I think that giving up soda may have been too easy of a challenge. I’m well into Day 2 and have no cravings whatsoever. It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice at all.
I didn’t do so well at giving up television. I have some alternatives planned but I rationalized, "I'm so tired from work. I'm depressed. I'll start tomorrow. I want to finish watching the series." I'm glad Jesus didn't rationalize.
And yet, I DO want to finish watching the series. So, I'm going to watch the final 5 episodes and then begin my TV fast.
Alternatives: knit, go for a walk, go to the gym, read, do the stuff I always put off
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Feeding the Ducks
It's a beautiful sunny day so I decided to have a flashback to childhood and went to feed the ducks at lunch.
I found a nice bench by the lake. I envisioned a leisurely time of tearing small chunks of bread and tossing them out into the lake while a few ducks dabbled around.
Boy did I ever have it wrong.
After I tossed the first chunk of bread in the water, the lake erupted with COOTS. Dozens and dozens of them surged towards the little scrap of bread. Others ran toward me, honking and screeching, beaks questing for the next slice.
I shredded the entire loaf as quickly as I could but--golly--I could scarcely shred and toss quickly enough. The boldest ones gathered around my feet, snatching at the scraps I dropped. I feared they would snap up one of my toes. Some of them were so close, I could literally put the bread in their mouths.
It took less than 10 minutes to go through a full loaf of bread. It was as invigorating as a 10-mile march.
Although it wasn't the leisurely activity I was looking for, it still was sort of nice. So, if you ever feel unwanted, just take a loaf of bread to the nearest lake. You'll feel like a movie star in no time.
I found a nice bench by the lake. I envisioned a leisurely time of tearing small chunks of bread and tossing them out into the lake while a few ducks dabbled around.
Boy did I ever have it wrong.
After I tossed the first chunk of bread in the water, the lake erupted with COOTS. Dozens and dozens of them surged towards the little scrap of bread. Others ran toward me, honking and screeching, beaks questing for the next slice.
I shredded the entire loaf as quickly as I could but--golly--I could scarcely shred and toss quickly enough. The boldest ones gathered around my feet, snatching at the scraps I dropped. I feared they would snap up one of my toes. Some of them were so close, I could literally put the bread in their mouths.
It took less than 10 minutes to go through a full loaf of bread. It was as invigorating as a 10-mile march.
Although it wasn't the leisurely activity I was looking for, it still was sort of nice. So, if you ever feel unwanted, just take a loaf of bread to the nearest lake. You'll feel like a movie star in no time.
Adventures in Lent - Day 1
Depression is on the rampage today in this brain o’ mine. Even though I’ve prayed the sinner’s prayer and offered my life to God, I never quite feel saved.
I don’t see that my life has radically changed. Even before I became a Christian, I’d never been one to take drugs or swear like a sailor. I’d already gotten to the point in my life where I didn’t get drunk or sleep around. And yet, I still felt lonely and sad.
When I moved to a new town, I decided to get involved in the community by going to church and volunteering at the local library. I enjoyed volunteering at the library. And, after a few times of going to church…I felt so sad…I remember sitting in the back row, wearing solid black and praying, “God, I can’t make it another day without you.”
For awhile, I was really focused on prayer and going to church…but after about a year or so, the pastor did a lousy thing and my church imploded with grief and anger. The pastor was kicked out and a new pastor took over.
The whole drama shook me so hard. I fell into the deepest depression I’d ever known. I was hospitalized for a few weeks, but it was months before I was functional again.
I’ve stumbled around for years…dropping out of my career, following a new master that let me down, going to a different church…but after about 6 years, returning to my original church.
The things that make me feel unsaved is that I don’t have a deep desire to pray or read the Bible or tithe and I feel guilty when I don’t do it and that I don’t have the desire to. It’s not easy for me to go to church, that is, I don’t go “woo-hoo, it’s time for church!” I often drag myself there. Currently, I’m forcing myself to memorize Psalms. There’s no joy in it though.
I feel trapped in no-man’s land. Not finding the peace of God or peace with God. I want it, but it’s so elusive. Today I told God that I give up. I don’t want to, but I just don’t feel the fruit of the Spirit. I don’t see/feel the action of God in my life. Maybe I’m ungrateful or something. I don’t want to be, but I just am.
I was memorizing the Psalms because I thought it would cure my apathy.
Today is the first day of Lent. Even though I’m “giving up,” I thought I’d still “do Lent,” by giving up soda and TV.
I don’t see that my life has radically changed. Even before I became a Christian, I’d never been one to take drugs or swear like a sailor. I’d already gotten to the point in my life where I didn’t get drunk or sleep around. And yet, I still felt lonely and sad.
