Autumn Day

On this blustery Autumn day, I am reminded of another Autumn Day that pops up in my mind from time to time.  Last night I had a dream about that specific Autumn Day and I thought I'd take a moment and reflect on a day I will never forget.

Smaller details are blurred, but the biggest details remain.  I believe I was in high school at the time.  On this particular day I was shopping for some unknown reason at the Mariner Mall in Superior.  Like any girl with a small bladder, I used the restroom, did my business, and went on my merry way eventually returning  home.

Later that evening, there was a breaking news story about a little baby who was found in the Mariner Mall in the Women's Bathroom.  Apparently the mother of this baby just abandoned her in the bathroom.  Luckily, someone found this baby and hopefully she got the care and love every baby deserves.

What strikes me about this story is that my whole life, I have always wanted to be a rescuer.  To find and rescue an unloved puppy or kitty brings such a sense of fulfillment and makes the heart grow.  Ever since I was a young girl, I loved babies and children.  As much as I wanted to find that box of thrown away puppies on the highway, I also fantasized about finding an unwanted baby.  A baby I could keep for myself to raise, cherish, and love.  Never mind all the legal mumbo jumbo. 

In my false memory, I believe I even recall the sound of a crying baby.  Certainly something gave me a feeling of uncertainty that I could not quite put my finger on until I heard the news story.  That day I was hours, perhaps even minutes away from finding that unwanted baby in the bathroom.  To this day, I wonder what her life is like.  Where she is.  How she is.  How old she is now.  What it would have been like to raise her.  Dream about her.

Since she was found on a Fall afternoon, the "authorities" named her Autumn Day.  Somewhere out there, I have a baby girl.  And her name is Autumn Day.

Hide-n-Seek

Halloween is one of my very favorite times of year.  Fond memories of sorting out my trick or treat candy into organized piles return to me each October 31st.  I counted each stack of Peanut Butter Cups, Milky Ways, and Snickers with the latter two always vying for first place for having the most quantity.  After sorting, counting, and eating the treats, I would have to find a seemingly safe hiding place so my brother's didn't get their dirty hands on my hard earned candy. 

These days, I now have to find a seemingly safe hiding place so I don't get my dirty hands on my not so hard earned candy. 

As a person who is always prepared way too far in advance, I like to have my Halloween candy purchased long before the Big Day.  My problem is that all of the candy is often eaten before it even has a chance to be tossed into Elmo's pumpkin bucket. 

One year I resorted to keeping the candy in the trunk of my car in hopes that "out of sight, out of mind" might take effect.  That works with some things, but not with chocolate.  I took many a trip out to my vehicle to retrieve the devious candy calling my name from the darkness of my trunk. 

Another tactic was to buy candy I don't much care to eat.  The problem I encountered with that trick was that "desperate times call for desperate measures" took effect.  If there is a candy craving, I will eat whatever I can get my teeth into.  Even if I don't love it.  Who am I kidding, though? I like All candy.

I guess I just have to wait until closer to Halloween before buying any candy even though it is causing me a bit of anxiety not to be prepared.  It just doesn't work so well when the seeker of the candy is also the hider of the candy.  Especially when the seeker is ravenously addicted to chocolate.

Doggone it! I Am Not Crazy!

Interesting how the word "crazy" does not seem to describe folks with 3, 4, or 5 dogs.  Nor does "crazy" become synonymous with a single man who may have 6 cats.  But, God Forbid, a single lady have 3 cats, and all of a sudden she is a "crazy cat lady".  My single male coworker has 6 cats, and nobody seems to refer to him as the Crazy Cat Man.  How is it that "crazy" and "cat lady" became bound tighter than a spool of yarn?

There is no such thing as a crazy dog person.  If you ask me, which you didn't, but if you did, I would say that those humans who dress their cute little doggie up in some fairy outfit is beyond insane.  It is not embarrassing to admit to loving your canine companions, but for some reason admitting that you share your home with more than one feline is rather shaming, a secret, something to keep hidden.  You might as well sprout whiskers and a cat tail yourself!

Also interesting is that the vast majority of cat people are also dog people.  That is, if someone has a fondness for cats, they are pretty likely to also hold a fondness for dogs.  However, dog people are far less likely to also be cat people.  Dog folks are loyal to their dog, and usually to their preferred dog breed.  Just as dogs represent loyalty to their humans.

Cats represent  independence.  Cats don't have other cat friends; they don't go to the Park to socialize with their buddies.  They represent the profound danger of growing so independent that it is not merely that you don't need anyone.....it's that you don't know how to need anyone.

It isn't that I am crazy.  It's just that I am crazy about  my kids cats.   I tell Tino everyday that he is my best friend.  And he is.

Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble.

As I was sitting on the toilet the other day, I noticed a sensitive spot on my rear end area.  I took a peek.  Who wouldn't?  You totally would, and you know it.  Anyway, I peeked.  I was aghast to see a swollen reddened area.  Naturally, I consulted my doctor of choice:  Google.  From the photos I found online, I deduced that I had meself a boil.  A boil!  Gross.  From that deduction, I made a further conclusion that I am indeed old.  Not only old, but also fat since only old, fat people get boils. 

Following the advice of my doctor Google, I sat myself on a heating pad, soaked in the hot tub, and kept an eye on it as best I could. 

