Scrungy's Creator

New Site Address

2007-09-18T16:46:00.000-07:00

I've been able to fix this site since I recreated Scrungy's Creator to Scrungy and Friends, but I like the new Scrungy and Friends much better.
I'm sorry for inconvenience...due to my dumb blogging difficulties.
This site will remain here for the archives, but the real Scrungy has moved on.
Please join Scrungy and Friends at here.

=^.^=

This Site Got Broken And Has Been Recreated As Scrungy & Friends

2007-09-13T11:58:00.000-07:00

Ka-Pow!

On Thursday I set out to change my blog page from a two column template to a three. I saw my mistake as soon as I hit the button. In a panic I did something else and messed things up for good. I saw the damage as it happened and it's not fixable. Nor do I want to even try. I like the new site I've created much better, the title and the link. It's not much different than Scrungy's Creator, except that it gives me a better opportunity to create a life for Scrungy and his friends on the web.

So please reset my link and come over to http://scrungy.blogspot.com/ where you will be greeted by Scrungy & Friends.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience. After a few tears and a hissy fit, (there was no chocolate in the house at the time) I calmed down and began to redesign a new site. Because my old one was at a point of no return, I just forged ahead with a different site and address. I hadn't planed on moving away from Scrungy's Creator, but I'm hopping everyone will recognize me when I sign in as Dorothy with my photo of Gretchen and myself.

I'll soon be moving my archives because I want to keep them all together, but the comments won't be with them from this point back.

I'll check this site often until I'm sure everyone got the word and has found my new home.

Thank you all for your patience and friendship. I enjoy each and every comment you've all made and the friendships that have blossomed from them. I also enjoy meeting new friends and hope that I will continue to increase my circle of friends over at Scrungy & Friends.

Thursday Thirteen #15

2007-09-12T17:40:00.000-07:00

Here are 13 reasons why I should not have gotten out of bed today!

This post comes with a warning...I'm having a bad day. Read at your own risk.

Click on the picture to make it bigger.

1. I didn't want to get out of bed today. I wasn't feeling well and should have stayed put. I finally convinced myself to get up and go to the computer...big, big, big, mistake! I broke my site!

2. I couldn't leave well enough alone, I had to try and fix it! I nearly cleaned it clean off the map.

3. If I had been satisfied with the layout of my first site I had I wouldn't be having a problem right now!

4. I wanted a three panel template and thought I saved my old site and didn't! That's because I don't know what heck I'm doing.

5. Now my html template thingy on this bog is not working and I can't refix this site! I'm tired of reading all the help stuff...my mind has turned to mush, my butt has turned to stone. My cat hates me because I haven't moved from this spot since I got up. I didn't listen to my inner voice, I should have been writing instead of screwing around with a new layout...again!

6. I've started working on a new site with three panels, but I won't have it done for awhile. I'm tired of sitting here being frustrated.

7. I've already spent my entire afternoon, trying to figure things out. Wasted...wasted...wasted! Oh, I think I said that already...refer to the cartoon above, please.

8. I been having really bad thoughts all day about just not blogging anymore.

9. I will lose all my archives and have to start over with new ones. Uck!

10. I will keep this old site up for awhile while I'm figuring things out. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Maybe this day never really happened and I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be the way it used to be.

11. The new site will be called Scrungy's Creator II (I think) now I'm beginning to think that was a really dumb title in the first place and maybe I should just come up with a whole new identity.

12. It will be dark soon and time to go back to bed! yeah, for once I can't wait. I've accomplished nothing but producing dark clouds. I'm going to go eat something besides peach pie, something nourishing and healthy...watch TV maybe...then read. Today never happened...today never happened...today never happened.

13. Maybe this is a good thing, Right? I should always learn from my mistakes? Someone please tell me I'm right!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday

2007-09-11T23:38:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday

2007-09-10T23:27:00.000-07:00

This reminds me of Scrungy and his freinds as kittens.

The following is an excerpt from Scrungy: Abandoned

Scrungy had never been allowed to be out of Deedum or Zera's sight; likewise, the king's kittens were also not allowed to leave the tower, unless escorted by their father or receiving their instructions from the guards. As restless and curious as kittens were, the four males were not content to spend every day of the summer scooting around the rocks and crevices of the tower. One August morning after Scrungy, Sarlin, Diesel, and Mott had finished their lessons with Asanka and Arjuna, the four-month-old kittens decided to sneak off and go to the edge of the forest. Scrungy had been telling them about how he had crossed the abandoned field and about the huge tree where he spent the first two nights after he had been dumped. They had decided that they were now old enough to do what they wanted and they tracked off through the forest to the edge of the abandoned field.

"This is the tree that I slept in," Scrungy exclaimed. "See, here is the cavity that the squirrel had her nuts in."

Looking up into the branches of the tree, Mott cried, "Wow, this is a giant oak. Look how far up the branches go. We can race each other up to the top!"

"Yes, let's go," Scrungy shouted.

Diesel and Sarlin hung back as Mott and Scrungy scooted up the trunk and out onto a low-hanging branch.

"What are you afraid of, Sarlin?" Mott cried. "Look how much fun we can have. These branches are wide and the bark is thick. It's easy to grasp with our claws. Come on! Don't be a scaredy-cat!"

"Father will be very angry with us for even being here," Sarlin pouted. He peered through the high grass and weeds that shielded them from the field. "We better go back home."

"Nonsense, Sarlin!" Scrungy cried. "We're old enough to be out here, aren't we? Your father always said that cats in the wild grow up much faster than domestic cats do. So we gotta be at least six or seven months old compared to a house cat."

Diesel was torn between wanting to be sensible like his older brother Sarlin, or go up into the giant tree and have fun with Mott and Scrungy. Finally, his urge to scurry up into the tree overwhelmed his desire to stay on the ground with Sarlin. He bounded up the massive trunk and joined his brothers on the lowest limb. "Race you to the top!" Mott shouted and all three scampered up through the branches to the top of the tree.

The old oak that stood as a sentinel to the cat's kingdom was home to other creatures as well, creatures that the kittens had not yet had the opportunity to experience. Very near the top of the tree was a hollow filled with sleeping raccoons, a mother and three babies. So far the kittens knew how to climb up and had just reached the top when the mother raccoon left her hollow and climbed up after them. Scrungy had gone out on one limb, Mott on another, and Diesel was still clinging to the main part of the trunk when the mother raccoon surprised them. Her hissing and snarling, the baring of her very sharp teeth, narrowed eyes, and flattened ears frightened the kittens. Diesel was the closest to the raccoon and began to climb faster until he managed to reach the limb that Mott was clinging to. The mother raccoon was wise enough to know that she was too large for the branches that held the kittens, so she held her position between the two branches. Sooner or later the kittens would have to start down, and then she would make a meal of at least one of them.

Sarlin, still on the ground below, became terrified for his brothers and started to cry. "You're going to die! All of you are going to die! If that creature doesn't get you, you will fall and then you will die!"

To Scrungy, clinging to the highest branch in the tree, Sarlin looked like a large white mushroom growing out of the tree roots below. He could barely hear Sarlin's cries. He could see Mott and Diesel across from him, crying and clinging to end of their branch together with all their might. He knew he had to do something to distract the large beast from her position so they could get past her.

Bravely, Scrungy had started to inch his way towards the center of the tree and main part of the trunk leading down when a large brown and black, tiger-striped tabby bolted up the trunk and lit into the mother raccoon from behind. The two animals, locked in a fierce grip, tumbled over branches as they fell to the ground. As soon as they landed, the raccoon took off running and disappeared into the thick underbrush.

The large, unknown cat lay lifeless at the base of the tree. Sarlin cautiously approached the injured cat as Scrungy backed down the trunk and joined him beside the tom.

"Who is he?" Scrungy whispered. "Is he dead?"

"I think he is still alive," Sarlin whined, "and we are in so much trouble." He looked up into the tree at his brother's still clinging to their branch. "Scrungy, they're still up there. What are we going to do?"

"Don't panic, Sarlin," Scrungy cried. "First we have to get some help. This guy is injured, and one of us needs to go get Deedum and Zera."

"Not me!" Sarlin shouted. "I'll never find my way to your place. I've never been there before—remember?"

"We've got to do something, Sarlin. That beast could come back at any minute, then what?"

A deep, but weak, voice startled them as the creature they were standing over groaned. Instinctively their fur stood on end, their ears went flat against their head as they barred their teeth and hissed. "Calm down, boys," the voice said. "I'm not dead, I've just had the wind knocked out of me."

Scrungy and Sarlin relaxed. "Who are you? What—where did you come from? I've never seen you in the kingdom before," Scrungy said.

The large stripped tabby got up off the ground and shook his body to remove the bits of grass and leaf litter that clung to his fur. "That's because I am not from around here. I was just coming into the forest from that road out there, and I saw your dilemma. You boys don't know how to climb a tree very well, do you?" He glanced up at Diesel and Mott, still clinging for life at the top of the tree. "My name is Wahdee. What's yours?"

Scrungy blurted out their names. "I'm Scrungy, this is Sarlin, and his brothers who are still up in the tree are Diesel and Mott. Can you help them get down?"

Wahdee's booming laugh nearly toppled the pair. "I'm not going after them. I've already fallen once today. Besides, you seem to have made it down all right, Scrungy. Last I saw before I hit the ground, you were just as far out on your limb as they are on theirs. Why don't you go back up and show them how it's done?" Wahdee continued to laugh.

Scrungy frowned at the large cat that had just saved them from certain death. "I—I don't remember how I did it. I was just so scared that you were dead, and the next thing I remember I was on the ground beside you."

Wahdee laughed even harder. "Well, you best be remembering soon because that mother raccoon is bound to come back and seek out her youngins. Go on," he urged, "you did it once, you can do it again. Besides, how good of a tom are you going to make if you can't climb a tree proper?"

"I'm going to be a big strong cat," Scrungy insisted. "I've been taking lessons." Scrungy streaked up the tree trunk to a safe place in the crook of a branch nearest Diesel and Mott.

"You've seen me do this once already," he shouted out to them. "Just watch me do it again. That cat who saved our lives down there, said that the mother raccoon will be coming back looking for her babies soon. So you better learn real quick how to back down out of a tree. Besides, what good are all our lessons if we don't know how to get in and out of a dumb old tree?"

Scrungy slowly backed down a few feet and waited for Diesel and Mott to follow his example. Soon, shaky and scared stiff, Diesel turned his tail towards the trunk and carefully backed off the branch that he'd been clinging to until he got to the main trunk then scrambled down it to the ground and safety. "Come on, Mott, you can do it, too." Scrungy called to him. "It won't look good for Asanka and Arjuna if we can't get ourselves out of a tree. You've seen us do it, now I'm going down to the ground and wait for you."

Mott shut his eyes and timidly backed down the tree the way that Diesel had just done. When he hit the ground he turned to his brothers and Scrungy and groaned. "I'm too young for this."

This is copyrighted material and only for the purpose of this blog, please respect it as so and just enjoy reading it here. DBB

Thursday Thirteen #14

2007-09-05T18:44:00.000-07:00

Thirteen actors that I have a crush on…and the movies that made me fall in love with them, all of which I would watch over and over and over again. These are my favorite movie men and even though I've listed only one or two of their movies….I like everything they've ever made.
Some are long gone from the silver screen and others have only gotten better with age.

