I remember the first time I learned to crochet a chain. Then I added the single crochet hooked stitch in between. What followed was the ability to make a string of flowers. My goodness have htings changed. Looking at the latest project (Wild Things/ thin flowers with ends) I realized that essentially it is a String of flowers. On a whole new level of course!
Wild Things Thin Flowers with ends by the crazy crochet cat lady. I call this one “The string of flower” Dierra style!
The grey background behind the pink florets has been a most challenging color scheme for my eyes. I should have picked a pink within the “light” shades instead of two medium tone colors. Oh, well, I am nearly done with it and another month for the border will find me entering the fair to get a purple ribbon. I sure hope my adopted grand daughter loves it. She is a first year college student.
The giving moment! Gifting the afghan to my adopted college student. It was so much fun.
This journal entry is for September and yes, I am delayed in entry. We already had the “give-away” day with Dierra. My poor hubby always wants to call her Deedra, because he knew a girl named that in hight school. She absolutely loved her “special order, custom made” afghan. It was the highlight of the month to finish the blanket and give it to her. The feeling of love and pride and happiness as she accepted my hugs and love for this one time complete stranger was incredible.
In May when I was shopping for yarn, this beautiful check out lady asked me waht I was doing with all that yarn. I said, “crochet.” “Oh, I love things crocheted!” She stated. Then, “do you ever take orders?’ Of course, I replied, I would love to take orders if I had any. We exchanged phone numbers.
And the rest is history… She and I had a few text messages in the next two months and she “ordered” her blanket. And I began praying for her. My heart is so full for having this experience of sharing my talent with a young lady that has such a beautiful heart and was not afraid to ask.
I am reminded of the verse in Matthew from the sermon on the Mount where Jesus says, “Ask and it shall be given to you.” I think often about Dierra and how God loves us more than I loved her. God knows us so much more completely than I could ever know her. God wants to give to us what we ask of Him, more than I could ever enjoy giving to her.
Thank you Dierra for giving me the chance to love and share and give what you asked for. Thank you Lord, for giving me Dierra and so many others to love and care for. Thank you Lord for giving me what I asked for: someone to crochet something beautiful for. I was so much fun!
Luke 6:38 “Give and it shall be given to you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom (heart). For with the same measure that you measure, it will be measured back to you.” The feeling of full heart is so amazing when we give something away.
My little grand daughter decided to walk after seeing another little girl in her home school coop toddler room walking. The other little girl was sharing toys and handing out this and that to other kids. Funny how that motivated her to want to walk and “give” things away! Indeed, she spent one hour while I was there one day finding the pieces of some little building toy (hash tag building blocks) and helping me make a cube. It’s great to give.
Now if I could just teach my dog to let go of his toy so I can toss it for him. He’s still a little stubborn about that.
“If ya haven’t got something nice to say… don’t say nothing at all. “. Our pastor had such a nice idea for Mother’s Day, hand out some compliments. Every mother really just wants her children to get along, to not fight, and perhaps learn how to hand out a compliment while they use their manners at the table. Unfortunately some of the little slips of paper that hte children were to pass out, inadvertently had nothing on them. Therefore many of the lessons that we aim to teach whether as parents, as pastors during children’s sermons, or as employees often get bumbled up. So the age old lessons, if you haven’t got anything nice to say…don’t say anything at all.
I was blessed to sit in the back seat with my mom on the way back to her assisted living quarters. My husband says he is happy to chauffeur and it really does work better for us to sit together in the back of the “limosine” where we can hear each other better. Two hours interviewing my mother made the trip go so quickly. And now it I can just remember all of those answers to those many questions.
Old memories are thus made new, while we talk about her childhood and remember things from throughout the eight decades that she has lived. So many things seem completely out of touch to our daily lives today. Like the wire used to hold the chicken after the head is chopped off. And the fact that it was down by the outhouse next to the twin cottonwood trees. Gavin’s grandpa had rigged up some fancy tool to do the job. Just how many chickens did the family go through every summer. No one took a daily trip to the Cosco broasted chicken ovens back them.
Then just a day or so later, I was to help with the grand kids for the day, and was so tired, I actually fell asleep on the floor at their house. This going one day and home the next day finally caught up with me poorly and few days later. My “Asthma Awareness Month” of May has given me a few days this month in which I fought the asthma struggle very poorly. I pushed and pushed to do some things the one day and finally gave up after blacking out while trying to pull some weeds.
