Beauty and the Thief

“Don’t complain about getting older, it’s a privilege denied to many”

 

I understand this quote in my head, but am having a hard time with it in my heart right now. If you have ever watched anyone go through the aging process and all that can happen during this time, you will see how it can rob you of precious gifts such as your hearing, sight, memory, and so many other things. I watched this happen to my sweet grandmother, my wonderful mother, and now my beautiful cat “Kiki”. 

 Kiki is approaching her 18^th birthday, and has been showing signs of aging for the past couple of years. She has lost her hearing, has been slowing down, and even her eyes have been cloudy for a while now, which I expected to occur in an aging cat, but what I was not prepared for was the sudden blindness that happened last week. One day she could see, and the next she was completely blind!

Walking into furniture and walls has been an extremely painful thing to watch. To see this beautiful cat suddenly look so confused and scared has broken my heart. To also see her bravery when she gingerly reaches out for the edge of a chair to jump down to the floor, not knowing how far the jump is going to be, is almost unfathomable to me. I can’t even imagine that kind of fear and bravery!

 What the aging process is robbing her of seems so unfair and yet, I am so grateful for all of the years that I have been able to share with her.

If she could hear, I might feel a little better as she could hear my voice telling her that I am here and she is not alone, but since she can’t, I just hold her close to me so that she knows she is not alone. I help guide her to her litter box and food, and hope that she can learn her way to these spots using her sense of smell.

I wait for the results of her blood tests that were run yesterday. Because of her age, the probability that she may be going into renal failure are fairly good, so I am trying to prepare myself for that news, but am hoping that this isn’t the end of her life and whatever is causing her issues are still treatable.

I keep trying to focus on a positive outcome, while thinking about these past 18 years that she has been with our family.

Kiki was a kitten of a stray cat that we took care of 18 years ago. “Jones”, “Kiki’s Mother, was named after “Indiana Jones”, because she wandered everywhere. We fed her and gave her a place in our garage to have her kittens once we realized that she was pregnant. She gave birth to 6 kittens, 2 didn’t survive but the other 4 did and were left to us to bottle feed and take care of as Jones didn’t stick around long enough to take care of them. We took turns nursing the 4 kittens to health. When the time came to make a decision on what to do with Jones and her kittens, we knew that we could only keep one of them, so we spent a great deal of time with each of the kittens to determine which of their personalities most closely matched our own.

 First there was “Big mouth” who was named this for obvious reasons, then “Chelsea” who looked a lot like Kiki, “Amy”, who was small and frail, and finally “Stripe” who later became to be called Kiki.

All of the kittens were sweet and cute, but there was something special about Kiki. She just had the perfect personality for us, so we found homes for the other cats and welcomed Kiki into our family.

As all pet lovers will attest to of their own pets, she has been a wonderful, warm, loving, fluffy member of our family, and as with anyone you love, you want them to stay with you forever, but you know that this is not possible.

So, until I absolutely have to say goodbye to our beloved Kiki, I will continue to love her and take care of her the best way I can, and when I do have to let her go, I will not let my memories of her be of the these last few days that have been about what aging has robbed her of, but rather, of the last 18 years and the wonderful times and joy that her life has brought to our family.

Ancestors

 

While carefully dusting the pictures on my shelves in my front room, I suddenly find myself looking at the photos of my ancestors in a way that I had never seen them before.

 Over 20 years ago, my mother had given me many pictures of not only herself, but also pictures of my ancestors. I have cherished these photos over the years, but for some reason, this time, the pictures beckoned to me to stop and take a closer look at them, so I laid my dust cloth aside and began to study the details in each picture as I had never done in the past.

I studied their faces, some smiling, some somber.

 I studied their clothing and tried to determine the colors and textures of the fabrics, but being that the photos were in black and white, I could not determine what colors that they actually were.

 I looked at the wedding picture of my grandparents, sitting next to each other in separate chairs, not holding hands or even looking as though it was a special occasion. It had an eerie sadness about it. My grandmother wearing what appears to be a black fur collar dress suit, with tall lace up boots (which would be very much in style today), is holding a large spray of flowers on her lap. My grandfather wearing a dark suit with a corsage on his lapel looks expressionless.  

