Catsup, or Catsoup?

I find myself playing a game of catch-up in the story that is my life. This would be a mundane task for a Saturday night, had my life not advanced several years in the past week!

The Long Way Around

As I walked the Terrible Twosome around the village of Hoosick Falls today, I was struck by how the simplest things can bring back waves of long-buried emotions, releasing cobwebs from the heart and replacing them with billowing dustclouds of painful nostalgia. Today it was the slightest crispness in the air–not our usual coat weather, but the first hintings of spring that signal a real change in season. While I know it was only a tease, a pre-cursor to tonight’s snow, it poked at my aching heart just a little.

Saint Patrick

I’ve met plenty of people who have managed not only civil, but friendly relationships with their ex-spouses. Perfect strangers have told me their stories, including one woman who let her ex live with her for years after he lost everything in a fire; and a man just the other day who has become “roommates” with his ex-wife–his best friend–for the financial benefits of couplehood. Unfortunately, these stories are not the norm. We speak in hushed tones, eyes wide, amazed to have found kindred spirits.

E-Z Rockin’

The E-Z Rockin’ Ranch was miles from town, and surrounded by other small farms and ranches. The goldenrod house had sprung from the earth as just a few rooms, and had been added onto over the years, centering around the dining room. That dining room contained a big, old wooden table that had more leaves in it than exist in any other farm table in creation. Even when it was just the two of them, Grandma kept a couple leaves in place. It made the room feel cozy, and mealtimes feel big.

A Visit to the Zoo

Tall Boy was my boyfriend when I graduated high school. A whimsical search on Racebook brought him back into my life (after the disastrous affair with The Colombian turned positively James-Patterson-awful) by long-distance phone line, and now he was about to enter my reality at Ina Hall. I could not have been more excited. I suppose one could also say I was nervous. While our conversations had been easy and somewhat magical, I worried that our chemistry might have evolved enough over the years to have simply disappeared.

The Importance of Being Ernest…and Libby

They were in it for life, from the very beginning. Though they would sometimes grouse and grumble, we all knew that their love was the ideal to which we aspired. Unfortunately for most of us, it was an impossible standard to meet. Finding that kind of love is rare, and recognizing it when it comes is downright miraculous. No one gets that kind of love. But Grandma and Granddaddy had it. And when his life ended, hers ended along with it.

Tears from Ashes

When I was a child, my favorite sight was the star-filled black of the world’s biggest sky, as seen from our yard. My favorite smell was my mother’s potroast. And my favorite sound was the southwest Kansas wind through leaf-covered giant ash trees in summertime.

Acupuncture therapy has brought some spiritual healing to my somewhat splotchy soul, but it has also presented me with some challenges. One of the consistent instructions Marc has given me is to “stop thinking, stop trying to control your mind” while filled with needles. I’ve been resistant to letting go and being an observer in my own mind. On the rare occasions I have, I’ve found myself pulled to the same place, time after time: those trees on the farm.

Good Times…Good Times

One of the joys of my life recently has been the re-entry of long-lost friends into my daily routine. My healing process has included re-examining who I was as a child. The best way to do this, it turned out, was to open a dialogue with those who knew me best back then. I have never been so grateful for “time-wasting” technology!

There is always a danger, when bringing old relationships into the present, that wounds will be reopened. Not every memory is happy. Not all reconnections are medicinal. But most are, and often I find that even those memories we thought were painful can bring us comfort when we find ourselves seeking a connection to who we were/are. Details long hidden from internal view can spring back like fresh green switches, startling us into focus.

Stranger in a Stranger Land

I loved these events more than anything in the world growing up. It was the same, every time. The aunts and uncles, and great-aunts, would gather in their gathering places: women in the kitchen, men in the living room. The women would converse and bicker over the “right” way to prepare each dish, while sharing affection and laughter. The men would talk about farming and economics how bad things looked while Granddaddy sat in his rocker, smoking, leg propped over the side. The younger kids would play games, and the boys would either join in the “man” conversation or watch football.

The Influence of Old Friends

Today is my friend Shawny Mac’s birthday.  I won’t reveal her age, but will only say that she will, forever, be older than I.

Shawny Mac was one of the first people I met at Big Overpriced Fancypants (not the real name), a national chain of designer specialty/department stores.  That was more than ten years ago.  She was an administrative associate in my department, and taught me all the ins-and-outs of overpriced, fancy pants.  And jackets.  For rich women.

We worked together for a short time before she moved along to greener pastures.  Shawny was always smarter than your average bear, and had a talent for planning and organization.  BOF was too institutionally stupid to recognize her talent, so she went on to a management position with They.Blew.

A year and a half later I went looking for my own greener pastures.  She thought I’d fit in at They.Blew.  She was promoted to Store Manager, and I was hired to be one of her assistants.  It was a tough time, and she was a tough boss.  She is probably the toughest boss I ever had.  She made me cry a record 136 times.  (To be fair, I’m just estimating, based on my best recollection.)  But I quickly noticed her reputation building within the company as one of the best operational managers out there.

