Of Boots and Peace

Good friends and good times. How could I possibly ask for more? As I relished the opportunity to spend time with friends I don't see nearly often enough tonight, I also met others who I can now see were clearly friends-in-waiting. Great conversation, intelligent insights, and plenty of laughter around the "round table" of a most gracious hostess made this chick's day a delightful one.

A "door prize" of a boot and, fittingly, a peace token was a most wonderful surprise. The real prize, however, was the group of warm-hearted (and some cold-handed) folks that I have grown fond of. I would drive straight down El Camino Real and through Concrete just to be with them.

Coming home, with lively chat still echoing in my head, I heard one of my favorite songs, and I think when I hear it from now on I will always connect it with them. Not a bad thing at all.

Because, you see, I believe that to everything there is a season. And I have come to love all the seasons of my life. This is yet another phase that holds surprise and treasure for me, and I embrace it with all of my being. So, for all of you (and you know who you are), enjoy "your song".

Adventures in Cat Rearing

Cheaper by the dozen? Not really.

Our brood of felines, increased by seven this past spring by heartless heathens who dumped off a litter (or I suspect at least two different litters) at our place, now numbers an even dozen. It's been many years since we've had kittens around the house, as all our adults (who usually came into our lives as already grown strays) are spayed and neutered. And now, so are these. The energy and joy these kittens possess is something that we were not prepared for, and it has been our privelege to raise these little ones and watch them progress from feral felines who wouldn't let us pet them to loving, house-trained, tame kitties who are now all complete with their spays/neuters/shots and vet check-ups. Luckily, all of them are healthy, happy and completely spoiled. There were nine to begin with, but two disappeared early on. I do not know where they went. But the seven we were left with have added to our happiness immensely.

The first one (and silly me, I thought she was the only one), was Lovie. The loudest, she was discovered first, and this beautiful grey tabby stole my heart right away. A few weeks later, a lady down the road called me to ask if we had lost a kitten. I told her that was kind of funny, as by then, the others made themselves known, and I told her that we had GAINED some. She said they couldn't keep this one, and knew we had other cats. I told her that we had all we could possibly handle, and she said she would take it to a shelter in Victoria. I hated to hear that, but really, we had our hands full. Next day, she drives up in our driveway and said that the shelters were full up, and nobody would take him because he hadn't been neutered yet. She asked, could we, would we, and I said "Of course". I couldn't turn down this little orange tabby who she placed in my arms. He never uttered a peep and somehow knew he belonged here. So into the house to join his sister he went. Our Pumpkin was unmistakably a sibling to Lovie, and they stick together now always. What a sweet pair!

The other five left outside split up into factions, with two staying near the carport, and three trotting off to dad's garage and making themselves at home. The two under the carport were as wild as the South Texas wind, almost twin brown tabbies, whom I promptly named Bindi (with half a tail, which makes her so darling and precious) for the prominent orange spot on her forehead, and her sister Heart. Both have since made their way into the house and are the most playful and rambunctious of the pack.

In the garage were the trio of Hamlet (who is just about a twin to Pumpkin, only bigger and more solid), Romeo (a solid black ball of sweetness and smaller than the others) and his Juliet (a brown tabby who must be a sister to Bindi and Heart, but more petite). It wasn't long until they made their way to our home, and made it their home. Romeo is extremely easy-going and very sweet. Hamlet is much the same way, only slightly more aggresive and larger. He tends to drool when you rub his tummy, and does he love those belly rubs! Juliet is the most timid and smallest, but she loves her Romeo and they stay together. She has been progressively coming out of her shell and now we call her little red, for she has more red tones, especially around her sweet, petite face. She seems especially attached to Dad.

So there you have it. We will begin the new year as we ended the old - with a plethora of pussycats, a wonderful world of felines. They have wormed their way into the hearts of not only the human residents of this house, but the other felines and the canine as well. The other cats, put off at first by the little ones' presence, have now gotten used to them and play with them. Most of the time, all eat together in peace, and sleep together as well. What a wonderful surprise they have all become, as just a few months ago, they would go running if we even tried to get near them.

As we have joy and new life around, the Universe decided to strike a cruel balance this past month. Just two days before Christmas, our elderly, thirty-year old quarter horse, Rio Lucky, passed away. He was in the field he so loved to graze, and finally had to leave this Earth. He has been a fixture here for around 27 years. It is strange to look out to the pasture and not see him. Every day I still have an urge when I get home to call his name to hear him neigh back at me. But he is no longer there. I know he is happy wherever he may be now. He had a good, long life. He will be missed.

