I think one of the neatest things is what we find comfort in. We feel bad, and we want Mom's soup. For me, it was her potato soup. She makes the BESTEST. I've tried to make it myself, but it's just not the same. Gotta have that MOM aspect to it, I suppose.
But it's not just food we find comfort in. Songs do that for me too. Some songs just soothe me. Some wrap themselves around me and simply associate it with what I'm feeling at any given moment. Movies especially. Like a song, they can bring back a memory - how old you were the first time you saw it, what was going on in your life, the feelings it gave you when you saw it, and if those are happy memories, it brings those back to you. Like THE PRINCESS BRIDE, for example. The first time I saw it was in a huge auditorm, my first semester at Harding University in my first week there. I was on this high, I guess. First time away from my family, on my own (although in a "dorm" at a university with strict rules, but still...) It was a happy time, and even now, when I watch it, that good feeling comes back.
I collect quilts. My quilts are a comfort. Some are never used though. My grandmother made a couple of them. One was on my bed growing up - that old "Amish doll" style. I don't use it anymore - it's on a quilt rack - because I don't want it "worn" anymore than I did to it as a child. I don't want it to give out and have to get rid of it. I have two others she made - and when I say made, I mean MADE. When I was little, we'd go out to visit Granny and Papa and Gran had this HUGE rack that suspended from the ceiling that she'd lower to work on it, all hand stitched, from the piecing all the way to the actual quilting, matching the batting and the backing. The talent is awesome. The uniform stitching is a true talent. Another one of my quilts was made from my great-grandmother. Heirloom to the extreme.
But other times, I pick up some up at garage sales. I love the softness of them. I love the idea that someone made such a difficult thing out of a need to express herself. And now it's mine. And it's soft. Not too heavy, not too light. Perfect to wrap up in. Even though it wasn't made specifically for me, it brings me comfort anyway, and I like to think that the original creator knows it goes on, bringing peace and warmth to even a stranger.
Right now, my comfort item is a couch. I LOVE this couch. It's so comfortable, and the memories of it are ... well there are no words for the memories this couch holds for me. We just rearranged the entire living room to accomodate this, making it the center of our living room. The last couple of days have been super bad ones for me, and wrapped in a quilt, watching some of my favorite movies, resting on The Couch has been one of the best things ever.
Now if only had my mother's soup.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Update, Bren! Update!
Bossy people!
I had planned on updating after Nationals and uploading some pics to here at the same time. I don't have the photos yet, thus the delay. I actually DO have lots to share, but I really wanted to add the visuals with it, so those things will have to wait for now. So for an update on Nationals, hold up awhile longer.
In the meantime, I've actually been writing. I finally got the laptop working on all fronts, and now it's back to acting stupid again, so I'm trying to write here on the PC. And now my keyboard is going out, hating the E and J keys and refusing to type them until my fingers finally force it out. J isn't that bad, but the E - well, we use E a LOT, in case you didn't realize that. I used to use a split keyboard, which I LOVE. This one is a regular one. Since it's going out, I thought I'd get a new split one, right? Yeah. $70! I couldn't believe the price difference, and places like Walmart and Target don't even carry them now. So looks like I'm going with the $10 plain one from Walmart. Yeehaw.
School has started up here again. Last year, for those that remember, my plan was to write while they were in school, since my youngest would finally be attending fulltime. I kept anticipating the first day in 2005 and then that day came and went and nothing happened. This year, I refuse to lose that time and so I'm working on what I can do to make it easier.
When I started out, the plan was to write romantic suspense. That got shifted over to romantic comedy as I learned about this thing called "voice". Now I'm shifting again - to be announced later - but taking some real life knowledge and applying it to fiction. Should be interesting to see where that goes. Either way, my plan is to take babysteps. I get overloaded on the "big picture" and freeze up. I have this "all or nothing" mentality and it's making me nuts, along with others close to me who witness it. Just like blogging - I put it off until I could do what I'd planned, rather than ANYTHING - which, of course, is better than nothing. Frustrating to be me.
Yesterday, Syd Vicious, age 6, came up with a song. The words are, "I didn't know who you were when you walked into my door, but in a week you changed my life forevah!"
I stared at her for a moment then asked, "How old ARE you?!"