I would have followed Shawny Mac anywhere, and eventually I followed her to another store.  Her approach softened a little when she fell in love with one of our former associates, Tony the Tiger, and even though she was still known as a tough-as-nails boss within the company, she became rather enjoyable to work for.  I started to enjoy it so much that I decided I wanted to be a Store Manager, too.

For a little more than a year, we were peers and rivals.  From a bit of a distance, I got to watch her life grow and change–she had a baby with Tony the Tiger, and built a life with him–as her priorities changed along they way.  It was inspiring to watch.  I began to understand how difficult her job had always been, and how much she shielded me and the rest of the team from the pressure that was put on her.  I grew to respect her in new ways.

Eventually, our mutual priorities changed enough that we both left the company.  But we continued to be friends, even doing “couple” things together when time and life permitted.  Shawny and Tony were “cool” parents whose kid was cute enough to be around, even for two happily childless freaks like us.  When we lost our house in the fire and were set to leave Kansas City, Shawny and Tony came to see us off at our favorite Mexican restaurant.  (Shawny is still one of my favorite people to enjoy Mexican with.  It’s sort of a prerequisite to being a friend of mine.)  They brought us a bag of “there’s no place like home” presents to take on the journey.

I think Shawny Mac is still probably one of the best bosses around.  Her focus is on her family these days, which is a far cry from the way things began ten years ago.  She’s learned to lace her management technique with a lot of humanity, which is why associates love her.  But she’d still kick your ass for breaking the rules.  I try to channel her whenever possible, though I will never match her talent for planning and execution.

I hope I can be like Shawny someday.  Happy birthday!  I would have sent you a They.Blew gift card, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t because I’m broke.  (grin.)

Brothers from Another Mother

I’ve told the story of how Wyatt Earp came to live with Patrick, and became the brother of Biscuit.  I believe I’ve also mentioned that Carter is not a huge Wyatt fan.  But sometimes, the two cats find a way to peacefully coexist.

Patrick was to help me today with some home improvement projects, so it made sense that he would come last night after I got off work and enjoy the British Comedies, and stay over in his room.  (I of course fell asleep halfway into the first program, so he ended up watching television by himself before shoving me off the couch.)  When he stays over, he brings Wyatt Earp.

Wyatt and Little Willie bonded while I was on vacation in June.  For the first half the week, I’m told, they fought for supremacy whenever they weren’t being chased by Katie.  In the second half the week, they found a mutual love for roughhousing and running crazy.  It was no surprise last night when I came home to find the two of them under my bed, waiting for an opportunity to make a break for it whenever Katie would let them out.

Carter, on the other hand, spent his usual Sunday atop the fridge.  He was in decent enough spirits, given the increased population of the Zoo, but he chose to remain as he always is, above the fray.  What surprised me was how Wyatt visited him as though they were famous friends.

Generally, Wyatt keeps his distance from the King of Ina Hall.  He is a wiley, witty kitty with a penchant for playing rough.  He is smart enough to know that Carter does not enjoy his company, and frankly, he doesn’t often seek it out.  If he feels the need to play, he now relies on Little Willie to satisfy the cravings.  Willie seems to enjoy having a cat around who is not easily beaten at a game of “bitey face.”

Brotherly Love

But today, while the dogs napped and the kitties had their run of the Hall, Wyatt chose to not only say Hello, but to hang out and rest a while with his older brother.  Even more odd, Carter showed no signs of displeasure.  His face was blank, minus the usual stinkface that accompanies most Wyatt-encounters.  It was as though the two had resolved to maintain respect, if not admiration, for one another.

The relationship between the two sometimes reminds me of that between myself and my own brother.  I think he was not too excited when I first came along and became the baby of the family.  He would have been very happy indeed if someone had adopted me into a different family.

Marcus and I have never seen eye to eye, on any topic of importance.  I could have done without the incessant repetition of his Joe Satriani cassette on the way to school.  I’m sure he did not appreciate my taking all his leftover toys and claiming them as my own.  Most of all, our views of politics and religion have taken divergent strides toward different sides of the universe.  While he shares my mother’s need for socializing and having millions of friends, I am a loner, lost in my own thoughts, like my dad.  And sadly, the one thing we have in common is a hair-trigger temper.

At times, my brother and I find peace with one another.  We even go for long stretches seeming to be friendly.  But something always happens to break the cease-fire, and we are back to fighting like–dare I say–cats and dogs.  Or Wyatt and Carter.  That “something” is usually related to my mother and her meddling.  Currently, we are back at war and I doubt we’ll ever find that lasting peace.

Wyatt Loves Carter

Soon after I took the photo, Wyatt puffed up three times his size and bit Carter between the shoulder blades.  Carter turned in disgust and lighted himself onto his cabinet.  Wyatt jumped and ran away.  At least I got a few good shots of the two of them together.

Premature Birth of an Idea

As of this moment, it looks as though I will not be moving home to the farm. At least, not while my parents are still alive.

I was speaking with my mother on the phone a while ago. She was doing her famous bluetooth-while-you-work babbling, standing on a ladder and talking while she painted, when she did something else she is famous for: she slipped an unintended nugget of information.