Something Bigger Than Me

Anyone who is friends with me on Facebook knows what an incredibly crappy year I've had.  Totally first world problems, but nonetheless, I've been a stressball all year.  And when Gracie, my cat died, I broke a little.  There are pieces of my heart scattered throughout the universe, never to be found again.

Just like I've done when my other beloved cats died, I went to work.  Physical labor helps me to not forget exactly, but to focus my grief on something I can control.  When Maalea died, I dug a pond in 2 days in the heavy clay Texas soil.  With Sydney, it was a garden in Minnesota on land that used to be a gravel pit.  And so with Grace I needed to find an outlet too.  Enter the animal shelter, with the 50 pound bags of litter, the knee crushing concrete floor, and the insistent meows of 80 cats and kittens wanting to be fed.

I've always known that after my last Texas cat died I'd start over again, with 2 kittens.  And unlike all of my previous cats, who chose me by showing up at my doorstep, I thought that this time I'd choose them.  After all, getting a kitten is a potential 20 year committment, and I wanted to make sure that I chose a kitten that was beautiful, sweet, and healthy.

And God laughed.  I can keep telling myself that I chose them, but the fact of the matter is, Lee, Filly, and Meep chose me.  They crawled into my arms and into my heart at the same time.  Some people say that our pets will reincarnate and come back to us over and over again.  I don't know if that's true, but that broken piece of my heart has a scab on it now, and while it will never completely heal, it's whole enough to love again.  Are they beautiful?  To me they are, although Meep has a cataract in one eye, Filly has more toes than the average cat, and Lee is just another black cat.  Are they sweet?  YES!  Are they healthy?  Not yet.  Living in a shelter is hard on a kitten, and all of them have had their issues, from upper respiratory infections to parasites.  Who knows what issues they'll have in the future; it's a crapshoot at best.

Now, I'm not so fixated on whether my house in Texas will ever sell (it's under contract for the 4th time), or what paint colors I'll use in my new house.  Now I'm impatiently waiting for the day I can take my babies to their forever home.  And what I can do to help the overcrowded shelter continue to help homeless cats and dogs.  It's bigger than me.

Pulling Myself Up By My Bootstraps

I am prone to chronic depression; the kind of long-term loss of interest in anything good not necessarily caused by any event.  I've been treated for it in the past, and told that likely it would be something I'd have to deal with for the rest of my life.

So I met my new Minnesota doc last week and asked for help.  I knew that talk therapy wasn't the answer, but that medication potentially was.  Prozac sort of did the job previously, but only sort of.  I had already done my research and asked about Wellbutrin, which she agreed was appropriate for me.  So I've been on it for 5 days and experiencing some of the side effects like insomnia and dry mouth, which I'm told should go away in a week or two.  It also makes me feel a little hyper, like I drank too much coffee.  But I guess that's a sign that it's working.

In an effort to try and help myself, I'm trying to be more social and give of myself.  I took a painting class last week, and am taking a glass class Saturday.

But the biggest change is my work with the cats at the local pound.  Since I was off last week, I got my training on Friday morning, with a complete kennel cleanout.  By the time we were done I was exhausted - my legs ached, my knees hurt from kneeling on concrete floors, and I was all sweaty.  And I loved it so much I came back the next day.  This time, the head volunteer left the room for long spaces at a time, I think perhaps as a bit of a test.  I must have passed, because she said I could work Sunday morning if I wanted, this time without her.

The shelter has full-time employees that do the feeding, watering, and cleanout every day.  There was only one on Sunday, and if I hadn't been there she would have been responsible for taking care of 72 cats and 15 dogs by herself.  With just a little help, she let me loose on the cats.  I fed them, cleaned their litter boxes, gave them fresh blankets, gave them water, and let them out to play for awhile.  All 72 of them.  While cleaning the lower cages I'd often feel a paw grab my hair from above and pull - not my best hair day.  And I took time out to cuddle most of the cats and kittens, some as young as 1 week old.  By day 3 I was getting to know many of the cats and their personalities.  Jack, who recently had 21 teeth pulled.  His faithful companion Jingles, who never goes far from Jack.  Their owner died and they came to live at the shelter.

