Why I'm Comparing CATS To People, I Have No Idea, But...

I am watching an old cat play with nothing more than a corner of a rug and stray particles of dust dancing in the sunshine. He complains loudly every now and then about his empty food bowl only to return to the task at hand: chasing things that aren't there and cleaning his paws like there's no tomorrow. He's had somewhat of a stressful life (though the husband would say the cat's got it made) and he doesn't get too excited about too much anymore. Every so often, however, you see a spark of what that cat use to be and let me tell you, it brings a glimmer of joy to my heart. Even now he his performing his trademark acrobatic trick to conquer the  feet of the middle as he walks by. Pure bliss.

I think I've pondered before the attitude of a cat. Sure they're moody for the most part and leave no doubt as to who they think is in charge, but their needs are relatively few and once they're satisfied, they really don't complain a whole lot. They prefer the solitude of a window sill to a rowdy group on a street corner (and I have no idea where that comparison came from). At any rate, they are much more relaxing to be around than most people I know.

Oops. I should probably rephrase that. I love being around the people I know.

Just not the ones who complain every Sunday morning that there is not one decent church left on the planet. Really? Or the married ones who drool publicly at every half-dressed member of the opposite sex that crosses their path. Come on, now. That's just tacky and insulting to your supposedly better half. If you must, drool in private at the very least.

Okay, okay. I'll stop with that. This could get ugly quick if it hasn't crossed that line already. Besides, I've got to get ready for my own church service which I happen to love even if it (or the people in it) are nowhere near as perfect as heaven will be...  imagine that. Meanwhile, there's a pair of big, green eyes boring into me, sending me a silent and yet forceful message:

Fill my food bowl and I'll be your friend for life.

I love that old cat.

Distractions of a Cedar Chest

Do you ever spend most of the day cleaning only to look around and see that nothing is actually... well, clean ? That has been my day and it has by no means been a lazy day, but good grief. I might as well have spent the day on the couch doing nothing.

I woke up at eight.
Had two cups of coffee.
Spent close to an hour online with my mom.

Made a late breakfast or an early lunch, depending on your point of view.
Started laundry. Changed sheets. Cleared the floor of clothes and shoes.

Let the daughter dive into the cedar chest.

And that's where things got a little out of whack. You see, that cedar chest is full of treasures. Baby blankets. Baby pictures. Baby dresses. Dolls. Cabbage Patch Kids. My first pair of glasses, circa 1978.

We looked at pictures from my basic training, the husband's basic training, and our early years together. I pointed out that in both group pictures from my basic and technical training, I am standing by the very girl my husband-to-be dated in his high school years and was very much infatuated with. This little known fact came to light one day when he drove to my base to pick me up for a date. I let him in my room, finished doing whatever I was doing, and turned around to see a rather pale-looking face holding a framed picture and looking at me in disbelief. He asked me how well I knew the girl I was standing next to in the photo. Rather well, was my reply. He shook his head in disbelief and we moved on in life. To this day, we still laugh about that moment and wonder at the odds of such a thing happening. Considering we grew up a thousand miles from each other, joined two different branches of the military, and trained on two separate coasts... I'd say the odds are pretty slim.

So that little story, though retold many times before, was at least one distraction of the day.

We found a pair of crocheted baby shoes that belonged to the husband. A crocheted baby hat and sweater that came from a great-uncle. A crocheted stocking cap that was made by a grandma. Crocheted blankets. Quilted blankets. Embroidered blankets. School pictures. Report cards. Lots of construction paper artwork.

And still not a wedding album to be found.

I finally had to walk away, leave the memory feast to the daughter, and carry on with the laundry. I've yet to vacuum. We did manage to squeeze in the mandatory grocery run and hit up Sonic for happy hour. A strawberry limeade and sunny weather make a Saturday a little more complete.

Even if the housework is not.

On Quilt Blocks, Hamburger Helper, & Things I Can't Find

Today was a no-school day for the kids and the daughter spent part of her afternoon laying out quilt blocks she has been embroidering. Her cat was in the midst of it all as she carefully placed block by block on the floor, sighing every now and then. As I watched her, I thought about my own quilt blocks that I have been working on forever and dusted off the bag they have been hiding in. She suggested that we work together to finish hers first and then work on mine. I know it sounds like a perfect mother-daughter-kind-of-thing to do, but I respectfully declined her request. My reason? My stitches are nowhere near as perfect and straight as hers. Believe me, she would be regretting her decision the first time she'd have to rip my work out and start again. Look at it as a way to keep the peace.

Discussing quilts got us discussing our grandma which got us pulling out and talking about all the quilts she made us. In turn, that led to us digging around in the attic looking for other things which led to the squeals and delight of finding a favorite baby doll and dressed-up Barbies still in their box. By the time we wrapped things up so I could start supper, the couch was covered with quilts and such, and her bed was hidden beneath handmade doll clothes and passed-down jewelry. Now that supper is finished and the kitchen is clean (that would be the Hamburger Helper part), I suppose it's time for me to clean off the couch. I gotta have somewhere to sit... and maybe, just maybe, complete a stitch or two.

