These past few days I have really been missing Smudge. That big white tom cat was the love of my life. He claimed me by the second day he was in my life, and I gave him my heart. We nearly lost him about a year after we acquired him, because he had a genetic disease that caused his red blood cells to not generate, much like leukemia. However, it was not the catchable feline leukemia, or we could have lost the rest of the cats. With great love and care and at great expense, we extended Smudge's life for over 5 years. He had a great quality of life, and to anyone who didn't know his story, he was the picture of health.
I miss him sleeping between Kent and I. I miss him on my lap, by my side. He loved to go to sleep encircled in my arms, not realizing that I was really holding him-which he really hated. He never did like to be picked up or held, but he gave freely of himself. Yet somehow he didn't make the connection that encircled in my arms in bed was still being held. And I am so grateful for that!
And I miss that cat so much. When we adopted Desiree, also a big white cat, there were times I saw Smudge in the house. It did help to have her here, it eased his absence more than it brought back painful memories.
Smudgie has been dead for over 5 years and some days it seems as if it were yesterday.
I love you Smudge. I love you so much. I know that somehow you found your way back to me in a small way through Ptera. She loves me like you did and on some days when she looks adoringly at me, I see you in her eyes. I know that she is her own girl, that you just show up now and then when you can. And some days that is enough, while others it is not. Your absence is still so hard to bear, even after all this time. Your picture is on my computer so I see you each and every day. But I miss you in my arms and on my lap and in our bed. I love you buddie. My big white citricat who was such a lover and never bullied the others even though you were built to rule the roost.
I love you.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Old friend and classmate, Sharon White Pyke, died unexpectedly Saturday AM. No history of illness or even of feeling badly, according to friends and family. Coming so close on heels of Dad's death, it has set me back a bit on my road to recovery. Teary and depressed, to say the least. Mary Karen Miltenberger Hall called me last evening to make sure I knew about it. She can't make it to viewing, but will be a funeral. I can't take a funeral so I had to go to the viewing. Did not recognized a single person there even tho' there were lots of folks. Considering that Sharon and her husband fostered 80 kids, it was not surprising.
Rest in peace, Sharon. You did a fantastic job as a mom and foster mom, which says a lot about the woman you were.
Rest in peace, Sharon. You did a fantastic job as a mom and foster mom, which says a lot about the woman you were.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Reenacting Shenanigans
My husband and I are re-enactors (or reenactors, if you prefer). And if it were not for bad luck, we wouldn't have any luck at all. Oh, the curse or what ever you call it doesn't rear its ugly head at each and every event, and sometimes it might even skip a year or so , but there is a long line of bad luck for us. Broken ridge poles with no way to replace until after the event. Missing canopy poles. Flat tires. An RV which changed an 11 hour trip in to a 17 hour trip. The 2002 border incident we were involved in. The list does go on and on. Lost cats. Ill cats. Bunny rabbit and cats. Not all incidents actually happended at an event. Some were enroute, some were heading home, some were both enroute and heading home. Most were not funny when they happended, and our tolerance and tempers were stretched beyond endudrance and exhaustion, but afterwards, we were able to find the humor in them, and they have become a part of our reenacting history. In the midst of minor disasters there have been some funny things happen, as happens all the time. All of these incidents are tied up with our reenacting memories and will find their way in to these blogs.
It is actually hard to choose which one to write about here. I don't know that I want to do these in chronological order, but I don't know that I don't want to do them in chronological order, either... I'll just have to wait and see what strikes me as the best for a first entry, and go from there.
It is actually hard to choose which one to write about here. I don't know that I want to do these in chronological order, but I don't know that I don't want to do them in chronological order, either... I'll just have to wait and see what strikes me as the best for a first entry, and go from there.
I Am Related To Myself 3 Ways!
Holy cow! I just discovered that not only is the Starbuck in me directly related to the Worth in me, but that the Starbuck is doubly related to me. One man's grandson married the granddaughter of his own sibling.
Of course, back in those days it was important to keep family property in the family, so first cousins were more likely to wed in order to do this.
There is no doubt that this is a close proximity marriage; the names and dates have been corroborated several different ways, and the marriage is real (recorded in state records).
