An Introduction . . . and a Good-Bye

Continuing on with introductions . . .

Bobby came to us in 2002. A co-worker of mine had just moved, had three cats--a momma and two youngsters, couldn't keep cats in her new apartment, could I please please take at least one? They were living in her car. Another co-worker agreed to take two, so I finally agreed to take Bobby.
He has been a joy to us. He has the kind of personality that is sometimes so serious it is comical. By far our most emotional cat, his "furrowed brow" has often warned us what kind of mood we can expect from him. His furrowed brow and his tail . . . He has got a magnificent tail. Strong and thick and bold. It would knock things over. I don't know how many times we would find all sorts of things in the bathroom sink, things that got swept there by a Bobby tail. You could actually lift his back end with that tail, and not get a complaint from him. But that tail often was the bane of his existence. Like I said, Bobby could be very emotional. When he got upset, his tail would start swishing, which annoyed him, which would set his tail off more fervently, which annoyed him even more. It was a cycle that would escalate until he was tearing through the house, trying to escape his tail. And often it would involve him turning, grabbing and biting the offence. The first time I saw that happen, I thought he had gone rabid! Poor Bobby!

Bobby died in my arms last night.
He's been sick since Christmas. Severe Renal Failure. It's a mystery how he got so sick. We have been giving him infusions at home several times a week. We were hoping to get him to Spring, so he could get a last taste of warm weather. I am glad we have had a couple warm days lately, so Bobby could go outside for a little while. R got home last evening to find Bobby collapsed on the floor. He held him until I got home. It was obvious to us that his body had already begun shutting down. At about 9:10 last night, he left us.
I can't say anything more about him than I miss him.

Crazy Cat Lady, Chapter Two

Continuing on with the introductions . . .

For about four years we had just the three cats in our house. We had settled into a routine and were pretty happy with how things were going.

In July of 2000, I traveled to NH for a week of visiting with friends. R stayed home to work on some projects. Early in the week, while working outside he heard a strange noise in the woods. He couldn't imagine what kind of creature was making the noise--maybe a bird in distress. He had to go investigate. What he found was a tiny black smudge of a kitten. Reaching out to catch it, the smudge turned around and bit him on the thumb. R hung on, knowing that if he let go he wouldn't get a second chance. He brought the howling dervish into the house to the bathroom. The smudge scooted under the toilet tank and remained there for three days, intermittantly sleeping and howling. By the time that I returned home from NH, Felix had warmed up and calmed down, so when I met him he was playful and engaging. We always say that R caught Felix by the teeth!

Felix's story: The second Christmas that we had Felix, he still was a scamp, getting into all sorts of mischief. I had an old coffee cup that I had brought home from work to wash. It was in a shopping bag on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. I was preparing breakfast. Felix was nosing around. He found the bag and began to investigate. I didn't become alarmed until I saw him stick his head through the bag's handle. At that moment, it seemed like the calm before the storm. I saw disaster happening but was helpless to stop it. I knew that if I rushed at him to remove the bag from his neck, it would spook him. I tried to move slowly towards him, but alas, didn't get there in time. Felix pulled back once and the bag followed him. There was a pause . . . then PANIC! Felix was off, tearing though the house, bag and coffee cup in hot pursuit! It was a neck in neck race for about three laps around the house and then we heard a great shattering noise. All grew quiet as the dust settled. We cautiously searched the reckage. Upstair in the bedroom, we found the tattered remains of the shopping bag, now containing the many pieces of my old coffee cup. No signs of Felix anywhere. After about 15 minutes of searching, we finally found him cowering in the basement. Two hours later he finally emerged, shaken but unharmed.

To be continued . . .

Crazy Cat Lady, Chapter One

First of all, when I started this blog, I was told not to let this all fizzle down to a puddle of mud. I have not been so good at keeping up with it. So I will begin anew with a few introductions.

I indicated in a previous entry that my husband and I have cats. At the risk of sounding, shall I say, eccentric, I will introduce our feline family.

Our oldest is DeeDee. She has been living at this house longer than I have.