In no particular order:

1. Harrison Ford – Indiana Jones

2. Richard Gere – Pretty Woman and Chicago

3. Pierce Brosnan – Bond, James Bond, of course

4. Kevin Costner – Message in a Bottle and Dragonfly

5. Tom Selleck – High Road to China

6. Cary Grant – Father Goose and Operation Petticoat

7. John Wayne – The Quiet Man

8. Rock Hudson – Man's Favorite Sport

9. Patrick Stewart – Jean-luc Picard, Captain of the Starship Enterprise

10. Mel Gibbson - Braveheart

11. Sean Connery – Medicine Man

12. James Garner – Notebook

13. Sam Elliot - Conager

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless ~Full of Love~ Wednesday

2007-09-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

Photo in an emal - author unknown

Mike the Mysterious: Episode 6: Writer Wannabe

2007-09-04T01:07:00.000-07:00

Mike, The Writer Wannabe

Mike had been out in the living room in his basket and still wearing that silly feathered hat for over a month now. I was getting worried about him. I was thinking it was time for a change of scenery. I must have broken the spell he was in when I moved the living room sofa back to its winter position, against the wall. I finally persuaded him to put the orange and black hat and cape away until October. "Besides, you're getting very dusty, Mike!" I complained to him.

He reminded me that I was supposed to be making him a new costume. A sparkly wizard's hat and cape. "We'll," I said, "that won't happen for awhile. So let's just put this costume away and pick out something else to wear. At least until it's time to pull out the bear's sweaters again." He frowned, but gave up his costume willingly. "It's been way to warm for this thing anyway," he groaned.

I gave him a good shake to get off all the dust that had accumulated on his melted back fur, and wiped the dirt from his golden, glass eyes. I could tell he was very appreciative of my efforts to spruce him up a bit.

So, today when I came into the office to turn on the computer, I found Mike already at the keyboard. He said it was time to write a story for Cat Tuesday and he was going to write his own story. I'd said I wasn't ready to do that yet, but he'd just jammed on a pair the bear's glasses; how he'd found them I'll never know, and started up the computer.

"I wanna be a writer like you," he stated mater-of-factly, and started clicking away at the keyboard.

"Wait," I yelled. That's my new computer. You're gonna mess things up. Move aside and let me do the typing. You just tell me what you want to say. Nobody, and that includes you fluffheads, is gonna use my keyboard!"

A wry glint flashed across a golden eye as he politely reminded me that Gretchen was allowed to blog, so why couldn't he blog, too? I had no rational answer that I could give him that didn't sound prejudiced against fluffheads, no matter how smart they were."Okay," I finally relented. "But if you mess things up I'm going to de-fluff you piece, by wiry piece.'
I'm sure the thought of being de-fluffed was horrifying to him. He didn't argue with me anymore, he just climbed up on the desk and started dictating to me.

"Okay," he began. "My name is Mike the Mysterious, as you well know, and I'm gonna write my memoirs."

"Wait," I said, holding my hand up to stop him from continuing. "Your memoirs? You have memories to write about?"

He just looked at me through a pair of yellow lenses that belonged to the bears, and stated: "I had a life once. Maybe it was a long time ago, but I did have a life."

"Sorry," I said. "Please continue."

"I need to get my thoughts together. Hand me a pencil, will you? And I'll need some note paper, those colorful sticky things you're always using will do. I'll need a Dictionary and a Thesaurus…"

I rolled my eyes as I watched him scurry about on my desk writing notes, thumbing through the Dictionary, the Thesaurus, and the spelling book I keep by the keyboard. I didn't even try to explain that the word program I used had a thing called spell-check.

Minutes ticked by while Mike made notes. Sticky note paper flew in all directions. I think he just loved the idea of scratching a few words and tearing off sheets of tiny paper and sticking them to things, more than he did in making serious notes about his life.
"Ummm, Mike?" I asked, after about twenty minutes of this activity. "Are we going to write today, or what?"

"Oh, yes," he squealed with delight. "Yes, just let me get something to nibble on first. All this thinking has made me hungry." Gretchen had woken up from her nap in her Crystal Geyser Box on the desk and had padded over to her munching table for a light snack. The distraction was too much for Mike, he flew across the desk to where Gretchen was happily scarffing down Temptations and solicited her for a few morsels.

I shouldn't have been surprised that Gretchen moved over so Mike could grab a few bits for himself. Had it been a real-life, furry creature, I'm sure Gretchen would have had a few distasteful words to say, maybe even a well placed swat to the nose…I don't think she's the snack-sharing type. But Mike is Mysterious and has a way with getting around things like sibling rivalry—in this case fluffhead annoyances. Besides, I think Gretchen's already aware that Mike can't really eat. He just pretends. So her little stash was in no real danger.

I had emails to answer and some blogs to look at so I let Mike alone for a spell. Next I noticed he'd found the extra pouch of Temptations and had taken over Gretchen's napping box. Would Gretchen allow him to do that? I looked around. Gretchen had departed for other parts of the apartment. She probably had to visit the little girlcat box and take a drink from the toilet.

I continued to blog, thankful that Mike was distracted from wanting me to write his memoirs. I glanced over at him after a few more minutes. He was enamored by the blue, foil packet that Gretchen's treats came in. It must have been like catnip to him, he got all glassy-eyed as he rolled around and bunny kicked the packet.

Okay, this was weirding me out. I took the packet of salmon flavored treats away from Mike and put them back in the cubbyhole on my hubby's desk. I noticed a few Hershey's chocolate bars stashed in there, too. Hmmm. I poked around some more and stole a candy bar for myself. He wouldn't mind. After all, it was chocolate, and when a woman comes across a chocolate bar, no matter who it belongs to, it's hers.

"Enough!" I told Mike. "Either you get back over here and tell me what to write, or take a nap. I've got work to do."

Mike looked up at me with widened, glazed eyes. For a moment there I was afraid for the candy bar I held in my hand. You don't suppose Mike wants chocolate, too? Naw, I reminded myself. He's just a fluffhead. A quirky little piece of melted back nylon and…hmm, what was he made of, really? I had to take a look at his tag. Aw, yes, "Ty Inc © 2000 (hmm, he's just seven years old? how on earth could he have memoirs?) OAKBROOK, IL., REG. NO. PA—oh geesh, I had to get the magnifying glass—1965 (KR), ALL NEW MATERIAL, CONTENTS POLYESTER, FIBER & P.E. PELLETS IN CLOTH BAG, HANDMADE IN CHINA, CE." Well, that told me nothing. Whatever the outer material was, it certainly was defective. All but his legs and tail had melted in the dryer.

"Hey, come on, Mike!" I startled him out of his salmon flavored induced trance. "Let's get going here I've got other things to do today. I've also got to produce a story for Cat's on Tuesday."

"Oh, dear," his apology was a bit slurred. "Where were we? Ah, yes…my memoirs. Grab me that yellow legal pad, will you?" Mike shuffled across the desk, stepped on a few keys 3lzj;oirtiasfj and settled himself on the note pad by the hard drive, a small pencil tucked behind his ear. "It all began, a hundred years or so, ago; in a land very far away…" he paused, looked up at me over the tops of his glasses, "so far in fact that I'm afraid you've never heard of it, D."

Okay, I was beginning to see that this project was going to take longer than I thought, not to mention the stretch his imagination was going to take. I took his dictation without comment. He was pretty good at story telling actually, and I told him so. In the fluffhead world his story could possibly become a Best Seller.

Mike grinned, and as I was editing a few details, he had scurried back across the keyboard, stepping on a few more keys jwerjgno;ijheoiujtu9235hr and settled himself back in Gretchen's napping box. When I looked up he had my cell phone open and was punching numbers with his thick, black stub that he had for a paw.

"Hey, Mike! Not my cell phone!" I grabbed it before he could punch send. "Who in the world are you calling?"

"My agent," he said.

New Award

2007-09-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

My sweet friend in Belgium, Gattina, gave me the Blogging Star award.

The Blogging Star Award, has been created by Barb at Skittles'Place . She has created it for bloggers who shine their light throughout the Blogoshere, with humor, creativity, or with their kind and thoughtful natures.

I'm honored to be thought of in that way on the Blogosphere. Thank you, Gattina.

I'm supposed to display this award on my blog along with a link to who gave it to me...that would be Gattina at Writer Cramps. I am to mention that it originated at Skittles' Place so Barb can follow it's journey. Feel free to pass it on to any blogger(s) you think should have it.

My first thought went to Thomma Lyn. To me she is Super Star Blogging Star. Her light certainly does shine bright throughout the Blogosphere with her humor, creativity and her kind and thoughtful nature. She's a friend to all the bloggers that she meets. Her cats, the Ballicus, also deserve this award just as much for the same reasons. Marilyn MonREOW and Chairman Mao. So since Gretchen is the better part of me, I'll let her have the honor to present them with this award from her site.

Barb at Skittles' Place probably didn't imagine that such an award as this will fly through the Catsblogosphere....which just goes to show ya, never underestimate the power of cats.

I have one other Blogging Star to give this award to, because of her friendly efforts and creativity. Paula at Basset Knitter. Not just because she is my daughter and I'm proud of her, but because of her blogging talents, her gift of friendship to all she meets. Her light shines brightly, too.

Short Story Writing Month Challenge Begins

2007-09-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

The Short Story Writing Month challenge starts today. The sign-ups have been extended through the weekend. For those of you wishing to participate in the event you still have a chance to join.

The first contest of the SSWM for the best opening sentence has been posted. I've already posted my first sentence, "Ever play the game, button, button, who's got the button?"

You can still enter this first contest... It's open until September 8th. Just go to SSWM site and post your first sentence in the comment section.

13th Thursday 13

2007-08-29T20:00:00.001-07:00

This is my 13th Thursday Thirteen post so I thought I try and list 13 good things about the number 13 in my life.

1. My lucky day seems to be Friday 13.
2. The last four digits of my phone number equal 13.
3. The letters in my first and last name equal 13.
4. My birthday month and day equal 13.
5. The letters in my cat's name equal 13.
6. The letters in my husband's name equal 13.
7. The first date I had with my husband was Friday 13.
8. The letters in my mother's name equal 13.
9. The letters of my first husband's name equaled 13.
10. I live in apartment number 13.
11. Number of years it's been since I left the Midwest has been 13.
12. My first real kiss from a boy was age 13.
13. My favorite hour the day is 13.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday

2007-08-28T22:49:00.000-07:00

Cat's on Tuesday: In Search of Pussy Willows

2007-08-28T00:10:00.000-07:00

In Search of Pussy Willows
an original short shotry by DBB

Miezo reached into the pocket of her denim jacket for her branch cutters. Spring had been very late in coming this year and the sixty-five year old, olive skinned woman was finally able to locate a willow bush just showing the bits of creamy fuzz on its slender red branches. The ground around the pond was still soggy, sucking at every step of her irrigation boots as she made her way towards the stand of pussy willows.

In Miezo's eyes, the first buds of the pussy willow were a definite sign that the world was about to explode into a riot of spring flowers and yellow-green leaves. From across the pond on another stand of willows, a tiny, gray Titmouse sang out to the small, pudgy woman, her long gray-black hair thickly braided down her back. The irrigation boots she wore looked far too large and cumbersome for someone so small. Yet five-foot-two and half Miezo managed very well at gathering an armful of the soft fuzzy branches in them.

