Goodbye, Monster

Monster was the best of kitties. A big cat, he weighed between 15 and 20 pounds for most of his life. A cat of simple tastes, he loved boxes, blankets, and bugs.

Once he came to live with me, until he got too stiff this past year, I never had to swat a fly - he'd stalk them until the unwary creature came within reach and then pounce. He had a high success rate. Bugs!!!

If there was a blanket, or blanket-like object folded on the bed, chair, floor, or counter, he was on it. He'd look at the cloth with delight as he calculated how best to settle his bulk. Then he'd carefully lower himself directly onto the center of the item with a look of immense satisfaction. Blanket!!!

And any discarded box, paper bag, suitcase, etc., was his for the investigating. He'd hop in at first opportunity, happily exploring the confines of the space. Box!!!

He first came into my life, along with his mother, Angel, when Joe came home from college. They stayed for a few years, long enough to worm themselves into my heart. When they left with Joe when he got married, they left kitty-shaped holes in my day-to-day life. All three returned, along with Joe's wife, baby, dog and adopted stray, when they lived here while we were working to make their new home habitable during Covid, and I fell in love with the cats all over again.

The new digs were ready enough in December of 2020 for Joe and his family to move in. I was looking at going from sixty to zero, with no companionship after they left, so asked if they would leave Angel and Monster with me. They readily agreed, and so instead of facing the rest of the Covid time alone, I had warm creatures to purr at me, to help me along the way. (Angel got sick, and I had to say goodbye to her almost two years ago already.)

Monster had the best purr. When I'd settle myself for sleep at night, he'd hop on the bed, put his front paws onto one of my forearms, and start to purr. The sound and vibration would quiet my whirling thoughts and I'd drift off, often on or beyond the edge of sleep before he stopped his ministrations for the night. If I twitched, he was gone, so I learned to settle for sleep without tossing and turning.

It was when they first lived here that Monster discovered the magical BOX WITH WATER in the kitchen. I was in the midst of remodeling, and so I didn't kick him out immediately when he jumped into the sink one day. The box clearly needed investigating!. On a whim, I turned on a small stream of water to see what he'd do - and that was that. I had a cat in my sink from then on. He was SO HAPPY to get his drinks that way, I never had the heart to turn him away.

Angel ruled the roost, and after she died, he seemed to ride on a wave of contentment. No longer did he have to share the tuna juice, or the preferred-for-the-moment best bed. It was all his! He wasn't quite as happy once THAT DOG, Sylvester, arrived, but he learned to hold his own and they figured out how to coexist.

He was getting old, and spent most of his time this last year happily snoozing in his favorite bed. Then, last month, I realized his food consumption had drastically dropped. He was losing weight rapidly. I moved the dish from its high point in the living room to the kitchen counter, and that helped for a few days, but then he quit eating altogether.

I had a heavy heart when I took him to the vet this past week. Old kitties suffer from a number of ailments; none of them are easily treatable. As I was talking to the doctor about options, he was absentmindedly petting Monster, who tucked his head into the corner between the man's arm and stomach, clearly not feeling well. I decided, by giving up food, Monster had done his best to tell me his preference for treatment. It was time to let go. 

I stayed as the sedative took effect, petting him and telling him he was the best of kitties as he drifted off. I kept stroking his soft fur, one last time, as the vet came back in and gave him that last shot. As he quietly stopped breathing, my tears flowed freely. 

Since then, to quiet my soul, I've been repeating Mary Oliver's words of wisdom (from In Blackwater Woods):

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go

Goodbye, Monster. You were the best of kitties. 

May you run free in a place where there are enough bugs to catch, but not enough to pester you. May there be a comfortable blanket for you to settle on when you want to rest. And, of course, may there be a BOX WITH WATER, the best thing ever.

Wren and the Disappearing Door

I have to imagine the look of delight on the face of Wren's 4 year-old neighbor when he stopped by the tree to find the neighborhood fairy had returned from her winter travels.

A few days after he picked up Wren's note, a reply appeared, carefully tucked behind the door.

Dear Fairy Wren,

I drew a picture of you (pink) and me (blue). Hope you love it!

Sincerely, your 4 year-old neighbor

Of course I/she loved it!

I left one more small gift behind the door, it disappeared. I happily thought we were back in business. 

The next day, as I ambled around the block, I noticed the hang tag with the "open me" sign was neatly tucked against the base of the tree, but the door itself was gone! What the ???? All I can figure is that someone misinterpreted the note, thought the door itself was the small toy the tag refers to, and happily carried their loot home. 

