Where Will It All End?

Husband and I finished building this house in 1987. We moved in May of that year.

For many years, we did  not turn the air conditioning on until June. For most of May we kept the windows opened, and the cool breeze was more than enough.

As the years went by, we began turning the air on sometime in May. 


Then, April.

It is still March and last night was the second time we have slept with the air on upstairs. Admittedly, we had an inch of snow in between times.

Why is this?

Many of you will raise your hands and say, "Oh, I know! Global warming!"

Obviously something is happening, whether it's global warming, or the weather cycle has slowly come around to a time we don't recall.

Or:

I read something a few months ago that fascinated me. You may be a creationist, or a evolutionist or somewhere in between (I don't think there really is such a thing).

But a scientist, who is also a creationist said this: In the beginning God created a tropical paradise. It stayed that way until the Great Flood.

The Great Flood caused cataclysmic shifts in the weather, causing the Ice Age. And Earth has been slowly recovering from that for several thousand years.

You  may laugh at this, disagree or think about it. I don't know the truth, except that Mother Nature is one fickle woman.

It All Started With A Titmouse (pardon my French)

It all started with a Titmouse. It was a big Titmouse, and I've always heard big ones cause the most disturbance.

Husband put up a clear feeder for me. It's suctioned to the kitchen window. Eli, our Maine Coon, loves to sit in the chair, with his head slightly bent (so he's hiding), tail going one  hundred miles an hour. 

Apparently a Titmouse cracks open a seed before he eats it. He (or she) has started banging on the perch of the feeder. It's so loud it sounds like someone is knocking.

Which is what Bonnie thought. She came tearing through the house, using her deep "I'll get the burglar" bark. Careening around the corner into the kitchen, she ran smack into Eli, who did not appreciate it.

He bowed up big, hissed and growled.

Now, Eli is the alpha animal in our house. But Frost, the oldest cat, is the patriarch.

Anytime he hears another animal in distress, he comes, growling like a lion, tail as big as my fist. He means business.

So, the cats chased the dog into the sun room.

Naturally, I was on the phone with Mother. I told her to hold on twice, in a loud, panicked voice, but she kept on yammering away, so I had to holler at the animals in her ear. 

Bonnie was cowed down, looking up at me in a "Do something" kind of way.

Now, even if you add both cat's weight, it still isn't quite half of what Bonnie weighs.

But, of course, she knows they are "family", even if it's crazy, armed, dangerous family, and she isn't allowed to hurt them.

Also, if I had a 19 pound (fat) furious cat and a 21 pound (not fat, all bone and muscle) cat circling me, growling and hissing, bowed up like a prize fighter, I'd be a little worried too, no matter how much I weighed.

I told Eli to get, and he did.  Frost doesn't mind as well, so I had to come between him and Bonnie. This isn't as dangerous as it would be with Eli, as Frost is de-clawed. He doesn't know this, apparently.
(and don't fuss on me, he was de-clawed when he got him at the shelter).

I got back to Mother. "What in world is going on?" She asked.

I told her.

"Well, my goodness."

I'll say.

The Rest of the Story

As you recall from the previous blog, we'd had a cold  night.

Here is the rest of the day:

I went downstairs to the warm part of the house to discover Fin  had died. Now, it wasn't really a surprise, he'd been off his feed (do fish go off their feed?) for about three weeks. I have a lot of experience with this, and every time that happens, watch out.

We had Fin for about a year, I guess, and that seems to be the extent of a Beta's stay with us. The one before him (not counting the one that died 3 days later and I made Husband take him back for a refund), was Tyke. She was a baby, less than the size of my pinkie nail, hence the name. And even though her box was marked "male" it didn't make her one. She was rather dull in color. However; she lived two years, so I guess if you get 'em young, you get to keep 'em longer.

I miss Fin. As soon as Husband gets over the Mongolian strangle or whatever it is he has, he's going fishing at Wal-mart.

Next, Daughter calls me all het up. Turns out she's waiting at the four way stop and sees a car coming toward her who doesn't stop, but rear ends her. And then, for good measure, does it again.

She said at first she was afraid it was some evil meanie, but then she saw it was some old lady.

Ahem. Turns out it was a classmate of mine. Some old lady, indeed.

At any rate, Daughter recognized her as she approached the car. 

Of course, this occurred as Daughter was on her way to be oriented to her new, other part time job. 

Turns out it only cost us $10.00 to replace the plastic red thingie that fits over a tail light.

The woman that hit her, however; told Daughter (who she just happen to run in to the next day) Get it! Get it! Run into! Ha!
that she is having to have a new bumper and headlight. 

You just shouldn't mess around with a P.T. Cruiser. They are chunky and low to the ground. They don't move much.

