I am going to the doctor and the dentist this week. God help us all.
I don't like going. I am fine. I will be fine. I will go. I will not back out.
*************************
I went. I am fine. I showed up. I was pleasant.
************************
Dr. Ridley and Dr. Burns are my doctors. I like them and trust them. Period. They are the horse whisperers for patients like me. Kind. Quiet. Competent.
************************
I would use salves made from the root of the sycamore tree and burn the eye of a newt in the light of the full moon if I had my way about medical care. I would go to the ocean and breathe the air and cleanse with the salt water. I would drink the dew on the magnolia tree and dance with the cats under the stars.
************************
You could offer me the winnings of the Powerball and I couldn't tell you the names of the medicine I take daily. I trust Chip Ridley. He says, "Do it." I do it because he keeps me well.
************************
"Keep up the good work," says my dentist, Dr. Burns. I brush and floss. I like my teeth.
***********************
I am working on my weight. I don't want to be known as that fat lady with the bad knee. (I don't want to be known as the skinny lady with the bad knee either--FYI) I want to be able to walk the bridges of Venice and roam the museums of Florence . Walking is a good thing. For every pound I lose, I am taking 4 pounds of pressure off of my knees stated Dr. Lee, the orthopedist. I like him. He's kind, quiet, and competent. He has made my knee feel better.
************************
I did try rubbing my knee with WD-40.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Ladybug, Ladybug
You know that rhyme?
Ladybug, ladybug,
Fly away home....
Well, what they don't tell you is the "home" is our house. We have ladybugs everywhere and I love them. I've always heard that they're good luck so I might need to play the lottery this week.
Mary Michael and I were watching them. They seemed quite content. MM asked if they were my pets. I told her, "No, they are house guests."
It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. A two year old, a nana, and a whole lot of house guests.
Ladybug, ladybug,
Fly away home....
Well, what they don't tell you is the "home" is our house. We have ladybugs everywhere and I love them. I've always heard that they're good luck so I might need to play the lottery this week.
Mary Michael and I were watching them. They seemed quite content. MM asked if they were my pets. I told her, "No, they are house guests."
It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. A two year old, a nana, and a whole lot of house guests.
Friday, November 23, 2012
How to Give Some Ooomph to Your Christmas Letters.
A dear friend stated that she hated getting Christmas letters. "They make me feel bad because my family isn't like that. Our family doesn't do anything special," she said.
I've been thinking about the "Christmas letter spin" that lots of people use.
It's really simple. People lie. Fudge. Omit. Fib. Exaggerate. Delete. Embellish. Leave out.
We state only the good things that have happened to our families..and then stretch it out. Really stretch it out. We sound like the Brady Bunch, the Cosby's and the Cleavers all rolled into one.
I'm encouraging all of us to write a truthful letter this year. People would read these.
I have taken the best stories from close family and friends to give you some ideas for spicing up your own letters. For example:
1. Our eighth grader didn't get caught smoking cigars at school. We only caught him because he accidentally caught the woods on fire on his way home smoking the "said" cigar. We're lucky that his college fund will cover most of the fine and damages. (Not really, we used his college fund for a new Big Green Egg.). (Not really, we didn't even have a college fund.)
2. Decorating the house for Christmas a been a bitch. The cat keeps trying to crap in the Christmas tree holder. Meow!
3. We certainly had a fun tax season. Hopefully, I'll look good in stripes. Who knew you were supposed to keep receipts? I think that the IRS agent was impressed with my shoebox full of sales slips. He kept saying, "Really? Really?"
4. Our baseball season lasted an eternity. No one on the team had sense enough to carry guts to a bear. I was always happy when the batter ran towards first instead of third. They had cute uniforms though.
5. Bouncing checks is sure a lot easier than it used to be. Too much month at the end of the money is more than just a song title. Ka-ching, ka-ching!
