Of Birthdays and Snowfall

Last week I had a birthday. And it snowed all day on my birthday, too.

Now, if you don't know me, you don't understand what a big deal this is. I have a friend who says my love for snow is an affliction.
I was waxing poetic about past snows and Husband called me a "snow savant".

The next day it snowed a lot, we got five inches at my house. People were sending me messages like crazy about how I got my birthday wish.

I told them most my birthday wishes were granted. 1. Snow 2. A fire in the fireplace all day 3. Maxwell House coffee instead of the organic mess Husband makes and 4. A million dollars.

Still waiting on that last one.

But it was a good day anyway.

I remember many things about special snow times. My daddy dragging me out of my warm bed and carrying me to the door, pulling back the curtain and showing me a winter wonderland. I couldn't have been more than 3 at the time.

My grandmother calling me early morning every time it snowed to tell me, and to hurry and come on so we could make snow cream. I think of her every single snow.

Trying to get up the hill  to my friend's house to play in the snow and not able to get enough traction to do so.

Snowball fights and many, many snowmen. I remember we had a huge snow when I was fifteen or sixteen. All the neighborhood teen boys and young men got together and built a giant snowman in the churchyard. It was as tall as the second story windows. As you can imagine, it made the paper.

The love of snow never left me growing up, even though it was scarier sometimes. After Husband and I built this house, getting home before it was too late was of  utmost importance. Sometimes we  made it "too late" and had to do all sorts of things to get to our house. The road getting here is straight up. He would gun the car and we would careen up the mountain, praying no one would decide to come down it.  Most the time we made it - after the second or third try.

Of course, the biggest snow I ever encountered was the blizzard of '93. Since there had never been a recorded blizzard in the North Georgia Mountains, it's no wonder.

Daughter was not three years old yet, and she was sick on top of that. But the doctor had said he'd heard a really bad storm was coming up, she he gave her an antibiotic shot, and we rushed to the drugstore to get the medications fill. It was snowing by that time. 

The middle of the night winds were harrowing. It snowed so hard we couldn't see past the windows. I'd never experienced thunder and lightning during a snowstorm, either.

By morning our electricity was history and it dropped to fifty degrees inside our house quickly. At that time our house was all electric (that got remedied shortly afterwards!) It dropped down to below freezing in the house before our power was restored.

Thank God, our neighbors, who visited occasionally from Florida, were here. They called and asked did we have heat. They had a wood burning furnace in their basement and told us to get there as soon as we could. 

There are a lot of God stories about the blizzard, and one involves a snowsuit and snow boots we were able to dress Daughter in. A three minute walk took twenty as we struggled against the snow and howling wind. Our two boxers went ahead of us, sort of plowing a path for us.

We stayed at their house five days, virtual strangers. And we had a sick toddler. Bless 'em.

Finally, my brother's four wheel drive was able to get us to Mother's where we stayed until our electricity was restored, some days later. 

I think we had either 24 or 27 inches of snow. I remember the day after it was ten degrees, but the wind had stilled. The storm was over!

For some years we had very little snow, then in 2014 we had many. 
Last winter was a bummer, with one or two very light dustings and one scary icy morning.

For those of  you who aren't fans of snow, I guess that was good, but for me, not so much.

Birthdays that stand out: My sixth. It was raining and my next door neighbor got me a child's size umbrella, which I'd never seen before. My seventh. I was in first grade and my teacher's birthday was the same as mine, so Mother brought cupcakes to the class. My ninth. Mother let me have a real party and I cleaned like crazy. I remember we played pin the tail on the donkey, and ring toss on Bullwinkle's antlers. My sixteenth. Mother cooked whatever I wanted and let me invite my boyfriend for supper. My twenty-first. I cried because I was now officially an adult. My 27th because I got to see the Monkees in concert - well, Mickey, Davey, Peter and Mickey's sister. Close enough. My 40th. My then sister-in-law went to a huge amount of trouble and put together an elaborate album of my life. And this year, because it was just a few days ago. Ha!

Don't remember  many years when snow and birthdays collided, but I'm always grateful when they do!
                                                         

When Life Ain't Funny

I haven't blogged because I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. If you put something down on paper, it makes it more real, and I have not wanted more real.

But everyone needs the rest of the story, I guess.

If you haven't read the previous blog, "The Funeral that didn't Happen", scroll and read it before you read this one. It's all true, every last word.

On the evening of day six, November 8, of Frost's recovery, he started sneezing. 

The next morning you could hear a whistling noise in his nose; he was stuffed up.  He had gotten sick like this the year before, as had one of our other cats.

I felt ice around my heart – they had both been very, very sick, but because of being in excellent health otherwise, had pulled through.

