Words

Every year since 1980, I have purchased the "365 Word-a-day Calendar". Some words, when I rip off the new day, I know. Some I'll never add to my vocabulary and some have found their way into my lingo. Some words have special meaning. I saved them. I found three when I was cleaning in the basement in preparation for a new washer.

Thankfully, I wrote on the page what happened so, when I cleaned years in the future, I could remember exactly why I saved that word from that date.

This was the last day Carole lived in Wheaton. Since this date, she's lived in Connecticut before moving to her current, and final, home in Virginia. We didn't have any kind of religious ceremony, but I do remember crying while sitting on the front steps watching her drive away knowing that this was a necessary part of raising a child. You give them wings and trust they paid attention to some of your instructions on how to use them.

Here are two more which also elicited tears. This word seemed particularly poignant on this date.

Penney was a gray cat we adopted in 1992, I believe. Kidney disease made her waste away and I finally couldn't stand watching her try to walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water. Pam drove me to the emergency vet my vet recommended and I said, "Goodbye". Even though it's one of the kindest things you can do when a beloved pet is suffering, it's still a heartbreak. That day, the world went haywire.

Finally, there is this word.

2007 didn't start out very positive.

Anne was my English pen-pal. We had known each other 35 years at this point. We were the best of friends and confidants. We went through first crushes, high school, college, engagements and marriages. My ex-husband and I flew to England in 1982, while I was pregnant, to attend Anne's wedding. We had children within a month of each other. She had twin girls. We went back in 1996 so our children could meet. She was with me when my marriage crumbled and when Carole and I were on our own. We went through the raising of children and their lives.

Then liver cancer struck. She was diagnosed in 2004 but seemed to have it beaten to the point that, in April of 2005, I met Anne, her husband, Graham, and son, James, at Walt Disney World for a week of fun. She looked so healthy. We had a fantastic time.

But the cancer returned in early 2006. She never told me how bad it was. Her Christmas letter was filled with news about the family. We always talked at New Year's. She would call me at the stroke of midnight and hold up the phone to the TV so I could hear Big Ben ringing in the new year from England. She did the same thing as 2006 turned to 2007. She never told me she had been in bed since 5 that evening and had to be helped up to call me at midnight. She wrote a short, one-page letter, "from the couch in the living room, by the fire" as they called the gas furnace, in early January. I never heard from her again.

One of her daughters called me the above evening to tell me she had passed in her sleep. Her husband, Graham, had contacted me at the end of January, after receiving my reply to her early January letter. He realized she had not told me, in an effort to spare me worrying, how sick she was and that hospice had been arranged. They were just waiting. I have to admit that every phone call from January 28th onward brought dread. In a way, it was kind of a relief knowing she was not suffering and not trying to keep the British "stiff upper lip" anymore. Graham said he never told her that I knew what was going on.

I looked at these words as I paged through a stack of papers, invitations, mementos which were on a shelf. At the time, it was important to save these. Now, I have reached the point where I can let them go and be, simply, words of the day. I don't save words that have a special event occurring on that date anymore. I unconsciously decided they were just words. I miss Carole. I miss Penney. I miss Anne. Time has moved on but the memories stay with me in my heart where they belong.

Beverage:  Dunkin' Donuts tea

Deb

Olfactory Assault

Pilchard's been a bit of a crab the last couple of weeks. Cats are like kids. They can't tell you what's wrong. The best Pilchard can do is stand in the middle of the floor and meow piteously. She has been standing at the back door looking outside when I do the dishes. Then she'll look at me and meow, as if she wants to go outside. But, on these lovely late winter days when the temps are in the upper 30's, she comes out onto the deck, sniffs the air and decides she'd rather be inside, sitting in her box, than out on the deck with me.

There's an edge to the meow, too. I can tell she's irritated or upset with something, but I can't figure out what. She wants in my lap and then she wants out and will, once she jumps off my lap, stand on the floor and meow at me. They have plenty of food and fresh water and I clean the litter boxes every other day. It struck me, over the weekend, that the litter boxes may be the source of the anger.

I use either Arm & Hammer or Fresh Steps litter. It depends upon which one is on sale at the time that I either need it or have the funds on hand to buy a box. I try to buy when they are really cheap so I'm not forking out twice the money because I have to have it.

A month ago, I bought a box of Fresh Steps. It didn't look any different than any other box of this kind of litter that I've usually bought. It is different. It's got a scent. "Whoa Nellie!" to purloin Keith Jackson's signature exclamation, does it have a scent. I didn't see the "scented" label on the front.

It's awful. It's really bad. This is not a delicate scent designed to gently perfume the air, much like blooming lilacs on a May morning. This is a "Hey, this stuff stinks so we're going to completely cover that smell with this one!" I can't even describe whether this is a floral or whatever kind of scent. I just know that it's incredibly overpowering. We usually use unscented litter which, if kept clean, does keep cat odors down. I can tell, when I walk into my house, if I haven't been diligent about removing waste. I really don't need to mask those odors with something horribly chemical in nature. If I don't like it, I'm very certain Pilchard's complaining is because she has to stand and dig in it and it assaults her nose worse than it assaults mine.

I'm down to the last quarter of that box. I checked the two boxes I've picked up on sale and neither one is scented. You can be certain I will, from now on, check the front of the box. I keep telling her that, in a month, this odor will be gone just by attrition. Plus, we'll have the windows open and will be airing out the house and it will be less an assault than a casual, "Oh yeah, that smell".

Beverage:  Irish Breakfast tea

Deb

An Evening Salvaged

My daughter knows me way to well. She knew, after talking with me on Thursday, trying to troubleshoot the problem with the furnace, that I would sit and stew and cry and stew some more and feel rotten about life and myself. So, she contacted Niles and asked if there was one more place at their Thanksgiving table. Of course there was and I received the invitation within 30 minutes of chatting with Carole.

I almost didn't accept it. I felt rotten. I felt beaten down. Why inflict myself on others? But a little person inside nudged my conscience enough that I knew I NEEDED to be around people. In hanging up the phone after saying, "Yes," I remembered the space heater in my office at work. That would keep one room warm enough for the girls that I wouldn't worry about them.

It was just what I needed. I needed to be around laughter and stories and people that I knew and who know me. There is always an abundance of food, always. And there are pecan and pumpkin pies to be taste tested. And there are snippets of conversations from the "kids" (only, at 23+, they aren't really kids anymore) in the kitchen that provoked gales of laughter because we certainly didn't know to what THAT comment referred.

And there was beer; Niles' special pumpkin brew. It was really, really good.

For 7 hours, the day was okay. When I returned home, it wasn't as cold in the house as I expected.

I am thankful for a house, even if it was cold. I am thankful for two cats who can adapt. I am thankful for friends who don't even think twice about seating me at their table. I am thankful for a daughter who knows me.

It's easy to get down. It's easy to feel bad about the hand you've been dealt even if you know others have it far worse than you. Perspective is a fickle thing. I'm very grateful to Niles and his family for helping me regain mine.