Wren didn't want her 4 year-old neighbor to be worried, so she left him a note saying she is ok, but her front door disappeared in the recent rainstorm. It took several days, but 4 year-old did retrieve the note.

Thank goodness replacement doors are available from several larger retailers - I will have one in hand shortly and Wren will have a proper entrance to her home once again. I also have a fresh supply of small weatherproof toys headed my way. 

Magic Is!

Shower Repair?

I bought the supplies needed to do the shower repair myself, cleaned out the gap between the walls and floor, let it dry thoroughly, and put down a bead of caulk. Sadly, only after finishing the job, when I took out my glasses to check cure time, did I take a good look at the description on the tube. I'd asked for the right item, but the young guy who'd dug out the product for me didn't know his silicone from his acrylic, and had sold me the wrong stuff. My bad for not checking. A call to the Tile Shop confirmed the error, and I resignedly set about undoing the beautiful work I'd just completed.

I went and picked up the correct stuff the next day, but my self-confidence was shattered. I knew better than to not read the box; clearly my critical thinking skills are still compromised by grief. So, I called the guy who'd given me the advice to seal the bottom edge of the walls, and hired him to do the work.

He was busy, but wanted me to be able to use my shower, so squeezed me into his busy schedule, and came out last Saturday morning to do the work. Now, my caulking skills are pretty good, but the skills needed to put down a perfect line of silicone caulk are not among those I have perfected, so I asked him if I could watch him work. He agreed, and so I sat down, ready to learn.

Sadly, what I learned is that this young man of good intentions and good heart, when overextended and rushing, was not able to access the patience and attention to detail needed to work with the finicky caulk. 

He didn't carefully look into all parts of the cavity - red flag #1. I mean, I know I cleaned it well, but he doesn't know me. He didn't know if I'd really cleaned all the unsuitable stuff out, and silicone caulk won't adhere to other caulk.

Then, I watched with some dismay as he stuffed layers of caulk and backer rod into the cavity beneath the wall - red flag #2. The work he did wasn't going to hurt anything, but it also wasn't going to help - there was no way he'd created a solid line of defense. Water doesn't care if you've blocked the greater portion of its path back to the earth. It WILL find the gaps and wend its way as the Maker intended.

By this time, I wasn't surprised to watch him skip the prep steps I'd have done for that final, oh-so-visible line of caulk, but I was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, figuring there's a lot I don't know about ways to do things.

Nope. He was getting silicone everywhere. After watching for another fifteen minutes, I couldn't watch any longer. I left the room, hoping against hope he'd be able to get it cleaned up. 

He worked alone for another bit, then came downstairs. He told me he'd done what he could for the day, and would be back the next afternoon to do cleanup. No, no payment required just yet.

Once he drove down the street, I went upstairs to take a look, and heaved a heavy sigh. Perhaps three of them. More, even. The work was a total loss.

Silicone caulk is a much messier cleanup than acrylic, and it took me the remainder of the evening to undo what he'd done. As I worked, I had lots of time to think about my part in the whole mess.

Why did I ignore those red flags? Why didn't I speak up, ask questions, assert myself? Why did I just passively sit there and watch him waste his time, my time, and $40 worth of caulk? Why is part of me still convinced I am not allowed to voice my truth? Why, when faced with a momentary lapse in my judgement, did I decide to give up on myself?

Tough questions. I do know this is not how I want to be.

I finished the cleanup Sunday morning, and put down my own line of fresh caulk. It's not up to my OCDness standards, but I learned one more thing that will make my next attempt look better. The bead is clean enough to keep the water on the shower side of the wall, which is what really matters here.

Now, I have to wait until Wednesday to test the fix; I want to be sure to give the caulk a chance to properly cure before getting it wet.

Fingers (impatiently) crossed!

Spring at the Lake

I took a break this past weekend from the stressors and to-dos of my day-to-day life, and accepted an invitation to join some friends at their second home at Stockton Lake.

Friday was a lovely day for a drive down to central Missouri. The redbud trees have finished blooming, but the dogwoods were in full flower. The sun was shining, highlighting the blush of green in the treetops, the sky a brilliant blue. What's not to like?? I rolled along without trouble and without stopping, the dog quietly napping in the back seat the whole way there. We arrived in the late afternoon, and our hosts, Diane and Gary, greeted us with open arms and smiles. 

