The red thread binds us from birth
To whom we must meet
Before we come Home.
The red thread binds us from birth
To whom we must meet
Before we come Home.
The Crankee Yankee and I once adopted a stray cat who had been on the streets for a long time. He had half-healed cuts on his chest and neck, and was pretty thin. We immediately took him to our vet, who checked him all over, attended to the cuts, gave him his shots and microchipped him. This was our Pepper (to see more about Pepper, see my older posts “The Christmas Cat,” and “Love in the Shape of a 12-lb. Cat”), and we had him for nine and a half months.
Pepper had an incurable hereditary heart condition, which meant lots of special meds and no more going outside. Twice we had to rush him to the animal emergency room as fluid built up so much that his heart was threatened. After treatment, he was fine. We knew that his condition would eventually kill him, but while we had him, he was well-cared for and was loved deeply. He made friends with our two cats, Nala and Pookie, and even began to play, which was hilarious–he had very long legs, and he looked like a giraffe playing soccer. He had an endearing habit of perching on your shoulder like a parrot, his purr loud and happy in your ear.
Coincidently, at the time the Crankee Yankee found Pepper, he was about to have radiation therapy for prostate cancer. While he went through it as gracefully as he could, it took a lot out of him, and he needed to rest frequently. During those days, Pepper stayed close to him and napped with him. At night, he slept on the Crankee Yankee’s pillow, right above his head. It was just as though Pepper had been called to him to comfort him through radiation.
Once the therapy was finished, Pepper still stayed close, and was a warm and constant presence. The Crankee Yankee always said that he was his own “therapy cat.” Unfortunately, Pepper’s disease progressed, and the time came when he stopped eating, and we knew he was in pain. It broke our hearts take him to our vet and have him put to sleep. We felt we had done the best we could for him, and were glad we had been able to give him a good life while we had him.
In time, the Crankee Yankee happened to meet the people who’d owned him, and asked why the cat was on the street for so long. They said that he seemed to want to be out all the time, and he stayed out more and more. One day they didn’t see him, and months went by without him returning.
Now, I ask you–if you have a cat that likes to be outdoors, why in the world would you not care where he is? Or put a collar on him with an address and phone number on it? Or just care enough to put up a sign and a picture to find him? As they told the Crankee Yankee, they “wondered” where he went.
The Crankee Yankee is not very tolerant of people who are lax about their animal’s care, but he held it together and told the past owners Pepper’s story. They did fill in one blank for us, that Pepper’s actual name was “Sprocket,” and that he was about 12 years old.
When we relayed all this to our vet, who, by the way, adores cats–he said that too often people regard cats as “second class citizens.” I have always wondered why there is no law to register cats as you would a dog–why is that?
Just think; because the Crankee Yankee was there at the right time and place, he rescued a wonderful cat who in turn comforted him through radiation therapy. They both helped each other, and that cat was no second class citizen–he was our hero.
Squeak, groan, crackle, moan–
Ice shifts on the pond
And complains against the shore.
Anyone who has had a death in the family probably goes through similar cycles, moods, ups, downs, and questioning if they did enough to help. Emotions are jumbled, things hit you from left field, you find yourself crying during a soup ad on TV, or laughing hysterically at something that wasn’t remotely funny. You are up, down and sideways. I have often wanted to distance myself from my own head and walk around for a few days without it. It would be a relief, but these whirling thoughts are–you guessed it–all part of the process of grieving a life, rejoicing over that life, then letting the pain of that loss go.
Writing gives structure to my thoughts, and just as I list my “to dos” each day, I made a list of what exactly has been bugging me. I did this because I recently got so down, so negative, so lost in my own head that I wanted to just disappear. I wanted to round up all these painful and scary thoughts, push them into a burlap sack and bury them so deep that they would never bother me again.
But that isn’t possible, and it isn’t smart even if it were possible. So I made myself a list of all those whirling thoughts just so I could finally confront them. I didn’t leave a thing out, and guess what? The list wasn’t anywhere near as long as I thought it would be. We can’t expect that going through an experience like this is easy, but it is part of life, and moreover, part of what we need to learn as human beings.
I would far rather live and love fully, joyously, gladly, happily, and at some point face the loss of people I love with all my heart. That pain we feel is not permanent, nor is it meant to be. We have the comfort of knowing and remembering all those wonderful seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years of basking in all that love. And it’s worth it; so much so that we find that we can live through that pain and survive.
My amazing 91-year old dad said something the other day that was exquisitely profound and truthful. He said, “you know, if it had been me who died first, your mother would have mourned, but she would have gone on doing the things she loved. She would go to her book club, have coffee at the bookstore with her friends, play endless rounds of Scrabble, attend her PEO meetings, go out for lunch, go on trips and laugh and enjoy life. In short, she would LIVE. And that’s what I’m going to do; I’m going to LIVE.”
And that’s what I’m going to do as well.
I know I’ve posted this before, but I have kept colds at bay for years with this simple infusion:
Some Cleaning Tips:
How to make your own laundry soap (each ingredient can be found in your local supermarket):
Grate the soap and put it in a large pot (if you own a lobster pot, that’s just about the size you’ll need). Add six cups of water and heat until the soap melts. Add the washing soda and the borax and stir until it’s dissolved. Removed from heat. Pour four cups of hot water into the 2 gallon bucket. Now add the soap mixture and stir. Now add one gallon plus six cups of water into the bucket and stir. Let the soap sit for about 24 hours and it will gel. Use 1/2 cup per load of laundry; it will cost you about a penny a load.