Beverage:  Cranberry Blueberry Juice

Deb

Another Surprise

I'm feeling low, lower than low, actually. I'm throwing a pity party for myself. I've had Leslie Gores' "It's My Party (And I'll Cry if I Want to)" stuck in my head since leaving the doctor yesterday. Funny how that works.

Pam and I had a lot of catching up to do so she took me to supper last night. That helped make me feel better because she has similar problems. Here are two middle-aged ladies comparing knee problems over burgers at Red Robin. That's comical in its own right. It lifts my sagging spirits somewhat and then I have to get out of her car and climb the steps into my home. Yes. This is why I'm depressed, when it takes me twice as long to get into my house as it did in February when there was all that snow.

There had been, in the mail on Tuesday, an envelope addressed to me, no return address and a Chicago postmark. I've seen this before as in an anonymous benefactor sending a Target gift card. But, I have been doing okay for myself, although my math skills this month left something to be desired. The computer calculator is correct but if you punch in the wrong numbers, you're not going to get the most accurate result. Another thing to depress me.

I didn't open the envelope right away. I had to make supper, a new manicotti recipe that, while fast to assemble is below average in taste. It did make a lot so I will have suppers and lunch for the next couple of days. I think the addition of garlic will make it better, but I am not saving this recipe. It's a dud.

Once the manicotti was cooking, I sat down and opened the envelope. I was expecting an invitation to something as the envelope is that size. I couldn't think what I'd be invited to, but maybe it would be something I'd consider attending. Inside was the usual yellow legal paper carefully enclosing a $50 Visa gift card.

I am humbled by this generosity. It's been a rough month but I have survived. I was worried about getting the next batch of medication and here arrives the means to get it. My friend, Patt, recommended a knee pillow she says you can get at the pharmacy which will keep your knees apart. If it's not too expensive, it's worth a shot, to see if it will help me fall asleep and stay asleep. Mija would probably appreciate not being kicked or crushed when I toss and turn.

It's uncanny to me how whomever this is seems to know right when I could use this. I sat in the recliner on Tuesday evening, turning it over in my hands just grateful for this person. I used to want to know who they were but I've decided I don't need to. I could not give them any kind of reciprocation in kind and I think the giving is, for them, the best part. My hope is that if my ship ever comes in, I can do for someone else what they have done for me.

I decided that I needed to do for me today, something to lift my spirits. I hobbled over to the grocery at lunch and got myself a salad. I have 1 apple and 2 potatoes at home. The potatoes are destined for a corn, bacon and potato chowder recipe I found. It's to rain all weekend. This is the perfect time for soup. The apple will be added to oatmeal apple cinnamon muffins once I get all the dishes finished from the weekend. I just can't do everything in one fell swoop. I have to do some and do another bit the next day. I can't stand and this, of course, depresses me. I felt a salad off the Dominicks salad bar would be healthy and would lift my spirits. I also got a couple bagels and a box of cereal since there is one serving of Cheerios left.

Yes, there were impulse purchases. I got apple cider. Perhaps that is better for me than a 2 liter of Dr Pepper. It's going to make the house smell better, that's for sure. Drat. I don't have an orange to make mulled cider. No matter. Warmed cider in the microwave will be just as lovely. And, to feed the depression, I got a bag of chocolate Oreos. No finger wagging at me. I'm female. I'm depressed. Eating is what makes it sort of better.

Best use of a gift card? Well, maybe not the Oreos but the salad has cheered me up a bit and the idea that I have cereal for next week is another cheer. I'm looking forward to warm apple cider this weekend.

Thank you whomever is doing this or to the maybe more than one person who bestows this blessing on me. Your kindness cheers me as I try to shake off this weight that is depression. I am ever so grateful to you.

Beverage:  Scottish Blend tea

Deb

Avoid Stairs

After taking the Meloxicam all summer, I have seen a small improvement in my hands. But my knees...

It's incredibly painful to stand up and sit down. I'm not sleeping well because I fall asleep on my side and trying to find a comfortable position when my knees hurt sometimes means I toss and tossing is painful. I am close to being out of the Meloxicam, so I called my doctor who decided I should see an orthopedic doctor just to rule out anything. That appointment was this morning.

I don't have pain when I sit. I don't have much pain when I'm up and moving around but I do have to watch how I move. My knees hurt, a lot, last night, from standing in the kitchen making dinner. Those little sideways movements we all do when we turn from the counter to the stove, cause shooting pain through the knee. I cannot move anything near "fast" and even "slow" might be pushing it.

And, I'm having problems with my hands. I feel my fingers look swollen. I get shooting pain below each thumb and the middle finger on each hand aches. I'll get cramping in my right hand from working with the computer mouse. I don't have a problem with my counted cross-stitch or my sewing, but I don't feel I have strength in my hands anymore to pick up, hold and grab heavier items.

I took all of this to the doctor today, along with the medications I take and my x-rays. He had me do a number of tests for range of motion and for strength. I was certain a couple of the ways he would bend my knees was going to hurt. It didn't.

At the end of this, it's not arthritis. The arthritis the radiologist thought he saw is an "artifact" on the x-ray and not evidence of it. So, I don't have arthritis, at least, not yet. I am susceptible to it and will probably get it eventually, but I don't have it right now.

What I have is severe trauma to the cartilage in my hands and knees from when I fell. That cartilage was injured. It wasn't torn. It was bruised and the underlying bones were also bruised. This cartilage is also not as fat and thick as it was 20 years ago so it will take a long time for it to heal.

He was empathetic to my mobility loss but there isn't really anything that can be done. Stretching exercises will make sure the muscles stay limber. Time is all I have to work with here. This is good, kind of. It won't take surgery or anything invasive. This is bad because it's just going to take time. I guess I have spent 3 months in pain what's a few more.

He said the natural things I've found to treat arthritis won't hurt me. They may help and there is nothing wrong with eating jell-o every day. I must avoid stairs if possible, he said. Those few stairs, such as the ones going into my house, I need to take slowly. The washer is in the basement. Once I get to the bottom of the stairs, I can load up the machine and hang up the wash when it's done. I looked at what I have waiting to be washed and it's one load of darks. Once or twice a week up and down the stairs I can do, otherwise, I am to avoid all stairs.

I'm depressed. This weighs me down. It feels as if I have lost 50% mobility. I don't go anywhere without considering whether I can sit. If I need to stand, can I do it for only an hour, maybe 90 minutes, before finding a place to sit down? I feel as if I've lost 75% hand strength. I can sort of cope with the hand thing. I use two hands to move things where I used to use one. There is no gardening unless I can stand but I've had problems grasping things and pulling. I don't have the hand strength.

Was the appointment worth it? Yes, it was. There is no expensive procedure in my future. I don't have any underlying disease. He looked over the blood work done back in June and I don't have diabetes or signs of rheumatoid arthritis. I don't have carpal tunnel. I just have a body that was involved in a tough fall. My age is what works against me in the healing process.