6. All I want for Christmas is a little relief from gas. And I am not talking the price at the pumps!
7. Uncle Rolly got his Rogain mixed up with his Viagra. His hair is so stiff he can't keep a hat on his head.
8. We were going to go to Disney World this year for a family vacation but we thought the Indian Mounds would be more fun. Stay-ca-tions are another way to say "B-R-O-K-E".
9. My husband threw a stinky diaper out the window. He said that a $500 littering fine would be better than that eye- watering Huggie. You want to stop a war? Drop a load of those diapers on a country- everyone would be begging for mercy.
10. We were so tickled that the new parish priest came for coffee and cookies one Sunday afternoon. He was a sport when the dog came in the living room chewing on a jock strap from the dirty clothes. Bon Apetit!
11. We knew the priest was a keeper when little Jimmy asked him if he knew what you called a constipated dinosaur? Father said in his rich Irish brogue, "Ah, no son, I truthfully have no idea.". "Well, Father, you call them a collossil fossil with a plugged up aussil."
See, interesting, impressive AND somewhat truthful. Ho! Ho! Ho!
I've been thinking about the "Christmas letter spin" that lots of people use.
It's really simple. People lie. Fudge. Omit. Fib. Exaggerate. Delete. Embellish. Leave out.
We state only the good things that have happened to our families..and then stretch it out. Really stretch it out. We sound like the Brady Bunch, the Cosby's and the Cleavers all rolled into one.
I'm encouraging all of us to write a truthful letter this year. People would read these.
I have taken the best stories from close family and friends to give you some ideas for spicing up your own letters. For example:
1. Our eighth grader didn't get caught smoking cigars at school. We only caught him because he accidentally caught the woods on fire on his way home smoking the "said" cigar. We're lucky that his college fund will cover most of the fine and damages. (Not really, we used his college fund for a new Big Green Egg.). (Not really, we didn't even have a college fund.)
2. Decorating the house for Christmas a been a bitch. The cat keeps trying to crap in the Christmas tree holder. Meow!
3. We certainly had a fun tax season. Hopefully, I'll look good in stripes. Who knew you were supposed to keep receipts? I think that the IRS agent was impressed with my shoebox full of sales slips. He kept saying, "Really? Really?"
4. Our baseball season lasted an eternity. No one on the team had sense enough to carry guts to a bear. I was always happy when the batter ran towards first instead of third. They had cute uniforms though.
5. Bouncing checks is sure a lot easier than it used to be. Too much month at the end of the money is more than just a song title. Ka-ching, ka-ching!
6. All I want for Christmas is a little relief from gas. And I am not talking the price at the pumps!
7. Uncle Rolly got his Rogain mixed up with his Viagra. His hair is so stiff he can't keep a hat on his head.
8. We were going to go to Disney World this year for a family vacation but we thought the Indian Mounds would be more fun. Stay-ca-tions are another way to say "B-R-O-K-E".
9. My husband threw a stinky diaper out the window. He said that a $500 littering fine would be better than that eye- watering Huggie. You want to stop a war? Drop a load of those diapers on a country- everyone would be begging for mercy.
10. We were so tickled that the new parish priest came for coffee and cookies one Sunday afternoon. He was a sport when the dog came in the living room chewing on a jock strap from the dirty clothes. Bon Apetit!
11. We knew the priest was a keeper when little Jimmy asked him if he knew what you called a constipated dinosaur? Father said in his rich Irish brogue, "Ah, no son, I truthfully have no idea.". "Well, Father, you call them a collossil fossil with a plugged up aussil."
See, interesting, impressive AND somewhat truthful. Ho! Ho! Ho!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Does My Butt Look Big?
I love food.
I had a "weight loss specialist" ask me, "Do you eat to live or live to eat?"
I had the wrong answer.
Thanksgiving gives homage to butter in my book. It is a gastronomic day of yum. Gravy, potatoes, creamed corn, desserts, dressing, dressing, dressing.
This year is it going to be somewhat different.