She grinned. "Sixty-seven."
Why am I telling you this? 1) It's cute and my kids are rockin' cool. (By the way, those wondering about Shan's blog - blogger problem and she's going to be redoing it.) 2) Part of my new writing exercise is to blog SOMETHING daily. So those little things like what one of the kids say may be all I have to share. Gotta get you used to it now.
Because I'm sadistic like that.
I had planned on updating after Nationals and uploading some pics to here at the same time. I don't have the photos yet, thus the delay. I actually DO have lots to share, but I really wanted to add the visuals with it, so those things will have to wait for now. So for an update on Nationals, hold up awhile longer.
In the meantime, I've actually been writing. I finally got the laptop working on all fronts, and now it's back to acting stupid again, so I'm trying to write here on the PC. And now my keyboard is going out, hating the E and J keys and refusing to type them until my fingers finally force it out. J isn't that bad, but the E - well, we use E a LOT, in case you didn't realize that. I used to use a split keyboard, which I LOVE. This one is a regular one. Since it's going out, I thought I'd get a new split one, right? Yeah. $70! I couldn't believe the price difference, and places like Walmart and Target don't even carry them now. So looks like I'm going with the $10 plain one from Walmart. Yeehaw.
School has started up here again. Last year, for those that remember, my plan was to write while they were in school, since my youngest would finally be attending fulltime. I kept anticipating the first day in 2005 and then that day came and went and nothing happened. This year, I refuse to lose that time and so I'm working on what I can do to make it easier.
When I started out, the plan was to write romantic suspense. That got shifted over to romantic comedy as I learned about this thing called "voice". Now I'm shifting again - to be announced later - but taking some real life knowledge and applying it to fiction. Should be interesting to see where that goes. Either way, my plan is to take babysteps. I get overloaded on the "big picture" and freeze up. I have this "all or nothing" mentality and it's making me nuts, along with others close to me who witness it. Just like blogging - I put it off until I could do what I'd planned, rather than ANYTHING - which, of course, is better than nothing. Frustrating to be me.
Yesterday, Syd Vicious, age 6, came up with a song. The words are, "I didn't know who you were when you walked into my door, but in a week you changed my life forevah!"
I stared at her for a moment then asked, "How old ARE you?!"
She grinned. "Sixty-seven."
Why am I telling you this? 1) It's cute and my kids are rockin' cool. (By the way, those wondering about Shan's blog - blogger problem and she's going to be redoing it.) 2) Part of my new writing exercise is to blog SOMETHING daily. So those little things like what one of the kids say may be all I have to share. Gotta get you used to it now.
Because I'm sadistic like that.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
A Vacation from Vacation
As I mentioned in my last post, I went to DFW for a week. It wore me out. Between constantly running around and constantly being with my parents and my mother's need for constantly eating, I was draggin' big time. I haven't even unpacked yet. I thought this week would be my resting, recovering from the "vacation".
Then my husband's appendix exploded.
Thankfully, he was in surgery when it happened. It was all really fast, actually. Well, as fast as hospitals EVER are, right? But when they went to do it the easy, fast way (laporoscopy), he started bleeding out. He'd had a heart attack like two months ago, and the blood thinners were messing it up. Thankfully, the surgery had been delayed for a couple of hours while they had platelets brought in from Austin, so they'd planned for this possibility and handled it. Then the surgeon went to remove the appendix, and "it fell apart in his hands". To quote him, "It was the nastiest thing I've ever seen." Coming from a SURGEON, I figure that's pretty gross, and did not allow my brain to visualize. So now his recovery will be longer.
That gives me another week. I have a week before I head back to DFW to ditch the kids --- errr --- drop off the kids at my parents. I'll get to DFW on Friday or Saturday, then Tuesday, I'm heading for Atlanta for RWA's National Conference. Shari and I will be having fun, but it's a big time, hectic, fast-paced kind of fun. Getting up early (that means before noon - yikes) and getting to bed around midnight (if we decide to crash early) with constant events in the meantime. Seminars, the bar, classes, the bar, editor/agent appointments and panels, networking, the bar. See what I mean? It's crazy, but in a super fun way!
