The buildings were old and weathered. Some sported paint and new signs, but the rest were comfortably the same as they had been for many long years. Walking along aged concrete amid the faintest sprinkle of rain, I glanced at the dusty windows of unused businesses. Where a comic book store had its short run, boxes, an old wardrobe, and an easel populate the darkness, illuminated only by the light shifting through neglected windows. A few more yards and a door greets me, paint chipped but cheerful regardless. I wrap my fingers around the metal handle and push gently, noting the pale semicircle on the floor that marks the door's daily repeated path. As I step inside onto the wooden floor, I take in my surroundings and close the portal. Two cats occupy the counter, one curled tightly in sleep and the other simply lounging, watching me with clear, green eyes. I know these cats, if only in passing. I have sat on the floor with them, running my hair stick back and forth across the uneven surface as they pounce, bat, and bite it.
When was I last here?
A year? More?
I make my way to the back corner where science fiction and fantasy are laced together on the shelves, followed by one of the cats. Grace tossed aside, he leaps from the counter and charges past the shelves; his little thudding feet leave echos trailing behind him. Immediately, he jumps upon a chair, staring at me with loving eyes. I lean over, allowing him to climb to my shoulder. There I stroke him, soft fur sliding past my finger tips, pulling a silky purr into the air. This is not enough however, and he continues to climb on me, finally settling on my back, leaving me bent over to accommodate. His feet tucked in beneath him, he is the contented victor, having conquered the giant. I stand, bent over like a broken doll still left on display and stare at the books on the bottom shelf. Cookbooks and photography. I make a mental note to return, but never do. A minute passes and the cat leaves with no explanation. I straighten and take the last few steps to my chosen genre.
Here, where spines wear authors and titles like strange garb from the far away lands in which they take place, I inhale and close my eyes, soaking in the atmosphere of the books that no longer have homes. This is a shelter, a place where those who find themselves unwanted are taken, a place where those who are lonely come.
The cat has returned. He sits beside my feet, talking to me. His voice fills the space around him as clearly as if it were solid matter ballooning from his small form. My gaze flitters across the shelves and comes to rest on a note taped to a nearby door.
"Do not let cats in this room no matter how much they beg."
He meows again.
"No." I tell him, gentle and firm, but I still smile.
Moments later, one of the store workers enters that back room, and the cat slips in. She calls to him, trying to navigate the stacks of boxes, all of which hold promising books. He proves stubborn however, and refuses to emerge.
I return to the books. There are names I recognize and names I have never before encountered. Goblin Moon by Teresa Edgerton catches my eye, as does The Gnome's Engine. I start my book pile with them. I've never heard of the writer, but if I only read authors I already knew about, I would have far fewer books and much less happiness. I step to the side and lift my focus a few shelves higher. There, tucked away in shadow, are various works of Patricia McKillip. With a quiet sigh floating to the floor in the company of now startled dust motes, I carefully bring down Od Magic, still robed in Kinuko Y. Craft's cover art. This is a piece of my beginnings. I remember curling up with my mother under the covers of her bed, sunlight gleaming in the windows as I listened to her read, her voice crafting poetry from prose. Od Magic was one of our favorites, the color of the cover matched by the color of McKillip's descriptions and characters. Yes, well known and loved, this book will accompany me home as well. I also select Riddle of Stars, having never read the trilogy before, and had I unlimited time and the ability to do so, I would clutch more books to my heart and bring them home like baby birds in need of a mother, but Earth spins on her toes with no intention of slowing, no matter how desperately I may plea.
Forcibly removing myself from the shelves where temptations beckon me sweetly, but not quite ready to leave the quiet little store, I cross the floor again, this time entering a little reading nook, populated by chairs, a couch, and a few small tables the perfect size for a pile of books and a laptop to comfortably sit together. The nearest table is taken by a dozing fellow. A little out of shape, his dark hair is warm from sunlight. I give him a polite hello as I take the chair closest to him. He opens shining eyes and answers with a soft meow and a tail twitch. We talk in whispers, gentle sounds in different tongues, as I rub behind his ears. We can hear the store workers talking.
"Brody got in the back again." Her voice rests somewhere between concern and irritation.
"I'll go get him." A man answers, seemingly resigned.
This place is owned and run by a family. They don't aim to make it large or particularly profitable, so it stays small and quiet near the edge of the square in a town where most citizens would rather go hunting than read, and there is nothing wrong with that. I like the small and quiet. I love the empty spaces and dancing shadows. I enjoy the peace here.
The door to the back room opens again, and I hear the man talking to Brody. "Go over there. There's a girl over there. She'll pet you."
Sure enough, I hear once more the echoing of little cat feet. Brody crashes onto the table between me and his brother. Tail high, he greets me with trilling song as I restack the toppled books. These he chooses to rub his cheeks against whilst sprawling across my purse.
"You can stuff him in your purse and take him home with you." The man reminds me of my father, not fond of cats, but loving people who are, and thus doomed to look after the small, bothersome beasts. Regardless, they are a part of his team.
I laugh. "I already have enough cats at home."
"Another cat person," he chuckles to himself before walking away into the forest of covers, spines, and pages.
I never once looked up from cats or books to see his face, to sketch in my memory how his face folded when he smiled or the manner in which he took a single step.
Eventually, I ease Brody off of my bag with apologies and careful movements, finally making my way back to the front desk. Somehow, I still have credit here, and it applies to all the books but one. I pay what is due and thank them, slipping back out the door with a little wave goodbye to the cats. It's sunny out by now, and I wish it wasn't. Rain, however light, always seems right when the day involves a used bookstore, especially a quiet one, but I count my blessings that the books stay easily dry.
Once in the car, I flip the pages of each book, smiling at them lovingly. Each used bookstore smells slightly different, as if the books have been talking to each other, sharing their stories and trading news of outside places. One day, when I am old and many of the books in my library are even older, my skin will be wrinkled and the books' pages will be yellowed, and both will still be filled with love and quiet.
And maybe, just maybe, a bit of cat hair.
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Saturday, August 1, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Raining Spring: In Which I Am the Polar Bear
After a few occasions in which the sky dumped snow and the night froze said snow solid for several days, spring may finally be setting in. At least I hope it is. I have woken up to find sunlight and bird song outside my window, only to have it cruelly snatched away by daylight savings. Thus, I am more than ready for spring, for flowers, for tall grass, and even for the allergies that come from all of those blooming plants.
Our last snow and freeze was, admittedly, fun. In many areas of the yard, the ice was thick enough to hold my weight. I located especially smooth areas and let myself be a child again for a little while. Lying down with my back on the glass-like surface and breathing in the cold air, I contemplated the sky of a frozen Faerie Land. Moments later, I was sliding around in little half circles and giggling. There is no point in being grown-up if you can't stop and be a child at times. I also went about on my hands and knees saying "I am the polar bear!" I do not know why. It just happened. Occasionally, I would attempt to find weak spots in the ice and break it by slamming my "front paws" into it, like an actual polar bear might do. This didn't work quite as well as I had hoped, since usually it was my knees or backside that broke the ice instead, at which point my cry was "I am the fat polar bear!" because no polar bear breaks the ice that way.
Children play games where they pretend to be something or someone other than what they are. It's not something they plan out. They just do it. As we get older, we lose this ability. It becomes harder to shed our skins, to simply play. But maybe hope isn't lost for the grownups. Perhaps we can still step outside ourselves; it just takes a little magic.
The snow melt was beautiful. Light reflected off of the remaining sheets, illuminating falling drops and providing contrast to the vibrant green grass slowly being revealed. Taking my freshly charged camera, I set out once more to take some pictures.
Our last snow and freeze was, admittedly, fun. In many areas of the yard, the ice was thick enough to hold my weight. I located especially smooth areas and let myself be a child again for a little while. Lying down with my back on the glass-like surface and breathing in the cold air, I contemplated the sky of a frozen Faerie Land. Moments later, I was sliding around in little half circles and giggling. There is no point in being grown-up if you can't stop and be a child at times. I also went about on my hands and knees saying "I am the polar bear!" I do not know why. It just happened. Occasionally, I would attempt to find weak spots in the ice and break it by slamming my "front paws" into it, like an actual polar bear might do. This didn't work quite as well as I had hoped, since usually it was my knees or backside that broke the ice instead, at which point my cry was "I am the fat polar bear!" because no polar bear breaks the ice that way.