And on top of this , I discovered that, also on the Starbuck side, I have Algonquin blood in me! Seems an ancestor wed this Algonquin princess... I'd always noticed that Aunt Anna and her kids had a darker complexion than Mom and we Eaton kids, and I thought maybe it came from Lloyd, but he was a fair Irishman, so it didn't come from there. Besides, Onda has these lovely high cheekbones that often denote Native American lineage. I can see them in our maternal grandfather's pictures (Lewis Garrett Starbuck) as well. Who'd'a thunk?!
Now it all makes sense. The cheekbones and skin coloration reemerged in Anna but even more strongly in Onda. Haven't told Onda of my discovery yet, because it might not be welcome news. She might even be sensitive about the skin coloration issue, but I would doubt it. Looking at Darrell and I, you would never think that we had Indian blood in us....blue eyed blondes and all....Mom's hair was dark, but not black. Mom's complexion was definitely light.
The relationship is too far back to be of any status to me; a few years ago I wouldn't even think about exploiting it if it were usable, but after the way my government has treated me and my fellow retirees, I'd not hesitate to use it! Shame on me for feeling that way, but shame on my government for discriminating against us!
Of course, back in those days it was important to keep family property in the family, so first cousins were more likely to wed in order to do this.
There is no doubt that this is a close proximity marriage; the names and dates have been corroborated several different ways, and the marriage is real (recorded in state records).
And on top of this , I discovered that, also on the Starbuck side, I have Algonquin blood in me! Seems an ancestor wed this Algonquin princess... I'd always noticed that Aunt Anna and her kids had a darker complexion than Mom and we Eaton kids, and I thought maybe it came from Lloyd, but he was a fair Irishman, so it didn't come from there. Besides, Onda has these lovely high cheekbones that often denote Native American lineage. I can see them in our maternal grandfather's pictures (Lewis Garrett Starbuck) as well. Who'd'a thunk?!
Now it all makes sense. The cheekbones and skin coloration reemerged in Anna but even more strongly in Onda. Haven't told Onda of my discovery yet, because it might not be welcome news. She might even be sensitive about the skin coloration issue, but I would doubt it. Looking at Darrell and I, you would never think that we had Indian blood in us....blue eyed blondes and all....Mom's hair was dark, but not black. Mom's complexion was definitely light.
The relationship is too far back to be of any status to me; a few years ago I wouldn't even think about exploiting it if it were usable, but after the way my government has treated me and my fellow retirees, I'd not hesitate to use it! Shame on me for feeling that way, but shame on my government for discriminating against us!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Sins of the Fathers..
I don't know what I did right when I was about 12 years old, but the decision not to have children may have been the smartest decision of my life. Most 12 year old girls would be dreaming about boys and high school and love and marriage and having babies. I went the boys route, didn't think much about high school, but was thinking of a career. I certainly did not end up doing what I thought I'd be doing back then, but I knew a career was a must. Love and marriage, too, was a dream, but the idea of kids was not. Was it because, at age 12, my eldest nephew was born, and I was faced with what it was like to have an infant around? Don't get me wrong, I love my nephews and their families! But tending babies?! And then dealing with toddlers and all? No, that wasn't for me! Was it the fact that I nearly died from my first asthma attack that year and knew that the allergies I'd inherited would be passed on, and would be worse? (Mine are far worse than what my dad and granddad ever had.) Struggling for each and every breath is a horrid way to live, and I'd not wish it on anyone. Was it a revelation from my Heavenly Father that it would be best if I didn't go out and multiply? I always knew that I'd not make a good mother. Could it have been a combination of these things? Likely, it is a combination.
Whatever the source or sources, I am so very thankful that I never gave birth to a child. While my brother's sons were healthy, there have been health problems from there on. My eldest nephew, has 3 children, the youngest 2 with the amino acid deficiency that forbade them meat proteins and dairy products while they were growing up. Not surprisingly, both of those kids both have some maturity issues, but one is dealing with it far better than the other. The eldest of the 3 may have already made the decision not to have children of her own, which would be a very wise decision, indeed.
