Slightly Bruised

I have been successful at avoiding most of the 9/11 news stories and remembrances so far.  I don't want to poke an angry, open wound to see it bleed again.  Still, listening to NPR on the way to work today I listened to a story about the the first official death certificate issued that awful day in New York.  It was a priest, and he was said to have known everyone from a homeless person to the mayor.  The Clintons went to his funeral, and he was hailed as being kind, generous, and, dare I say it?  A saint.

Now in real life, he probably had his faults like anyone else, but because of the way he died, he has been elevated to a position in our minds that few people ever get to.

Where was I that day?  I was working in building next door to American Airline's headquarters.  I had just arrived to work when the first plane hit.  By the time the second plane hit, someone had brought in a small TV and we all saw it live.  Our Help Desk was still located in the same office, and they were plugged into how many planes were missing and which specific flights had been hijacked.  Security locked down the building and wouldn't let us leave because they were uncertain at the time whether the United States was the target or American Airlines.

Within days, our company worked in secret with government agencies and the future TSA to build software that would flag suspected terrorists on flights.  Although it was never made public (and probably never will be), my colleagues helped stop other planes from being used as weapons of mass destruction.  These people are heroes  too in my mind, just like the fire fighters, police officers, and priests that died that day.

So going back and exploring those memories leaves my psyche slightly bruised.  It's true what people say - the world will never be the same.  But bruises fade with time, and life marches on.

I Am No Longer Obese!

I've always had issues with my weight.  When I was a child I remember a kid on the playground calling me "Fatty".  Looking at pictures from that long-ago era, I wasn't fat, not even really chubby, but that one comment left a psychological scar nonetheless.

I grew up, and my weight went up every year, until I reached 224 pounds and decided to have lap-band surgery.  I quickly lost about 40 pounds, and reached a plateau that I stayed at for the last 3 or 4 years.  I didn't do much to help break the plateau - I've always loved food, and don't exercise.  I weighed myself once when I got to my Summer Palace and had gained 6 pounds.  So I put away the scale and decided to just live my life.

About 6 weeks ago, I heard Dr. Oz talk about how people on Statins for cholesterol can get muscle cramps, and how a supplement of CoQ10 can help avoid that.  I had already experienced that side-effect several times, so I decided to give it a try, along with Glucosomine Chondroitin with MSM to help my achy joints.

I noticed that my pants were getting loose, and wondered if the cheap fabric in them was making them stretch out.  Just in case, I weighed myself too.  I had lost 10 pounds, and was only a pound away from getting out of the "obese" category!  As of this morning I had lost another 6 pounds, which is freaking me out a little bit.  I haven't done anything differently; my eating habits remain the same and I'm still not exercising.  Maybe the supplements gave my metabolism the boost they needed to break through that nasty plateau?

To get out of the overweight category, I still have to lose another 25 pounds.  Wonder if I'll see that number in my lifetime?

Gifts

People keep giving me gifts lately.  Sunday one of the guys that works in our campground gave me three roses that he found growing nearby.  He said that his church sermon that day had been about single people and how they might be lonely, so he thought of me.  Blah.  I told him I was not to be felt sorry for!  But I did appreciate the flowers regardless.

Today, Jack, my 84 year old neighbor knocked on my door at 4:30 and asked if I wanted to go have supper with him at the Speak Easy in town (he's 84, so 4:30 wasn't an unreasonable time to eat supper I guess).  After a delicious supper of pan-fried walleye he showed me his workshop.  He makes incredible bowls, vases, pens, and wine stoppers out of exotic woods from Africa, New Zealand, and even Minards.  He showed me some wine stoppers he had made that day and told me to pick one.  I protested of course, and he said it again, this time a little stronger.  So I have a beautiful wine stopper in my purse.  That, in addition to the pen set he gave me a few weeks ago.  And the bread and butter pickles.  And the pickled beets.  And the Lemoncello and Grand Marnier.