Children play games where they pretend to be something or someone other than what they are. It's not something they plan out. They just do it. As we get older, we lose this ability. It becomes harder to shed our skins, to simply play. But maybe hope isn't lost for the grownups. Perhaps we can still step outside ourselves; it just takes a little magic.
The snow melt was beautiful. Light reflected off of the remaining sheets, illuminating falling drops and providing contrast to the vibrant green grass slowly being revealed. Taking my freshly charged camera, I set out once more to take some pictures.
Temperatures rose a few days ago. The little frogs began to sing again. Deciding to take a break, I trekked through the still muddy field into the woods. I hadn't journeyed far, when my cat, who had been following me at a distance, stood on her hind feet and stared intently at something over the hill. I had to walk a few yards to see what had attracted her attention, her litter-mate and my sister's cat, Shadow. Once he saw me, he decided to walk with me, which usually means he winds himself tightly between my feet. As I was on a sloping pond bank at the time, it is possible he was attempting to drown me. One can never say for sure with cats. After about fifteen minutes of frantic affection, he decided to follow at a more leisurely distance.
Venturing into a part of the woods I had previously left largely unexplored, I ducked under low branches and wove around fallen tree limbs.
Eventually, I came across a tree with a little well in its base where rain water and melted snow had gathered. It was the perfect size for a cat to drink from, which both Lizzy and Shadow preceded to do.
Finally, I decided to go home. Along my winding path back, Shadow found a stump on which to pose. Cats are fully aware of how beautiful they are and what colors bring that out; Shadow is no exception.
The last day or so, the sky has lazily drizzled rain from above, and the little peeper frogs have been singing contentedly. With God's blessing, this may be the beginning of spring, rather than a small moment of warmth in late winter. I'd like to be able to take more rambling walks with my camera and feline escorts for company in the near future.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
The Unexpected Gift
In the early morning,
before the sunrise,
little padded feet
approach the Christmas tree.
They are not the child's;
she rests above.
They are not Santa's,
for he has come and gone.
These belong
to a Christmas kitten,
covered in soft,
tabby fur.
She stalks the stocking
of the little girl.
She thought she saw it move.
Surely,
it moved.
The stocking falls over,
toppled by one quick whap.
Candy falls out,
but doesn't skitter.
It is the mane
of a little
unicorn
that draws the attention
of a pair
of gold green eyes.
Oh, alas.
The unicorn had no chance.
Pounced upon,
kicked,
and licked.
All
savagely.
A light clicks on,
and a gasp breaks free.
Little Tina on the landing.
Her unicorn badly mauled.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't scream.
She laughs,
and that
by far
is her favorite gift
that night.
before the sunrise,
little padded feet
approach the Christmas tree.
They are not the child's;
she rests above.
They are not Santa's,
for he has come and gone.
These belong
to a Christmas kitten,
covered in soft,
tabby fur.
She stalks the stocking
of the little girl.
She thought she saw it move.
Surely,
it moved.
The stocking falls over,
toppled by one quick whap.
Candy falls out,
but doesn't skitter.
It is the mane
of a little
unicorn
that draws the attention
of a pair
of gold green eyes.
Oh, alas.
The unicorn had no chance.
Pounced upon,
kicked,
and licked.
All
savagely.
A light clicks on,
and a gasp breaks free.
Little Tina on the landing.
Her unicorn badly mauled.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't scream.
She laughs,
and that
by far
is her favorite gift
that night.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Having Cats is Rather Like Having Children
I like taking walks. Wandering along paths with the sky above me, surrounded by trees and grass, is, for me, soothing. My mother says that, when I was still very small, when I cried and cried, she would take me outside, and I would go still, staring up at the trees. Outside is a place of peace for me.
A few weeks ago, I decided to go out to the goat pasture nearby. It's where my mother used to walk when she was my age. She had taken me there a few times, so I know the way. I set out across the field towards the gate, and I had barely passed the little pond when Sparkle came trotting up to me. She is, perhaps, the sweetest of our cats. I petted her a little and continued on my way. When I reached the fence a few minutes later, she was still following me. I didn't want to lead her off of the property, so I walked back to the little pond, Sparkle following me loyally. I sat down at the edge of the pond, and, after she had determined that I was not going to fall in and drown, Sparkle settled down in the shade of a tree. For a while I prodded some pond scum with a stick, at least until I felt certain that Sparkle wouldn't follow me.
I made my way back to the fence, refusing to look back in case that might encourage her. When I reached the fence, she was at my feet again. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't cross the fence. I climbed up and over the fence and continued on my way. A few yards later I heard panting so loud that it could have been my grandparents' Labrador. It was Sparkle. She looked up at me and mewed quite quietly. Looking down at her, I knew she would follow me all day, even if it killed her. It was ninety degrees outside. She'd pass out from dehydration and exhaustion. I picked her up and carried her all the way home. She wasn't happy about that. Sparkle is not one for holding still for long periods of time, especially when she's being held against her will.
I opened the back door, and she sprang from my arms, nearly tumbling down the stairs to the cool basement. Promptly, she located a shadow and flopped over, still panting. My mother and I sat down beside her. Despite her excessive panting, Sparkle still insisted on purring as she was petted.
We set a bowl of cool water beside her and talked a little.
"Having cats is like having children, isn't it?" I commented, watching Sparkle's heaving side as she stretched out so that she could rest her chin on the floor too. It did make sense. Cats will follow you about just because they love you, as will children, and, just like with Sparkle, having children often means you can't go where you want or do what you want, but you don't really mind all that much.
"Yes." There was a laugh in my mother's eyes. A laugh that said "More so than you know."
A few weeks ago, I decided to go out to the goat pasture nearby. It's where my mother used to walk when she was my age. She had taken me there a few times, so I know the way. I set out across the field towards the gate, and I had barely passed the little pond when Sparkle came trotting up to me. She is, perhaps, the sweetest of our cats. I petted her a little and continued on my way. When I reached the fence a few minutes later, she was still following me. I didn't want to lead her off of the property, so I walked back to the little pond, Sparkle following me loyally. I sat down at the edge of the pond, and, after she had determined that I was not going to fall in and drown, Sparkle settled down in the shade of a tree. For a while I prodded some pond scum with a stick, at least until I felt certain that Sparkle wouldn't follow me.
I made my way back to the fence, refusing to look back in case that might encourage her. When I reached the fence, she was at my feet again. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't cross the fence. I climbed up and over the fence and continued on my way. A few yards later I heard panting so loud that it could have been my grandparents' Labrador. It was Sparkle. She looked up at me and mewed quite quietly. Looking down at her, I knew she would follow me all day, even if it killed her. It was ninety degrees outside. She'd pass out from dehydration and exhaustion. I picked her up and carried her all the way home. She wasn't happy about that. Sparkle is not one for holding still for long periods of time, especially when she's being held against her will.
I opened the back door, and she sprang from my arms, nearly tumbling down the stairs to the cool basement. Promptly, she located a shadow and flopped over, still panting. My mother and I sat down beside her. Despite her excessive panting, Sparkle still insisted on purring as she was petted.
We set a bowl of cool water beside her and talked a little.
"Having cats is like having children, isn't it?" I commented, watching Sparkle's heaving side as she stretched out so that she could rest her chin on the floor too. It did make sense. Cats will follow you about just because they love you, as will children, and, just like with Sparkle, having children often means you can't go where you want or do what you want, but you don't really mind all that much.
"Yes." There was a laugh in my mother's eyes. A laugh that said "More so than you know."
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Beautiful Encounters on a Walk
The weather has finally reached my favorite temperatures, mid-seventies to mid-eighties, with gentle whispers of wind. Windows are open throughout the house, and the area that I sit in is almost always caught in a pleasant cross breeze. I love early summer. Nearly every other day, I climb over the fence and walk in the field behind the house. The grasses reach my waist and brush against my wrists as I meander here and there. It could almost be a setting for one of those commercials that feature such settings, usually advertising hair products. However, low lying black berry briars, burrs, snakes, and other agents of nature make wearing skirts, shorts, sandals, or flip-flops horribly impractical. On one point I do have to agree with advertisers: a field in the summer is certainly beautiful.
I've started to take my camera with me almost any time I go outside. As a result, I have a lot of pictures, most of which are from Friday and Sunday. I generally go straight to the larger of our two ponds, take some pictures, and sit and think for a while. There is always a chorus of little frogs making big noises, a dance of water bugs and dragonflies, and the fleeing of tadpoles. When I was little, we lived in a house with a clear, shallow creek on either side of the property. I would wade in and catch tadpoles, feeling their slippery skin against my fingers before letting them back into the creek when the water ran out of my hands. Tadpoles give me a sense of calm, one that I can soak into my heart as I sit on the pond's bank, so, late Sunday afternoon, I decided to go to the pond again. Before I even left the yard, I came across someone who had visited the driveway that morning.