But it doesn't make me feel better knowing this is the way it is. I already feel isolated just because of my life and my lack of finances. The inability to move about more freely isolates me more. I don't want to drive anywhere. It hurts. I can't do for myself what I've always been able to do.

Life goes on and I'll deal with it as best I can.

Beverage:  Blackberry tea

Deb

Set Back

It's been the kind of week that gives me pause.

First it was the ants, the thousands of ants that invaded my kitchen.

Then, on Tuesday, I discovered an error with my time sheet that neither I, nor three other people found. It resulted in me not getting an expense check for this past week.

That means that one bill I was hoping to pay, I couldn't. I needed part of the money from the expense check to pay it. My poor depleted savings account can't stand any more hits.

The insurance company has denied, for a second time, to pay anything additional on the x-rays the doctor ordered to determine if I have arthritis. The thing is, an x-ray really isn't going to tell you much. You need an MRI for that. But the insurance companies won't pay for an MRI if you haven't had the x-rays. So, we get the comprehensive x-rays, to be certain, and now they are telling me I didn't need those to determine if it's arthritis. So there's a $300 bill I have to pay.

Because I didn't get an expense check, I don't have money for the Meloxicam. I took the last one on Wednesday night. I'll get more on Tuesday, when the next expense check is supposed to come. Hence, I have been dealing with pain all weekend. I suppose it's a good (?) way to see just how bad or good things are. And the assessment is thus:  my right hand is 95% healed. I have some very minor pain in the middle finger and in the wrist. The middle finger on my left hand is 60% healed, while the wrist is 90% healed.

But the knees are a huge problem. It's not the moving once I get up, it's the actual getting up. I realized last night, that if there ever was an emergency where I had to get out of bed fast, that's not going to happen. Nothing happens "fast" anymore. The phone rings. If I am not right by it, forget about me getting there before it goes to voice mail. I pause at the top of the stairs to go into the basement to do laundry. Going up doesn't seem so bad. Going down hurts.

The ants are gone now so I can do a thorough clean-up of the kitchen. I want to bake. Dishes take twice as long because lifting things and holding them is problematic. Well meaning friends have said, "Maybe you need to see another doctor." Maybe, but what do I pay him with? A second opinion is going to cost me double my current co-pay. When you're living on the edge, you don't do things that extend you over the edge.

What if this is what it's like for the rest of my life? I have learned to live with a lot and I'll learn to live with this. There are things I simply can't do, that I will need to find help for. For example, I bought a bed frame to raise the mattress and box springs up higher. I can't assemble it, nor can I move the mattress and box springs onto it even if I could assemble it. Will this affect my sewing and crafting? It makes me slower but, so far, I can still do that. Plus, I can still type, slower, but I know where all the keys are. And, I can still read.

I'm trying to look at things from the perspective of the Black Knight. If you don't know that name, it's from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. If you've never seen it, be warned, it's slightly gory. The Black Knight says, after having both arms lopped off, "It's just a flesh wound." That could be considered ridiculously silly optimism, but I'm trying to see it as I can still go on in spite of some large obstacles.

I have this book somewhere, In Praise of Slowness, where the author pleaded with readers to embrace the slowing down of life, the stopping not just to smell to roses but to admire them and the bed in which they grow. I'm trying to embrace that philosophy, too. It's not just slowing down, it's realigning priorities.

But I have to admit that I am depressed. I took a lot for granted and when doing simple things like a load of dishes becomes a major event, I feel lost. I have adapted to other major changes, I will as well to this.

Beverage:  Edinburgh's Finest tea

Deb

Day 6- A Book that makes you cry

Without question, it's this. I realize it's because I've had 5 cats go over the Rainbow Bridge. I've sent this to several people as well as the version for dogs.

There has always been a debate about whether pets have souls and can, therefore, via certain religions, go to what is called 'heaven'. For a pet owner, although the 'owner' term sort of grates with me because I think they allow us in their lives as much as we choose them to come live with us, this is a silly point. One look into those eyes and yes, yes he or she does have a soul. You cannot prove otherwise to me.

Beverage:  English Breakfast tea

Deb

Another Anniversary

I've been musing about this anniversary for some time now, trying to decide exactly what to say. On April 4, 2001, my divorce became final. It's been ten years, ten years of singleness although the marriage counselor suggested the "single" had been going on a lot longer.

I've been musing on what these last ten years have taught me, brought me and changed me.

I'm stronger than I ever imagined myself to be. As I march toward the second year of blogging, regular readers know it has not been a good two years. I have endured things I never imagined myself enduring. I have had to teach myself things I never wanted to learn. I have made painful decisions but still find myself procrastinating on others. Every day is what it is. I quit wishing things were different. If I want things to be different, it's my job to make them different. In those choices, I have found a well of strength to carry on.

I have been brought all manner of trial and tribulation. I flat out reject the idea that "God doesn't give you more than you can handle". My view of God is that he wouldn't, if he were this entity that loves me, willingly toss all this on my plate. Even if every trial is supposed to be a "teaching moment", why would someone who loves me destroy my world multiple times in varying degrees to the point that my complete loss of self-esteem occurred? Humans, with their distorted views on what is good and right and necessary, cause these problems. Sometimes, God is with me. Most of the time, I feel he's a nebulous entity looking in on me to make sure I haven't made off with the silver.

What I have found are the people brought into my life at times when I need them most. The person who sent the anonymous Target cards; the friends who bought breakfast, lunch and dinner; the friends who called to say, "Talk to me"; have made the past 10 years rich. I've gained friends and I've lost friends. Each person whose path has crossed mine has enriched me more than I feel I have enriched them.

Heraclitus, the ancient Greek philosopher, said, "Nothing endures but change". This has been variously translated into the aphorism we all know, "The only constant is change". That would be the summation of the past ten years. I felt empowered in walking away from a failed marriage. I was taking control of my life. I had tried and what I attempted had failed. I grieved and I moved on. It was anger that drove me forward.

There is anger still. It's a different kind of anger and it's easy to recognize and deal with. I spent some time in sadness. I don't get sad about the divorce anymore. I do get depressed at my life and there are weeks when that's the proverbial "800-pound gorilla in the room". But I fall back on my tried and true aphorism, "It is what it is" and I move on.

I have seen my daughter go from an insecure high school student to a smart, self-assured, confident married woman. I have said goodbye to 5 cats, welcomed 2 more. My health has changed and I find I endure things that only come with age. "Why does that hurt?", is something I've been known to say more often now.

In 10 years, a child goes from totally dependent to somewhat independent. In a way, I feel like that child. There were a lot of things I was doing on my own before the divorce. That single gavel fall in a courtroom shoved the neophyte out the door and into a world she wasn't quite prepared to tackle on her own. I've made some really stupid mistakes and some really brilliant decisions. Some days, being single feels like a carrying a ton. I'd give almost anything to have someone else make dinner, do the wash, talk to me. And then the notion passes and, as I eat popcorn for supper, I'm very glad I don't have to answer to anyone. I would, if given the chance and the right person, travel this road as a couple. The burdens are easier to carry, the loads lighter and the laughter richer when shared, but that person has eluded me and may never, ever come. That last statement is something I'm learning to embrace.

