid shot, that the vet refused to give more than once in a great while because it would damage his liver.

Leo also didn't know how to play when he came to us.  What?  A Dog that does not know how to play?  It's true... any interaction with Diego and a toy quickly because serious and would end in a scuffle.  We worked with him, and now he can and will play within a narrow range of operation.

He was additionally, highly reactive to other dogs.  Dog park was way out of the possibilities for us.  Walks were difficult at best- he would react to dogs blocks away.  After working with him, he could at least keep walking and not drag me down hills or force me to tackle him in the middle of the street to keep him from attacking another strange dog that was minding his/her own business.

My next plan was to hire a trainer (i had just met a really nice lady at work that said she thought she could help us more) and then to add large amounts of turmeric and pro-boitics to help his skin.  He's made slow improvements over the past four years... no reason we couldn't make more.
But, the fight he started last Friday night made it clear that nothing would matter if we were not safe.  Leo was a bloody mess, Diego was bruised and missing teeth and my family was upset and scared.  Leo had increasingly become reactive to Diego, and quite frankly the fight left me thinking that somebody might have been dead had their people not been there to help break it up.

Leo is dumb.  Really dumb, stinky, itchy, and dog aggressive.  I loved him despite the fact that he's a genetic disaster.  The dog aggressive might be easier to deal with, were it not for the fact that he probably feels like crap all the time and is stupid.  He's that way because he's inbred.  He's inbred because somebody wanted a cheep Shar-Pei.

The saddest part of this whole event for me is that it's not Leo's fault at all.  And it's not my fault.  We are victims of somebody who thought they could just use animals for what they want.  Like people accept breeding chickens that break their legs under their own weight because we want big breasts in the meat department, we want designer animals.  Leo got produced for somebody, and he didn't deserve it.

I know I'm going to miss his little stinky curly tail wagging frantically at me when I come home, and the way he snorted when I put my forehead to his to say hello.  But I know it's best because I above all want everybody to be safe.

The Humane Society here was awesome, they were super caring and helpful.  I feel confident they will find a good home for him without any other animals (or kids) in it.

Goodbye Leo, my friend.  Have a good life.

April 3, 1974

April 3, 1974. I know now it is the day that 148 tornados ripped away at 2,014 miles of the Midwest earth killing 330 people. There were two level five tornados in my area, these are the strongest tornados and generate winds 261-318 Mph. A mere 1% of all tornados are F5.

But I am 6
and I am in Kindergarten.
We are sitting down to eat and my parents have the radio on.
we never have the radio on at supper.
Supper is for eating and family and not the outside world
why is the radio on?
Shhh be quiet and eat – we have to listen for the weather, there are tornados
there is a storm coming.
we eat but don’t clean off the table as we should
Nobody cares that there are two peas standing still on my plate.
There is a storm coming and my parents are opening all of the windows
The air is the eerie yellow color of tornado storms.
Why are you opening all the windows? There is a storm coming.
The tornado will break all of the windows if we do not open them.
I put on my new raincoat and hold tight to my new umbrella.
I am ready for the storm.
My mother moves the table in the kitchen and opens the cellar door that is in the floor.
I stand at the back door looking outside with my father.
I cling to his leg with one arm and hold my new umbrella with the other.
the storm is coming and I am ready, I have my new umbrella.
I can feel my dad shaking
He is afraid of storms and especially tornados but I know he is brave even if he’s shaking.
He is from mountains and doesn’t know tornados like my mom.
I can see my pony in the distant field.
Daddy, Duchess is out, she is not ready for the storm we have to put her in her barn.
There is not time –go to the cellar
She is a pony, she will be fine, she is not like us
I say a prayer to Jesus for my pony, she’s not like us and isn’t ready for the storm with her new umbrella.
Stop fiddling with the Umbrella, put it down, go to the cellar.
I let go of my dad’s leg and go to the cellar steps my mother and sister and brother and the neighbor girl Leslie are going down the old steps.Put the umbrella down, come down the stairs.
My sister calls me silly for wanting an umbrella in the cellar.
But I am ready for the storm and not afraid.
we sit on the old stone bench that is the built into the wall
Leslie is crying and wants to go home
She was having supper with us.
But her mother told her on the phone to stay here because the tornado was coming
I tell her to not be scared, Jesus will protect her and her family even if they don’t have God.
My mother sushes me but I know it’s true because her father drinks bad things out of short glasses with ice and her mother smokes and they don’t have God but Jesus still loves them I know this.
My father has waited until he can see the tops of the trees in the distance being ripped off before he rushes down to join us, closing the floor door as he descends.