He was a particularly fearless three-toed box turtle. He had gone straight up to one of the cats and then my bare toes before changing directions in favor of a worm that was trying to keep from drowning in the light rain. The turtle was also munching on the dried out worms that had died a day or two before. I had always imagined the dried ones would be something like bacon bits but with more protein. It's actually surprising that I never tried eating them when I was little. When I saw him again that afternoon, he was on the other side of the yard
Looking up from visiting with my reptile acquaintance, I saw that my trip to the pond would be delayed. I had set out later than usual, and the cows had beaten me to my destination. Since they were there first, I sat on the fence for a while and took pictures of them with two of the cats nearby, one of which was my sister's cat, Shadow, previously referred to as Insta-purr.
Eventually, I hopped down on the other side and explored a part of the field that I had previously been uninterested in. The difference now is that the thistle there is in bloom. A large, yellow butterfly was perched on one of the blooms, and I was hopeful that I could get close enough to get a picture before it left. Because of the distraction tactics of Shadow and Sparkle, one of the sweetest felines I've ever come across, the butterfly was long gone when I reached the thistle. However, I did get a few good pictures of the two cats.
I've started to take my camera with me almost any time I go outside. As a result, I have a lot of pictures, most of which are from Friday and Sunday. I generally go straight to the larger of our two ponds, take some pictures, and sit and think for a while. There is always a chorus of little frogs making big noises, a dance of water bugs and dragonflies, and the fleeing of tadpoles. When I was little, we lived in a house with a clear, shallow creek on either side of the property. I would wade in and catch tadpoles, feeling their slippery skin against my fingers before letting them back into the creek when the water ran out of my hands. Tadpoles give me a sense of calm, one that I can soak into my heart as I sit on the pond's bank, so, late Sunday afternoon, I decided to go to the pond again. Before I even left the yard, I came across someone who had visited the driveway that morning.
He was a particularly fearless three-toed box turtle. He had gone straight up to one of the cats and then my bare toes before changing directions in favor of a worm that was trying to keep from drowning in the light rain. The turtle was also munching on the dried out worms that had died a day or two before. I had always imagined the dried ones would be something like bacon bits but with more protein. It's actually surprising that I never tried eating them when I was little. When I saw him again that afternoon, he was on the other side of the yard
Looking up from visiting with my reptile acquaintance, I saw that my trip to the pond would be delayed. I had set out later than usual, and the cows had beaten me to my destination. Since they were there first, I sat on the fence for a while and took pictures of them with two of the cats nearby, one of which was my sister's cat, Shadow, previously referred to as Insta-purr.
Eventually, I hopped down on the other side and explored a part of the field that I had previously been uninterested in. The difference now is that the thistle there is in bloom. A large, yellow butterfly was perched on one of the blooms, and I was hopeful that I could get close enough to get a picture before it left. Because of the distraction tactics of Shadow and Sparkle, one of the sweetest felines I've ever come across, the butterfly was long gone when I reached the thistle. However, I did get a few good pictures of the two cats.
Taking pictures and playing with the cats, I realized that when I sat down, or even crouched, the grasses came up past my head. A field is a wonderful place to hide in the summer, so long as one keeps an eye out for cow patties.
Although the butterfly had left the thistle, two fat bees were busying themselves there when I arrived. They buzzed and hummed around the purple blooms. Bees really are such pretty insects; sometimes I am baffled by the fear held by many who are not allergic. The thistle was beautiful with or without bees or butterflies.
When I finished with the thistle, I went and sat on a part of the fence that overlooks the road we live on. On the other side of the asphalt is a wood. There are pale trees that speak of age with their cracked trunks and reaching branches. I would hardly be surprised to learn that the door to Fairy Land was there. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that there was a door in our woods either. All forests and woods have a degree of magic to them. Why else would so many fairy tales from so many different countries take place in forests?
When the cows left the big pond, I scurried to its rocky banks. Most of it is surrounded by a steep incline that levels off at the top. On one side is the pond and on the other is the woods.
I like to sit there and think or just listen to music. It is a safe place, a place where I can fill the sky and fields with thoughts and musings. I took some more pictures and mentally noted places that would be nice for pictures of people. I don't often get human subjects to work with, so I do my best when they are available.
Satisfied with the pictures I had taken, I left the pond. It was getting relatively late, but there was still enough light that I loathed the idea of returning to the house. Instead, I made my way to the smaller pond, following trails of trodden down grass that the cows had left behind. At one point I had to stop to pull a bur out of my sock. I reached the bank and plopped down. Unlike the larger pond, this one has hardly any slope to it's bank; the ground is almost level. I looked at the edges of the water and saw little black water snails moving about, climbing over each other and searching for food. It was then that I realized that someone was sitting next to me.
He was a little western ribbon snake, black with yellow stripes. Having grown up in the area, I knew he wasn't venomous. I slowly pulled my camera from its case and turned it on, careful not to startle him. He held perfectly still. I took several pictures of him, each time expecting him to dart to the water. When I finished taking pictures, I tried to encourage him to run away. I lightly touched the tip of his tail a few times, but he only curled the tip away a centimeter or two. Carefully, I stroked his middle, smooth scales sliding past my finger. He still made no move to leave. If he wanted to stay, I wouldn't argue. Turning my gaze from the sweet little reptile, I looked out across the pond.
I love reflections and light. The pond was quite simply lovely to see, and there was a slight breeze. An orange image of a battery blinked at me from my camera's screen. I had taken several pictures in the last few days, so it wasn't any surprise. I took a few more pictures and looked back at the snake. Slowly I reached toward him where he could see me then took pictures as he sped away across the water full of clouds, little head held high.
As I waded through the tall grass on my way home, I thought about Father. He takes such care with every little detail: each of the snake's scales, each whisker on my silly kitties, and each breath that I take. He doesn't do all of this out of obligation. He does this because He loves so entirely and so vastly. More beautiful to me than that which He creates is His love.
This morning, I looked up the western ribbon snake and something caught my attention: the eyes of the adult snake pictured. They were small in proportion to its head compared to the one I sat with on Sunday. I checked and there was the text to confirm my new suspicion. "The young are born from late June to September... At birth, young western ribbon snakes are from 230 to 250 mm (9 to 10 inches) in length." That was the right length and relative time of year, and it would explain why he has such large eyes. He's a baby. He didn't run from me immediately because he hasn't learned to be afraid of me. People are wrong when they say that ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is only frustration and uninformed mistakes. Innocence is bliss.
Monday, August 12, 2013
I Am Not Afraid of the Vacuum Cleaner
Well, I'm not. My father, however, is convinced that I am. He does have reasons for thinking so, but those reasons are wrong.
Dad's reason #1: I close my door when he starts vacuuming.
My reason #1: I am almost always at my computer, listening to my music. I close the door so that I can still hear my music.
Dad's reason #2: I leave the vicinity when he starts vacuuming.
My reason #2: It honestly depends on what I'm doing. Usually I'm already in my room, but if I'm in the area being vacuumed and don't need to hear much at the time or recall an urgent errand, I actually stay put and curl up on the furniture to keep out of the way. Sometimes I think my father might have selective memory.
Dad's reason #3: I would run upstairs when he started vacuuming when I was little.
My reason #3: Know what? I was genuinely afraid of the vacuum cleaner when I was little, but I'm not now. I have come to a more reasonable understanding of the world after several years.
Why I was afraid of the vacuum when I was little:
1. It was loud.
2. The cats were afraid of it; presumably, they had good cause to be.
3. It ate things, toys, beads, and I'd even seen it try to eat my sister's hair.
4. I was told repeatedly not to go near the lawn mower when it was on. It would cut off my toes. The vacuum cleaner is basically a lawn mower for the inside. I was being smart and safe by running away.
If I had seen very many AI films at that age, I probably would have had vacuum nightmares too.
Dad's reason #1: I close my door when he starts vacuuming.
My reason #1: I am almost always at my computer, listening to my music. I close the door so that I can still hear my music.
Dad's reason #2: I leave the vicinity when he starts vacuuming.
My reason #2: It honestly depends on what I'm doing. Usually I'm already in my room, but if I'm in the area being vacuumed and don't need to hear much at the time or recall an urgent errand, I actually stay put and curl up on the furniture to keep out of the way. Sometimes I think my father might have selective memory.