So, here's to me. It's been quite a journey over these last 10 years, a journey I thought I wouldn't ever make. Had we found a way to stay together, it would have been 33 years this June. That would have been an achievement. As it is, I am living my life my way, with all its bumps and potholes and moments of joy.

Beverage:  Earl Gray tea

Deb

This Gets Played a Lot at this Time of Year

Once I was a sentimental thing,
Threw my heart away each spring.
Now a spring romance hasn't got a chance,
Promised my first dance to winter.
All I've got to show's a splinter
For my little fling!

Spring this year has got me feeling
Like a horse that never left the post.
I lie in my room
Staring up at the ceiling.
Spring can really hang you up the most.

Morning's kiss wakes trees and flowers,
And to them I'd like to drink a toast.
But I walk in the park
Just to kill the lonely hours.
Spring can really hang you up the most.

All afternoon the birds twitter-twitt.
I know the tune. This is love, this is it.
Heard it before
And don't I know the score.
And I've decided that spring is a bore.

Love seems sure around the new year.
Now it's April. Love is just a ghost.
Spring arrived on time,
Only what became of you, dear?
Spring can really hang you up the most.

College boys are writing sonnets
In their tender passion they're engrossed
While I'm on the shelf
With last years Easter bonnets.
Spring can really hang you up the most.

Love came my way. I thought it would last.
We had our day, now it's all in the past.
Spring came along, a season of song,
Full of sweet promise
But something went wrong.

Doctors once prescribed a tonic.
Sulfur and molasses was the dose.
Didn't help one bit.
My condition must be chronic.
Spring can really hang you up the most.

All alone, the party's over.
Old man winter was a gracious host.
But when you keep praying
For snow to hide the clover,
Spring can really hang you up the most.

WDCB played trumpeter Bobby Lewis' version of this classic this morning. Houston Person has a wonderful saxophone rendition. Reviewers say Ella's version in her album "Clap Hands! Here Comes Charlie!", which 1) I've never heard of and 2) don't have, is the best.

It's a gloomy, rainy day today. This song fits.

Beverage:  Scottish Blend Tea

Deb

I just wanted to go home.

I mentioned in a post below how the car broke down. If you've followed my blog for any length of time, you know this is not an unusual occurrence. I spent the months from April through October without working wipers because I didn't have the money to fix them. You get creative when you lack something and I learned that I could tailor my life to avoid heavy storms and that Rain-X works reasonably well.

The trip to Carole was paid for by a nice bonus which allowed me to fix the wipers and set aside what I believed would be enough for gas and incidentals. I wasn't going to shop. I was going to spend time with my daughter and her husband. I was going to help her select a wedding dress. I was going because I really do need to take a vacation every so often and I could combine a trip to visit April and Perry and meet Joe and Jim and Chad and Chris and Greg. It was cinched when I got sent to Fort Madison, Iowa to pick up machines which had been on a job for 13 months longer than originally expected.

I had the trip planned down to the last dime. I built in a small cushion and took an extra day. How many times have you said, "Man, I need a vacation from my vacation!"? I would use the extra day to run errands, sift through mail, do laundry and cuddle kitties. I did not plan for an overnight in Auburn, Indiana.

Everything went wonderfully until I got to the far west tollbooth on the Ohio Turnpike. I passed through the booth thanks to the wonders of I-Pass and the car died; just died. I was able to get it to the middle of the two lanes you see here so trucks could get by me, but it refused to start. I realized, as I pulled up to the booth, that none of my accessories were working. Although I was not currently listening to music, the detachable front to the radio always has promo material about the radio. This wasn't flashing. With increasing fear, I realized, as I listened to the click-click of the key in the ignition, that I was not going to get the car restarted without help.

A couple of truckers helped push the car off to the far right. I was 200 feet from the toll buildings. Indeed, 2 state patrol officers stopped and asked if I had a cell phone to call someone for help. My first call was to my insurance company. I pay for roadside assistance. The first time I had used it was back in August for that flat tire. I needed it now, for sure.

I was scared. Traffic is zipping by me. It's 1 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. In 4 hours, I could be home with my cats and my stuff. The gal from my insurance assured me they would send someone out quickly to assess the situation and tow me if needed.

At 2:17, "Rick" from the towing company called. "Where are you?" he asked. "What's the mile marker?" There was no mile marker where I sat. I couldn't be more conspicuous if they'd left me in the road. I explained where I was. I could see, up ahead, the exit for Edon and Edgerton, Ohio and Route 49. The Indiana/Ohio border was just 4 miles from me. "Rick" audibly sighed. "I'll...I'll have to ask. I'll call you back in 5 minutes."

When 45 minutes passed, I called my insurance company. LaTonya answered and asked for my location. I must admit, I dissolved here. It was now 3 and my chances of getting home that night were rapidly dwindling. She calmed me down and apologized repeatedly for the other company leaving me stranded. She called another company and they said they would get there within the hour. At that point, I knew I wasn't going anywhere that night other than to find lodging.

Perry was wonderful, trying to find mechanics and then places to stay while keeping up the chatter on the phone. Pam, who was watching "the puppies", as she calls them, was a gem in trying to keep my spirits up and assuring me that it would all be better. I read. I did cross-stitch. I took photos. The view was peaceful even if I was not. It was nearly 70 degrees so I had to open the side door as the driver's window zipper is broken.

Within 35 minutes, the guy from the second company was at my car with this wonderful gadget that starts your car. If you need a jump through your automotive club, they will bring out this box. Gone are the days of "Positive to positive and negative to ground", carrying jumper cables and trying to turn a car around so the fronts meet. He got the car going, but it wouldn't stay going. He gave me a long face and sad eyes. "Something's really wrong, right?" I asked. "Yeah," he replied. But he said his son fixes cars so he'd tow the Jeep to his son's shop and they would look at it in the morning. I have no choice, at this point.

That is how I found myself at a Holiday Inn Express in Auburn, Indiana on Tuesday, November 9th, watching Mike Rowe's "Dirty Jobs" on Discovery channel. Oh look. Speedy Alka-Seltzer has come back, in color now, to shill antacid and cold medications. I watched Keith Olbermann's return to his "Countdown" show. I watched a show called "The Haunted". I watched Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show". I started watching Steven Colbert's "The Colbert Report" but decided I needed to try to sleep.

I don't sleep well the first night of an extended hotel stay. It always takes me 2 days to feel really comfortable in a hotel bed. They have the sheets tucked too tightly at the foot and Holiday Inn had 6, count 'em, 6 pillows labeled "soft", "medium", "firm" on the bed. I wound up tossing 3 of them overboard. I don't know how many times I teared up and then just let the tears come. Pam graciously let me cry. Supper consisted of several cups of tea courtesy of the coffee maker in the room.

It's not that I feel a victim of anything, let me make that clear. My philosophy, since the troubles of last year is that life is what it is. My friend Jonathan constantly reminds me that it's not a "Luck Journal" but a "Blessings Book". I have to say that on Tuesday night, it was an "Unluck Book". I was lonely, so very sad and wondering if my car was simply beyond repair.