I hurt my knee in June. Babied it all summer. Gave in and went to an orthopedist in September. I've got terrible arthritis in my right knee. Cortisone shot--check. Physical therapy -- check. Specific exercises-- check. Weight loss--
Weight loss......oh, my! I have started Weight Watchers online and I can now say---CHECK! I have a long way to go. Dr. Lee, my orthopedist, is pleased. He is encouraging. Yesterday he talked about how the more weight I take off.....less pressure.....knees.....ankles.... "physics speech" to me, I nodded and grinned. NOTE: This technique, nodding and grinning, will get a person through most situations--unless you have been accused of a bank robbery-- don't nod and grin then).
Weight Watchers will be with me this Turkey Day. I have been saving my weekly points and I know I won't overeat. You know why? My knee feels so much better. And my jeans fit.
I had a "weight loss specialist" ask me, "Do you eat to live or live to eat?"
I had the wrong answer.
Thanksgiving gives homage to butter in my book. It is a gastronomic day of yum. Gravy, potatoes, creamed corn, desserts, dressing, dressing, dressing.
This year is it going to be somewhat different.
I hurt my knee in June. Babied it all summer. Gave in and went to an orthopedist in September. I've got terrible arthritis in my right knee. Cortisone shot--check. Physical therapy -- check. Specific exercises-- check. Weight loss--
Weight loss......oh, my! I have started Weight Watchers online and I can now say---CHECK! I have a long way to go. Dr. Lee, my orthopedist, is pleased. He is encouraging. Yesterday he talked about how the more weight I take off.....less pressure.....knees.....ankles.... "physics speech" to me, I nodded and grinned. NOTE: This technique, nodding and grinning, will get a person through most situations--unless you have been accused of a bank robbery-- don't nod and grin then).
Weight Watchers will be with me this Turkey Day. I have been saving my weekly points and I know I won't overeat. You know why? My knee feels so much better. And my jeans fit.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Call Me Irresponsible
Confession Time:
I haven't done squat since I moved. Oh, I do the crossword everyday. Yep, that's it. I do the crossword. Except on Sunday's-- Sunday is a day of rest...and that crossword is too hard for me.
No, I threw responsibility out the door. After over 39 years of being a professional, daily responsible human-- I quit. Flat out stopped dead in my tracks. Moved. Painted. Arranged furniture. Sewed. Raked leaves. Spread pine straw. Cleaned the paths. I didn't look in the rear view mirror at my professional career. Rocked on the porch swing.....read to Mary Michael whenever she asked....dozed in the hammock.
I took a sabbatical of caring about the norms of this world. I should feel bad-- I don't. My responsibility meter was on empty. I didn't have one more ounce of "I'll take care of it" to give. School had sucked me dry. My family had never complained and I felt like it was time to put them first.
I haven't read the best sellers much. I reread Jane Erye. I haven't mailed thank you notes that are almost a year old-- they're written, I just don't go to the post office. I sleep until I wake up and I go to bed when I'm tired. I have worked on our house. I look at Pinterest. I watch "What Not To Wear" and am thankful Stacy and Clint haven't come to my closet.
I have had a year of moving at my own speed and doing my own thing. Frankly, I think I could become a hermit. I sneak into town wearing my "butter bean picking" outfit and I blend into the features of the store. I am a person of WalMart. I enjoy my second cup of coffee. I listen to the creek.
My garden has become my refuge. I plant. I weed. I water. I feed. I tend those things that ask for nothing in return. I enjoy looking out the window at the pansies. I sit on the porch everyday and I watch the birds. I marvel at the colors of the sky, of the trees, of the animals. I am proud of my banana tree. My elephant ear plants continue to thrive. I do like my blue bird bath.
I have done physical work instead of mental work. I have chalk painted bookcases, helped Bill on home improvement projects, and read tons of magazines. No one has lied to me about where they live, who they live with, or why they don't have their child's birth certificate, social security card, immunization form....no one has yelled at me or muttered under their breath at me. It has been quite refreshing.