I'll return from there on August 1st. And I'll need a vacation. Recharge and all that. Because for the next two weeks afterward will be all about BACK TO SCHOOL. For four kids. That's a lot of shopping. I figure coming August 16th, I'll be ready for a day of nothingness in the worse way - the first day of school, and once again, my house will be nothing but QUIET!
Now, if only I can survive til then...
Then my husband's appendix exploded.
Thankfully, he was in surgery when it happened. It was all really fast, actually. Well, as fast as hospitals EVER are, right? But when they went to do it the easy, fast way (laporoscopy), he started bleeding out. He'd had a heart attack like two months ago, and the blood thinners were messing it up. Thankfully, the surgery had been delayed for a couple of hours while they had platelets brought in from Austin, so they'd planned for this possibility and handled it. Then the surgeon went to remove the appendix, and "it fell apart in his hands". To quote him, "It was the nastiest thing I've ever seen." Coming from a SURGEON, I figure that's pretty gross, and did not allow my brain to visualize. So now his recovery will be longer.
That gives me another week. I have a week before I head back to DFW to ditch the kids --- errr --- drop off the kids at my parents. I'll get to DFW on Friday or Saturday, then Tuesday, I'm heading for Atlanta for RWA's National Conference. Shari and I will be having fun, but it's a big time, hectic, fast-paced kind of fun. Getting up early (that means before noon - yikes) and getting to bed around midnight (if we decide to crash early) with constant events in the meantime. Seminars, the bar, classes, the bar, editor/agent appointments and panels, networking, the bar. See what I mean? It's crazy, but in a super fun way!
I'll return from there on August 1st. And I'll need a vacation. Recharge and all that. Because for the next two weeks afterward will be all about BACK TO SCHOOL. For four kids. That's a lot of shopping. I figure coming August 16th, I'll be ready for a day of nothingness in the worse way - the first day of school, and once again, my house will be nothing but QUIET!
Now, if only I can survive til then...
Sunday, July 09, 2006
The Sweetest Thing
I've been gone to Dallas/Ft. Worth for the last eight days or so. I take the kids up there to their Vacation Bible School. And my mom got the date for her cornea transplant while I was there. I knew she was going to have one - I knew her eyes were bad, but what I didn't realize was HOW bad they are.
Until church Sunday morning.
Something caught my eye, but when I looked over at my parents, nothing was there. Then I caught it after the next song. My dad quietly slipping the open song book onto my mom's lap, while she passed him her closed song book. After each song, the same thing happened.
My dad was turning it to the page number for her, then silently slipping it onto her lap before he took the one she handed him and turned his own pages. Never in my life have I seen such a sweet thing.
So small, and yet so incredibly significant.
I sat there, blinking repeatedly, vowing not to cry and being so happy for them to have that kind of devotion, that kind of love.
Until church Sunday morning.
Something caught my eye, but when I looked over at my parents, nothing was there. Then I caught it after the next song. My dad quietly slipping the open song book onto my mom's lap, while she passed him her closed song book. After each song, the same thing happened.
My dad was turning it to the page number for her, then silently slipping it onto her lap before he took the one she handed him and turned his own pages. Never in my life have I seen such a sweet thing.
So small, and yet so incredibly significant.
I sat there, blinking repeatedly, vowing not to cry and being so happy for them to have that kind of devotion, that kind of love.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
She's back - Be Afraid
For those who have read the blog for a long time, you may remember my teen daughter who was linked from this blog. She took the site down (sniff - sob - sniff) but she's back up and running. The mentality of a 16 yr old is kind of scary sometimes, but it's neat to look back and remember how it was then, the emotions and chaos and everything else, through her writing. I know she'd love for anyone and everyone to drop by and please feel free to leave a note (YES! Even you, Dwight!)
Check it out HERE
Check it out HERE
Friday, June 16, 2006
According to Cosmo
Men equate saying "I love you" with having sex.
Does this mean everytime they're plugging it in, they LOVE that person? I mean, they may be GRATEFUL, which they dang well should, but I don't think this would be LOVE. I mean, I'm a GURL and even I don't equate it 99% of the time, so I can't fathom how a guy can.
If they mean "in a relationship" he shows his "love" through sex and thus equates it that way, that's crap. Grow a spine, open your mouth and SAY it.