I'd had to charge the hotel room and was going to have to charge any car repairs to my company credit card. There was a small cushion for unexpected expenses but not this, not at all. The only reasonably large credit I had was my company card. I knew I could get into trouble, but it was all I had.

All. I. Had. The very notion reduced me to tears. I had come so far, so very far in a year and I felt kicked fully in the teeth. I was even considering, as I was driving west, what small Christmas gifts I could afford this year. To be sure, I'll make as many as I can, but gee, I have squirreled away and lived frugally and, gosh darn it, I can get this for that person and I know she will like it. No more. I am reduced, once again, to living off peanut butter and jelly toast. Thank goodness I baked all those muffins last month and that there's a lot of oatmeal in the cupboard.

The morning dawned foggy. Schools in the area were delayed due to heavy fog. I got, maybe, 5 hours of sleep. I knew the auto shop opened at 7 a.m. and that Holiday Inn had a breakfast bar for guests. I took my phone into the bathroom lest the shop call when I was showering. I filled a plate with breakfast items and went to my room, settling on "The Beverly Hillbillies" as my company. At 9:30, I could wait no longer and I called them. "Hi. I was just going to call you. I have good news and bad news. The good news is that it's easily fixable. It's your alternator and battery. The bad news is I don't think I can get an alternator here before 1 p.m." He did guarantee that I could get home on Wednesday but I'd have to wait. I didn't care. He sent his dad round to get me and we went to the shop.

I walked in and he said, "Guess what? I explained to the NAPA guy what the problem was and he found an alternator for you. It just came and we should get you out of here in 30 minutes." Slightly overwhelmed, I sat down in overstuffed leather couches, pulled out my cross-stitch and stitched away as the Country Music Channel played in the background. True to their word, I was in my car and on my way at 10:45 a.m.

I pushed the limit, never going over 75 but driving 70 when I could, even in the Chicago area where the speed limit is 55. I wanted to be home. My front door never ever looked better than it did as I drove into the driveway Wednesday at 1:30 p.m., a full 24 hours later than I had planned to be home.

Mija came to greet me. I picked her up and burst into tears. Pilchard let me pick her up but then spent the rest of the evening occasionally coming up to me and meowing in "that" tone of voice. She did it again this morning. I know I'm being yelled at but I do not mind. I am home, home with my cats.

I did pull what is called in the gaming world a /facepalm this morning. Yesterday, I took the keys to the car to get the mileage. I wanted to see what kind of mileage I got on the trip. I turned on the ignition and then heard the phone ring. I dashed inside and forgot to remove my keys. This morning, the battery was as cold and dead as the old one. I called road side assistance this morning and they were in my drive in 30 minutes. I was back up and running by 8:45. It makes for a humorous story. I know I had so much on my mind that removing the keys just didn't land on the priority list.

So, I intend to write a "thank you" to the garage that helped me. The owner had the guy who does diagnostics come in at 6:30, before the shop officially opened, to figure out what was wrong so they could start repairs as soon as they could get parts. They set aside all their regular work to get me going on my way. This put them behind for another customer but the owner said he couldn't let me just sit when it wasn't that big of a repair.

If you are ever in the Butler, Indiana area, I strongly recommend Brent's Automotive Repair. I don't think I was charged less or more than if I'd had the work done here by my mechanic. The price seemed more than fair considering the extra work they did to get the new alternator.

And my company's CFO was more than understanding. "Sounds like the kind of vacation I would have. You send a check as soon as you can." I'm taking the last of my 'auto slush fund', as my financial advisor calls it and will pay my company back by the end of the month. The mechanic said alternators can give some warning or none at all that they are about to die, so I can stop kicking myself that I shouldda known.

It had run rough driving up the hill to Carole's townhouse, but I thought it was protesting 15 hours of driving over 2 days. I know my legs and feet and butt were protesting. My son-in-law is a car nut and he might have been able to diagnose the problem. But it felt terribly, horribly wrong to walk into the house and say, "Hi, welcome to the family. Would you look at my car? Something's awry." It was fine on Monday on the way to April and Perry's.

I am good now. I'm a bit behind in those things I wanted to do on Wednesday and couldn't but the car runs fine. I'm really grateful I got the wipers fixed. It was an interesting drive out and back.

Beverage: Lady Grey tea

Deb

This is just wrong.

So I'm going through the coupons in the Labor Day paper and this ad is in them. It was one of three different ads inviting you to stock up on libations as football season has started.

That's fine but the beverage in the center of the ad. That's...that's Guinness! Guinness beer. Brewed in Ireland since the 18th century. Not really available in the US until 1980's. Guinness; the beer people ask if you "chew it" instead of drinking it. Until Belhaven and other Scottish beers became more easily available, I drank Guinness because I like a beer with flavor.

A coupon good for a dollar off?

This is too much. First, they start canning it. Canned beer does not have the same flavor as bottled beer.

Then, you slap on the side of the can, some nonsense about needing to keep this beer cold. Guinness is NOT served cold. It is best served at "cellar" temperature. This advice comes from when keeping a new batch of beer from going bad meant keep it in the cellar which was a constant 55 degrees. That's not chilled and certainly not cold.

To me, this is distressing. It seems Guinness has "dumbed down" their beer. In the never-ending quest for money, they have stooped to that wholly American lure, the coupon. Guinness isn't for everyone, guys.

Will I use the coupon? I saved it, but I have been trotting over to Binny's Beverage Depot when I have the funds, and buying Scottish beers for they have an ample supply. So, I don't know if I actually will buy some Guinness or just recycle this bit of paper with the rest of the newspapers.

It seems sad to me. Guinness is as mainstream as Coors, who had a coupon in the flyer. I think I'll open a bottle of Old Engine Oil and toast to a time when Guinness meant rare.

Beverage: Water

Deb

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

I was going to head out for lunch today and swing by the grocery to get cat treats. I hop online and check out my checking account.

I'm overdrawn.

What? I...I don't understand. I double, triple, quadruple check my numbers. I don't count on float. But there it was, last night. I was overdrawn.

Early Friday, I received notice that my expense check from my company had been deposited in my checking account. It showed up on Saturday as "Pending". It was not officially posted to my account until this morning. In the meantime, three checks went through and the last one bounced. I was socked with a $74 fee for being overdrawn. I have $38 in my account. That's it. Period. Where do I find $36 to cover what's coming? I guess I close my meager savings account, $53.66, and hope I do not have any kind of emergency. None.

A friend has told me to march into the bank and demand to know why they held my expense check. The email notice says it can take "up to" 2 business days to clear. Had my check cleared, this would not be an issue. I don't understand why it was posted this late. My paycheck is available the day it's deposited. The expense check gets held. I'm tired, so very, very tired, of fighting this battle again and again. This is not banking reform. $74 is not reform. From those of us with very little, much is taken. I don't feel I can ever, ever get ahead in any form.

