Goodbye Bullet - July 9th, 2003 - June 7th, 2008

On June 7th, Billy “The Bullet” Mahan, our rescued rabbit, died. We were long gone from the San Fernando Valley, staying for a month with some friends a few hours outside of Los Angeles.

He was an old guy, and his last few weeks were spent with his pen being set up under a large, beautiful grove of trees on our friends property, where during the day he happily, albeit slowly, dug little burrows for himself in the dirt, chomped on his favorite hay, and watched the world go by. In the early evening I would go out and bring him in, where he slept in a cat carrier in our room.

Many people would stop by the fence separating the fence from the property and say hello to him and compliment him on how handsome he was. Being a flattery operated Rabbit, he basked out there in complete contentment.

Since I had found him, I had no idea how old he was, but we had him for many years, and we knew he was getting up there in age. When we lived in the Valley, and let him out into the backyard, he basically just kicked back under the ficus tree we planted.

However, the evening of June 7th, I went outside to bring him in and he was like a limp little rag. Tomas and I held him and tried to see if he was hungry for a forbidden treat (a peanut - he never turned down a peanut) and he was not. He just put his head back, his heart rate and breathing became very slow, and he quietly died.

We were nowhere near ready for this, although for his sake, it seemed quick and painless. On our end it was way too sudden, a shock, and I still look up when I am at the computer, expecting to see him right outside the window.

I never wanted a rabbit as a pet, and I do not pine for one - The Bullet was a special, unique little soul, and there will never be another one like him.

We buried him in a small grove of trees right outside the guesthouse here, wrote out a handmade headstone on a piece of rock, and have called it “Bullet’s Lair”.

Since I found him on my father’s birthday, I named him after Bill, and there is a small comfort in imagining the two of them hanging out, wherever we go when we are finished in this lifetime.

No, Really, What HAS Happened?

As adults (now that’s funny), we are following all of the guidelines and filling out all the forms, and paying attention to what is the next step in basic survival, and at every turn we are stone walled.

And this is happening to everyone we know! I am pretty sure it is happening to everyone we do not know, also.

But hey! I bet we all got our taxes done on time, right?

Do You Know Where You Would Like To Be?

In your life?  Do you have a plan? A wish? A scenario?

Sometimes I do, sometimes I have no idea, but right now I would like to be floating in the stars listening to Arthur C. Clarke.

People That Help Others. Maybe Not As Rare As We Think.

Tomas and I are lucky. For anyone who has been following this, you are well aware that there have been daily hurdles, caused by many people, and we are boxed in everywhere we turn.

However, we would like to acknowledge the human beings who are just as stressed and frazzled as we are, and are taking the time to work with us, or just talk to us, so we do not turn on the gas and call it a day.

THE PROFESSIONALS:

Dr. Phillip J. Bowman, M.D. M.P.H. of Beverly Hills, California.

Lawyer Steve White, of Reseda, California.

Dennis Dreith, John Burke, Guy Hubbard, and the rest of the crew at the Film Musicians Secondary Markets Fund, of Studio City, Ca.

Jo-Anne McGettrick, manager of the Recording Artists Royalties Fund.

THE FRIENDS:

Marsha Sorce and Pete Evans of Pagosa Springs, Colorado.

Doug and Sue Lee of Erie, Pennsylvania.

Robert Madigan, of Morro Bay, California.

“Jonsey” of Napa, California.

Renee Tracy and Rod Springer, of Long Beach, California.

Judy Fromm, of Hollywood, California.

Bill Rayman of Santa Monica, California.

Bob and Margaret Gremore of Los Angeles, California.

Carol Johnson of Hollywood, California.

FAMILY:

The Hartsky Family, of Hermitage, Pennsylvania, and Sharpsville, Pennsylvania.

This was written in the spirit of ending a hopeless day by taking note of all of the help, love, and support you have all given us for years.

Thank you.

Goodnight.

Easter Sunday. What a BLAST!

After waking up and having our quiet morning coffee, we made the bed, took out the garbage, and started to make a telephone call.

Then the doorbell rang.  And rang. And rang.  Then, the pounding on the door started.

I walked carefully, kind of nervously down the hall and tried to see who might be paying us such an enthusiastic visit.  Perhaps some friend had brought a ham.

Alas, it was a man now walking to the front windows and peering in, turning around and going to the driveway to inspect the car and open the recycling.

No ham in sight.

After a rather shaky discussion, we get Vinnie the cat into the house, lock up, and leave to pick up some milk.

On the way back, an idea!

The fellow was trespassing, and maybe a few signs should go up informing the (yes, he was a process server) that it would be a bad idea to come back.

Did this idea come to fruition?

Please, drive by and tell us.  Leave a note in the mailbox, as we could possibly be curled up in the cold room watching “Scrubs.”

One last Easter rest before the 178 lb t.v. is thrown at anyone who knocks on this door again.

Peter and Jordan are Dead

My long ago blog, The Health Report-The Insider, has come to an end.

It seems gruesome, yet timely, to kill off the two main characters on the day after the first day of Spring, on Good Friday, on the Full Moon.

Thank you Allen Voivod, Tara Zucker, Lani Voivod, and so many others who kept me writing, and who kept reading.

Most of all, thanks and love to William Allen Mahan, aka “Wild Bill”

Goodbye, Arthur C. Clarke.

The prescient sci-fi writer Arthur C. Clarke died at his home yesterday, after recently turning 90.

We are both grieving, yet find solace that he might be floating in the very universe he wrote about. ( Book - “2001″).

He dies two days after Palm Sunday. Maybe Arthur C. Clarke and Jesus were brothers.

I have run out of words.

“Time, waits for no one, and it won’t wait for me.”

The Rolling Stones.

My Friend Tara Zucker

Tara is a multi-talented writer here in Los Angeles.

She works hard, and gets tired and depressed, not unlike most good writers.

BUT, if you Google her name, on the first page there is a Dr. Tara Zucker, psychiatrist, in Beverly Hills.

Oh, no.

Can she possibly have cloned herself?

I worry.

Thank You, Samantha Dunn

for reminding me to breathe when I am outraged.

for your Los Angeles Times article about memoirs.

for continuing to kick ass and take names.

for inspiration.

Palm Sunday

Yesterday, after all of the weather predictions of thunder and lightning, big storm coming, we shut down windows, got extra blankets for us, and had the two space heaters positioned at head and feet.

Today, the sun is shining, and the wind is cold. Schizophrenic, as always.

We had morning coffee, and went about the business of folding up all of the blankets, feeding the crew, the usual.

Hauled the metal table and chairs out to the front, for anyone to take.  We were offered money for them, but it is Palm Sunday.  Pass it forward.

Then the wide-eyed frozen ‘what to do next’ moment.

Tomas decides to clear off the unwatched TiVo, and, in the spirit of Palm Sunday, we think it might be relaxing to lie on the floor in the cold bedroom  and watch a show. We get as comfortable as possible, then decide on a new experience.  Let’s watch “Dexter!”

It may seem sick and twisted, but think about it - a show about a former serial killer now stalking and killing active serial killers.

Isn’t this break appropriate on Palm Sunday?  Meticulous righting of wrongs, careful planning, for justice?

I am not sure, but it feels okay.

At least for now.