Time wounds all heels...

My garden is peaceful; each day, we’re a little less heart-sad, the girls are a little less confused, and the new routine becomes more comfortable. I was prepared for this parting and I am able to rejoice, both for the fourteen years we had together, and that I was sitting with Daisy, stroking her ear, as she was released from her frail, failing body. The hardest part was seeing Sam, halfway between man and child, sobbing as he dug the hole and laid her down to rest with a little bundle of rosemary for remembrance.

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Evidence of Spring is popping up around here; our tree is beginning to bud (having only dropped its last leaves a couple weeks ago), bulbs are blooming in the backyard, and Sam is in the midst of tennis tryouts. We don’t see a lot of him these days; he’s at practice until 5:30 or 6:00 every evening, comes flying in long enough to swap gear and grab a sandwich before heading to karate or church (not only is he teaching twice a week at his dojo, he has been running the sound board for youth services for a few months now), then home around 9:00 to do homework before collapsing facedown on his bed. The final roster is to be posted soon and he’s fairly confident he’ll make the team, but I still remember the shock and sting of being cut in favor of coach’s paying students last year; even though there is a new coach (thank goodness- I don’t think I could have been polite) and Sam is one of only 2 seniors trying out, I had to remind him not to take anything as given until the list is up and fees paid.

< = < = <

Work is still taking up too much of my time and energy, but I will be escaping for a few days- the annual Stitches West convention kicks off on Thursday evening and I’m heading over for two days of fiber fun. Friday, I’m taking an all-day technique class, Fair Isle Tams, which I’m very excited about, staying over at the hotel with my friend Felted Hare to knit and nosh, and then meeting up with our knitting group Saturday for Market shopping. Now that our LYS has officially closed, this will be an opportunity to stock up on quality yarn and scope out new ideas in one place. It is hard to convey the size of the Marketplace; there are literally hundreds of vendors from all over the country, filling their booths with a dizzying assortment of yarn, roving, tools, patterns, gadgets- a knitters’ Nirvana- too bad the State of California has not seen fit to release my income tax return yet (oh-oh, don’t get me started!)

M J K L M

One less Flower

 Daisy

1994-2009

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Aka: Daisy-do; Ms Toots; Tubbers; Queen Mum

  At age 15, Daisy is the senior member of our cat family; weighing in at nearly 16 lbs, she is also the largest. She was a single mother with 4 kittens, who was dumped at the animal shelter. When we met her, her kittens had all been adopted & she was all alone. Chris was bent down at the bank of cages, looking at the cage under Daisy’s, when she reached out thru the bars, put a paw on either side of his head & started licking his hair. This, of course, got his attention, so he took her out of her cage; the shameless hussy climbed inside his shirt & started purring. Well, he was hooked!

  Daisy is a mellow, even-tempered lady with very few idiosyncrasies. She spends most of her days laying in her basket by the window, taking token swipes at the kittens, or laying in the living room when someone is home; once a month, she’ll actually climb into a lap. She is not fond of the outside & will only go out under protest, but she will sit in the window for hours watching the birds & make bird calls. Her only form of exercise is walking upstairs in the morning to make sure I’m up & about to feed her. All I have to do is say “Food?” & move toward the stairs, & she will rush down to the kitchen; if I don’t follow right away, she’ll come back up to stare at me. We will follow this scenario 2 or 3 times before she finally catches on. As you may have gathered, Daisy-Do is very sweet, but not the brightest bulb in the chandelier; she will regularly stand at sliding glass door at night, poofed up, pacing back & forth, & howling bloody blue murder at….Her own reflection!

 

 

Bet the furniture was nicer...

Scene: Church Sweetheart Dinner

Four couples sit around the table, talking about life, marriage, children- the usual sort of conversation when married folks get together- when the subjects turns to newborns and sleep deprivation.

Chris: I’ve heard that’s pretty common, but thank goodness we missed out on that part; Sam always slept straight thru, so we got a decent 6 to 8 hours every night.