When I moved to a new town, I decided to get involved in the community by going to church and volunteering at the local library. I enjoyed volunteering at the library. And, after a few times of going to church…I felt so sad…I remember sitting in the back row, wearing solid black and praying, “God, I can’t make it another day without you.”
For awhile, I was really focused on prayer and going to church…but after about a year or so, the pastor did a lousy thing and my church imploded with grief and anger. The pastor was kicked out and a new pastor took over.
The whole drama shook me so hard. I fell into the deepest depression I’d ever known. I was hospitalized for a few weeks, but it was months before I was functional again.
I’ve stumbled around for years…dropping out of my career, following a new master that let me down, going to a different church…but after about 6 years, returning to my original church.
The things that make me feel unsaved is that I don’t have a deep desire to pray or read the Bible or tithe and I feel guilty when I don’t do it and that I don’t have the desire to. It’s not easy for me to go to church, that is, I don’t go “woo-hoo, it’s time for church!” I often drag myself there. Currently, I’m forcing myself to memorize Psalms. There’s no joy in it though.
I feel trapped in no-man’s land. Not finding the peace of God or peace with God. I want it, but it’s so elusive. Today I told God that I give up. I don’t want to, but I just don’t feel the fruit of the Spirit. I don’t see/feel the action of God in my life. Maybe I’m ungrateful or something. I don’t want to be, but I just am.
I was memorizing the Psalms because I thought it would cure my apathy.
Today is the first day of Lent. Even though I’m “giving up,” I thought I’d still “do Lent,” by giving up soda and TV.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Sneaky Pete and His Walking Bananas
Today I broke up with my friend, Tom. We've been friends for nearly 20 years. I broke up with him because he's only around when I fall apart.
About 20 years ago, we worked together at Kendall McGaw Pharmaceuticals. We had a boss, Letty, who was an absolute nightmare.We wrote reports to get IV solutions approved for the FDA. Letty would review our reports, praise us like crazy to our faces,and slash us to ribbons when she presented the reports to her boss.
Tom had worked there way longer than me. His confidence had deserted him. He didn't even try to leave. One of the managers at Kendall knew how crappy our boss was. She turned me on to a job at Allergan. I told Tom about it and teased him, saying I knew I could get the job but he never could. His competitive spirit kicked in and we both went for the job, full blast. (In the meantime, I also applied to a job at a software company.)
We both interviewed at Allergan and they narrowed the field of candidates to two: me and Tom. We went for our final interviews.I hated the guy I interviewed with; we didn't click at all. The next day, they awarded the job to Tom and I got the job at the software company. (Tom won the job fair and square, on his own merits.) Together, we handed in our resignations and escaped the evil witch.
We were really close friends for a long time. For a very short time, we flirted with the idea of a sexual thing, but we both been pretty messed up from other relationships. We would have
destroyed our friendship if we went down that path. But we stayed friends, having coffee, going to movies and always joking. I think we were such good friends because we love language and have a twisted sense of humor.
But our lives gradually took different paths. We dated other people, got more involved in careers and hobbies. The intensity of our friendship faded, but we still emailed, talked on the phone, and sometimes had lunch or coffee.
About 10 years ago, Tom started dating a women, Nadine, who was horrifically jealous of all of Tom's friends. She'd monitor his phone calls and basically forbade him to have contact with us. When he tried to break up with her, she'd threaten suicide, he'd rescue her and the cycle would start all over again.
Tom also suffered from terrible depression. I fell awful because, at the time he was suffering most, I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and snap out of it. He took medication and did counseling any way and got better. He tried to get help for Nadinet hrough counseling, but she rejected it. All in all, they were together about 10 years.
Eventually, Tom became so well that he broke free of Nadine. I think it's not only because he became healthy but because he met a cool woman, Lily, who liked him. She shares his interests, loves his hobbies, and really loves him. She's his equal. He had been so screwed up by Nadine--she's the kind of woman I'd hoped he'd find.
When I went through my own battle with depression, Tom floated me financially and helped me keep my house. Later, he helped me fight a battle with the DMV to keep my license.
But, I broke up with him today because he's only there for me when I fall apart. There's something yucky in having someone who only wants to talk with me when I'm broken. I can't remember the last time we had *FUN* like coffee or lunch or even talked on the phone for more than 10 minutes. I let him go today, not because I was mad, but because it started to feel like shit when, on the rare occasions I would call him, he'd always say, "I've gotta go and meet Lily at the gym, at the pool, for dinner, etc."
In the past, I've screwed myself up by pretending that a relationship was something it's not--that sex was love--stuff like that. The truth is that I DID sometimes want to talk or hang out with Tom and he didn't need me at all any more.His priorities had shifted--and it's cool that he found a loving relationship. It's something I'd prayed for him for a long time. But,I also didn't want to feel like shit on the rare occasion that I called him.