Mr. Biggles, Norman, Jack, Pawley, and Raggs have benefited from walks, feeding and general good will. The pets have become personal friends and we have all enjoyed our daily walks. I like playing with them. They are loyal and true. They're happy to see me.
Bill's "chief cook and bottle washer" is back. He's had hot meals, clean clothes, and buttons sewed in the same year he lost them. I go to the store with a list and a plan. I have learned to mow. We have been eating healthy. I am not as grouchy as I was. The bags under my eyes aren't suitcases.....they're small backpacks.
I have felt "responsibility" luring me back to the real world.....just like the Sirens singing to the sailors, I hear the world calling my name. I wonder if I'll fight those impulses or if I'll go on to more adventures in the big world. I have a new, snazzy pink and green agenda/planner, I have opened it, and I have four appointments in the next two weeks. Number one on my to-do list is going to the post office.
I think she's back.
I haven't done squat since I moved. Oh, I do the crossword everyday. Yep, that's it. I do the crossword. Except on Sunday's-- Sunday is a day of rest...and that crossword is too hard for me.
No, I threw responsibility out the door. After over 39 years of being a professional, daily responsible human-- I quit. Flat out stopped dead in my tracks. Moved. Painted. Arranged furniture. Sewed. Raked leaves. Spread pine straw. Cleaned the paths. I didn't look in the rear view mirror at my professional career. Rocked on the porch swing.....read to Mary Michael whenever she asked....dozed in the hammock.
I took a sabbatical of caring about the norms of this world. I should feel bad-- I don't. My responsibility meter was on empty. I didn't have one more ounce of "I'll take care of it" to give. School had sucked me dry. My family had never complained and I felt like it was time to put them first.
I haven't read the best sellers much. I reread Jane Erye. I haven't mailed thank you notes that are almost a year old-- they're written, I just don't go to the post office. I sleep until I wake up and I go to bed when I'm tired. I have worked on our house. I look at Pinterest. I watch "What Not To Wear" and am thankful Stacy and Clint haven't come to my closet.
I have had a year of moving at my own speed and doing my own thing. Frankly, I think I could become a hermit. I sneak into town wearing my "butter bean picking" outfit and I blend into the features of the store. I am a person of WalMart. I enjoy my second cup of coffee. I listen to the creek.
My garden has become my refuge. I plant. I weed. I water. I feed. I tend those things that ask for nothing in return. I enjoy looking out the window at the pansies. I sit on the porch everyday and I watch the birds. I marvel at the colors of the sky, of the trees, of the animals. I am proud of my banana tree. My elephant ear plants continue to thrive. I do like my blue bird bath.
I have done physical work instead of mental work. I have chalk painted bookcases, helped Bill on home improvement projects, and read tons of magazines. No one has lied to me about where they live, who they live with, or why they don't have their child's birth certificate, social security card, immunization form....no one has yelled at me or muttered under their breath at me. It has been quite refreshing.
Mr. Biggles, Norman, Jack, Pawley, and Raggs have benefited from walks, feeding and general good will. The pets have become personal friends and we have all enjoyed our daily walks. I like playing with them. They are loyal and true. They're happy to see me.
Bill's "chief cook and bottle washer" is back. He's had hot meals, clean clothes, and buttons sewed in the same year he lost them. I go to the store with a list and a plan. I have learned to mow. We have been eating healthy. I am not as grouchy as I was. The bags under my eyes aren't suitcases.....they're small backpacks.
I have felt "responsibility" luring me back to the real world.....just like the Sirens singing to the sailors, I hear the world calling my name. I wonder if I'll fight those impulses or if I'll go on to more adventures in the big world. I have a new, snazzy pink and green agenda/planner, I have opened it, and I have four appointments in the next two weeks. Number one on my to-do list is going to the post office.