Moving onto may own parents wedding photo I see my mother wearing an ivory knee length skirt and matching jacket. The only reason that I know for sure that it was ivory is the fact that she kept this suit, and I was able to wear it to school when I was in the 8^th grade. I loved it and was so happy that she kept it in good shape over the years. Neither her nor my father have smiles on their faces, not even the slightest upturn of their lips. She is not holding any flowers, but rather she and my father are wearing corsages.

I continue onto pictures of my grandmother before she got married, smiling with a friend of hers as they pose for a picture dressed in men’s suits. The story goes that my grandmother and her friend were quite “gutsy” as my mother put it, to walk through the town streets dressed in men’s suits. I love this picture and like to think that some of that “gutsiness” was passed onto me. Next is a great aunt who was always known for her laughter, smiling beautifully in this picture and wearing a very large hat. Finally, I look at a family photo of my grandmother and her family taken on the front step of her childhood home. Only two of my great uncles have even the slightest smiles on their faces.

As I stared deeper into each photo, I wondered what dreams they may have all have had throughout their lives and at the time of each picture. Were they all that different than the dreams that we all have today?

Did they aspire to be someone who makes a difference in this world, or were they just trying to survive?

Did they have hopes and dreams for their marriages? I hoped that they looked at their wedding day as a special occasion, but by looking at these wedding pictures, wondered if they put as much emphasis and planning on that actual day as has become the norm today. I have to think that they did not. I think a wedding was just a means to get married, which was and should still be the main focus of a wedding day.

Because my mother had shared many of their lives stories with me, I know some of the answers to how their lives actually turned out, but what I will never know is if it was how they envisioned their lives would be.

If I could ask my ancestors about their lives, what would they say? Maybe that yes, they had dreams and hopes, and some of them came true, and some did not. We all have dreams and hopes and sometimes what we think we want does happen how we envisioned it, and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes, life sends you in another direction. A direction that you had never even thought of, and that turns out to be good or even better than you had dreamed of.

 The main thing though is that they lived their lives, good and bad, while they were here, and that is really all that each of us can do too.

So, what would I want my great, great, grandchildren and beyond to know about me when they are going through the pictures of my life?

Well, that I too dreamed, hoped, loved, succeeded and failed. I lived in a way that I felt would make God and others proud of me. I was passionate about many things and I tried my best, and then I passed the life’s baton onto the next generation to continue on with their own lives, dreams and hopes.

Daydreamer

From as early on as I can remember, I have always been a daydreamer. Pretty much, no matter where I am, I usually end up in some sort of a daydream. This has gotten me into trouble more than a few times in my life as teachers would ask to speak to my mom about my “issue”.

I couldn’t help it, I really couldn’t. Sitting in a boring classroom listening, or truthfully, only half listening, to the teacher go on and on about this or that, could not come close to the excitement of the thoughts swirling around in my head. I would gaze out the window to watch the beautiful snow or leaves falling, the squirrels and birds scurrying around, or just watching cars go by. That was all much more interesting to me, and I was convinced that it was a much more valuable lesson than anything that the teacher could have been trying to teach me.

Watching the snow fall, I would wonder if it was really true that no two snowflakes were alike. I made a mental note to start comparing them on my walk home from school. Oh, how I wished that walk home would be so much sooner than the 4 hours away that it was!

Watching the squirrels gather nuts, I had to wonder how they were going to remember where they stashed them once winter came and they were hungry. Hmmmm...

My mind moved on. Watching cars go by the school, I wondered where the people in those cars were going. Some place exciting, I just knew it!

My mother was actually pretty understanding of my daydreaming” issue”, but urged me to please try to pay more attention to what was going on inside the classroom, rather than what was going on outside the classroom. I tried, but found it almost impossible to do. I am sure that she thought that this was just something that I would outgrow, but as I eventually found out, it wasn’t.

