What is it about human nature...

I found myself without power last night.  It was just before nine pm and the lights flashed, TV went off.  Then a few seconds later the lights came back on amidst beeps and clicks as the house came alive again.   Flicker the lights are out, on for a second then off again.

I sat for a couple of minutes waiting for the lights to come back on again.  Feeling a little disappointed for the first time that evening, that I wouldn't see if oh-so-handsome whoseyding and very-pretty-whatshername would ever get past their false assumptions and miscommunications and become the star destined couple they were meant to be.   But it was a Hallmark movie so it's a solid bet that they did, with style, beautiful Christmas trimmings, flawless smiles and lovely music.

The thing that struck me most was the silence.  It was completely silent.  Inside and out.  No sirens, no cars, complete and utter silence and darkness.

I finally realized this wasn't a quick outage and used my phone to light my way to my little basket which holds my ever handy head lamp.  They call it stylish.  It doesn't give me any cat walk confidence.  Maybe it's just the way my hair bunches up into a Herman Munster square head.  Or the fact that when I look at myself in the mirror my brows are pushed down and my eyes seem to cross a little...but it has lit the way when I have walked George! at night.  Those few times I have remembered to use it.

I lit my light, got my one, almost done Yankee Candle in my favorite scent, Wild Sea Grass.  Also lit my small tea-light dragonfly candle holder.  With my headlamp facing the ceiling, and the two candles lit beside me, I was pretty comfortable.  For a little bit.

I reached out to a friend a block up to see if it was just my street.  No, it went up at least to the next block.  She had received a robocall from Duke Energy that the power would be on at 11.  It was just after 9 pm.

My new neighbor across the street called.  It was about 10 by now.  She wanted to know if I had power because my window candles were still lit and my Christmas swag on my porch was still lit (answer — batteries). We spoke for a while.  I told her about my fabulous headlamp.  Recommended it as a convenient light incase the lights go out.  It's a hands free tool.

I asked her about her new puppy...puppies and dogs went to the differences between dogs and cats.  She mentioned her uncle's cat would bring presents to the door.  Cats bring presents, dogs just want to hang with you.

It brought up my memories, which I shared with her, of Cheshire, my tortoiseshell cat.  Chess, Chester-bunny, the buns, bunny-hop. The buns brought me two spectacular gifts.  The first was one Saturday morning.  I was dozing and felt a puff on the pillow behind my head.  Ha, I thought the buns is here, lying on my pillow.  I rolled over to say hello and was eye to eye with ...  a dead bunny.  Yup lying on my pillow was a dead bunny that was half the size of my wee cat.  I jumped up and was speechless.

The buns was so happy.  She strolled and curled around my legs as I stared at the rabbit waiting for it to move.  I have a deep fear of reanimation.  I will jump a mile and cross the street if I see an abandoned dead mouse on the sidewalk; because any minute it could reanimate and run up  my leg to my shoulder to my head.  It's my phobia.

I was renting a room in a farmhouse.  I had two roommates.  Melissa! MELISSA!! — She was the other room renter.  She came in saw the rabbit and praised Cheshire.  She was smiling and said, 'look how proud she is.'  Me thinking, 'look how freaked out I am.'  Melissa took the bunny out.

The next time, again I was just waking up, and William "Bill" Shakespeare, my 2nd cat, was at the foot of the futon.  Completely focused.  Focused, tense and ready to pounce.  I looked up and Chester was sitting on my desk staring at him.  He was stalking something.  I saw he was stalking, and thought it must be a great toy.  I lay down again and suddenly something ran from my ankle up the length of my body to my arm pit, inside my duvet.  Yaaaaaaiiii!!  Prone to standing in a split second.  No one has ever moved faster.

Bill was clearly disappointed, Cheshire was either amused or intrigued...  I couldn't quite tell.  This time I was home alone.  I took the duvet outside very carefully and flipped it inside out and there was... a live ... lizard.

After I shared these two stories my new neighbor brought up snakes.  She hates snakes, I'm okay with snakes they don't move so fast, the snakes I had met.  Spiders. Yes, spiders — going right toward you head.  I know they are always moving towards your head I said.  Mice... yikes!  Or when there is a hair on your arm...you don't realize what it is.  On and on we went.

