Not a Sparrow Falls

Today I said farewell to a very dear friend. He was seventeen, old for a cat. And he'd been my kitty since I was about eight years old.

Shasta Blackberry Lodge died in Mom's arms tonight and we buried him under my bedroom window. Shasty and his sister, Aravis, came to us when my sister and I were little. We wanted a kitten, although our family already had a few cats at that point, and were working to accomplish a piano-practicing goal in order to earn one. It was during this summer that two little kittens, a boy and a girl, were abandoned on our street. Never a family to turn away a cat, we welcomed them into our home, piano achievements were forgotten, and Shasta and Aravis became quick members of the family. I gravitated toward Shasta, while my sister took to Aravis. Certainly all the cats we had were special to all of us and none truly belonged more to one family member than to another, but Shasta took an extra special place in my heart.

Like all of our pets, Shasta had a plethora of nicknames. Once, we made a fire at the bottom of the backyard hill and Shasta came to hang out with us. We'd been roasting marshmallows and Shas, in his affectionate way, nuzzled his head against a roasting poker, still sticky with marshmallow. This earned him the name "Marshmallow-Head" and I could swear the faint blur of white hairs on the top of his otherwise black head was never there until the marshmallow incident.

"He was everything you could want in a cat," Daddy said tonight as he scooped dirt over Shasta's grave. And he certainly was.

I remember one evening, only a few years ago, when I found Shasta sleeping on the floor in the living room and, having nothing important to do, curled myself around him and just snuggled him there on the floor. He stirred and started to purr, and I just lay there, petting him and watching his satisfied claws knead at the air. I wasn't watching TV. I wasn't chatting with anyone. I wasn't doing anything at all except making my little kitty happy. I realized, "This is love: to do something sweet for someone you care about and not expect anything in return except to witness their pleasure." I learned true love from my cat.

When I got the call from Mom tonight that Shasta wasn't going to make it much longer, I cried. And Husband, being the sensitive man that he is, gave me a big hug and told me that Shasta would be very happy soon, no longer in pain, and maybe even dancing. OK, so there's maybe nothing Biblical to suggest that our pets will join us in Heaven, but I don't think there's anything to assure us that they won't. I prefer to think, at least for tonight, that when I'm called home, Shasta will be waiting for me. That he'll come trotting over, nuzzle my legs, and let me snuggle his furry little face to mine.

Farewell, my dear sweet Shasta.
I do hope we will meet again.
I love you.

Conversation

Me, to an old man I know who turned 79 today: So, is your wife making you a special birthday dinner?

Man: I think I saw T-bone steaks in the fridge.

Me: Ooo! That sounds good! I can't wait until I turn 79!

Man: It takes a long time.

And I picture all the birthdays going by, each one more surprising than the last...
"Am I really 30 already?"
"Can I really be 45?"
"Sixty? Me, sixty?"

And finally today came along for my old man. Today he turned 79. Today he found it quite amusing that his two big numeral candles could be swapped on the cake to make him prematurely 97. Today he shared a vanilla sheet cake with his friends at the adult day center. Today he will have a T-bone steak with his wife. He didn't know it, but he waited a long time for this day. Turning 79 takes "a long time."

Cemetery Walk

After work today Husband and I walked in the cemetery, something we often do when we want to talk, take in some fresh air, or just escape life for a while. We stroll out past our landlord's garage, through his wide backyard, and over to the cemetery path. There, we loop around Oak Grove Cemetery noticing flowers, critters, clouds, trees, and names on headstones. The sameness of the routine is always eclipsed by the uniqueness of that particular walk. The season, the time of day, the weather, the things we can hear in the distance, or the encounters we have with nature.

A few days ago, Husband showed me how you can roll a tiny pinecone in your fingers and close it back up tight, like an unbloomed rose. We also found the pine seeds, which are like tiny maple whirligigs hidden in the pockets between the pinecone petals.

Another time we picked buttercups and found that although nearly all buttercups have five creamy yellow petals, there are some that have eight or nine.

Once we saw a deer in the cornfield beyond the trees. Another time we watched a groundhog there. On Sunday we sat on the asphalt path and watched tiny ants meander up and down the pavement's crevices. It must have seemed mountainous to them.

Today we saw a wild brown rabbit in the short grass of the yard. We inched our way toward him, making not a sound and trying to conceal our approach with slowness. We were probably 30 yards away when he froze. We shuffled closer and he started to tremble. A few more steps, and then he bolted. Our little Bunny. One day we'll tame him.

On the cemetery path, we smelled honeysuckle and found it, sucking drops of sweet nectar from the woody flower tips.

I tracked a honeybee on his travels through the honeysuckle.