I hauled Sylvester out of the back seat (he refuses to try to jump in or out of a car), set him on the ground, and by all appearances, he soon decided he'd landed in paradise. So many new things to smell!! There were friendly dogs to meet, a pecking order to establish, multiple rocks to pee on. No tugs on the leash to pull him away from an intriguing scent, a huge area to explore at leisure, extra willing hands to give him pets when he checked back in to see if the people were doing anything interesting. Life was good.

Saturday morning found us hiking in the state park across the lake. Since we had no company on the trail, I set him free to roam at will. We meandered happily along the trail, the people keeping an eye peeled for morel mushrooms along the way ('tis the season!), the dog ranging ahead and behind as his nose called. 

To my pleasant surprise, he never got too far from us - he kept an eye peeled for our progress along the trail; would wait when he got too far ahead, scurry to catch up when an especially appealing scent had him lagging behind. 

And, and. Diane's eagle eye spotted four of the elusive morels. Now. For one of the finds, I was walking next to her as she shouted a cry of delight and pointed to a promising specimen. We stopped, and as she pulled it up, I scanned the area to see if the mushroom had any friends. 

Nope, nothing there. Nothing that is, until Diane pointed out a second morel in the area I'd just looked over. I'd have sworn it hadn't been there a moment before; I'm pretty sure it manifested itself out of the leaves after my gaze passed, just for her. It's the only logical explanation.

She is a master cook as well as an experienced morel hunter, and for dinner that night, I got to enjoy the delicate taste of morels for just the second time in my life.

A second long hike on an equally beautiful Sunday morning capped the weekend's relaxing activities. (Sadly, we found no more mushrooms.) Sylvester and I headed for home shortly after lunch. He plopped into the back seat, tired from the morning's exertions, and slept all the way home. I was pleasantly tired as I drove, more centered than I'd been when I arrived just 48 short hours before. 

Thank Goodness for welcoming friends, good conversation, laughter, and time with Nature. It was a healing reprieve, time to Stop. Breathe. Relax. *happy sigh*

Shower Woes

Uh-oh.

I noticed the bulge in the sheetrock next to the shower last month. It wasn't a very big bulge, so I promptly decided to un-notice it for a while. I was too sad to deal with what I knew was going to be bad news.

Last week I decided ignoring the issue wasn't helping to make it go away, so I took out my tools, lowered my keister to the floor, peeled off the trim, and started digging into the wall.

and digging. and digging. *sigh*

The leak has been there for a while. Likely for years, since even new lumber doesn't darken and rot overnight; maybe even since we finished installing the shower.

Once I finished digging, I just sat and looked at it for a while. Started to picture all the steps needed to un-install the glass surround, tear out the base, and then rebuild the whole thing. Decided I'm just not up for it right now - largely because if I didn't do the work right the first time, and don't know where I went wrong, it's highly likely I'll make the same mistake (or another just as damaging), and end up right back where I started.

So, I hunted around on my NextDoor app for a tile guy, found a promising name, and sent him a message asking if he'd be willing to tackle the project. To my surprise he was willing to come out to take a look at the issue and talk things through yesterday afternoon.

His first assessment wasn't as dire as mine. The problem might be at the drain, in which case the big job will need to happen. But. It might be at the edges of the pan. It turns out the advice I got to leave the bottom edge of the shower wall unsealed so any water that gets behind the tiles can seep out the bottom was dated. The current practice is to run a bead of silicon along the bottom edge. If I do this, it might keep the water from getting to wherever that small hole in the liner happens to be.

Hmmm. Backer rod, caulk. This project, I can tackle. 

If it turns out to be a problem with the drain after all, and the entire base needs to come out, I'll hire Grant to do the work. If not, I'll hire him to do a different small project around the house - fair's fair - he did tell me how to solve the problem. 

In the meantime, I've come to terms with myself and whatever error in installation I committed. I mean, I've done how many projects, over how many years, saving myself how much money? This is the first one where I messed it up badly enough that I need to call in the pros to clean up after me. Not a bad run, eh?

I'll take it.

Wish me luck on the repairs - I'll let you know what I find.

Morning Song

I reluctantly stir

open my eyes to the predawn darkness.
time?
6:30

ugh!

I hit the snooze alarm

nine more minutes
the buzzer rings again

This time, I rise

because I know 
future Janice
noon Janice
will be a happier camper if she's gotten to exercise this morning.