Suddenly I laughed...Why?  Why when we were sitting in our respective dark cold houses, in the small flickering lights, no heat, no human companions, we were talking about the things that give us the extreme willies!?!  She said "it's like sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories..." Why?  Why do we do these things?  Human nature?

I don't know.  Maybe there is safety in numbers.  Having someone on the other end of the line to share fears to show how fearless we can be when we have a pack to belong to.  We hung up talking about how cold the houses had become and I watched as 11 came and went.

I took George! for a walk.  Set the red light on my headlamp and looked at the crystal clear sky.  It is the coldest it has been since last winter.  24 degrees, earlier it had been -8 with the wind chill.

I left Geo with his coat on, loosened the belly belt and put a down blanket on him, filled my hot water bottle and wrapped myself in a blanket.  I decided the best book to read at that moment was Laura Ingalls Wilder - Little House in the Big Woods...it was an appropriate choice.

No spiders in the vicinity that I could see in the flickering light, cat at my feet and another two hours without electricity.  It came on around 1:15 and my room was flooded with light and sound.  I couldn't help but feel my second round of disappointment as the silence disappeared.

Funny thing about that...perspective

I was laying in bed this morning, contemplating the day and the activities I have planned.  First up is to clear my desk of all the paperwork that has accumulated.  I am actually kind of excited about that as I have Christmas cards to write and need a place to write them.  I have one table/flat area in this house and it's my desk.

A passing thought floated through my head as Simba was patting me on the forehead, "it's going to be so magical that first day I get up and look out of the kitchen window and see snow coating the world."

I got up and lo and behold it wasn't as I daydreamed.  I looked outside and there was snow on the roof next door.  But not enough to be magical.

It hasn't coated the ground, there are leaves all around and grass is visible, I walked George and giant flakes flew out of the sky, but they are the wet kind of snowflakes, not the light fluffy snow-globe snowflakes.  Giant wet messy flakes of snow.

As I laughed at my disappointment, it came to me that either my expectations are too high, my imagination of the moment is too great, or my perspective is off.

I had thought it would be 'that magical moment', but instead of appreciating the wonder of the fact that I had 'sensed' the snow without seeing the outdoors,  perhaps it was in Simba's howl, I sighed at the less than spectacular scene outside.

It really is about perspective.  It really is how I choose to approach life.  How I choose to approach situations, big or small.  This morning was a reminder to me that,  in spite of expectations, there is magic in each moment.

Things may not be exactly as imagined but, there is still something good to be squeezed out of each breath.  Breath itself?  A roof, a hound, a cat.  A house, heat, running water.  These are things for which I am  grateful.  

The snow?  the snow will takes it's own time floating from the sky, being it's own self, light fluffy, or heavy and wet.  It will follow and yet at times appear to defy the rules of gravity.   That in and of itself is fun to watch.

I was reminded today to try to keep a positive perspective in spite of the gap between expectations, imaginations and what I ultimately experience with my own two eyes...

And I can’t stop crying…

And I can’t stop crying…

I was at the grocery store today for 4 things.  Batteries for my outdoor Christmas lights, there is no plug for outdoor lights at the front porch; cottage cheese, leafy greens and 1/2 & 1/2 for my coffee.  In addition I picked up a whole host of other items, $134 worth.  I laughed when I was rung up.  Typical me, but I hadn’t expected that!

Before that, I had purchased 19 gallons of gas, I was running below 1/4 of a tank, which I don’t usually do but I knew that I had Kroger points so I would get .30 cents off the gallon.   Score!

As I went into the store whistling I saw a woman sitting on a bench outside.  She looked a bit lost and I ungraciously thought to myself - she’s going to ask me for money.  I live in a depressed neighborhood.  She didn’t, she just glanced at me and went back to her thoughts.  I went on my merry whistling way into the store.  

I whistled, hummed and sang as I went about my business.  I do that.  I enjoy being happy at the grocery store.  I find whistling and humming and smiling and laughing with strangers in Kroger fun.  There was an employee who was singing as she was working - I thought - that is so happy, that is a good thing.  I am glad I am not the only one to sing when in the grocery.