A dear friend loaned me money around Thanksgiving to get away from this bank, to start anew. I have never told her, although she's quite savvy and probably knows it, that I used the money to survive. I needed gas and had no credit. "Well, I'll just take $30 of this for gas." I was out of food. "I'll just take $60 of this for food." Gradually, in spite of my best intentions, the sum she loaned me went to live on. Stamps, cat food, gas, me food. That's all. I never bought Christmas gifts or cards or ordered out for pizza. I sunk all my funds into trying to dig out and used the loaned money to live off of thinking it would get me ahead and I would be able to repay her loan and get away from my current bank once I got everything caught up.

It's a fallacy. The check that bounced is to a credit card company who has been very nice about working with me. You can imagine the fees that are going to come from that. I tried so hard and I feel kicked in the head. I think I have a little credit tucked away, credit I have rebuilt after shutting everything down in October. I can get my cats some treats. I was going to get garbage stickers once all the outstanding checks cleared. Can't do that.

I was going to do a post assessing my luck as it's been a month since I declared an attempt to change my outlook. I can't. Not today.

Beverage: water

Deb

The Evil Eye

I am trying to be optimistic about this whole financial mess.

I had to go back to the bank yesterday because the promised phone call regarding the exorbitant fees tacked onto my account had not materialized and I gave them an extra day. Plus, when I went to log onto my account online, I was denied. That was frustration and a half.

The screen said to create a new password. Okay, that I can accept. I attempted to do that and was told to call a toll free number. Call the toll free number and get the English or Spanish option. Then get "Enter your account number or your Social Security number." I entered my account number and got a repeat of the sentence. I did this for 15 minutes, hanging up and trying again with either the account number or my Social Security number.

In frustration, I found another toll free number and called that. I did get through to an operator that time. I explain I was having problems and could she transfer me or was there another number I could call. She informed me I had to call the previous number. I explained I'd been doing this for 15 minutes. I understood she couldn't help me but could she send my call somewhere else or give me another number. No. I had to call the original number. Again I explained the problem and when she told me yet again, that I had to call the original number, I asked to speak to a supervisor. She told me to call the first number and hung up on me. No, I didn't get her name because I was, at this point, nearly in tears.

So, yesterday, armed with times and a list of everything I have done, I went back to the bank and talked to the man who, it turns out, is at the top of the food chain at this branch. I told him exactly what I did, what number I called and what happened. He called the same number I did and got the same voice prompt. "Oh well, you have to dial..." I forget what number it is, to get out of that circle. It's not explained. There is zero explanation on the phone system.

I told him that's horrible customer service. As a customer, I wouldn't know to push that number because that's NOT what the message says. He knows because he works there.

He looked at my account. He had to do a great deal of manipulation of the account numbers to get into the screen that shows my accounts. I have a temporary number until this mess gets sorted out, but he got in and wrote everything down for me.

That's when he noticed the Mastercard account, the one they screwed up on the online payment for, had been closed. I received no notice that this was going to happen. He said that's against the law, first of all and secondly, I should have received a letter AND a phone call from a live person. So, he showed me the protest email he was sending.

Then there is the matter of the fees attached to my checking account. I came, yesterday, with the letters telling me I needed to make the account positive, you know, the ones I didn't get until 4 days AFTER I was supposed to fix this. He looked them over and admitted the letters were confusing because they are system generated and not in chronological order. I should have received a phone call from a live person. I've only received these calls that tell me to go online, which I couldn't, to see what the problem was. Again, he showed me the protest email he was sending up the food chain.

Unfortunately, the review of my account could take "5 to 7 business days" and I protested last Thursday. I told him I have been unable to pay any bills because I have no idea how much money is in my account. I will have to call other credit card companies and explain the problem so additional fees won't get attached to those accounts. So, far, that has gone well. It takes longer than expected to get through the explanations so I have missed a couple cards that are on the east coast. Fortunately, I don't have much so it's not a stack. It's just embarrassing to have to explain this every single time. Mr. manager said he would ask that a decision be expedited.

So, here we come to the weekend. I have a check from liquid funds that I could deposit or start a new account. I really don't want the hassle of a new account, but this is beyond ridiculous. I am to write up all the problems I have had with how this bank's online system works, how their phone system works and that ridiculous hang up on Wednesday. Mr. manager assures me he will see that it gets passed up to those who deal with customer service. I'm also thinking I should send a copy to the Better Business Bureau, my congressman, my senator and the Illinois Attorney General. The latter's office takes a very dim view of this kind of thing.

I was remembering when I refinanced my mortgage and got a debit card. I put it aside and didn't use it. At the time, we were getting paper payroll and expense checks. Those expense checks were what I lived on.

Now, everything is electronic. My paycheck and expense checks are direct deposit. The only thing I see is the email saying the expense check has been deposited and the statement from my paycheck. I never see anything that requires me to go to the bank. Am I better off this way?

I'm thinking, for me, I need to have X number of dollars at the beginning of the week and that's all I have to live on. It's too easy to swipe the debit card at Caribou Coffee or Flips Italian Beef or Carol's Garden Restaurant. I'm thinking, for the time being, I need to go back to the old ledger form of financial accounting. Everything I buy or any check I write, needs to be entered into some sort of ledger so I can account for every penny. Perhaps I got lax. Perhaps I got too trusting although I do look at my accounts at least 4 times a month online. I match up all receipts but, for me, maybe that's not enough.

I don't know. I just know I can't go through this again and I need to have concrete specific proof that I didn't spend more than I took in so if this were to happen again, I can come back and say, "I did not screw up. You did."

I need pie. After work, I'm going over to Dominicks and getting a pie, a whole pie, and I'm going to take a long time to eat it.

Beverage: China Black Tea

Deb

Together Again

Finally, I moved everyone to the secretary. It was not without lots and lots of tears. I found Half-Pint sitting on the bottom shelf of the secretary. I thought Carole had taken her west.

Left to right, Shakespeare, Penney, Half-Pint, Betsy and Rascal.

They are all together again. I miss each one so very much.

Beverage: English Breakfast

Deb

A Year Ago

Chicagoland had been rained on day and night for some 4 days. We received something like 17 inches over a 4 day period. It began on September 12th and didn't quit until the evening of September 15th. If it wasn't pouring, it was overcast and drizzle.

I had a guest at that time. I'd met a guy and he flew to Chicago for the week. The weather on the 12th prohibited his arrival at 2 p.m. It was 8:30 p.m. before he arrived.

I thought we had a marvelous week. We went out to eat a lot, in spite of us going grocery shopping Saturday, dodging a torrential rain. We went to Milwaukee to watch the Cubs play the Astros because the Houston area was going through a hurricane. We went shopping for souvenirs. We went into the city so he could say he'd been to Chicago. We went to Wrigley Field.

Over my objections, he bought tickets from a broker so he could see the Cubs play the Brewers at Wrigley Field. I never found out how much he spent.

He spent a lot on me. There were the meals we ate out. He bought some computer equipment so he could set up his lap top. He bought groceries and a couple of souvenirs. He paid for gas. I tried to pay for a few meals but he refused to allow it. I was giving him a wonderful week and the cost was minor compared to his vacation.