Lee, a black kitten that would stand on his back legs with his front on my shoulders when I opened the kennel.  And when I'd hold him he'd just purr away, content just to be there.  I will probably adopt him if he's still there when my house is ready.  Along with Meep, another tiny kitten who is blind in one eye and is cute as can be.  The shelter is trying to raise grant money for the surgery to remove the bad eye.

Zephyr, a Bombay cat about a year old, with fur that looks like patent leather.  When I'd let him out, he'd follow me around the room.  In his kennel, he was very vocal, trying to get my attention.

I came home with my hands covered in scratches, and one on my face as well.  And haven't felt that happy in a long time.  I'm going back this weekend for more kitty loving, and to see who steals my heart this time.

The Healing Power of Nature, and Buckaroo Bonzai

I mentioned that I've been extremely stressed this summer, so I took this week off.  No plans other than trying to escape one of the stressors on me; my job.

Yesterday I went to Phelps, MN, and visited the historic Phelps Mill on the Ottertail River.  Being a Monday in the fall, there weren't a lot of people in the park, and it was nice to listen to the water rushing over the dam for awhile.  The drive there and back was beautiful, with the leaves about 50% of their full beauty.

Today I explored Maplewood State Park, including taking a 1/2 mile hike through the woods.  The hike not only reminded me what I love about being outside, it reminded me how long it's been since I exercised at all!  I made a serious attempt to relax, and was semi-successful.  My mind has been on high alert for so long that it's hard to convince it to slow down and enjoy the moment.

I booked a seat at a painting event tomorrow night - I enjoyed the first one I did so much, and concentrating on the brush strokes is almost like meditation for me.  The subject of the painting is the lake in Autumn, which is fitting.

And the head volunteer for the local animal shelter finally returned my call.  She's the only one with the keys to the cat kingdom there, and I have to be approved directly by her before I can volunteer hours without supervision.  So Friday morning I'll be helping to clean out all of the cat cages - all 70 of them.  I told her that since I was on vacation this week I could give 40 hours of my time, which she seemed to appreciate, but hasn't followed up on.  She mentioned several times that it's a skeleton crew and they can use all the help they can get.  She said she'd call someone there and see what other time I could come by, but hasn't called me back to confirm.

I also accepted an invitation for a glass class.  I met the instructor this spring, and even bid on her student's artwork (which I won!!).  She seemed like a nice lady, raising chickens and goats in a nearby town.  So when a new friend invited me to join her for a class, I leaped at the chance.  It's not until October 10th though.

October 8th my big brother and I are doing our annual gourmet meal / wine pairing at Spanky's on Rose Lake.  It's his turn to pay, which I'll be happy to remind him of!

So I'm trying to put a halt to the pity party here in my head.  I heard a couple on the radio talking about "practical enlightenment", and one of the things they said stuck with me.  When we bemoan our situation, we need to ask ourselves why.  This moment, this situation, is exactly what is supposed to be happening, in fact is what we created.  We should look at it as what is, rather than what we wish it would be.  It is what it is.  And to quote Buckaroo Bonzai, "wherever you go, there you are".

At this moment, I am choosing to be happy.  Today was a good day.

Excuse Me While I Have a Nervous Breakdown

The list of bad things that have happened to me this summer is long.  I have been stretched to the limit of what I can take in stress and pain.  I moved from Texas to Minnesota.  My house in Texas hasn't sold.  I had to cough up 20 grand to fix the sewer in said Texas house.  My new house won't be ready until late winter, meaning that I have to live with my brother until then.  My cat died.  And today, and old friend also died.  And that's just a partial list.

I vaccilate between wanting to throw myself on the floor, kick my feet, and have a proper tantrum to curling up in the corner and weeping my eyes out.  Today I said out loud "this isn't fair, God."

This isn't fair.  My life is supposed to filled with blue birds and cotton candy.  My life is supposed to happy, damn it.

I'm the one that points at people who are constantly negative and says "they're just drawing more bad stuff to them".  I'm the one that wakes up every morning and whispers "thank you God for this day".  And goes to sleep every night saying the same thing.  I try to find the gratitude in the little things, like the smell of chives on my fingers tonight after harvesting what is probably the last batch of the year.  Or the feel of the wind in my hair yesterday as my brother and sister-in-law explored my new country neighborhood.  So why is this crap all happening to me?