It’s who I am.  It’s how I grocery shop.  It may be the giddy feeling of spending money, that shopping therapy thing.  I don’t know, but for a good time, invite me grocery shopping.  :p

Anyway, on my way out I smiled and said a big hello to the Salvation Army Bell Ringer, who helped me separate my mini-cart from another a couple of weeks ago.  She taught me the secret to separating stuck carts, which I have used a couple of times.  A good turn and I pay it back with recognition, change if I have it, and a big hello and smile when I see her.  I am flirting with showing up with my violin someday to keep her company, but I need to do some practicing before that happens…

As I walk past the bench, I see the woman is still there.  She looks up at me and starts to cry and says, I am from Hamilton…and my mind immediately goes to the scam of - I ran out of gas I can’t get home, I need money for gas, I need money for the bus, I need money to get money…I have seen it in action.  

A fellow stopped me in downtown Cincy.  I had street parked.  He told me his wife was in the car with his kids, he ran out of gas, he needed money to get gas.  I asked him where the car was, concerned of course if there are kids involved.  And he looked around then pointed to a random car across a parking lot.  They are there? I asked, ‘in that car over there, can I talk to them?‘ The car was empty as far as I could tell.   He just walked away from me.  

A few hours later,  I drove to a parking lot for an event a few blocks down and the same fellow stopped me.  His wife was in the car around the corner, he had kids.  I called him on it and told him he had already stopped me and I said, ‘this is a scam isn’t it.’  He gave me the same time of day he gave me before.  I drove away, and parked in another lot.  Of course there the niggling feeling maybe he couldn’t get money in the time I was gone, maybe people were as suspicious as I.  Maybe he did have a need.

But, I also go back to the time in San Francisco where my roommate and I were going to Chevy’s for a rare meal out.  The meter was maybe a half hour long?  I don’t recall exactly, except we were talking about having to remember to come out again to put money in the meter.  A street person came up and said ‘do you want me to watch the meter?’  Patrick said ‘yes, can you do that?’  

‘Of course, no problem, I’m going to be here anyway’  he said smiles and a helpful attitude, and Patrick proceeded to hand him his pocketful of change.  I was buoyant.  How lucky was that!?!

You have already guessed it.  We came out to a ticket on the car and the fellow had absconded with the change.  I laugh at the irony and naiveté.   I like that story.  To this day it brings me joy, not because we lost money, which at that time was pretty precious, but because we were trusting souls who got conned by a clever person.  It was an ‘honest and clever’ con.

I have given people bus money and fares to get far away from San Francisco, but it’s in the giving.  Knowing that there is that off chance, the hope that the money is of service.

Back to the woman on the bench.  She was wearing a thin purple fleece coat and looking up at me with tears in her eyes.  Her friends hadn’t come back to get her.  Can I give her a ride to Hamilton, which isn’t around the corner from where I live.  The thing I noticed were her teeth.  They were white.  Her eyes were blue and bloodshot from her tears.  She had a desperate look on her face.

‘Okay’ I said.  ‘Okay.’   We walked across the parking lot to my big ol’ van that I bought for my aging greyhound Izzi.  I relate to animals.  I relate less to people.  I believe from being single and living in the city, that it has made me suspicious.  And from growing up - animals are not as judgmental, they are safe. I am questioning my decision.

She goes on to explain that her friend who drives a white car asked her to come along to get some money from her friend’s boyfriend.  Her friend was going to get his card?  Her friend hadn’t come back and it had been over an hour.  

I was again suspicious.  She was crying and cold.  I almost said, ‘Let me go home and unload my groceries then I’ll be back’.  But I didn’t.  I put the groceries in the car, handed her my cell phone and asked her if she wanted to call her boyfriend.  She had mentioned him and that he didn’t drive.  We tried twice and she couldn’t get through.

I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.  Give a ride to a stranger.  But I did.  

And I can’t stop crying.

I received a text from a friend.  I texted back ‘I am giving a stranger a ride I will call you later’.  And that was it.  My protection in case anything untoward happened to me.  I then put the address into my iPhone and we proceeded out. 