I think she's back.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Model T'ing*
Do any of you like Little Big Town's song, Motorboatin'? I do. It's got great lyrics. If I was on American Bandstand I'd say, "It's got a great beat and you can dance to it." I've really never boated much but I do have a new way to travel that's even better than Motorboatin'-- it's Model T'ing.
I love country music, great food, fires, knitting. I love cats and dogs. I love coffee. I love listening to a creek. I love black cars. I love shrimp. I love the day the dogwood trees open their blossoms. I love the color pink. I love books with twisted, turning plots. I love Keats' poetry. I love Christmas cookie baking. I love a brand new magazine. I love how a school smells the day before the school year starts. I love to dig in the dirt. I love Toms. I love the smell of freshly mown hay. I love having a pedicure.
HOWEVER,
I found a new love this week. Bill and I went on part of a Model T tour in Savannah. It is the ultimate field trip and, as someone who expounds the benefits of experienctial learning and sits at the feet of John Dewey (and no, he didn't invent the Dewey decimal system for the Central Class of 2001), it was fantastic. I love touring in a Model T car.
Bill and I drove to Savannah Wednesday evening after he got off work. We checked into the hotel and found a gazillion Girl Scouts and some personable Model T enthusiasts waiting for us. Mike and Nancy Weaver Roach (Bill's brother in law and sister) own a green Model T built in 1911. It is comfortable, fun, and brings the joy back in taking a ride. Nevie Clark [a Savannah native who met a student exchange girl from Sweden when she came to live with their family (Nevie's dad saw her first and told his son that she was really something), got a degree in forestry from NCState, married his Swedish girl, moved to Sweden for 30 years, changed his career into men's clothing, came back to Savannah, has one child still in Sweden and one in the US, enjoys his beautiful grandchildren] planned the tour. This is just one example how you can get to know complete strangers as you visit during the tour rest stops/venues/dinners. (No, lie. Everyone loves their cars, and then you find out the rest by listening and answering their questions with questions of your own!)
The tour consisted of carefully planned driving trips around the Savannah area. Model T's scoot along at a good clip-- fast enough to get you places, but slow enough to see what's going on. Bright and early Thursday, we traveled to see a wildlife refuge, an air force museum where we had a great lunch and toured JBC (a large machinery manufacturing company.) That night the four of us went to the Pirate's House for dinner before the next scheduled activity. Most of the group went to the Savannah Theater (you must go if you visit Savannah-- great songs from the 60's, 70's, and 80's) for a musical review. The day was jam packed with activities, knowledge, and visiting.
Friday morning started with a jaunt to the Byrd Cookie Company. YUM! They handed out mugs of hot coffee and then they encouraged us to sample all of their cookies and candy. Note: If you want people to buy cookies give them a cup of coffee....really good coffee. Yes, I did buy some of their merchandize! We then motored to Wormsloe, a former plantation with the longest continuous planting of live oak trees in the world-- 404 trees were planted to honor the owner's first son. The young man that was guide was wonderful-- he made history come alive for all of us (he was an anthropology major and his favorite part of his job was shooting the musket for tourists.) The word for that day was midden.
Motoring again, the Crabbettes, a dandy all woman band, entertained us on the Isle of Hope. Tubby's in Thunderbolt was the next destination-- fresh shrimp salad sandwiches and homemade banana pudding....if it sounds like I ate my way through Savannah....that's because I did. We then started driving to Bonaventure Cemetery. This is the final resting place for who's who in Savannah. Johnny Mercer's grave was so moving. We spent the remainder of the day wandering Forsyth Park with our cappuccinos-- we met dogs, introduced ourselves to a couple getting married, learned how to make a Gullah Confederate Rose, watch some beautiful fountains, and see how skateboards can grind on a marble bench.
The Model T allowed me to observe mankind. I like looking at porches-- I enjoy seeing how people arrange their furniture. I like looking at yards-- I visualize my garden and see which plant looks great with which plant. I like looking at trim, at paint, at fountains, at gates....I get ideas when I am a passenger. A Model T is my perfect speed. Slow enough to see, but not slow enough to be accused of being a peeping Tom.
