Plump is better

A blue heron flew over my head this morning. How nice to see you again, I thought. The red wing blackbirds have been singing for weeks now. Yesterday I noted a group of robins gathered together on a grassy verge and wondered if these were first year bachelors, like young men grouped together for courage and support, perhaps a mature robin was giving lessons on how to attract a female. I did a bit of research and discovered part of the mating ritual has the male feeding the female, she needs to plump up a bit to be healthy enough to mate and incubate eggs, she can’t be wearing herself thin trying to find food. I think I’d like to be a robin, wouldn’t you?

“Honey, you’re too thin, here let me get dinner for you while you rest.” Definitely not something we hear during human interactions, is it?

Great blue herons enjoy elaborate courtship rituals and males bring females the materials to build nests. Again, I like this idea. In some cultures of the past the male needed to prove to Daddy that he could provide for a wife before winning the woman’s hand in marriage. Perhaps this is a idea we need to bring back.

Things aren’t always as they seem – the red winged blackbird male stakes out a territory and has several females within it. The female builds the nest and takes care of the young. *Humph* That’s all I have to say about this bird.

McGyver

Callie comes out of hiding while I clean my bedroom and put the laundry away.   I wonder if she  misses McGyver.

He taught her not to be afraid.  He taught her to explore.  He taught her how to play. He protected her.

After Bear’s arrival, Callie became the cat who lived in the bedroom, then the cat who lived upstairs, we hope someday she will be just the cat.  McGyver refereed fights between these two, jumping into the fray split seconds before the humans in the house arrived on scene.  Brave kitty.

McGyver came along for Bear’s walks. People would laugh to see the two.  Some neighbours were amazed, others shared similar stories of pets now gone.  Even the dog trainer was amazed and pronounced him “one kewl cat.”

Indeed.

Hmmm?  He’d ask at night as he entered the bedroom. Is it bedtime for you?

He loved to smack pony tail holders around the laminate floor.

Sometimes he stalked those ponytails with the courage of a warrior, loudly proclaiming his prowess as a mighty hunter.  Frequently, these noisy forays into the wilds of chair legs began after we snuggled in to our beds.  A loud cry announced the hunt was on and we tried to be good natured about it, most nights.

TYL

OMG has made it into the dictionary.

www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2011/03/omg-lol-dictionaries-are-funny

I wonder if God is amused.  Seriously.  Is he good-natured about this sort of thing?

I was thinking about God’s sense of humour today.  There’s this one story in the bible where Jesus must pay temple taxes.  Imagine God owes money to Himself?  Egads, what is God to do?

Jesus sends Peter fishing.  Kinda funny suggestion but Peter obeys and when he does, he finds a coin in the fish’s  mouth.  Imagine the expression on Peter’s face.  OMG!!!  LOL!!!!!

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2017:24-27&version=NIV

I don’t know what God thinks of these acronyms, I can only imagine.

So the point to all of this – and yes, I do have one.

My journal pages are sprinkled with  three letters: TYL.  Thank-you Lord.

Praise in the form of an acronym.  I’m modern but am I God pleasing?

.

Saturday in the park

… it wasn’t the fourth of July today.  Instead the second day of April, as Bear and I made my way to Grass Creek Park.  This time Bear was sporting his numerous tags and on-leash while outside the dog park.  A good looking but serious by-law officer had caught us last week, guilty on both accounts.   The brilliance of white on dark blue announced the return of the swans.  There, amidst the honking geese, six white swans drifted on the waves.  Magnificent to see, they out class the geese with their brilliance, size and serenity.  Peace among chaos.

The dogs present in the park this morning were played out.  Bear and I walked one big circle and finished down at the lake where he could rinse off his mud splattered undercarriage.  Puddles are for exploring, after all though perhaps not for a thickly coated white dog.

“In three words, I can sum up everything I know about life: it goes on.” Robert Frost

I discovered a friend’s blog and in reading the posts realized I missed blogging.  Why did I stop?