My youngest nephew, fathered 3 healthy kids, but the 2 eldest, both girls, each have given birth to kids with birth defects. His youngest has not yet had any children, but I don't hold out hopes for defect free children there.
I never believed in the Old Testament God who visited the sins of the father onto the children, because I knew the New Testament God who gave us the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. However, as I look at my great nieces and nephews, I have to wonder if I have been wrong. I have to assign the sin of the father mostly to my brother, and to my father, because he initially set all this in motion. But my brother... His treatment, no, his abuse, of his sons set up his youngest son to carry on the abuse. And it is that side of the family which is experiencing the latest birth defects. We've lost one great-great nephew to a birth defect, and the future is not the rosiest for my newest great-great niece, who, at 6 days old, had open heart surgery, and faces at least 3 more. She may have immune problems, speech problems, skeletal issues... I am praying that her heart is her only issue, but I won't be surprised if she has other issues. Right now she has a feeding tube down her nose, and it may be a month or more before she can get rid of it; she has to consume 60ccs from a bottle before it can come out...
These innocent babies are being hurt. My only great-great nephew narrowly survived a seriously premature birth, which was an physical issue of his mother. He is now thriving, and seems to be free of the problems which killed his older brother. And I am starting to believe that my father and brother are indeed at fault. Yes, my decision to remain childless was indeed very smart.
Whatever the source or sources, I am so very thankful that I never gave birth to a child. While my brother's sons were healthy, there have been health problems from there on. My eldest nephew, has 3 children, the youngest 2 with the amino acid deficiency that forbade them meat proteins and dairy products while they were growing up. Not surprisingly, both of those kids both have some maturity issues, but one is dealing with it far better than the other. The eldest of the 3 may have already made the decision not to have children of her own, which would be a very wise decision, indeed.
My youngest nephew, fathered 3 healthy kids, but the 2 eldest, both girls, each have given birth to kids with birth defects. His youngest has not yet had any children, but I don't hold out hopes for defect free children there.
I never believed in the Old Testament God who visited the sins of the father onto the children, because I knew the New Testament God who gave us the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. However, as I look at my great nieces and nephews, I have to wonder if I have been wrong. I have to assign the sin of the father mostly to my brother, and to my father, because he initially set all this in motion. But my brother... His treatment, no, his abuse, of his sons set up his youngest son to carry on the abuse. And it is that side of the family which is experiencing the latest birth defects. We've lost one great-great nephew to a birth defect, and the future is not the rosiest for my newest great-great niece, who, at 6 days old, had open heart surgery, and faces at least 3 more. She may have immune problems, speech problems, skeletal issues... I am praying that her heart is her only issue, but I won't be surprised if she has other issues. Right now she has a feeding tube down her nose, and it may be a month or more before she can get rid of it; she has to consume 60ccs from a bottle before it can come out...
These innocent babies are being hurt. My only great-great nephew narrowly survived a seriously premature birth, which was an physical issue of his mother. He is now thriving, and seems to be free of the problems which killed his older brother. And I am starting to believe that my father and brother are indeed at fault. Yes, my decision to remain childless was indeed very smart.
Weakness, weariness
OK, call me weak. I'll admit it. And oft times I believe it. I am tired, so tired. Tired of struggling, feeling inadequate, failing. I am not inadequate, but people are beating me down and intimating. Not easy to swallow after having worked so hard for 30 years to be hard to replace. And it took 6 people to do all the parts of the jobs I did when I retired, and there were still things not getting done. Hardly useless. Tired of hurting all the time. Tired of not being able to breathe properly because I can't afford to go to the specialist, let alone afford the scripts that would ease the problems. Tired of feeling alone so much of the time. Tired of being yelled at much of the time, of enduring grouchiness from others when all I want to do is be grouchy, too.
I do have Faith, but it does waiver. There is always a - but what if... I've always had trouble accepting things purely on Faith. Been burnt so many times when told to "trust me", or even "trust in your Faith, "Trust the church". Nearly always to be let down. I know that God answers all prayers, but the answer may not be what we request, or even one that we can discern. And I know that God doesn't answer all prayers.