I know I'm a jackass because he really did help me save my life. But, I also need a friend who wants to know me when I'm strong.
When I broke up with him, he offered to do lunch next week, but I know it's a lie. We'd have lunch, I'd be placated and, when I called two or three months from now, he'd say, "Gotta go..." And I'd feel like shit again. I can't change him and I can't change what the rejection feels like. So, the only thing I could do is to let him go.
I'll miss him...or the idea of our friendship. He's irreplaceable and I'll never know anyone like him ever again. Even now, I feel like I made a mistake, but you can't fake reality.
About 20 years ago, we worked together at Kendall McGaw Pharmaceuticals. We had a boss, Letty, who was an absolute nightmare.We wrote reports to get IV solutions approved for the FDA. Letty would review our reports, praise us like crazy to our faces,and slash us to ribbons when she presented the reports to her boss.
Tom had worked there way longer than me. His confidence had deserted him. He didn't even try to leave. One of the managers at Kendall knew how crappy our boss was. She turned me on to a job at Allergan. I told Tom about it and teased him, saying I knew I could get the job but he never could. His competitive spirit kicked in and we both went for the job, full blast. (In the meantime, I also applied to a job at a software company.)
We both interviewed at Allergan and they narrowed the field of candidates to two: me and Tom. We went for our final interviews.I hated the guy I interviewed with; we didn't click at all. The next day, they awarded the job to Tom and I got the job at the software company. (Tom won the job fair and square, on his own merits.) Together, we handed in our resignations and escaped the evil witch.
We were really close friends for a long time. For a very short time, we flirted with the idea of a sexual thing, but we both been pretty messed up from other relationships. We would have
destroyed our friendship if we went down that path. But we stayed friends, having coffee, going to movies and always joking. I think we were such good friends because we love language and have a twisted sense of humor.
But our lives gradually took different paths. We dated other people, got more involved in careers and hobbies. The intensity of our friendship faded, but we still emailed, talked on the phone, and sometimes had lunch or coffee.
About 10 years ago, Tom started dating a women, Nadine, who was horrifically jealous of all of Tom's friends. She'd monitor his phone calls and basically forbade him to have contact with us. When he tried to break up with her, she'd threaten suicide, he'd rescue her and the cycle would start all over again.
Tom also suffered from terrible depression. I fell awful because, at the time he was suffering most, I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and snap out of it. He took medication and did counseling any way and got better. He tried to get help for Nadinet hrough counseling, but she rejected it. All in all, they were together about 10 years.
Eventually, Tom became so well that he broke free of Nadine. I think it's not only because he became healthy but because he met a cool woman, Lily, who liked him. She shares his interests, loves his hobbies, and really loves him. She's his equal. He had been so screwed up by Nadine--she's the kind of woman I'd hoped he'd find.
When I went through my own battle with depression, Tom floated me financially and helped me keep my house. Later, he helped me fight a battle with the DMV to keep my license.
But, I broke up with him today because he's only there for me when I fall apart. There's something yucky in having someone who only wants to talk with me when I'm broken. I can't remember the last time we had *FUN* like coffee or lunch or even talked on the phone for more than 10 minutes. I let him go today, not because I was mad, but because it started to feel like shit when, on the rare occasions I would call him, he'd always say, "I've gotta go and meet Lily at the gym, at the pool, for dinner, etc."
In the past, I've screwed myself up by pretending that a relationship was something it's not--that sex was love--stuff like that. The truth is that I DID sometimes want to talk or hang out with Tom and he didn't need me at all any more.His priorities had shifted--and it's cool that he found a loving relationship. It's something I'd prayed for him for a long time. But,I also didn't want to feel like shit on the rare occasion that I called him.
I know I'm a jackass because he really did help me save my life. But, I also need a friend who wants to know me when I'm strong.
When I broke up with him, he offered to do lunch next week, but I know it's a lie. We'd have lunch, I'd be placated and, when I called two or three months from now, he'd say, "Gotta go..." And I'd feel like shit again. I can't change him and I can't change what the rejection feels like. So, the only thing I could do is to let him go.
I'll miss him...or the idea of our friendship. He's irreplaceable and I'll never know anyone like him ever again. Even now, I feel like I made a mistake, but you can't fake reality.
Grief fades but doesn't disappear
It's coming up on the one year anniversary of Mommie's death. It still makes me cry when I think of her.I can't shake the feeling that I murdered her. This year, I want to do something to memorialize her insome way.
I've almost forgotten the details of her face and her questioning trill. I still sometimes sing the nonsense song I sang to her:
Mommie Loo, I love you.
I really do, O Mommie Loo.
Mommie Cat, I love you
and that is that, O Mommie Cat.
It's not as though I don't love my trio of tabbies. It's not as though I don't have a cool, full life, full of things I love. I just sometimes still miss her.