Years later, when I got out into the work force, I quickly realized that I could not sit next to, or even in eye shot of a window, if I was going to be productive at all. So, without giving reasons why, I would volunteer to sit away from windows. I was more productive that way since it kept the outside world away from my view and my thoughts. Even now, I can’t walk by a window, no matter where I am, without looking out and quickly taking a mental walk.

When I first started business travel, a colleague had advised me to not sit next to the windows on a plane, or if I did, I shouldn’t stare out them as it looked like I was a novice and I needed to have a more professional demeanor. What?? No way!

 I purposely book all of my flights with window seats for just that reason. I love to look down at the world going by and wonder what all of those people are doing with their lives. I know that I probably make their lives more interesting than they actually are, because I also think that if someone like me was doing the same thing from their flight, looking down at me in my house, they would be imagining a much more interesting life than what I actually live.

 While daydreaming can be an “issue” in some circumstances, it has also led me to solutions to some problems that I might not have come up with otherwise, and some pretty creative thinking, which serves me well in my professional and personal life, so I guess it’s a good thing that I never outgrew my daydreaming “issue”.

A Helping Hand...or two

I was awakened at 6:30 this morning by my phone ringing. It was my husband who had just recently left for work, asking me to come and get him down the road, as his truck quit running. Ugh. I was so cozy in my bed, but I got up and threw on some yoga capris, a shirt, and hoodie, grabbed my purse and crocs, and backed out of the garage to go and bring him home. I didn’t feel that I needed anything else since it was just a short trip there and back. Once home, he could take my car to work while someone else towed his broken down truck to a service department to be fixed.

 Luckily, it’s a Monday, and I work from home on Mondays, so it was fine if he had to use my car for this one day.

Driving, only half awake, I see him standing by his broken down truck. I look at my temperature gauge and it reads 14 degrees. Brrrr, good thing I am just bringing him back home because I am clearly not dressed to be out in this weather. He didn’t look like he was either, so it’s a good thing that he broke down so close to home.

As I pull off to the side of the road, I see that his truck is at a stop sign, but still not in a great spot to be sitting for very long, so, I wonder what his plan of attack is going to be. He walks up to my window with a tow rope in hand, and then after assessing my car, advises that I don’t have any of the towing “thingy’s” (my word, not his) that one would need to tow a truck, so he tells me that I would just have to help him push his truck back off of the road a bit to get it out of the way. What? I have to get out of my car and help push a very heavy truck off of the road? I am not dressed for this, and it’s freezing out!

He tells me that I will be fine. Famous last words…

 Luckily, I was a girl scout, so I reached into my emergency bag that I keep in my back seat, and pulled out a pair of gloves. There is nothing in my bag to cover my exposed shins, so I will just have to live with my decision to wear yoga capris in January in Indiana.

I was happy that it was still dark out as I was sure that I looked like a vision in my “outfit”. Just then a car rolls up next to him to ask if we needed help. YES! I yell out in my head, but he thanks the driver and tells him that we have it handled.  Brother…

I walk to the front of his truck and get into position to push, while he has one foot in the truck, one foot on the road, and a hand on the steering wheel to help guide.  I was thankful that I have been lifting weights for the last couple of years and was hoping that all of that sweat was about to pay off.

PUSH!! The truck barely budges. PUSH AGAIN, HARDER! This time it moved about an inch. Another person stops to see if we need help, and my husband waives them on.  NOOOOOO!! Come back!!  I yell out again in my head, but he too is gone. I try to muster up that super strength that you hear about in extreme situations, but after a few more futile pushes, I curse my muscles and lack of upper body strength then suddenly realize that my lower body is really cold. My husband jumps out of the truck and walks up to me to discuss plan B, when yet another good soul drives up to ask if we are okay. This time, I take over and encourage my husband to accept this kind strangers help as I climb back into my warm car.

I start to thaw out as I watch these two men try to push the truck out of the way. They pushed and pushed but didn’t really get any further in their attempt than I did, so I apologized to my muscles for the previous curse, and I continued to watch them from the warmth of my car.