Life changed dramatically around the time I stopped blogging.  My sister returned from BC and moved in with me, Courtney moved back from Peterborough to just down the road.  Callie went to live with Courtney because Sherryl was accompanied by her dog, Lager, a Jack Russell and Callie wasn’t going to like that.  So Callie moved in with Courtney where they became good friends.  When Jake and I visited Courtney, it became increasingly difficult for Jake to manage stairs  there and at our own place, it was the beginning of the end.  Eventually I moved out of my beloved bright apartment into one downstairs so he wouldn’t have to use the stairs.  The new place was dark and dreary and small.  Jake held on for several more months,  but neither of us could prevent the inevitable parting.

Jake had been by faithful companion through two marriages and one close call.  We walked three times a day no matter the weather or climate.  I could just look at him and he’d understand my unspoken signal , he’d smile and reach back with his muzzle for my outstretched hand, a brief connection of flesh and fur and all was alright in our world.  I called it our low five.  But what happens when God decides it is time to take away?     How do you say goodbye to steadfast loyalty and love?  When do you decide to end your friends’ life, the very life that you depend upon and cherish?  The answer: when there are no other options.

Weeks after Jake’s passing found me head over heels in love.  From the depths of despair one day to the highest of highs.   Can one switch from mourning to ecstasy without time to adjust?   I couldn’t.  I couldn’t prevent my collapse.  Some of us survive by pretending but eventually we reach a point where no more pain can be stuffed down inside, it starts with a small but telling leak – tears that won’t stop, sleep that won’t come or remain, emotions spinning out of control, the body throwing out flares of warning and yet ignored.  I thought by ending the relationship I would spare us both, instead I caused more pain.  Pain I had no room to store.  Regret and shame piled on.  I was on the fast track to the valley.

So I ran to God, straight into his arms.  I stopped ignoring his whispered promises of comfort, of hope, of healing and ran straight for Him.

And here I am two years down the road.

The King asked …

“ One day Solomon decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him, “Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot which gives you six months to find it.” “If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty,” replied Benaiah, “I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?” “It has magic powers,” answered the king. “If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy.” Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility. Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day’s wares on a shabby carpet. “Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?” asked Benaiah. He watched the grandfather take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile. That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity. “Well, my friend,” said Solomon, “have you found what I sent you after?” All the ministers laughed and Solomon himself smiled. To everyone’s surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, “Here it is, your majesty!” As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: gimel, zayin, yud, which began the words “Gam zeh ya’avor” — “This too shall pass.” At that moment Solomon realized that all his wisdom and fabulous wealth and tremendous power were but fleeting things, for one day he would be nothing but dust.

This from Wikipedia … there are many version of and this too shall pass.

As of now, Jake passed away in January and Callie disappeared this May.

This too shall pass …

Critters inside and out

I don’t know why I can’t post this pic bigger for the guy who just had a double nickel birthday – but I can’t, perhaps you’ll show me when you get up here next month!

Callie is now completely comfortable in her new home. She’s not afraid of Jake any longer, so much so that just for good measure she sometimes swats his nose because it seemed like the thing to do though I suspect – perhaps naively – that she’s trying to play with him. Sometimes she simply exchanges nose to nose greetings. She’s very curious about where Jake and I go when we walk through the door so has insisted on exploring outside the apartment door but the greatest fascination is the great outdoors via the second floor balcony. I think I may have to put a bell on her as she is intrigued with the idea that she may just be able to catch a bird.

This old place holds great amusement for a cat with good ears. She hears critters in the walls and under the floors – kind of makes my skin crawl to think about the fact there’s so much activity going on. Lately, she hangs out in the kitchen and I’m not sure if she’s wishing she could get out to the balcony or whether the mice are back. I haven’t had mice since I stuffed that huge hole I discovered behind the drawer in the kitchen but it’s good to know Callie’s on duty. I just hope never to wake up to a headless mouse on my pillow one morning.