Watching a Zig zag is quite difficult if on eis blind. Pretty sure if I was in the “real” job description, I would be fired. But how does one communicate with a toddler that will not say what she needs? If the child is taught to listen to her body, she will not be able to tell it’s needs. Bother for the grand parenting when the Zig zags and does to tell there is a bend in the curve!
So that is the small child… what about the elderly? I spend two hours Sunday interviewing a great. Now how do I remember all of those things. While asking my mother, I remembered all of my mom-in-law’s answers. Oh, dear. How am I to remember which direction the Zig zagged? I mean now really. I did not take my tablet with and nother is written down. It’s time to get out the files. And I need to spend the next two cool hours outside planting such and such. Or my Zig won’t get enough sunshine to zag!
With all of the car time I logged a larksfoot prayer shawl.It was a trial and error crochet project and I took out the first attempt. Pretty happy with the end result.
And so while Mother’s Day was sad as we missed my husband’s mom for the first year, it was enjoyable a bit spending time with my mom. But the zig zag of paying attention to which parent next continues on. My dad had a mishap and now a broken femar has him in the hospital in need for full time nursing care. Sometimes it feels like during the parent season of life one nearly gets whiplash wondering which way the attention will be drawn next.
Shared my favorite Bible verse Hebrews 12:3 with my dad and talked about Jesus suffering. It was a good visit the day that we went to see him. Also talks about cousins and the boxing gloves. Story I had never heard before. Some things he did not want to talk about. (Music for example)
The wind tipped over the wishing well twice in just two days. It made me sad to see our wishes not being met. Haha. We did get it set up later.
Such enjoyment taken during the road trips of talk time with my daughter also. I feel so frustrated that my ride to and from the city to spend the day with grandkids, I am so tired. It is hard to give our best when we are exhausted. While the road bends and turns through this journey we call life, I’ll do my best to watch the Zig zag!
It is truly the coldest day of the year. Today the wind chill has the feel like at nearly -30 degrees Fahrenheit. That is what we call bone chilling for sure. Yesterday was also National Cover all exposed skin day. So I spent the day doing some video exploring of abandoned homes.
My first thought process was about finding homes that looked built in the early 1900’s so I could do some imagining of our next door house. Then it soon got a little extravagant and finding mega-mansions of the debt-fully deceased. Bank ceased homes can be tied up in so much back logue that they often sit untouched for decades.
The Bible verse that came to mind was Matthew 6:19-21 and ends with “where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” The verse came to mind when I say a double painting of two brides. One was the mother and the other the daughter in the same dress. And later upstairs in a cedar chest was the very same dress. Value in things is all subjective. Each person has their own set of dreams and circumstances that lead them to place high value in some earthly thing. I think that the reason that it hit me so hard is my own wedding dress story.
My grandmother had several such saved event garments. One was her own. One was her mother-in-law’s dress. And yet another was her own mother’s muslin dress. For some reason the hand sewn muslim dress of my maternal great grandmother was the dress that appealed to me most. So I asked if I could wear it.
The prairie blanket flower is a biennial bloomer that sends it’s seeds forth in a blanket through the winds. It will blanket the prairie in a short span of years with it’s blooms from early spring through late fall. I ‘m so excited for it’s hopeful little green plant shoots!
I did. I wore it on my wedding day. Complete with under garments purchased just for the occasion to save any oils from getting on the fabric. Then like an idiot, I actually packaged the gown back up and sent it back to my aunt. Why? I should have risked years of anger and resentment and kept the dress.
Now, in my hope chest lies the lace gown of my grandmother’s mom-in-law. It would need a fully prepared undergarment / slip to even be worn. Such under garment became a daily use wear item and does not exist of remain. So I have a dress that I did not wear in my hope chest and what ever should I do with all that hand made lace?
It is not my treasure, but someone else’s.
How is this all a part of God’s story in my life? How do I make sense of the ridiculous twist of “fate?” My sister took the hope chest that all of these items were once in. And now I had to clean out my cedar chest to make room for the family lace.
My birth story is the cause of my mother’s salvation story. The details are not to difficult to understand as I was in the womb “placenta Previa.” This means that the umbilical cord was attached above the placenta and that it would exit the womb first. After birth is suppose to come after the birth. When the doctors rushed my mother off to cesarean birth surgery they had no promises that either my mother or her baby would live. Well, obviously we lived.
My mother had her own Near Death Experience that day and knew that she was headed to hell. She knew that her life did not measure up to God’s kingdom. Later, she would learn that accepting Jesus as Savior for her sins and repentance was all she needed. Her whole life course had been rechartered with this premature baby’s birth.
