I replaced the cat stairs on the wall for the cats to get to the hammocks with two sets of prefab kitty stairs. The previous stairs I built from scrap would was made of mohagany. Belafante started to perch on the kitty stairs and chew on the wood. Mohagany in poisonous, so I repaced the stairs with a nno-toxic white wood. It was much less expensive to buy prefab kitty stairs than build new stairs from scratch.
America Rose
Loki trying out the new kitty stairs. Click on a photo to enlarge and view a slideshow.
After I finished intensive chemo in 2010, I complained to my oncologist about not having feeling in my fingertips or toes. I asked when the feeling would return. She said probably never. I gave her a disappointed look and grumbled about it. She said, “It’s better than the alternative. Stop complaining, you’re still standing above the ground!” She was right. I had no right to complain. She had saved my life, and following her instructions, I never got sick or had any complications that I’d heard so many people had with chemo. After my second bout with cancer, and even more intense chemo than I had with the first bout, there was no chance of regaining much feeling in my fingertips.
As one might imagine, playing the guitar with numb fingertips is challenging. I started relearning to play the guitar in 2018. I wrote the lyrics to Standing in 2019, but never got a tune or music worked out that I liked. I gave AI Music the lyrics and the parameters for the music, and I finally got a song I liked.
Søren knows what it’s like to be standing!
Standing By Timothy Price
Verse 1 Numb and swollen fingers Fumble on the strings I can’t feel the music I’m Lost in sonic spaces
Verse 2 My guitar rings in my ears I struggle with the sound I’m trying to make some music A joyful noise is what comes out
Chorus But I won’t complain And I won’t shed tears It’s a miracle That I’m still here I won’t go down Or get torn usunder Becase I’m still standing Above the ground
Bridge Errant notes dangle Then they Fall Slipped off strings And fingerboard They lie scattered Across the floor They’re silenced Under foot
Otro Numb and swollen fingers Still fumble on the strings I still can’t feel the music I’m still lost in sonic spaces
Gwendolyn: “What’s with all this pukey pink and red stupid pathetic, pantywaist paparazzo? Can’t you grow something sensible like black peonies and roses?”