Dad's reason #3: I would run upstairs when he started vacuuming when I was little.
My reason #3: Know what? I was genuinely afraid of the vacuum cleaner when I was little, but I'm not now. I have come to a more reasonable understanding of the world after several years.
Why I was afraid of the vacuum when I was little:
1. It was loud.
2. The cats were afraid of it; presumably, they had good cause to be.
3. It ate things, toys, beads, and I'd even seen it try to eat my sister's hair.
4. I was told repeatedly not to go near the lawn mower when it was on. It would cut off my toes. The vacuum cleaner is basically a lawn mower for the inside. I was being smart and safe by running away.
If I had seen very many AI films at that age, I probably would have had vacuum nightmares too.
Monday, May 27, 2013
The Fairy Queen's Maid
Once there lived a girl named Daisy. She had golden hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin. Her father was a wood cutter, and he loved her very much. Anytime she went to play in the forest, he cautioned her to be careful and not to wander too far. He died when she was seven. Now, Daisy had a brown tabby cat that she loved with all her heart. The day her father died, she wept and wept, but her cat pawed at her arm and said, "Get to your feet, Child. You must find your way in the world, or there'll be no food for either of us.
"But Kitty," the young girl sniffled, "I have no skills with which to make my way."
"Hush now, pack your clothes and any food you can find." Kitty said, "I know where we can find work, but it may take a few nights to reach. When you're packed, go to sleep, for the path may only be seen in moonlight."
Daisy did as she was told and soon was fast asleep. She awoke to the calling of Kitty and hurried to her.
"It's time to leave. Are you afraid?"
"No, Kitty. I am not afraid."
With that, the two slipped into the night, following a moon milk silver path. They silently stole past the sleeping doe, the hunting wolf, and the singing insects, as they entered the woods. It was hours before either spoke, but Daisy finally did.
"Kitty, where is it we will find work?"
"At the Fairy Queen's palace, Little One," Kitty purred.
These words Daisy took to heart, for the Queen of fairies was said to be the kindest and most beautiful being. No human had ever found her palace, but Daisy trusted Kitty more than anyone else, so she picked up her pace and followed the cat as diligently as ever. For many more hours, they walked.
"Oh Kitty!" Daisy finally burst, "I am so thirsty. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," the cat responded, "we mustn't stop yet. A little bag of water is in your pack. Drink from it."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west.
"Wake, Child. We must be on our way."
They walked for hours and hours in silence until Daisy cried out to Kitty, "Oh Kitty! I am so hungry. Please let us rest for a spell."
But Kitty replied, "Dear child, we mustn't stop yet. There is food in your pack. Eat of that."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a second little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west. Then they awoke and continued on their way. They walked for longer than they had either night before, and Daisy began to be afraid that they would never stop. "Oh Kitty," she wept, "I am so tired. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," Kitty whispered, "we mustn't stop yet. A little farther, I beg you."
And so Daisy continued on, weeping, for her shoes were worn to tatters and her legs could barely support her, but it was not long after that they reached a third little glade where Kitty told her to rest. It was when the next day's sun was high that Kitty woke Daisy.
"Child," she purred, "we are nearly at the Fairy Queen's palace. We must now follow the path lined with rose bushes."
In moments, they reached the palace. There they were given baths, food, and a good night's sleep. The next day, they had an audience with the Queen, who was as lovely as any story and more. She had the longest golden tresses, that rivaled the sun; violet eyes, that inspired song; and a smile like every mother's. Upon hearing of Daisy's predicament, she insisted on being of help. It was thus that, as long as Daisy helped the maids wherever she could, she would be provided with food, an education, and a place to sleep. Kitty was also provided with food and was allowed to sleep with Daisy, if she kept the mouse and rat population to a minimum. They lived there happily for many years, and Daisy grew into a beautiful young woman.
She was out in the forest one day, gathering berries, when she saw a magnificent grasshopper caught in a web. Her heart ached with sympathy, and she cut him loose.
"Thank you fair maiden," he said with a bow, "What can I do to repay you?"
"Nothing is needed," the sweet Daisy replied
"Then take this crown, for I am the King of grasshoppers, and when you need me, put it on your little finger, and I will be there."
"Thank you very much." Daisy took the crown, put it in her pocket, and continued along.
The next day, she was sent to the fairy market. On her way down the path, Daisy heard a frog crying at the bank of a pond
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"I was playing with my silver ball, but when I threw it into the air, it became lodged in that tree above us, and now I can't reach it."
"Oh." Daisy said. She looked up and spotted the ball. It was just out of her reach. Refusing to give up, for a weeping frog is the most heart wrenching sound, Daisy picked up a stick and poked at the ball until it fell to the ground, where the frog happily reclaimed it.
"Thank you so much!" he croaked, "As heir to the amphibian throne, I vow that, should you ever need my assistance in return, you need only drop a pebble in this pond."
"Thank you," Daisy said, and she picked up a pebble and slipped it in her pocket.
A week later, she was tending the fire in the great hall after everyone else had gone to bed, when she saw something moving in the flames. A salamander had become trapped when a piece of wood fell on top of his tail.
Taking the poker, Daisy lifted the wood just long enough for the salamander to crawl out.
"Many thanks, I don't know how long I would have been trapped, if not for you," he gasped.
"It was the least I could do." she assured him.
"My kingdom and I are in debt to you," he said, "Take this piece of charcoal, and, if you ever need my help, throw it into a fire."
She graciously accepted the gift and slid it into her pocket. It was months before she ever needed any of their help.
It came to pass that the Fairy Queen called Daisy into the throne room.
"Dearest Daisy," the Queen said, "my cousin seeks a bride, and you are kind, beautiful, and true to your word. I do not know of a better bride. If you are willing, he has set three tasks that you must complete, for his bride must be worthy."
"I would love nothing more." Daisy replied, for the Queen's cousin was rumored to be a true and wise gentleman.
"The first task is to raise an army that is small but large. He will be here in the morning."
Later in the day, Daisy related all of this to Kitty, who softly replied, "Call upon the Grasshopper King. I have a plan for you."
So Daisy placed the crown on her little finger, and Kitty explained her plan to him.
The next day, the Queen's cousin was greeted by an army of grasshoppers, riding steeds of mice. They numbered in the thousands, and he consented that, although they were small, they certainly made a large army. He then set the next task: to bring forth a wonderful sound from an unconventional orchestra. She had two weeks time.
Daisy didn't need Kitty's advice this time. She hurried down to the frog prince's pond and dropped the pebble in.
"How may I help you?" he burbled, for his mouth was still partly underwater.
"I need your finest musicians to play a song at the palace of the Fairy Queen in two weeks time. I hope I'm not asking too much."
"Consider it done."
And indeed, in two weeks, everyone in the palace was drawn to the windows by the sweetest sound. The fairy children rushed to the courtyard and tried to dance like adults. The adults closed their eyes and let the sounds wash over them.
"Well done," the Fairy Queen's cousin told Daisy, "Tomorrow, you will answer a riddle."
The next morning, Daisy was brought to the throne room.
"Tell me," the Queen's cousin began, "What burns in our homes, out of our homes, and is not fire? What has a heart and a mind, but is rarely seen?"
Daisy thought and was at a loss until she felt the charcoal in her pocket. Then she laughed. "The answer is that which is lost in legend, the salamander."
After she returned to her room, she threw the charcoal into the fire and thanked the Salamander King for his help.
The morning of the wedding, which was to be a grand affair with fairies, grasshoppers, amphibians, and salamanders in attendance, Daisy stood by a window alongside Kitty.
"Are you afraid?" Kitty asked.
"Yes, Kitty. I am very afraid."
"You needn't be, for I will be with you always."
And she was.
"But Kitty," the young girl sniffled, "I have no skills with which to make my way."
"Hush now, pack your clothes and any food you can find." Kitty said, "I know where we can find work, but it may take a few nights to reach. When you're packed, go to sleep, for the path may only be seen in moonlight."
Daisy did as she was told and soon was fast asleep. She awoke to the calling of Kitty and hurried to her.
"It's time to leave. Are you afraid?"
"No, Kitty. I am not afraid."
With that, the two slipped into the night, following a moon milk silver path. They silently stole past the sleeping doe, the hunting wolf, and the singing insects, as they entered the woods. It was hours before either spoke, but Daisy finally did.
"Kitty, where is it we will find work?"
"At the Fairy Queen's palace, Little One," Kitty purred.