NOTE: The finished soap will not be a solid gel; it will be more of a watery gel that looks sort of like egg noodle soup. Also, the soap is a low-sudsing soap, so if you don’t see actual suds, that’s ok. Suds are NOT what does the cleaning; it’s the ingredients. We have used this for years, and it does a great job. Not only that, but sheets and towels washed in this mix come out fluffy and soft in the dryer.
Easy-Peasy Chicken Broth
The next time you either roast a chicken or buy one already cooked, it’s easy to make a good chicken broth. This broth can be enjoyed by itself or you can add chopped chicken, vegetables, rice or pasta to it for a heartier soup. Here’s how:
Let it cook (medium heat) down until the carcass is about 2-3″ above the water. Strain this mixture into a new pot, and throw out the bones, vegetables, etc. (I do NOT recommend using the chicken from this mix; it will be pretty played-out and tasteless at this point.) What’s left over is a wonderful chicken broth. Pour it off into a container (a glass bottle is what I use), let it cool, then refrigerate. If it gels after being in the refrigerator, you’ve made a great broth.
You can freeze the broth if you like and use it as is, or add in chopped chicken, onions, carrots, celery, etc. I’ve also added a can of corn and some cilantro to give it a Southwestern taste.
Good luck and have fun!
During the summer when I was in high school, I was a waitress in the town’s most popular burger and ice cream restaurant. It was a terrific place to work, and I learned far more there than how to fold napkins, serve food efficiently, politely deal with all sorts of people; most of all, I learned how to be professional. The husband and wife who ran the restaurant trained me well, and I have carried the principles they taught me throughout my working life, such as:
What I learned specifically about waitressing:
Please bear in mind that, no matter how thoughtful, caring and considerate your service is, people are going to tip you well, badly or not at all. This is annoying, but it really is out of your control. Do not gripe (out loud) about it.
Things you should NEVER say to your diners:
Back when I was waitressing, the rule for greeting customers was addressing them by their names if you knew them, or if you didn’t, simply “folks.” Back then it was considered rude to address diners as “you guys” or, if the diners were older people, “sweetie,” “sweetheart,” “honey,” “hun,” and so on. To do so was considered disrespectful. But times have changed, so it seems that doesn’t apply anymore.
Personally, I don’t like being called “you guys,” “sweetie,” “sweetheart,” “honey,” but I didn’t mind at all when I lived in the South and was routinely called “darlin’.” Funny, huh? But the “sweetie,” “sweetheart,” “honey” just makes me feel old, and it makes me want to tip a lot less. I don’t, of course–but I want to.
Anyway, I learned that you pretty much get back what you give, although sometimes you get griped at for no good reason you can see. If so, please remember that in that case, it’s completely their issue and not yours–just as long as you were considerate and patient with them. One of the hardest things I had to learn was that you can be as nice as you possibly can be, helpful, fast, efficient–and you still can get screwed on your tip or get barked at for no good reason. Again, try to remember that the diner may be having an awful day. It’s just one of the many things you’ll just have to let go. Don’t let it eat you up. No pun intended.
*The place at which I worked during high school summers had fabulous homemade ice cream and sauces; fudge, butterscotch, marshmallow, penuche, and, for some odd reason; pineapple mint. This was an ungodly combination of mashed pineapple and mint flavoring. It was always on the counter and looked like pineapple in mold sauce, and tasted like pineapple-flavored toothpaste. The one and only time I went “off the reservation” as a waitress was when a diner asked pineapple mint over vanilla ice cream. I said without thinking twice, “Please don’t order that; it’s terrible. I recommend the fudge sauce.”
I guess I’m retired. I didn’t plan to be retired this soon, but the last job I had dried up after nearly three years. I had hoped it would last until I felt I wanted to retire, but it didn’t. I could get another job I suppose, but after living nearly five months without one, I’m not so sure I want to.
This made me think about work in general. Why do we work? We work because we need money for all those things we need like food, clothing, shelter, transportation, education, supporting a family, and the occasional vacation or hobby, etc. Sometimes we work doing things we love, and that’s magical. Sometimes we work because we just need the money. Sometimes we work because we need to be busy, help others, make the world a better place, rescue animals, bring clean water to third world countries, and so on.
When you no longer work, does that mean that you are no longer useful? I don’t believe that for a second. I am starting to think that, when you no longer work, you finally have the time to discover what it is you really want to do. And it could be something for which you don’t even get paid–in money, anyway.
Having these months has been a godsend. I was able to help my dad care for my mom while she was home under Hospice care. I could stay overnight, pick up prescriptions, help clean the house, cook, and so on. But now that Mom has passed on, I’m coming to look at this time as a space to think of what I want to do, and what my purpose is at this time of my life.
How little I understood about work when I was in my 20s, 30s, 40s and even 50s! Work doesn’t make the person; what the person does makes the person. If I have learned anything from my mother’s example, it is that we are here to reach out to others, to stumble and fall and get up again; to help make peace and harmony around us, to pull in those people dear to us, to help where we can, to be kind, to give what we can (and not beat ourselves up for when we can’t), to live fully, breathe deeply, love honestly, and try our best to be our better selves. Also, I learned from my dad that not only can you really love your work, but that many people will benefit from that love.
There are some people and some jobs we must leave because they are not healthy for us. There are some paths we must not take. The hard thing is to figure out which paths to follow. Sometimes you have to just throw yourself into something and take the chance that you may fail–but you may also succeed.
That said, I’m not sure where this particular journey will take me. But I do know that, for the first time in my life, I may be “working” in a way I never have before. The work will be of my choosing; not for the money or position, but because I need to do it and it needs to be done. I believe that often our “real” work gets off the ground once we let go of the “shoulds:” “I should do this, I should do that,” especially when those shoulds do not bring us joy.
So, I guess maybe I may not be retired after all. It’s going to be fun to see what happens next….stay tuned!