I knew from talking to her that she had trusted this person to get her home and they hadn’t arrived back.  I probed a little but it sounded like the person might have been more of an acquaintance than friend?  She was a simple soul?  She was taken advantage of?  I don’t know what her story was, but - ‘her friend had asked her to come along while her friend got money from her boyfriend.  She was dropped off at Kroger in NCH, because her friend’s boyfriend would get jealous’  This is what I know.  And I am suspicious.  Is she going to take me some place to be jumped or robbed?  That suspicion was in the back of my mind.

I asked for her address and plugged it into my phone.  At least I had a ‘paper trail’ of where I was going.

She was pretty far from home and said if I take Hamilton Ave till it meets Pleasant Farm, did I know where that is?  No I don’t.  I asked if it was okay to use what the GPS had mapped out?  Yes, she said.  I don’t want you to be lost.  Okay, so off we go.

In the back of my mind I am wondering what makes a woman get into the car with a stranger.  She had told me in the parking lot that she took a chance on asking me for a ride because I was whistling and seemed happy and jolly.  And God dear God!. I wish I were actually that person…

And I can’t stop crying.

As we hit Colerain Avenue we hit traffic.  She had asked if there was always this much traffic, and I said I don’t know.  I don’t usually drive this way.  I tried to figure out the time in my car which is now an hour and a half off, and military time (i like to practice my math).  

Then check my phone which is also military time and from 16:00 to 18:00 hours I seem to have a black hole.  So 17:40 wasn’t making sense, until I saw that my iPhone clock had an analog dial, it was headed towards five.  I hadn’t realized how late it was.  Ah, when I figured it out I explained.  I imagine it’s always busy at this time as people are getting off work.  ‘Rush hour’ she said.  ‘Yup rush hour. ‘ 

At this time I am thinking she is probably uncomfortable because she is in a car with a stranger, doesn’t drive and the route I am taking might be different from how she came.  I talk about my parents in Maine, that I have travelled in this car a lot.  Is she comfortable with the seat heat, is it warm enough.  I am trying to give clues that I am human and not as lonely as I appear.  She is grateful for the warmth.

I suddenly realize that I have no socks on.   Weird thought.  If they find my sockless body somewhere what will they think?  They won’t be thinking that I ran out to give George a short walk but he seemed so happy that I extended it to the long walk, then went to the grocery store…

We get thru the snarl of Colerain and head onto more freeway.  I am conscious of my being un-talkative.  I say, I know, let’s put on Christmas carols.  I change the station and tune into 93.3 christian radio, Christmas carols.  I have been saying short prayers to God to get me home safely. I start singing as I do and say you can sing too…but she doesn’t join me.  

Now if she were writing this narrative, I am sure it would go something like this…

I got into the car with a stranger, I don’t know exactly where I am, and she has put on Christmas carols and has invited me to sing… I am desperate.  I am human.

And now, I can’t stop crying.  

We got closer to Hamilton.  It had been a long quiet trip.  She had mentioned a few times that she had her Christmas tree set up at home and her daughter’s presents underneath the tree.  

How old was her daughter I asked?  11 she said.  Her sister had custody for her child, and she and her mom and daughter were getting together on Christmas Eve.  Where do I go with that information except to say, It’s nice you can all get together.  More silence.  I talk about my dog, George! Who I am waffling between wishing my precious was here with me to give me a boost of confidence and glad that he’s not here because if anything should happen to me, it should be me alone and not my innocent companion.

And now, I can’t stop crying.

Coming into Hamilton at the Columbia bridge, she told me about the three bridges, I was in the wrong lane.  I slowed traffic in my lane, while two yahoos, kept me out of the correct lane, and waved twice at the person who let me in to the B Street Lane.  While we were waiting for the light, which she said was really long, she showed me a picture of her daughter that she had on the lanyard around her neck.  

Her daughter had dark hair and a very sweet face.  I had to remove my distance glasses to see the picture clearly.  And while I wish I had told Tanna this - her daughter looked just like her, she has sweet face too.

We are in an area she recognizes.  She recommends I deviate from the GPS instructions and take the left after Main St.  Main St. has so many lights, Park is one way and has fewer lights.  I say no problem knowing my GPS will re-route and it sounds legitimate.  Low and behold.  I am re-routed.