The clear, blue morning had been bright with sunshine. The barren branches of the oaks above her seemed to be stretching their gnarly fingers towards the sun. Soaking up as much as of the sun's energy has they could hold, storing it within the thin, seemingly, lifeless branches that would soon burst open with red-tinged catkins: precursors to tender pale, green leaves at least a month away. Shifting her load from one arm to the other, Miezo thought she could almost hear the old tree give a grateful sigh for the sun's gift. She stood gazing across the pond, listening to the morning chorus of small birds that filled the cool, still air.

Satisfied with her collection of the year's first fuzzy branches, Miezo shoved her clippers back into her pocket and headed back to her car. She had one more pond to investigate before heading back home. She had been up since before dawn, contemplating whether or not to fix breakfast at the usual hour her life had demanded for so many long years. Going through the motions of setting the dented, aluminum teakettle on the back burner, pulling out the coffee can, two cups…no wait. Miezo had done this in her sleep for more than forty-seven years. Again she had stumbled through the four a.m. routine to the point of the coffee cups, before realizing it was another lonely day without her treasured companion…Peter. Peter had died early last month. She seldom ate breakfast anymore. It was too lonely now to eat breakfast alone, without her husband.

Life on the prairie had never been lonely. Ever. She always had work to keep her busy. Her stubby little fingers kept busy weaving baskets. Peter called her beautiful willow and grass baskets, Prairie baskets. Peter had been her life. She didn't need anything else to fill the void. They were both eighteen when they married…way back then somewhere…they never had children. Peter worked in the local quarry until he was fifty, then he went to work in the textile factory on the river. He was about to retire in three months from today. Peter and Miezo were going to give up their little white house atop a small hill, surrounded by old oaks, ash and sycamore. They were going to move south. Where the winters would be kinder to their old bones. Peter had a heart attack at work and died the very same day. Now Miezo was lonely.

The oak above Miezo's head seemed to sigh again, bringing her thoughts back to the pussy willow gathering. She had always gathered the tender red willow shoots in the early part of spring for her prairie baskets, but she adored the fuzzy buds and took many home to place in canning jars about her small little house. It always cheered her after the long winter had finally released its icy grip. The first real blooms of spring.

Miezo's attention again turned to the sighing oak. It was singing? Miezo gazed upward, searching the thick bark for signs of movement. There was no breeze about. The air was cool and still. She smiled at the thought that the oak would be singing to her. Peter had a lovely tenor voice and often spent many summer nights on their little porch, singing love songs that he and his guitar composed for her. She missed his voice. Terribly.

She was staring up at a deep crotch in the massive branches when she heard the sigh again. Louder than before, in fact, a cry…not unlike a baby's cry. Her eyes eagerly searched the spot she'd heard the sound come from. "That is not the tree!" she cried out. "What the…"

Tiny blue eyes peered out at her in the deepest part of the crotch. Tiny, pale ears flicked in all directions, taking in the sounds of the pond, the birds, the human voice. The little creature gave one last, desperate utterance to the small woman on the ground below it. "eeeeeoooooow!"

It took Miezo a moment or two to recognize what the trembling, plaintiff creature was. "Kitten?" she called to it. "Are you lost? You are lost…there's no one but me living out here for miles. How did you get here?"

She held up her hand and called to it. The kitten didn't move, but complained even louder than before. "Are you stuck? You are stuck…" Miezo sighed. If Peter had been with her he would have shimmed up that old oak without a second thought. She was afraid to climb on a footstool in her kitchen to get stuff out of the cabinets, how was she going to climb a massive oak to get hold of tiny kitten stuck twenty feet off the ground.

Miezo's car was parked on the old wagon trail over the rise. If she hurried she could get to the car, there was a rope in the trunk. It had always been there. She'd get the rope and…then do what with it? Desperately, she looked about her for something, anything to help her get to this frightened little creature. The kitten's cries had turned into frightful wails.

Miezo dropped the bundle of pussy willows to the ground and circled the tree looking for an easy way up. A low limb, a broken branch, anything to help her reach the kitten. There was nothing. No branches of this tree touched the ground, or bent low. She stepped back shielding her eyes from the bright sun, and called to the kitten once more. With the sound of her voice the kitten's pleas increased. Miezo imagined tears were falling from its pale, fuzzy face. Finally out of frustration she threw her hands up in the air, "Kitten, if you've been stuck in that tree for this long, you'll have to wait until I can come back with help."

Tears gathering in her own eyes, Miezo collected her precious bundle of twigs and slogged back to her car, the irrigation boots hindering her flight. When she reached the car and opened her trunk she noticed the brown paper sack she had packed for her lunch. Fried fish sandwiches and a small bottle of milk. Miezo grabbed the sack, exchanged her boots for her loafers and ran back up the hill to the tree. "Just maybe," she hoped out loud, "you're not really stuck but just too terrified to move. Something must have frightened you up there and you're too afraid to climb down."

When Miezo got to the top of the rise, she could still hear the kitten's cries. Screams really. Lonely, mournful screams of abandonment. Once the kitten saw her approaching the tree again, he stopped. Looked down at her with enormous blue eyes and shuddered. Much like a child would shudder after having a good long cry. "Kitten, I'm back," Miezo said soothingly. "I'm not leaving you here, promise. If I have to stay here at the bottom of this tree with you all day and all night, you will not be alone."

Miezo held up the brown paper bag and shook it a little. She pulled off her denim jacket and spread it like a picnic cloth on the ground beneath the oak. The kitten watched as she opened up the waxed paper and broke apart the sandwich. She sat as if to eat the lunch entirely alone. She uncapped the milk bottle and took a sip. "Kitten," she said, holding up the bottle for him to get a good sniff, "maybe you're just scared, but I think that if you are hungry enough you'll figure out a way to come down. I have fish and milk. What more could a small thing like you want?"

Miezo poured a puddle of milk onto the piece of waxed paper she'd fashioned into a kind of bowl, then turned her back on the tree and the tiny creature, pulled her knees up under her chin and gazed out upon the pond. The birds still chattered excitedly, flitting from branch to branch of the trees and willows across the pond. Eager it seemed to renew old friendships. Find a mate and build a nest. Miezo's heart melted at the thought. Her nest was empty. Peter was gone. She pined for him with every chore. The things they did together, mater-of-fact, without thought. Side by side, working around the house, the garden. If he still lived he'd be with her now, gathering the first of the pussy willows. Rejoicing in the joy of spring with her.

While Miezo's thoughts went deep into remembering her life with Peter, she hadn't noticed the kitten scrabbling backwards down the rough bark of the old oak. She hadn't seen it dash from the roots of the tree in triumph, across the grass to her jacket. To the bits of fish, the puddle of milk. She only came back to the present when she felt a fuzzy face brush against her hand, a sandpaper tongue lick her fingers. Miezo reached out and pulled the pale, color of pussy willows, kitten into her lap. "I knew you could do it," she cooed. "Shall we go home now, you and me? Pussy Willow?" The kitten licked her face in response and began to purr. Miezo laughed and cried at the same time. "You and I will not be lonely anymore."

The End

Scattergories Meme

2007-08-25T17:07:00.000-07:00

My daughter, Paula, bless her heart, tagged me for the 'Scattergories' meme.

Here are the rules:
Use the 1st letter of your name to answer each of the questions.They must be real places, names, things ... nothing made up!If you can't think of anything, skip it.You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name question.If your name happens to start with the same letter as mine, sorry, but you can't use my answers!

My name: Dorothy

1. Famous Singer: Donny Osmond
2. Four letter word: Dove
3. Street: Downing
4. Color: Dark Green
5. Gifts/Presents: Diamonds
6. Vehicle: Dodge Ram
7. Things in a Souvenir Shop: Dresser
8. Boy Name: David
9. Girl Name: Donna
10. Movie Title: Darkman
11. Drink: Dark Chocolate
12. Occupation: Doctor13. Celebrity: Doris Day
14. Magazine: Dazed & Confused Magazine
15. U.S. City: Dodge
16. Pro Sports: Dodgers
17. Fruit: Date
18. Reason for Being Late for Work: Dog ate my draft
19. Something You Throw Away: Dirty Diapers
20. Things You Shout: Drat
21. Cartoon Character: Dogwood

I am tagging: Thomma Lyn,Tinkerbell, Meeyauw,

I'm a Monster, too...

2007-08-24T20:10:00.000-07:00

Your Monster Profile

Twisted Beheader

You Feast On: Lasanga

You Lurk Around In: The Backseats of Cars

You Especially Like to Torment: Groupies

What's Your Monster Name?

I Think Summer's Back For A Day!

2007-08-24T15:21:00.000-07:00

"Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you;

they're supposed to help you discover who you are."

~Lewis Duncombe

It's warming up again. Yesterday was warm but pleasant...today is a bit warmer. I'm still grateful for the weather we're having, but waiting for the other shoe to drop! I really feel for my family and friends that are suffering through the prolonged and intense heat in their area.

The Short Story Writing Month site has put up a contest for the Best Opening Sentence. Check it out. I'm off now to work out the opening sentence to my short story. By the way--you're not limited to the number of short stories you want to submit for Short Story Writing Month...if you can do more than one...have at it!

Thursday Thirteen #12

2007-08-22T20:42:00.000-07:00

This week I’d like to introduce the Short Story Writing Month that will begin September 1, 2007 and will be hosted by Paula, at Basset Knitter.

1. The purpose of this short Story Writing Group is to meet together for one month to have fun sharing, learning, inspiring and supporting each other in short story writing(s).

2. Many will be upcoming NaNoWriMo participants and this is a wonderful place to help condition our minds and fingers for that brain bending November event.

3. There will also be some fun contest and prizes awarded. Because we are only together for four short weeks, Paula will post the first contest this week in order to give everyone’s creative mind a jump start.

4. This group will run from September 1st to October 1st. Signups will end on September 1st at midnight central standard time (give or take an hour or a day.)

5. Paula will be adding helpful writing links to the sidebar for the rest of this week so please come back and visit often.

6. A special Participation Button has been created to place on your sidebar or blog.

7. The short stories entered need to be between 500 and 5,000 words.

8. Edgar Allan Poe said that a Short Story should: "Be complete by itself. Be able to be read in one sitting. Have every word used for important effect. Have a good opening sentence that is developed throughout the work. End at its climax. Have no more characters than those necessary for the action."

9. Kurt Vonnegut gives 8 tips on writing a short story: I like the last two the best: "Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia."

10. And…"Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages."

11. hee,hee…"should cockroaches eat the last few pages" has special meaning to me. One of my daughters is and illustrator and she while was working on a project in a place that she had just moved into, the cockroaches came and ate the watercolor off of her painting at night.

12. Hope you come and join us for the Short Story Writing Month… After writing short stories for Cats on Tuesday, I've become a short story nut.

13. Please visit the Short Story Writing Month site to join and for the complete list of rules.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless "Breathtaking" Wednesday

2007-08-21T20:13:00.001-07:00

Cat Tuesday: Lazy Days

2007-08-21T15:49:00.000-07:00

I'm sure Gattina's got lots more cat stories...go here to find out what the rest of the group is up too.