I stumble to the bathroom

splash water on my face

put in my contacts.
Throw on some yoga clothes
head downstairs

still groggy
then
open the door 

step outside to take the dog on his morning walk.

It's quiet outside 

dawn just beginning to light the sky.
As I walk
I open my ears.
At first 

all I hear is the roar of a distant highway
then
the song of the awakening birds 

penetrates my fog.

First one note
then another
then, suddenly

there is a chorus 

welcoming the morning light
proclaiming the start of another day.

By the time I'm done 

circling the block
the dog has done his duty.
I am glad I am awake
and outside.

Grateful for the reminder:
Beauty Is.

Neighborhood Fairy

It's all Rose's fault.

When she was here, taking care of home and puppy for me while I was out walking El Camino, she was diligent about taking Sylvester for his walks. As she circled the block with him, she noticed one of the neighbors had a small door propped against the base of a tree.

Rose being Rose, she decided a fairy was living in the tree, and one day she made a small note to hang on the door.

"Open Me," it invited.

If you leaned down to open the door, you found a small toy - yours to take if you so desired.

It took a week or so, but one day the toy disappeared, so she replaced it.

The next time the toy disappeared, there was a note from a 4 year-old neighbor (and their mom), thanking the fairy for the gifts.

Rose responded in kind, and this is long about when I returned home from my walk.

She told me what she'd done, handed over a bag of toys to be given away as needed, and told me I was now a tree fairy. There are worse callings in life, so I continued the game.

Late last fall, the neighbor, after taking the gift, put a glitter potion behind the door - it turned the fairy into a unicorn! The fairy took the potion, and after thanking the child, spent several charmed weeks as. a unicorn before turning back into a fairy as winter arrived.

And that's where I dropped it. I, I mean, the fairy, put another gift under the tree, but after it sat for a couple of weeks, I retrieved it, along with the sign, and tucked it away. Out of sight, out of mind.

As spring arrived, I'd see the door on my daily walk, and thought about starting the game again, but didn't actually get out the goods.

Then, last week, I noticed something behind the door - it was another note from my young neighbor, wrapped around another magic glitter potion.

The note said: "Our last potion turned you into a unicorn. This one will turn you back to a fairy. We miss you! I love you - your 4 year-old neighbor"

I might be grieving, but I don't have it in me to take magic away from 4 year-olds. 

I mulled things over for a day or so. Decided if I was to be a tree fairy, I needed a proper fairy name. I came up with a list of options, then let Lexi choose her favorite - she opted for Wren. I wrote a note explaining the unicorn potion had worn off after a couple of weeks, but then I'd caught a ride south for the winter with one of my robin friends. I told them I was back - and it did my heart good to know I'd been missed. (this part is true.) I even went all out and drew a picture of my fairy self riding on the back of the robin.

My young friend hasn't yet retrieved the note - though someone else picked it up, read it, and returned it to its hiding place. I almost hate to admit how much I'm enjoying my part in this story, anticipating the joy on the child's face once they discover their fairy didn't permanently disappear after all.

Good Is.

One More Step

As I understand it, the Jewish tradition holds that funerals for their people should happen within 24 hours of death. (I also understand this practice is not always followed in this day and age.) While I waited for Bob's formal farewell, my emotions were all over the map, and I've decided the Jewish tradition makes a lot of sense. The three weeks between his being set free and his funeral service seemed an eternity. Sooner would have been easier.

Given the givens of my life this past decade and a bit, I have any number of useful tools in my Coping-With-Grief toolkit, and I've needed every one of them.

At this point, the drawers of my toolkit are pulled open at awkward angles, unable to be closed because their contents are a jumbled mess. The assorted tools have been tossed about haphazardly as I looked for the right one to cope with this feeling. Some pieces are on the floor, a few are arranged carefully in a clear spot on the workbench. There is a heap of temporary discards off to one side, tossed there when they quit being useful as my thoughts and emotions teetered down yet another side path.

Goodbyes are hard.

My sister and her husband came down this past weekend to help me get through the funeral, so I wouldn't have to spend the nights surrounding his Celebration of Life alone with my echoes. Their steady presence helped to ease those steps on grief's path. I had someone to talk to, someone to help me plan good meals. I didn't have to muster the energy to reach out for help; help was already here. I am so grateful for their presence.