And so the afghan blanket continues to be draped across my lap this cold month. It began as a leftover yarn project and we bought some full color skeins so that I could do a blanket during this cold weather season.
Life over the next few years would not be easy. She continued to have major life health complications from the blood transfusions, an appendicitis bout, and fainting spells. It took nearly six years for her to recover health, and thus become pregnant once again.
And it would be another seven years for me to comprehend all that god had done in sparing my mother’s life and giving me the ultimate choice in life as well. Would I also learn that God has a special plan for my life and His purpose for me?
What is my story of meeting Jesus? I began to comprehend the choice for sin or God’s way as a new teenager. Receiving a baseball bat, glove, and ball at the age of 13 from my dad and brother seemed to seal my disdain for the chauvinism of that sex. As a female, and trying so hard to copy my sisters, receiving such a gift actually also sealed my disdain for the sport. I have always “heckled” baseball players, the sport and any other related things to baseball. (It does no help that when my family was in the twin cities to go to the ball game, I was sick with pneumonia and did not attend. That also turned me against the sport.) And needless to say it helped to solidify the “left out” feelings of the third child, middle child character flaws / traits.
How do such small things stick so soundly in the mind as catapults to which fork in the road one takes in life? The path that i followed was piano and music. Even though it was not the full pursuit of my life, it is still a much loved fulfillment of who God has shaped me to be.
Recently my mother in her stroke mind lost her hat after our visit to her apartment. The lost item was under a couple of other items. She did find it later, but the story of the Good Shepard seeking his lost sheep came to her mind after finding it. She knew that God cares more about the lost souls at the care center were of much more importance than her lost hat, and yet she also knew that God cared deeply about both. So she took the time to tell the care giver about her her lost soul and near death experience some fifty years ago.
The little silver quid plant continues to multiply. I really out to give more of these away. Or set up a tray for multiplications for the spring green house sales. My list of propagations is getting longer!
Emmanuel God with us can be hard to see sometimes. Knowing that God was there in the spring of my life and seeing His handiwork during the midst of difficult years is truly a faith phenomenon. I wrote a song once called “Seasons” and it proclaims the omnipresence of God through the times in one’s life. I wrote it about my grandmother, but it applies to each person to who the Spirit breaths into the breath of life.
Throughout my life “being heard” has been a consistent theme of the Father’s touch in my life also. That might be for a whole other writing. Sometimes however I simply attribute my short status to the fact that while we were at the family meal time I was so busy talking and entertaining that I did not get as much to eat as everyone else. Getting some sort of attention even if it be through laughter and story telling was very important to me. Today, maybe I am still trying to do that very thing.
Yet I try hard to realize that whether earthly beings reckon to m presence is less important than if the souls that I encounter in life hear God speaking in their life. What story is God working through you? Are you aware that a Sovereign One is ruling over all the circumstances of your life?
What story is being told in your life and through your family happenings? Is God trying to get your attention? Or are you trying to gain His attention? History begins with His Story. And this is just a little corner of the painting of my life.
“I sure hope this flies… because they sure bite a lot. And hard, and in the season of hot, when even the shade doesn’t help much. A good breeze is kind though. I like the wind. Yep, I don’t mind the wind. Or the cold and the rain. Butt flies… they’re the worst.”
This is a tale of tails. Pets tails, Pony Tales, and other such happenings of Cocoa, the unshod, unstable-d pony. Though he could have been a miniature quarter horse, we found him to be far more comical than any other animal on our homestead. Though many of the stories are true, they have been altered to come from the perspective of our dear “Elvis.” He really did think he was the rock star of our farm. And yes it took a number of years for us to understand that Cocoa was the true cornerstone of all the chore life that happened.
There are many characters that you will meet along the way. There is Patches and Socks the cats, along with Daisy and others who would catch a bird in mid-flight. There were “hound” dogs from Lady, to Dolly to Tiz, Seymour, and Eva and finally Charlie. He out lived so many farm critters. Not to mention all of the sheep and lambs and Dodge the ram.
While Furbie thought he was a super hero, and Dolly the cattle dog felt she was always misplaced with the sheep, Cocoa never seemed to miss anything that happened. Standing down south of the front window, it was as if he heard every word we said. He is the author of many a false yarn that gets most everyone into trouble. Cocoa is the long lived, best loved, favorite among all of the creatures on the Green Field Acres. His antics and repetitive nature will have you rolling in the young grass for sure!