Of course, being that I write romance, this could particular irk me. As writers, we work really hard to have ANYTHING, from words to actions, reflect the movement in a relationship. To that point, yes, often times if you do choose to have a sex scene, and since it does need to have relevence in the book, it can mean that, but I refuse to acknowledge that because then Cosmo is at least partially right.
Then again, I write heros with spines. That's one of the things that makes him a hero, after all.
Does this mean everytime they're plugging it in, they LOVE that person? I mean, they may be GRATEFUL, which they dang well should, but I don't think this would be LOVE. I mean, I'm a GURL and even I don't equate it 99% of the time, so I can't fathom how a guy can.
If they mean "in a relationship" he shows his "love" through sex and thus equates it that way, that's crap. Grow a spine, open your mouth and SAY it.
Of course, being that I write romance, this could particular irk me. As writers, we work really hard to have ANYTHING, from words to actions, reflect the movement in a relationship. To that point, yes, often times if you do choose to have a sex scene, and since it does need to have relevence in the book, it can mean that, but I refuse to acknowledge that because then Cosmo is at least partially right.
Then again, I write heros with spines. That's one of the things that makes him a hero, after all.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Pass the IV Please
So, I got sick.
Really sick.
B had cold-like symptoms, then I did too. Ya know, the basics: runny nose, cough, blah blah blah. He started to get better. I got a fever. I kept treating the symptoms. I got worse. My fever got higher. By Day 9, I knew I was really sick. Then I started coughing up blood.
I went to the ER. They gave me three breathing treatments upfront. Man oh man, that'll give ya the shakes bigtime. They shot me up with morphine (that stuff hits FAST, by the way!) My fever hovered around 102. I have pneumonia - both lungs, and the kind I have attacks something in the back of the lungs which caused incredible pain (thus, the morphine). I was admitted to the hospital and stayed two days, IV antibiotics and morphine every two hours.
I'm home now and better. I'm still on the meds and percocet for the pain, with cough meds with codeine in it. They said in a couple of weeks, I'll be back to my ol' feisty self. So ya'll get a little break from me for awhile, but no worries: Like Arnold, I'll be back!
Really sick.
B had cold-like symptoms, then I did too. Ya know, the basics: runny nose, cough, blah blah blah. He started to get better. I got a fever. I kept treating the symptoms. I got worse. My fever got higher. By Day 9, I knew I was really sick. Then I started coughing up blood.
I went to the ER. They gave me three breathing treatments upfront. Man oh man, that'll give ya the shakes bigtime. They shot me up with morphine (that stuff hits FAST, by the way!) My fever hovered around 102. I have pneumonia - both lungs, and the kind I have attacks something in the back of the lungs which caused incredible pain (thus, the morphine). I was admitted to the hospital and stayed two days, IV antibiotics and morphine every two hours.
I'm home now and better. I'm still on the meds and percocet for the pain, with cough meds with codeine in it. They said in a couple of weeks, I'll be back to my ol' feisty self. So ya'll get a little break from me for awhile, but no worries: Like Arnold, I'll be back!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
6.6.6
Insert evil laugh here.
Hold on - I think Sydney's throwing a party. I still think she could take Damien down in a heartbeat and have that boy begging for mercy.
So how fitting is this little thingy I found today for today's date?? I hobble into the gas station for more medication. (I'm on Day Seven of what appears to be the flu - or virus from hell, not sure which). I'm standing at the check-out. They always have these little keychains and a lot of times I like them. I bought one once because it said, "I'm out of bed. What more do you want?" (Those that know me know I'm a sleeper, dreamer, napper kind of woman.) So I'm fingering through them, nothing too funny, and my finger brushes against something soft.
And furry.
My eyebrows raise. My interest, in a fog of fever, is piqued.
Oh look. It's a cute little rabbit's foot keychain. Nice and normal. We've all owned one.
BUT WAIT! These have been MADE TO LOOK LIKE THE RABBITS AGAIN! One looked suspiciously like a cat. Little ears, little tails, little red beady freakin' eyes. Out of honest-to-God rabbit fur. Holy crap, this is a scary freakin' little town!
So I'm commenting on the demonic virtues of these to the cashier.
Me: That's messed up.