Sorry folks, I have no short story today. I know it's Tuesday and it's cat's day. So here's my lazy cat. She wouldn't get out of bed today...the roofers are back and doing more work on the roofs. For two days she's been under the covers. All the noise is too much for her...and me. I've just about got things settled down on my computer and should be back to normal next week. Just too much going on and only so much energy. I feel like a cat-nap myself. *yawn*

Have a good COT day, everybody.

Question: What's a cat's favorite color? Purr-ple!

Beautiful Sunday - All The Way Around

2007-08-19T14:10:00.000-07:00

"To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye,

to restore it, and to render it more fit for its prime function of looking forward."

~Margaret Fairless Barber

After a wonderful night of gentle, but soaking rain, we have great puffy clouds with bits of brilliant, blue sky peaking through, with occasionally bits of sun beams. It's October weather here, in August. I'm not complaining--with the rest of the country in a horrible heat wave, I'm very grateful for the cooler air. Very! (our turn is coming, I just know it.)

My computer is up, files are loaded, and today I'm just kicking back, listening to my All Classical 89.9 FM out of Portland, while I play around on this thing. This dream has been full filled. Gretchen's not been happy with me over the past few days...but I'll make it to her when we go get in my big recliner and cozy up with a manuscript later today.

The Day Just Got Better! It's a Good Friday!

2007-08-17T16:29:00.000-07:00

For real, Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy! all the parts of my computer came today. It's great, everything works and I can even listen to music and blog at the same time...
Just thought I'd relay that little message...no more feeling sorry for me. Now I've just got to clean up the huge mess I've created making room for this new system. No more hair pulling. No more tissy fits...my hubby can relax now. I about drove him nuts this week.

I've got a lot to learn and a lot stuff to load, but the hardest part is over....I think....I hope.

Frustrating Friday...Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy...

2007-08-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

Today I had a nice surprise. My good friend and writing buddy, honored me with this very nice looking Thoughtful Blogger Award. Thank you, Thomma Lyn. You're very sweet and thoughtful to give it me. I will get to display it on my sidebar.

I'm still sitting here with two computers cluttering my desk, the old and the new. I'm still using the old one because the beautiful new one, with its flat panel monitor, is still waiting for the company to send the Internet card they forgot to load before they shipped it to me. It's depressing.

But....on the brighter side, I'm still connected and it's a nice, cool, Autumn-like day out with lots of huge clouds and bits of blue sky. We may even get a rain shower or two. So Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy everyone. Have a good weekend!

Thursday Thirteen # 11

2007-08-14T22:30:00.000-07:00

From Fiddler on the Roof:

Sunrise, sunset - Sunrise, sunset, Swiftly flow the days, Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers, Blossoming even as we gaze

Sunrise, sunset - Sunrise, sunset, Swiftly fly the years, One season following another, Laden with happiness and tears

Here are just thirteen of the sunrises and sunsets I have witnessed.

1. After an all night, frantic journey to reach the base in time, I've seen the sun rise up out the Atlantic Ocean while standing on the beach outside a little motel in Florida, with a two year old in hand and a baby in the warmer, a month away from birth, while my handsome, Navyman got assigned to his new boat.

2. Standing on end of Huntington Beach pier watching the sun dip into the Pacific Ocean while eating the biggest and best hamburger in the world, and fishing.

3. Standing on the mountaintop in the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, the eastern sun casting long shadows through the cedars and redwoods while fixing trout for breakfast.

4.On the shores of Lake Michigan I've watched the sun rise up out of the lake after a night of camping with bears.

5. I've basked in the sands of the North Shore in Hawaii, as the great ball of fire touched the warm South Pacific waters turning the mountainous waves into pure gold.

6. I've watched the midnight sun in far away Alaska as it dipped every so briefly below the horizon and then rose up again. I've also seen it rise at nine in the morning and set at three in the afternoon.

7. I've stood breathless watching the sun come up out of the sea in Kailua, and Laie on the island of Oahu; atop the Pali where I could see both sunrise and sunset.

8. I've stood in the middle of windswept prairies seeing both sunrise and sunset unobstructed.

9. I've watched the famous sunsets while strolling hand and hand with my lover on Waikiki beach.

10. I've stood atop ridges in the Great Smokey Mountains and watched the lazy sun rise gently through a blue haze, turning it briefly golden.

11. I've witnessed sunrise after sunrise on the long car trips from west to east coast, and sunset after sunset on our trips from east coast to west, over two dozen times that I can remember. Yes, I've traveled Old Route 66 before it was old, many, many times.

12. I've seen the sunset over the Grand Cannon, The Great Salt Lake, Yellowstone and Yosemite.

13. I have stood on high cliffs on the Oregon coastline, watched the dazzling sun set as whales played in the cold waters off shore; and in the same place, watched the setting sun, at times consumed, eaten entirely by fog, as though it had never existed.

I've seen many more sunsets than sunrise only because I am not a morning person. But I love the earthly stillness as it rises above the ocean, lake, mountain or prairie, when all of nature holds it breath for one brief moment. What a joy to have eyes that see!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday

2007-08-14T21:57:00.000-07:00

Neighborhood Nightlife Episode 3: A Bit Of Jealousy

2007-08-13T17:17:00.001-07:00

While you are sleeping, snug and comfy in your beds, dreams floating round in your heads, do you know what your cat is doing at that wee hour, when moon has risen high, wind has stilled, leaving the air thickly perfumed with night flowers?

Necco had spent the entire day in her guardians bedroom window staring through the shadowy trees at building one: more specifically at apartment sixteen. It was indeed a wasted vigil, because no matter how she strained her eyes, or squinted against the sun's brightness; she could not get a clear view of the only window of that apartment facing hers. But she could sense that there was a stranger there. Using the olfactory nerves in the roof of her mouth: tilting her nose upward, teeth bared, mouth apart, Necco tried to form a picture in her mind of this all white, fluffy queen that had just moved into the Rainbow Estates Senior Village.

She had seen a darker shadow under the shrub by the window for most of the morning. When the sun got too hot, the windows were closed and the air conditioner was turned on. The shadow she knew to be Thorny's, extracting information from the newcomer, had even taken off; back to his neighborhood of fancy houses, where he too, could doze away the hot afternoon in cool comfort.

Undaunted by the closed window and the heat of the blazing sun through the glass, Necco scrunched her body as far back onto the sill as she could go, into a tiny bit of shade the tree outside her window offered at that time of day, tucked her paws under chest and catnapped. Her ears turned forward, her eyes, only half closed, half dozing and half alert to any movement. A yellow butterfly flitted about from one flower to another, a spider that had completed a web from the edge of the widow sill to a nearby shrub, now sat in it's middle and waited for dinner guest. The hum of the air conditioner and the noise of the floor fans drowned out any other sound. But yet Necco stayed at her post. Determined.

Necco had not realized that this very obsessive behavior, to stay put, at all cost, just to get a glimpse of the new cat, would alarm her guardians, whom after a few hours of watching their little tortie suffering on the hot window sill, thought she was ill and phoned the vet's office.

Before Necco could blink twice she had been scooped from off the sill, placed into her cat carrier and shuffled out to the car. Hot at first, until the air-conditioner cooled the air, the backseat of the car was nearly unbearable. But off they went during rush hour traffic, three miles away to a pet clinic that specialized in cats. Within minutes Necco had been taken back to an examining room, extracted from her carrier with much protesting, and all four white paws thrust onto an icy-cold, metal table. Her male guardian was most distressed during the telling of his reason for bringing Necco to the doctor. "She's been sitting on that widow sill since before dawn just staring at nothing, hasn't eaten, drank any water or left to go to the litter box. She was very hot when we pulled her from the window sill." "We're very concerned," the female guardian broke in. "She's never behaved like this before…"

Humiliated, Necco crouched down upon her paws while the doctor gently ran his hands over her soft, pale fur, massaged her neck. Her fur was still warm from the heat of the window, despite the air-conditioned apartment and the ten-minute ride to the clinic. Before she could protest, a hard, cold instrument had been jammed into her bottom. She let her guardians know, in no uncertain terms that a probe was not necessary. Next a poke with another sharp instrument was thrust into her front leg, while her human guardians held her fast to the table. "Oh, for crying out loud!" Necco screamed again in protest over the unnecessary treatment. "I'm not sick…I'm not sick…there's nothing wrong with me!"

Oblivious to the message in Necco's cries, the veterinarian withdrew some blood from her leg, told her guardians she had no temperature and that she was probably just stressed out about something. She was a little dehydrated and if they could not get her to drink any water in the next hour or so, then they were to bring her back and they'd keep her overnight on a glucose IV. A bowl of water was immediately placed in front of her nose, and with some encouraging strokes down her back, she quickly lapped up enough water to make everyone in the room happy.

"That was the most humiliating experience ever!" she told Markus later that night, after the evening breezes had cooled the hot, humid air and the windows were once again open. "I had to spend the entire evening in the living room, stretched out across my female's lap. She thought I would like to be stroked with a damp washcloth. A bowl of water was shoved under my nose every ten minutes and I had to lap up a few drops each time just to keep my humans happy. I had to do it…I was so afraid they were going to rush me back to that icy-cold table again. Oh, how I hate that place!" Necco let go a tiny sneeze, "I think they've given me a chill."

Markus couldn’t contain his laughter. The image his little friend had given him would keep him amused for at least a week. "So, did you get to see her at all? The new cat, I mean. You had to go right passed her apartment on the way out of the parking lot. Was she sitting in the window?"

Necco let out a sigh, "No…I was too busy being humiliated…rushed to the clinic like that. I did have the perfect chance, didn't I?" Necco stamped her feet in her little frustrated fashion and whacked her tail against the glass. "Did you happened to see her today? You're much higher up than I am, surely you had a good view of her window."

"Necco, you know I can't see her window any better than you. You forget that your tree covers my window completely." Just then a familiar croak came from the window next to Necco, "I was looking over her way a few times today, Necco," the crackled voice commented. "All I could see was the tip end of a white tail thrashing about. Thorny was over there under the bush most of the morning, we'll just have to wait until midnight for him to come by. I think he likes her." Frog laughed, emitting a hoarse cough like sound. "Couldn't help but overhear your vet experience today, Necco. You should be more careful with your jealousy."

Necco spat back. "I'm not jealous! I'm just curious. Besides," she mewed softly, "Thorny is just being a good neighbor and he did promise to bring us information about her."

Markus and Frog both chuckled. "Hey Frog," Markus asked, changing the subject. "Have you heard anything about the old man upstairs, lately? How is he doing…and that dog?"

Frog hesitated to tell Necco and Markus what he had overheard from his guardians this morning at breakfast. From the little bit of human language he had interpreted, "the old man, having multiple bruises and a couple of cracked ribs, will be going into a nursing home for good. The little dog, having suffered no more than a cut on his snout, was taken to a foster home; he'll be adopted out. Hopefully. So it shouldn't be too long and we'll all have new neighbors again."

"I hope we don't get another dog up there," Markus sighed. "I could always hear that little rat of a dog whining and yapping through the common wall. It got very irritating at times. It's nice and quiet lately." Frog agreed.

Right then Thorny was spotted strutting across the parking lot from the direction of apartment sixteen. "Hey guys, he called out. How's things been for ya today?"

Of course Markus and Frog had to reveal Necco's obsession to catch a glimpse of the new cat, and how it nearly earned her a comfy, medicinal, overnight compartment at the clinic. Thorny, would have rolled over laughing but one look from Necco's squinted eyes, told him he'd better just get on with the news. "Sorry, you had such a bad day, Necco," he offered solemnly, "but I have good news about Princess Pricilla Prudence."