While the animals are all the same such named pets, the peoples personalities are adjusted to keep them from identity theft. Marie and Megan will not argue about whose horse it really was… And Cocoa will tell you that his true loyalty was with Ann rather than Wade. The parents and children alike have their own tales to tell about Cocoa’s daily greetings and special snickers.
Through the seasons of snow, young grass, hot flies and tomatoes, Cocoa will entertain you just as he did the neighbors. From over eating on spilled corn, to running free when the fence was down and to the loosing of his marbes, I hope you enjoy his story. So many stories. Well, then, should we begin at the beginning?
“Many, many moons ago during the season of snow I found myself at a new home. My first ride across the harvested fields found me and my brother in a new barn. Well, actually, we took two rides. The first was to the old man’s place. The old man was so ecstatic over the new friends to come. The young man and the old man had much to say to us. Most of the advice we had already heard before. He said, surely we would have the best of times with the children. He said, the children were young you know. But we were young also. So that meant that we could grow old together. “
“The next few days were pretty eventful. The children were more excited than the man had ever imagined. My brother and I were not too plussed about it. These were just little people. Little people or young people were all the same to me. But at the time I was a little pony. A foal, you know. So yes, we were going to be best of friends for sure.”
Cocoa said everything twice. You mean like, he said it again? Yep, he had to make sure you heard him. He was worth hearing you know.
Children teaching adults can be both hilarious and mind boggling. My little five and half year old grand daughter is into “writing” books, lists, stories etcetera. Sometimes she forgets though, and the interpretations are not easy. Especially since her letter writing involves few of them. The little note on the right has quite the back story.
While sitting at my daughter’s house, the littlest one needed a diaper change. Looking at the clock for Kona’s potty break schedule told me that I had about fifteen or twenty minutes to go. So I put him into his crate for the duty. While doing such, the five year old decided that poor Kona was lonely for me with his little yip, so she brought him to me. I asked her to put him back because I did not want to clean up a potty mess.
After the diaper change was done, then I took time to explained that on Tuesday, Kona goes out on a potty schedule so that there are no accidents. And if she takes him around the house just before his scheduled potty break, there might me a mess to clean up. So if Oma puts him in the crate because she is busy, he will be just fine for those few minutes of “missing me.”
Later in the day, she wrote this little note with the training schedule for Kona. He should go out when he wakes up. Then he gets to eat, and play. After a short nap it will be time to take him out again. And then, we can play for awhile before he takes another nap. She was so sweet about the dog duties for me!
The picture on the left is the “baby” Holiday cactus. I tried the paper towel rooting method because it’s normally a spring time thing to do. I had roots on all five or six pieces. Now to find someone to receive the little gem. Mine is starting to put on flowers already.
Today is a rough day. Once again the schedule for the little seven pound fluff got rearranged a bit. So this morning he decided to potty in his crate again just as hubby got in the shower. Rude awakening to say the least. The whole day has been spend cleaning, since 5 a.m.
Then Honey decided to loose her brand new frisbee in the garden. She was full of burs and such. And the frisbee is still lost. BRAND NEW! Ugh-why do I have pets?
So today is not going very well. I’m tired. I’m grumpy. I’ve been cleaning and I really hat cleaning. Everything getting moved about and finding unknown disasters. Like the day was so awful, I moved the sofa vacuumed under it also. How could it get any worse?
Then I say here and thought of all the other people I know who have it worse off than I do. Somedays I can’t even complain to myself!
Kona has been in my life now for five weeks and I don’t feel any closer to having him potty trained. It feels like I’m really just ruining a good little dog. So less leash time maybe? Or not…
Yesterday was a rough day and it just kept going down hill until in the nigh life just went literally to the dogs. Kona must have eaten something bad outside from my short time raking and our jaunt to the barn to check on my hubby. So at 1:30 a.m we were rudely awakened with the rudimentary behaviors. Having this “outside” creature who can’t eat anything outside living “inside” seems quite contrary. And we are all a little contrary today!
Even Honey has decided to join the nap session and stress that “WE” don’t feel very good today. She may finally have some compassion in her bones fro someone other than herself. I really can’t believe she joined me on the sofa. She has been so owly and growly towards this new little black critter.
So while I think some people learn from books, some people learn from watching others, and some people learn from experience. Right now I think experience is hard. And I am rather questionable at whether I am actually learning anything.