Before we were married, I was not a cat person. R was. At the time, Dusty was his feline housemate--a couple of bachelors sharing a pad. R had resigned himself to the idea that after Dusty, he would not have another cat, due to the then disdain that I had for cats. I felt bad about this, so when Dusty died unexpectedly the Spring before we married, I knew I had to get R a cat. A few weeks later, right around his birthday, unbeknownst to me, his mom had brought home a sprout of a kittie as a companion to her own cat--a tough, cranky old bird named Mitzy. Well, that social experiment was a howling failure, quite literally, and R had to intervene. He brought the upstart home, purely as a temporary solution, intending to send her back to her old home. When I got wind of it, I had to convince R that it was already my intention to get him a cat for his birthday. Since he had already bonded with this dainty girl, she may as well stay. That was 13 years ago. The upstart now is DeeDee, queen of the household.

DeeDee's story: Shortly after we were married, one night I was having a vivid dream. I dreamt that R had a nail file and was rubbing my forehead with it. I finally awoke to the realization that DeeDee was licking my forehead. R woke to me yelling out "It's the cat!"

Later on in the year, after we had married, we wanted to get another kitten. R had stopped at our vet's office to ask their advice on another matter, and mentioned that we were hoping to adopt. Well, they pounced on this. They had some kittens available . . . black kittens, siblings, the last of their litter, very cute. R agreed to look at them but wouldn't make a final decision without me. The following day, I stopped by with my mom-in-law to take a look at them. Well, I stood there holding one brother, mom holding the other. The enchantment was complete. They were, to my eye, identical black long-haired kittens. As far as I was concerned, they were a set. Would you buy one shoe, or one glove? And the idea of separating them and leaving one brother behind was impossible. So we have both of them.
Then came the question of what to name them. They were a set, so their names had to be a set. We tried out Amos & Andy, Bert & Ernie, and Gilbert & Sullivan. At the time we were enjoying nightly reruns of the sitcom Home Improvement, so finally Tim & Al it was.

Timmie's Story: The first year after we were married, R was traveling a lot for work. He was usually gone for weeks on end. Being a new bride and in a new home environment, I was suffering a severe case of homesickness and missing my husband. One evening, I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. I was cradling Timmie and crying my lonely heart out. Timmie (our sensitive dreamer) was watching the tears with fascination so much that I ended up laughing despite myself. I felt a whole lot better after that. For some reason, I've always treasured that moment.




Allie's Story: Allie has always been the adventurer of the two. When we first started to let them outside, I would worry for hours while he was gone. One day I heard a commotion down the hill below the house. I could hear turkies in the woods, and I figured that they were having an arguement over something inconsequential, as turkies do. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I glanced down the hill to see Allie trotting like a prize stallion toward the house. The largest turkey feather clamped in his jaws, like he had plucked it from the bird himself. He was so proud of that thing! Like the Great White Hunter!


To be continued . . .

Flash of Genius

Onto a lighter note . . .

My husband R is a car person.

He can list off year, make and model of every car that he or his family has ever owned. And believe me, there are many. Though I don't think he has ever named any (at least he hasn't told me their names) I know he feels a certain, shall I say, connection to each and every car that ever called our driveway home. And he can list in detail all the work that he has done to every one of those cars. From brake jobs to exhaust work, shocks, struts and I don't even know what else, he's got an almost intimate knowledge of the inner workings of all his current and ex-cars. I often kid him when we are driving, if I catch him rubber-necking, I know he has seen a FOR SALE sign somewhere in some windshield or back window. He just loves cars.

So it seemed appropriate a few weeks ago when we went out to celebrate our A.L.L. anniversary to go to the matinee showing of the movie Flash of Genius. This movie tells the story of Robert Kerns, the man who invented the intermittent wiper blade motor. It is based on a true story. The account goes as follows: Kerns brings his invention to Ford Motor Company. Ford gets a look at his prototype, says "thanks, but no thanks," then promptly introduces the intermittent wipers on the next year's models--effectively stealing Kerns' invention. There is a long, drawn out legal battle that takes years . . . anyhow, I won't go into it too much. It is a good movie. Go see it if you get the chance.