"Princess what?" Necco couldn't believe she had spent all those hours on that crummy, hot windowsill just to hear that the new, fluffy white cat in sixteen had a name that started with princess.

"Princess Pricilla," Thorny repeated. "She likes to be called Sissy…she's really sweet. She has a very soft voice," Thorny seemed to blush.

"So tell us more," Markus prodded, "What's her story? Nice and sweet with beautiful eyes and a soft voice doesn't tell us a whole lot."

As Thorny talked, Necco shifted on her windowsill several times, whacking her tail against the glass in frustration over the news that the new cat was a prima-donna, a princess no less, with papers and awards. A show cat. A cat that got bathed almost daily, and combed out. A cat that wore colored ribbons on the top of her head, had a real diamond collar, and ate expensive food off of genuine crystal and china. A cat that she was sure was not going to fit in at the lowly, Rainbow Estates Senior Village. A cat that very nearly caused her to have heat stroke.

Thorny didn't stay long, he had rounds to make. He'd be back again tomorrow maybe, after he had visited the new Princess Pricilla Prudence. "Humph!" Necco sneered, sounding a bit jealous even to herself, "Princess Prissy Prudy's…more like it."

All Done! The End! My Life Can Continue Now!

2007-08-12T12:45:00.000-07:00

It took me until three a. m. this morning to finish the last quarter of the book, but at last I found out all I needed to know, and then some. I have no comment because I do not want to spoil it for anyone still reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I was satisfied that my theories were mostly right. The hype that preceded this book spoils it for everyone, indeed, therefore leaving one quite disappointed. I'm not disappointed with the story...just the hype; it gave me a false since of anticipation. The book was good. I've added it to the rest of the collection on my very dusty bookshelf. I'll read them all again...someday.

I do have one comment to make, after all. Not about the story itself...but about the language in it. I know we live in a coarse world where street language and rude behavior is now the norm. But I do believe that authors of children's books (that includes young adults) do not have to succumb to coarse language. I was disappointed in that fact alone. It was not necessary for the story, or the characters. It just was not! I felt I was reading about alltogether, different characters from the ones I had come to know and love throughout this series. That was a huge spoiler for me.

The End

Gretchen And I Are Still Reading... You-Know-Who...

2007-08-11T15:39:00.000-07:00

Still reading...er...napping through HP. So much is going on at once around here, it's harder than I thought to get at it. Gretchen is helping. She stands guard...er...sits guard as I'm reading.

Wake up Gretchie...we're getting to an exciting part.

Yeah, yeah, I'm with you.

Thursday Thirteen #10

2007-08-08T19:20:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know the name of this moth?

Thirteen Things About Growing Up

1. I was born during WWII in the Texas Panhandle at an Army Hospital. My dad was six feet four inches. My mom, five-nine. I have a grandmother that was six-two, and an aunt who was six feet.

2. I was five-eleven and three-quarter inches by the end of sixth grade with a size eleven shoe. Try getting ballet shoes in that size.

3. I was a head taller in every class throughout my entire school experience. Tall, skinny and freckled—tomboy type. Had many nicknames—you'd probably call them labels in today's times. I did make it to six foot by the time I graduated high school.

4. I never lived in any place longer than four years. I've lived in several towns in Texas, Oklahoma, Alaska, California, Florida and Georgia and Hawaii. I'm a southerner by choice and heart. I spent my teenage years in Georgia.

5. I climbed trees every chance I got, even in dresses. I loved to be in the tallest tree I could find on windy days.

6. I had a black pet rabbit that was housebroken. He did really well in the house until he discovered electric cords. I had to build a cage for him and put him outside so he wouldn't electrocute himself and burn down the house. He didn't last one night. Something, or someone, got him out in the middle of the night.

7. I hated spinach and when forced to eat it…you know, "you're not leaving this table until you eat your spinach!" I'd throw it back up. Not intentionally, of course. Now I love it.

8. As a tyke I pulled up the biggest onions out of my grandmothers garden and ate them. I also ate peanut butter and onion sandwiches growing up. Funny, my stomach can't handle raw onions anymore.

9. I didn't like to eat regular breakfasts. I liked left over pie, or cream of chicken soup for breakfast when I could talk my mom into it.

10. I had a fanciful mind. I was always getting into trouble for day-dreaming and drawing all over my papers and books in school, and at home. My grades weren't very good. One, for moving all the time, and the other being a daydreamer. Back then daydreamers didn't amount to very much in the teacher's eyes. I turned out to be a writer and artist.

11. I was a ballerina until I got too tall. I loved to dance and loved classical music as a child. I was also going to grow up and be an airline stewardess until I got too tall for that too.

12. My imagination always got me into trouble. If I didn't like my circumstance, which I often didn't, I'd invent tales. I loved it when we moved often. I'd usually gotten myself into so much trouble by the end of the school term that I was happy to start over someplace new. Preferably, clear across the country.

13. At sixteen I got my driver's license as a birthday gift from the Sheriff. He was a friend of the family. I never had to take a drivers test until I was in my thirties, and only then because I had let it expire.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday: I Know, I Know, I'm Late With It...

2007-08-08T14:12:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: ?

2007-08-07T15:24:00.001-07:00

For more great stories about cats...visit Gattina's site.

Believe in yourself

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I apologize to all my friends on COT. I'm having technical difficulties with life this week and will post a cat story next week. DDB

Yeah, I Know...Everybody's Finished HP But Me...Still Reading

2007-08-06T22:38:00.000-07:00

Taking a Reading and Writing Holiday...I'll Be Back on Tuesday

2007-08-02T23:23:00.000-07:00

I was waiting for one my daughters to get her HP book to start reading it along with her. She got it, so I'm taking a sort of reading holiday. Plus I'm behind in my writing so I'll be busy writing, too. Have a good weekend everybody. I'll be back to post the Cats on Tuesday. Feel free to leave comments, I'll read them. Gretchen will be posting everyday. She's anxiously waiting for Yoggie's bean's to return so I said she could post.

Thursday Thirteen #9

2007-08-01T21:02:00.001-07:00

Thirteen of my favorite things:

1. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens (the opening line from the Sound of Music-Favorite Things). I do love roses, raindrops and especially kittens.

2. Deep purple pansies. Their spice scent wafting in through open windows on a warm summers eve.

3. The windsong in the treetops; through hog wire fences; over fields of prairie grass.

4. The tinkling of windchines on a breezy day, or night.

5. Trees: Tall ones, scrubby ones on ocean cliffs, the smell of piney ones, giant magnolias, and large shady oak trees draped with graceful tendrils of Spanish moss.

6.Clouds: Large puffy ones, little wispy ones, monster thunderclouds, mist over a waterfall.

7. Birds. Small songbirds, humming birds…did you know they have a loud chirp? The Anna's that we have in the northwest do. Owls, parakeets, gold finches, Eastern blue jays, cardinals, robins, mocking birds and whippoorwills.

8. Snow flakes. The first snowfall of winter; being snowed in, snuggled up under blankets in front of a warm fire. Trouncing around in the snow after a heavy snowfall. Walks in snow covered woods.

9. The ocean. The beach. The sand. Waves crashing on breakers and cliffs in the Pacific North west. Waves crashing on beaches in the Pacific islands.

10. Mountains and waterfalls.

11. The smell of fresh cut grass. Or a freshly cut alfalfa field. The smell of earth in the early spring.

12. Rainbows and kisses.

13. The moon, planets and stars.

These are just a few of my favorite things.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-08-01T07:42:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Befriending Ferals

2007-07-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

This is a true story...

For the past eight years a sweet, disabled, old man, whom I've dubbed the cat-man for the purpose of this story, has driven fourteen miles, round trip, each day to feed several groups of feral cats. He has a soft spot in his heart that is filled to the brim with compassion for the abandoned and feral kitties there. He saves table scraps, leftovers, and sometimes when he has the extra bit of cash, he buys a large bag of dry cat food. He has a sweet kitty of his own at home, and also gives her all the tender love and care that he gives to his kitties in the wild.

Eight years ago cat-man began visiting a friend's farm. It's not the kind of farm where you think: barns, barn cats, lady of the house to feed them and so for. It's the business end of the farm, shop buildings, office, bunkhouse for their workers. There's no one there to take care of, or has the time to care about the kitties that have been taken out there and dropped off.

The Alpha Cat

Cat-man's farmer friends look forward to him coming out and taking care of the wild kitties around their out buildings. He was even given a key to the shop building so he could go out and feed the kitties anytime he wanted and hangout with them. Every morning he gets up early, has his breakfast and goes out to visit his family of cats; three males and one female with five kitties.

Gray male--and acting father

Groups of cats come and go at their buildings, in their fields, and orchards. Some get run over on the road, other's get sick and just disappear, but for the past two years now, cat-man has made friends out of this group of, now, nine cats. He has a way with wild things, a cat whisperer of sorts. He has not named the wild cats, and no one else can even approach any of them; they skedaddle whenever anyone else comes around. But the cats do know his car and come running when he pulls into the lot. The old guy sits in a wheelchair and they come to him to be fed and petted. They hang out with him as he watches television for a few hours and chats with the foreman and some of the help. He is a farmer at heart, and misses the days when he could do that kind of work.

the old man's fuzzy buddy

One male cat in particular, the one cat-man has describes to me as his fuzzy buddy, is the first to come up to him every morning as soon as he arrives. When he has eaten his fill he climbs upon the man's chest, rubs against his chin, sits in lap, and takes a nap, purring. This wild cat will not think twice about using his claws on anyone else on the farm that even tries to come near him. Yet he is as gentle and loving as a domesticated cat to the old man.

fuzzy buddy in the shade

Out of the three males, his fuzzy buddy is the lowest cat on the cat's chain of hierarchy. The Alpha cat is a large grayish, striped cat; next in line is a gray male, and then the man's fuzzy buddy. The cat-man tells me that the Alpha male is the meanest thing on earth and keeps everyone in line. Fuzzy buddy is the one that gets the most abuse from the big boss cat.

Earlier this summer a female came upon the scene. She had kittens suckling and hidden somewhere, but each day she came to try out the food. The cat-man patiently coaxed her to him, day after day, until she just came right up and ate beside the other cats at his feet. Not too many weeks went by after she had first appeared than she brought out her five kittens from their hiding place for the old man to see.

Kitties first outing, about 5 or 6 weeks old

The momma cat has taught her babies about how nice this man is and not to be afraid. Over the weeks, one by one, each has made approaches to the shop building and learned to eat the food. Now the kittens dash about inside the shop building, playing and napping on the furniture as if they owned the place.

Kitties playing in the shop's office

The mean cat, or the boss of them all, as the old man puts it, lets the kittens play near him and tolerates them. But will spit at them if they get to close. The all gray one tends to the kittens like a father when the momma cat is off somewhere. Fuzzy buddy is a little battle scared and worn, but the cat-man won't interfere because it means an execution for the Alpha male. He's at a dilemma over this situation, but because he loves all the cats, he can't bring harm to one for doing what comes naturally in a feral world. But, he says, sometimes it's hard to watch him beat up on the two other males, especially because he and fuzzy buddy are so close. Or maybe because of it.