After our honey adventures, we turned our attention to the sky where science-teacher-Husband explained how far away the cumulonimbus clouds probably were. We watched an airplane cut a path through the sky, becoming tinier and tinier but never plunging into the massive white vapor mountain.

Now, as I'm curled up on the couch after a bowl of ham and corn chowder, the vapor mountain - or, more likely, a different one - has burst over the house and a steady rain is smattering over the cemetery path, the honeysuckle bush, and the short grass of the just-mowed yard. Bunny is nestled deep in some warm, dry place. Honeybee is safe in his hive. And I'm ready to snuggle down into the rainy night too.

New Friend

I work with old people. "My old people,"I fondly call them. The adult day center where I work cares for older adults who live with a spouse or an adult child, or some other family member or friend, but need care during the day. We serve about 60 clients per day and many of our clients have dementia.

Today I worked in a different room from where I normally work. My clients today, in this room, have more advanced dementia than the ones I usually help. One lady, I'll call her Adelaide, was new to me. I had not met her before. My first interaction with her, in the afternoon, involved a game of golf. We roll out a green mat with holes at one end each person gets to putt a little bit and try for a hole in one. As I set it up, Addie said she didn't want to play. Another lady asked if I ever played. "No," I said, "and I don't intend to!" (Golf is a good walk spoiled, I tend to think.) When it was Addie's turn, I asked if she wanted to play, despite her earlier assertion that she was not interested. "No," she said. "I've never played and I don't intend to." I could tell she had some spunk.

Later, she noticed a man on the other side of the room who had dozed off. "I think there's something wrong with his belly," she told me confidentially. "It's not moving. I was worried but I didn't want to tell anyone." I glanced over at him and reassured her that he was fine; he was breathing, just napping. "Oh, good," she said. "I thought we'd have to call the undertaker!"

At the end of the day I was sitting next to her and she noticed that we were both wearing striped shirts. "Hey, I've got white and blue stripes and you've got black and white stripes," she observed. I smiled. "Yes, I wear a lot of stripes," I said. "I like them." She chuckled. "Me too. I think flowers and stuff are stupid. If that's all you have, I guess it's OK."

Sweet Addie was excited to introduce me to her daughter who came to pick her up. "Did you meet this?" she asked, pointing to me.

"Cute," her daughter said. "You want to take her home with you?" Addie's daughter didn't seem quite as amused by Addie as I had been all day. But that's the beautiful part of my job. I made a new friend today and she liked me. I'll probably make friends with her all over again tomorrow.

Day of Rest

Sunday normally functions as the second half of each week's catch-up period. The weekend is the only time I usually have to run errands, make a menu, do shopping, pay bills, clean the house, and do other assorted chores. By Sunday night I'm tired, but satisfied that I've gotten things mostly under control and the week can begin in a state of general order before the whirlwind of another week sets things in chaotic swirl again.

This weekend, I wanted to make Sunday truly a rest day, rather than just another catch-up day. In anticipation, I packed yesterday pretty full with chores. In the morning I went to the bank with Mom to check on some financial paperwork I need for our house purchase. Then I went to the mall for a replacement sugar jar. I broke mine on Friday. I went to ALDI and Giant and stocked up on all the food we'll need this week. I wrote a blog post at dinnerinparkerford, then in the evening we went to dinner at Applebee's with my family where we enjoyed the 2 minutes of elevated heartrate that are the Kentucky Derby. Later, at home, I cleaned the bathroom - most importantly, the shower curtain liner, a dreaded task that was actually not so bad, and felt so unbelievably satisfying. I fell asleep very content with the checkmarks on my To Do list.


Today, we had a few responsibilities before the rest could begin. We got up early to help set up the sound system at church. The first service went well, and then Jim, another member of the sound crew, agreed to watch the sound board during the second service and clean up afterward, so we were free to head home by about 10:30. We shared leftovers for lunch, then Husband napped while I read a book I'm loaning from Mom and painted my toenails. It's been a long time since I rested like that on a Sunday. Somehow, I didn't even feel that anxious, 'I'm-wasting-time' feeling that normally plagues me when I try to rest. Perhaps God made our bodies - or mine, anyway - to appreciate rest on Sunday, even when I normally find it so impossible.


Later, I helped husband work on some grading and lesson planning (yes, a little bit of work was necessary), then we took a short walk, on which I found two four-leaf clovers.

For dinner I made Crunchy Chicken Casserole. There's something about making dinner after a day mostly spent resting that's different from making dinner after a long, exhausting day of work. I love cooking any time, but it really felt refreshing to put a casserole together tonight. It seemed easier, yet more significant.


I'm still figuring out what rest means. I'm awful at relaxing. But today was good practice and it felt wonderful. I look forward to taking resting seriously.