We parted at 5:00 a.m. at O'Hare on Friday, September 19th. His delay getting here had earned him a free ticket, as he had given up his seat for a woman to get home to her daughter. He swore Thursday night that free ticket was to come back to see me, in April probably because October to March was the busy time for his work.

I wanted to believe him. When I kissed him goodbye at the airport, he held me close and said, "It will be soon. I promise." It was all I could do to drive home through the tears. Betsy and Rascal liked him and were a bit confused that he wasn't in the house now.

The days passed. He stayed in touch for a week and then total silence. He had been the guardian of his sister's two boys. The oldest had gone to live with his father in Las Vegas that August and that weekend was a weekend of sloppy conversation over the computer and my just being at my keyboard while he vented. Still, he had the youngest who had made it clear he didn't want to go to Vegas.

Something happened that first week of October. I don't know what, but communication stopped. Emails and phone calls went unanswered. I sent an email toward the middle of October saying that I would box up the things he'd left behind and there were a few, and ship them back. Plus, I had calculated the cost of what he'd spent on me and would begin paying that off. I wasn't going to be seen as a gold-digger, or worse.

I got a reply and he begged me to hang on, that he would be better and I just needed to be patient for a couple weeks, or through the first of November. He would explain as much as he could then, but right now, it was too raw and he didn't want to be seen as a complainer.

The first of November came and went. Nothing. Again I sent an email saying he was to expect a box and again, there was a, "No please don't send me anything" email in return. His mother's birthday was, I think, November 12th. He mentioned he needed to shop "for someone special whose birthday is at the end of the month". "I need to make up for being such a slimeball," he said.

My birthday came and went. My daughter and my girlfriends remembered. Ten days later, he contacted me to say he was considering a promotion. I know it's petty, but I mentioned how Thanksgiving was lonely because I spent my birthday alone. He fell all over himself apologizing for missing it when he specifically had referenced it right after his mother's birthday. Then he said he had to go and would not tell me when we'd next talk.

That was it. I boxed up half of his stuff and shipped it back. A week later, I boxed up the rest and shipped it back. He contacted me Christmas Eve. He was drunk and his nephew was in Vegas visiting his father. He said he missed our conversations. He missed how understanding I was, how wise. But he wouldn't give me a date for when we'd next talk. There were always excuses.

I issued yet another ultimatum in January. On the 26th, he sent an email saying that he knew I would do whatever was best for me. That was it.

I fell. I fell hard. Girlfriends will vouch that I spent many, many nights crying myself to sleep. I never believed anyone could like me for me and he claimed he did. He was the only man I had ever considered moving from Wheaton for.

I have dreaded this week and the memories that would dance with it. Having the new cats has helped a lot because my energy is directed toward them. There has been more drama within my WOW guild and I haven't done a good job of dealing with that. Sometimes, my people skills leave a bit to be desired. I try but it doesn't always come out as nice as I would like. So, I have been able to keep the memories at bay.

But tonight, knowing that this marks the end of the week that he was here, the memories are like ripe apples waiting to be picked. I've been listening to Nat King Cole all evening. One of my favorite albums is called "Night Lights" and there is a song on that album called "Sometimes I Wonder". I have played it quite a bit tonight. These lyrics catch me:

Sometimes I wonder when I'm deep in memory.

If you ever give a little thought to me.

And while I'm under this old magic spell of you,

Sometimes I wonder if you ever wonder, too.

Beverage: Cold Assam

Deb

6 P.M.

What do you see to the left? It's my papasan chair. It sits in the livingroom. I've watched many an Iowa Hawkeye football and basketball game, read many a book, stitched many a counted cross-stitch project, slept many a nap in this chair.

It's empty.

Shakespeare claimed it when I bought it. When he passed away, it became Penney's chair. After she left, Rascal took over.

I've just come off another crying jag. It got to 5 and I was working on a Christmas project. I set it down and started to stand to go into the kitchen to feed the cats.

For 23 years, there has been a cat in this house. For 8 years, there has been a stripey cat sitting in the window of the living room at 4:15 when I got home from work. She quit doing that in May. That was a signal Rascal was not well.

I have tried listening to music. When Rascal died, I played Old Blind Dogs that evening. Now, the music feels like it's covering up the quiet.

I took a 2 1/2 hour nap this afternoon. I cried myself to sleep because there was not the warmth and purring of a cat. I can hear Rascal. I can hear Shakespeare. I can almost see Penney and Half-Pint in the spots where they used to be and I expect to see Betsy in the kitchen looking for me, waiting for another can of cat food to be opened.

There were times when the house was quiet like it is now. After a meal, everyone would settle down and sleep. There would be activity at 9 and Carole and I would find our attention divided by 5 cats. But that too would settle down and everyone would sleep. This is a wholly different kind of quiet. The only thing here is me and my sobs when the grief overtakes me.

I need to eat, but there is nothing I care to eat. I lost 3 pounds after Rascal died. I just didn't feel like it. For all the pots and pans and dirty dishes, the kitchen is empty. I don't want to be there.

I am trying to keep myself active. Work will help in that I have things I have to get done this week. I have done a great deal on this Christmas present today. And I know the feeling that my world is crashing in on me is just that, a feeling.

Beverage: English Breakfast tea

Deb

Alone Now, 1996-2009

It's not a good photo of Betsy. She wasn't the most photogenic of cats. She often looked like she had a perpetual scowl. She was tiny, never more than 8 pounds. But she was a lover-cat, demanding of attention.

I made the incredibly hard decision to let her go today. She had deteriorated over the weekend. She did not want fluids and had almost bolted on Saturday. Giving her a pill for her kidney disease made her gag so I quit doing that. She was peeing on the floor. She ate everything but had quit gaining weight, losing what she had gained over the summer.

Part of me thinks she missed Rascal.

Early this morning, we had a bad thunderstorm come through. She was not in bed with me but came when the lightning got bad. She couldn't jump up onto the bed anymore so I picked her up. She immediately snuggled next to me and started purring. This has been our routine since February. She sleeps right next to me, purring both of us to sleep.

But this past week, her sleep had become so deep, I was not sleeping well because I was scared she would pass away at night. Over the weekend, she would come to me and give me a look that almost asked, "Why?" I had no answer.

This morning, she was not in bed when I got up for work. She came running when she heard me and ate everything I gave her. She follows me around, meowing, not pitifully, just meowing. I had a small shard of hope that if we just got everything under control, she could be better. But when I came home to take her to the vet, she was lying on the office rug. She looked at me, but never got up. And as Dr. Labek and I talked, she slept. She was ready however unready I was. I told her I loved her, kissed her forehead and let them take her away. They will call when her ashes are ready for pick up. I picked up Rascal today.

Now my house is empty, really empty. No cats. No daughter. I have not begun the clean up. Her food dish still sits on the floor. The litter box is still in the back room. The towel she slept on with me today still on the bed. I have gone to get tea and find myself looking for her. I had to wait as I don't think she could see very well anymore nor could she hear me well. I looked down to make sure I wouldn't sandwich her between my legs. My face is raw from crying.