I started the blog today with a Little Big Town song. But, I'm going to end my thoughts on a song from Alabama that applies to me some days:
I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why
It's time for all of me to sit back and take stock of who I am...but even more important WHY I am. So WHY am I? I'm know I'm going start to answer this question by being more of a Model T and less of a Motorboat.
I love country music, great food, fires, knitting. I love cats and dogs. I love coffee. I love listening to a creek. I love black cars. I love shrimp. I love the day the dogwood trees open their blossoms. I love the color pink. I love books with twisted, turning plots. I love Keats' poetry. I love Christmas cookie baking. I love a brand new magazine. I love how a school smells the day before the school year starts. I love to dig in the dirt. I love Toms. I love the smell of freshly mown hay. I love having a pedicure.
HOWEVER,
Bill and I drove to Savannah Wednesday evening after he got off work. We checked into the hotel and found a gazillion Girl Scouts and some personable Model T enthusiasts waiting for us. Mike and Nancy Weaver Roach (Bill's brother in law and sister) own a green Model T built in 1911. It is comfortable, fun, and brings the joy back in taking a ride. Nevie Clark [a Savannah native who met a student exchange girl from Sweden when she came to live with their family (Nevie's dad saw her first and told his son that she was really something), got a degree in forestry from NCState, married his Swedish girl, moved to Sweden for 30 years, changed his career into men's clothing, came back to Savannah, has one child still in Sweden and one in the US, enjoys his beautiful grandchildren] planned the tour. This is just one example how you can get to know complete strangers as you visit during the tour rest stops/venues/dinners. (No, lie. Everyone loves their cars, and then you find out the rest by listening and answering their questions with questions of your own!)
The tour consisted of carefully planned driving trips around the Savannah area. Model T's scoot along at a good clip-- fast enough to get you places, but slow enough to see what's going on. Bright and early Thursday, we traveled to see a wildlife refuge, an air force museum where we had a great lunch and toured JBC (a large machinery manufacturing company.) That night the four of us went to the Pirate's House for dinner before the next scheduled activity. Most of the group went to the Savannah Theater (you must go if you visit Savannah-- great songs from the 60's, 70's, and 80's) for a musical review. The day was jam packed with activities, knowledge, and visiting.
Friday morning started with a jaunt to the Byrd Cookie Company. YUM! They handed out mugs of hot coffee and then they encouraged us to sample all of their cookies and candy. Note: If you want people to buy cookies give them a cup of coffee....really good coffee. Yes, I did buy some of their merchandize! We then motored to Wormsloe, a former plantation with the longest continuous planting of live oak trees in the world-- 404 trees were planted to honor the owner's first son. The young man that was guide was wonderful-- he made history come alive for all of us (he was an anthropology major and his favorite part of his job was shooting the musket for tourists.) The word for that day was midden.
Motoring again, the Crabbettes, a dandy all woman band, entertained us on the Isle of Hope. Tubby's in Thunderbolt was the next destination-- fresh shrimp salad sandwiches and homemade banana pudding....if it sounds like I ate my way through Savannah....that's because I did. We then started driving to Bonaventure Cemetery. This is the final resting place for who's who in Savannah. Johnny Mercer's grave was so moving. We spent the remainder of the day wandering Forsyth Park with our cappuccinos-- we met dogs, introduced ourselves to a couple getting married, learned how to make a Gullah Confederate Rose, watch some beautiful fountains, and see how skateboards can grind on a marble bench.
The Model T allowed me to observe mankind. I like looking at porches-- I enjoy seeing how people arrange their furniture. I like looking at yards-- I visualize my garden and see which plant looks great with which plant. I like looking at trim, at paint, at fountains, at gates....I get ideas when I am a passenger. A Model T is my perfect speed. Slow enough to see, but not slow enough to be accused of being a peeping Tom.