Him: Squeek.
Me: Pardon? (again with the raised brows)
Him: Squeek.
Me: blank face like :|
Him: *eye roll* THEY SQUEEK!
Uhhh. So of course, what do I do? I reach and squeeze the little real-rabbit-fur-dressed-up-to-look-like-mini-rabbit-with-beady-red-eyes-from-Hell and SQUEEK! It sounded like I imagine it would as a dog gnawed on it.
I paid and left. I'm almost convinced now that it was a fever-induced hallucination. I'm mostly afraid it's not. And if they're still there when I go back, I'm buying one just to take a pic to show you guys how truly scary it is.
UPDATE!!! B just walked up to me while I sat here at my desk and I heard the ever-familiar demonic SQUEEK SQUEEK SQUEEK. He bought one!!!!
Hold on - I think Sydney's throwing a party. I still think she could take Damien down in a heartbeat and have that boy begging for mercy.
So how fitting is this little thingy I found today for today's date?? I hobble into the gas station for more medication. (I'm on Day Seven of what appears to be the flu - or virus from hell, not sure which). I'm standing at the check-out. They always have these little keychains and a lot of times I like them. I bought one once because it said, "I'm out of bed. What more do you want?" (Those that know me know I'm a sleeper, dreamer, napper kind of woman.) So I'm fingering through them, nothing too funny, and my finger brushes against something soft.
And furry.
My eyebrows raise. My interest, in a fog of fever, is piqued.
Oh look. It's a cute little rabbit's foot keychain. Nice and normal. We've all owned one.
BUT WAIT! These have been MADE TO LOOK LIKE THE RABBITS AGAIN! One looked suspiciously like a cat. Little ears, little tails, little red beady freakin' eyes. Out of honest-to-God rabbit fur. Holy crap, this is a scary freakin' little town!
So I'm commenting on the demonic virtues of these to the cashier.
Me: That's messed up.
Him: Squeek.
Me: Pardon? (again with the raised brows)
Him: Squeek.
Me: blank face like :|
Him: *eye roll* THEY SQUEEK!
Uhhh. So of course, what do I do? I reach and squeeze the little real-rabbit-fur-dressed-up-to-look-like-mini-rabbit-with-beady-red-eyes-from-Hell and SQUEEK! It sounded like I imagine it would as a dog gnawed on it.
I paid and left. I'm almost convinced now that it was a fever-induced hallucination. I'm mostly afraid it's not. And if they're still there when I go back, I'm buying one just to take a pic to show you guys how truly scary it is.
UPDATE!!! B just walked up to me while I sat here at my desk and I heard the ever-familiar demonic SQUEEK SQUEEK SQUEEK. He bought one!!!!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
It's all about CHARACTER!
As I delve deeper into my new book, I'm plagued by nightmares of revisions - ya know, those horrible rewrites my first novel is still waiting for me to complete.
Granted, I knew NOTHING about writing when I spewed forth that 100,000 word mess, but the premise is still good, the characters are still good, and so I suppose someday I'll open it back up and frighten Shari by saying, "Ready for the revisions on this one?" Then she'll scream and run into the night - which is okay now that winter is over in Wisconsin.
As mentioned in a previous post, I have GMC by Deb Dixon and it really, truly is an amazing craft book. So you take the revisions of my first novel and the insight of GMC, and think: Hmm. If I do this right the FIRST time through, I won't have to face those scary, demonic revisions.
Sounds like a plan, eh?
I thought so too. I whip out GMC and start to go through it with this new book in mind. Kate wants ________ because _______ but ________. There ya go. First blank is her goal. Second is her motivation. Third is her conflict. I wrote that out, just like that, on a piece of notebook paper and proceeded to stare at it for thirty minutes.
It's such a simple little sentence, is it not? And yet at the same time, my brain cramped up and my eyes glazed over and for a short period of time, I lacked the ability to speak coherent sentences. My family worried for a bit, then relished the silence and figured not to mess with a good thing.
Through this painful process, I've discovered I cannot create character worksheets. I have to simply write and let the characters reveal themselves to me in whatever way THEY decide. I'm just the scribe, the slave to the keyboard as THEY tell their tales.
Even my characters are bitches. What's up with that?