They've left for home now, but with the service over, I feel readier to look forward. I longer need to devote time and energy into doing what I can to help Bob walk his oh-so-hard path. What shape will those days take? Where will I direct that energy?

It's not going to be easy, but I'm pretty sure I can do this if I keep taking one step at a time. I'm not done with those grief-coping tools, not by a long shot. But today, I'm able to begin to think about straightening up the mess I've made of my toolbox, so I'll be able to find the tools I need when I remember to look for them.

His journey is complete. 
He is free. 
I am free. 

Take One More Step

He is gone. Where he went, I don't know. My eyes keep looking at the Bob-shaped hole in my life, wondering what came next for him. I do know he is free.

His funeral isn't until next weekend. In the meantime, there's a part of me that thinks he's still in his gilded cage, waiting for me to visit. In the meantime, as I plan my week, part of me keeps trying to choose a time to get out there. Then I snap back to reality.

These past few days have been an exercise in taking one more step. I want to just sit and stare, but experience tells me that is not a helpful path to trod, so I've been prodding myself to take the next step, to do the next thing. 

The weather has been helping; spring is in the air. This is one of my favorite weather weeks of the year - the week when the trees still look brown at first glance, but a closer look reveals a fuzziness at the tips of the branches where the leaves have started to peek out of their winter shells. The season has turned.

The world is moving on. It has not stopped for me; has not paused in its turning to let me take a moment to catch my breath, say goodbye, and begin to suss out a new shape to the rhythm of my days. (Hmph. I still think it should...)

Yesterday, the sunshine beckoned me into the back yard; where I spent a quiet hour starting to corral the growing things. I cleaned the grass from my flower beds, the volunteer flowers from the grass; enjoyed getting my hands back into the living dirt. 

Today, it took some doing to get me moving, to run my katas, to exercise. (The time change didn't help.) But despite my best attempts at procrastination, I eventually got myself outside into the morning air; reluctantly started to move. My first motions were stiff, forced. But then muscle memory took over and I started to flow with the movements, muscle and breath awakening with each step.

My skin woke to the sweet caress of the coolness of the morning air. My ears attuned to the bird song chorus filling the air. My eyes sought out the traces of green outlining the lilac bush.

For those minutes, I was in the now; that elusive state where neither past nor future is relevant, where what is, Is. When I finished, a bit of that meditative Peace stayed with me. 

I am here. He is free and so am I.

Still Working on Goodbye

I don't want to write about Bob again today. Goodbyes are hard, and I'm already tired of waking in the night to know he is gone. But thoughts of him are so close to the surface, I have little room in my head for other reflections.

It was such a long and slow goodbye, I had lulled myself into a sense of serenity. I thought surely, with all the times I'd said goodbye to him along the way, I would feel only relief when he was set free and the final goodbye was complete.

Uh huh. As he used to say, "Denial is not just a river in Egypt." I learn this time and time again.

The last year or so of our friendship before his official diagnosis of dementia, we were not close. I knew he was falling into dementia, but he was covering well enough that the world didn't realize what was going on and I wondered myself if I was imagining things. He was angry, his excessive drinking made things worse, and I could no longer trust him to stay in my house, as he often had for years - I was sure, in his inebriated state, he was going to take a tumble down my long, narrow, flight of steps and hurt himself. On my side, I was in the midst of my COVID-induced isolation weirdness, and wasn't thinking entirely straight. (Five months of almost total isolation was NOT good for my mental health.)

I am SO glad he didn't die when our relationship was in that bitter and estranged state. 

This week, as I've looked back across these past few years, I've realized the silver lining of his dementia imprisonment was the removal of alcohol from his brain. Along with the excellent cocktail of drugs he was taking to keep his dementia-induced agitation under control, the loss of his daily dose of systemic depressant made it possible for our friendship to come back to life.

We could no longer share the easy give and take of old; those long evenings spent cooking dinner while talking about our respective days, then watching movies or just quietly reading books. He was no longer connected to that version of life. 

But we could hold hands and walk together. He hadn't been there long before he no longer remembered he was angry with me, so I got to see the return of the man who relaxed and laughed when I came around. I got to see the return of the man who became my best friend so long ago, even as I watched him leave me.

Ouch.

Out walking this morning, I saw the first crocuses in bloom; spring has come early this year.

I felt as if Someone was reminding me I will not stay sad/angry/hurt/relieved/lonely forever.

This, too, shall pass.

Time will work its magic and ease my pain, as it has done so many times before.

He is free, and so am I.