Monthly Archives: March 2013

(Cover image used with the kind permission of Tamela J. Ritter)

My initial impressions of books are often wrong. As I started reading this first novel by Haymarket resident Tamela Ritter, which details the story of Naomi and Tim West, brother and sister who live with a dysfunctional and abusive mother on an Indian reservation in Montana, I thought, “This is an engaging read.” The more I read the more I realized I was wrong. This tale of suffering, separation, redemption and healing is not just engaging—it is riveting.
Naomi tells her part of the story in a flashback memoir, interspersed with her brother’s adventures told in third person. Naomi is a kind of Scout Finch but without the benevolent presence of Atticus. Her alcoholic mother brings home a series of “uncles,” and alternately abuses and coddles Naomi and Tim, who rely on each other for comfort. Naomi delivers arresting lines in the course of telling her story. One chapter begins, “The first time my mother tried to kill me, I was six.” Of her mother’s frequent trips to the local bar, she says at one point when she needs her help, “All my parental guidance was in the saloon, so I figured I’d better stay (there).”
Later on, when she is introduced to her mother’s husband, she is less than convinced that he will be different from the other men she has showed up with and says, “Larry, no offense, but we’ve heard this before.”
Larry replies, “Uh-huh, your mama told me you were a pistol.”
“I rolled my eyes, wishing I had a pistol.”
Tim’s part of the novel involves his search for a true home. Since he is half Indian, he is bullied by the boys on the “rez” and learns independence and tenacity as he goes on a difficult pilgrimage, wandering like a latter-day Huck Finn without a Jim. He is the “wounded healer” of the novel who finally reaches and creates a home for himself, his sister and his grandfather.
The episodic nature of the story functions as a kind of jigsaw puzzle in which the meaning of each bit is gradually revealed by its relationship to the other parts. It is realistic, at times brutal, at times wistful, but always effective as it moves between the worlds of dysfunction and a vision of an ideal existence. Without giving too much away, the three main characters arrive at an understanding that an ideal existence for them is the most real of all possible worlds.
Tamela Ritter has written an important and touching book. It deserves reading by a wide audience, and I hope it will find that audience.

(Check out Manassas Patch for Cindy Brookshire’s article on Tamela’s release party: http://manassas.patch.com/blog_posts/book-release-at-lion-bull)

OK, so the kitty in question didn’t look at all like this. But I could have been seriously injured.

We have always, as I have observed in the past, had a cat or two around the house. We like cats. I’ve also written about Nacho, “my” cat, who is a good writerly cat and the staff cat of Biscuit City Enterprises. Our other current cat is Tuxedo, Becky’s cat, who I also call “Scabby’ or “Scratchy” since she apparently itches and creates places on herself where she scratches.

We’ve tried about everything the vets can think of to help the poor cat, but she still keeps on scratching. The last thing the vet suggested was to give her some Benadryl. This is done, theoretically, by filling a syringe (without a needle) with Benadryl and quickly injecting it into the cat’s mouth.

I have the most experience doing this sort of thing,so I did the first dose and felt like I had gone ten rounds with a gorilla. To say that Tuxedo did not want any part of being medicated is probably the understatement of the year. She fought me, spraying Bendryl all over herself, me and the kitchen floor. She then ran around for about fifteen minutes acting as if she were choking. It was quite a show.

For the next dose, I enlisted Becky’s to hold Scratchy. We wrapped in a towel but we couldn’t wrap her mouth since the med needed to go there (duh). She again resisted mightily and in snapping at the syringe, nailed me on the little finger.

I don’t know if you have ever been bitten by a cat, but if you have, you do know it is an unpleasant experience. Cats’ bites are the worst (humans are second) because of all the foul bacteria that inhabit their mouths. I was bitten by a cat we were trying to take in a couple of years ago about 8 PM on a Saturday night: twelve hours later, the bite was infected, swollen and horribly painful. I sang in choir that morning and then hied myself to the hospital where they gave me an antibiotic shot and a round of pills. I have since heard of people who have had to be hospitalized and given antibiotic IV’s. No, thanks.

So, I learned my lesson with cat bite #1. I saw the doctor a couple of hours later and got a course of antibiotics to take. This bite swelled right away, became numb at the tip of my finger and tingled the length of the digit. I could tell it was headed toward painful so I was glad to see the doctor quickly. He said it was a good thing that I came into see him. I agreed.

So, Tuxedo is still itchy, but I’m out of the cat medication by mouth biz. Bite me once, shame on the cat. Bite me twice, shame on me!