 Another person stops to ask if we need help. If I haven’t said it enough before, let me reiterate it again, I love living in the country! I love everything about it. Here it is, Monday morning, around 6:45am, 14 degrees with snow flurries, and people are stopping on their way to work or wherever, to help us. I don’t know if you would get this kind of selflessness in the city, but I do know that you get it in the country!

Finally, my husband and the other man decide that they can’t push it out, so I move my car out of the way so that they can tow my husband’s truck off of the road with the other guy’s truck.

10 minutes later, the truck is out of the way, the kind man is on his way to continue with his day, and I am back at home making coffee to start my day. I never really doubt why I love living in the country, and today is just another reminder of why I love it and the people so much!

Ignorance is Bliss?

Someone help me here please. Is it just me, or does it seems like there are more women having miscarriages now days than ever before?

In the past few years, I have known of so many women miscarrying, and I am trying to figure out why this seems to be.

Most of them seem to be miscarrying within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy, so that part doesn’t seem out of the ordinary, as that has always been the critical phase of pregnancy, but it just seems like there are so many of them occurring now.

The really odd thing that I have noticed with these miscarriages is that the women don’t seem to be actually losing the babies when they do miscarry, so they are left to carry them in their bodies and wait for the fetus to come out on its own. That sounds so cruel to me that these women have to go on with their lives and wait, knowing that their baby is no longer alive, and then if it doesn’t come out on its own, the woman has to have a procedure called a D and C (Dilation and Curettage) to remove the fetus.

 The emotional pain that they go through just seems so horrible to me. I have seen this with not only my daughter in law and friends, but also my nieces, including my one niece who openly writes about her experience in her blog, www.lyndsayslastbite.blogspot.com. It’s so sad to hear and read about her and all of these women on what they have gone through.

As I wondered what was going on with this, I remembered seeing a commercial for an early pregnancy test, where you could find out if you were pregnant in as early as 6 days after conceiving!  6 days!!

That seems amazing, considering that years ago, you usually didn’t find out that you were pregnant until you had missed your first, and sometimes your second period, meaning that by the time you thought that you might be pregnant and went to buy the over the counter pregnancy test, you were probably already about 6-8 weeks along, certainly not 6 days!

The pregnancy tests back then were like an actual science project as well. You didn’t pee on a stick and within minutes looked for a line or plus sign. Nope, our test were an actual test tube that you put urine in, shook it up, kept it in a dark place, OVERNIGHT, and then the next morning, looked for a circle at the bottom of the test tube. If you saw that, then you could call your doctor (if you had one, which sometimes you didn’t if you hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, so add another week to that timeframe to find a doctor to call) to have your blood drawn and confirm or deny the pregnancy. All of that process took you to about the 9-10 week mark, so you were then left with only a couple of weeks in that critical first 12 week phase of the pregnancy.

In talking with my sisters about this, we concluded that we may have also miscarried when we were having babies, but since technology was not as “advanced” as it is now, we may just not have known that we were pregnant and just thought that we were having a really bad period when in fact, we may have been miscarrying. I think that I would rather have not known that I was pregnant and miscarried, than to have to go through what the women today are going through by knowing so early on.

 I do understand, to a point, the need for finding out early if you are pregnant, so that you can start making healthy choices for you and the baby. But, I think that you have to determine if learning so early and possibly having to go through what these women have gone through outweighs the benefits of knowing early so that you can start make healthy choices. I can’t answer that, but I think that in many cases, the body is still going to miscarry if a fetus is not healthy enough to make it full term, regardless of when you find out that you are pregnant.

So, if the above is true, and there aren’t really any more miscarriages now than in the past, just the knowledge earlier on, then I would say, in my opinion, that just perhaps, knowledge may not be power in this instance, but rather ignorance was bliss for those of us that didn’t have to go through all that today’s women may go through by having this knowledge so early on.

A better mouse trap, indeed

This is an update on my last blog about my uninvited, and  unwanted guest.

