It Takes a Village

I just ate supper. I am full as a tick that just fell off a hound dog. (Look a lot like one, too, swole up and all. I really need to lose a dozen pounds, and I'm willing to share them if you want 'em. I'll even deliver (which is what I look like I'm about to do).)

I needed a bracket to put outside my two parentheses up there, but there ain't no brackets on the keyboard!

I digress. Scampers back up off the rabbit trail and gets back on the main road.

I prepared part of this food - but let me tell you about the rest. I was on the phone with my bestest friend (yes, she is taller, blonder and can sing AND play the piano, outshining me at every turn, but hey, I love her anyway). We were planning a play date, because school is finally out. She is still hanging on, not retired yet, but I have everything crossed but my wires that this upcoming school year will be her last so we can play more often.

Anyway, we started talking about food right outta the gate because she was grilling zucchini and squash. Then she told me about a salad she was marinating, and by the time she finished, I was drooling into my ears (I was lying down, resting my stupid back).

Since Husband was doing a grocery run in a few, she insisted he come by and she'd send me some of both.

Then Mother called and had a big old dutch oven full of baked beans, and gave instructions for Husband to pick some up.

So, he came back from the grocery store laden with not only the regular fair, but real food ready to eat.

I added to it, we ate like pigs, and the rest is history, so to speak.

We Southern women show our love often times through feeding those we love.

Today, I was shown a lot of love.

I am thankful for this love - I have shown it myself from time to time.

You make sure your baby is well fed. A man's heart is through his stomach. Romantic dinners, breakfasts served in bed.

The list goes on and on.

Now, can someone please help pull me out of this chair so I can waddle into the kitchen for clean up duty?

Another Year Flies By

Today is Daughter's twenty-fourth birthday.

Wow.

She has received texts, facebook wishes, cards, a letter (from me), and a visitor already.

She must be pretty special, huh.

She was a beautiful baby on her first birthday celebration at age one:

and doesn't look too shabby now:

Happy birthday to my one and only chick.

I love you more than life itself.

Your Momma

I'm Not Okay, You're Not Okay

I am so tired, I am so fed up of all this political correctness garbage.

I don't mind debating with anyone, I don't mind if you come to me truly interested in what I believe.

I mind it a lot when you just want to pick a fight with me. About what I believe, no less.

Why do you care that what I believe isn't what you believe? I never shove any of my beliefs down anyone's throat.

I don't even talk about my beliefs enough, probably.

But I do try to live my beliefs.

Why in the world would this offend anyone?

On the other hand, I'm supposed to smile and think no matter what you are saying, doing, marching about, etc. is not only okay, but absolutely wonderful.

As someone has said so well: You have become so open minded your brains have fallen out.

I should respect you, while you should sneer, spew and disrespect me like it's your job.

This whole world is groaning, the animals are suffering and people are suffering and dying. Every second of every day. Because people want what they want, how they want it, when they want it.

My job on this earth is to live my beliefs. That involves loving a lot of people. And get this: loving them even if I disagree with them.

What a concept!

I wish people would be as "tolerant" of me as they demand me be of them.

Like I said, I'm tired of it.

Don't come looking for a fight anymore.

Because this time: You may just get what you asked for.

Company's A'Comin'!

Yesterday, we peopled our house.

This is a fancy way of saying we had company. Husband used to watch "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" and some rich old coot said "I love to people my house."

Now, I don't reckon I'm a rich old coot, at least I know I ain't rich and I don't think I'm old enough (yet) to be called old, and I think coots are always male, aren't they? Anyway, it's obvious I don't know the correct definition of 'coot', so let's move on.

There is something nice about the anticipation of company coming. The hustle and bustle, the food preparation, the making sure there's enough clean forks and that the glasses don't have spots on them. 

And: my house is really clean. It was so nice this morning to walk through my clean house and just sigh contentedly.

I know it won't stay that way for long. Probably as I sit here nastiness is creeping around the corners, filling up the corners and counters. Oh, well. That's life, as they say.

For another, it's nice to see your house through other people's eyes. I don't mean seeing that the bedroom needs painting, or the smudge you missed on the kitchen floor (which needs replacing, by the way).

No, I mean how they smile at your whimsical stuff, admire the fire laid ready to light come fall, things like that.

I like how everyone gathers in the kitchen, and everyone is talking at the same time, and when they fill their plates they tell you how good it is. 

