The evolutionary link between cats and salamanders

... because, seriously, there must be one. It's ridiculously hot, and my (long-haired) cats keep dozing off blissfully in the full sunshine. The other species are reaching for a cold one and hugging the shade, and my cats are trying to suntan like it's 1979.

Let me colour this picture in. We live in a townhouse that could frankly use another metre foot or two of insulation under the roof (we're getting to it). My (Manitoban-born) felines are long-haired Siamese (Balinese if you're a purist, and don't mind having this conversation EVERY time you mention the breed name).

By mid-morning, the temperature on the top floor the past few days has been high twenties / low thirties ... and I notice my cat is significantly warmer on one side. Careful observation of this dominant male once he's successfully awoken the food-providing units revealed that left to his own devices, he will wander off, find an East-facing window, try to spread himself across as much of this sunbeam as he possibly can (do you remember the bit about high twenties on this floor?) and lie there looking as if finally, FINALLY, the world got his memo.

God knows what they would have done had we not adopted them from Manitoba - I'm suspecting serious hibernatory tendencies, probably on top of a furnace somewhere, probably September to August.

So. I'm posing a serious question to all cat slaves and veterinary experts out there ... has anyone found the missing link between felis silvestris pestilentialis catus and the mythical salamander?

Comes in handy

About three-quarters of humans are right-handed. About one-third can't roll their tongues. Some other number can't twitch their ears, and it's nearly impossible for a female to be colour-blind.

This is the kind of pop-quiz crap you memorise in early science classes, and is, not coincidentally, why I severely disappointed one of my parental units by dropping science and math like a hot potato as soon as I could at the tender age of 16.

But I digress. Basically, the past few weeks have been a reminder to me that being ambidextrous would be pretty bloody useful. Not just so's I could fight just as well southpaws (although that would be AWESOME). No, this one is the sort of once-a-decade "be careful what you wish for" event. I've been heard to say I needed to learn to use my left hand better.

So ... I got into a losing grappling match over a practice knife, went down face first, jammed my right (of course) thumb in between the knife and the mat, and then landed on the back of my wrist. Shortly thereafter, I received a black belt, knee-first, between the shoulder blades. Being busy, and flying on adrenaline, I used a word or two and finished up the round.

About fifteen minutes later and getting into someone's body armour, I noticed, presto, that there was an ugly-ass swelling up the back of the bone in the back of my hand that runs wrist to forefinger knuckle. I duly wiggled it, and since everything still responded all right, I finished up the class.

By the time I got home, my husband was threatening me with the ER and I couldn't hold the hand out straight without the thing flopping around as if it had a severe case of very localised palsy. Happily, the shakes went away as the swelling and pretty purple colours blossomed. (I greatly regret not having taken time-lapse pictures of that hand for posterity - I think it went full-spectrum, not to mention the boa-constrictor-just-swallowed-a-cow look.)

It's still got the well-fed constrictor look going three weeks later, although the rainbow's died down. It's also in a splint, so I'm learning the joys of buttoning my pants one-handed. Let's not even mention bra hooks between the shoulder blades. It's going to stay in a splint for at least another month, there may be another round of x-rays next week, and I think I have a singed spot on the top of my head where my physio glared at me when I asked if that meant no training either.

So ... another freaking injury. After I wiped out my right knee in 2008, I finally got it back to about 90% of its original functionality (read: good enough for slightly less than full-contact martial arts) in 2011 and promptly got happily back into martial arts. Now I'm feeling mildly depressed about another injury that spells long-term training break. Not to mention a very, very obvious wing in a sling - it's hard to hide a thumb splint when you can't write or shake hands.

The cat is also still very much in the box as to whether the problem is cracked bones, sprained joints, or (joy) both. The first set of x-rays, encouragingly, said no breaks. However, the x-ray machine looked like a relic of WWII, and it's still nice and swollen, so another round with the cancer rays are in my future if it hasn't quit and desisted by next week.