As I said, it was an appropriate choice of movie, for R's sake because it involved cars. For my sake because I love good a good story.

But something happened midway through the movie that left me laughing for days.

Robert Kerns had a nervous breakdown.

Okay, not so funny. . . .

As it goes in the movie, Kerns is getting nowhere with Ford and with his lawyers and all. He knows he has been robbed and is powerless and frustrated and now on the edge. The scene goes, he is driving around in a rain storm, spots a random car drive by with intermittent wipers--his invention--in use. He follows the car around until the driver arrives at his own home. After said driver goes inside the house, Kerns approaches the driveway and proceeds to break into the car, lifting the hood and attempting to remove the wiper motor. This is obviously a poignant moment in the story: a man at the edge of desperation, resorting to a criminal act.

Sitting in the nearly empty theater, R and I were commenting freely on the movie. R, the whole time this scene is going on, is saying "What is he doing? What does he think he is doing? Don't do that! What is he doing?"

I say, "It looks like he is breaking into the car. Oh yeah, that's what he's doing. He's trying to steal the wiper motor."

R turns to me and says, "But it's a GM!"


Peace.
C

The word

A few days ago was the 5 year anniversary of the diagnosis. I wrote the following some time ago when remembering how things happened. By way of explanation, Acute Lymphatic Leukemia (ALL) is a very aggressive cancer. Time is of the essence when starting treatment. I knew this first hand. A friend that I met in the Philippines had this same diagnosis. It took her in a week. So I understood the immediacy of the situation.
R and I went out yesterday--had a date to celebrate the occasion. Just the two of us. :)
Here goes . . .

It was a conversation I knew would happen. You had told me what the plan was for the day. You had told me to come after work for the meeting with Doctor to discuss the strategy. I knew the outcome of the evening. I knew the word I was waiting to hear--dreading to hear. I passed through the day in a haze of numbness--thankful for a new job to distract me--seeking to avoid even the fifteen minute break. Fifteen minutes was time enough to emerge from the numbness into the pain.

I left your place of work, thinking the task of driving would be enough. But the miles of highway sameness offered no solace. I was a pendulum between numbness and pain those sixty miles. A soul between purgatory and hell.

"There you are!" you called out cheerfully when I entered the room. You were flanked on either side by Doctor and Nurse. You three had already started the conversation, but would review for my benefit. Doctor began at the top, explaining diagnosis, disease and options. I listened quietly, nodding attentively. I was waiting to hear the word. I knew it would be spoken before the end of this meeting. Would I have the strength to bear it?

Into my head came an image of our children. I saw them as clear as if they were standing there by your bed. Our children. Our little boy and little girl. Images of them came to mind--after they were born. First was our son, then within two years our daughter. We had them close in age so they would be companions as well as siblings.

You and I had made a similar arrangement as my parents had, so I named our son, then you named our daughter. I saw our blond, blue-eyed children as infants. I thought about how we would gaze at them in amazement and pick out familiar features. We would even see our parents' and siblings' features in our children's eyes and noses and chins and hands.

Our little boy was the picture of you in your youth. He would follow you around--Daddy's little helper. He would always insist on accompanying you to the garage. You were stern but gentle with him. You would take the time to show him things that he needed to know--how to wash and wax a car, how to fix a stereo, how to pet a cat properly.

Our little girl had you completely bewitched. She would wear her dress-up party costumes and invite you for tea parties. Even at your busiest, you would make a point to give her special attention, even if you couldn't sit down next to Mr. Bingles for crumpets and cookies.

You would shake your head in amazement to see an obvious feminine heart forming in our young daughter. And I would thrill to see the young man our son was developing into--already showing signs of those character traits which I so admire in you.

Doctor continued, broaching the subject of a medical study, that you were a prime candidate, that it was entirely up to us . . .

My mind went to my parents, the proud grandparents of our children. We had wracked our brains for weeks to think of the perfect way to bring them the news of their first expected grandchild. How my mom had cried. My dad had embraced his new role with fervor, "horsey-rides" "airplane" and "hide and seek" despite his age. My mom worried and scolded him, but he didn't care. Now that our son was getting a little older, my dad would take him to every airshow he could, pointing out all the different planes. My mom would sit with our little girl and teach her to stitch and sew. "She's quite talented" my mom would beam proudly, inspecting her handiwork.