I started the blog today with a Little Big Town song. But, I'm going to end my thoughts on a song from Alabama that applies to me some days:
I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why
It's time for all of me to sit back and take stock of who I am...but even more important WHY I am. So WHY am I? I'm know I'm going start to answer this question by being more of a Model T and less of a Motorboat.
Thank you, Nancy and Mike, for introducing me to a whole, new, slower-paced world.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Midnight Cat Wrangler-- Meow, Meow Y'all or How this all began......
How the Blog Began-- 11/4/2012
Dogs that need surgery, a cat with an abscess, puppies that need shots, a pair of pit bulls that scare me to death and I really don't find out what is the matter with them-- we are a cross section of mankind. But, my story is about the little lady that I'm sitting next to. She's old. Maybe 90. She has a great big cat carrier. We start visiting.
"I can't see much anymore, but Kitty's eye is bad."
Okay, you know me. I visit. I want to know about kitty.
"Oooooo, what the matter?" I ask innocently.
"Well," she begins, "I can't see either well but Kitty's eye done swole up. He don't let me touch him."
"How did you get him in the carrier?" (I wanted to ask her how she picked the carrier up....she was a teeny, tiny woman and that was a huge carrier.)
The carrier's occupant keeps a low, steady growl going the entire time we're visiting.
"That was easy," she smiled. "I know Kitty likes raw meat so I just threw some in the carrier and I waited till he came to eat supper. I din't feed him til late. He comes every night to eat supper with me but I waited til midnight to feed him. He was real hungry. I just slammed the door behind him and I brought him to see the doc today. Kitty's got a bad eye."
The growl gets louder. That is one spooky sound, I think. I can't wait to see this animal. Raggs is quivering in my lap. He's whimpering, too.
I bend around and take a look at the cat. Let me rephrase that-- I got a good look at the bobcat in the cat carrier. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us all!" I think. Raggs is now trying to climb up my arm.
With a gray to brown coat, whiskered face, and black-tufted ears, the bobcat resembles the other species of the mid-sized Lynx genus. It is smaller on average than the Canada lynx, with which it shares parts of its range, but is about twice as large as the domestic cat. It has distinctive black bars on its forelegs and a black-tipped, stubby tail, from which it derives its name.
"Kitty"
Domestic Kitty
"Ma'am," I ask, "Where did you get that kitty?"
"Oh, honey, he found me. I started feeding him and he just grew and grew. He's a fine cat but he won't let me touch him anymore. Look at his eye."
I'm no vet, but that cat had cat pink eye. It was almost "swelled" shut. Kitty was emitting a guttural growl that resonated in the waiting room.
"Yes, ma'am. Kitty does look like he needs to have the doc look at him."
The growling continued at a pitch that caused everyone in the waiting room to stare at the cat carrier. "He don't like coming here." She smiled at the entire waiting room as she proclaimed her love of the vet and her love of Kitty. By this time Raggs is wetting himself and the pit bulls are quivering. Everyone in the room had figured out their own emergency management plan if that "kitty" got loose. Her name was called, "Mrs. Smith, you're next. Do you need help with Kitty?"
*******************************************************************************
As she exited the examination room, she announced to all of us, "Doc gave me some medicine to put in his food. He didn't even have to take him out of the carrier. He took one look and said some of these free antibiotics would make him right as rain. No charge either. This is Kitty's lucky day."
Frankly, it was all our lucky day. The bobcat got medicine, Raggs didn't wind up as "Bobcat Chow", the little lady was tickled pink that she could fix her kitty and it didn't cost her a dime. Life was good.
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So why do I call the blog "Confessions of a Midnight Cat Wrangler"? I want to be like that little lady. She loved the unlovable and saw the potential in her free pet. She helped things get better and was appreciative of people did for her. She was crafty, clever, and full of joy. I want to remember who I am and who I want to be. AND I want to share the day to day stories that have been given to me. I've always said that working at Central was like being part of an ensemble cast of a comedy/drama. Being a wife and mother have given me stories to make you wet your pants laughing or wet your eyes crying. Everywhere I go I see the the humor, the love, the ridiculous, the sorrow, the hope and the sublime-- and I write them down so I can enjoy them again and again.