I've almost forgotten the details of her face and her questioning trill. I still sometimes sing the nonsense song I sang to her:
Mommie Loo, I love you.
I really do, O Mommie Loo.
Mommie Cat, I love you
and that is that, O Mommie Cat.
It's not as though I don't love my trio of tabbies. It's not as though I don't have a cool, full life, full of things I love. I just sometimes still miss her.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Knit the Stash
I had the opportunity to do a kindness for a fellow knitter. She confided to our knitting teacher that she might be losing her house and it make her a nervous wreck. The only thing that comforts her is knitting.
I know the feeling of being "way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine." So I dug into my stash for a way of giving her a yarnish hug. I found a skein of ice blue Kashmir Aran by Louisa Harding, suitable for Fetching gloves, 4 skeins of red Rowan Tweed suitable for a fabulous scarf, and a skein of alpaca sock yarn.
Because I'm shy, I gifted her secretly through our knitting teacher. I happened to be there when my fellow knitter received her yarn and crowed happily as she dug through the bag. I felt so grateful to be able to pass along kindness.
What my fellow knitter doesn't know, is that I benefitted from digging through my stash and UFOs.
I found some Noro Taiyo and am considering an entrelac pillow. I also found some Noro Cotton Hill and am considering what to pair it with to create a beret or scarf. Boucle gives me hives, but maybe something cute can happen with it.
I need to give my 2nd sock, 2nd sawed off mitten, and Lizard Ridge square some attention, but they'll have to until this weekend.
O knitting!
I know the feeling of being "way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine." So I dug into my stash for a way of giving her a yarnish hug. I found a skein of ice blue Kashmir Aran by Louisa Harding, suitable for Fetching gloves, 4 skeins of red Rowan Tweed suitable for a fabulous scarf, and a skein of alpaca sock yarn.
Because I'm shy, I gifted her secretly through our knitting teacher. I happened to be there when my fellow knitter received her yarn and crowed happily as she dug through the bag. I felt so grateful to be able to pass along kindness.
What my fellow knitter doesn't know, is that I benefitted from digging through my stash and UFOs.
I found some Noro Taiyo and am considering an entrelac pillow. I also found some Noro Cotton Hill and am considering what to pair it with to create a beret or scarf. Boucle gives me hives, but maybe something cute can happen with it.
I discovered all of these odds and ends of Encore so I decided it was time to try magic ball knitting. I'm tying together lengths of tropical colors into one skein--enough to make a funkadelic hat. I also have a stash of pinks and heathered gray that can become...something. Fun!
As for UFOs, I restarted my Fair Isle Book Bag (from Bag Style) and promptly messed it up. I also started my third Monteagle bag (from Mason Dixon Knitting Outside the Lines). and it's crusing along nicely. I messed up the right crosses and had to rip back, but I'm not sending it away for a time-out.I need to give my 2nd sock, 2nd sawed off mitten, and Lizard Ridge square some attention, but they'll have to until this weekend.
O knitting!
Friday, November 07, 2008
Grief subsides
It’s been 7+ months since Mommie Cat died and I miss her still, but not with the grinding sorrow of fresh grief.
Because of the vacancy Mommie left, Outside Tiger has slowly become an inside tiger, sleeping at the foot of my bed. Tommie, her “kitten,” has taken Mommie’s place as my right-hand cat, always close by, waiting for skritches and treats. And Cat is now my only girl.
I’ve been in my new job since June and it’s heaven. I enjoy my co-workers greatly. The work is fairly easy.
Because of the vacancy Mommie left, Outside Tiger has slowly become an inside tiger, sleeping at the foot of my bed. Tommie, her “kitten,” has taken Mommie’s place as my right-hand cat, always close by, waiting for skritches and treats. And Cat is now my only girl.
I’ve been in my new job since June and it’s heaven. I enjoy my co-workers greatly. The work is fairly easy.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
All Things
And so I did finish the API manual. It was horrifying.
I'd created chartering estimates based on a reasonable amount of work. However, the team wanted our two-person team to create two technical manuals in a month. The .Net Controls Guide was 150 pages and the API Manual was 495 pages--yes, in just 20 working days.
By the time I finished, my hands were screaming in pain. It felt like knives were being jammed into my wrists everytime I clicked a key.
The result is that I looked for and found a new job. I'm psyched and scared.
I'd created chartering estimates based on a reasonable amount of work. However, the team wanted our two-person team to create two technical manuals in a month. The .Net Controls Guide was 150 pages and the API Manual was 495 pages--yes, in just 20 working days.
By the time I finished, my hands were screaming in pain. It felt like knives were being jammed into my wrists everytime I clicked a key.
