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.

Some of you know I had a birthday last week. It was raining hard, all day.

I remember my sixth birthday, when it rained hard all day. But believe it or not, I was thrilled.

My next door neighbor, Vicki, gave me a child size umbrella as a birthday gift. It was dark green and red plaid, and I was able to put it to immediate use. I ran outside with it and let it rain all around me.

I remember my tenth birthday because I got to have a party. I remember helping clean the house. We had pin the tail on the donkey and Bullwinkle ring toss. It was a very special day for me.

And my sixteenth must have been on a Wednesday or a Sunday, because my mother wasn't at work, and she fixed my favorite meal for supper and let me invite my boyfriend to eat with us.

I remember getting upset on my twenty-first birthday because I was really, truly an adult. It made me sad.

On my twenty-seventh birthday I got to see the Monkees (well, all but Mike) in a small club somewhere in the metro area. I was thrilled.

On my twenty-eighth birthday I was eating in a restaurant with another couple. I had only just met them, but they were very nice. He excused himself to the restroom, and in a few minutes all the guys from the bar came to the table and sang a loud, off key, somewhat drunken rendition of the Happy Birthday song to me.

I understand some of the other patrons complained.

No joke.

I coulda crawled under the table.

My fortieth birthday is well remembered because Brother of Many Surgeries and Other Brother did a "lordy, lordy Kathi's 40" in the paper with the worst childhood photo they could find. You know what I'm talking about; frizzy hair from a perm gone bad, big teeth that you could drive a Volkswagon between, that kind of photo.

You know you have at least one.

Oddly enough, I don't remember the big 5-0. Or much about any of the ones in between the ones I have talked about.

At least I remember this last one.

For now.

It Gets Worse Every Time

It was that time again.

Time to get my driver license renewed. 

Oh, how I dreaded it.

This time, I had to prove I ain't one of them illegal aliens that has everbodys britches in a wad.

I've only had my driver's license since 1971, so I can understand the government's suspicion.

So I took a week and managed to find all the documentation required. 

(Do you get the feeling I am slightly irritated about this? You are wrong. I am VERY irritated about this.)

So I  haul my suspicious looking rear end up there and wait in line. And wait in line some more.

Then I have to show all my precious documentation and answer questions like, "Are you a twin?"

Then, of course the worst comes. They take my photograph.

Which has not been changed on my driver's license for seventeen years.

The last time my picture was struck at the DMV, Daughter was a little kid.

At that time their building was the size of a wide hall. Everyone was crammed in there like sardines. When it finally came my turn, the state patrol had noticed Daughter was curious, so she said, "Come around here and you can watch me take your mama's picture."

When the photo was snapped, Daughter shook her head and said, "Oh, Mama, you're not gonna like this."

Everyone in there burst into laughter.

But this one?

I look like a vanilla Moon pie with yeller hair.

UGH.

NEW WEIGHT LOSS DISCOVERY!

Believe it or not, I weighed twelve pounds less this morning that I did yesterday morning.

I am willing to let  you in on  this secret for only one buck a weigh.

Of course, you must weigh on my digital scale, and no other for the weigh in.

Weigh were you usually do, then come on over and weigh on my scales. I guarantee you will weigh less.

What better bargain could this be? You can send a video or a photograph to your doctor or your weight watchers group instead of going back. 

They'll be amazed! 

Recommend this to your friends - remember, only ONE dollar for this amazing weight loss.

*Offer good only until battery is replaced in scales

May It Never Happen!

Some writers are plagued with a thing called writer's block.

This occurs when one is trying to complete a task (novel, speech, etc.) and suddenly one is blank as a shot shell.

Nothing comes to mind. Nada.

I hear the writer begins to sweat, tries to force creativity, and often cleans the bathroom.

                                 May it never happen to me.