I'm willing to wrangle those stories into this blog on a regular basis. I'm willing to confess my inadequacies, fears, and foibles. I'll share those minutes of clarity that make me want to proclaim, "Life is good." I want to be able to put my "bobcat" in a cat carrier and get 'er fixed for free. So welcome to the world of the "Midnight Cat Wrangler." Meow!
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Thursday, November 1, 2012
Faith Can Move a Mountain, or Get a Donut
Oh, my! Bill and I had Mary Michael for 48 hours. I really believe my momma's adage that God knew what he was doing when he gave young people the task of raising children. She's a good girl....but she's 28 months and is on wide open throttle most of the time. I'm 62 and the only thing I run is my mouth. We have quite a time! We played outside for four hours on Monday-- I remember loving to be outside when growing up. We picked flowers, walked the dogs, and chased the cats. We watched the clouds, rolled on the ground and rocked on the swing.
Monday afternoon she told me that Grandpa was bringing her pink donuts when he came home from work. I hadn't heard that, so quietly I called Bill during her afternoon nap and asked him if he had lined this up without my knowledge. He hadn't heard about it either, but Grandpa said, "If she wants pink donuts, she'll get pink donuts." Bill had Touchdown Club Monday night so it was close to 9 when he got home. Mary Michael and I were upstairs reading when we heard the dogs bark. She looked at me with those big blue eyes twinkling, clapped her hands, her entire face lit up and she said, "Grandpa's home with my pink donuts." She was up and out of bed and sliding down the stairs admonishing me to be careful, careful.
By the time I got to the first floor (after being careful, careful), Bill had her sitting at the table picking out a donut. The box of Dunkin' Donuts was full. Pink with sprinkles, pink without, and chocolate donuts were spread in front of her. She told Grandpa that sprinkles were the best. He let her pick one and she proceeded to teach him how to eat the sprinkles off first then the frosting. He then showed her how to eat the soft center. It was wonderful watching them. She had some milk, came back to bed after brushing her teeth again, said "Night, night, Nana" and went straight to sleep.
Mary Michael had faith in her Grandpa to get her a donut (even if he didn't know he was supposed to get donuts!)
Matthew 17:20
I wish I could say that I'm teaching Mary Michael everything I know about living. The fact is, she's reminding me what life is all about-- love. I knew she was ready to go home when she asked me about Mommy, Daddy, and sister. Then she added, "Doggie went to camp with Grandma and Pap Pap."
I'm still resting up for the next visit.
Monday afternoon she told me that Grandpa was bringing her pink donuts when he came home from work. I hadn't heard that, so quietly I called Bill during her afternoon nap and asked him if he had lined this up without my knowledge. He hadn't heard about it either, but Grandpa said, "If she wants pink donuts, she'll get pink donuts." Bill had Touchdown Club Monday night so it was close to 9 when he got home. Mary Michael and I were upstairs reading when we heard the dogs bark. She looked at me with those big blue eyes twinkling, clapped her hands, her entire face lit up and she said, "Grandpa's home with my pink donuts." She was up and out of bed and sliding down the stairs admonishing me to be careful, careful.
By the time I got to the first floor (after being careful, careful), Bill had her sitting at the table picking out a donut. The box of Dunkin' Donuts was full. Pink with sprinkles, pink without, and chocolate donuts were spread in front of her. She told Grandpa that sprinkles were the best. He let her pick one and she proceeded to teach him how to eat the sprinkles off first then the frosting. He then showed her how to eat the soft center. It was wonderful watching them. She had some milk, came back to bed after brushing her teeth again, said "Night, night, Nana" and went straight to sleep.
Mary Michael had faith in her Grandpa to get her a donut (even if he didn't know he was supposed to get donuts!)
Matthew 17:20
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