I could have taken the safe path, I guess, and stayed in Texas.  My housing woes would be non-existent, since I probably lived with that broken sewer the whole 19 years I had the house.  I wouldn't have the stress of building a new house, with the myriad of decisions I have to make.  I wouldn't have the very real possibility of two mortgages staring me in the face right now.

But, just like every other human out there, I look to the future and only see the good things.  My beautiful new home in the woods on a quiet winter's evening, with the fireplace going and supper on the stove.  Watching the deer graze in my backyard, bringing their little ones by just to visit.  My chickens happily clucking around my feet when I come out in the morning to greet them.  Long walks in the woods...my woods.  Seeing my family for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Super Bowl Sunday, and for no other reason than I want to spend time with them.

So yes, I'm a giant stressball at the moment.  And no, I don't regret a thing.

Unconditional

unconditional

 (ˌʌnkənˈdɪʃənəl)

adj

1. without conditions or limitations; total: unconditional surrender.

2. (Mathematics) maths (of an equality) true for all values of the variable: (x+1)>x is an unconditional equality.

ˌunconˈditionally adv ˌunconˈditionalness ˌunconˌditionˈality n

When I read the news or look at social media, I see a lot of very strong opinions that don't necessarily match mine.  And that's okay - in order to have an opinion, one should look at both sides of the issue.  So I remain friends with conservatives and liberals alike, knowing that they probably fume at some of the drivel I put out there too.

Here's my view on life, religion, politics, and everything else.  Unconditional.

For religion, it's unconditional love, the way Jesus taught.  I don't put conditions on your sexual orientation, your gender orientation, the color of your skin, how much money you make, where you live, or even your species.  If God created it, it is good.  Other than maybe the Unitarian Universalist church, I don't think a church exists that doesn't have conditions on acceptance.  So I don't belong to a church, because giving a church money that preaches against so-called sins like homosexuality is repugnant to me.

For politics, it's unconditional acceptance.  If the candidate I didn't vote for is in office, I'm not going to post negative memes about their nationality, their religion, or their record.  If they do good, however, you'll see that from me.  

And for everything else, it's unconditional surrender.  Surrender to what is, and not what you wish it would be.  Strive to make everything better, but don't spend your life thinking about what was or might have been if only.

Now for my opinion.  

There is WAY too much on social media and the news about stupid stuff like Kim Davis and not enough about the plight of the Syrian refugees, or the American education system, or poverty solutions.  

Now, if you don't like cats I may have to unfriend you.

A Year of Transitions

This summer will likely go down as one of the most stressful of my life.  Packing up everything and moving from Texas to Minnesota, trying to sell my house in Texas, selling Mom's house, sewer replacement, new house build...it goes on and on.

And now my last living reminder of my Texas home is gone too with Gracie departing this world Saturday.  I haven't been without at least one cat since 1991, when Sydney and Maalea entered my life.

Yesterday I started packing up Grace's stuff - some goes to the landfill, most goes to the storage unit for the next lucky kitten to enter my life.  Gone are the litterboxes.  Gone is the saline solution I used to have to give Grace to stave off her kidney disease.  Saved are the steps to the bed, the cat cave that Grace never once used, and the play toy that she used a couple of times.

'Cuz you know there will be at least one new cat.  But not for a few months yet, since I will be living temporarily with family until my house is done.

Bedtime is the hardest, followed by early morning.  Grace would sleep usually next to my ear, where I could roll over and bury my face in her soft fur.  Sometimes she'd reach out for me with one paw, bringing my hand to her.  And in the mornings she'd be so happy to see me that no matter how well I slept the night before or what faced me during the day, I'd have to smile.

This morning I smiled too.  I smiled because I remembered something special about each of the Texas cats that spent time with me.  Sydney the original, who mellowed from a hyper kitty to a sage old man (he lived to be almost 20).  Maalea, my sweet affectionate girl, the twin to Sydney, who died just before Grace moved in.  I sometimes think that Maalea's spirit lived in Grace; I called her Gracie Maalea for that reason.