Meg: Really? Where were you sleeping?

Selective memory loss- the reason the human race continues to grow.

BTW: Happy 23rd Birthday to my only Baby Girl~ Hope this year sees your dreams come true.

A little sugar...

My Wish for You

a Sweet Kiss, a Tender Hug, and True Love

Always and Forever

Can't Trust that Day...

I'm in need of a little Monday Humor~ the day is looking pretty grim; Hope your's is looking better

more animals

more animals

more animals

 

A Birth Story

We decided that the time had come to have a baby- we’d been married a couple years and were both approaching the age of 30, my personal deadline for having children (Mother had her last at 40 and guess who became the live-in babysitter) Nature wasn’t being very cooperative, though; six months of trying with no results and I was getting a little worried. But God had things under control; on Easter Sunday, Chris accepted Jesus as Savior and five weeks later, I learned I was pregnant. I’ll always remember the day we told Chris’ Mom; we bought some balloons, tied them to a jelly-bean filled baby bottle, and set them on the kitchen counter when we arrived that afternoon. We sat in the living room, chatting with my MIL and biding time until she went to get her next Diet Pep*si. When she finally walked into the kitchen, we waited for the explosion of emotion, but nothing happened; when we couldn’t stand the silence any longer, we looked around the corner to see her sitting on the kitchen floor, the baby bottle cradled in her arms, with tears running down her cheeks.

I touched on the problems we struggled through here; I pretty much had to opt-out of most everything for months, leaving Chris to do the cooking, cleaning, shopping, and caring for Jessica. Being a new Christian, he naturally clung to God, learning to accept the help and friendship offered by members of our church. We both grew a lot through that time.

Finally, the day came; I had quit working six weeks earlier and had been allowed to stop the medication, so I was feeling much better. We overcame our fears, making love for the first time in weeks; I awoke after midnight with steady, but moderate contractions. In the dark, quiet hours, I walked, rocked, and labored alone, waking Chris at 4:30 to tell him it was time to get Jessica ready to go to his Mom’s house.

We arrived at the hospital a little past 5:00 and were settled into a labor room, since both birthing rooms were occupied. After about 20 minutes, I calmly told Chris to get a nurse, because I was feeling the urge to push; being a terrified first-timer, he scurried out on his mission, only to be told it was too soon, I was only dilated 4, there was plenty of time, someone would be there in a while, blah-blah-blah. He relayed the message to me and I, a little less calmly, asserted that he needed to insist on a nurse coming in now; when repeating his request to the attending, with a large sigh she asked how many times I had given birth- when he replied “This is the third”, there was suddenly a flurry of activity. Three nurses and the doctor on duty came flying in and within 10 minutes, Samuel Christopher made his entrance, protesting this early morning wakeup in his deep, loud cry.

The next hour was a little blurry; I remember seeing Chris gingerly holding a swaddled Sam while sitting on the toilet, the only place for him out of the way; the doctor asking me what this big boy’s name was and proclaiming Samuel “an excellent name” (guess what Dr Young’s first name is); listening to the discussion on tying flies while my stitches were being done and the incredulous look on the nurse’s face. I found myself settled in the recovery room, sipping a juice box, with my boy snuggled to my side; that’s when the tears came and my heart was filled with gratitude. I began to quietly sing to him; the only songs I remember were the Carpenters’ Close to You and the Doxology I learned at my grandmother’s church years before:

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him all creatures here below;

Praise Him above ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost”

Here we are, eighteen years later, and aside from being completely flummoxed as to how we got old enough to have three adult children, the overcoming emotion is still one of gratitude and pride. Sam is definitely the son of both parents- his father’s looks, outgoing nature, desire to serve; his mother’s love of numbers and words, quirky sense of humor, and enthusiasm in learning new things. He has a zest for adventure, a heart for God, and the desire to see justice done; just look at his motto-

Fight for a just cause

Love your neighbor

Live a good life

A parent couldn’t ask for more.