These words Daisy took to heart, for the Queen of fairies was said to be the kindest and most beautiful being. No human had ever found her palace, but Daisy trusted Kitty more than anyone else, so she picked up her pace and followed the cat as diligently as ever. For many more hours, they walked.
"Oh Kitty!" Daisy finally burst, "I am so thirsty. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," the cat responded, "we mustn't stop yet. A little bag of water is in your pack. Drink from it."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west.
"Wake, Child. We must be on our way."
They walked for hours and hours in silence until Daisy cried out to Kitty, "Oh Kitty! I am so hungry. Please let us rest for a spell."
But Kitty replied, "Dear child, we mustn't stop yet. There is food in your pack. Eat of that."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a second little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west. Then they awoke and continued on their way. They walked for longer than they had either night before, and Daisy began to be afraid that they would never stop. "Oh Kitty," she wept, "I am so tired. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," Kitty whispered, "we mustn't stop yet. A little farther, I beg you."
And so Daisy continued on, weeping, for her shoes were worn to tatters and her legs could barely support her, but it was not long after that they reached a third little glade where Kitty told her to rest. It was when the next day's sun was high that Kitty woke Daisy.
"Child," she purred, "we are nearly at the Fairy Queen's palace. We must now follow the path lined with rose bushes."
In moments, they reached the palace. There they were given baths, food, and a good night's sleep. The next day, they had an audience with the Queen, who was as lovely as any story and more. She had the longest golden tresses, that rivaled the sun; violet eyes, that inspired song; and a smile like every mother's. Upon hearing of Daisy's predicament, she insisted on being of help. It was thus that, as long as Daisy helped the maids wherever she could, she would be provided with food, an education, and a place to sleep. Kitty was also provided with food and was allowed to sleep with Daisy, if she kept the mouse and rat population to a minimum. They lived there happily for many years, and Daisy grew into a beautiful young woman.
She was out in the forest one day, gathering berries, when she saw a magnificent grasshopper caught in a web. Her heart ached with sympathy, and she cut him loose.
"Thank you fair maiden," he said with a bow, "What can I do to repay you?"
"Nothing is needed," the sweet Daisy replied
"Then take this crown, for I am the King of grasshoppers, and when you need me, put it on your little finger, and I will be there."
"Thank you very much." Daisy took the crown, put it in her pocket, and continued along.
The next day, she was sent to the fairy market. On her way down the path, Daisy heard a frog crying at the bank of a pond
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"I was playing with my silver ball, but when I threw it into the air, it became lodged in that tree above us, and now I can't reach it."
"Oh." Daisy said. She looked up and spotted the ball. It was just out of her reach. Refusing to give up, for a weeping frog is the most heart wrenching sound, Daisy picked up a stick and poked at the ball until it fell to the ground, where the frog happily reclaimed it.
"Thank you so much!" he croaked, "As heir to the amphibian throne, I vow that, should you ever need my assistance in return, you need only drop a pebble in this pond."
"Thank you," Daisy said, and she picked up a pebble and slipped it in her pocket.
A week later, she was tending the fire in the great hall after everyone else had gone to bed, when she saw something moving in the flames. A salamander had become trapped when a piece of wood fell on top of his tail.
Taking the poker, Daisy lifted the wood just long enough for the salamander to crawl out.
"Many thanks, I don't know how long I would have been trapped, if not for you," he gasped.
"It was the least I could do." she assured him.
"My kingdom and I are in debt to you," he said, "Take this piece of charcoal, and, if you ever need my help, throw it into a fire."
She graciously accepted the gift and slid it into her pocket. It was months before she ever needed any of their help.
It came to pass that the Fairy Queen called Daisy into the throne room.
"Dearest Daisy," the Queen said, "my cousin seeks a bride, and you are kind, beautiful, and true to your word. I do not know of a better bride. If you are willing, he has set three tasks that you must complete, for his bride must be worthy."
"I would love nothing more." Daisy replied, for the Queen's cousin was rumored to be a true and wise gentleman.
"The first task is to raise an army that is small but large. He will be here in the morning."
Later in the day, Daisy related all of this to Kitty, who softly replied, "Call upon the Grasshopper King. I have a plan for you."
So Daisy placed the crown on her little finger, and Kitty explained her plan to him.
The next day, the Queen's cousin was greeted by an army of grasshoppers, riding steeds of mice. They numbered in the thousands, and he consented that, although they were small, they certainly made a large army. He then set the next task: to bring forth a wonderful sound from an unconventional orchestra. She had two weeks time.
Daisy didn't need Kitty's advice this time. She hurried down to the frog prince's pond and dropped the pebble in.
"How may I help you?" he burbled, for his mouth was still partly underwater.
"I need your finest musicians to play a song at the palace of the Fairy Queen in two weeks time. I hope I'm not asking too much."
"Consider it done."
And indeed, in two weeks, everyone in the palace was drawn to the windows by the sweetest sound. The fairy children rushed to the courtyard and tried to dance like adults. The adults closed their eyes and let the sounds wash over them.
"Well done," the Fairy Queen's cousin told Daisy, "Tomorrow, you will answer a riddle."
The next morning, Daisy was brought to the throne room.
"Tell me," the Queen's cousin began, "What burns in our homes, out of our homes, and is not fire? What has a heart and a mind, but is rarely seen?"
Daisy thought and was at a loss until she felt the charcoal in her pocket. Then she laughed. "The answer is that which is lost in legend, the salamander."
After she returned to her room, she threw the charcoal into the fire and thanked the Salamander King for his help.
The morning of the wedding, which was to be a grand affair with fairies, grasshoppers, amphibians, and salamanders in attendance, Daisy stood by a window alongside Kitty.
"Are you afraid?" Kitty asked.
"Yes, Kitty. I am very afraid."
"You needn't be, for I will be with you always."
And she was.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
A is for April. B is for Bee.
A wild Blog Post has appeared! Okay, geeky attempts at a jokes are over for now, probably.
I have been slacking off as of late in regards to my blogging. That much is fairly evident. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to think of a story, or perhaps I've simply been unable to conjure a poem, which is sad, since it is poetry month. Saturday, I sat at my computer and looked outside at the bluejay and the cardinal in our dogwood. I could read more webcomics or go out. What I should do is blog, but I can't think of anything, certainly not anything good. Out it is then. It was thus that I grabbed my camera and slid barefoot into the grass, and thus it was also that you should be provided with this post.
The summer after my fourth grade year, my mother brought my sister and me to Great Grandma's house. She had great, big (okay, great, big to a fourth grader) goose berry bushes. I loved gooseberries. My sister doesn't share that taste. Either way, we both searched thoroughly alongside our cousins. There were thorns, but we were careful. It was when we were playing in the yard that the most exciting part of the day took place. My sister was stung by a bee in her palm. There was great distress, and I got to watch my mother take care of her battle wound. I was at once fascinated, jealous that she got to be the first of the two of us, and embarrassed that she was making such a fuss (even if it did hurt a lot). At all points the phrase "summer after fourth grade" says a lot in way of explanation. Although if we had been older, I probably still would have been fascinated. She stayed in for the rest of the day, but my turn would come many years later. (Although you really should have guessed that by now.)
I have spent a wonderfully large amount of my life out side and a good chunk of that barefoot. If I were native to Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would, quite possibly, have been a hobbit. So it was Saturday that I slipped outside barefoot and trotted over to the flowers I saw, camera in hand. I took several pictures, a handful of which were "photo bombed" by Spirit. She was following me around. After some time I decided to bring something outside. I've always liked pictures that have something from the inside world in the outside world. Enter Rosie, a honey colored teddy bear that I made a "dress" for while watching Frankenstein when I was too young to be very interested. She is the closest thing to a traditional stuffed bear that I have. I posed her around and in a tree and took more pictures (and one of those was also "photo bombed" by Spirit). I picked her up and started to head off for another part of the yard. A few paces from the tree, I was "stabbed" on the bottom of my right foot. I figured it was a thorn. I was, after all, not far from the climbing rose (which doesn't really climb, more of makes a slight curve up then hugs the ground again as if it were afraid of heights). I hobbled a little ways and sat, twisting my foot to see the underside. Nothing really stood out among the grass that was stuck there, nothing except the thing a little closer to the arch than most of the grass. I pulled on it and realized that it had a clear bit attached somehow. Finally, I pulled it out. Low and behold, it was no thorn. It was the back end of a bee, not just a stinger. There was some exoskeleton and the clear stuff was probably some kind of bee gut. My theory is that it was already dismembered when I stepped on it, otherwise there would have been a whole lot more or less bee.