Meanwhile, I am still working on the “alone” training with Kona also. He just carries on something awful when I leave him in the crate to go outside to do garden / greenhouse work. Getting him to eat a kong with treats in the crate has proved to be the newest challenge. I am planning to freeze some foodies for him next week for more of the alone time goodies.
What to name black kittens was the question I posed all the way home on their four hour journey. And also, where to put them to keep them safe. Why was I giving myself so much more work, right when things were really quite peaceful.
I finally decided to let my husband cut a corner off one of the grow-bed structure so that the 36” crate could fit in the corner that only had 35 inches of space. Ugh. I hope I don’t regret this. So the kittens would be housed in a crate in the greenhouse only to be rescued from the heat during the midday sunshine.
Now the names…. We love the black zucchini from the garden and my husband prefers black pepper, while I like my salt. So, I decided Zucchi and Pepper would be appropriate kitten names. And sure enough Pepper is the one with more white markings.
Not what in the world would I want another black kitty? I did not actually. The mama cat had some other kitties with calico, but she hid them right before we came to visit. And they were a little wild.
Well that’s what has comes of country life. Trying to re-home kittens and looking at endless pictures of dog’s on the internet to see if there is a dog fit for the country.
And after looking for the right dog, after our last passed away, has not been easy. We were on the fence about a puppy, because they can be so naughty and chew up everything in sight. So las week while thumbing through the Facebook, I saw Charlie.
King Charles the third seemed like just the perfect dog. I was so hopeful that he would transition smoothly. And so far, Charles has lived up to his “regal” mutt characteristics. His timidity and soulful expression shows that he really is a softie at heart. He definitely has the “feelings’ thing figured out ans wants to love rather than hurt.
Every dog has a back story if they are re-homed later in life. Charlie is six years old, same as Honey. I had some nerves about that, but life will just have to march on now. Charlie was a street rescue puppy from Texas that his last “mum’s brother” adopted a few years ago. He lived outside there. His very first “person” may have been abusive, as Charles will snap a new things in fear. So far he only snapped at Honey a couple of times. Thankfully, his new “dad” put down the law and chewed him out verbally. The last time he snarked was over the back door and back deck possession. But that was also addressed immediately. He has not done anything since Saturday. It’s all just a learning curve about what is his or not.
I praised him when he snarled at the cat trying to get at his food. I don’t want him to let them run over him on the food-dish or hut thing. He needs to know he can eat in peace and not be bothered. Charlie takes his “sit pretty” treats very well, and is gentle at his take. So we have tried a few photo-ops with this command.
The other pleasant surprise is that he is a clean kennel dog. He prefers to do his business at a distance from living quarters. Yay! The last two outdoor mutts we had were non-selective. Those “bombs” are awful on the Sunday shoes!
My biggest “unbelief” came when on the fourth morning here, he slipped under the electric fence to go wake up Cocoa the horse, to tell him to come and eat breakfast. He was so gently in his steps ahead of the horse. Huh? Perhaps, these morning round conversations were actually heard. Charlie slipped back under the fence and away we walked. Perhaps also, Cocoa is more blind then ever before. He is 23 years old this year.
There is the new pet stories. I have been a little busy to keep up with my journal. It is full-on garden season. We also went to farmer’s market twice. The greenhouse was pretty successful this year. Now on to some more weeding and weed control!
The threats must be working, because Honey has been sitting on my lap for a spell first thing most mornings. A couple of weeks ago my alone-life was driving me to the puppy stores. So I began looking. Looking at Border Terriers, Rescue puppies, and Shih Tzus. I keep telling her that if she doesn’t take to cuddling some, I will find one that will. They are all empty threats until I actually took a call from on of my soft inquiries. Soft, literally.
The “craving” for a cuddle – bug- dog was getting pretty rough. Ruff, ruff. I actually saw a little Shih Tzu in town one day and spend a few minutes purring over the soft fluff. I asked all kinds of polite questions and found the little gal to be quite nice.
Home I went to do my idle threats. I looked, and searched, and found several local puppy breeders. Just empty threats
Like my mother’s threat to break my plate when I left home. Really? It’s probably why my dad’s graduation gift to us was luggage not the furniture in our bedroom. I tried to beat my mother to it. One day while unloading dishes from the dishwasher, I broke six plates all at once by catching my elbow on something and dropping them back down into the dishwasher. I broke a lot of things while a teenager because of ny hasty activities. The chandelier glasses were no match to the table leaves. The stairwell window was no match to my speed in rounding the corner and my shoulder. I don’t know why parents of my era said such mean things like threats to break plates, but it felt like rather than helping us to fly out of the nest, I was being pushed out of the nest by them cutting the tree down.