We come up to her apartment building, she is quick to show me her drive way, ‘there, there, there!’ she saids.  She had asked if I wanted to come in to meet her boyfriend early on in the trip, I said, ’no, honey, I can’t do that.  I need to get home. ‘ 

‘We could say a prayer for you.’  I am thinking, give a stranger a ride home?  If I arrive there safely, go inside?  Nope, not happening.  Not alone.

‘You can still say a prayer for me.  I don’t have to be present, the Lord works in mysterious ways….’

She had also said, “I can never pay you back’.  I said , ’You don’t have to.  I am happy to bring you home safe and warm.  I hope you don’t find yourself in this situation again.  Just be careful.  You don’t know who is out there.’  Thinking also to myself, I don’t know who is out there….

She says,  ‘This is such a relief to my heart to be home.’  

I am glad for her, I am still a little wary for me.   I drop her off in the parking lot to her building and turn my van around to head home.  I feel like it was - okay.  I am glad I am safe and I am glad she is home safely.  I spent time getting my home address up and head off.  I realize at this moment of typing.  I didn’t give her the courtesy, I would anyone in my vehicular care, make sure she made it to the front door.  

And I am crying….

I called my friend John Dolor, who had texted me as I got in the car.  John, one of the kindest people I know.  I was glad to speak with him for most of my way back home.  

The closer I got to home the more I felt like crying.  Deep heaving sobs….

For the people who are lost, I include myself in that group, not in a bad way, but since I have left home I don’t feel like I have a home.  I have a place that I live from which I journey out, to find family.  That is my home.  I am grateful for that.  

And I am crying…

For the people who have to rely on strangers like me who know for sure they are not up to the task.  

I am crying…

It goes further, for the people who live in refugee camps for example: local homeless, rural poor or international refugee camps you see online.  

I am crying…

The people who have nothing, and I have more than I can fit in this little 650 sq ft house.  

I feel deeply, I am crying deeply for the people who cold and hungry.  For the people in this world who are crying out ‘Lord where are you?  Humanity, where are you?  People where are you?”

God was with me?  God was on my journey with me? Yes.    But, God was truly with Tanna.  God got Tanna home.  

I was a dumb instrument of his good, of his grace.  I was suspicious, but happy that my extension of grace didn’t include giving my life.  Sounds pretty dramatic at this point, so no,  I don’t feel like an instrument of his peace.  

I am having a difficult time reconciling my good gifts with what is going on in this world.  There are people who need help and if they are asking me for help it they must be in pretty bad shape, because the bubble I live in has a roof, four walls, heat, running water, a gorgeous hound name George! and a cat named Simba who is anxious to keep me warm and clean.  :)

At this point I am crying and can’t stop for the hurt in the world.  The best I can do each day, for now, is to pray.  That is the absolute best I can do for now, because I don’t know how to solve the hurt…

And if you have actually read this far, pray for Tanna, because she gifted me with 1000 deeds for what I gave to her, for which I am sorrowful to say is a suspicious ride home.  Pray for her that she has 1000 deeds of kindness…

And I am crying…

Pray for the homeless, pray for the needy, pray…just pray for people to stand up and do good in this world, even if it isn’t you.  Because it wasn’t me.  Honestly, it wasn’t me who got this lost woman home.  With all my suspicion…it was a warm car and a warm ride she needed, it wasn’t me.  I was too lost in my thoughts to be of any help, but somehow I was of service.

Hell hath no fury like a cameo cat...

So.  It's on me.  It's always on me.  I am the sole keeper of this household and my life.  So whatever happens in my life - I am responsible for my reactions to it...

Simba.  Simba is one of my faithful companions.  And when I say faithful I truly mean faithful.  Through thick and thin - this mugger has been there.  He'll be 15 in January.  I have had him for 14 years.  Hard to believe how time has flown.  He doesn't act his age, but neither do I; we have that in common.

He's a peculiar cat.  And by peculiar I mean uncommon, unusual; distinctive in nature or character from others.  He is uncannily tuned into me.  He has been known to wake me up in time for a 6:00 am conference call, when I have forgotten to set my alarm.  A couple of weeks ago I was cold going to bed.  Curled on my right side, I started reading.  Simba promptly came and laid on my hip for awhile and I started to warm up.  Then he laid on my knees for awhile and as I thought to myself my feet are cold, my little mug went and made himself comfortable on my feet and ankles.  Uncanny.  I sent him a silent thank you and he took off to eat his dry food.

