Memorial Day

Soldier. Today I stop and think of you, thank you for all you've done. 
You've lost your life fighting for our freedom.
You and your brothers and sisters in battle did not come home.
You did not see your children grow.
Your life was cut short, because of intolerance, stupidity.
If it were not for your bravery and the bravery of your comrades,
where would we be?  Where would we be?
We would not be free.
Thank  you for all you've done.  Thank you for giving all.

A new kitten committment

Well.   Sometimes in life you make committments without realizing what you are getting yourself into.

First, I already have a cat.  My cat Scooter is at least 15 years old.  I got her from my niece Amber when she was living in Seattle.  Amber got her one day while walking out of a super store and someone was giving away kittens.  Scoots was so cute, and so small, and purred .. and was playful.  (Kitten tricks designed to find them good homes). :)   .... Amber brought her home, but within a few months realized that she could not keep a cat (it was against her rental policy)... so, I got Scooter.  Scooter has lived with us on a 5 acre piece of land in Redmond , WA, where she was known as BK (short for Bunny Killer)... and was famous for leaving dead animal body parts (all be it small ones) at our doorstep.  Scooter has live with us on a 50 foot boat, where she was famous for midnight raids on other boaters.   Scooter has traveled down the west coast, accross the country, and through the air.  She now lives on a tropical island and no longer has time to do the things a cat is supposed to do (like chase mice)... she spends most of her time lying under a fern frond, or in a lounge chair.  Like most cats, she lets us know when she expects something from us, and like most cat owners... we oblige.  She no longer has to purr and be playful, act silly, or hunt bravely in order to assure her daily Whiskas... she has it made.  She haughtily rules the house...Or.. at least she did.

Enter Loki.  Loki's arrival on the scene is kinda like the beginnings of a joke.  "I was sitting at a bar one night"... literally.  I was sitting at The Palms bar last Tuesday and saw our friend Barbara.  She was all excited as she had found a kitten and was looking for someone to take it home.  Guess who did.   Yep.  Loki came home with me.  Now I've been thinking of getting a kitten , a couple actually, for some time.  We live on a lot of land in the tropics and there are bugs and critters.  Our neighbors used to have a couple of cats that were great hunters but they have moved away and I think a couple of kittys on patrol might be a good thing.

Scooter hates him.  She can't stop hissing and pitching a fit.  Speedbump does not understand why I'm laughing and loving at something other than him.  Riot is confused.  The order of the pets has been disrupted.  And... what exactly am I doing?  Do I really have time for a kitten?  And am I ready for the long term committment?   

He is so cute and I had forgotten how silly kittens can be.   He's smart.  He's funny.  Surely the other pets will come around?

Sometimes we just don't realize what we get ourselves into when we say yes.  But, life can't all be planned and perfect.  And... so far, Loki, my little kitten of mischief,  is pretty darn fun.

2024 update. LOKI was actually a she, she is a great old cat now.

Post mortem poetry posting.

I'm often surprised to find out that I'm like my mother in a lot of ways.  (Aren't we all? ).  From her I learned to love and play with poetry.  Last week I signed up to participate in a little poetry appreciation for the town I currently live in to celebrate its 275th birthday. (More on that in a future post). This past Wednesday  I spent several hours on the computer fine-tuning and submitting the final poem for the reading.  It was my birthday and in the middle of this,  my brother David called to wish me a great day.  We don't talk much anymore so we chatted for awhile about all kinds of things and he told me he had just submitted one of our mother's poems to a Living History project .  How odd that on the day I was writing a poem about the little town I live in now, my brother posts a poem my mother wrote about the town she lived in then.  Weird.  I didn't even know my brother was interested in Mom's poetry!  How wonderful.   I'm so glad he took the intiative and submitted Mom's poem and helped it find its way back home.  I'm sure it will be enjoyed by the residents of the town today.

Here is the poem Mom wrote back in 1964 about the town of Ridgefield where they lived.  As the story goes, the poem was written for my sister to turn in as her english poetry assignment - she got an A from what I'm told. Ha.  Anyway ... Mom's poem was called

My Home, Ridgefield
                by Avis Alice Eaves

I’m in love with Ridgefield town.
So peaceful and so small.
It's building memories renown,
and I treasure each and all.
For I live high on top of a hill,
In the land of rivers and trees.
And rise up early at my will,
To see the sights like these.
Majestic mountains in the east,
Snow-capped and standing high.
Glittering lights shine in the west,
And a river boat goes by.
This is my town, my very own,
My heart and soul, they call it home.

Rest in peace Mom... we think of you often and love you much!

A new piece of jewelry

I turned 51 yesterday.  Another birthday.  Another milestone in my life.  Ha!  My clock is certainly ticking. ;)

So, to celebrate, I went with two wonderful friends to New York City for the weekend.  Katie had never been there before and saw it through a newcomers eyes.  Asha had lived there for several years during college, and therefore knew all the hip places to go.  I've been once or twice ... but this visit was different and very very fun.  I can't wait to go back again.