The result is that I looked for and found a new job. I'm psyched and scared.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
All things--even API Manuals
I've been procrastinating about getting started on writing an API Reference Manual. I'm really intimidated by it. I felt a bit overwhelmed by the technicality of it and the fact that I'm separated from the developers by 3 time zones.
But, I'm saying to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Which means, I can even count on Jesus to guide me through writing an API Reference Guide. I mean, if He was instrumental in creating the universe in less than 7 days, certainly an API manual isn't too hard for Him.
But, I'm saying to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Which means, I can even count on Jesus to guide me through writing an API Reference Guide. I mean, if He was instrumental in creating the universe in less than 7 days, certainly an API manual isn't too hard for Him.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Cleaning house
When Mommie was dying, it's like I HAD to knit to deal with the overwhelming sadness. Now that she's gone, it's been hard to get started in knitting again.
I spent most of this weekend cleaning my house. Mommie died because I let myself live in my depression. I used it as an excuse to live a sloppy life. My home has been a dirty, disgusting mess for 3 years.
Yesterday I took 15 bags of trash to the dump. I've got 6 more to go, but it's looking better.
I washed 2 sets of silverware, three sets of dishes, and 2 sets of glassware. I can see my kitchen counter! I "swiffered" my floors 6 times before they were clean. Now, my home smells like citrus instead of detritus. I cleaned stuff out of my fridge that expired last summer and restocked it with fresh fruits and veggies.
I cried as I cleaned because Mommie won't be here to sit with me on my clean patio or to bask in the sunshine on the clean, fluffy carpet. She died because I didn't take care of myself or anything very well. But, the way I can honor her is by being kinder to my kitties--cuddling them instead of pushing them away and by giving them a clean home to live in.
I spent most of this weekend cleaning my house. Mommie died because I let myself live in my depression. I used it as an excuse to live a sloppy life. My home has been a dirty, disgusting mess for 3 years.
Yesterday I took 15 bags of trash to the dump. I've got 6 more to go, but it's looking better.
I washed 2 sets of silverware, three sets of dishes, and 2 sets of glassware. I can see my kitchen counter! I "swiffered" my floors 6 times before they were clean. Now, my home smells like citrus instead of detritus. I cleaned stuff out of my fridge that expired last summer and restocked it with fresh fruits and veggies.
I cried as I cleaned because Mommie won't be here to sit with me on my clean patio or to bask in the sunshine on the clean, fluffy carpet. She died because I didn't take care of myself or anything very well. But, the way I can honor her is by being kinder to my kitties--cuddling them instead of pushing them away and by giving them a clean home to live in.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
You deserve a break today
I was waiting in the drive-thru at Mickey D's when I saw a guy get out of his Jeep, walk to the dumpsters, and throw away his cigarette. I thought it was so cool that he threw his cigarette butt in the trash instead of in the parking lot, I paid for his lunch. He yelled, "Thank you," as I drove away.
Rewriting my life's script
Today Dr. Laura said that for short-term burnout, physicality is a great remedy: take a hike or something. Short-term burnout is about overloading the brain. But, long-term burnout is about a lack of joy and requires rewriting your life's script.
So, I am kind of hating my life and I do feel a lack of joy. So, I need to figure out how to go to the place of joyfulness and usefulness.
So, I am kind of hating my life and I do feel a lack of joy. So, I need to figure out how to go to the place of joyfulness and usefulness.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
It doesn't get better
It's been three weeks and one day since I put Mommie to sleep. In some ways, I've already forgotten her and moved on. There isn't unendurable pain. It's not fresh and raw and sharp. But...
The other day, I was getting ready to go to work and did a quick "cat count" before I left. I saw Cat sleeping on the bed, Bug sleeping on the patio chair and Tommie's face smiling at me from behind the living room chair. But, I rushed all over the house, panicked, because I couldn't find Mommie. Suddenly, I remembered she was gone. Fresh grief.
Sometimes I still call out to her, "M - O - M!" I don't believe she can hear me. It's more that I'm afraid of forgetting my darling kitten.
I feel guility because I don't look for her every day. It doesn't cut me up when I don't see her sitting inside the front door when I come home. I don't miss her any more when I wake up. I can't remember the details of her face. The memory of her meow is already dimming.
And yet, last night I read my rembrances of her and couldn't get through it without tears crashing down like a waterfall.
I kept thinking I'd get a little stone or box to remember her, but I can't yet. She's just a damn cat, but I loved her. I was crappy at being loving to her most of the time, but I did give her a moderately safe place to live when no one else would. And, in point of fact, she chose me. Maybe that's why I miss her--because she's one of the few things in this world who chose me.
The other day, I was getting ready to go to work and did a quick "cat count" before I left. I saw Cat sleeping on the bed, Bug sleeping on the patio chair and Tommie's face smiling at me from behind the living room chair. But, I rushed all over the house, panicked, because I couldn't find Mommie. Suddenly, I remembered she was gone. Fresh grief.