As for things I can't find?

A Quilt. Don't panic. I know it's tucked away safely somewhere.
Besides, I only have so many places to stash stuff around here.

A Box of Baseball Cards. Not a big deal to me, but a very big deal to the husband.
This is the current Great Mystery within the household.

And it seems like there was one other thing, but (of course) I can't remember it.

Except that wedding album... I still can't find that wedding album.

I'm betting it's all in the same place.

What If It Was You On That Corner? What If It Were Me?

I woke up dreaming about football.

I seriously have no idea what is wrong with me.

Maybe it's hormonal.
Maybe it's lack of anything to look forward to.
Maybe I'm just weird like that.

And yes, the last option, well... maybe the first one, too... is most likely the correct choice. To say I have nothing to look forward to would be to say there is nothing going on in my life and that would be a lie. Today, for example, I have little smokies and meatballs and hopefully some chicken wings to look forward to. Tomorrow, I have a half-a-day of work to look forward to. Next week, I'll have a paycheck to look forward to. Next month, we've got a Can't Wait To See How The Lord's Gonna Pull This One Off moment to look forward to.

There's plenty going on. Plenty to look forward to. Plenty to pray about.

We are in The Land of Plenty.

Anyway.

Yesterday I took the youngest out so she could spend her hard-earned babysitting money. At one particular stoplight, we noticed a ragged-looking old man walking from car to car as he held up his cardboard sign for the passerby's to see. On our way out of the shopping center, we were waiting in the same intersection for the light to change. He was on our side, a sight we see far too often.

Different person. Different crossing. Same sign.

I was pretty sure I had a dollar and as it turned out, there was two. Rolling down the window, I handed it to my daughter who in turn handed it to him. He smiled with stained, crooked teeth while thanking and blessing us profusely. The light changed and he stepped back to wait for the next line of cars.

The girl and I talked about that man as we drove away. How do you know he'll use the money he gets for food? You don't. Simple as that. The husband will often recall the time he was at a convenience store picking up trash and dug deep into his pockets to give a man (who asked) his last $1.47 only to see the guy walk straight into the store to purchase a single can of beer. The time was eight in the morning. He, the husband, was so mad that he stopped the guy as stepped outside and popped the top. I won't repeat here the exchange of words.

So the only thing I could say to my girl was this,

But for the grace of God, that is not us on the corner.

Not your dad, hoping to bring something home. Not me, wondering what we'll do tomorrow. Not you kids, looking for a place to sleep. What that man does with any money he collects is between him and the Lord. Period.

He was on my mind, though, when I crawled into bed last night. I don't know why his face stayed with me. In our area, you see the homeless all the time. Under the bridges, pushing their carts, lined up by The Salvation Army. It's a sight so common, it's easy to grow immune to it, but that guy... that old man with the stained, crooked teeth smiling and thanking and blessing us profusely... he's a sight I won't soon forget.

I wonder what the Lord's got in mind now.

I'm not where I want to be, but I'm not where I was...  He's still working on me.

Thank You For The Reminder

In case you've ever wonder if you make a difference;

If you mean anything to anybody at all...



Consider the following facebook post written by my daughter and marvel along with me at the lasting impact of a grandmother to her great-granddaughter.

It's hard to believe that it has already been five years. I can still hear you say to people "That's my girl." You don't know how much I miss hearing that. You were a best friend to me, & like a second mother. You taught me so much--how to cook, sew, garden, what those weird little black lines on fish were... (veins...who woulda thought....) & especially, about God. I remember sitting by your chair as you read from the Bible. In the morning we would wake up at 4:30 & head to the kitchen and listen to KS-95 then go walk. I didn't cry at your funeral; I just couldn't. We'd had some of the greatest times together & I didn't want them masked by sorrow. I share some of the greatest memories with you. I miss & love you, Gramma Faye.

And to that, I have nothing more to add.

Except,

If you have the time, take a moment, read this entry from the past, and remember with me.



And please, go hug your grandma.

Things I Keep Inside

There are times I write because I need to and if you're not a writer, then you won't understand that. You may run because you need to; or shop because you need to; or eat that pan of brownies because you need to... okay, so we can all fall into more than one category on that one. Running? Not guilty. Everything else? Yes, yes, and yes. At any rate, there are times when I am so burdened, the only way out is to write. Yes, I keep a journal hidden by my bed, but that journal (spoiler alert!) is mostly empty. I don't know why I put things out there the way I do. I know I'm nothing special. I know it's not all about me. But I do know that I'm not alone in the things I struggle with. I'm a Christian, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mom, a friend, a lover of cats. Shoot. If all that isn't enough ammunition for trouble then I don't know what would be. You don't know how many times I have written things here only to delete it as soon as the whole thing is close enough to grammatically perfect as it can be.

What will people think? My mom will worry. They'll really figure out I'm crazy.

Yeah... well, whatever (to use a grossly overused word of the last decade).

