Rain and Wind and Snow - Oh My!

 Yes - we actually had some snow on the weekend - it was utterly depressing to see my tulips getting smashed by the torrential rains. And, this year we had more lilac on our old lilac tree than ever before - it was stunning. But that too was pelted with buckets of rain. Sigh. But today the sun is out, and all is very green, very moist, but the grass and weeds, very high.

Saved a small crab-apple one winter,
from a neighbor's tree.
Winter-sowed the seeds within.
In spring, one germinated, and grew over the years.
6 years later I finally have blooms.

 

So pretty.....

Tulips  before the rains....

Happy Spring!!

Easy like a Sunday...oops....

Ah, feels sooo good!
Wednesday brought a very welcome heatwave and the sunporch was opened up for one and all to have a lounge-about.
Rascal, aka "not-our-cat" was more than pleased the season had been kicked off at last.

Waiting and Dreaming: Suncatcher

As we wait today for a nasty winter storm with lots of snow,
We recall just last weekend as the sun shone down,
Dreaming of endless sunny days
and flowers,
endless flowers.

The most gorgeous (and huge) Hyacinths EVER,
from Cat Wrangler.

This photo came out blurry and was going to delete it.
Applied watercolor effect
and what a lovely surprise.
Aren't I talented? ;)

Wesolych Swiat - Happy Easter!

The bunny band comes out to play once a year!

Wesolych Swiat!
Happy Easter!

You're Lost Little Girl....

"tell me who are you......" (The Doors)
I found this little girl randomly on ebay,
she bears a striking resemblance to me, at that age.
The street seems similar to where I live now.
Who was she?
What did she become?
Was her life a happy one?
I have given her a temporary home.

 

 

 

And speaking of lost ones,
this wee one appeared at our door one night.
A gorgeous, friendly kitty,
And totally oblivious to the
glares of outrage from the others
as she/her checked out the house
and all its comforts.
When grown up, she/he may very well look like our
old Billy - back in England.

Scenes from Christmas Past

Where did it go?
Christmas?

 

Any ideas?

Harrumph!
What a messy table,
Just me and the cats hangin' out..
adding some class to this
Christmassy chaos.

Hmm - is somebody plotting something?

How about this innocent-looking fellow?
just the night before this....

Middle of the night crash heard,
I feared what it was,
and sure enough - it was.
Or rather, it wasn't -
anymore.

"Wasn't me", says Manitou, all cute and floofy.

"Wasn't me" says Rascal - holiday guest No.1

"Wasn't me either", says holiday guest No.2 Pantero (Reverend)

"Couldn't have been me - I don't even live here!"
Exclaims Kitty-never-seen-before-hope-he's-not-homeless-and-especially-hope-not-an-expectant-female!

Ghost - remnants,
Shape of Christmas Tree,
past.
(Mr. Poole "ain't talkin")

So what did Crazy Christmas Cat Lady do?
Must have a tree for Epiphany
It's only January 4th!
In response to suggestions to put Christmas away,
Since it came down anyway.
Oh yes, the tree rose again, sans glass balls,
Just an icy vision, mostly white and luminous,
nothing breakable.
We hang on to Christmas tightly,
despite disasters. :)

Longfellow approves of the restoration....
the brief prolongation of
holiday cheer....

...Until next year...
For auld lang syne...

Happy and Healthy New Year everyone!

Winter Solstice and The Crossing

Today we have arrived at the shortest day of the year. From here onward, the road leads toward spring, as far off as that may seem. Last day of work. I am pensive - verging toward depressed. I didn't even go to the company holiday lunch, although there were pretty good reasons not to go, according to me - ha ha. I have had, instead, a nice private time in my office: Christmas music, a bit of wine, and the freedom to sing out loud, as vigorously as I pleased. It felt good. The way I feel now, as someone once said - it is best I am where people are not. Outside, not festive at all: sunny, mild, no snow - yuck. I am a whole week behind my home "trimming", not even my tree yet - hopefully tomorrow, with the plunging temperatures, we will have some snow, and finally I can cheer up the house, and maybe myself as well.

I keep looking for signs, a reason to believe. But sometimes I forget the ones I have seen, or simply scoff that it must be some weird coincidence. But I have one to share that defies such cynicism - even for me. It is the end-story to our dear departed Bandito. I have not had time or heart to write about it yet. After he left us, it was up to Cat Wrangler, as usual, to perform that most horrible of tasks: the digging, and the burial. We have a huge garden. And that allows for many spots to be chosen, while at the same time avoiding areas filled with tree roots, impeding the digging. CW chose one - then suddenly changed his mind and chose another, near the old lilac tree: a totally random spot.  But well chosen, it will become clear. And so he began to dig. His spade eventually hit something  large, metal and old. With some effort he unearthed a very rust-laden and very old car jack. On it, barely visible, were the words "Alliance, Ohio."  First of all, after a quick "google", I learned that Alliance was originally known as "The Crossing" (crossing to the Rainbow Bridge?). It gets better. This year, in 2012, Alliance, Ohio was the place where the first feline historical museum in the U.S. was opened by the Cat Fanciers Association. That's right. Also, their special exhibition this year was one featuring the famous maneki neko. Earlier this summer, as Bandito had began to fade, our own maneki neko was moved from upstairs to the summer porch - where he finally left us. 