The word was in the wings, waiting for its inevitable entrance into the conversation, into our lives. I sensed it was near. I glanced at you, wondering if you felt its presence. You were listening to Doctor. He had begun.

He was reading from a list. Page upon page of poisons. Tools they would use to fight this enemy which had invaded us.

The laughter of our children echoed in my mind as the side effects were lined up and ticked off. A whole new list for each poison. I waited and listened . . .

"...nausea . . . diarrhea . . .rash . . . anemia . . . blurred vision . . . dizziness . . . headaches . . . cramping . . . bleeding . . . hair loss . . . blindness . . . "

Then suddenly it was there. The word. Spoken. Hanging in the air. Filling the room. Mingling with our children's laughter.

Doctor didn't stop reading until you reached over and took my hand--the closest you could get to comfort me. Nurse sprang into action, trying to find a tissue for me. Are there no tissues in this room for this weeping woman? Doctor looked at me, surprised. I had been taking it all so well, until the word was spoken.

"Do you two have children?"

I looked at you through my tears.

You answered Doctor for me.

Doctor and Nurse both waited respectfully until I quieted. Doctor gently explained that there was no time to delay. No time. We must start the regimen tomorrow. I nodded. I knew we had waited too long.

Doctor continued with his list. No more surprises. The room was silent, except for Doctor's voice . . .

". . . seizures . . . loss of appetite . . . muscle spasms . . . blood in the urine . . . dementia . . . . . . "


Peace
C

An Upcoming Anniversary

The next few posts I am adding to mark a milestone for me and my husband. October 6, 2003 R was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia. It was a dire diagnosis that changed our world. His treatment required months of chemotherapy followed by a Bone Marrow Transplant. He was out of work for a full two years recovering from the treatment. He is now two inches shorter, has cataracts in both eyes, must carry eye drops with him all the time, has permanent scars on his chest from two Hickman ports they had to insert, will sometime soon need both shoulder and hip replacement surgery . . . but he is alive.

We are thankful to all the doctors and nurses who walked us through the toughest of times with an amazing amount of patience and grace. We are also grateful to all our family and friends who stood by us and provided tangible help to us. JT and DC who crawled under the trailer in sub-zero temps to work on plumbing that awful January. AK who fought the phone company to get our phone back in service. IW who provided financially when we had almost no income. TB who cared so wonderfully for our cats so we didn't have to get rid of them. KP who came with his snowblower every storm that winter. KS who sold us the car at a ridiculously low price when my car finally gave up the ghost. Countless others who sent cards and called and visited at the hospital. These were the people who kept us sane and didn't judge when insanity won out.

Five years later it is sometimes easy to forget what we went through. Though I would never wish it on anyone, that time is precious to me. The reality of life and what is important was so close during that time. I remember when Gracia Burnham returned home after 14 months as a captive of the Abu Sayaf rebels in the Philippines. She said something similar--that when she was a captive, if she was thirsty or hungry or sick, she was dependant on God to provide for her needs. Now that she is home, if she is thirsty, she goes to the refrigerator. She missed the tangible reality of her dependence on God. I know what she means. Although I felt far from God during that time, I know I was more in his hands then than I am now that the sickness is mostly a memory.

I have recently been reuniting with some old friends through Facebook. In the catching up with what people have been doing since I last saw them however many years ago, I discovered that at least one family is familiar the situation of a dire diagnosis. In their case, it is a young son. It's funny. Having gone through something like this, you run the risk of developing kind of an elitist attitude. As if to say "I've done something important. I've looked in the eyes of death . . . what have you done?" I was squarely put in my place when I realized that my story is not so unique. I wrote the following in response to this discovery. I didn't really finish it, it kind of just peters out. But here it is . . .


So you know . . .