So here I sit in the background of all my daily activities, wondering what on earth I would want more chores for. My life is pretty peaceful right now. The garden will require more energy soon, I tell myself. Enjoy the lull before the storm. (Really, I ought to try to sell some of this crochet stuff.)
So I began an easy C2C again. This time it is the gingham pattern and it will have a smaller scale checked border. I have seen the pictures several times and really wanted to do this. So now that I have some yarn stash on hand, I was able to put together the three tiered color scheme. I do love how easy this patter is to crochet and it keeps my fingers occupied while i listen to books.
We found another movie worth mentioning last night. It is the life of Beatrix Potter. I had forgotten that I actually had the tales that she wrote in my audible books library for the little kiddos when I am with them. Lots of tales of things with tails. All sorts of childish imagings and critters with clothes! So I took some time to listen to some of her wonderings.
Toddlers are pleasant things to display cuteness. It’s the hungry, tired, or cranky child that drives mothers mad. Their little minds are so busy with thoughts and feelings. I wonder at times that I ever really grew up. It is so enjoyable to pick their little brains and prick their imagination.
The greenhouse is a maintenance mode right now. I learning that certain size containers are on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday water schedule. The rest of the house is once a week depending on the sunshine and the heat. Some days it can get up to eighty degrees in there. I don’t like working in there when it is too hot. the other day this little pink geranium greeted me. I am so glad most of the cuttings have taken root. I lost so many to water rot that I had to switch tactics and root many in direct soil.
Miss Potter‘s success during her era has really inspired me to keep writing. I love movies’s and books about writers. Though we have hit the garbage pail a few times on the ‘writer’s death mystery’ movies. Those will just have to stay a mystery. Not enjoyable at all. Sorry for the suspense and thriller films.
Meanwhile, I let not my own little wishes be a constant temptation. Solitary confinement has a way of reflecting the inner sanctum. Why does spending so much time alone seems to muddy the mirror? So I went back to the Hearts of Fire entries and listened to the story of Richard and Sabina Wurmbrand. They are the founders of voice of the martys publishing. What an inspiring story of faithfulness and fidelity. I suddenly feel so very insignificant and small.g
I John 3:3, “And everyone who thus hopes in Christ Jesus purifies oneself as He is pure.” And so I began where I best, by cleaning the house that I live in. The boxes and such need to be removed I told myself. They are empty and are no longer needed. Their purpose fulfilled by carrying some forgotten shipment, I stacked them all to carry out to the dumpster. I went back in to check the room for any more stray objects and found the wall with my head.
A day later, my brain fog and dull headache are still ailing me. Why must I hit my head every time that I try to clean house? Because my eyes get tired and fail to sweep the projected travel plans for oncoming traffic. Ugh. I actually ended up falling asleep early last night, and my husband did his version of cleaning. (He cleans with disinfectants and solubles that make the air smell fresh. However, mush of the out of place items are left for me to put away or dispose of-not complaining.)
Last time I went to the chiropractor for an adjustment I decided it was harly worth it to feel better, for then I usually hit my head, run into a half open door, or fall. Thus, misadjusting the previous betterment. Why bother? Here’s to purifying the smudged mirror.
October 2018 until January 2023 might not seem like a very long time. Sometimes life passes by us in blinks and dashes. Sometimes it seems like the days crawl by. Lately, the winter has roared it’s ugly windy howl and it seems as though old man winter has come to snatch away much of the pleasure that arrives with the winter wonderland. Today was one of those days when another dash happened.
While much of the last year the wind was in a bit of a hurry, tthis monring was not one of those days. The lull before the storm made 30 degrees feel very mild. Until I walked out the door and found this poor kitty in desperate health.
No Mr. Flurry here, the snow was not to arrive for another five hours. But Autumn knew that she was not in good health. She came to the house with such trust that we would know what to do.
October 2018 was when this little purr mobile arrived at our doorstep. she took a ride in the bottom or the vehicle some how not getting smashed like any other cat who has tried to do the same. Of course, I could not let her get picked on by all the large cats at the time, So i took her into the house for about four months to grow up.
The first month or so was quite the learning curve. But she was nevertheless way too messy with the litter box. So outside she went when my husband began to have sinus challenges.
Warm thoughts might be my memory of her, but hubby was a bit of a love/hate memory. Of course, Autumn was also the “cat walker” in the family. She never could resist going along to toe the line when we went to the corner and back home again. The first few years she was pretty good at stopping traffic. The local farmers thought it was real funny to call me the “cat walker lady!” Everyone enjoys watching the catwalk apparently.