In other news this week ... our car went in for a service, and the tech crashed it into oncoming. The garage is paying for the repairs, but it's been in the shop for a week. My husband's bank account and credit card got frozen. It's been bringing the drama. And there's only one logical response to drama, which is PITY PARTY.  :)

Meditative cogitation

Yup, meditation. I figured I already had a passing grade in sitting on my ass staring into space (so do you, it's called TV-watching), so I might as well have a look at formalising it.

I've been interested in meditation for a while. It showed up in the sci-fi books I write just under two decades ago. Like most of the **** I write about and actually know eff-all about, I glossed airily over the detail and concentrated on the plot line.

In Spring 2013, I finally decided it was time to learn something about this. I picked up Meditation for Dummies, read it, and tried it.

Why here? Why now? Not sure. Maybe it's an early-warning sign of an incipient mid-life crisis. However, if you want mind-altering and you aren't interested in death by slow poison, meditation is the way to go.

It's also, by and large, a solitary pursuit, which rocks my boat. I'm not a people person. Because I am obviously a masochist, I've been mostly ignoring all the professional advice about quiet space, setting time aside, etc.

I've been meditating on the bus. This is awesome for the following reasons:

1. It neatly avoids having to notice my fellow commuters (because)
2. It's a great excuse for sitting with my eyes closed and my headphones in.
2a. This conveniently gets me out of enlightening exchanges with Mrs. "Let me tell you about my grand-daughter", Mr. "Are you reading that book?" and Mr. Do you know where this bus is going?"
3. At least partly due to 1, 2 and 2a, it gets me to work in a reasonably de-stressed and entertained state.

It's less awesome because there's motion, you can't sit in a proper posture in a Translink seat (I'm certain they've been bribed by chiros and physios city-wide to design those chairs for hunch-backed gnomes), and Mrs. "You don't mind my (enormous) bag on your feet, do you?" and Mr. "My balls are SOOOO big, I have to try and spread my knees across 3 seats" are still an aspect of daily public transit.

Meditation for Dummies describes the environment I've chosen to meditate in as 'challenging'. I still think it's awesome. This is why. If I can manage to meditate for 20 minutes of my 45 minute bus-ride (the remainder is spent reading and rubbernecking at the awesome views along my commute route), on a Loser Cruiser, surrounded, tripped over, sneezed on, yawned at, sat on, slept on and used as a bag / folder / leg / elbow rest by fellow Loser Cruiser Users ... I CAN MEDITATE FREAKING ANYWHERE.

Am I interested in greater spiritual consciousness, enlightenment and the cosmos? Not really. Despite the latter half of Meditation for Dummies ... I'm just not into Higher Powers, or anyone else who figures I should run my life somehow different (it's called a problem with authority). I'm meditating because I'm curious. I want to see if my health, longevity (there's a tough one to prove), concentration and happiness index improve.

Apparently you can enrich your life. I'm taking that one metaphorically. And one day at a time.

Women's days

Yesterday, depending on your timezone, was International Women's Day. I didn't even have a clue there was such an animal until my Twitter feed flowed and overflowed with #InternationalWomensDay.

So I stared at it for a bit, scratched my head, shook my head, and wondered ... if today, this one day, is allegedly Women's Day ... do I have to do something special today? Do I have to stop doing something special today? Am I not female the rest of the year (all 364 days of it)? What on earth might you need a Women's Day for - Hallmark show a loss in their bottom line?

I had to go look it up on Wikipedia. Women's Day, as mandated by the UN, is 'a day when political and social awareness of the struggles of women worldwide is brought out and examined in a hopeful manner.' This grammatically unusual sentence raised another question for me. Women's Day. So after Women's Day ... we stop 'hopefully examining' women's struggles? Do we do anything except examine them - de-ball the Taliban, for example?