He 'tucks me in' and when I stop stirring he leaves.  I can hear the plink, plink of the kibble as he pulls it out of his stainless steel bowl, and eats, then he comes back to sleep on my bed usually at the bottom.  He is not an under the covers kind of feline, unless we are traveling; that is a story for another time.

Anyway,  I have been avoiding venturing out on this black Friday weekend.  On Sunday night I realized I only had two cans of Fancy Feast left.  I made a mental note to go to Kroger's on Monday to stock up on Simba's favorites - Fancy Feast classic, don't be bringing that grilled or sauced or cheesed stuff in the house - it won't get eaten.

Monday rolled around and I started in on my coding exercises.  I didn't go to the grocery store.  I went to feed the animals dinner and explained to my little (sim)baloney boy - it was going to have to be tuna.  It was my last can.  I only eat white albacore tuna.  I have bought light tuna before and found spots of color that I unfortunately have associated with fish eyeballs.  Somewhere in my imagination - it went that way.   White albacore.  I pay more for my quirky imagination.  I hope I haven't ruined light tuna for you...

Dinner was a success.  Tuna juice squeezed over George's! dry food, suspiciously colored bits in his bowl as well.  Same with Simba but he gets more since it's his dinner.  The rest goes into Tupperware and into the fridge.  I used the last of my bread and turkey to make a sandwich, happy campers all around.

Tuesday, he woke me up for breakfast.  Not too early, 8:30 is reasonable, but this little 15 lbs. of fur is persistent.  Don't go asking for another 10 minutes.  Tap, tap tap on my cheek, licking my eyelids, my forehead, the tip of my nose.  Tap, tap, tap on my arm... sigh.  George! doesn't wake me up at all.  He waits for me to have coffee, the joins me for a morning walk.  He doesn't jump into the day with four paws, he gently stretches into it; we have that in common.

Tuesday morning's breakfast started with an apology and promise that would be broken.  Tuna again buddy.  I will go to the store today.

Well, again I was on the computer all day so the grocery store run didn't happen and dinner was met with a flick of his tail and jump off the table.  Yes, he has his own table.    I tried to sweeten the pot with hot water to make it juicier and a couple bits of cheese.  Cheddar my friends, not Swiss, because Swiss will not be eaten by his highness.  He ate the cheese, he ignored the tuna, white albacore tuna, the best money can buy.

So I know on this day, today, that he is going to be even more picky, but to soothe my soul, I went through the process of putting it in his bowl.  He didn't even bother to check it out.  Instead he ran around like his tail was on fire.  I started brewing my coffee, took George! out for a pee break, then, came in, poured myself a beautiful cup of joe  and sat down to review my health insurance packet.

Today was the last day of open enrollment and I needed to make a change since I am now paying the full fare with Cobra.

Now I am not a total slacker, last night I sat down and reviewed it a bit.  Then left the stack of papers on my hassock,  cover letter page that had all the prices on it on top of the pile.  It was to be the first thing I tackled today.

I pick up the packet and the cover page is missing.  I distinctly remember, I think, leaving the cover letter on top, but it isn't there.  I page through every single sheet of paper.  It isn't there.  I look around the floor, it isn't there.  I look on my desk, it isn't there.  I look on my bed, in the bathroom on my dresser, just in case I had inadvertently carried it there on my way to bed, not there.  I am beginning to melt down completely.  Tears and all.  I have lost my marbles.  Somewhere in this wee little house I have lost what I had come to believe was the most important piece of paper I have ever needed.

I looked through all the pages of the packet again, on the sofa, on the desk, under the bed covers knowing darned well it was with the other sheets of paper.  I got out my flashlight and looked under the bed, I looked in my bookshelf, on the cat tree, in the trash.  I looked in the oven, in the freezer, in the refrigerator because at this point I am thinking I am out of my gourd, or had to be sleep walking or those aliens from the other night had walked in and taken that one single piece of paper...

