When Happy Kitty died after a long (was he 19?) and contented life, Charlie knew that eventually he would get another kitten. He has always had two at a time and Lupe, who is six, might miss her “brother.”
But, adopting a kitty in the Los Angeles area is apparently no easy task. Charlie began the process shortly after his return home from here in June and, just yesterday, finally brought twelve-to-fourteen-week-old Rosencrantz home from the “adoption agency.” No sooner had they arrived than several things happened almost simultaneously.
I brought Rosencrantz home. He jumped out of the carrier and ran and hid, said Charlie on Facebook. And then: I shouldn’t have let him just jump out of the carrier. I should have picked him up and held him for a moment. He can’t get outside. I just have to wait. And later: Just needs to acclimate a little bit.
Meanwhile, Lupe, who has been with Charlie since she was even younger than Rosencrantz, was less than pleased. When, finally, Charlie reported: Rosencrantz came out and alternately runs around, then hides again. Lupe is hissing at me! I’ve betrayed her! And still later, (in a bit of a panic), Lupe is crying! Real tears!
During our weekly family zoom meeting, Lupe perched on a high bookcase behind Charlie, keeping her eye on everything, us included. Rosencrantz snuck hither and thither but never within range of the zoom camera. We are eager to hear that they have bonded. Or at least have arrived at peaceful co-existence. Two black kitties! So cute! So diabolical! Almost more difficult than chickens! Good luck, Charlie!
Just back from the Warrenton Run — Staples to return used ink cartridges; Goodwill to deliver a load of “stuff” from the back forty; CostCo to get a couple of food items; Fred Meyers to get other food items. The first two went well — maybe because we were donating. The last two, not so much — probably because my expectations are too high.
Inside, most shoppers were masked but about a third of them wore theirs Kilroy-style with their noses hanging over the edge. Ditto the employees. What’s with that, anyway? It irritates me no end — brings out the Cranky Teacher, the Nagging Mom, the Despair of Stupidity in me. I did my shopping and was out of there in ten minutes flat. I’m not sure I’ll go back very soon.
t was hard. It took two-and-a-half hours of hitting re-dial. But, finally, we are scheduled to get our vaccinations on Friday. We were asked, apologetically I thought, if we would mind driving to South Bend. “Not at all,” we said. Granted, the drive is not without it’s difficulties for us. But… mind? “Not at all!”
Then, this morning… we watched Kamala Harris and Joe Biden take their oaths of office. It was a beautifully orchestrated ceremony and I’m happy to say that I wept throughout it all. Tears of joy and hope and reassurance. But of it all, what will stay with me is the image of the Biden Family Bible — worn and well-used and “decades old” said the news commentator. Because it looks so much like our Pryor Family Bible, I’d say “centuries old.” Ours, printed in 1846, first belonged to my four times great-grandfather. It is also huge and also looks a bit battered. I loved it that President Biden brought his ancestors to the inauguration with him.
“When did we get so paranoid?” was more-or-less the topic under discussion during the Coffee Hour this morning. You don’t need much imagination to realize that our conversation had begun with fanciful predictions of how this election day would play out. Somehow, we landed on “doctored” Halloween candy as the beginning of the country’s obsession with (what we used to tell our kids) the Meany People. Or maybe, we thought, it started with that Tylenol scare back in the… when?
So I did a little research, as in which came first. It was the “Halloween Legend,” as it is now being called, and it began in 1958. Marta was four; Charlie, two. I remember that we had to spread their “treats” out on the dining room table and throw out any home-made stuff — no candied apples, no fudge or divinity, no popcorn balls or chocolate chip cookies — all of which were favored “staples” in my day. It wasn’t long before the commercial companies swooped in and everything was store-bought and wrapped up tight. Where had the fun gone, anyway? Trick or Trust?
As for the Tylenol scare? Based on seven (yet unsolved) murders in the Chicago area in 1982, that frightening episode came more than a generation later. Just in time to assure that every single pharmaceutical (or cleaning or cosmetic or…) product that could possibly be ingested is locked in its container so those with arthritic hands (those most in need of many of these very products) canNOT get into them without some sort of assistance. Or a hammer. Fear of Faith??
And today… we are facing election results that we’ve been primed to suspect. For years (not days, not weeks not months, but YEARS!) we’ve been lambasted by the media with information about voter fraud, foreign intervention, intimidation at the polls etc. etc. ad nauseum. All of which is exaggerated to the max because no longer is there an “election day” — a time to take pride in exercising one of our basic democratic rights. Now, with Covid precautions and USPS paranoia, this election has become a month of mail-in votes and long lines at the polls and looking over shoulders for the protestors and rioters. Responsible Reporting or Media Manipulation?
At the Tom Crellin House here in Oysterville, we are under a “Self-imposed-Semi-Shut-in-Status” which we are calling a “4-S-Alert.”
The photograph was on Larry Murante’s FB page and led me on a vicarious journey through the streets of Barcelona and, then into the magic of Portugal.
I don’t know why the word nightdream doesn’t exist. Nightmare, yes. Daydream, yes. But no nightdream. I guess just plain “dream” is supposed to cover it, but I don’t really think it does. I thought about that early this morning when the alarm woke me from a lovely dream that could only happen (at least to me) when I was asleep.
There must have been several dozen of them — enough for the use of each student (none of whom were visible to me as I spoke.) “These are our coat hooks,” I said. “What do you suppose we’ll be using them for?” (So inane, I thought to myself. Why do we teachers say things like that?)
About that time, I woke up thinking, “Yeah. Sometimes, you can lead a horse to water…” It all made me laugh — a great start to a gloomy Friday morning. Let’s hear it for nightdreams!