Granted, I knew NOTHING about writing when I spewed forth that 100,000 word mess, but the premise is still good, the characters are still good, and so I suppose someday I'll open it back up and frighten Shari by saying, "Ready for the revisions on this one?" Then she'll scream and run into the night - which is okay now that winter is over in Wisconsin.
As mentioned in a previous post, I have GMC by Deb Dixon and it really, truly is an amazing craft book. So you take the revisions of my first novel and the insight of GMC, and think: Hmm. If I do this right the FIRST time through, I won't have to face those scary, demonic revisions.
Sounds like a plan, eh?
I thought so too. I whip out GMC and start to go through it with this new book in mind. Kate wants ________ because _______ but ________. There ya go. First blank is her goal. Second is her motivation. Third is her conflict. I wrote that out, just like that, on a piece of notebook paper and proceeded to stare at it for thirty minutes.
It's such a simple little sentence, is it not? And yet at the same time, my brain cramped up and my eyes glazed over and for a short period of time, I lacked the ability to speak coherent sentences. My family worried for a bit, then relished the silence and figured not to mess with a good thing.
Through this painful process, I've discovered I cannot create character worksheets. I have to simply write and let the characters reveal themselves to me in whatever way THEY decide. I'm just the scribe, the slave to the keyboard as THEY tell their tales.
Even my characters are bitches. What's up with that?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
You Are My Sunshine
The day after I brought home the puppy, B got off shift and showed up with a tiny, tiny kitten.
There are two ways to get to our house from his work, and for some reason, he took the "longer" way home. As he came around the bend of the road, a huge vulture took off and B saw something moving, and stopped to see.
There were three tiny, tiny kittens. Two were dead. One wasn't. The vulture worked on making it so before B's interruption. Her eyes were really messed up - I'll spare you the details - and her front leg was broken. Our guess is that it broke when she was tossed out a window by whomever did this to them. They were VERY young kittens - maybe four weeks old.
You could feel her spine. She was starving and because of her eyes, she couldn't find food, she couldn't see to run and hide from the vulture, and of course, her leg would have made it near impossible anyway. We cleaned her up and fed her, and put her under a heat lamp. We named her Phoebe. Solid gray, long hair - gorgeous. And fit in the palm of my hand, with room to spare.
For the last seven days, we babied her when we could. Cleaned up her eyes and fed her several times a day and put her in the litter box. We know she could see some, probably just shadows, because she would follow the movement of our hands and try to hobble and follow us sometimes. She ate well most of the time. We truly felt she'd pull through.
She didn't eat well this morning, but that's normal. She went in spurts sometimes. I went to check on her this afternoon, and instead of being all balled up, she was stretched out. I picked her up to wipe her eyes and she felt cool to the touch.
I picked her up and tried to feed her more. I tried to get water into her too. It was hard - she fought it. She couldn't stand up. It didn't look good.
I took her outside to the backyard and in my black t-shirt, I held her in the Texas sunshine, letting her absorb my heat and the heat of the sun. And I stroked her back, I talked to her, I sang to her. She grew weaker.
Titan, my horse, came up and stood there. Just stood there. And then he'd kick at the fence til I finally took her to him. He kept his head down over the fence and he'd blow really warm air on her, so soft and gently. It was amazing. He knew.
For twenty minutes, Titan stood in silent vigil there at the fence. For twenty minutes. Not a sound. Just those huge brown eyes watching me, and if I walked her close to the fence, he'd blow that warm air out so softly against her. Over and over again, for such a long time.
At 4:41, Phoebe died in my arms.
Whomever did this to this little kitten, I hope with all my might that karma finds them. I continue to sit here and second guess myself. All the things I should have done. The things I could have done better. But I know with everything in my heart that kitten died knowing she was loved. She died being fed, and held, petted and sang to. She died against my chest, listening to my heartbeat, feeling my arms around her, hearing my voice and feeling my hand softly petting her.
I walked to Titan and nudged my head against his and whispered thank you. He walked away, his head still lowered.
As I grow older, I'm not sure what all I believe in. I do believe in higher power and in an afterlife. I watch John Edwards (psychic) and he just knows too much - he's amazing. He may be a fraud, I have no idea. I don't care. But watching him, he talks about validating those who have past, and he's mentioned animals too.