Frost had not been in excellent health this year. He had lost more than half his body weight.

We took him to the vet who gave him a vitamin shot and some fluid. He was having a hard time eating dry food, so we fed him wet food with gravy, which he loved.

He held his own, but couldn’t seem to get well again. He slept a lot, mostly wanting in Husband’s lap. He’d come downstairs with us in the morning and go up at night to sleep between Husband and me.

But he kept getting weaker, sleeping more. Then one night, instead of trying to jump on the bed, he got in the dog crate with the dog. Bonnie looked nervous at first, as this had never, ever happened with any cat, but I guess Frost needed the body heat, and Bonnie acquiesced.

He wasn’t in pain, just getting weaker, so we decided to take care of him and let nature take its course.

On December 5, almost a month after his miraculous healing, Frost died. 

Not from the horrible diagnosis, but from something more like the common cold.

Frost Ambush Hill was almost thirteen years old.

We buried him with all our other pets who have come and gone during the years. We made sure The Great White Hunter had his frog tucked beside him.

We cried. I'm crying right now as I write this.

No  more racing to get in the coat closest every time the door was opened.

No more jumping on the bed just before the fitted sheet was put on, so he could growl and threaten.

No more rushing to make sure another cat was okay if he heard a yowl from a stepped on tail.

No more jumping on the sink waiting for a drink from the faucet.

No more standing on the sewing machine, using his paw to separate the blinds so he could watch Husband walk the dog, crying piteously the whole time.

No more hearing that "Brrrt, Brrrrt," noise as he laid the frog at our feet or put it at the front door, so Husband could brag on him when Husband came from outside.

No more rescuing the frog from water dishes, wringing him out to dry on the window sill.

No  more sneaking sweet photos of Frost asleep on or by Husband, content.

No more.

I am still sad, Daughter is incredibly sad, and know I’m pretty clueless about how much Husband misses his buddy, because he keeps it to himself, mostly.

But there's something positive here, too. When Frost got so incredibly ill, and he was in such pain, it was like a nightmare. We couldn't bear it, and when we thought they were coming to put him down, I can't describe how wrong it all felt. But this time, his time, it was a peaceful thing. He was with us, he wasn't in pain. He just slowly shut down, on his own time, still eating till the day before he died. Still in Husband's lap - up until just a few minutes before he died, when we let him stretch out on his blanket to be more comfortable.

What a blessing it was to keep him for almost a month, to care for him, to love him, to cuddle with him. To make him happy in any way we could. 

I'm thankful for that.

If you are not an animal person you may say we need to get over it.

Just a cat, you say?

Well, you obviously never met Frost.

 

 

 

 

See  you soon, buddy. Don't forget to greet me with the frog.

2019

Kathi looks back at the year 2019. Has to lie down.

WHEW!

I'll say one thing for last year, it was different.

In February I suddenly couldn't walk. That is a very scary thing, please don't try it.  I was in a wheel chair for more than four months. Thanks to aquatic physical therapy and major medications, I was able to start walking again without surgery.

But when I was slap dab in the middle of physical therapy I got sick. Sick like I ain't never been sick before. I had blood sepsis, the e-coli kind and like ta died. After being in the hospital for six days, I got to go home.

It was a month before I was able to restart physical therapy, and some of the pain has never left me. 

Daughter totaled her car in a horrific wreck that pretty much left her unscathed. She'd been out of debt for two weeks. Hello, car payments.

Our beloved Frost died. We are still grieving.

Christmas was different.  Other Brother and his son had the "real" flu, and his son's children had a stomach bug that was nasty, which they lovingly gave to their mother so she could puke all Christmas Eve night.

We visited one another (some of us) separately and from a distance. 

Now Daughter and Husband are sick - sore throats, congestion, lethargy. And I have become an elderberry syrup-aholic.

The good: During my physical disruption and illness and afterward, I was shown so much love. I shiver to think about it. Of course, Husband and Daughter were champs and took care of me like they thought I was irreplaceable. So many friends brought me good stuff, food for me and my family, presents I love, and their companionship, which was the best. I know I can't repay them, but I hope they know how much I love them.

Daughter wasn't hurt in that wreck, other than a slightly sore neck and fear of driving in that curve again. Her neck is healed, and she's driving that curve a little braver every day.

After our cat was given the death sentence but recovered, we were able to have another month with him before he succumbed to another illness. That month was filled with warmth and love.

Christmas Eve was met with Daughter and I cooking a big dinner for us and Boyfriend. The works: baked chicken and dressing, sweet potato casserole, green onions, cucumbers, radishes, yeast rolls, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and green beans.

