Screaming Like a Little Girl

Just when you're think you're pretty cool and mature, along comes something that puts your cool in the crapper.

I was helping Marty lay some (really a whole bunch) of weed block. As I was tucking the fabric underneath a hosta, something bit me on the forearm. Ouch! (It still hurts and it's red and swollen). OK, fine, I got bitten by something gross. (Hate bugs.) about ten minutes later there was this loud buzzing about my head. I could see it (sort of) out of the corner of my eye. It looked like a B52 bomber and it was not going to leave me alone. Marty's hollering at me to stand still then run, then stand still. I'm confused and scared and this big buzzer is in my HAIR and in my glasses, which got jettisoned. All the time I am screaming at the top of my lungs. Marty is yelling at me to calm down and go in the house. "It'll go IN there with me; are you crazy?" I'm screaming like a demented banshee and doing my best St. Vitus Dance intermingled with being frozen in terror.

Needless to say, he finally got my panicked rear end in the house. It was NOT my finest hour by any stretch of the imagination.

I suppose the upside is it's given the neighbors something to talk about because you could probably hear my well-trained vocal chords on Lake Erie. Nice to know in a real pinch, I got the lung power!

Rufus, The New Family Member

Why did I adopt a cat?

We had two. OK, they weren't mine. They were Megan's babies. I liked Dink and Envy, they were very sweet kitties.

I wanted our own cat. Marty wanted a black cat and I like black cats myself. This guy was at the Humane Society (named Rueben -- their spelling). Here's his bio!

"Rueban - Adopted! Domestic Short Hair-Black
"More About Rueban
"Rueban is a male kitty around 6 years old. He is such a sweetheart. He loves to be brushed and petted and will sit in your lap as long as you let him. He is a big purr machine and will "make biscuits" when he is really happy. He's a laid-back guy, not really interested in playing but would much rather be getting pets from you. He even will roll over for belly rubs. Rueban has potential with cats but it is not known how he would be with dogs."

At the Humane Society, I asked them to bring in a very friendly, stable Pit girl dog named Windie. Rueben was fine with her. Ignored her which is perfect. I actually felt a little awkward asking them to test him with dogs but they were so agreeable to doing that and they got 6 other cats tested as well at the same time. It was an interesting process.

I had hung out with him a couple of times at the shelter and had Marty come in to see him and other black kitties as well.

I did NOT want a kitten. No thanks! Adorable but they are crazy-batsh*t-huts! I wanted an adult cat. He seemed to fit the bill nicely. I wanted someone who was pretty mellow and friendly.

Plus Rueben needed a home and was unlikely to get one soon. He was not doing well coming back to the shelter (that's another story) and had lost a lot of weight. He's an older (6 years old) BLACK cat. We have at least 8 black cats at the shelter.

By the way, I can't take credit for the two really good pictures of him. They were taken by someone at the Humane Society.

More later....

I Guess I'm NOT Always As Glued As I'd Like

On Tuesday, the 23rd of June, Jesse Ann started to get really sick. Horrible diarrhea. poor baby. I thought we were really going to lose her. I couldn't stop crying. Fine dog mom I am. We got her to the ER vet and our vet, and thanks to antibiotics and a bland diet, she's back to beating up Winger.
Sigh.
I geuss I'm jsut not as glued as I need to be when my animals get really ,really sick. And I'm not ready to have her leave us. Not by a long shot. She's not done training Elke yet!
Marty was steady and positive but I think he was probably ready to kill my sniveling butt in the back seat of our car on the way to the ER Vet.

A Summer's Eve

It's early evening and I'm walking Elke. I'm struck at how my neighborhood reminds me of the one I grew up in; Lakewood, Ohio. The houses are close to each other but most are not as old as most homes in Lakewood. Some driveways are stone and gravel and there are places where there are no sidewalks. I'm delighted by the timelessness of walking here. It could be the 80s, the 60s. I love it. It's front porch kind of place.

The sound of lawnmowers. The sweet smell of cut grass. Moms calling kids, people taking, the dim sound of a T.V. show through an open window. A couple arguing. Kids playing ball or biking, no helmets, hair tossed by the breeze. Some boys stop their game of pitch to pet Elke. We are greeted by some folks sitting on their porches or decks; by the shirtless guy working on his car. Someone is grilling and my nose twitches. It's just-right warm with a light evening breeze and the sky is filled with sunset-touched mountains of clouds against a deepening sky. The lawns are a velvety, plush, deep green carpet to lay down in. The street lights aren't on yet. It's dusk and the sky is putting on quite a show if you look up. There's nothing organzied, no quotas, no schedule. Not now. Just as it should be on a summer evening.