The one thing I knew I would get while there will surprise you.  I can't believe I did it.  I've been admiring them for more than 10 years and wanting one for myself for more than 5.  But.. I was afraid to get one.  Really?  A Belly Ring?   Yes!  A navel piercing!   I did it.  As did my friend Katie.  Asha already had hers so she joined in and got a new beautiful jewelry piece for hers.  I did it.  Now... six or more months of healing.  So far, I love it.  I think it is so beautiful.  (I've always loved my belly and even fat as is is... I love the belly ring).   Silly me.  51 years old and piercing my navel.   Laughing out loud.

Time of your life.

The years creep up on each of us, guietly and unseen.
Before we know what’s happening, we’re no longer child nor teen.
We learn, we grow,
We make mistakes.
We seek what we must find.
A path is made, we follow it, by destiny or design.

Our clock of life is ticking, steadily but quick.
We are not even aware of when our halfway mark is hit.
We move so fast.
We work so hard.
We never ‘have the time’.
A look into the mirror and we find we’re past our prime.

And the sand sifts through our hourglass, silently and fast
We now know what is happening, but we can not change our past.
We wish we’d said,
We wish we’d done,
We wish we could once more.
Blow out the candles on your cake. Now, forget what’s gone before.

Every hour of every day, so precious and finite.
Each one’s an opportunity, each dawn’s a new delight.
So, laugh out loud,
Set new goals,
Make every minute count.
Cherish all the little things, cause they’re what life’s about.

Morning Rituals

Really, we all have them!    Mine is morning tea.  Just gotta  have it.

Her Mind Went Traveling Today

My mother Avis was 85 years old when she passed on January 8th, 2009. She had had signs of memory loss for a couple of years but only minor signs. She was diagnosed with mild dementia in 2006, but none of us knew enough to know what was coming or recognize it when it began progressing.


She lived with my brother for the last two years of her life, and I visited her in March 2008 for her birthday; she seemed fine.  There were signs then that I would now recognize, but at the time I just chalked it up to 'old age'. That May she began obsessing on some things in her past and getting herself worked up over them. By June, she had become paranoid and afraid. She thought her life was in danger, and her behavior became very suspicious and odd.

She started imagining things, mixing up facts, hiding her possessions and closing the drapes in her room. One morning my brother woke up, and she had called 911 and told them that he was trying to kill her. She was truly terrified. My brother did not know how to react.

He called the doctor’s office and took her into emergency. She spent the next three weeks in a senior psych ward getting medication and treatment. 

Mom and I used to write poems together when we were worried, waiting or just had something emotional to say. I wrote this poem the day after hearing about all of this happening while I waited to board a plane to go be by her side.

Her Mind Went Traveling

Her mind went traveling today,
It packed its bags and slipped away.
It wanders old paths and memory’s lanes
and her dementia holds the reins.

It travels down roads that were not taken
and desires things long since forsaken.
It dwells on what she should have done
and fights old battles lost and won.

It relives talks that once she had
and remembers happy times and sad.
It replays her life again, again.
Her dementia adds what might have been.

It plays games and tricks her senses.
It concocts lies and it convinces.
It exaggerates her greatest fears
And gives her reasons for her tears

It jumbles memories all together
and forgets the truths that she would never.
It confuses facts, people, and places.
Yet remembers forgotten names and faces.

It makes her doubt the ones she loves.
It makes her question all she does.
It shows her things that are not there
and makes her think that we don’t care.

Her mind tries constantly to deceive her
She worries why we don’t believe her.
She says things that anger and annoy us.
Her mind’s filled up with paranoia.

So, is her dementia friend or foe?
That answer we may never know.
It’s stolen her from us, that’s true.
But protects her from her future too.

And why the anger and mistrust?
Why does it make her turn on us?
Her life was grand in so many a way,
What purpose does this deception play?

Does it create these stories to help her cope?
Does it ‘make believe’ to give her hope?
Does it shield her from her own lost mind?
That, in itself, is not so unkind.

Does it help us do what we must do?
Does it lessen the guilt we feel too?
Is deception dementia’s deceiving way,
to get us ALL through this difficult day?

Whatever the reason, we may never know.
But let's travel this together, here we go!
Cause her mind went traveling today.
(It won’t be back. At least not to stay.)

...... Mom did come back to us mentally, sometimes in spurts, but I visited with her just a few weeks prior to her passing and she knew me, told me she loved me.  I could see in her eyes though that she was ready to go.  She was a unique and truly awesome woman.  I loved her so.

Poetry and Letters

It might not be apparent by my dismal attempts at keeping this little blog going, but I do like to write and I do like to write rhymes.  The love of little poems I know I get from my mother... the writing, I think maybe from my father.  He was quite the master of prose.  I need to figure out how to save some of my poetry on here somewhere...   Can't I create a link to a poem.  Let me go research this.