I sat down and gave up in total desperation, thinking everything happens for a reason.  I am meant to have the big insurance bill, I pray I won't have a catastrophic illness, and give up with a deep sigh.

At that very moment, Simba got up from where he was sleeping in front of the hassock and walked off into the kitchen.  There it was.  My one sheet of paper that he had completely covered with his 15 lbs. of fluff.  The whole time I had been rummaging through my house, he was laying in that one spot on that one piece of paper.  How only one piece and not the full stack got on the floor is beyond me.  He did not move a whisker in my panic.

As I leaned over to pick it up, I looked into the kitchen and there he was, sitting in stately profile in front of his chair which helps him get onto the table to get to his food.  He was looking up serenely at his food bowl.

I went to the grocery store today to get Fancy Feast classic.

A person needs to have their priorities correct.  Promises to peculiar cats should never be broken.  Lesson taught, lesson learned...


Laura

ps. iloveu

I have spooked myself again...

When I was out on an earlier walk with George! it was cool and drizzling. 

I heard a high pitched sound then a zap and a bit of a boom. If I were to describe it in terms that someone could understand it would be a sound from a science fiction movie, where there is a weapon that charges (high pitched sound), is fired (zap), and hits its target (boom). I also smelled an onzoney, melting plastic smell. 

I walked around the outside of the house to make sure nothing had hit it. When I came in, my microwave was set to zeros, but the stove and coffee maker weren't blinking or reset. My cincy fioptics tv wasn't working, but my fioptics wifi was - I thought they ran off the same line, but now I am guessing not. 

I just took Mr. Tuxedo for his last walk of the night and it feels a bit warm, balmier, not raining. There is still an smell of melting plastic in the air, my neighbor came home and confirmed that. 

So I did another lap around the house, felt the boxes - nothing is warm. I came in and walked downstairs to double check again - there is no ozoney melting plastic smell there. I did find the load of laundry I washed two days ago and forgot, that's a completely different odor - argh.

So I walk up the stairs and everything is really, really quiet in the house. But the wind is picking up, I can hear it in the trees and my bell bouy bell is clanging loudly, spookily. Not in the ahhh nice rain storm little breeze way, but in the the air is balmy, ozoney, melty plasticy smelling and the wind is whipping around...

jeez...there was a beeping on Total Recall (movie I turned on a few minutes ago to fill the silence) and I have jumped a mile. 

...my, my, my...perhaps too much coffee has made me jumpy. have been working on coding exercises since 11... completely focused and hooked on them... if anyone calls and doesn't get me I might be walking George! and being abducted by aliens, or I might be working on my computer and being abducted by aliens... or hiding under the covers...asking Simba to protect me from aliens... wait a minute... where's Simba... 

Laura

ps. iloveu

Monday, Monday....

Mondays seem to come more quickly these days.  One minute it's Monday, the next it's Friday and the weekends slip through my life with barely a notice, as I have been working through coding problems and shoring up my knowledge...suddenly it's dark out and I am looking at the clock as it is marching towards late night.

My focus is a bit scattered; when I am working on one thing I am thinking there is something else I should be doing.  I have a list of items I need to cover in case I make it to a technical interview.  There is content to study for a certification exam.  There is the house to clean which always falls to the bottom of the list :) .  Then there are my faithful companions to nurture.  And there is writing.  

Writing I save as my treat for spending hours on the computer.  Writing is a treat for me right now.  

If I could only swing getting up earlier in the day there would be time to go to a coffee shop for a writing session.  I did it yesterday and loved it.  I will try to do it again tomorrow.  Yes, that is my goal.  The one drawback is that I can't take George! with me.  It isn't like San Francisco...but I wasn't writing then.  I am a little out of step with my life right now.  Maybe that's where the distraction is coming from....

Anyway - all for now.

Laura

p.s. iloveu

Soooooo….the only problem was I forgot to shred the kale leaves….

Okay so that wasn’t the only problem.  This is to serve as a warning to anyone who sees the ingredients, thinks yum, and tries to recreate this dish.  It isn’t that good.

Oh, the eggs were fresh.  Very fresh, according to the woman at the Northside farmers market – ‘washed that morning’ she said.  Well that’s fresh.  Any fresher and they would still be warm…  I couldn’t tell, since they were buried under vegetables.