Kitties test the food

Cat-man has tamed other little groups of wild cats such as these in the past eight years; watched them as kittens come out of hiding and make friends. And he's sadly had to bury a few. His heart breaks, when one is lost, but he lets them alone, and they have given him their friendship in return. And sometimes their mice.

Momma and kitties eating and washing up

From the variety of the litter, it looks as if each of the three males had a part in fathering the kittens. There's a gray one, a fuzzy one, like the old mans fuzzy buddy, and one like the Alpha male. And two like the mother.

They are growing up healthy and happy for now. But like most feral cats, they'll never be adopted by forever families. These cats are destined to remain wild and as long as the cat-man can get out to see them, they will not go hungry. Even some of the laborers that live in the bunkhouse are now saving food for them. Plus...as it is in all farm buildings, there are always plenty of mice.

Monday: Still Writing...

2007-07-30T07:41:00.001-07:00

Off Writing...

2007-07-28T20:12:00.001-07:00

Deedum Finally Arrived!

2007-07-26T10:25:00.000-07:00

I was getting worried about this little squillion, because he was adopted a month ago, and I had to hunt him down in cyber-space. He is glad to be at his new forever home with Gretchen, Mike the Mysterious, and the rest of the Fluffheads. I'm so happy that he's been found. I named him after a Blue Burmese in Scrungy: Abandoned. Deedum is a savior cat. He found Scurngy in the woods and took him to his forever home in the great Kingdom of Abandoned Cats. So I think he would be honored for this little squillion to have his name.
Thank you, KC for hunting him down. He had been abandoned once in his life, and he was probably worried that he'd be abandoned again.

Thursday Thirteen #8: All Things Yellow

2007-07-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

Thirteen Yellow Flowers I put in my garden this year.

I've decided to show you my planned yellow garden this year. Every year I've leaned towards purples and pinks and just whatever plant I see that I like. But mostly purple because I'm a purple kind of girl. So last winter, as I stared out my bedroom window each night planning my garden and the color scheme, I decided upon having an all yellow garden this year. I made my list, printed out my selections and took the pictures with me to every nursery that I visited in the spring. Some of the things on my list I couldn't get, so I decided white would be a good in-between color, showing up really well at night. I have a deep, shady porch so white impatiens always go on the porch. Where I couldn't get yellow, or white, I chose yellow-green foliage. All turned out pretty well.

1. These are Yellow Violets that were accented against four shades of yellow primroses in pots all over. I forgot to take pictures of the primroses. The primroses and the violets have now been replaced by the summer annuals. But take my word for it, the primroses were large, healthy and beautiful.

2. Zinnias

3. Marigolds, of course.

4. Butterfly Daisies. Had I known I was going to like these so much I would have filled the entire garden with them, but I also a have a tree that I cherish for shade. My front windows face south and the sun is always hanging around in the southern edge of the sky...we're very northern hemisphere.

5. Yellow Dahlias

6. Yellow Petunia, except these look a lot lighter than they actually are.

7. Yellow Lantana, a childhood memory plant.

8. Biden, first time for this plant and I love it.

9. Mose Rose or Portulaca

10. Day Lily

11. Yellow Calibrachoa

12. Snapdragons. I had to use a stock picture, mine are bloomed off at the moment.

13. SunsatiaLemon Nemesia

I also planted, yellow nasturtiums, yellow banana peppers, Cuzo Yellow Sanvitalia specosa, something, I like things with common names but it made a lovely hanging basket. Another new one for me was Hermanns Pride, Lamiastrum glaeobdoion...whatever, pretty green and white foliage and tiny yellow flowers. A yellow leaved sweet potato vine, two kinds of coleus with green and yellow foliage. Angelina Sedum, green and yellow foliage. These are all the yellow things I planted new this year. I have yellow four o'clocks making an appearance, and yellow cala lilies that haven't bloomed yet. Next year I'm going for red...and maybe some purple. But the almost all yellow garden was fun.

Here's an earlier picture of my little corner of the world. However, as we speak, the whole place is a disaster zone. I've had to move all my potted plants onto the porch and there are sheets of plywood covering the things next to the building. The roofers came Monday and they've got the whole place torn up. It doesn't look like they'll be done anytime soon. My garden may recover from this upheaval but some of my neighbors are completely ruined. They're been covered for two days with a blue tarp.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-07-25T01:20:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Neighborhood Nightlife: A New Gal In The Village

2007-07-23T22:53:00.000-07:00

While you are sleeping, snug and comfy in your beds, dreams floating round in your head, do you know what your cat is doing at that wee hour, when moon has risen high, wind has stilled, leaving the air thickly perfumed with night flowers?

The giant moth hit the window screen, startling Necco from her dozing on the back of the sofa, at the close of twilight. The sofa was in it's summer position under the open, living room window; the moth's sudden appearance caused the pale tortoise shell cat to sink all four sets of her claws into the cotton throw, raising the hair along her spine from the back of her neck to the tip of her tail. In an attempt to get at the lamp's light inside the room, the moth fluttered against the screen again, but this time Necco was alert and pounced upon the screen, nearly knocking it from its framing. Last summer Necco had popped a screen from the bedroom during the day and scared the living daylights out of her guardian, and herself. It wasn't a long way to the ground; living on the ground floor, so flying out the window wouldn't have caused her any harm, unless you think about her dignity, and the fact that suddenly being outside in a world she'd only viewed through the window screens, would really be a terrifying thing for a cat such as herself.

Her guardians immediately secured all the window screens after that, perchance Necco should again, accidentally hit the screen too hard while after a bug, or in one of her wound up, fast-as-a-race-car, window-to-window midnight sorties. Spazzing out her male guardian called it. Racing from the front room windows to the back room windows, often with only one bounce onto and off of the bed, hitting the bedroom windowsill with perfect precision. Well, that's what cats do best, Necco had protested, after her guardian had once scolded her about it in the middle of the night. It’s a form of exercise that keeps my muscles toned, my claws sharp, and my senses honed, she'd complained to him. Like any human could understand her feline language. She couldn't exactly understand the human form of speech either, but she was a very bright cat and could figure things out pretty fast. She'd been in a human environment since she'd left her mother's side at five weeks old. More than three years now. So she's had a lot of practice at learning what humans had to say.

The moth rattled its wings against the screen again, bringing a sudden, swift, paw strike so hard that it was knocked from the screen onto the lawn below. The longest of the summer days had come and gone, almost a month ago now; hastening the darkness at an earlier hour; hastening the retirement for the night for her elder guardians. Soon they'd be asleep and snoring in rhythmic sighs and snorts. Soon the moon would be high and it would be time for Thorny to bring her, and all the other apartment cats in building four of the Rainbow Estates Senior Village, the latest gossip and happenings—the news.

Because it had been quite stormy out for the past three nights and the windows had to be closed to keep the rain out, Thorny hadn't come to visit. Necco wandered from window to window anyway, but he never showed. The rains had ceased around noon today and even though the breeze was still a bit cool for older folks, Necco's guardians had left all their windows open. They said it was ideal sleeping weather.

A lot had been going on in the little Village since Thorny's last visit, two apartments had been vacated, re-cleaned and received two new sets of tenants. Just before the rains came, Necco was sure she saw a cat carrier being unloaded from the moving truck. She was anxious to know about the new cat in the Village.

The night deepened, her guardian's soft snoring sounds filled her ears as she swiveled them this way and that, tuning out the mundane apartment sounds so that she could hear her friend approaching. The breeze had stilled, the harmonized voices of the crickets and frogs living in the ditches at the properties edge, echoed in the quiet air.

Necco heard the familiar thalump of thickly padded paws landing on the windowsill above her. Markus had awakened from his nap. He slept on the pillow next to his elder guardian's, head. Mo, short for Molina, a tall thin, silver headed lady that had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and only recently, in the past six months, moved into the Village. Necco figured by the way she went and up and down those wicked stairs that she was probably the most agile human in all of the four buildings in the complex. "Markus?" Necco pressed her face and whiskers against the screen, and whispered into the still night. "It's about time you got up. Thorny should be here any minute."

Markus yawned, stretched, then settled his butt on the hard surface of the windowsill before he spoke to Necco. "Yeah, I reckon he's got a lot to tell us tonight." Now, two pairs of ears studied the sounds of the night. The familiar croak of Frog, the orange tabby with the damaged vocal cords, shattered the stillness. "Hey over there, Markus? Necco?" he called. "Sure is good to have these window open again. Thought that dab burned rain would never quit. I guess Thorny's comin' tonight?"

Before Necco or Markus could answer, all three sighted the charcoal and black striped tom marching across the lighted parking lot. He jumped onto the hood of Necco's guardian's car and greeted all three. After a few niceties about the rain and how he'd stayed indoors the past three stormy nights—he was no fool. He had a whole neighborhood of warm, toasty homes to choose from. A gift he'd said. He was so charming and irresistible that all the neighbors vied for his attention. So to please them all, he spent equal amounts of time in each home, enjoying every last morsel of their finest cat dishes.

Necco couldn't stand it. Things had been too quiet in their little senior village since the ambulance took away the little dog, known only as the dog to all the cats in building four, and his guardian, at daybreak, over a week ago. Thorny had learned from Kitty Kat in number eight, that the squeaky little excuse of a dog that lived above Frog, in number six, had somehow gotten tangled up in his leash as he and the old gentlemen that owned him went out to pee. The little rat dog ended up tripping the old man and they tumbled down the stairs, waking everybody in building four, and building one, as four paramedic units, sirens whaling, pulled into the parking lot at four-thirty in the morning. How many pacemakers where jostled by all that excitement would have been interesting to find out. That alone had given the apartment cats in building four enough to talk about for days.

But Necco knew all of that, what she really wanted to know was who moved into the first unit in building one, number sixteen, where Nanny had lived. She knew she'd seen a cat carrier and wanted Thorny to go over there and find out if there was indeed a new cat in the village and all about it.

Thorny had been way ahead of her. He'd trotted over to the new tenants apartment shortly after they moved in, before the rains had started, and sat under the nearest shrub by the window. He saw the gal for himself. "You'd be pleased to know, Necco, that I've already introduce myself to her, and, of course, I told her all about the rest of you. She's a pretty little thing, if I do say so myself. She has a poofy little face and dreamy golden eyes," Thorny stopped, glanced over to the bedroom room window where she would be sitting by now, but because of the tree in front of her apartment, Thorny doubted she could see Necco, or any of the others. He scratched at a pesky itch behind his left ear with his hind paw.

"Well?" Necco egged, "What does she look like, besides her dreamy yellow eyes? What color is her fur and what is her breed? How old is she…I can't stand it, tell us all about her."

Thorny took another moment to wash the paw he'd just scratched his ear with, can't be too careful, you know. Necco stood up, hunched her back and spat, getting Thorny's attention again. "You don't have to go get in a huff, Necco. I'm getting to that part. She's got long white hair and a long poofy white tail. I think she said she's a Persian, or some such thing. She sure is sweet though. You'd all like her."

Thorny yawned, bored with the night and wanting to find a warm bed to sleep in before the day dawned, and before it got too hot. He had such a hard time sometimes, choosing the right house to nap in. They were all so cool and comfy. Life is so hard for a stray that is as charming as he is. "I'll tell you more tomorrow night," he said, turning to leave before Necco could stamp her feet and whack her tale against the widow pane, the way she had a habit of doing when things didn't go her way. "At least tell me her name…" Necco called after him. "Oh," he called back over his shoulder, "forgot to get that bit of information. Tomorrow night, perhaps," then he was gone.