I finally found her a scratching board that she approves of – it may help that it’s infused with cat nip. Jake gets bent out of shape when she starts scratching because at least HE has learned that I object when she scratches stuff – he’s yet to learn that not all scratching is bad. Jake would have made a great Catholic as he’s willing to assume guilt even when he’s innocent.

He makes me laugh with his jealousy when Callie joins me for some affection. He “humphs” and promptly leaves the room. I can entice him back in though. Callie and I have not come to an agreement about her joining me at the desk as she loves to rub up against the monitor. I really discourage that, for obvious reasons, and she objects and that leads me to object to her objection which leads Jake to rush over to me, it’s that whole guilt thing again. The whole thing causes quite a kerfluffle, reminds me of question period in parliament.

Jake has slowed down considerably on our walks, his stamina matches mine which hasn’t returned since the pneumonia. Yet, the other day he spied his buddy across a snow covered parking lot and he loped over and back joyfully – pretty good for an old guy. Sometimes we play ball out front and he’s yet to turn up his nose at a good game so we plod on in hopes that spring will bring a return of energy for both of us.

A picture is worth a thousand words

If only I had three or more arms. Before I had the camera ready, Callie was lying on the floor playing with this toy, about three feet away from Jake who was watching closely. Callie kept peeking at Jake to make sure he wasn’t going to grab her or the toy. Watch what happens when I become an active participant:

You are getting sleepy, your eyes are getting heavy.

What’s so special about that toy anyway?

Fine, I’ll play catch as long as I have your undivided attention.

What’s that squeaky sound? Am I next?

Damn cat ambushes me here sometimes.

Made it back.

Whose your doggy?

Blessed are the Peacemakers

I was thinking about Dad this morning. Remembering how he’d blast the bagpipe music or sing “Muskrat Love” at the top of his voice in the morning, while us kids tried to bury our heads in our pillows.

In my first year of living here, with an 80 year old below and the apartment across the hall empty most of the time, I knew peace. I have new neighbours now and adjustments are ongoing. The young gal across the hall waitresses at the local’s bar. I know because she arrives home just after 2 a.m. and the sweet thing has boundless energy. Bam, bam, bam, bam, up the stairs, slam, greets dog, slam, bam, bam, bam, bam down the stairs…and about the time my adrenalin has slowed and allowed me to drop back to sleep, she’s back from walking the dog. I admire the fact she looks after her dog, I do, truly. I slammed my doors one morning, hoping she’d catch the hint, though I felt mean knowing she’d just gone to bed a few hours earlier. I needn’t have felt bad.

The landlord’s brother moved in below, they celebrated that night until 5 a.m. including the landlord. The next weekend the brother had another party, inviting the gal from upstairs, this old house rocked and people and dogs ran up and down the stairs. They had a blast and I slept through my alarm clock Monday morn.

I hammered on his door hoping for the opportunity to say “Oh, did I wake you?” No response. I used Kevin’s trick and set off the panic button on the car alarm. Alas, my poor battery could only muster an apologetic beep. Then the landlord drove in and he experienced the wrath of Laura. I asked him if this was his way of evicting me so more of his friends and family could move in. Turns out he wasn’t at this party – he was aghast that his brother would party on a Sunday night. *sigh*

For a good week or more, the gal across the hall slammed her doors, and I don’t mean the usual slam where she just lets the door go, this was true slamming. I know I wasn’t imagining it though perhaps the cause was hormonal and not personal. The building was so quiet for the next week, except for the door slamming, that I found myself on edge, waiting for something to happen. My landlord made no excuses for his brother but offered that it had been his birthday and that’s why he was partying. Um, … Okay, I accepted graciously. He informed his brother he must apologize to me. (Bet that had something to do with the door slamming.) Eventually, tempers cooled.