Sometimes I still call out to her, "M - O - M!" I don't believe she can hear me. It's more that I'm afraid of forgetting my darling kitten.
I feel guility because I don't look for her every day. It doesn't cut me up when I don't see her sitting inside the front door when I come home. I don't miss her any more when I wake up. I can't remember the details of her face. The memory of her meow is already dimming.
And yet, last night I read my rembrances of her and couldn't get through it without tears crashing down like a waterfall.
I kept thinking I'd get a little stone or box to remember her, but I can't yet. She's just a damn cat, but I loved her. I was crappy at being loving to her most of the time, but I did give her a moderately safe place to live when no one else would. And, in point of fact, she chose me. Maybe that's why I miss her--because she's one of the few things in this world who chose me.
Everyday Christmas
Today's Christmas "box" is for a little girl. It's a canvas bag stuffed with a child-sized pillow and blanket, a stuffed toy, slippers, crayons, and coloring books. I also scored some glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs and wind up cars to add to some boxes in progress for a little boy.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
It gets better
Serious depression set in over the weekend. I didn't make it out of bed much on Saturday or Sunday. With a person, you can tell yourself, "X wouldn't want me to be like this." But, while MommieCat was a sweet, affectionate girl, she really didn't care about the quality of my life.
But, today I'm turning the depression corner. I've resume the wonderful vitamin B complex (which really seems to help). I'm also starting to set goals and to do things that make me feel powerful instead of powerless. These are serious keys, for me, in overcoming depression.
I still miss Mommie. I notice it most when I eat because she would always demand her share. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget her. I don't want to forget her, but if the pain goes away, I'm afraid I'll forget her.
I also am ashamed at how much I took her for granted. Alot of people tried to tell me that I shouldn't feel bad because I gave her a great life. Well, I didn't. If I'd have had her blood tested in January when she had such a bad eye infection, we might have been able to knock the E coli down in time. But I was equal parts cheap and depressed. She paid for my stupidity with her life.
The thing I can do is, from now on, to treat my 2 1/2 remaining cats with more affection and to buy insurance so cost isn't a factor when I take them to the vet.
I don't believe that animals go to heaven. The Bible says that God created animals, that He knows when a sparrow falls...but they don't have souls. Still, I know God created Mommie for me and sent her when I needed her the most. I hope He loved her enough to take her heaven.
But, today I'm turning the depression corner. I've resume the wonderful vitamin B complex (which really seems to help). I'm also starting to set goals and to do things that make me feel powerful instead of powerless. These are serious keys, for me, in overcoming depression.
I still miss Mommie. I notice it most when I eat because she would always demand her share. Part of me is afraid that I'll forget her. I don't want to forget her, but if the pain goes away, I'm afraid I'll forget her.
I also am ashamed at how much I took her for granted. Alot of people tried to tell me that I shouldn't feel bad because I gave her a great life. Well, I didn't. If I'd have had her blood tested in January when she had such a bad eye infection, we might have been able to knock the E coli down in time. But I was equal parts cheap and depressed. She paid for my stupidity with her life.
The thing I can do is, from now on, to treat my 2 1/2 remaining cats with more affection and to buy insurance so cost isn't a factor when I take them to the vet.
I don't believe that animals go to heaven. The Bible says that God created animals, that He knows when a sparrow falls...but they don't have souls. Still, I know God created Mommie for me and sent her when I needed her the most. I hope He loved her enough to take her heaven.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Grief and Baby Sweaters
I was doing great yesterday and today *bleah*. I could barely crawl out of bed! I kept hearing Mommie all night. I'd hear her clicking into the room as her extra toes caught on the carpet. I heard her questioning meow. I woke up scratching her head and ears--but it was only the teddy bear.
To assuage my grief, I'm knitting and working. However, I don't want to finish my berry bag. I think it has something to do me working on it while Mommie was dying...or maybe I don't want the reward of finishing the bag while I'm grieving for Mommie...or even that being done with the bag is like being done with Mommie.
So, instead, I'm knitting baby sweaters for charity. I work with Chris Coble. He and Lori lost their kids in a car accident last spring. The amazing news is that Lori is having twins in May. I'm kicking around the idea of making three sweaters for their babies. In Berrocco Comfort. I may go with Rosebud, Peche, or Buttercup for the girl sweaters and Military Mix for the boy sweater. (I know, these colors are not neutrals, but why should I resist yarns named "Rosebud" and "Buttercup"?)
To assuage my grief, I'm knitting and working. However, I don't want to finish my berry bag. I think it has something to do me working on it while Mommie was dying...or maybe I don't want the reward of finishing the bag while I'm grieving for Mommie...or even that being done with the bag is like being done with Mommie.