I limped inside and taking a cloth, cleaned it off. After all, there's no point in getting an infection. Then I limped off to find my father and casually ask if bee stings required any special treatment. He was a lot more worried about it than I was. I showed him the little red spot, and he sent me to find a large bandage. Maybe two or three minutes after the initial penetration of skin, it started to hurt a little, if hurt is really the best word for it. It felt different at any rate, odd maybe. When we looked at it agin, it was a red spot in a white circle, which, I was informed, was the poison. We applied the "magic" ingredients, put on the bandage to keep it on my foot, and pulled on a sock to keep the bandage on. After all that, I sat and tried to think of how to describe what it felt like. The best I've been able to come up with is, "a little less than a dull throbbing."
I am perfectly fine at this point. The only evidence is a dark spot under my skin the size of a pinhead, like a splinter.
I have been slacking off as of late in regards to my blogging. That much is fairly evident. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to think of a story, or perhaps I've simply been unable to conjure a poem, which is sad, since it is poetry month. Saturday, I sat at my computer and looked outside at the bluejay and the cardinal in our dogwood. I could read more webcomics or go out. What I should do is blog, but I can't think of anything, certainly not anything good. Out it is then. It was thus that I grabbed my camera and slid barefoot into the grass, and thus it was also that you should be provided with this post.
The summer after my fourth grade year, my mother brought my sister and me to Great Grandma's house. She had great, big (okay, great, big to a fourth grader) goose berry bushes. I loved gooseberries. My sister doesn't share that taste. Either way, we both searched thoroughly alongside our cousins. There were thorns, but we were careful. It was when we were playing in the yard that the most exciting part of the day took place. My sister was stung by a bee in her palm. There was great distress, and I got to watch my mother take care of her battle wound. I was at once fascinated, jealous that she got to be the first of the two of us, and embarrassed that she was making such a fuss (even if it did hurt a lot). At all points the phrase "summer after fourth grade" says a lot in way of explanation. Although if we had been older, I probably still would have been fascinated. She stayed in for the rest of the day, but my turn would come many years later. (Although you really should have guessed that by now.)
I have spent a wonderfully large amount of my life out side and a good chunk of that barefoot. If I were native to Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would, quite possibly, have been a hobbit. So it was Saturday that I slipped outside barefoot and trotted over to the flowers I saw, camera in hand. I took several pictures, a handful of which were "photo bombed" by Spirit. She was following me around. After some time I decided to bring something outside. I've always liked pictures that have something from the inside world in the outside world. Enter Rosie, a honey colored teddy bear that I made a "dress" for while watching Frankenstein when I was too young to be very interested. She is the closest thing to a traditional stuffed bear that I have. I posed her around and in a tree and took more pictures (and one of those was also "photo bombed" by Spirit). I picked her up and started to head off for another part of the yard. A few paces from the tree, I was "stabbed" on the bottom of my right foot. I figured it was a thorn. I was, after all, not far from the climbing rose (which doesn't really climb, more of makes a slight curve up then hugs the ground again as if it were afraid of heights). I hobbled a little ways and sat, twisting my foot to see the underside. Nothing really stood out among the grass that was stuck there, nothing except the thing a little closer to the arch than most of the grass. I pulled on it and realized that it had a clear bit attached somehow. Finally, I pulled it out. Low and behold, it was no thorn. It was the back end of a bee, not just a stinger. There was some exoskeleton and the clear stuff was probably some kind of bee gut. My theory is that it was already dismembered when I stepped on it, otherwise there would have been a whole lot more or less bee.
I limped inside and taking a cloth, cleaned it off. After all, there's no point in getting an infection. Then I limped off to find my father and casually ask if bee stings required any special treatment. He was a lot more worried about it than I was. I showed him the little red spot, and he sent me to find a large bandage. Maybe two or three minutes after the initial penetration of skin, it started to hurt a little, if hurt is really the best word for it. It felt different at any rate, odd maybe. When we looked at it agin, it was a red spot in a white circle, which, I was informed, was the poison. We applied the "magic" ingredients, put on the bandage to keep it on my foot, and pulled on a sock to keep the bandage on. After all that, I sat and tried to think of how to describe what it felt like. The best I've been able to come up with is, "a little less than a dull throbbing."
I am perfectly fine at this point. The only evidence is a dark spot under my skin the size of a pinhead, like a splinter.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
The Meatloaf
Two olive eyes glare at me. I guess they're really more like spots. They belong to it. It being the thing my
father keeps speaking of eating. We know all too well that he won’t. It’s obviously years
past its expiration date. It’s at least eleven years old, the eleven year old meatloaf.
I don’t recall when it started to lose the pan shape. Sometimes it looks vaguely square, but more often than not, it just... is. Shape is hard to describe once hair sprouts, long hair. It’s not all the same color. There’s orange, white, black, but mostly a variety of browns, ranging from a beige to a dark chocolate. Oh, did I mention that it has legs?
It stalks around the house sometimes. Often, it follows me, making... noises, but it will also sit under my desk chair when I’m working, or just lounge on my bed, which is mostly what it does. In the night, I can hear it rumbling from somewhere in the dark. Waking up with its longest hairs up my nose, or in my ear, is not a favorite sensation.
We’re not exactly certain if it is intelligent. Dad says it has the IQ of a tongue depressor. If it is remotely sapient, I believe that The Meatloaf is secretly plotting to take over the house, possibly the county. It might be interested in using us as a food source. It tastes me once a month or so, but its motives are unclear at this time. I’m certain it goes through the papers I leave out while I’m at school. It would, quite possibly, be unstoppable, if it had thumbs.
We have lived peaceably, The Meatloaf and I, these many years. While it has sprouted teeth, nothing much comes from biting me or rubbing its drool or snot on my bare toes. I feed it because, honestly, I’m afraid of what it would eat if I didn’t. It will attack or even chase after our pets, and I will swat at it. Every once and awhile, I try to talk to it, but either it doesn’t understand or doesn’t care.
I don’t recall when it started to lose the pan shape. Sometimes it looks vaguely square, but more often than not, it just... is. Shape is hard to describe once hair sprouts, long hair. It’s not all the same color. There’s orange, white, black, but mostly a variety of browns, ranging from a beige to a dark chocolate. Oh, did I mention that it has legs?
It stalks around the house sometimes. Often, it follows me, making... noises, but it will also sit under my desk chair when I’m working, or just lounge on my bed, which is mostly what it does. In the night, I can hear it rumbling from somewhere in the dark. Waking up with its longest hairs up my nose, or in my ear, is not a favorite sensation.
We’re not exactly certain if it is intelligent. Dad says it has the IQ of a tongue depressor. If it is remotely sapient, I believe that The Meatloaf is secretly plotting to take over the house, possibly the county. It might be interested in using us as a food source. It tastes me once a month or so, but its motives are unclear at this time. I’m certain it goes through the papers I leave out while I’m at school. It would, quite possibly, be unstoppable, if it had thumbs.
We have lived peaceably, The Meatloaf and I, these many years. While it has sprouted teeth, nothing much comes from biting me or rubbing its drool or snot on my bare toes. I feed it because, honestly, I’m afraid of what it would eat if I didn’t. It will attack or even chase after our pets, and I will swat at it. Every once and awhile, I try to talk to it, but either it doesn’t understand or doesn’t care.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Improving The Day
Work has not been that great today. In the last two hours or so, I just wanted to throw things at my coworkers, preferably bananas. I fall asleep for ten minutes after my shift is officially over, then leave for home with a red shape on my forehead where it had pressed against my desk. I toss my paraphernalia on my bed, pull on my jacket, pick up my camera and mp3 player, and slip out the front door. It feels like October. The air is cool and lightly numbs my cheeks. I sit under the walnut tree and think. Tenth Avenue North drifts around in my head. I get so stressed sometimes. A breeze plays with a few loose curls, and I stand up. It isn't really blue today, the sky. It's more of a subtle grey, a calm neutral without the sun glaring at me. I step onto the path that encircles the lawn and runs alongside the fence and start walking. Lil-Bit dances in front of me, beside me, behind me. The silly little kitty won't let me pet her, but doesn't go far. Soon, Spirit, Sir. Sir-A-Lot, and Sparkle Spit join her. There's always one in sight, usually two or three. It's like they're watching me, making sure nothing happens to me. It reminds me. It felt like there was no control at work, no rules, just chaos, and that's never really true. There's always a steady hand that I can trust to lead me. I just have to reach for it and not let the world around me force me to let go, even for a moment. Christ is my corner stone, my foundation. This is a beautiful world, I just have to open my eyes and see it.