Blue Bell Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk (shortened to Blue); the baby born in my arms while I was sleeping with Grace.  His favorite sport was licking my beer bottle every time I took a sip (and for you germaphobes out there - I was fine).

Scottie Sunshine, my long haired tuxedo cat, also born to Grace, who would be the first to greet me at the door with his tail held high.  When I had a cat tree in the bedroom, he'd use it dive bomb me in the middle of the night.

Little Mouse, my gray cat, who never got above 4 pounds soaking wet, and lived most of her life under the bed.  If mental illness exists for cats, she had it.

Sammy, probably my most affectionate cat, was a tabby born with one eye stuck shut with some sort of infection.  I spent the rest of his life wiping the corner of that eye out.  Sam and Grace spent a few years as my onlys,  and so made the trek to Minnesota in the summer with me.  After I fed them in the morning, they would both crawl in my lap while I worked at my desk, purring contentately.  Sam would crawl into the space between my chest and arm at night, hugging me at the same time I was hugging him.

And of course Gracie, who I still hear sometimes during the day, chirping peacefully at my side,  I feel the spirits of all my friends gathered around me when I think of them.  And if they choose to, I believe that they can come back to me.  Just like Maalea did with Grace.

Sydney

Blue

Grace and Sydney

The elusive Mouse

Sam

Scottie Sunshine

My sweet Maalea

Grace

Nineteen years ago, I fed a feral cat I named Missy, who one day brought her litter to my porch to be fed along with her.  They were so cute, those little bundles of fur!  The black kitten I named Blackie, having no idea if it was a girl or a boy.

After a couple of days of this, I opened my front door and went back inside.  Blackie the kitten followed me in and made herself at home.  Thinking it was a fluke, I put her back outside.  Next night, she followed me in again, this time crawling up on the couch where I lay and settling herself on my chest.

I had just seen my cat Maalea (also black) to the rainbow bridge with cancer, so I guess I saw this as a sign that "Blackie" was meant to be mine.  Now that I could handle the kitten, I found that Blackie was a girl, and thought about a new name for her.

"Grace", I thought.  As in Grace of God.  I looked upon her as a gift, brought to me while I was still grieving Maalea.

I made an appointment at the local vet to have Grace fixed, and kept her inside from then on.

A last minute trip to El Salvador meant a cancelled vet appointment.  Fast forward to May 1, 1998.

Grace was laying in my arms sleeping in bed with me, when she woke me with what almost felt like seizures.  I thought she was having a nightmare, and petted her, trying to soothe her back to sleep.  Finally I got up and turned the lights on, thinking that she was ill.  She wasn't ill.  She had just given birth to the first of 4 kittens.  My little kitten was a Mama!

Anyway, I've told that story before - all of her kittens passed on before she did, but my house was full of life for many years.  My little gift from God herself never got above 5 pounds, looking like a kitten most of her life.  Her kids towered above her, but she ruled the roost!

Grace was a hugger.  At sunrise every morning she'd stand up from where she had been sleeping (usually on my pillow), stretch, and then get my attention by walking back and forth across my face.  When I would crack open an eyelid and look at her, she'd look right back and be beside herself with joy to see me.  Yes, joy.  You've seen a dog so excited it runs in circles?  Well, Grace was similar, but of course expressed herself with much more refinement than a dog.

It was hard to wake up cranky when she was so happy to see me every morning.  Our morning ritual was for me to feed her, put the coffee on, and go to my computer to start catching up on the day.  It never mattered how much she had eaten of her breakfast, she would follow me and climb into my lap for her hugs and kisses, and only then go back and finish her breakfast.  I called it her adorment time.

Over the years, she's had her share of medical problems...getting old sucks!  But she never lost her joy at seeing me, and always wanted her adorment time.  The petting she loved; the kisses she tolerated.  I told her that she couldn't leave me until I had given her a billion trillion kisses.

This morning I gave her her billionth trillionth and one kiss.  Her poor little body just shut down and she died just before sunrise at the Vet's clinic.  The Vet Tech brought her body to me for one last adorment and one last kiss.  I love you Gracie Girl.  Until we meet again.