Since typepad logged me out, I know it's been a long time since I blogged, but I only write when I feel like it, which works well for me.That's probably why I've kept at it so long! I also want a record of my life experiences, since so much has changed for me since I started this site, some positive, some horrific. It's called life, I guess. I don't force anything or put pressure on myself to be funny, profound or informative. Although I adore comments, I write mostly for myself: to vent, to work through ideas or feelings, and to celebrate/get sympathy when it's called for. So, my goodbye to this week is more like GOOD RIDDANCE. We had four days of block schedules(have I already whined about how much I hate them?) plus I started the week at a dreary retirement seminar on Monday evening. I thought everything was reasonably clear, but now, not so much. There are LOTS of terrifying decisions to make about where to put my defined contribution(investments) and whether to retire officially or just separate from service, so that I could still sub. As I told my counselor yesterday though, I hated substitute teaching when I was young, so what makes me think I would enjoy it now? The change from a strict routine filled with people to an unstructured and quiet existence could be the worst thing I could ever do...or the best. As I always used to tell my kids when they were bored or at loose ends, "Find something to do!" It certainly wasn't very profound, but they found art(Ashley), piano(Alison), story writing(Ashley), and sports(Alison). Maybe I'm not too ancient old to explore new pursuits, different and intimidating though they might be? I don't have the answers to this, but I do have a year to figure it out.
I took some of Patt's beautiful irises up to the cemetery, which would have probably made him roll his eyes.;) "Flowers are for the living to enjoy!" Since he bought these for the girls, it means a lot to me to decorate his niche with them; the flowers are hidden in the back yard anyway! I can hear him telling me to just let them bloom and die(the true cycle of life); he wasn't a fan of cut flowers.
At least 12 years ago, someone dumped this cat in our neighborhood and it made its way to us. It had been severely abused and was terrified of people, especially men. Although it let me feed it and give it water, it was too scared to let us close. Although I wanted to take it to the animal shelter, my then teenage girls were adamant that it would be euthanized as unadoptable. After several years, I had given up trying to make friends with it. Patient Ashley never did stop and it did eventually respond to her. Eva, Butters, White Cat--we called it a variety of names since we didn't know its gender. Nearly a week ago it stopped eating and drinking, and I was planning to let nature take its course. But then it came to me and allowed me to pet it, while feebly purring and meowing every time I stopped. I crouched there in the gravel for at least 15 minutes, giving this feral cat loves before making the agonizing difficult decision to take it to the vet at 8:30 p.m. on Wednesday night. $215 later, there are still no answers(probable liver disease) and the cat has disappeared, although the vet would like him (turns out he's a neutered male) back to the hospital for IV fluids, nutritional support and treatment. (wth?) Ashley said it best, "Cats are, at least, specialists in death with dignity; they'll go away and die in peace if they have a choice." I think that's what he's done, hopefully not under my deck! RIP, White Cat.
Update: After peering under the deck at least 100 times, I happened to be working outside and looked over at the shed, noticing for the first time that the amount of space on the bottom varied. And with a sinking feeling, I knew. Because of my ethics and to preserve White Cat's dignity, there won't be any photo, but suffice it to say that it will be tricky to extricate his body from his final resting place. I'm relieved that he didn't just wander off, but stayed in a place where he felt a bit at home and sometimes allowed himself to be loved. I appreciate the sympathy and kindness you've all shown, but I'm doing OK, just a few tears; I'm also feeling quite overwhelmed about crawling around in narrow quarters when I get up the courage to deal with the situation. However, compared with what our family suffered when my husband was ill and then dying, this isn't in the same league, or really even in the same universe. xoxo