But at least I do have Faith, imperfect as it is, imperfect as I am.
While most would think it wrong, the thing that keeps me anchored here are my cats, especially Ptera. Her exuberance, her lust for life, her complete adoration of me causes me to want to stay. I am incapable of causing her mental anguish. It is the most difficult thing to even gently reprove her for bad behavior. If I do touch her physically to let her know she behaved very badly, it is a gentle poke. We've teased her harder than such a poke. But she understands the displeasure, and will steer clear of us for a while until she recovers from her indignity at being corrected. Stern tone of voice elicits the same response. At least when she chooses to "hear" us. Spoiled brat.
Why Ptera? Sometimes I think that Smude found his way home through her. She certainly ended up in our yard as opposed to all the other choices. But she was feral, and it took several days to be able to capture her so she'd not suffer from the cold and rain and being outside. That first day inside she let the household know that I was hers. And she won my heart so quickly. I am almost frightened at how much I love that cat. I never thought I'd love a cat as deeply as I did Smudge, or at least this soon after his demise. It was nearly 20 years between Zade and Smudge. It has only been 5 between Smudge and Ptera. Zade kept me grounded all those years ago, then Smudge. Now Ptera.
Ptera is so innocent, so totally enraptured with us, especially me. She doesn't reject Kent, but he is the reason she runs and hides far more often than I. He terrifies her if he is wearing a hat. His entry into the house nearly always causes her to panic and run and hide, albeit not a far nor for as long as when she first entered our home. The person who tore her from her momma must have been a man wearing a hat... it had to have been traumatic for her. If her fear isn't related to being torn from her first home, then someone in a hat had to threaten her so severely that she can't forget it. But she found herself in our yard, and wriggled her cute little self into our lives. Kittens grow up to be adult cats and lose their kittenish looks and size. God granted me a great boon when Ptera turned out to be a mini-kitty. At nearly 2 years old she is the size of a 3/4 grown cat. She is such a petite thing, and will forever be part kitten because of her size. Maybe that is why I care so much for her. She will always be my kitten.
Breathing problems kept me from my bedroom for over 6 weeks, and I slept nightly in a recliner. Ptera might deign to sleep near me, even on the back of the chair, and very seldom, within arm's reach on the foot rest. Once in a while she'd curl up on me, but only for a few minutes. When I slept in the bedroom, she'd normally curl up in the small of my back, or the curve of my torso when she decided to sleep with me. It used to be that it was all the time, but in the past few months, it was few and far between. I sleep better with her curled up next to me. But in the chair, she would not curl up with me. I returned to the bedroom 5 weeks after the death of my father, and she returned with me, to either stretch out along my back, or to drape herself across my neck. And she has been more attentive since we've returned to the bedroom.
Are we addicted to one another? Perhaps. We do need one another, and I don't know who needs the other more. But leave her I cannot do. Ever. For any reason. She is what is keeping me sane, or at least able to maintain some semblance of sanity. Perhaps the only thing. I am a cat lover, and I do love the other 4 cats, but not like I love Ptera. I know they would all adjust without me, but Ptera may not. I am her world, the one port of safety in her world. I will suffer what I have to suffer to be here for Ptera's sake.
I do have Faith, but it does waiver. There is always a - but what if... I've always had trouble accepting things purely on Faith. Been burnt so many times when told to "trust me", or even "trust in your Faith, "Trust the church". Nearly always to be let down. I know that God answers all prayers, but the answer may not be what we request, or even one that we can discern. And I know that God doesn't answer all prayers.
But at least I do have Faith, imperfect as it is, imperfect as I am.
While most would think it wrong, the thing that keeps me anchored here are my cats, especially Ptera. Her exuberance, her lust for life, her complete adoration of me causes me to want to stay. I am incapable of causing her mental anguish. It is the most difficult thing to even gently reprove her for bad behavior. If I do touch her physically to let her know she behaved very badly, it is a gentle poke. We've teased her harder than such a poke. But she understands the displeasure, and will steer clear of us for a while until she recovers from her indignity at being corrected. Stern tone of voice elicits the same response. At least when she chooses to "hear" us. Spoiled brat.