This is Shakespeare. He passed away in August of 2005. He was my bud. Everyone loved to pet him at the clinic, which, you could tell, embarrassed him. He was a very beautiful cat.

He was the runt of a litter left at a pet store where we knew someone. He was sickly when we got him but we nursed him to full health. He loved to jump on me when the sun first came up, walk up my body and take ahold of either my lower lip or my chin and bite just enough to awaken me. He always slept on my ankles. He loved to play fetch too, with these bouncing balls we found at a neighborhood pharmacy. He was not a cuddler unless you had food. Then, he was in your face.

These two are Half-Pint, on the left, and Penney, on the right.

Half-Pint was so named because she weighed exactly 8 ounces when we got her. Eight ounces is half of a pint. She was one of the cats at my mom's husband's farm. She was also sickly and we had to nurse her back to health, but she was feisty and very funny. She loved to lie in crazy spots that had sunshine. She would jump on me in the morning and walk the length of my body to put her forehead somewhere on my face and purr, in an effort to get me to get up. She would cuddle but she loved to sit on your shoulders. As this would impede what you wanted to do, we would call out, "I need a 'Pint-en-dectomy!" and someone would come remove her.

As she started life a farm cat, this stayed with her. She was hit by a car when she would not come in one night in April of 2006. I had to go to a meeting for work and I could not get her back inside. I found her in the street when I returned home.

Penney was a stray who turned up pregnant at the sister of our next door neighbor. Once the kittens were born, she was spayed and they began looking for a home for her. She was the most mellow of cats. She was a lover. She wanted to be with me all the time. She wanted my lap whenever I sat down, going so far as to jump up on the table and smash the newspaper when I read it in the mornings. We could never get her untrained from jumping on the kitchen table. She would sit on the edge when I did dishes, meow and reach out a paw to touch my back when I would pass by.

She was 3 years younger than Shakespeare and they were the only cats in the house for several years. They would chase each other through the house. It was okay for Shakespeare to chase Penney, but he would hiss and spit when she did it to him. Once he grew too old for the chasing, Penney and Half-Pint played together.

Penney was a gorgeous gray. Photos don't do her any justice. Light danced off her fur. And, like Rascal's, it was incredibly soft. That she was a lovable cat just made it so much more fun to pet her.

I let Penney go in August of 2007.

And here is one more picture of my Rascal cat. It was a warm spring day and I had thrown open the house to air it out.

Yes, I will get cats again. I had already decided, when Rascal died, that I would take a bit to recover, once Betsy died, but I would get cats again. I will get 2. There are always cats who need homes. Val, from the vet, has 2 she wants to get rid of because she's not home to properly care for them. "Ms. Montague, I can't think of anyone who would take better care of them than you would." But the wound is raw and I don't think I should make that decision right now. It is time now to be just me and my memories and move forward.

Beverage: English Breakfast

Deb

Is that a smile?

After coming home and sleeping for 75 minutes which puts me behind in cleaning my house for the weekend, I really can't deny any more that I'm wrestling with that 'd' word. It could be argued that this has been a hugely stressful month and, in reality, whatever form that reality takes, I kind of have a modicum of reasons to feel this way. I have blogged about Rascal but I have not blogged about the other over riding stress and that is the people who make up my WoW guild.

There's been too much drama. I find myself dealing, every day, with hurt feelings, in appropriate language (I have kids as young as 7 in my guild. They don't need to be exposed to sexual innuendo even if they can't read it.), people wanting to do their own thing, people wanting others to help them because it seems someone else gets help all the time. (sigh), in short, whenever you get more than 5 disparate people in a group, there will always be minor misunderstandings. And I'm as guilty as the next person in the miscommunication business. I may know English but there are times when it fails me completely.

As my marriage felt apart, the counselor I was seeing admonished me to not rely on others to lift myself out of the rut. There were stages to walking down this road. 1) You see the pot hole, you fall into the pot hole. 2) You see the pot hole, you try to walk around but fall in anyway. 3) You see the pot hole, try to walk around, fall in but try to get out. 4) You see the pot hole, try to walk around, fall in, try to get out and almost make it. 5) You see the pot hole, try to walk around, fall in, try to get out and succeed. 6) You see the pot hole, try to walk around and make it. 7) You see the pot hole and realize it's not as big as you thought so you easily walk around it. And 8) You go down another street.

I'm a very image oriented person. I need the analogy of images to move myself forward. I truly felt and feel now, that I fell into a pot hole. Some times, when I get up in the morning, I can see the hole and do make an effort to walk around it, but can't. Close friends know I have been feeling as if I shoulder way too much, whether real or imagined. I've been told to walk away but where do I go? Right now, this is the street on which I find myself.

"Turn on some music," I've been told. I do and have. "Go read. You like to read," says another. I have been working on the huge stack of periodicals on the end table in the living room. I slept quite peacefully last night until Betsy started yeowling. There was a gentle rain although accompanied by lightning. It didn't rain in, just hit the window sill. I was almost teleported back in time to the sound of rain on the tin roof of the porch of the farmhouse where I grew up. If ever there was a more soothing sound, I have not found it.

I'm not eating other than a bit at breakfast and lunch. I come home and food has no appeal. Yet, there is the stirring that having company will break the malaise because I want to show off. I want the blueberry cobbler to be the best they have ever had. I even discovered frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. I could make it tonight, but it would be a wee bit soggy by Saturday. Cobbler is best served warm within an hour of making. Oh! Gotta order the Oberweise ice cream.

Betsy is very, very clingy and very, very upset tonight. It's going to be a very long night if I have to put her in the kitchen because she's pacing and meowing. I keep finding ants in various rooms. They must be living in my walls. That's depressing. I did something to my left knee. My mobility is 70% and kneeling to clean is painful. How will I get the bathroom to my specifications? I sent the dating service a comment on the last guy they sent me. I can't get in touch with him and he's not called me. I give up. The drive to find even a companion is a dead-end road. My next door neighbor is a lesbian, nice gal. She had her girlfriend over for dinner tonight. I felt like putting up a sign, "No PDA's within 150' of my property." I have birds singing to each other outside my window. Squirrels chasing each other in the back yard. Everything seems to be pairing up. I know it's my mood and I could go to a movie on my own, but that feels like reinforcing my singleness.

I went out to get the mail and next to the mailbox was this.

It's a stargazer lily. I had planted them years ago. Sometimes they come up. Sometimes they don't. The front planting beds are horribly overgrown and need a thorough digging up. I don't have the energy and my allergies this year would make the pollen from the weeds a huge trigger. I would cough for hours after weeding. The little I've done in the back has left my chest aching from the cough. I'm tempted to cut it and bring it inside. I love these. Their smell. Their majesty. I stood there and looked at it for a good while.

Is this the ladder out of the pot hole? Right now I just want something to make me smile.

Beverage: Flat Coke

Deb