Necco was frustrated and disappointed. Apartment life has its limits. She'd have to depend upon Thorny, a lovable and sassy stray, to bring more news tomorrow night. She said goodnight, to Frog and Markus, friends that she'd never seen the faces of; hearing only their voices echoing in the night.

This is a work of fiction based on real episodes in the life of an apartment cat. Any coincidence to any real human, place or animal is only in the imagination of the author. DBB

It's A Writing Day For Me...See Ya Later For Cat Tuesday

2007-07-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

I've Been Schmoozed!

2007-07-21T18:11:00.000-07:00

Thank you my friend, Thomma Lyn of Tennessee Text Wrestling, for honoring me with the Schmooze Award. I don't feel all that Schmoozy, I'm still learning the ropes of the blogging community. I enjoy everyone's blogs that I've come across and that have introduced themselves to me and have become or are becoming my friends. I'm also honored that Thomma Lyn thinks I've made a "delightfully positive splash" in the blogging community. But if it wasn't for my daughter, Paula (Basset Knitter) insisting that I start blogging back in April--gee has it been that long? I would have not had the chance I'm having right now of making friends with other writers and cat lovers. Thank you, Paula, you're next. Because I think you are a pretty good Schmoozer yourself.

Here's what the Power of Schmooze Award is all about:

"As it goes, schmoozing is the natural ability “to converse casually, especially in order to gain an advantage or make a social connection.” Good schmoozers effortlessly weave their way in and out of the blogosphere, leaving friendly trails and smiles, happily making new friends along the way. They don’t limit their visits to only the rich and successful, but spend some time to say hello to new blogs as well. They are the ones who engage others in meaningful conversations, refusing to let it end at a mere hello - all the while fostering a sense of closeness and friendship."

Besides giving my daughter this award, I'm also giving it to one of my first friends when I came online, Teabird of Tea Reads. She's a Librarian in New York and loves knitting and books. I love her interest in me from the start and the positive, interesting comments she gives me.

Next is another first time blogging friend, Meeyauw. She's a great photographer who lives in Vermont. A beautiful state that is filled with wonderful sights and wildlife which she brings to life on her site. She makes me homesick for the woods where I lived in the Midwest. A lot of inspiration for my stories came from those happy, wildness experiences. Srp from Me'lange is another first time blogging friend who lives in Virgina. Gattina in Belgium that has the Cats on Tuesday site and her Writer Cramps, keeps me in stitches with her stories and her comments. There are many others I'm beginning to know and call friend. All who have given me motivation and inspiration with my writing. And, of course, all of Gretchen's cat friends that got her started with her own blog. Whoopie...this is fun!

Thomma Lyn has been a great, instant friend, we seem to mirror each other's life and experiences in a sometimes eerie and interesting way. I think she could have been a sister. She's become a very dear friend, along with her adorable chatty blogging cats.

Thursday Thirteen #7

2007-07-18T18:03:00.000-07:00

Thirteen of My Favorite Cats:

I've had a hard time keeping up with everyone this last week, and this week. My Cats on Tuesday story was late yesterday, I didn't even get to Wordless Wednesday today, how hard was that, and it took me all day today to think of something that has enough thirteen's in it to post tonight, Wednesday, so I can be out there with the rest of the group who have already posted Thursday on Wednesday. Take a breath! Okay! I've come up with thirteen cats that were my favorites over the years. In the thirty-nine years since I've been married I think I've had at least sixteen or so, if I count some of the babies from some of the mommies and some of the strays that have wandered in and out of our lives.

1. Sherry: A dark tortie female that I had for about three or four years, before she got run over on a freeway overpass behind our house in California. She had two litters. I adored her and she was closer to me than any I've had since.

2. Muffin: A pale calico long haired female that my children saved from a dog's mouth when she was just a tiny kitten. She was a lover, but also and inside/outside cat and about a year later she didn't come home one morning. I worked nights at that time and she was always outside the door waiting for me to come home at seven in the morning. She was hugger and I miss that cat for that reason. She actually put her paws around my neck when I picked her up and hugged me like a child would.

3. Flocon de niege: A pale Siamese female. We moved out into the country shortly after Muffin disappeared and there we had a number of cats, most of which I can't remember their names. We had a gopher getter that was the best in the business of gopher getting. She was actually my third daughter's cat. But hey, what mother doesn't take full responsibility for the care and feeding of their child's animal? We lived on a small mini farm of our making and so she had several litters of kittens there, some we kept and some we gave away. But this very pretty pale cat had to have her first litter of kittens in the wee hours of the morning on my lap. If I moved she'd follow and that got messy. So I sat down on the kitchen floor with her on my lap, on an old Navy wool coat of my husbands, and there the two of us had her kittens.

4. Black Cat: a male black cat that I really hated to leave behind when we moved from California. He was so good-natured, loved water and people. We lived in the middle of walnut orchards and in the summer the farmers flooded their orchards as a means of irrigation. Floclon de neige had a litter that was now about six or seven weeks old. We had a really bad hot spell one day and the kittens were suffering, so my children decided that it would be a good thing to toss the kittens in the flooded orchard, about three inches of water, and cool them off. Of course, the kitten's skeedaddled as soon as they hit the water, all except this black one. He just stood there, loving the refreshing coolness. We kept him, of course, and the others we found homes for. He would follow the girls down to the irrigation canal and go swimming with them, he loved water that much. Since he was a male and we were keeping him, we had him neutered at the same time we had our colt gilded. The vet just gave him a shot and put him to sleep. He told us after he'd performed the ten second neutering job, to put him in a nice quite place until he woke up. You've all seen the cartoons where a startled cat shoots straight up in the air and hangs by his claws from the ceiling. Well, when this cat woke up, the pain he was in shocked him so badly that he literally shot straight up, screeched and ran off to hide somewhere for the rest of the day.

5. Radar: A little black and white male kitten that we got after we had to leave California and moved to Illinois. He was a good kitty that fell of things a lot and ran into things. Hence the name Radar. We had him and other's that I can't remember their names, all my girl's cats, of course, until he got sick with a kidney problem.

6. We had a gray and white mother cat for sometime after we lost Radar, but for the life of me I cannot remember her name. I even have her pictured with the girls. So if one of my daughters reads this Thirteen and remembers her name, let me know. That was also at the time that we had guinea pigs, a humongous Irish Setter and a killer rabbit.

7. Bo: A beautiful large blue-gray male, already neutered and front paws declawed. He was a heavy sucker. He was my ex-sister-in-law's cat. She had had him for maybe two years from a kitten. She hated to give him up but she had moved into a tiny apartment from a big house and was gone nearly day and night. So we took him. We had a lot of room and he loved it with us. But then life changes and we ended up moving, our children gone by now, and living in a tiny place. We worked day and night and he was once again lonely. We had some friends at the time that had a spayed female identical to him and asked if they could have him. I knew he'd happier with them, and this female cat. He was. We got regular reports for a while about all the cavorting going on between a neutered male and a spayed female that absolutely loved each other.

8. Pumpkin: An orange and white-what we thought was female, but was male. This little guy I've written about on Cat Tuesdays. He was born under our shed, the first of umpteen-dozen litters form this mousey colored cat that had a litter of kittens under just about all of our neighbors sheds for the next seven years. Pumpkin was the runt of the litter, we brought it in and fattened it up and decided to keep her/him. We ended up loosing him several years later and three days after he got out, another identical male cat to him came adopted us briefly, but he had all his claws and his male appendages so we knew he wasn't our Pumpkin. I named him Scrungy, the books I've written are because of him.

9. Blacky: A solid black male with a dash of white on his chest. My number four daughter had come to stay a few months with me so I could have my back surgery and for my birthday, because she thought I missed Pumpkin too much, she found a farm down the road with free kitties and brought one home for me. A short time later we acquired another kitty, Jasmine.

10. Jasmine: A silvery gray and white female. My birthday was is in early October. Blacky came to us that first week, a week or two later, my husband found this little gray and white kitten about the same age as Blacky, cold and shivering in the woods near our house and brought him home. Now after back surgery, I'm at home in bed with two very young, needy kittens climbing all over me while I'm confined to a hospital bed. My daughter left for home a few weeks after I'm on my feet and I was left me to manage the kitties. Thank goodness for loving husband that loves animals, especially kitties. He had the litter box duty for a long time. Blacky and Jasmine are in the Scrungy stories. Blacky got run over on the highway first, then Jasmine in our yard a few months later, after she had a litter of sickly kittens. They didn't make it either.

11. Boo Boo Kitty: A solid black male cat. Medium long hair. It was a very hot, hot, summer day and daughter number three was on her way to work on the hottest day we'd had, and in the middle of this country road, lay this black kitten not more than five weeks old. She thought it was dead and stopped the car to remove it from the road. She discovered he was breathing, just barely, so she took him to work with her. That afternoon she brought him home to me and I sat the rest of the afternoon in the air conditioned house, with this limp little kitty in my lap, hanging on for dear life, squeezing water from an eye dropper into his mouth every few minutes. In the evening he just bounced back to life, like he'd never been near death, and was the most lovable, gentlest kitty we'd ever seen. My grandson raised him. But later Boo Boo Kitty adopted several homes in our neighborhood. But always remained faithful to us…his first family.

12. Preylor: A large, all white, neutered and declawed male. I think he was two years old when we got him and I've also told his story on Cats on Tuesday. He was named after the king in the Scrungy stories. He's the one who chewed on wooden clothespins and got sick and died.

13. Gretchen: I'm not sure really what she's called. A pale tortie, with white bib and booties? Anyway you all know her, she has her own blog site, Gretchen's Paw Prattle. She's my answer to a prayer kitty.

Whew! I'm long winded for someone who thought she had nothing to right about.

Happy Birthday, Dragonheart!

2007-07-18T13:20:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Squishy for Hire: Moles Beware

2007-07-17T17:57:00.000-07:00

This spring the ground was terribly damp and spongy, bringing more moles to the backyard than Moochie, a small white and black man-cat, could handle. He was aging, you see, and these hairless little creatures were overrunning his territory. His owner, Granny, was getting older, also, making it more and more difficult to see to all the needs of her prized, private garden. Every morning Granny would find more evidence of the destructive moles, thus spending all of her imagination, time and energy trying to rid her garden of them. "Mooch," she often told her cat, "You're not doing your job. We've got to find a better way to get rid of these pesky critters. I just can't keep this up any longer."

Soon after the old ladies third, exasperating attempt to reduce the mole population, a young, smoke-gray, neighborhood cat slipped silently from atop the wooden, garden gate and introduced himself. "Squishy's my name, ma'am, and I've been observing your little quandary from the top of the fence there. If you'll let me come and sit in your pretty, shady garden where I can find some piece and quiet from the noisy little brood of youngsters at my owner's house, I'll gladly catch and kill your moles." The fearless smoke-gray sat back on his haunches and groomed one of his ears, waiting for an invitation. "If you don't mind my saying, I am the best darn mole destroyer this neighborhood's seen in years, ask any of your neighbors," he added confidently.