Why Ptera? Sometimes I think that Smude found his way home through her. She certainly ended up in our yard as opposed to all the other choices. But she was feral, and it took several days to be able to capture her so she'd not suffer from the cold and rain and being outside. That first day inside she let the household know that I was hers. And she won my heart so quickly. I am almost frightened at how much I love that cat. I never thought I'd love a cat as deeply as I did Smudge, or at least this soon after his demise. It was nearly 20 years between Zade and Smudge. It has only been 5 between Smudge and Ptera. Zade kept me grounded all those years ago, then Smudge. Now Ptera.
Ptera is so innocent, so totally enraptured with us, especially me. She doesn't reject Kent, but he is the reason she runs and hides far more often than I. He terrifies her if he is wearing a hat. His entry into the house nearly always causes her to panic and run and hide, albeit not a far nor for as long as when she first entered our home. The person who tore her from her momma must have been a man wearing a hat... it had to have been traumatic for her. If her fear isn't related to being torn from her first home, then someone in a hat had to threaten her so severely that she can't forget it. But she found herself in our yard, and wriggled her cute little self into our lives. Kittens grow up to be adult cats and lose their kittenish looks and size. God granted me a great boon when Ptera turned out to be a mini-kitty. At nearly 2 years old she is the size of a 3/4 grown cat. She is such a petite thing, and will forever be part kitten because of her size. Maybe that is why I care so much for her. She will always be my kitten.
Breathing problems kept me from my bedroom for over 6 weeks, and I slept nightly in a recliner. Ptera might deign to sleep near me, even on the back of the chair, and very seldom, within arm's reach on the foot rest. Once in a while she'd curl up on me, but only for a few minutes. When I slept in the bedroom, she'd normally curl up in the small of my back, or the curve of my torso when she decided to sleep with me. It used to be that it was all the time, but in the past few months, it was few and far between. I sleep better with her curled up next to me. But in the chair, she would not curl up with me. I returned to the bedroom 5 weeks after the death of my father, and she returned with me, to either stretch out along my back, or to drape herself across my neck. And she has been more attentive since we've returned to the bedroom.
Are we addicted to one another? Perhaps. We do need one another, and I don't know who needs the other more. But leave her I cannot do. Ever. For any reason. She is what is keeping me sane, or at least able to maintain some semblance of sanity. Perhaps the only thing. I am a cat lover, and I do love the other 4 cats, but not like I love Ptera. I know they would all adjust without me, but Ptera may not. I am her world, the one port of safety in her world. I will suffer what I have to suffer to be here for Ptera's sake.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Riding Is Such A Waste Of Time!
I absolutely HATE riding in a car for a distance over a few minutes to an hour. There are days that even an hour seems like forever. I know that driving/riding is the only way to get from one point to another, but that does NOT mean that I have to like it. And believe me, I don't!!!!
It may be the result of the fact that I become nauseated if I try to read while in a moving vehicle. I can manage for a few minutes, such as for reading a map, but anything more than that is not pleasant. Therefore, as a child, I slept as a defense against the boredom of riding. And as a result I often fall asleep when riding to this day. I try not to, especially when the driver is relying on me to stay awake, but sometimes I just can't.
Yesterday, however, I managed to stay awake for over a 3.5 hour trip, both directions. When there are stops along the way for gas, a meal, a stretch, it certainly helps! Plus, there were 4 of us, driver included, so the converstation really never stopped. And I know that Molly appreciated the company and the converstation to help keep her alert.
It may be the result of the fact that I become nauseated if I try to read while in a moving vehicle. I can manage for a few minutes, such as for reading a map, but anything more than that is not pleasant. Therefore, as a child, I slept as a defense against the boredom of riding. And as a result I often fall asleep when riding to this day. I try not to, especially when the driver is relying on me to stay awake, but sometimes I just can't.
Yesterday, however, I managed to stay awake for over a 3.5 hour trip, both directions. When there are stops along the way for gas, a meal, a stretch, it certainly helps! Plus, there were 4 of us, driver included, so the converstation really never stopped. And I know that Molly appreciated the company and the converstation to help keep her alert.
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