Daughter was sore across her chest the next day from where the seat belt had locked and kept her immobile.  

Have  you noticed some days are fuller than others?

Tis so.

Revenge is a dish best served cold (Shakespeare)

"Revenge is a dish best served cold", so says Shakespeare and a bunch of other folks.

Craig Johnson's first Walt Longmire novel's title reflects the same proverb.

Well.

Many of you will think I got revenge played upon me after last night.

Those of you who know me know I love snow. I have unashamedly taunted those of you who do not when we have been blessed by the white stuff.

Last night, you got your revenge, and it was cold.

Somehow the thermostat upstairs was bumped down to about fifty-eight degrees. Now, we like to sleep with it cool, about sixty-two.

It's amazing what four little degrees can do to your dream state.

I dreamt of snow all night long. Every dream my little mind could think up included snow.

I would wake up (sorta) knowing it was awfully cold in the bedroom, but wake up not enough to actually get up and investigate. At one point I remember thinking, "Lord, I hope the heat pump ain't finally bit the dust." (It's thirty years old.)

It was extremely difficult to get up at 6:30, but my bladder said I absolutely had to. And I forgot to look at the thermostat until I was back under the warm covers, so we froze another 2 hours.

Now, the bedroom that was mine all my growing up probably got a lot colder on occasion, as we did not have central heat. I've waked up to ice on the inside of the thin window panes many a morning. But that's been a while back. I've gotten soft, I reckon.

It was nice to go downstairs to a sixty-four degree atmosphere, which quickly heated up to sixty-seven. Hot coffee, warm flannel and a pair of thick socks did the trick to bringing me back to the reality that there was no snow in sight.

Sigh.

Looking back

Where has it gone?

The time, I mean.

Daughter is a woman in her mid-twenties.

And I am, um, not.

We were careful.

We wanted a baby for five years.

We knew what a gift from God she was (and is).

We recorded, photographed, shared practically every moment of her childhood.

Carefully.

Videos, yes indeed. Journaling, yes indeed.

Cherishing every moment, trying not to miss one inch of change and growth.

But it disappeared anyway.

Poof.

Where did it go?

What, No Cats?

I  had a cat when Husband and I got married. In fact, I warned him when we started courting that I came with cats. He'd never been around a house cat, so he was a little leery. But he loved me enough to agree. (In fact, he has his own cat now that worships him, or maybe it's the other way 'round.)

After we married, and decided to move in together (imagine that, we married first and then moved in together), we moved to Ellijay, because Husband wanted to raise our child-of-the-future as far away from city as he could. 

My cat had never lived anywhere but where I was living then, at the end of a dirt road that nobody traveled on but me. He was used to staying out while I was at work (he had a safe place to hide if something got after him) and then staying in while I was at home in the evenings and at night. Where Husband and I were  moving, right in town, to a rental house, I knew the cat would never be happy. Husband's parents took Bunker in. He loved it there, and they all loved him dearly right into a ripe old age.

Husband knew how I loved my cats, so he found some for me while we lived in town. But as time went by, and we worked and then went to the building site of soon-to-be-home, we weren't there for them much. We gave the Manx, Smokey, to my Mother and he loved it there. We sold the Persian, Mugsy, to some folks that were home most the time and who fell in love with him at first sight.

Back when our house was in the middle of nowhere, (it's in the middle of somewhere now) and Husband was working emergency services during the night, it was clear I needed a guard dog. We found a dear Boxer that I still miss, but she hated  cats. If she went out in the morning and found cat paw prints on the porch, she went berserk. 

So I was cat-less for a dozen years or so.

The day after Sam, our Boxer, died, I got a phone call while at work. "I know you can't have a cat because of your dog, but do you know of anyone who might want a cat? This lady is dying from cancer and has tried to find a home for her, but nothing is working out."

I knew what this cat looked like before she could finish a sentence. I knew she'd be white and long-haired. 

I knew she was mine.

Of course, I called Husband, and of course, he said yes. So the cat was brought to me the next afternoon at the end of the workday. 

She was either half Maine Coon, half Angora, or full blooded Angora, which is in the Maine Coon ancestry. She weighed about ten pounds. She lived fourteen years, but kidney issues finally got her.

She was the beginning of the cat reign at the Hill House. But she was not the end. 

In photos they look alike. But Eli is twice her size, and a full blooded Maine Coon. However; the resemblance is obvious.

Cats.

Wish I had room for more.

But don't get any ideas.

Check, please

Boy, time flies when you are busy. 

Mother surgery: check. 

Other Brother surgery: check. 

Forty-leven doctor appointments: check. 

Dog/Cat Vet visits, including dog surgery: check. 

Trying to recover from each trip made regarding the above: check.

Mourning the death of cousin: in progress.

Blog written: check.

Okay, sorta.