You know the day-by-day, hour-by-hour existence, when the word FUTURE changes its meaning. It becomes closer--you turn claustrophobic in its definition. You cannot plan your day, your wardrobe. You cannot trust that the short sleeves will be sufficient, because the morning can turn to afternoon, to evening, to midnight with no prior warning.

So you know . . .

You know what it is like to sit through biopsies and blood draws and spinal taps without flinching. You know how to look into his eyes and become the rock, the anchor. You cannot wince--no sympathy pain--except for in your soul where it doesn't show. No sign of weakness. You are strength. You are comfort. You are advocacy. You are the stiff upper lip.

Did you become the weakness as well? Did you cry because you recognised that he would not? Did you rail against him in his helplessness? Did you make your appeals to God? Did you long for others' help, then resent it when it came?

Did you want to scream or spit when other people looked at you in amazement. They shook their heads and told you that they could never do what you were doing--as if you had chosen this life for yourself--for him. Of course they would do what you do! What option would they have had? What option did you have? You longed to pick up your cards and go home--declare that enough is enough. But retreat is impossible. Escape does not exist. The past is unattainable. The future is non-existent. There is only the present. The pain, the anxiety, the boredom, the desperation, the craziness, and the waiting. The ever-present waiting.


JM, Thanks for the lesson.

Peace
C

Mr. Van Doren

I have recently made a delightful discovery.

By way of background, I am an avid reader, from a long line of avid readers. Lately though, not so much. I still read a lot, but I have been disappointed or bored by the books I have chosen to read. There seems to be a trend recently of completely entering a character's head and dissecting his/her inner thoughts for page after page ad nauseum. I don't have the patience to withstand such an assault. Books that have come to me highly recommended have been tossed aside partly read, simply because I couldn't stand the inner angst of protagonist A.

I do like poetry, but there is so much bad poetry out there that I tend to stick to Shakespeare, Yeats or Eliot--pretty hefty stuff. For me, poetry has been a mental exercise, wrapping my head around an idea, stretching my mind to figure out what the writer is trying to say, wrestling with the language or meter. Just the idea of good poetry exhausts me.

Enter Mark Van Doren.

Who?

I knew the name only from the movie Quiz Show. The movie is about the rigged game show 21. Charles Van Doren basically became the face of the scandal. He is the son of Mark Van Doren--a Columbia professor and Pulitzer Prize winner. Anyways, I picked up a book of his poems at a yard sale earlier this year, only because I recognized the name and because the price was right (50 cents, I believe). The book sat in my "yard sale bag" for several weeks, untouched. I picked it up a few nights ago when I needed to unwind after a long day.

The very act of reading--especially an old book--can be a pleasure. The feel of the book (preferably hard cover), the smell and color of the pages, the sound the book makes as you touch the pages. Sometimes you come across some old memento that a previous owner used as a book mark. Well, all of these things were coming together to work their magic. The first few poems went by barely noticed. Then the spell began working. The fourth poem in, I stopped . . . something had caught my attention, my imagination. I had to slow down and reread. The ninth poem in--a beauty called Immortal--I was completely bewitched.

I don't presume to know anything about Mr. Van Doren. And it has been too many years since my college Literature classes for me to dissect what about this book is so enchanting. All of the poems in this book involve rural life, something of Nature. He also gives some human traits to nature and vice versa. So a spring (water) can experience fear, or an old woman turns into a stone when resting. But they all have an intangible quality, a yearning, a sadness, a joy. I read through all 66 poems that night and have since reread several of them. I even read a few to my husband--always a risky affair. He enjoyed them as well.

So thank you to Mr. Van Doren for the surprise and delight!

Immortal

The last thin acre of stalks that stood
Was never the end of the wheat.
Always something fled to the wood,
As if the field had feet.

In front of the sickle something rose--
Mouse, or weasel, or hare;
We struck and struck, but our worst blows
Dangled in the air.

Nothing could touch the little soul
Of the grain. It ran to cover,
And nobody knew in what warm hole
It slept till the winter was over,

And early seeds lay cold in the ground.
Then--but nobody saw--
It burrowed back with never a sound,
And awoke the thaw.


From Spring Thunder
by Mark Van Doren

Peace
C