The brother spoke to me the other morning, as in “Hey!” Seems someone had broken in to his place that day and he wanted to know if I’d heard. I commiserated and advised on getting a dog but clearly we are still not on friendly terms. This brother is a popular guy, has lots of visitors, and men’s deep voices reverberate through the lathe and plaster walls of this old house into the wee hours of the morning. I fell asleep sometime before the waitress came home last night– and yes, I know that because her door slamming woke me. *sigh*

And now you know why I thought of Dad this morning. And the words “Blessed are the peacemakers” float through my mind.

Have I mentioned how loud my new vacuum is and that I’m not sleeping with all these cold meds in me. It’s 7 a.m. Saturday morn. Jake’s milk bone crumbs are a thin layer across the carpet. It’s been driving me crazy but I haven’t had the energy to vacuum yet this week.

Hmmm…I like subtle.  First, I’ll walk Jake though.

Sick day musings…

But in the meantime I’ve got it hard
Second floor living without a yard
It may be years until the day
My dreams will match up with my pay

 

When I’m sick and Jake needs a walk I can relate to Feist’s Mushaboom lyrics above. Wednesday morning, Boo dressed in my winter clothes and walked Jake. My neighbours will think I’ve lost weight. Brittany said they might also wonder why I was dancing down the street. Brittany is in Madrid, no doubt exhausted yet excited. We talked via text messaging/email while she was on the bus to the airport. She said goodbye excitedly when she spied the runway at the Montreal airport.

Here she is grooming Jake:

Meanwhile, Courtney is busy preparing for Dave’s 30^th party this w/e. Happy Birthday, Dave! Woohoo.

Does everyone remember their 30th? Sherryl was at my party, surrounded by Scott’s ball team. We had a blast until they arrived, eh?

And I’m home for the third day, breathing like a freight train after a bit of exertion, coughing until my eyeballs threaten to abandon their sockets. It’s a good thing I have Jake, though he may not feel that way right now, because I have no choice but to move but his walks are short and infrequent. I’m sure he thinks life has gone down hill since the cat arrived, chased from the bedroom, a trip to the kennel, and now his walks have petered off…

****

Brittany’s voice called me back from my people watching on Yonge Street to give an opinion on a top she was modelling (asking my opinion, changed days, eh?) On our trip to the big city last weekend, I once again found myself mesmerized by the faces passing by. As a WASP, I am a minority in Canada’s largest city, at least in downtown Toronto. Asian teen’s staffed the Eaton’s Centre food court; after all, the Centre is only a few blocks from China town. Skin colours varied as much as clothing styles and I found myself wondering if these people are recent immigrants or like me, first (or second) generation Canadian – depending upon the definition. I saw this beautiful black woman and despite her bulky parka I could visualize her on the plains of Africa or the jungles of the Amazon. I wish I recognized more than broad categories of ethnicities and I wish I knew their stories. And it got me wondering what native Belizeans (sp?) consisted of and led me on a great Google search yesterday.

****

Why do we love to destroy the same people we idolized? Or why do we idolize people only to gleefully orchestrate and/or watch their destruction? I was looking over the program of the play “We Will Rock You.” An insert announced a performance update. In this futuristic play, characters take their names from “texts from the past” and in comparing the two cast names, Hilary Duff replaced Britney [Spears] and I wonder why exactly. I notice Britney’s flaming descent is often front page news even in our small Canadian city and that’s pathetic. I was never a Spears fan and certainly didn’t really appreciate the role model she presented to my daughter yet I’m disgusted that the same world that created her now eagerly watches her demise. For those who think she deserves where she is, climb up on the stake beside her and when you start to feel the flames, tell me if you still feel the same way.

****

Having a cat in the house means …

…stepping out of the shower onto kitty gravel on the bath mat.

…waking to a soft paw tickling my chin.

…admiring lightning speed reflexes.

…hearing excited yips when birds fly past the window.

…wondering if kitty has an imaginary friend.

…finally comprehending kitty is listening and tracking critters in the wall.

“… a novel strategy for reducing the risk of cardiovascular diseases…” according to American Stroke Association.

****

Pics of Courtney and Dave’s place: (I think she likes plants, too!)