At 5:15 Saturday afternoon, Cathy Ortega Pond’s path abruptly ended.  No warning, no signposts telling us that her journey would come to a close. It left us so lost.  

We always speak kindly of those who have touched our lives and moved on, but there are no words to express how walking with Cathy felt.  Her footsteps were so light, while I clodded along like a bull in the proverbial china shop, that she seemed like some exquisite dancer.  When I look at her tracks, they never left my side through 3 incarnations of this blog since the day I met her on My Left Wing.  

That was part of her magic, really.  Of all the people, during the tumultuous days of Bush-blogging, she never one abandoned a single one of her friends, even when those friends found themselves hurting one another.  “I have an epic temper, Diane.  Don’t get me wrong here.  But, thats why I like print,” she would tell me.  When I asked about the loss of tone, and voice inflection that made misunderstandings so common?  She added, “That is the thing.  In print you have the choice to stop, think, take an hour you cannot in real time, and choose to tread lightly.  You can pick your words in kindness.  You can stop and think about their impact. ”

Step.  Step.  Step.  Even when I lagged behind, she would neither judge me nor pass me by.  I felt her hand on my shoulder, as she slowed to my pace, supporting me and believing in me that I could be a better me.

When my husband was ill, she would surprise me with a call, just to say she was there.  Her Jerry wrote us words of support, even reaching out to my son in his loss.  I feel like those times were the metaphorical times when there was one set of tracks, because she tried to carry me despite the weight of her own problems. Because that is the Pond way, this wonderful couple who reached out to lift people. They never ceased to amaze me that way.

And when Cathy danced?  It was a joy to behold, making everyone laugh with her wry humor and quick wit… teasing, yet?  Never, ever going too far.  Movie lines and puns; gumbo and family…. we would all smile.  There were times when I would see her as the clearing in the woods, bringing all the paths together in some Cathy trailhead where we all had to be on our best behavior because Miss Cathy demanded the gentlest of steps.  We failed her sometimes, but often rose above too, to make her proud.  On chatrooms of old, on FB.  Mediating the myriad blogs that splintered through the years,  she arbitrated to make us understand one another as she saw us.  Beautiful beings that needed kindness and understanding, and maybe a crutch to walk with until we became strong again. The two-step became a chorus line in her presence, and everyone was invited to dance along.  

She kept her own stories closer to her chest than many, but learned to share more too as the years went by. She shared her stories with me.  Our stories are what make us precious, she taught me.  Our delightful flaws and idiosyncrasies. Our humanity.  Our commonality – a commonality she never failed to see no matter which of us were at our lowest or worst. Step.  Step. Double-step. Because she had no problem doubling back when we got lost.

Sometimes she felt like her pleas for gentility were lost in a hurricane of what has become the shock-jock culture of Americana. The Paula Deen-i-zation of the world made her shake her head. A world in which even what she considered the “best” – you and I – would slip into a vernacular of hate.  I know that at times it made her feathered feet step heavier. She would gently remind me I didn’t have to use such extreme language to make my point, and that words had their own gravity.  

I cannot imagine a world without my Cathy touch-stone.  In 10 years of online communication, she is the only one who never left me.  Not. For. One. Second.

I bet she never left you, either.

We have to break our own trail now, without the tracks of Miss Cathy to follow. To learn to step more lightly and let love lift us to a more weightless state.  To reach out and lift those struggling in the mire.  To wait for those lagging, and caution those who rush to judgment.  

… and continue to imagine the tracks of Miss Cathy beside us as we journey. And maybe learn to fly….

I will always love you, Cathy.

The onslaught of information is like a tidal wave that just keeps rolling in; seemingly endless.  It’s hard to balance between having a “starfish” moment and being misdirected by false “cause du jours.”

“The Left will implode,” cry those who have to feel like they are doing some actual good, “if we attack those trying to make a difference!”  They seem to feel that expanding our “consciousness” about the plight of children in areas like War-torn Uganda is worth repeating lies told by agencies like Kony 2012.  Kony is no longer even IN that country. He was certainly the lesser of the two evils in that country when he was there, by a thousand-fold to the killings and child soldiers of its President.

The right-wing think tanks know the Left’s Achilles heel. Its human rights and the abatement of suffering.  With tears in our eyes, a lump in our throats, and heart beating wildly, we will champion a cause; give our 5 or 10 dollars.  We will text, retweet, facebook share and viralize instantly whatever comes our way.  We will unquestioningly support it, even under evidence that it is a disinformation campaign, funded by those right-wing think tanks in order to get US boots on the ground.  We will say, “Well, it might be about the oil there, but still?  Think of the babies!”