When I got home I went for a golf cart ride.  Part of the campground property is a former golf course that has been left to nature, with the exception of a mowed "walking path" that winds through the hills and prairie.  Nobody I know actually walks on the walking path, but it's nice to sometimes ride the golf cart there.  I braked first for a skunk.  Luckily the skunk went the other direction.  Then I saw a red fox in the distance leaping through the tall grass towards the woods.  The maintenance guys here saw this little guy this morning and got a great photo of the fox leaping on prey.  And I saw a deer too - second one in two days.    These sights were also gifts.

Just as I walked in the door, another neighbor came over holding a shepherd's hook with a cardinal on top as a thank you gift.  I said "thank you for what?"  I had given her access to my wireless is all, so she didn't have to drive to the community building to check her e-mail.  Oh, and the half a loaf of zucchini bread I gave them might have something to do with it as well.

New Friends

When I moved to a new campground last August, I knew that I'd miss the friends I'd made, but thought that I might meet new ones in addition to keeping the old ones.  But I had no idea what abundance was about to rain down on me.

Kelly and Pat met us our first week in the park.  They immediately offered to take us out on the lake and show us the good places to go.  Kelly is the Welcome Wagon of the place, riding around on his golf cart all weekend with a jug full of sunflower seeds and beer to share.  Pat met him in college, and used to sneak into his dorm at night to see him.

Jack is 84 and lost his only daughter many years ago to an accident and his wife just a few years ago to a horrible disease.  He has a woodshop nearby, where he makes the most incredible bowls, vases, board games, and pens.  He rarely sells anything; just gives it away.  When he noticed my brother entertaining with a piece of plywood placed over the firepit, he decided to build a table.  It's not done yet, but from what I hear it's a thing of beauty.

Jack is also a gardener and maker of spirits.  He's shared homemade Grand Marnier and Lemoncello with us on more than one occasion.  The bags of rhubarb he gave me made several pints of rhubarb chutney, and the salmon he smoked himself makes my brother very happy.

Randy, Jack's best friend, is a Minnesota State Trooper, who can tell you to the day how many days there are until he retires.  He drove up outside my door one night and freaked out my friend Mary, who asked, "why is there a State Trooper outside"?  I looked, jumped up, and said, "oh, that's just Randy", and went outside to greet him.  Jack was in the front seat.  Turns out Jack was hungry so Randy picked him up and took him to get something to eat.  Once Mary got over her shock she came outside and met them both.

Mary and Larry came with us from the old park.  U.S. Veterans for many years, they live in Minnesota for 3 months, then go to Florida, where the warmth is better for Mary's Multiple Sclerosis.  Larry loves his cigars, Mary loves her birds and chipmunks, and they truly love each other.

Leroy and Fran also live in Texas in the winter, but like me, have roots in the area.  We trade food - I've given them muffins and rhubarb chutney, they've given me rhubarb pie and onions from their garden. 

Steve and Willy take care of the grounds and the maintenance.  I taught them both how to sign up for Facebook and post in the group that I set up.  They both love nature as much as I do, and when a neighbor found a snapping turtle nesting in her window box of herbs, I got them to gently relocate the turtle back to the wetlands.  Turns out they relocated about 20 'snappers' that week all trying to lay their eggs near humans. 

Gary is the General Manager, and a clown on the side.  He taught me to juggle, and while I did very well with the scarves, I bonked my head with the bowling pins and ended my juggling career. 

There is something about campground people that's universal.  You don't come to a campground to isolate yourself.  There's a spirit of community and joy of life that permeates the place.  Oh, of course there are the difficult people too.  The ones that complain when a camper moves in that doesn't look as good as theirs, or the ones that seem to make it their goal in life to cause trouble.  And I still look forward to Sunday afternoons when all the weekend people have left and I can run around the place picking raspberries.  But I can't imagine anywhere else I'd want to be during the summer.  I'm here to stay.

Little Mouse

Mouse was the runt of the litter.  She fit in the pocket of my pajamas when she was a kitten, and I named her Mouse because that's exactly what she looked like - a little gray mouse. 