Autumn was pretty attached to my happenings. She followed me around everywhere outside. Always keeping a close watch on what I was doing and joining me if she could. The picture on the right is her in the greenhouse on the bench. She was a rare greenhouse cat, not bothering any plants or growbeds. She usually hopped right up on the bench if I had a coat layed down on it.
Missing a shadow cat will be my new normal. And the other thing that was her nowmal was sneaking back into the house for a nice nap. The sofa was her favorite nap zone. And it did not take her many seasons to learn not to meow in the house or she would be put back out. And yes, I cried for a few hours.
We will miss Autumn. She will be a good memory and yes, I will miss her. “We’re sorry winter had to take you away. Goodbye girl. Thanks for being my shadow cat for the past four years.”
Version 2.0 on the “out of sight” installments. Last one was just onee year ago on January of 2021. Perhaps I am getting closer to a title for my book. Haha
Out of min…
Some people think that loosing one’s mind involves not being able to find the car keys. For me it was the carrot smoothie in the fridge…. I spent nearly 10 minutes trying to locate the drink. I had taken it to the library, right? No, then I went to the living room. Oh, yeah in between all that i had used the restroom. Okay, where are you little carrot smoothie? I found it in the fridge.
Some beautiful geraniums in the greenhouse. The red one in my hand has the largest blossom cluster. The pink one is so delicate in color. The two tone red heart beat geranium was nearly lost from root rot but these four remain!
Or maybe I had not lost my mind altogether. I was simply distracted. Until the book I was listening to brought up another entire area of loss that most people never think of. Gestures and facial expressions. Here’s my story and I am sticking to this one.
Out of memory…
A long time ago when I was just a teenager, I remember an incident that shook me up quite a bit. We were at one of those famouse birthday luncheons at the church where I grew up. This particualr evening, my dad was into his famous story telling moods. And whenver there was an audience to be had, he seemed to think that he was the center of everyone’s attention. So, when I ran about to fill up the coffee cups as my waitress heart deemed necessary, the next few moments were very much a tell tale of the RP digression of his eyesight.
The coffee was delivered, and the speaker was not attentive the the surroundings. I waited, and waited and waited to get his attention and let him know that the drink had been refilled. Suddenly, the story teller gave an unexpected hand gesture that upset the apple cart. But that was not even the pretty part. The surprise of the spilled beverage, the demeaning words and the angry expressions by my father in that particular setting (church) made for a memory tattooed on my hearts emotional being. Yes, the negative response is a memory somewhat repressed, but nevertheless not forgotten.
Out of words…
Years later, a friend of ours said that one’s emotional explosions and expressed words after an upset hot beverage are really what the person is really truly made of. When the coffee spills, how do we respond? Surprise and shock do not necessarily mean bad words. Sometimes, choosing words of blessing and apologetic behavior matter much. I always felt that my spilled milk was always followed by yelling and angry words. No reason to cry over spilt milk? Well, being blind and having the spills happen so frequently either makes one wise up and sue sippy cups, or find some other solution to the frequent spillages.
Out of mouths…
Dealing with an eyesight loss can mean a whole new change of character. My uncle lost an eye as a result of an unfortunate farming accident. I remember visiting with him about the changes in his life. One particular change was finding moved objects in his path with toes and shin bones rather than his eyes. Now he found himself frequently cussing and fuming. It was both exasperating to himself and to those around him. Apologizing for his surpised outbursts was becoming far to regular. Ahh, how eyesight loss changes the way we must move and the way we react to surpises. There is no more laughter at the jack-in-the-box events that happen. One soon learns to live in a constant state of tension while moving for the possibility of those awful little “weasels!”
This is the beginning of “Ellas Gems” a new pattern that I found on a social media crochet group that I belong to. BebaBlanket is the creator and I purchased as soon as I saw it released to buy! Oh, how I love something brand new!
Out of hands…
My gesture loss happened during my children’s high school years. I was done teaching club at church due to my hands constantly hitting an unsuspecting child. Pointing across the room only to poke a child in the eye was so distressing. The gesture loss was hard for me. I use to talk with my hands all the time. Who does not want to point a certain thing out while talking? This abilbity to throw my arms about during speech actually began to decrease the amount of speaking that I would do. It is really hard to stop acting out like a stage professional during a good story. But waving my hands about was not an option with the peripheral vision loss. How do I visit with others in group settings without being able to point or gesture in some common way?