I still cannot locate where the critter(s) have gotten in, so my next decisions was how to get this thing that’s been roaming about in my attic, out of it. I researched all of the various choices to catch it, but finally decided on just the old fashioned mouse trap. I was hoping that it wasn’t anything other and bigger than a mouse, but had to start somewhere, so two traps loaded with peanut butter were strategically placed in my attic, and now I wait.

One day went by and I didn’t hear anything, but then the next evening, I thought that I heard one of them snap! Ugh, I guess that means that now was time to check them. Eeeww, the thought of that is so creepy to me, and the animal lover side of me felt sad if I had indeed trapped the mouse, or whatever it is. What if it was a new momma and had babies up there? I have got to stop thinking like that!  Up to the attic we go and find both mouse traps licked clean, but not set off at all!

So, I fed the critter, but didn’t catch it?? How is that possible?

Round two, same thing, peanut butter on both traps, strategically placed, I wait another day, or two this time. Back to the attic, check the traps, and…. you have got to be kidding me, licked clean again, and not set off, again!!

At this point I think that this critter must be thinking that he that he is now a permanent member of my household since it is obvious that I care enough to feed him not only once, but twice, and not just any peanut butter, but extra crunchy peanut butter.

I need to try another strategy as I start to picture a very large, peanut butter satisfied mouse calling his friends to tell them of his good fortune, and inviting them to move in with him! No way!

Third time, we arm the traps with bacon pieces wrapped around the trigger points and put peanut butter on top of that. He would have to tug to get the bacon off, and surely that would set the trap off and end my problem once and for all.

Two days later, back to the attic to check the traps, and yep, you guessed it, licked clean again and neither one set off!

Unbelievable! Am I really being outsmarted by a rodent?

Obviously the old fashioned traps are not working for me, so back to the store I go in search of a better mouse trap. This time, I look for words on the packaging that state, “Guaranteed to catch, or kill”, and decide that I would take them up on their challenge and guarantee.

One new and improved mouse trap set back in the attic and once again, I wait.

The next day, and the fourth attempt at this, it’s back to the attic to check the new trap.

The package simply reads, “Mouse caught”.

You can’t see the mouse with this new trap, which is good, but the trap felt heavier, so we had to assume that he did indeed get trapped. Whew!

So, I think that my problem is now solved, or, at least I hope it is. But, if some of his friends got to my attic before I found the new improved mouse trap, I will be ready for them with the first attempt this time, and while using only generic, creamy, peanut butter.

An uninvited guest

This experience has probably happened to many of us in our lives, and most often more than once, but at least in my opinion, it’s never a good experience.

The day when you discover that you have an uninvited, furry house guest creeping throughout your house.

There can be many signs that this little intruder is invading your space, such as his little black rice size packages that he leaves behind, shredded fabric that he so carefully worked at to build a nest, or in my instance, just the sound of him scratching, crawling, and tearing at something in my ceiling above my kitchen.  EEEEEK!

Now, most of you know that I am a true lover of animals, and even mice are cute, but not when they are living in my ceiling! That’s when all bets are off!

Here’s the real problem though. I really don’t even know if it is a mouse that I am hearing. I have no other signs of this little guy, so it could even be something much bigger like a raccoon, or squirrel, but whatever it is, it’s gotta go!!

I have looked at every possible spot that something could have gotten in, and I can’t find anything. I put my cat, who is usually a great mouser, (as well as a great birder, bunny getter, you get the picture…), in the rooms in my house to do some investigative work, but she will have no part of that! Thanks for nothing, Josie!

I have talked to others about what they think I should do next, but the best answer that I seem to be getting is..” yeah, good luck with that!”

Finally, I started looking up pest control companies to get their opinion, but was advised that this could be very expensive, and without them being able to actually hear the little critter scurrying around, it would be very hard to figure out where to go to find this thing. Seriously!

So, I guess it’s back to square one, or square 3000 in my case, as I have apparently not torn apart enough of my house to find where this little intruder has gotten in at. Wish me luck as I continue on my hunt for my uninvited guest!