So, I guess I share because I know I'm not alone. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you can lie and say that you don't. Maybe you're a twenty-five year gigolo from Singapore who has no idea how he ended up on this website (bad example, I know). Whatever your thoughts, please know that I'm not looking for advice or sympathy or a number for the therapist who did wonders for your sister in-law.

I'm just being me.

And this is how I feel today.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

I am overwhelmed.

My heart aches. It is too much to bear.

I am overwhelmed.

There's a physical pressure bearing down on me. If I sit still, my heart heaves up the sobs from within. If I move around, things get done but they're done in a fog. I'm really not sure what room I'm cleaning or why I'm there. I prepare a feast just to know that I've done something worthwhile.

We are drowning, the husband and I. Love does not conquer all; it certainly does not pay the bills. It does endure, however... that it does. We may be sinking, but we sink as one. There's a tragic Titanic-laced reference in that, I'm sure. We huddle together as the flood rushes in.

He looked at me today and simply said, "I wish we could just go back to what was normal." Then he dipped his head and kept the tears at bay. I know what he means. Five- no, six years ago, our lives were normal. He had his career; I had mine. We had the little white house minus the picket fence. Our biggest financial worry was a forty-thousand dollar mortgage.

And that's enough personal information.

Are we alone? Of course not. I stood at my dining room window today and looked out over a barren, January-drab landscape and told the Lord it was too much to bear. I wondered how many other haggard women and weary men and young people and old people have spoken those same words today. I wonder how many have simply given up.

The sun will surely rise tomorrow. Even now, a faint whisper of a flame struggles to break free of the smothering blanket that has rested upon my stubborn spirit this eighth day of January. This is why I write. And this why I prefaced this rather depressing glimpse into my life the way I did. It's not for everyone, but it is for someone. I'll hang in there if you will. The Lord tied that knot in the rope just for people like us. I have resolved to hang onto that knot until He pulls us out of this mess, but that doesn't mean I won't cry while I write sometimes.

Or eat brownies.



Hey... we all have our ways of dealing with life, remember?

Signs Your Mind Might Be Slipping

This morning I sat in the midst of a huge, scrap-metal junkyard / recycling kind of place and thought to myself, "I really need to get out of the house more." I had no idea such places existed. Surrounded by massive, moving machinery and watching men in hard hats maneuver swinging cranes this way and that, the unsolicited image of Bob the Builder infiltrated my mind. I had sudden impulses to see if the bulldozers had round eyeballs where the headlights might be. I half expected Bugs Bunny to pop his head out of a hole only to duck quickly at the sight of Elmer Fudd and his rifle peeking around a mountain of metal.

I swear I'm okay, Mom.

All the sights and sounds at the junkyard did fascinate me, however. No wonder kids are so attracted to that kind of stuff, whether in real life or in the animated form. I can remember years back watching my two youngest kids sitting outside on a sidewalk, ice-cream in hand, watching the city street crews dig a trench for new water pipes. That was better than television for them. Even today, if it's got wheels and power, the oldest will pause whatever he's doing to investigate (of course, it's gotta sound like it's got power, if you know what I mean). Granted, that's in his blood. We come from a motor-oriented family.

At any rate, the weather is chilly and I'm going through the I can't stay warm mode. Pretty sad considering it's in the fifties, I think. It's the wind that does it for me. That and a lack of sunshine streaming through the windows. January has never been my favorite month. Or February. Things really don't perk up to mid-March as far as I'm concerned.... and even that seems a ways off.

This is probably why that scrapyard captivated me so.

Who wants to bet my dreams are animated tonight?

Worth The Read (the book; not this post)

I have spent the last few days drifting between the couch and my bed, with the inevitable stop of the kitchen in between. The husband may think he didn't give me much for my birthday, but the truth is, he gave me a lot.

A whole lot of what I didn't want.

His cold.

Oh well. Seems like I can count on a couple of severe colds throughout the year anyway. I don't think I caught them nearly as easy when I was spending every weekday in a classroom.. must have been all those kids increasing my resistance or something. I ran out of kleenex earlier in the week and resorted to carrying around a roll of toilet paper. Thankfully, the daughter presented me with a three-pack of tissues yesterday. Surely this nonsense of not feeling well is on its way out the door.

I would be lost without a book to read, especially when I'm confined indoors. If you haven't heard of this one, I cannot recommend it enough:

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

I'm nearing the end of the story and I've had to slow down my pace; it's one of those books that I just hate to see come to an end and I can see myself re-reading it many times to come. Personally, I think this one should be required reading of every high school history class. It would take Veteran's Day to a whole new level, I can tell you that.

I do know it's been the perfect companion for this week.

A whole lot more better than the nose spray.

Are Y'all Trying To Tell Me Something?

Okay.


So my last entry, the one yesterday, the one entitled The Final Post, is well on its way to becoming the most read entry of all my blog posts. Which leaves me wonder...

Is it that popular because people were thinking,

Thank God she is wrapping this madness up.

~or~

Please God, don't let her leave.

In reality, the title itself was just the product of a lack of imagination on my part.
Nonetheless, the stats rolling in on this one have me chuckling to myself...

While making me a wee-bit uncomfortable.


Not that I have insecurity issues or anything. =)