Within about 2 days, my "boil" was black.  Either I had gangrene or I didn't have a boil.  Then I remembered a scooter mishap I had at work earlier that week.  I was helping one of the little kids put away one of the scooters when I tripped over that son-of-a-bitch.  The scooter, not the kid.  The result was a handle bar to the ass.  Problem solved!  My boil was a bruise.  

Since I did not have a boil, that could only mean one thing two things:
1).  I am not old
2).  I am not fat. 

Whew!  I was worried for a moment.  Though both of those things are debatable.

Winning the Battle (But Losing the War).

Have you ever tried weaning a baby off the boob or bottle? You know how at first they cry and whine incessantly enough to drive the mom to pull her own hair out, throw up her arms in defeat, and just give that darn bottle or boob back to the sobbing child making him/her shut up for just a little while? Well, I have no idea what that is like. But, I do know what it is like to wean a cat off canned cat food. I imagine its quite similar if not identical.

Ever since Punky died, I have been trying to wean Tino off of his dependence on moist cat food. He eats the dry stuff, but would sneak bites of Punkin's delicacy from time to time. Tino has turned into a chattering, pestering...pest. So I caved. He now gets a little morsel of a treat sometime in the afternoon. Every day.

The genius in me refuses to give him a snack in the morning because Tino is wise to that, and will go through any and all measures to wake me up causing me to exit my warm bed to feed his sorry ass. In another stroke of genius, I refuse to feed him upon immediately entering my house from wherever I have just been, making his snack time generally unpredictable. Not so genius.

Instead of pestering me just around a certain snack time, Tino pesters me All. Day. Long. Following me around, rolling around all cute on his back, chattering away, running to his dish. UGH! I will not cave though. He may have won the war, but I will win every small battle. Only because he is so freaking adorable even when he is a big pest. Little does he know that when he is trying to "bother" me, he is actually entertaining me, bringing laughter and smiles to my face All. Day. Long.

Essentials of Fall

Tis a beautiful time of year. Fall is quite possibly the most perfect time of year especially when the weather has been as wonderful as it has been the past few days. I took a little video, and though it doesn't show the beauty that surrounds us for about one month each year, it does capture the magnificent sound of crunching leaves. Enjoy!

Ode To Big Hill

There was a special place that barely exists anymore. A place I hold fondly in my heart as do most of the people who grew up in my neighborhood. Big Hill was, well, a big hill. We were kids, and perhaps not very creative, but the name described it perfectly. Some years ago, I wrote a poem about the significance of Big Hill. It Describes that special place better than I can even attempt to write about in a blog, and it actually brought tears to many who loved Big Hill as I did. So Without Further Ado, here is the poem.....

Big Hill

Big Hill.
A place where children could capture
butterflies, fireflies,
and incense.
A place for imagination, wonder,
and fantasy.
A climb to the top of Big Hill was a feat
like that of a mountain climber.
Summer time picnics,
winter time sledding.
Neighborhood friends playing
Capture the Flag and King of the Hill.
A place where we really were
on top of the world.

A peaceful place where catching a glimpse
of an occasional deer was
not uncommon.
A time when our only worry was
making it home for dinner on time.
The sounds of our youthful laughter
still audible even today.
A place where innocence was found
and also lost.
Big Hill.

As we grew taller,
Big Hill grew smaller.
Today, barely visible only
to those of us who knew of its existence.
A minuscule mound covered with trees
and memories.
Big Hill.
The symbol of my childhood.
Vanishing more and more
every year.
Eventually, not existing
at all.

9/8/03

Birthday Blahs

Every year I Hate it more and more. And I just don't hate it, I Hate it. With a Capital H. Hate. Its still a bit more than a month away, but I am already dreading my Birthday.

I am trying to remember when it all started, when this sour taste entered my mouth when I uttered the words "my Birthday". I can't quite put my finger on it, but am thinking it was probably when I turned 26.

Age 25 is the final exciting Birthday. Its the Birthday when, in my opinion (and the opinion of a Bingo fanatic coworker), a person reaches full adulthood. Coincidentally, it is also the Birthday that your car insurance decreases provided you don't have preexisting DUIs, speeding tickets and the like. So after 25, there is nothing more to look forward to. What good comes from the other "milestone" Birthdays other than to say you have been alive that long?

This year, like most people on their Birthday, I will be turning another year older. No Milestone to reach, no excitement, just....older.

For me, my Birthday not only signifies me getting older, but it is also a reminder that those around me are also aging. And that scares the hell out of me which is why I hate my Birthday. Each year I try to remind myself to be thankful that I am fortunate enough to actually experience another Birthday, and I do. I really do. But in the back of my head, a voice lingers. A voice of impending doom.

Most people who have children, look to the future and see mostly happy occasions and good times. They can imagine their child's graduation, marriage, grand babies, you name it. Not that children are the be-all-and-end-all of happiness (In fact, I don't think they are at all), but when I look to my future, I see mostly hardship. Death is part of life, and it is going to be a large part of my future. Only I won't have the positive, exciting experiences to offset those hard times.

After turning 26, I came up with a grand plan. When I reached the magical age of 29, I would start aging backwards...sort of like Benjamin Button. In a weird twist of fate, I would not be able to age below 25. For eternity I will be between the ages of 25-29. Too bad the whole world can't age that same way.

So next month, by my magical calculations, I will be turning 28. The only flaw in this whole scheme is that I will never look good for my age.