I was a little over zealous on the veggies.  I decided to cut up a whole onion, 4 small tomatoes fresh, yet green, from the neighbor’s vine last week and which, now red, if I didn’t eat in the next two days would no longer be tomato but more like salsa…without the sals… it would be ah mush.

And because I have 5 onions I cut one up thinking – hey I will sauté lots of veggies and split it into two batches.  One for dinner tonight and the other ready for breakie tomorry.

And…because I am being creative, I thought rings – I will make rings out of this medium sized yellow onion…which you know was okay until I got to the last quarter. I then remembered why I usually chop my onions. 

I am a chicken with a knife.  Worried about cutting myself and without anyone here to look at it if I do cut it.  I would have no idea what needed to be done.  ER for stitches or a little Neosporin and a band-aid.  I wouldn’t be able to look.  I know from experience.  That’s a story for another time.

So, I have mostly lovely thin rings and about a quarter of the onion sized rings.  Fire up the cast iron pan and sweat those puppies.  Add salt, and pepper and celery seed.  I believe this last ingredient is because what I actually wanted was tuna fish with mayo, pepper and celery seed.

I let that run for a while until they started to get translucent.  Tossed in the tomatoes and to get them to evaporate cranked up the heat.  The water from the tomatoes evaporated and as I started moving the tomatoes around I realized the seeds have stuck to the bottom and the tomatoes are as mushy as if I hadn’t decided to eat them but left them instead on the counter. 

As I beat the eggs I realized I needed to put the kale in.  I pulled it from the stalk but left the leaves in-tack so, giant kale leaves.  I pressed them down hoping they would get soft enough to split with my wooden spatula.  Nope.  Instead of pulling the veggies out and doing the eggs separately, giving me a chance to possibly cut the giant kale and onion to scale, I poured the eggs in. 

It was quite pretty! 

Even prettier when I added the Spanish Smoked Paprika.  I glanced up from the stove and saw the spice bottle.  It was from Spain, it was great in the Paella (which I can cook, but for 12 people).  So why not…Gorgeous.  Bright yellow, red, green and paprika!

I was too impatient to let it set, so I stirred it around.  Not as pretty.  I turned it and turned it until it was well and overly cooked.  I don’t like raw eggs, I don’t like runny eggs.  That’s my kitchen M.O.  cook the heck out of anything that could poison me if under done.  Except Paella.  Paella I can cook…

I ate half of it from a bowl.  I included the giant kale in this serving.  I wanted to get that part over with.  The rest will be for breakfast tomorrow, or lunch maybe. 

Moral of this story?  Don’t bother with farm fresh eggs if you’re not going to shred the kale…or cut the onions so they cook evenly or use celery seed and …  Spanish smoked paprika.

Laura

ps. iloveu

The sound of my buoy bell...

Today slid into Autumn.

I awoke to the sound of my buoy bell, reminding me of the east coast, as a blustery wind danced with the clapper.  The rain followed on its heels and I am now cocooning in a damp overcast day.

These are the days I love the best.  Cool enough to demand clothing, but warm enough to not need a coat or sweatshirt.  It is a great day to reflect on blessings.  The roof over my head, the clothing I wear, the food in my cabinets and fridge.  The two companions I live with who keep me entertained.  In spite of seeming setbacks, I try to be grateful for the moments of the day.

I am currently unemployed, the sale of my loft just fell through; I am at times desperate to understand or know where in this world I am to call home.  I am hovering on the brink of anxiousness, but today, the day that the season slid into Autumn, I am going to be okay, because that is what I am choosing.

I have been told, the beginning of anxiousness is the end of faith.  The beginning of faith is the end of anxiousness.

So when I start to get anxious - I realize I am not living in faith.  It happens more than I would hope, but I can pull myself back when I think to.

Today.  Today my faith is sliding all around me.  Today I am experiencing a full storm of emotions,  from gratitude to anger; hope to despair.  And like the wind that is blustering, they are changeable and changing.  I only have to wait for myself to settle down from being anxious or questioning and recognize the moments of the day for which to be grateful.

Laura

ps. iloveu