The can of green beans was the very last jar from the very last canning Mother and I did together. It will be our last canning, and we both know it. Made me feel very sad. She's had to give up most of what was her outside life - pound cakes that everyone begged for, the best fried chicken and hush puppies on the planet, making the dressing instead of Daughter and me making it, canning. Notice how all this revolves around food? She still wants you to eat if you come to the house, even if she can't cook it anymore.

What do I hope for this  new year?  No more wheel chair, ever. Better health, less pain. A connected, loving family. No tragedies. 

I guess the same thing everyone else wishes for.

Happy New Year to you all.

The Funeral (That Didn't Happen)

Well, this was certainly not the blog I thought I'd write.

As many of you know, our cat, Frost, became very sick a few weeks ago. This is Husband's cat, the one who worships the ground Husband walks on. Frost is a twelve year old, white American short hair who has been fat, fat, fat. He should weigh around eleven pounds and had got up to at least seventeen pounds. Which is bad. 
But now, turns out, it was good.

When Husband took Frost to the vet about five weeks ago, he had lost two pounds. Husband failed to mention this at the time, or I would have had alarm bells going off in my  head.

Husband had purchased some different flavored cat food because Frost has to have special kinds due to urinary tract issues. He loved it. For the first several days, he was eating that stuff up.
Then I noticed a lot of it was still in his bowl. He continued "stealing" the regular cat food if he got a chance, and licked the wet food can I let him have, so I just figured he didn't like it as much as he thought.

There was a little bit of the old left, so I filled his bowl with that. And that amount didn't seem to go down much either. (Eli "helps" eat it.)

I also noticed he was throwing up more than a cat usually does. So, I had Daughter weigh him. He'd lost two more pounds. 

I told Husband he had to take him to the vet when Frost refused to eat any wet food or Purina forbidden Cat Chow.

Of course, Frost being the Tasmanian devil he is, would not let the vet near him. She called me and wanted to try an antibiotic shot first to see if it would clear up a possible U.T.I. but if he wasn't better by Monday to bring him back and they would sedate him so they could examine him and draw blood.

By Monday, he was worse. 

The vet sedated him, started IV fluids and antibiotics. The blood and urine samples showed jaundice. After an x-ray to rule out a mass, it was determined something very serious was going on with his pancreas and liver. They kept him a few days and his kidney function got worse, even on fluids. The vet said this is it. You need to put him down. I told him we wanted to bring him home for a day or so to say good-bye. You see, Frost was a rescue from a kill shelter. He  felt abandoned, and any time we've  had to leave him at the vets, he's been ecstatic to come home, loving on us, meowing, running to his toys, his food bowl, etc. I think he was always afraid he was going to be left again. I was NOT going to  let him die there, never coming home again.  The vet warned me to wait no later than Friday. He didn't say it, but he meant don't let this cat suffer any longer. 

I got the message.

So, Wednesday afternoon we picked him up. He'd lost so much weight, he was lighter than Mimi, our "little" cat. He'd lost six pounds. He was docile. On Thursday, he was weaker. Though he was still drinking water, he gagged if you put food in front of him. 

All he wanted to do was sit in David's lap. That's his favorite place.

Come yesterday, his little eyes were sunk in his head, the right one almost closed. He stayed crouched. We knew the time had come. 

We found a vet who graciously agreed to come to the house at 5:15 to put him down, as Daughter wanted to be here, too.

David went to dig the grave. Frost would be with Sam, Buster, Belle, Molly, Angel, Lily, Aussie and Perry.

I was scraping a plate to gather crumbs of wet cat food that Eli had left, so Bonnie could get a small taste. Frost came running. 

And he began to eat those crumbs. I stood there a moment, stunned. Then I sprang into action and opened a fresh can of cat food and sat it down. He ate six or seven bites. I started praising Jesus and ran to the front door and hollered at Husband, "Your cat is eating!"

I called the vet. When I told the  young receptionist, she said, "No way!  I'm gonna get Dr. Josh!"

In a very few seconds he came on the line, "Well, I guess miracles are still happening!"

I repeated everything to him, ending with, "I suppose we don't need to have him put down this afternoon."

"I would think not! He will probably fully recover now. We'll just chalk it up to, to, uh -"

"The good Lord?"

"Yeah!"

I called the other vet, cancelled the death appointment, then called Daughter at work. She said, "Praise the Lord!" and cried.

I cried too.

This morning Frost is bright eyed, making his "brrrrt, brrrrt," noise with that wily frog in his mouth, the Great White Hunter again.
I am so thankful to my Heavenly Father. I know Frost is "just a cat", but God made cats, too.  

Now, if we can keep old Frost from becoming old fat Frost....but at this moment, who cares.