So, instead, I'm knitting baby sweaters for charity. I work with Chris Coble. He and Lori lost their kids in a car accident last spring. The amazing news is that Lori is having twins in May. I'm kicking around the idea of making three sweaters for their babies. In Berrocco Comfort. I may go with Rosebud, Peche, or Buttercup for the girl sweaters and Military Mix for the boy sweater. (I know, these colors are not neutrals, but why should I resist yarns named "Rosebud" and "Buttercup"?)
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Story of Cat
Ten years ago I dated a man who, after his divorce, moved in with his parents with his two young daughters. I think he needed the comfort of family and wanted his girls to have the positive female influence his mom could provide.
The family had a large yard that was inhabited by a multiplicity of feral cats. Most of them were white, scruffy-looking things. They had no interest in human company and would, in fact, scatter at the hint that a human was thinking about going into the yard. The B’s didn’t want the feral cats to starve, so they put a plate of kibble on the patio every evening—first come, first served.
One day, as I was sitting on the patio, I spied a tabby kitten with a sweet white bib and white kitten toes.
I figured it would be great to adopt this young cat. I imagined watching TV in the evenings with the grateful tabby curled on my lap, purring contentedly.
I brought a cardboard box over to the B’s, ready to be a pet owner. I figured that capturing the kitten would be as simple as scooping it up and putting it in the box. So I put the box on the patio, reached out to grab the kitten and YOW! I got a faceful of growl. I was terrified by this thing that was probably less than 1% of my body weight.
Papa B wasn’t about to be thwarted. He cornered her and scooped her into the box. The box came alive with fury but I carried it to my truck anyway.
The box bumped and lurched with anger as I drove the few short miles home. I was grateful that I'd bought a bag of kitty litter so I could weigh it down.
When I got home, I set the box in my living room. I knew I had to open it, but I was afraid of being savaged. I got a broom and gently nudged the lid open. POW! The box exploded and a lightning bolt of tabby streaked around the living room, into the dining room, into the kitchen and UP onto a basket on the kitchen counter. I approached warily as two golden eyes glared at me from the safety of the basket.
I decided to leave well enough alone. I put out a dish of food, a dish of water and a cat box. I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into?" But I loved this little feline too much to let her go the way of her littermates--eaten by coyotes or run over by cars.
And so our adventure began.
The family had a large yard that was inhabited by a multiplicity of feral cats. Most of them were white, scruffy-looking things. They had no interest in human company and would, in fact, scatter at the hint that a human was thinking about going into the yard. The B’s didn’t want the feral cats to starve, so they put a plate of kibble on the patio every evening—first come, first served.
One day, as I was sitting on the patio, I spied a tabby kitten with a sweet white bib and white kitten toes.
I figured it would be great to adopt this young cat. I imagined watching TV in the evenings with the grateful tabby curled on my lap, purring contentedly.
I brought a cardboard box over to the B’s, ready to be a pet owner. I figured that capturing the kitten would be as simple as scooping it up and putting it in the box. So I put the box on the patio, reached out to grab the kitten and YOW! I got a faceful of growl. I was terrified by this thing that was probably less than 1% of my body weight.
Papa B wasn’t about to be thwarted. He cornered her and scooped her into the box. The box came alive with fury but I carried it to my truck anyway.
The box bumped and lurched with anger as I drove the few short miles home. I was grateful that I'd bought a bag of kitty litter so I could weigh it down.
When I got home, I set the box in my living room. I knew I had to open it, but I was afraid of being savaged. I got a broom and gently nudged the lid open. POW! The box exploded and a lightning bolt of tabby streaked around the living room, into the dining room, into the kitchen and UP onto a basket on the kitchen counter. I approached warily as two golden eyes glared at me from the safety of the basket.
I decided to leave well enough alone. I put out a dish of food, a dish of water and a cat box. I wondered, "What have I gotten myself into?" But I loved this little feline too much to let her go the way of her littermates--eaten by coyotes or run over by cars.
And so our adventure began.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Grief
My kitty is dead. I can hardly breathe. I hear her questioning meow. I woke up this morning and she wasn't there. She's a pile of ashes now. All I have left are memories and a scrap of fur.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Letting her go
Today is the day I'm putting Mommie to sleep. She's thin as a rake and her charming personality is gone. She sleeps and eats. She took weak to jump off the bed. I had to put a disposable catbox on the corner of the bed.
I don't know why she's dying. I only know that she is. I've tried antibiotics, steriods, and subQ fluids for 5 days. And she's getting thinner every day. I'd be a complete jerk to deny it and continue to "hope" she'd get better.
I've kept her around because I didn't want to feel guilty about putting her to sleep and because I didn't want to face the pain of her loss. I'm old enough to know that nothing can take her place.
