Morning Routines

When sentient beings have lived together a long time, they develop routines. 

My two cats and I have lived together for more than 13 years. When we were younger, our routines were different. They evolved as we aged. 

To begin, I am often awakened by Guinness jumping up on my bed, near the pillow. Herbie is usually already snuggled in so if I do not immediately arise, Guinness will hunker down, accepting human strokes. Herbie, alerted, will amble up toward my face and plop down. I think it’s an equal time thing. 

So we stay, the three of us, just enjoying the gentle coziness. 

But it cannot last. I get up and shower. Herbie will sometimes follow me into the bathroom, begging fresh water and sometimes walking into the shower stall after I’m through, then leave, leaving little paw prints on the tile. Usually, he then goes back to bed. 

Guinness waits until I have dressed and completed my morning ritual then he follows me into the bathroom to help me put on my glasses and hearing aids. Actually he’s not much help. He jumps up on the vanity then puts his paws on my shoulder and jumps so I pretty much have to hold him. 

Sight and hearing restored, we descend after I call out to Herbie that I’m going to make breakfast. 

Common sense dictates that I fix the cats’ breakfast first, then mine. Guinness sits on the floor to the right of my feet as I eat and read the paper. After waiting what he considers long enough, he gently pats my ankle with one of his paws. If I don’t respond, he jumps up on the table, on the newspaper. He gets my attention. He winds up in my arms, purring. 

After breakfast, as I am washing up, Herbie will wander into the kitchen, looking needy. Like Guinness, he needs his morning cuddle. He gets it. 

Then, finally, we are ready for the day ahead.

An 'I Love Lucy' Day

I knew when I saw the bacon-wrapped artichoke hearts in the ‘here’s-something-easy-but-good’ case at the grocery store, that I should not buy them. You were supposed to heat them on a cookie sheet. Bacon spatters. The goop inside the artichoke hearts would probably melt. 

But they sounded so good. 

At least I could have used a rimmed cookie sheet. 

But I did not. So I put them in the oven and, only a few moments later, watched smoke billow from my stove. And heard the smoke alarm. I took them out, turned on the stove fan, and opened the back window. 

And then I put them back in the oven! 

And smoke billowed and the alarm sounded and this time I opened another window, the one in the back storm door, breaking a finger nail. 

Eventually the delicacies were done and I pulled them out of the oven and the smoke and the alarm subsided. 

Then I looked at the oven – a greased catastrophe. 

So, what the heck, I turned on the oven cleaning unit (the process takes three hours). And smoke billowed and the alarm sounded . . . eventually subsiding. 

Fortunately, the weather was mild. Open windows were not totally unreasonable. 

Then I looked at the oven racks. Arrgh. 

Seeking counsel at the local hardware store, I purchased a number of cleaning products and, following their advice, put the racks in the bathtub and applied and scrubbed. They will do. 

And the bacon-wrapped artichokes were good. 

Now all I have to do is clean the bathtub.

All Hail Epsom

When more than 15 inches of wet snow falls on your property and you feel compelled to shovel walks (front and back) and sidewalks and the area behind your garage so you can get your car out ... and move branches that have fallen over the sidewalk and back walk and the end of the alley . . . and you are well over – way over – retirement age but you can’t call anyone to help you because the electricity is out and your landline isn’t working and you could use your cellphone but the people you might call aren’t in your directory … you just do what you need to do.

And that evening, as if you ever had any doubt, you bless the existence of Epsom salts and bathtubs.

I even looked it up and here quote directly from Wikipedia:

Magnesium sulfate (or magnesium sulphate) is an inorganic salt (chemical compound) containing magnesium, sulfur and oxygen, with the formula MgSO₄. It is often encountered as the heptahydrate sulfate mineralepsomite (MgSO₄·7H₂O), commonly called Epsom salt, taking its name from a bitter saline spring in Epsom in Surrey, England, where the salt was produced from the springs that arise where the porous chalk of the North Downs meets non-porous London clay.

So all hail Epsom. And sunshine. 
And the fact that it isn’t supposed to snow again until tomorrow.

Solitaire

When my mom used to visit us after our respective divorces, I could not help but notice how much time she spent playing solitaire. 

 I did not understand it then. 

I did know that when my dad divorced her (to marry his secretary) after 36 years of marriage, Mom almost committed suicide and almost certainly, lost her raison d’être. Or most of it. 

Although she could be funny and charming and graced my life and the lives of my kids with laughter, there was a bone-deep sadness about her that was almost palpable. 

She’s been dead more than 20 years. So why do I think about her – and her games of solitaire now? 

Because I’ve hit my own low ebb recently – saddened and hurt (and angry) about a recent personal experience. 

 And I have become keenly aware of how much computer solitaire I have been playing. 

It used to be a ‘break’ – a quick distraction from whatever I was working on. Then it got to be a bad habit – almost an obsession. Then when I hit an emotional bottom, it almost took over my life. 

At least I was aware enough to stop long enough to try to figure out what was going on. 

 I play four simple games and my computer tells me how many games I have played. Suspecting the worst, I added up the totals. And the total was more than 7,000. That’s over an extended period of time – certainly well over a year, maybe two. But still. 

If an average game takes about five minutes, then I have wasted the equivalent of 24 days of my life. And I don’t have that many days to waste. Indeed, who does? 

Have I become my mother, drifting in a morass of self-pity and loneliness? I don’t think so. Having become aware of what I was doing, I can stop. I will stop. And I will pull myself out of this particular hole. I’ve been in holes before. I know how to do this. 

And I will.

Cat Sandwich

I awoke this morning, aware that a cat was snuggled along my right side, curved up under my arm. I suspected, correctly, that it was Herbie (the world’s cuddliest cat). 

On a prayerful hunch, I moved my left arm out. Sure enough, there was Guinness (not the world’s cuddliest cat) curled up against my side, toward my lower back. 

I was a cat sandwich. 

I spent about the next 15 minutes alternatively caressing my guys, generating sleepy purrs. 

What a lovely, gentle miracle. 

Especially since only 24 hours earlier I had awakened with sickening dread and sorrow believing that the vet would have to put Guinness to sleep because of an incurable, inoperable ailment. 

But when we got to the vet, he said Guinness was getting better, that he’d get a shot that day, then another in two days and be checked again on four days. 

So. I don’t know how much more time we have. Who does? 

But I do know that all lovely, gentle miracles should be acknowledged with gratitude. 

So thanks.

February gifts

The signs are everywhere now. Buds on trees. Tulips spearing through the rumpled earth. Green tints on lawns. Doves in trees. 

Two weekends ago, none of this was true … or at least it was not as noticeable. The only thing that I saw was snow rot (also called snow mold) on my lawn. I spent a good part of a Saturday raking the discolored areas, breaking up what is a fungus so the nascent grass could survive. It was not a thrilling activity. 

The next day, after church, I parked my car in front of my house. Walking up to the front door, I spotted them, across from the ravaged lawn — two lovely white flowers resting low to the ground on large shiny leaves. 

I don’t know what they are. I don’t know if I planted them or if the wind or birds or angels placed them my yard just to cheer me up. 

They’re still there. They have a little competition now but the first will always hold a special place in your heart. Thank you.

Winter's Punctuation

Today will probably be the last for my home's exterior accessories but, lest we forget their beauty, I here commemorate them.

First, from my study window earlier this month.

Then today at the back of my house.

and from my back window.

I welcome the warmth and treasure the memories.