Happy new year, everybody. May she be a damn sight better than the last.

That Smell

Can't you smell that smell?

The smell of a stinky, rotten editorial by our local rag?

I sure can. And I think the whole crossroads area can, too.

Quick, before it's too late....go here for the editorial, and check out the reader's input before it all disappears, and commenting becomes disabled, as the VicAd is known to do.

I have never witnessed a newspaper that would not support its town's institutes of higher learning. Of course, I don't expect the editorial staff to agree with everything UH-V does, but to show such an appalling lack of support is beyond the pale.

Anyway, I voiced my opinion and was promptly deleted. But, see, I WENT to UH-V and am one of their proud alumni, so I'm smart enough to have saved the comment so that it could live in eternity here on my blog because I KNEW it would be gone in a moment's time. So here it is:


How disappointing to read an editorial opinion that does not support a local university, U of H, with a VERY good extension of same right here in Victoria. Oh, and nevermind UH-V has been here in Victoria, turning out THOUSANDS of educated graduates who have gone on to the medical, engineering, chemical, education, and so many other varied fields to lend their talents back to their hometowns.

Does the VicAd staff really not understand this? Do they not see that UH-V has actually been here LONGER than most of the editorial staff themselves, nevermind the cub reporters who were not even BORN when UH-V established itself so long ago? Where were these "editorial staff" and "journalists" when UH-V worked so hard over the years to educate and contribute to this community? Oh....that's right, they were in Ohio, Kansas, Illinois....

Why don't you consider for a moment that your and a certain commission's push to get UH-V out of this community just looks like a lot of strangers who were not even born and raised in this state who now think they know what is best for Victoria and its surrounding towns? What sort of power do you really think you hold?

U of H, and UH-V has been here much longer than you, has contributed more than you, has intertwined with these citizens' lives much more than you ever have or ever will.

I really don't think this comment deserved to be removed, but the VicAd thought differently. How very sad.

In keeping with the season, all I can say is, and I quote:

STINK!

STANK!

STUNK!

The Year of Dying Dangerously

The recent posthumous pardon of Jim Morrison for his "lewd acts" in Miami, in addition to an email from a dear friend, has sent my mind on a journey that I haven't been on in some time. Some of the most talented rock stars, the ones we lost so prematurely, seem to have a grim statistic in common: dead at the age of 27.

Jim Morrison.

Janis Joplin.

Jimi Hendrix.

Kurt Cobain.

Their music, and my memories, have been swirling in mind the past few days. An odd, and sad, soundtrack underlying my flashbacks to MY 27th year. I died my own sort of death that year, with a crisis the likes of which I have never experienced before or since. The miracle of one singer, of one CD, pulled me through. And luckily, she is not yet dead. Alanis Morissette has passed her 27th year, as have I, and we are not statistics. Her "Jagged Little Pill" album single-handedly, slowly, pulled me out of my 27th-year haze and into the future. And, yes, I doubled up on the Alanis just because she and her music mean so much to me.

Because these artists have contributed so much to my life story, I offer here two performances by each that touch me and haunt me the most. I hope you like them. I will never forget.

No.....

I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. Much too busy for that. In fact, if I stay this busy always, the way I figure it, I won't have time to die either. Wouldn't that be nice?

We are slowly transitioning between fall and Christmas. The front of the house looks kind of funky, what with Santa Claus and two snowmen sharing our brick ledge along with still remarkably preserved pumpkins and gourds. The fall wreaths are still hanging on the doors, while a poinsettia garland drapes our front door. Pretty split-personality, actually. But little by little, we will get there.

The tree base is in the living room, just waiting for the tree to be put in it as it is every year, and so I must remind myself to put away the pilgrim figurine and scarecrow candle holder soon.

Has anyone felt as disjointed as I feel this holiday? Does anyone experience this duality of decorations, this schizophrenic seasonal malady which I seem to be going through?

At least dad is still bringing over the totes containing Christmas decor from his garage. He is really taking the lead this year trying to get things up such as lights. I get the feeling he is more excited about Christmas this year than I am. And that's a good thing. I'm glad to see him in the groove.

But I swear, if I hear "White Christmas" one more time........