Adventures on the High Seas

Okay, maybe not the high seas, but how about a high mountain? 

A few days ago I was the guest author at a book club. All these ladies, save one, drove what my granny would have called "a fer piece" to get there. 

You see, one of their members moved here a few years ago. I spoke at an event, she heard me, bought a book or two and loaned one of those books to the president of the book club she had belonged to when she lived south of Atlanta. 

Madam President like the book, suggested to the book club I might be a good candidate to speak at their book club, and they all agreed. Plus, they could come to their friend's house that sets on the river, eat some good food, buy some apples, and have a jolly good time. 

I was honored and happily agreed. Since I haven't been released by the doctor to drive yet, Husband had the honors of driving. Luckily, the hostess had a husband and the men folk entertained each other during lunch.

Let me back up a little. There was a car load of folks and I believe a van load. The van followed the car. Well, they were supposed to. The trip is already two and a half hours. The van full of women looked up around Ringgold and figured something might be a little wrong. Well, yes. There certainly was. 

Someone finally answered their cell phone and our hostess told them to exit in Ringgold, go to Dalton and come to Ellijay that way. Her husband would meet them at the Dairy Queen - after waiting forever at CVS, hauling the first load of women in, and taking back off to wait some more.

When the ladies finally  arrived, they explained how they  missed the turn to  Hwy. # 575. A. They were talking and didn't see their friends exit. B. They were talking and didn't like the GPS voice interrupting, so they turned it off. C. They were talking and forgot to turn their cell phones on. 

Did I mention when all these ladies got out of the car, they were all blondes, down to the last hair?

Anyway, we had a great time, I sold a bunch of books and we laughed like crazy. 

Thank you, ladies.

Blondes, unite!

All in the Fall

Husband has been working hard in the yard planting Iris, Day Lily, Daffodil and Hyacinth bulbs for spring. 

Of course, the planting was the easy part. First, we had to have more dirt hauled in. Then rich dirt mixed in with the good old red Georgia clay that won't grow squat. After that, holes dug. The easy part has been the actual planting of the bulbs.

Frankly, I'm exhausted by all the supervision.

Fall is finally in the air. our dogwoods are beginning to turn. I was afraid all the leaves were going to just fall off. Now if we can get a few days of good, steady rain, the leaves will be wonderfully colored.

I changed sheets on the bed yesterday, and this time Husband wanted flannel put on. He's in the mood for some cold weather.

The Apple Festival is in town, so we hear. We have enough sense not to find out for ourselves. I just hope there's parking for church tomorrow.

Dawgs lost. And from what my exploding Facebook page says, they handed the other team the win.

Husband listened to the game while  he planted bulbs. I hope they don't grow straight down and sideways because  he got excited and/or disgusted.

Did you see where Denver went from 83 degrees to 19 degrees in 24 hours and got a foot of snow? Mother Nature is really wacky. I want cooler weather, and you know I want snow soon, but not in a fast forward motion. Those folks must have been freezing to death! We need a smooth transition for some snow. Say, in six weeks. Yeah. 

Speaking of snow, it's almost as delicate to discuss with people as politics. Some hate snow, some love it. One has to be careful about enthusiasm or one will get conked on the head. 

One of my friends says I have a "snow affliction". I guess I do. 

Better than some afflictions, I reckon.

Thanks for reading!  

Getting back on the Bicycle

Last Friday, a bright, hot October afternoon, I finished one million trips to physical therapy.

Okay, maybe it wasn't really one million, but close.

It helped a lot, I ain't complaining. I'm not back as "good" as I was, but my brain is functioning better as much of the pain has gone away.

Now, if I can start driving again, Husband will be as happy as I. It's really cramped my style, not driving. And I know he's sick and tired of being my driver. I haven't driven since the first of February.

Little by little, he's regained some of his own freedom, which has caused a bit of anxiety with each step. Not walking me all the way to the pool for physical therapy, but rather staying in the waiting room was scary at first. What if I fell? But I did not.

Staying out of the bathroom while I get in and out of the shower. What if I fell? But I have not.

It's sort of like letting your toddler go for the first time. Except they are more confident that I am.

I'm back with some of my activities, including church. Routine has become more, well, routine again. 

I've thought of hundreds of topics to blog about, but wrote none of them down. I will start jotting down notes again.

I'm going to be the guest author next week at a book club, and the next week a reader at a school's family night.  I started back writing on the novel I was working on before all heck broke loose. 

So, there is life after a herniated disc + blood sepsis + reaction to antibiotics.

If you are having a rough time right now, hang in there. I may have "missed" spring, but it looks like I may get to enjoy fall.

A new season always brings hope, no?