I took this the eleventh of February. I stepped out that morning and was entranced by the dark shadow of trees in front of the sun. I took the picture, but was a little surprised by the circles of color that the camera captured. I think it's pretty though.
I took this the eleventh of February. I stepped out that morning and was entranced by the dark shadow of trees in front of the sun. I took the picture, but was a little surprised by the circles of color that the camera captured. I think it's pretty though.
Monday, February 18, 2013
An Update On Your Blogger
Hello. I haven't really given you a proper blog post for a while. You can blame Pinterest. It is the ultimate procrastination tool, even when one does not intend for it to be. I really need to write more.
My sister recently put Red's album Release the Panic on my MP3 player, so occasionally as I write this I'm mouthing the words and dancing a little. Don't laugh at me, you do it with your music sometimes too.
This last week, I have been slightly ill. It's just a lot of snot, so I went ahead and suffered through work. A lot of tissues have been sacrificed, but I am breathing through my nose more often and actually sleeping through the night now. It helps to have kitties to cuddle, but not so much so when their fur gets up my nose.
Soo... It really looks like I'm not giving you a proper post today either. I'm sorry. I'll try to work on a short story, poem, or letter for you guys.
Post Script: Who would google "ode to celery"? I just noticed that that has happened a few times, but I guess I really shouldn't find that so odd, considering that I wrote one.
Have a good week!
My sister recently put Red's album Release the Panic on my MP3 player, so occasionally as I write this I'm mouthing the words and dancing a little. Don't laugh at me, you do it with your music sometimes too.
This last week, I have been slightly ill. It's just a lot of snot, so I went ahead and suffered through work. A lot of tissues have been sacrificed, but I am breathing through my nose more often and actually sleeping through the night now. It helps to have kitties to cuddle, but not so much so when their fur gets up my nose.
Soo... It really looks like I'm not giving you a proper post today either. I'm sorry. I'll try to work on a short story, poem, or letter for you guys.
Post Script: Who would google "ode to celery"? I just noticed that that has happened a few times, but I guess I really shouldn't find that so odd, considering that I wrote one.
Have a good week!
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Good-Night Moon, Good Morning Spider
The summer before last, I became very good at sleeping for twelve hours. When I woke up, I would lay there and look at the Lady of Shed-lots. She has always been my bossy, little guardian. When I went to bed each night, and the blankets settled on my legs, triggering thoughts of spiders crawling around on me, she would be there next to me, giving me a look that clearly said I was imagining it. She gave me a sense of safety.
One morning I woke up as I always did, but a few moments after I opened my eyes, I felt something. It was most definitely not the settling of blankets. I could feel the fall of several individual little legs on my left thigh. I froze, except for my heart, which inevitably quickened its pace. My arms were outside the covers, and I cupped one hand over the spider, keeping the blanket between it and my hand. It couldn't run away now. Arachnid and human stayed still, so that, for a moment, I wondered if it was really there, but no. The feeling it's legs coming down on my skin had been far too real. Beside me on the bed, was the Lady of Shed-lots. I felt a pang of betrayal as she gave me the same look as always. She was supposed to protect me! Although, in truth, a cat outside the blankets could be of little effect against a spider under the blankets.
Without much reason, I somehow made a quick movement and ended up out of the bed, whilst leaving the spider behind. I grabbed something, threw back the covers, and smashed the little abomination. Within my memory, those last two sentences are a swift blur, but the moments leading up to it, an eternity. I picked up the remains in a tissue and dropped it in the trash. I went to my mother and told her what had happened. I'm not sure if she really believed me at first, especially since when she asked what kind it was, I was unable to tell her. I left and returned a few minutes later, with the dead spider bits in tissue. She identified it as a brown recluse, and it had been a rather big one, before it was rendered in the two dimensional.
By all reason that spider should have bitten me. It should have bitten me when I trapped it on top of my vulnerable skin. It should have bitten me when I was asleep. That night I had gone to bed in a night gown. What if it had been on my leg, and I was in full pants? What is the probability that I would go to bed in the only sleepwear that this could have happened with? The only reason I have ever been able to come up with is the only reason I will ever need. It wasn't in God's plan for a brow recluse to bite me on the thigh that morning. As the lions did not harm Daniel, the spider did not harm me. For some reason, He wanted to scare me, and putting a spider in the bed with me was a pretty good way to do that. He kept that spider from biting me, just as He put it there. Things have changed a little because of that too. I tuck in one side of my covers under the mattress so that the blankets don't touch the floor to provide easy access for spiders, and I don't trust the Lady of Shed-lots to keep me safe anymore. His plan is a mystery to me, but I'll continue to trust in him.
One morning I woke up as I always did, but a few moments after I opened my eyes, I felt something. It was most definitely not the settling of blankets. I could feel the fall of several individual little legs on my left thigh. I froze, except for my heart, which inevitably quickened its pace. My arms were outside the covers, and I cupped one hand over the spider, keeping the blanket between it and my hand. It couldn't run away now. Arachnid and human stayed still, so that, for a moment, I wondered if it was really there, but no. The feeling it's legs coming down on my skin had been far too real. Beside me on the bed, was the Lady of Shed-lots. I felt a pang of betrayal as she gave me the same look as always. She was supposed to protect me! Although, in truth, a cat outside the blankets could be of little effect against a spider under the blankets.
Without much reason, I somehow made a quick movement and ended up out of the bed, whilst leaving the spider behind. I grabbed something, threw back the covers, and smashed the little abomination. Within my memory, those last two sentences are a swift blur, but the moments leading up to it, an eternity. I picked up the remains in a tissue and dropped it in the trash. I went to my mother and told her what had happened. I'm not sure if she really believed me at first, especially since when she asked what kind it was, I was unable to tell her. I left and returned a few minutes later, with the dead spider bits in tissue. She identified it as a brown recluse, and it had been a rather big one, before it was rendered in the two dimensional.
By all reason that spider should have bitten me. It should have bitten me when I trapped it on top of my vulnerable skin. It should have bitten me when I was asleep. That night I had gone to bed in a night gown. What if it had been on my leg, and I was in full pants? What is the probability that I would go to bed in the only sleepwear that this could have happened with? The only reason I have ever been able to come up with is the only reason I will ever need. It wasn't in God's plan for a brow recluse to bite me on the thigh that morning. As the lions did not harm Daniel, the spider did not harm me. For some reason, He wanted to scare me, and putting a spider in the bed with me was a pretty good way to do that. He kept that spider from biting me, just as He put it there. Things have changed a little because of that too. I tuck in one side of my covers under the mattress so that the blankets don't touch the floor to provide easy access for spiders, and I don't trust the Lady of Shed-lots to keep me safe anymore. His plan is a mystery to me, but I'll continue to trust in him.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
October
This is part true and part fictionalized and it's not very well written, just so you know.
October could smell the heat and the food, behind those white doors. Cautiously, he ascended the stairs, his full coat of fur soaking up the sun's heat. There were no sounds coming through the door, so he curled up in front of it to soak up the heat that leaked out. He heard another door open and shut then open and shut again. Silently, he pressed against his door and tried to be invisible. Footsteps rhythmically approached along the sidewalk, then stopped. October looked at the human.
"Hello." She had a green jacket, white shoes, and jeans.
October stood up, stretched, and started to descend the stairs. To his dismay, she started to climb the steps and stretch her arm towards him. He glanced towards the bush beside the church steps and took a defensive stance.
She stepped back down on the concrete, "Oh. Okay. I'll leave you alone. It's alright."
October walked down the steps towards her and stopped at her feet. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. Something in October sparked. A memory. Curling up on a little girl's bed and being petted. His mother washing his tabby fur. He pushed into this human's touch and purred. It felt so nice. Her fingers touched the scar on his ear, and it didn't hurt. When was the last time he had been stroked by a human? He rubbed against the back of her legs. Warm and safe. How he'd missed being a human's cat.
Before he knew it, the human was apologizing for having to leave and walking away. He stared after her longingly. A few feet away, she stopped and turned around, "bye." She smiled fondly at him and left. He stayed there and watched her leave in her box on wheels. One day, he knew he'd travel in one to live in a large box with people, just as he had when he was a kitten. He wouldn't forget this female that had reminded him of the warm touch and love of humanity.