The next obvious loss for me was the facial expressions and hand gestures of others in group settings. It is also hard to tell, who might want to jump into the topic next with a speech that they deem very important to give. While I may be able to view the person across the way, the others around the table disappear from my view. This might allow for greater focus, but moving my eyes around to catch the others reactions to a speaker is exhausting. This large group silence at times is really unbearable for me. Expecially when I still remember so much.
Except where my smoothie is…
It was during this loss of “circle movement” by the others in a group setting that I noticed some other things happening. More often then not, I was getting “shushed” by those around me. I had missed some conversation cue of eye, or gesture that indicated who was next in speaking. My thoughts that were so ready to blurt were getting stoppped up by those around me. This too was hard. I began to feel like certain people were treating me as if I were a misbehaving child. Becoming blind day by day, year by year does not mean that I am reverting in my behavior. Simply put, I was now out of the circle…
So now, I find myself listening more and more during group settings. When I am so desperate for interaction with people, I find that interaction being stolen by my loss of vision. The surpise of a cake plate upset on my lap or on the floor feels like a common occurrence while at family gatherings. Coupled by the deafness in my left ear, the abiltiy to even hear the oncoming delicasy, is hampered by the lack of sight. Plate on the floor. “Oh, no!” Learning to live life in a perpetual motion of “i’m sorry!” Is not very fun. Embarrassment and humility do not always gather closely. Sometimes the embarrassment is overwhelmingly sad. The feelings of loss and the inability to even help with the cleanup are so frustrating. Playing statue is not that easy!
I really don’t like surpises any more. Boo! Is not fun like the peekaboo of babies and little children. The last few times that we had Christmas present openings, I lived in a state of perpetual “what if the coffee spills?” And not knowing what was in the presents or trying to figure the item out in the semi-dark was exasperating. Having the person next to me tell me what each item was supposed to be and trying to find the right facial expression after my completely confused confoundedness was not enjoyable. I began to really dislike opening my gifts. Watching the others was somewhat more enjoyable. But oh, how I needed a little parrot on my shoulder telling me all the happenings about me. It makes one feel very alone in a crowd.
And that’s the last experience that I want to share on my way towards becoming invisible me. The last time that I went to a church event without a close family member was very painful for me. Extended family that has not grown up with a “blind father” does not really understand the needs that arise as the Retinitis Pigmentosa progresses. While I could walk a straight line down the sidewalk, I could no longer navigate a crowd of people carrying plates at a potluck. Attending the church without my husband had turned out to be a “fatal” choice for me and I had become invisible. No one in my current church was familiar with the challenges of RP and I was left sitting in a corner throughout much of the meal event. I finally left the crowd and sat in the sanctuary alone. Truly alone. My ability to “flow” through the plate bearers left me feeling very disabled. I cried without end over the potential of “spilled milk.” I called my husband, and he was able to come and pick me up. The rest of the day was spent in tears. The people that I had gone with did not understand my needs, were busy and had not ever checked on me. I felt unable to express myself and ask for help in a situation that left me feeling so invisible.
Recently I read “The Hobbit” by J.R.R. Tolkien and found it very full of forward motion. The adventures of the hobbit keep one listening just to see what happens next. In the book the discovery of a magic ring gives the little fellow the ability to become invisible and disappear from danger and tribulations. Honestly, being invisible and feeling invisble are two totally different phenomenon. Choosing to shrink from view within a public event and loosing the ability to see who all is there in the public setting are two opposing feelings. Being blind in a community setting makes everyone present invisible to the blind person. Not a very fun feeling when you walk into a group of people and all of the talking stops. This has happened to me so many times that I cannot count. I can begin to imagine however what it is like to walk into a room that feels full of people but seems empty until someone addresses my presence. My father’s ability to get the group to burst out in laughter helps to break the ice about his blindness and lets him know just how many people are really in the room. I don’t see myself ever being “on display” as that-blind-lady. I don’t see myself breading the ice with bad jokes just to count the voices of laughter within the space. i don’t see myself as others see me. I cannot.
My position in a group setting is usually at the piano with the whole commune behind me. Sometimes I wish I could turn the piano around so that the people were in front of me instead of behind me. Maybe that’s the next change in my life. For now I’ll let them see my hands while I play piano since I cannot. (P.S. My therapist said that I am not supposed to use “can’t” in my speaking or writing anymore. I asked her if she still could drive a car… I said, “I cannot.”)