I like the laughter, the genuine merriment that comes from people who are friends and love one another.


And most of all? I like it that we can pray together, for one another, and mean it.

Do I hear an Amen?

Every Year, Like Clock Work

There are some things, that when they happen, are forever etched in one's minds eye. You  may not remember what  happened just before, or even just after. But you never forget that moment.

One of those moments came for me on June 8, 1990 at 6:00 p.m. I was just finishing up in the kitchen when the phone rang. 

It was the director of the adoption agency telling me that "a little baby girl  had been born last night". She didn't have to say anything else. Because I knew, with every fiber of my being, I had just become a mama. 

Oh, there had been inquires before, phone calls asking for information about us, etc. They all seemed exciting, but not real. 

This? This was real.

I remember walking out to the front porch where Husband was sitting on the steps with our Boxers. I told him about the phone call. He turned and looked at me, eyes wide, and said, "This is it, isn't it?"

Yes, yes this was 'it'.

Daughter had been born just before midnight, and we worked, so the agency had waited until we got home to call. I guess she figured it only fair we know at the same time.

Well, any of you out there that is a parent, knows your life changes in that instant, and never changes back.

We don't know what we're getting into. But we do know, once we are into it, there's no going back. There's nothing to compare it to, no fear, no joy, no frustration, no fierce love like it.

I guess that's the way God feels about us.

Happy Birthday, Daughter: I love you more than life.

There's a New Cat in Town

2/15/09

My mother showed me a picture in the paper last week of a cat at the local shelter in need of a home. Now, I had no intention of getting a cat until our cat, Angel, passed away. She’s fourteen years old, has a heart murmur, deaf for the last two of those years. She’s had seizures for the past five years, and has been in kidney failure for four years. In fact, after the kidney failure diagnosis, the vet told us she wouldn’t make it past a year, six months, really, if we were lucky. But we don’t believe in luck, we believe in love, and she’s still with us. Obviously, she takes a lot of care, and a new cat might well traumatize her. So it never entered my mind.

Until I saw the picture.

I decided that when I got my turn at the paper (usually a week later, when my mother is done with it), I’d call. If the cat was still available, we’d visit. He was. We did. The rest is history.

Angel was in no way upset over the new arrival. The new cat jumped up on the bed and they wiggled noses at each other. Angel mostly shrugged. He bowed up, eyes widened in terror, and fled. Such a drama king.

Frost is two years old, she’s fourteen. He’s a sturdy eleven pounds, she, a dainty six. He is an agile, jumping, soaring, crouching, hunting cougar. She is a hobbling, arthritic elder who had rather sleep than anything. He is long, slinky and limber. She is short, cobby and stiff. He leaps at every sound. Her world is silent. He has round eyes that begin as dark green and end in pale yellow. Her eyes are almond shaped and golden. His hair is short and sleek, hers, long and silky. Yet, if you catch sight of one of them out of the corner of your eye, you might not know which cat you see. They are both blindingly, solid white. Pink eared, pink nosed, with pink pads on the bottom of their feet.

After two days, they both sleep in our bed, Angel at my shoulder blade, Frost at my thigh. She is curled into a ball, paw over face. He is stretched as far as he is able, feet in the air, belly exposed, head back.

Molly, the dog, is very entertained by the new pet. She is eager to be friends, and though Frost feigns fear, he tears after Molly if she stops paying attention. Molly watches him with cocked head and wagging rear when he is chasing imaginary things or playing with string. Molly has no animosity, only curiosity.

So, it looks like all our worry over adjustment is for naught. It’s taken less than two days for Frost to settle in and make himself at home.

I’m happy for the most part. It’s made me well up with tears to realize how little Angel does anymore. I’d forgotten, in her geriatric state, how she used to be, and Frost reminds me of her past life. Angel is slowly disappearing into herself and soon she’ll be gone. I dread her passing. I love her so much! But fourteen and ill doesn’t bode well for a long future. The vet is amazed she’s still alive, that she can still jump on the bed (although if a person is available she meows and we lift her up). Love has triumphed.

And love will help us say good-bye.

But for now, we’re a family with two cats. And I’ll be satisfied for that state to remain for a while.

Frost: Icy, beautiful, majestic.

Angel: Sent from God when we needed her most.

Family: All of us, for now.

Angel passed away two months after this writing.