As the sky darkens, almost at the same time the streetlights come on, the flickering fairy lights of fireflies appear. If there were any doubt that it's summer, their on-and-off glow signals its arrival.

It's quintessential Midwest Americana at its best. If you want to see the simple beauty of life in America, it's here. In our old neighborhood. If I were a soldier, sailor, Marine, it's this sense of home that I'd long for and I'd fight for. I'm filled with gratitude that I live here and even in our insanely fast world, there are moments where people slow down and just "be." It reminds me of the importance to be "in the moment." If only for one summer's eve.

It's Good To Be Great!

On May 25th, my new (and first) GREAT Nephew was born! Bryan William weighed in at 6 pounds, 20 inches long! A peanut! I saw him last night (May 30th) on Skype! You forget how small they are!

Mom had him "au naturale" at home with midwives. Pretty cool stuff! To quote that blasted movie (the name escapes me) about the WW2 Remagev Bridge campaign: "Here's a story to tell your children! And mightly bored they'll be!" I always forget when I see babies so new how tiny they are!

It sounds like Mom and Dad had a real adventure welcoming him into the world! Wow!

I'm looking forward to meeting him in person!

It's official. What my brother and I have always known. We are GREAT!

It's My Birthday! (And I Miss My Mom)

Yep, I'm another year experienced! LOL! Sure is better than saying older.

When I was a kid, my brother bemoaned my birthday, because the weather always sucked. Yes, indeed, it almost always rained on my birthday. Until I was in my 40s or so. In recent years, it's been nice and today is no exception. Sunny and predicated to be in the 80s. The irises are blooming in our garden. It's a good day.

Dink and Envy, M.'s cats, are still residents. Funny they should be the catalyst for my having a total meltdown a few days ago and for the first time in a long time, I missed my Mommy. They (the cats) are residing in our extra small bedroom, which Marty euphemistically and inexplicably refers to as The Boudoir. (I'm not sure why; never have known really.) I came into the room a few days ago and found that one or both of the cats had decided to use a little dresser as a scratching post.

This little dresser is a nothing piece really. It's made of hard cardboard, has 4 drawers with plastic handles and has plastic quilted fabric all around it. It's not a great piece of furniture. It's hardly a Louis XVI or anything like that. BUT, it was my mom's and she used it for her stockings, sewing stuff. Sort of a catch-all little piece that might be tucked away in a closet. The stitching was coming away from the fabric. It's a nothing, really.

I looked at the little dresser, now pretty well destroyed, and I just broke down. Wrapped my arms around myself and cried. It's didn't help that "Til There Was You" from THE MUSIC MAN was playing in my headphones either. What a soundtrack for being shattered, let me tell you. Mom used to sing that song.

I think about Mom a lot, but as a distant melody: "I wonder what she'd think of this or that?" Or, "Mom would like this movie." Etc. But this reaction was visceral, gut-felt sorrow and anger. Sorrow because you just miss your Mommy, the best, most loving part of your Mommy. Anger because yet again, it seems like we're cleaning up another mess that is partially Megan's making (they're HER cats) and I'm tired of cleaning up after her.

The cats are a concern. I never figured they'd be here this long, to be honest because M. has been so dependent on them. In my opinion, she has not given them the best quality of life. She bought them things: toys, catnip etc. like you would a kid and this made HER feel good. What do they really need? Food, some structure, kitty litter, a clean box, interaction. That's all. They don't need 60 millions toys and beds.

Will she come get them? I would think so; they're her critters. But if indeed, she is occupied with other things (whatever that may be), she may have not forgotten precisely about them, but they may not be such a "need" for her any more. She does forgot about "old" things in the heat of moment. Also, her roommates have a dog that isn't trained. (Don't GET me started on THAT!) And her BF doens't like the cats very much.

It brings up an interesting conundrum: how long will they stay here and how much effort, time, and money should we invest in making them a complete part of our home and lives.

Right now, it's a mystery. But if they are here for much longer, they will become ours.

However, I know if we buy them a damn scratching post and trim their nails, she'll probably come get them the next day. LMAO! Yep, that's the way of things.

Moving

Did you ever notice how stressful moving is? Even when you're NOT the one moving?