Leslie is wailing and my mother is speaking calmly to her.
My father is standing hunched because there is no room to stand tall in the cellar. It’s a cellar, not a basement.
Leslie has a basement at her house with carpet and a TV and toys
But our house is 200 years old and this is our cellar which I prefer
Because who needs toys and TV’s when there is a tornado
You need family packed into a small damp old space hiding
Just enough space to hold your family and your new umbrella and be ready for the storm even if your sister thinks you are silly
SSShhhh my mother says listen.
Listen carefully, when the tornado passes overhead it will sound like a train
I know she had done this before. She knows what tornados sound like overhead.
ssshhh Leslie stops her wailing to listen to the train tornado.
I lean into my mother, clutch my umbrella and close my eyes to listen better
She is right, It sounds like a train passing overhead.
Underground here a train of wind and debris passing overhead
I pray to Jesus for Duchess and I pray to Jesus that my house will be standing when the train has passed and all of my toys will be okay and I pray for Leslies mom and dad because I know that Jesus will protect them even if they don’t know God and I pray for Copy the Cocker Spaniel that lives next door and the chickens because they got left out too and I’m sure they will blow around and I like them even if we chop their heads off and laugh at their running about headless bodies, I still want them to be okay even though they are not like us and don’t have umbrellas and aren’t ready for the storm.
There is quiet and the train has passed over head.
Even my little brother is quiet and we sit for a moment in quiet.
Leslie starts to whimper. I think my dad is praying. I think we are all praying except for Leslie who is whimpering and doesn’t know God and my brother who is too young to know what prayer is other than that he should stand still and quiet for it.
My dad stands hunched and my mother touches his arm wait.
He waits and we listen
The train is gone and it is very quiet sans the whimpering.
My parents nod at each other and my father walks up a couple of steps to press his shoulder into the ceiling door to raise it.
I say another quick prayer dear Jesus please let my house be okay
and the ceiling door lifts with the usual amount of effort
My Mother heaves a sigh and I know this is a good sign.
My father lifts the floor door carefully and slowly.
We start to rush out.
Wait says my mother – stay here.
We sit back down and wait.
Okay my father finally says.
We ascend the steps into the eerie yellow of tornado storm air.
We walk up into our still standing house
The barn says my dad
The barn says my mom
I look out the back door past the displaced chicken clucking about on the back porch
The barn is flat and Duchess is standing near the barnyard gate with a chicken at her feet.

Diana

A few days ago, my cousin Diana took her own life. (in photo: Darla, Diana, Vicky and Tammy)
From the outside, it might seem it was not wholly unexpected. Diana was a woman who struggled to maintain mental health, so life was in general, a challenge.
From the inside, it just feels so very wrong.

Diana was one of five girls, and one of thirteen Grandkids. When I was a child, we would all descend upon my grandmother’s house, twelve girls and my little brother Joey. Diana was #8 or 9, I was #12 of the 13. We spent long summer nights in small town Indiana playing, teasing one another, walking to the laundrymat to push a dimes into the machine for sodas, chasing fireflys and picking thorns out of our bare feet.
Diana was not like the rest of us. She was more like Joey. In fact, she was more what we expected Joey to be than he was- she was now what I call Butch.

The other girls constantly made fun of her being butch – her playing with army men, her hatred of dresses, her general demeanor. To be fair she was not singled out and made fun of – we were all made fun of and made fun of each other… I think it’s the harsh way in which country girls play- stinging and kicking and chasing and spitting, but all in jest. Or at least mostly.