I met October today after church. I don't actually know if he was a boy or if he'd ever had a sound given to him, but he has one now. October. He was so friendly, and I hadn't expected it. I hope he does have a home, but even if he doesn't, God will care for him as he does all things.
October,
Thank you for letting me meet you. I'm blessed to be able to have spent time with you. You will be warm and safe in my heart. There will always be people willing to hurt you, but never forget that there are also those who will take you in and love you. Good-bye, sweet cat. I won't forget you.
Kara
October could smell the heat and the food, behind those white doors. Cautiously, he ascended the stairs, his full coat of fur soaking up the sun's heat. There were no sounds coming through the door, so he curled up in front of it to soak up the heat that leaked out. He heard another door open and shut then open and shut again. Silently, he pressed against his door and tried to be invisible. Footsteps rhythmically approached along the sidewalk, then stopped. October looked at the human.
"Hello." She had a green jacket, white shoes, and jeans.
October stood up, stretched, and started to descend the stairs. To his dismay, she started to climb the steps and stretch her arm towards him. He glanced towards the bush beside the church steps and took a defensive stance.
She stepped back down on the concrete, "Oh. Okay. I'll leave you alone. It's alright."
October walked down the steps towards her and stopped at her feet. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. Something in October sparked. A memory. Curling up on a little girl's bed and being petted. His mother washing his tabby fur. He pushed into this human's touch and purred. It felt so nice. Her fingers touched the scar on his ear, and it didn't hurt. When was the last time he had been stroked by a human? He rubbed against the back of her legs. Warm and safe. How he'd missed being a human's cat.
Before he knew it, the human was apologizing for having to leave and walking away. He stared after her longingly. A few feet away, she stopped and turned around, "bye." She smiled fondly at him and left. He stayed there and watched her leave in her box on wheels. One day, he knew he'd travel in one to live in a large box with people, just as he had when he was a kitten. He wouldn't forget this female that had reminded him of the warm touch and love of humanity.
I met October today after church. I don't actually know if he was a boy or if he'd ever had a sound given to him, but he has one now. October. He was so friendly, and I hadn't expected it. I hope he does have a home, but even if he doesn't, God will care for him as he does all things.
October,
Thank you for letting me meet you. I'm blessed to be able to have spent time with you. You will be warm and safe in my heart. There will always be people willing to hurt you, but never forget that there are also those who will take you in and love you. Good-bye, sweet cat. I won't forget you.
Kara
Monday, September 3, 2012
My Loves
I'm afraid that I haven't been blogging as often as I should, so I decided to share this with you. I got the prompt from Build Creative Writing Ideas. Please forgive the formatting errors.
Prompt:
You get a phone call from a strange number. The voice on the other line
says he can reunite you with a lost love, forever. In return, he will
take the life of someone close to you. He proves his power by giving you
a full day with your lost love. Describe the day and your decision.
It was warm when I woke up, the same temperature outside the covers as within. Sun light poured through my window, and I blinked in its brilliance. Why had I woken up? My sister laughed in the room next to mine. Smiling, I stretched my arms above my head and straightened out my legs. Whoomp!
“Grendel!” I jerked my blanket covered toes away from our furry fury. He jerked his head towards their new location and pounced before I could move. I kicked. He held on. In a last desperate effort, I rolled off the bed. Somehow he stayed on my mattress. My plan of staying in bed reading for an hour was now officially out the window. I shot a displeased glare at him before pushing myself off the floor. Red caught my eye. My feet were covered with red lines that weren’t there when I’d gone to bed; they stung too. Staying on the flat of my feet, I waddled to the bathroom and sat on the floor while applying band-aids. Dad poked his head through the door.
“What happened to you?”
“What happened was a sweet cuddle session with Grendel.”
He chuckled and proceeded to the kitchen in search of coffee.
After a few more minutes I too went to the kitchen. Mom was sitting, slouched over the table; it had been three days since she’d returned form Murray.
The phone leaped to life; Ode to Joy resonated throughout the house. I snatched up the phone in the kitchen, so my mother wouldn’t have to.
“Hello.” I smiled as I said it, and why not? The day was beautiful, other than the red stripes on my feet.
“Hello, may I speak with Miss Kara?” The voice was decidedly male, but I didn’t recognize it.
“May I ask who is calling?” I turned and walked to my room.
A short laugh was the response I received. “You may call me Green, Kara, and I can give you the world.”
My voice deadened. “If you’re trying to sell me something…”
“I am, but it’s not the normal kind of sale.”
“No. One we are on a no call list. Two I am a minor. You should have asked for my parents.”
“You’re the last one he remembers.”
My silence was enough of a question for him to continue.
“You see, I can reunite you with the love that you lost.”
“I haven’t lost any-”
He cut me off. “All I’m asking for is a life, blood for blood, that sort of thing.”
“I would never trade the life of anyone. Goodbye.”
“You get one day with him.”
I hung up.
That afternoon was beautiful. I lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep. The brush of fur woke me up. I smiled and reached towards it, my eyes still closed. Soft warm fur and a loud purr greeted me. The cat was too big to be Saffron, so it had to be Grendel. I blearily blinked my eyes open. The face I saw was not Grendel’s. It was black and white. We don’t have any black and white cats, and I was surprised that this stranger was so friendly. I petted him for a few minutes before deciding to go inside. The cat followed me. I changed directions. It still followed me. I bent down and petted it. Purr. Purr. Purr. I walked all the way around the yard, followed by the cat. He hurried along behind me like a loyal puppy. I stopped, caught a sob in my throat, and blinked away the threat of tears. The last time I had thought something like that was with Cheerio. I sat down in the grass and stroked the muscular cat. He purred some more, a deep throaty purr, like a motor boat. He had a nick in his ear like Schuster, so had Cheerio. This cat had a slightly swollen front paw, bare patches near his rear, and green eyes, just like Cheerio.
“Baby?” I knew it was a stupid thing to do, and my eyes were all blurry after I said it, but I called him by Cheerio’s nickname. He purred louder. It was in that moment that I decided to do something, something only my Cheerio would do. I went inside and grabbed a glass of water and a towel before coming back outside. Slowly, I knelt down next to the dark and light cat. Then I gradually poured half of the water on it. He jumped up and ran away. That’s normal. I waited until he stopped and looked back at me before I held up the towel. He charged back and practically pushed himself into the towel, frantically purring. It was at that moment that I was entirely and utterly convinced that this was my Cheerio.
The following hours were spent in the woods. I climbed over fallen
trees, and he squirmed under them. We chased each other down secret
paths, and we cuddled beneath leaf canopies. I can’t thoroughly describe
how happy I was; it was a little like seeing your best friend again in
years and discovering that neither of you had changed or forgotten
anything, only better. When he had disappeared I felt responsible. After
all, I had been the last to see him, the last one he saw.
“You’re the last one he remembers.”
I bolted upright from the grass, waking Cheerio up. No, please no.
“...I can reunite you with the love that you lost.”
Yes, I had always loved Cheerio, our little Chiaroscuro.
“You get one day with him.”
I fell to my knees and cried. This time, when Cheerio rubbed against me, I only cried harder.
It was seven o’clock when Green called again. I had prepared myself and sat on the back porch with the phone and Cheerio. As soon as Ode to Joy started up, I gave Cheerio a fond stroke and picked up the phone. I told myself I wouldn’t cry.
“Green.” No need for me to say hello. I knew who it was.
“Kara.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I hated him for it.
“Cheerio.”
“Yes. You remember my price?” How was it possible for anyone to sound that oily?
I looked at my scratch covered feet.“‘Blood for blood’.”
“What is your response?” He sounded hungry and all to eager.
“I told you, I can’t do that.” I picked up Cheerio and held him close. Purr. Purr.
“Then say good-bye.” It sounded almost like a threat. The line went dead, and I burst into tears.
Cheerio and I sat in the woods in silence. I broke it. “I’ll miss you, Princeling.” I couldn’t say anymore; I didn’t need to. When the sun set, he was in my arms. He seemed more real with each passing second, but when the sun was gone he blinked out of existence.
I trudged home in the dark, took a shower, and curled up on my bed; I sobbed there for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes, I saw Schuster under my desk. Still sniffling, I picked him up and held him close. He didn’t complain or dig his claws in my shirt; he just hung limp. I held very still. I didn’t feel him breathing.
“NO!” I screamed. No no no no no. No, I’d made the right choice. I’d let Cheerio go. I couldn’t lose Schuster now, not now. I heard three pairs of feet pounding down the hall to my room and concerned voices, but they seemed so far away. I held Schuster close and bawled.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)