"No fear, Bandito - I will lead you home...."

Longfellow's Long Journey Back

The flower baskets have given way to festive wreaths around town, and I realize that an update is way past overdue.  The main subject is of course, our Longfellow. Whatever trauma he suffered due to his accident, the nature of which we will never know, has happily passed by, and he is his usual “odd” self. After several trips to the vet, the last one, which featured the evil man making an appearance in the house no less, caused our poor boy to say, “enough” and promptly went into a self-imposed exile in the  spare room upstairs. Food and litter had to be relocated just for him, as any attempt to bring him back downstairs was fruitless, and resulted in a quick escape back to his safe place. After close to a month of having our patient sequestered, with door open by the way, one of his last such escapes was surprisingly quick and effortless, and that is when we realized his recovery was almost complete – he was simply having a psychological issue that had to be overcome, in his own good time. Whatever had happened to him, it resulted in a torn leg, a torn belly, and the need to relearn how to use a litterbox – he had suffered a huge shock, but he was coming out of the dark at last – we had even been “prepared” for the worst – that’s how bad the situation had seemed. Now, he is eating, drinking and all the rest, just like normal. One day, he simply left the “recovery” room and didn’t go back. Although he is quite thin – he is close to 15+ years after all - our Longfellow has been restored to us.

9 Years Ago

O call my bother back to me

Where is my dearest Tom

The leaves fall off from every tree

And winter soon will come.

My garden is forsaken now

I cannot work alone

I've laid aside my spade and hoe

Since Tom is far from home

As o'er the lawn I stray alone

As by the walnut tree

I think of you dear brother Tom

O do you think of me?

O call my brother back to me

I cannot play alone

The leaves fall off from every tree

And winter soon will come.

This simple but touching poem I found in some old correspondence I was archiving recently. Curious, I googled the first line, and it seems to be a derivative of a more well-known poem:

The Child's First Grief

Oh! call my brother back to me!
I cannot play alone;
The summer comes with flower and bee -
Where is my brother gone?

The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight -
Oh! call my brother back!

The flowers run wild - the flowers we sow'd
Around our garden tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load -
Oh! call him back to me!

"He would not hear thy voice, fair child!
He may not come to thee;
The face that once like spring-time smiled,
On earth no more thou 'lt see.

"A rose's brief, bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given:
Go - thou must play alone, my boy!
Thy brother is in heaven."

And has he left his birds and flowers;
And must I call in vain?
And through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

And by the brook and in the glade
Are all our wandering's o'er?
Oh! while my brother with me play'd,
Would I had loved him more!


Felicia Hemans . 1793-1835

---------------------------------------------------- 

Gone but never forgotten, my brother, Alex:

Angels and Archives

 Working in archives can often be melancholy business. Across one’s desk pass photographs of young people in their prime, wedding snaps, candids. All the long stretch of their lives ahead of them – what surprises would come to them – what tragedies – what joys - what life? And now gone, long gone. With no one to remember their living lives anymore – as their descendants are too – long gone. Of course I am talking about very old photos – Victorian era and beyond. Those photos are truly the best, as so often we see faces that seem to be restrained – proper – not allowing any hint of emotion to shine through for the camera – or for anyone else. But as depressing as this can be (and I rarely need extra help in that department), there is a comfort in times of sorrow and grief and misery: the knowledge, indeed the certainty, that it will not last – it too shall pass. As often as grief visits us, I always wonder how can we continue to live – how can we remain, when they have gone? We do because we must, and because there is only that one other alternative. And so – we do not die from grief – the pain becomes blunt, a dull throb, then eases over time into a warm memory of the one who passed. The jagged edges gone. This is the survival mechanism – urging us, beckoning us, to keep going. And so we go….

I am addicted to Google street view. I do not travel for a variety of reasons, and so on any given lunch-break, off I go to Portofino, or to the edge of Scotland – a  view of a lonely lighthouse – with just the seemingly endless sea for a view. I imagine living there. On the edge of the world.  As I work with old correspondence, I am often prompted to look up a location the person had visited, and am able to see – instantly – the moors, the cliffs, the sea, the limitless sky – all different now, yet the same. It all changes, yet it all stays the same – such a puzzle and paradox this life is. In one letter, the author writes of visiting the famous cemetery in Genoa – renowned for its stunning memorial sculptures. So I checked to see some images, and the one above struck me most intensely. So extraordinarily beautiful and moving: an angel – fallen from heaven – smashed to our earthly ground – agonized by a burning grief - wings broken and torn.

Maybe dying from grief is a privilege reserved for the angels alone.