A phone call from the vet confirms that she has e. coli. Damn. Mommie always has been a trash picker. But it's my fault she got to the trash. The guilt is overwhelming and my heart is broken. I feel like coming completely unraveled.
I don't know why she's dying. I only know that she is. I've tried antibiotics, steriods, and subQ fluids for 5 days. And she's getting thinner every day. I'd be a complete jerk to deny it and continue to "hope" she'd get better.
I've kept her around because I didn't want to feel guilty about putting her to sleep and because I didn't want to face the pain of her loss. I'm old enough to know that nothing can take her place.
A phone call from the vet confirms that she has e. coli. Damn. Mommie always has been a trash picker. But it's my fault she got to the trash. The guilt is overwhelming and my heart is broken. I feel like coming completely unraveled.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Mommie
 |
| My beautiful girl |
Mommie is a black and white cow cat who is confident in her own beauty. When I think of her, I picture her sitting with her white chest out, whiskers forward, absolutely confident that she is beautiful and irresistibly petable. And yet, she meows like a junkyard cat—a really, grating, disagreeable alley cat sound.
She is a mask and saddle cat. I love that her black ears are sugar-frosted with wisps of white. From the front, she appears to be mostly white. From the back, she appears mostly black—a solid black tail with little wisps of white. Her front legs are marked with black spots. It looks as though the spot starts on one leg and continues to the other. Her best marking is a black, heart-shaped patch over her heart--my black-hearted girl. Her fur is extremely fine and soft and shiny.
I also love that she’s a polydactyl—front and back. I sometimes call her my pterodactyl.
She’s my only cat who is a greeter. When my other cats hear someone walking up the steps, they scatter and hide—but not Mommie. She always greets me when I come home from work, either sitting near the front door or howling at me from an open window. She always presents herself to my infrequent visitors. She wants them to have the opportunity to admire her extreme beauty.
She is an amorous girl. She doesn’t like to sit in my lap or to be held, but she loves to be petted—especially her neck, shoulders, and behind the ears. She puts her whole head into my hand and sometimes nuzzles my palm to awaken me for “the petting.” Because she enjoys it so much, I call it “heavy petting.”
Mommie showed up on the patio of my Costa Mesa apartment in the Spring of 1998 with her five feral kittens: two black and white polydactyls, two black polydactyls, and a tabby. She presented her kittens with pride, whiskers up, her tail like a little flag. She spent the afternoons sitting in the sun on my patio chair while her kittens slowly destroyed every plant in my garden.
Over the course of a month, I worked to tame her kittens. At first, when I would open the door to the patio, the kittens would scatter. Mommie would remain on the patio chair, smiling in the sun. Bit by bit, the kittens grew accustomed to my presence.
I borrowed a large dog kennel from the Irvine animal shelter and captured the kittens. I kept Mommie and her kittens in the kennel at night but let them roam my bedroom during the day. As soon as the kittens would tolerate being handled, I gave them to a kitten adoption agency. I’d planned to give all of the kittens away, but Mommie howled and HOWLED with grief when I separated her from the kittens. So I kept her tabby kitten, named him Tommie and he’s lived with me, Mommie, and Cat for nearly 10 years. Tommie nursed on his Mommie for nearly 4 or 5 months, until he was almost the same size as her.
In 2000, the cats and I made the move to my condo in Aliso Viejo. It was a smooth transition and we settled into our new home nicely.
Mommie sleeps in a lot of places, but mostly she sleeps on my bed. Sometimes, she even sleeps on my pillow. The sound of her purring through the nice is extremely comforting.
I love that she is my cuddly cat, the cat that wants to be near me, the one who wants to be petted. She, more than my other cats, is my companion. When I’m home, Mommie is always within arm’s reach, except when I’m in the kitchen.
She loves to drink from a sports bottle of water and is an avid junk food eater. She assumes that any food in the house is up for grabs. Many times I’ve been watching TV and eating chips, left the room, and come back only to find a black and white cat butt sticking out of my bag of chips. She loves to eat melon—especially watermelon and cantelope. And, probably from her feral days, she's an avid trashpicker. She cheerfully pulls anything and everything interesting from the trash for midnight feasts.
She loves riding in the truck. She likes it if I hold her in my arms as we’re driving down the road. She looks out the window and the wind ruffles her fur.
Terms of EndearmentMommie Lou, Mommieness, M-O-M, Mommie ManyToes
Emmy-O-E-Emmy
My Girl
Mommieskin
Mommieskin Rug
Wicked Little Girl
Naughty Girl
Tiny girl
Big girl (Great BIG Girl)
A Nonsense Song I Sing to Her
Mommie Lou
I love you
I really do
Oh Mommie Lou
Mommieness
You’re the best
In the west
Oh Mommieness
MommieMeow
I love you
I really do
Oh MommieMew
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