 It never occurred to me that mandating a day in the year as "Women's Day" was needed. The women who live in the First World countries, have, for the most part, little to worry about and have only to put foot to ass to get wherever it may be they want to go, and probably the ones who really need it, like the poor sods in strongly Islamic areas, have either never heard of it or feel it's a First World conscience salver.

To me personally, it made me laugh. I don't see my gender as the be-all and end-all definer of me, my personality and what I can or can't do. I have periodic run-ins with people who disagree. I drive my own car, re-wire my own plugs, have my own job, and my own bank account. I don't think I'm a lady, and tend to make mildly tasteless jokes when referred to as such.In short, I tend to be myself as hard as I can be all year round, without thinking all that much about my gender.

I considered if perhaps, to accommodate others' sensibilities, I should stop that once a year, and spend the day smiling prettily at people (that might be quite a trick), wearing impractical shoes, and pretending I can't open doors or lift anything weighing more than a few pounds. It took me all of ten seconds to decide that was a lousy idea.

Instead, I allowed myself a horrifically unhealthy slice of Starbuck's chocolate cake and a hot chocolate (yes, there's a theme), and put philosophical debate over gender issues from my mind before I gave myself a headache.

My final thought on the topic was ... Is there a Men's Day? Lord knows men seem to struggle plenty.

Martial Arts as Marital Intervention

Okay, this is not a 'shiny for a day' thing. Martial arts of various styles have been shiny for over a decade and are still very shiny. Not to mention a fantastic cause of shiners on occasion.

I wrote this bit of brave self-assertion for something else entirely, but it's appropriate post-length, I wrote it, and why not, after all.

**************

My husband and I met in a university karate class, dated through the karate club social, and have proceeded to clear the air through various dojos and styles, including Gracie BJJ, for the twelve years since.

For the last 18 months, we’ve been lucky enough to find a style and sensei that suit us perfectly. We study Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu (try shouting that to stop a bar fight) through the Heisei Budo Dojo in New Westminster. Bujinkan is a classical Japanese art with origins in the ancient samurai and ninja training schools, and our current Grandmaster, Hatsumi Sensei, is thought to be the 34^th grandmaster.

The training is partner-based, and focuses on throws, locks and holds, strikes and kicks, ground-fighting and pressure point controls, as well as edged and blunt weapons techniques. Due to this, Bujinkan is not considered suitable for competition situations.

Our sensei is a yondan, a 4^th level black belt, and also teaches modern combatives classes covering unarmed, knife, and baton combat, defence against firearms, pressure-testing drills, legality of self-defence, confrontation avoidance and psychological effects of violence. This training stream is less formal, and deals with an immediate, effective response to violence, based on techniques originally designed for military application but suitable for law enforcement or civilian self-defence.

As one of the minority of women in a male-dominated sport, I often get asked questions like “Why?” and “How can a woman fight on an equal basis with men?” and “Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?” 

My answer is always pretty much the same. Martial arts are designed to level the field; unarmed against armour and weapons, one person against multiple opponents. I’ve been in martial arts since I was 18, and I’ve stayed there because I enjoy the one-on-one aspect, and being able, by mastering the techniques correctly, to hold my own and win rounds against much larger men. It’s taught me a lot about respect, self-confidence, and independence, and every class is a new challenge.

All things weird and wonderful, all interests great and small

Despite having other blogs - blogs where I post bits of whatever book I'm working on, a blog where I'm trying to put together early childhood memories of my life growing up on a cruising yacht on and around the edges of the Atlantic - I've started another one. This one.

I've started it because sometimes something catches my interest and if I don't write about it, I forget about it after a few days when something else new and shiny comes along. Seems like a shame. All these things that were shiny for a day that I forget about.

Hence - another blog. Probably one I shan't write in very often, because, honestly, I have a full time job, two cats, a husband, and a variety of hobbies. If I'm sitting at my computer I'm either writing, or so mentally played out that I'm probably staring disconnectedly at my Twitter feed.

On the other hand, them as dares wins, to take the SAS motto badly, so ... yeah, new blog.