I understand the starfish moments.  I try and live that way.  But in the REAL way.  I do fundraisers for ACTUAL people.  I’ve had dozens live with me short-term until they get on their feet.  I take dinner to people in a bad way, or have them over for some. I let kids with troubled parents practically live here.  

So, what of the larger causes, both real and imagined?

A year ago right now, you were spending your last day on the Planet with us.  Who knew?  I mean it had only been a couple weeks since they gave you 1-3 months, and you seemed like you were having a good day. We had did normal stuff.  Normal for cancer, anyway, stuff.  You slept a lot, ate pretty damn well, considering.  I did my show.  You watched March Madness. I listened to my show, it was called “postcards from the class war.”  You slipped away, alone.  I hate that.  I felt so guilty for a while, I had real problems doing the show, and it was months before I could listen to myself again, after.  In fact, I rarely do.  My new routine is to Skype with friends after.  I know its both avoidance and replacement.  I used to talk to you about it after, then have a listen and critique myself.  But they are great people, and its fun.

I can’t believe its been a year.  A year. You should see how tall Jake is getting.  I say that like you can’t.  Well, either you can, and are still here with us in ways, or you are gone and telling you this is an exercise in futility anyway.  Other than the fact, you live IN us, and the process of talking to you makes me work through it better.  You know me.  Sorting it aloud clears my brain.

I woke this morning and the thought of having to do some kind of Memorial thread was so daunting. Writing in general has been sporadic. Talking with you like this?  Not as hard as I thought.  

I’ve had a tough year.  Nothing humbles you, or shuts up your inner dialogue of self-pity than seeing others pain.  REAL pain.

My friend Dusty?  A tireless worker for the left, who is disabled with excruciating inoperable back pain just took 3 hits. Her Mom died around Christmas.  Shortly after, she was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Last night?  She had to rush her 70 year old husband to the hospital with a massive heart attack.

He is not expected to live.  She is on disability from her back and at 60?  Has no other income.  She is starting cancer treatment next week. Worse?  Since 3 of his arteries are totally blocked, she asked about bypass.  Apparently he had seen a cardiologist and MUST have been aware of this, but they are so far gone, they can do nothing.  She is devastated, and confused why he wouldn’t have told her.  Why he didn’t get treatment.  He dislike doctors, and feared hospitals.

And he is not expected to make 72 hours, she is told.  

She hasn’t even the money to cremate him, should that happen; let alone take care of him should he live since they had to restart his heart 17 times electrically.  They think he is brain damaged at best.  There will either be death, or short term care until it – he is in a condition from which there is no recovery.

We are the LEFT, we are LIBERALS, an I know as broke as I am?  I’ll eat ramen for a week to send her 50 bucks.  I hope you don’t have to.

I made her make a paypal account tonight, and make a link-button.  Those of you that know me?  Know it is coming up on the year anniversary of my husbands death, and how hard it was on me that it took a month to get his ashes out of “hock” from the funeral home.  She cannot pay for that, has no back up.  She will not be able to make rent.  Buy food.  Live.  I remember well the FEAR.  I dug out of it, but only with YOUR help.

I refuse to let her endure that.

Please help her, as you helped me.  How much must one woman take?  Life is so hard for all of us, and there are so many causes and charities.  This is one direct action you can make.

Help give, love.

Hit the donate button.  Please!

I have no idea why any sopabloxes but mine will take the button html, but go here to hit hers:

http://www.wildwildleft.com/sh…

Jeffry Lyle Huber Obituary – Virginia Beach, Virginia – Tributes.com

www.tributes.com

Obituary, funeral and service information for Jeffry Lyle Huber from Virginia Beach, Virginia, funeral services by Hollomon-Brown Funeral Home & Crematory – Tidewater Drive Chapel – Jeffry Lyle Huber, 57, died Jan. 24, 2012, in his home. No services are planned at this time.

Jeff and I were very close at one time, he was a regular on WWL radio as well.  Last year, we talked and I know he had had some health problems, but thought he had gotten a clean bill of health.  I guess we both just got busy.

He was an author, wrote at Pen and Sword, and a brilliant voice for Peace and the Left.

He will be greatly missed.  

Long time readers know I have been following this story since in unfolded in August of 2010 when one rich man decided to evict a village at gunpoint and steal their ejido (collectively owned) beach.  Links to the back story are in the extended text below.

It is a story of a small town who was economically devastated and left homeless and without the means to support themselves, as he razed home after home, business after business.  Like here, things move slowly when the rich are involved.

I’ve received an update from my friend Dobie, and am just thrilled with the fact it seems justice is finally at hand.  She is an ex-pat who, devoted to her new home, years ago became a Mexican citizen. Love her!

It seems they are going to get their town back, and signs are good that the People of Mexico are sick of their 1% too, and are about to vote all the right-wing PAN politicians out of office this election cycle.

Her note follows.