Why should I be having what can only be called an "Anger-Anxiety Series of Moments?" After all, I'm not the one moving. Oh, yes, I'm moving things around. Did that last week. Sort of did a house cleaning thing, getting rid of stuff thing. Luckily for me, the Humane Society of Greater Akron (HSGA) is having their bi-annual Rummage Sale so all that stuff is going to a super cause! And there is a certain lifting of the spirit to get rid of stuff you really don't need. Or to be able to say, "You need to go on to a new home." What's interesting is feeling very weird throwing away anything. Nowadays throwing away stuff is considered to be ecologically BAD!! And I truly do get that. There is way too much crap out there. I do kind of feel that the Eco-Nazis are watching me and I'll be put in a concentration camp for throwing away stuff.

The hardest thing to throw away for me is a book. Must be all that book stuff that is in our very fiber of being, part of our genetic makeup. Josh used to say you could tell a member of our family because they had a phone in one hand and a book in the other. Quite true, actually. And I married a reader as well. (Both times!) We all have a love and respect for the printed word. I can see the appeal of Talking Books and Kindles and what-not but there is nothing, nothing I tell you, like the smell of a new book! Ambrosia! Throw away a book? Sacrilege! It has to be so far from gone for me to do it and even then, I apologize profusely to it. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" as I toss it in the trash bag, turning my head away.

So Megan is moving out finally. It's time (long past) but she really does need to be on her own and facing whatever demons or boundaries she needs to face. It's not that bad, kid, honestly. It takes a little discipline and denial of instant gratification but that's not always bad stuff. She's moving into a house with some friends, one of whom works a 12 Step Program and THAT could be very beneficial for her in many ways.

What has been driving me absolutely bugger-bat-sh*t crazy is the WAY she's been moving.

First of all, Marty told her in December she had to move by April. It's now May 9th (Mother's Day, to be exact). Until we said we'd rent her a U-Haul, she had barely packed anything. She'd moved 5 carloads of stuff but her car wasn't empty at the time. So it's been this eeking, piecemeal, bitty-bit-here-and-there taking-forever turtles-move-faster moving. Reminds me of when my mother moved. That drove me absolutely wild! I like to get stuff over with, especially something like moving. I've moved well (all packed) and I've moved badly ("What? We're moving? Today?") Luckily for that move, I had "Attila the Hun Movers" in the guide of Alana Daveduk and I got to tell you, that girl can PACK ya and MOVE ya!

Megan and her friends did get a truckload of stuff out yesterday and I did help her boyfriend a bit. I think when you are looking at that much disorganized crap everywhere, furniture being blocked, etc. it can be overwhelming. But I got Daron (what kind of spelling is that? Never mind....) started and he's physically pretty strong and he can be pretty focused.

Then I did something that, for me, was really hard.

I did not help.

Marty and I occasionally would check out how the truck-loading part was doing but for the most part, we did nothing. In its most violent form.

Now there are several reason why I didn't help. The biggest reason was I would have been tired, pissy, frustrated and would have felt unappreciated and angry. Plus it would be a form of enabling because she is perfectly capable of doing the work and getting the pals to help. Oh, it would have gotten done, all right. But we both (Marty and I) would have been sore and miserable afterwards. Seeing someone that you know and care about living like a bag lady in filth and squalor in your house is really quite depressing, irritating and frustrating. There is no other way to put it. Cigarette butts do not belong in your bedclothes. Period.

Quite honestly, a third to half of her stuff should be thrown away. Another third should be donated. I get that people are weird about stuff. Marty and his boat, for instance. That's OK, it's out of the way. It's a dream, a thing for the water, He likes water, it's OK. I get it. We all have our little things. But she holds on to stuff that really needs to go. Or if she's going to hang on to it, it needs to be honored. There is a show on TV called "Hoarding: Buried Alive" and I sure as hell hope I don't see Megan on that show. Ever.

I don't want to live in a minimalistic style home. I think they are cold and unfriendly. Details make places interesting and homey to me. There is nothing inviting about any place that has nothing on the walls, no books, or pillows on the furniture and one-color-everything or stark colors. Like those stainless steel kitchens. Ugh! There is no texture, nothing visually interesting. It's one thing if you have huge windows with a view but even then, you want something to look at inside the house.

But there is too much with Megan. It's like she can't give anything up. I have news; your stuff won't protect you from hurt or the world at large. I get having stuff, it's having filthy stuff that is so frustrating to see. I've cared for her cats and let me tell you, THEY like it when things are clean and tidy.

I am sure, however, that which ever way this goes for her, it'll be a blessing and an education. I hope she can create a life of peace, learning to get go and with way less drama! That girl just has too much darn drama.

And we'll get our attic back!