I recall one time I repeated something that I heard the older cousins say – something that made fun of Diana’s demeanor, and the fact that she was an obvious butch lesbian, although none of us had those words for it.
My Mother turned and laid into me. How DARE I say ANYTHING about Diana and how she was. God made her exactly how she was supposed to be, and who was I to say anything about it. God doesn’t go around the world making mistakes.

She let me know that she knew I was just repeating what the other girls said and she better not ever let her catch me just repeating things because somebody else said it, especially because it was just simply not true. God made Diana, and God don’t make no junk.

That event stuck with me. It set the stage for an openness of gender expression and identity that has followed me through my life.
And from that point forward when Diana would show off and ask me to feel her biceps because she had been lifting weights, I gladly complied, nodded emphatically and swooned a bit too.
Somewhere behind the scenes of my existence, she might have been the reason I went to school to be a mechanic, for she was a mechanic. And she didn’t by any means influence me to be a lesbian, but she with the help of my mother, let me know it was okay. It’s okay to walk in the world as you are with no shame.

A few years back I attempted to share what my mother taught me through her and what she meant to me. My tale got lost in the conversation that forever teetered on a conspiracy and a potential plot for our plan of action against them. Classic Diana.

Maybe she can hear me clearly now.

I love you Diana. You will forever be my original Butch. Thank you for being you.

A Bitters Recipe

We have very few bitter tastes in our everyday diet, and we are inundated with sweet and salt. Bitter stimulates the digestive system, and it can be a great way to cut down on cravings and unneeded snacking and comfort eating.

Sometimes we crave something, but we don't know what it is. Our bodies don't automatically identify something bitter because it's not part of our normal pallet of desires, but we will turn to our comfort food instead. For me it's fried salty (like chips) for Kim it is sweet, because those hit our comfort centers, and are always fulfilling, although with many empty and soulless calories connected to it.

BUT, our translation of what our body is crying out for, may actually be missing the mark, it might need a bit of bitters.

A small amount of bitters will satisfy a craving (that is, if it's not actually hungry) and it stimulates the digestive system and very importantly, the gall bladder.

My bitters starts with a couple of things I dig up out of the yard- Dandelion Root and Yellow Dock Root. Weeds I battle, but not too vigorously lest I deplete my harvest.

I combine those two things with Ginger root, dandelion leaves, and orange peel. Oregon Grape leaf root if it's available is a good addition. I'll pack it into an inexpensive Corn Whiskey (vodka is also a good choice)

Here it will sit on the counter for a month or two, looking pretty and intriguing visitors.

When I feel it's had enough time brewing/stewing/steeping, I'll strain out all the bits from the liquid, add 1/4Cup- 1/3 Cup Maple syrup to the mixture and then package it into little spray bottles for use.

Just a couple of little sprays is a "dose" and taken whenever one feels cravings can be a strong and empowering way to curb cravings and help your digestive system work well.

A Tomato Day

Processing tomatoes as a child was a week long event. There was boiling. blanching, cooling and pealing and cutting and cooking and packing and THEN processing. I have discovered a SUPER SHORT process.

Step one: Take tomatoes, wash them, cut out bad spots and toss them into the food processor. I don't bother to take out the blossom end or the stem connection.. just toss cut in half and toss them in.

The next step is to put them through the hand food mill. This little kitchen gadget I'll NEVER be without- I count it among my most basic possessions, and this one was my grandma Conards. This will take out the skin bits and the seeds.

With this little batch of tomatoes I'm making some sauce and some paste. The sauce I put into a pot (here is a 12 quart pot). I'll heat this, pour into sterilized jars and process in a hot water bath for twenty minutes.

The would-be paste goes into the crock pot to sit on low for two days with the lid off. This gallon of juice boiled down to about two and a half cups of paste. Super easy, no thinking about it, no worrying about scorching, just stir it every now and again (which you'll have to do, because the smell of boiling sauce will draw you in)

The paste I put into ice cube trays and freeze in Tablespoons portions. I rarely ever use more than a couple of Tablespoons at a time, and these few cups will last me the year!
These three cube trays full of supper delicious paste I'll store in a freezer container and keep handy in the freezer door.

Vwah-Lah! Super easy Tomato Saving!