the Life and Times of Warrior Woman

blonde recluse. nihilarian pronk.

Archive for October 2012

ten days.

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I wrote the post about my cat on Saturday, and Sunday, late at night, I was with my mother at Istanbul.  Ever since I wrote that post things moved very fast, but, judging by my mother’s condition, they weren’t fast enough.

Wednesday will mark our 10 days in Istanbul.  During this time we moved into the flat which is to be our home for the next couple of weeks.  I went back home for one night, and before that cousin flew over to stay with us for a while.

My poor mum can’t sit without our help, walk in any way or form, and she can barely talk.  It depresses her greatly, and I am running out of reassurances.  I just pray to God that she will start feeling better as treatment truly begins to work.

Cousin and I are adjusting to our new temporary way of life.

I want to write about my impressions of the city.  I will, but not tonight.

Every night, I am tired.


Written by Alexandra

15 October 2012 at 9:09 pm

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on cats and lavender.

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Yesterday Jolie, one of the kitties we spayed, disappeared. 

We let her and Dusya out of carriages.  I saw Jolie go to the smaller kitchen, and thought she was going to her favourite chair to sleep and recuperate.  I didn’t follow her.

An hour later I decided to check on her and Dusya.  Dusya was sleeping, face down, exactly where I put her, in the exact same position.  Jolie was not in the kitchen.  I thought she moved, so I checked several other places.  She wasn’t there.

As she was still under anaesthesia, there was limited amount of space she could hide, and my brother and I searched them all.  The balcony door was open to let some fresh air in, and I feared that she fell over, so I went outside late at night with a torch and looked for possible hiding places in the vicinity of our home.  There were no visible signs of falling outside, though.  As her stiches were basically only a few hours old, there’d be blood, and lots of it, if she did fall from the third floor.

I went to bed in tears, but slept a lot, possibly from exhaustion of the previous day.

I woke up in a melancholy mood, looked through all possible hiding places again, looked from both balconies.  She was nowhere to be found.

I printed an advert, using the photo above, and was waiting for my brother to come back home so I could go outside and post it in a one-two block radius from our home.

I went to clean the smaller kitchen and corridor.  I was sweeping the floor, calling out for Jolie, in hopes that she was still hiding somewhere, and weeping.  I cleaned out litter boxes, texted brother and cousin, went to help my mum, then returned to the smaller kitchen.

I could smell lavender.

We keep yesteryear’s dry lavender under the sink in the smaller kitchen.

Now, the thing with lavender when it’s dry, you can’t smell it unless you disturb it or warm it.

I rushed to the sink and looked under it.

There was Jolie, sleeping, with her back turned to me, on the lavender tote-bag.  I picked her up, which displeased her slightly, and took her to my room and put her on the sofa.

Yesterday I looked under the sink at least five times.  Today I looked under the sink again, at least five times, too.

She must’ve teleported somewhere only cats could go and then come back.  This is the only explanation I have.

I’m glad I’ve wasted 30 sheets of paper.

Written by Alexandra

6 October 2012 at 1:28 pm

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quote of the moment.

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Did you ever stop to think about all the people we kill?  They’re always people who tell us to live together in harmony and try to love one another; Jesus, Gandhi, Lincoln, John Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, John Lennon.  They all said; ‘Try to live together peacefully.’  BAM!  Right in the fucking head!  Apparently we’re not ready for that!

– George Carlin

Written by Alexandra

5 October 2012 at 5:46 pm


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My mum’s and mine visit to the British Embassy Wednesday this week was not a success.  While our documents were all in order, the wait for a stamped passport is too long, and there’s no guarantee the visa will be issued.  I do not have the luxury of waiting, so my mother and I will be flying to a visa-free country for mum’s treatment.  It will be either Turkey (more than likely), or Israel (father insists).

There is a lot of unfinished business, and some things (like household chores) just keep piling up.  Some cats need to be taken to the vet to be neutered and spayed, and also to have some other health issues resolved.  I need (really, really need) a new pair of trousers and a pair of shoes, and maybe one shirt.  Mother can do with a new shirt.  I need to get some necessities (decaf tea and coffee, fruit sugar, unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner) as I have no idea when I’ll be able to really do a shopping spree in Istanbul or wherever it is we’ll end up.

I need to find foster homes for cats, or arrange a cat hotel stay for them, which is a bit out of my budget, but what needs to be done, will get done.

I need to pack some entertainment in Russian, for mother.

I need to learn some Turkish (or Hebrew) phrases.

I need to arrange some groceries for brother.

I need to ensure bills will be paid while we’re gone.

I need to buy flight tickets.

I’m forgetting a lot of things right now, but really, this is not a thorough or even partial list, it’s just some ramble to clear my mind a bit until I start with the chores again.

I just really hope this’ll work, you know.

Written by Alexandra

5 October 2012 at 5:14 pm

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poem: preludes

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The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimneypots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.

The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That times resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.

You tossed a blanket from the bed
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.

His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

— T S Eliot

Written by Alexandra

4 October 2012 at 11:19 am

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