Every one of my cats had a unique personality, and Mouse was no exception.  I wondered many times if cats can get schizophrenia like people do, since she seemed to fit the profile.  For most of her 13 years she lived under my bed.  When I could get close enough to touch her, she cringed as if my very touch caused her pain.   

It was as if she had a sign on her back that said "kick me".  Some of the other cats recognized her weakness and would lay in wait when she came out for food, pouncing on her and chasing her back under the bed.

In March I noticed that she was wheezing.  Her appetite still seemed good, but she was losing weight, and she wasn't a big cat to begin with.  And her behavior changed - she started hanging out with me, jumping up on the couch, laying next to me, and letting me stroke her back.  I put some blankets in an old laundry basket near my bed and Mouse took up residence there.  Her breathing got so bad that I actually dug a grave in my backyard in preparation.  But the vet gave her an antibiotic and an antihistamine, and she rallied just before I came to Minnesota for the summer. 

Sadly, she continued to lose weight, and when my pet sitter took her to the vet he told me that he thought she was in renal failure.  Through my tears I gave him the go-ahead to put her to sleep, knowing that it was the right thing to do for her.  She was 13.

So now my house has 2 cats - Grace (Mouse's Mom) and Sam (Mouse's brother).  I won't have 5 cats sleeping on or near me at night, greeting me at the door, and following me everywhere. 

I've always said that when my cats are gone, so am I.  Not in the literal sense - I just don't want to live in Texas anymore.  The state was good to me job-wise, but I long for the 4 seasons I can enjoy in Minnesota, along with the proximity to my family. 

I didn't know you well Little Mouse, but I'll miss you all the same.  And I know that Sam will miss grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and holding you hostage. 

The Sleepy Shells

My four year old great-niece told me about building a sand castle this weekend and how she was sad because the shells were sleepy and floated away, only to be eaten by fish.

Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Did you build a sand castle on the beach?

Niece: It was a big castle!

Me: How many bedrooms did the castle have?

Niece: Mommy helped me build rooms for the shells, but then they fell asleep, and floated away, and a fish is going to eat them now!

Me: Well, maybe the shells bedroom is in the fish's stomach, and they just wanted to go to bed.

Niece: No, that's not right, because it's dark in a fish's stomach.

Me: But isn't it dark in your room when you sleep too?

Niece: No, I have a little light.

Me: So maybe there's a light in the fish's stomach too.

Niece: No, there's no light in a fish's stomach.

Me: How do you know?  Have you ever seen inside a fish's stomach?

That ended the conversation.  Either she thinks I'm really really smart since I know where shells sleep, or she'll be telling stories about her crazy Aunt for the rest of her life.

Sydney's Garden

Sydney and Maalea were twins, and I adopted them as soon as their Mother weaned them.  They were born in my friend Karen's backyard in August of 1991.  I'd never had a cat before, but still agreed to take one.  Karen played on my emotions and told me that twins shouldn't be separated, so I took them both.

Maalea died of cancer in 1998, and my grief-spurred energy made me dig a pond in my Texas backyard.  I dug through the Texas clay and finished it in two days, collapsing from exhaustion each night.  Maalea's pond is still going strong.

Sydney died Tuesday at the very advanced age of 19 3/4 years old.  My last trip home I knew he was failing - he stayed in one place for long periods of time, wasn't eating, and seemed out of it at times.  My last night there I picked him up and brought him to bed with me, where he stayed all night.  In the morning I hugged him and kissed him and told him how much I loved him.  He purred loudly, and finally had enough - he jumped down and went looking for food.  I knew in my heart that I was saying goodbye to him then.

Again, my grief led to a burst of energy.  This time I dug a garden around a chokecherry tree near my Summer Palace.  It's planted with shades of blue and purple, with pops of orange.  Although the sign in the garden says "Sandy's Summer Palace", it's really Sydney's Garden. 

Rest in peace sweet boy.  Every time I look at your garden I'll smile, knowing you'd approve of the catmint I put in one corner for you.