In 1995 my grandmother died. She was the keeper of the secrets, all of our best friend. I was there with Granny as she died, and the entire time, between begging for her to breathe, I'd sing "You are my Sunshine" - her and my oldest daughter's favorite song to sing together - over and over and over again until she took her last breath. I know it's stupid - I KNOW it's silly - but while I rocked the kitty Phoebe, I sang it to her - over and over and over again. And I told her all about Granny, and the kitten Granny had to leave behind when she left us, and that if Phoebe couldn't fight anymore, if she had to go, to go and find Granny, and that Granny would love her. Just like I loved her.
Just like I'll always love the little gray kitty that hobbled into my life one Friday morning.
There are two ways to get to our house from his work, and for some reason, he took the "longer" way home. As he came around the bend of the road, a huge vulture took off and B saw something moving, and stopped to see.
There were three tiny, tiny kittens. Two were dead. One wasn't. The vulture worked on making it so before B's interruption. Her eyes were really messed up - I'll spare you the details - and her front leg was broken. Our guess is that it broke when she was tossed out a window by whomever did this to them. They were VERY young kittens - maybe four weeks old.
You could feel her spine. She was starving and because of her eyes, she couldn't find food, she couldn't see to run and hide from the vulture, and of course, her leg would have made it near impossible anyway. We cleaned her up and fed her, and put her under a heat lamp. We named her Phoebe. Solid gray, long hair - gorgeous. And fit in the palm of my hand, with room to spare.
For the last seven days, we babied her when we could. Cleaned up her eyes and fed her several times a day and put her in the litter box. We know she could see some, probably just shadows, because she would follow the movement of our hands and try to hobble and follow us sometimes. She ate well most of the time. We truly felt she'd pull through.
She didn't eat well this morning, but that's normal. She went in spurts sometimes. I went to check on her this afternoon, and instead of being all balled up, she was stretched out. I picked her up to wipe her eyes and she felt cool to the touch.
I picked her up and tried to feed her more. I tried to get water into her too. It was hard - she fought it. She couldn't stand up. It didn't look good.
I took her outside to the backyard and in my black t-shirt, I held her in the Texas sunshine, letting her absorb my heat and the heat of the sun. And I stroked her back, I talked to her, I sang to her. She grew weaker.
Titan, my horse, came up and stood there. Just stood there. And then he'd kick at the fence til I finally took her to him. He kept his head down over the fence and he'd blow really warm air on her, so soft and gently. It was amazing. He knew.
For twenty minutes, Titan stood in silent vigil there at the fence. For twenty minutes. Not a sound. Just those huge brown eyes watching me, and if I walked her close to the fence, he'd blow that warm air out so softly against her. Over and over again, for such a long time.
At 4:41, Phoebe died in my arms.
Whomever did this to this little kitten, I hope with all my might that karma finds them. I continue to sit here and second guess myself. All the things I should have done. The things I could have done better. But I know with everything in my heart that kitten died knowing she was loved. She died being fed, and held, petted and sang to. She died against my chest, listening to my heartbeat, feeling my arms around her, hearing my voice and feeling my hand softly petting her.
I walked to Titan and nudged my head against his and whispered thank you. He walked away, his head still lowered.
As I grow older, I'm not sure what all I believe in. I do believe in higher power and in an afterlife. I watch John Edwards (psychic) and he just knows too much - he's amazing. He may be a fraud, I have no idea. I don't care. But watching him, he talks about validating those who have past, and he's mentioned animals too.
In 1995 my grandmother died. She was the keeper of the secrets, all of our best friend. I was there with Granny as she died, and the entire time, between begging for her to breathe, I'd sing "You are my Sunshine" - her and my oldest daughter's favorite song to sing together - over and over and over again until she took her last breath. I know it's stupid - I KNOW it's silly - but while I rocked the kitty Phoebe, I sang it to her - over and over and over again. And I told her all about Granny, and the kitten Granny had to leave behind when she left us, and that if Phoebe couldn't fight anymore, if she had to go, to go and find Granny, and that Granny would love her. Just like I loved her.
Just like I'll always love the little gray kitty that hobbled into my life one Friday morning.
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