At that moment, Moochie, who'd been observing this boy-cat poking around in his territory for the past several days, lifted his aching, arthritic body from the warm spot in front of the small, oil-heat radiator, provided just for his cold feet, and padded out the door to stand between his lady and the bold, intrusive youngster. "My name is Moochie, and I've been watching you, son," he said with quiet authority, "I've heard of your accomplishments, and if you behave yourself and don't take advantage of my ladies kindness, then we'll give you a try at catching these troublesome critters. As you can see, I am unfit for that kind of duty anymore, and it's getting harder for my lady to tend to these matters, as well. What wages will you require, son? What kind of food do you want? Wet, dry, tuna, scraps?"

The young cat spoke boldly, "I am well-fed, thank you, and I need no payment for my work, but as I said, there is absolute chaos at my place and a cat needs a refuge once in a while. Your place is beautiful, lush and quiet, with plenty of shadows. Let me come and lay in the shade on warm days and bask in the sun, upon your rocks, on cool ones. Having such a place to relax without all those raucous youngsters about would be payment enough."

"I'm eager to have the moles eradicated," Granny said. "I'd be glad to serve you whatever you like for your hard work."

Squishy, snickered to himself, hard work? Why killing these pesky moles are a piece of cake for me. "No, thank you, ma'am," he grinned at her. "Like I said, peace and quiet on occasion is all I require. I've seen how feeble Moochie is getting and I know if he were able to, he'd be taking care of the pests himself. It would be an honor and a privilege for me to help you and old Moochie out." He stood up and touched noses with the older cat, out of respect for his age and his territory, and then he trotted off towards the garden gate. "I'll be back in the morning, while the grass is still damp with dew. That's the best time to catch them running through their tunnels and digging out," he called over his shoulder as he leapt upon the gate in one swift move, showing his massive muscle structure and mastered agility.

Each morning for the next several days, Squishy could be spotted posed upon the stone wall, watching and listening for just the right moment, the slightest movement of earth, or wiggle of a blade of grass. In one swift move, he had pounced time aftertime, catching his wriggling prey between his teeth. Unlike the mice he often hunted, played with before delivering the bite of death, he was swift to kill the mole. Moles did not give the pleasure of the chase the way a mouse or vole did. Besides, he was hired to do a job and he was bound to do it swiftly and cleanly.

A month has gone by and there are no longer any moles in Moochie and Granny's garden. If there were, they would not last long, for Squishy is always on the guard and would dispose of them quickly before the eye could take notice. Squishy now lounges about the garden patio at will, or lays shrouded in clumps of fern, or on really cool days, lays fully extended across the massive, moss covered boulders clustered under hundred-foot cedars and firs. He takes no offer of food, nor petting. A kindly word now and then from his aging friends was all he needed to be content as the silent keeper of their garden.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother has wanted me to tell the tale of Squishy and Moochie for sometime. I finally got some pictures to help with the story. Moochie is about thirteen years old and adopted my parents about that long ago. He has a bent tail and my mother has to watch out that he does not to catch his tail on a wire or small branch. Squishy belongs to a neighbor with children. The story is true, except for the talking to my, mother, of course, but who knows for sure if such words passed between them. I'd like to think they did. My mother is very kind towards all animals, and has had many cats, all of whom she's kept until it was time for each of them to go the way of all the earth.

Monday, Monday

2007-07-16T12:51:00.000-07:00

I just recieved the Rockin' Girl Blogger Award from my daughter, Paula, who recieved it from Teabird. Gretchen already has one on her site. So I'm honored to have one, too. Thank you daughter.

Kitty Paw Clouds

2007-07-15T21:25:00.000-07:00

Tonight's sky was filled with kitty paw prints. After a lazy day of lounging around the house and enjoying the pleasant weather, cloudy at times, but the temperature stayed nice and I didn't have to turn the air conditioning, I went outside to water my flowers and looked up. I immediately thought of kitty paws prints all over the sky.

Sunday - directely overhead

It was about 8:30 p.m. and the sun was getting ready to set. I waited a while after I took these to see if I could get a golden hue on the clouds from a deeper sunset, but the paws vanished from the sky before the sun went down.

Sunday - off to the west, the sun behind the tree on the right.

I wasn't going to post a Saturday Sky picture because I was gone all day yesterday and was extremely tired when I got home. I took a picture about 4 p.m., right after I came home, but forgot about posting until the day had ended. But tonight's sky prompted me to post anyway.

Saturday at 4 p.m. Very warm, humid and overcast all day.

Air heavy and tiresome.

Tagged with a Music Meme

2007-07-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

Suzanne R tagged me for this meme; here are the rules:
1. Name between 5 & 10 songs that have made an impact on your life. I'll leave it up to you to decide how many you wish to describe.
2. Pass it onto five other people with a link back to your own post and this one as the original.

So here goes:
When one is older the mind gets stranger, add having chemo on top of that and you get really weird. So it takes my brain cells longer to kick in than the average bear/cat/dog, what have you. Here's some of the 5 or so kinds of music that impacted/impacts my life and what it meant/means to me.

1. I am a classical music person and listen to Oregon's FM public radio's, All Classical station out of Portland most of the day. There is a request program on Sunday afternoons that I participate in, so in order to get things right I have to go look things up on the net…composer and stuff like that, before I submit my little request. Anyway, the first piece of music that comes to my mind is my all-time favorite, Toccata and Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach. I learned to play some of this on the organ as a girl in Savannah, Georgia (by some of this, I mean the piece is twelve pages long and I think I got pretty good at the first five and a half pages before I moved away from home. So I've not had an organ again until about seven years ago. When I started playing again, I can still only get through the first five and half pages, reasonably recognizable. But whenever I hear it being played I stop and listen carefully, I can see every note as it's written on page. Part of this piece was featured in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

2. I really like Rhapsody on a Theme by Niccolo Paganini, played by Rachmaninov. It was the theme song to Somewhere In Time with Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour. My all-time favorite actor, actress and movie.

3. Another favorite composer is Edvard Grieg. Morning Mood, Spring, Hall of the Mountain King, Anitra's Dance, Wedding Day at Troldhaugen, and many more. I became familiar with Grieg's, Morning Mood when the movie Soylent Green was so popular. The old man requested that piece when he lay in the dying room. Or whatever it was called. I want that piece of music, Morning Mood, played at my funeral…someday.

4. On a more popular note, popular music of the 50's and early 60's is my favorite. I think you young folks call them Golden Oldies. I absolutely love Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Wizard of Oz with Judy Garland). Then there's the Beach Boys, and all that rock n' roll era. I recently posted Sealed With a Kiss for awhile on Gretchen's Paw Prattle, in memory of her sweetie in Sweden who's human's are away on a very long vacation. Blue Velvet, Blue on Blue, Roses are Red (My Love) by Bobby Vinton were/are some of the dreamy music I loved to dance to when I was a teenager with my first love. And of course I loved Elvis, the younger, thinner Elvis.

5. As far as today's music is concerned…there are a lot of beautiful and memorable songs out there. Michael Crawford and anything he sings, I like. I like country music, old and new. I like folk or mountain music, blue grass and Irish music. Or Celtic, however you want to call it these days. There's a lot of music I hear that I like but really don't pay that close attention to the titles or the singers. Basically, I'm a little bit country, a little bit rock n' roll and a lot of classical.

Okay, now I challenge 5 others to do this. Maybe it will be easier for you. My apologies ahead of time if you've already been tagged and I wasn't paying attention…if so, just ignore me.
1. Paula, because she's my daughter and I tag her for everything I get.
2. Meeyauw, because she's a really great photographer friend in Vermont, so I'm sure there's music in there somewhere.
3. Gattina, because she's my age and lives in Belgium and I'm interested in what kinds of music she likes.
4. Mom Unplugged, because she's got a houseful of kids unplugged from the TV, so surely there's music interests to be found there, also.
5. Teabird, at Tea Leaves, because this friend is a New York Librarian and loves books and knitting, so music has to be important to her as well.

(I would have named my good friend in Tennessee, Thomma Lyn, but I know she's buried in her writing right now, so I'll leave her out of this one.)

Thursday Thirteen #6

2007-07-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

Thirteen Things about Bubba and Bean

1. Bubba and Bean is a novel I've been working on, off and on, for a lot of years…I'm embarrassed to say how many exactly, however, I am determined to finish it this year. The beginning is based on a true-life event. Yes, mine. But that is only at the beginning. Once I introduced the characters to each other they just took over and made it their own.

2. The story is about a fifteen-year-old tomboy transplanted from desert, western life in Arizona, to steamy, southern life Savannah, Georgia at the end of her Jr. High school year in 1956.

3. The only girlfriend she's made in the last month of her new school has abandoned her for the summer by running off to be with her daddy's new family in Atlanta.

4. Beanelda Jane hates her name and prefers to be called Bean. It rather fits her tall, slender, freckled frame at the time.

5. She is a tree lover, a wind lover, an all of nature lover. She would rather hang out in a tree all day, happily swaying in the breeze, than go shopping, flirting with boys, or whatever normal girls her age like to do.

6. Bubba is a tall, good looking, stocky sort of fellow, born and raised in the south with all it's southern nuances, who spends every summer with his aunt and uncle across the street from the house Bean just moved into.

7. Agreed, most southern boys carry the name Bubba. But this Bubba has a reason. His real name is Seymour Percival after his father, and he hates it.

8. Bubba and Bean's story starts with a blind movie date, arranged by Bean's mother and Bubba's aunt.

9. What starts off as a polite, do this for my mom/aunt, date, turns into a change in attitude, personality, and self-identity for Bean, and a long needed friend and confidant for Bubba.

10. Bubba is dealing with a terminally ill momma, a despondent, distracted daddy when he meets Bean.

11. Through their summer friendship, and blossoming first love, Bubba is able to overcome his fear of heights and make some hard life choices after the sudden, tragic death of both his parents.

12. Bean has discovered that there is a girl under her tough, tomboy skin after all. She embraces her feelings as her feminine side takes over. She tries on some of the southern belle sweetness that she once found revolting, and likes it.

13. The summer does not turn out the way Bean hopes, however, as Bubba decides on a future without her…temporarily…maybe…don't know yet. The characters haven't revealed the end of the story to me yet. I'm on chapter twenty, 58,000 words so far, hoping for at least 90,000. I need to buckle down and get this thing finished. I'm getting tired of dreaming about them. Not really, I rather like them. It's just that I'm easily distracted these days. I'm finding out that trying to be a normal, daytime person, isn't working for me. (Sorry that's a poor excuse and I know it.)

Wordless Wednesday

2007-07-10T23:08:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesdays: Mike the Mysterious Episode 5: Feather Love

2007-07-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

It's been about a month since Mike was appointed Employee of the Month by the real cat brains of the household, Gretchen, the Queen of Domesticity. Well, all during that time, the Queen has taxed her little kingdom of Fluffheads to the limit. Besides making them find and pick up all of her 84 pink plastic balls, whenever she's through playing with them, I suspect that she's also been having Mike fetch her treats in the middle of the night, while we sleep.

The only clue I have is the little trail of crumbs left behind in the morning. How Mike's getting the jar lid open is beyond me. I know Gretchen can't do it, so he must be using his special, mysterious powers to get the Temptations out of the jar. We buy Gretchen the Salmon flavored Temptations and pour them from the blue foil pouch into a jar with a screw on lid. Otherwise, Gretchen would chew on the pouch until she gets the treats out. I know plastic is not good for her and have to keep it away from her. Besides, once the foil pouch is full of little teeth holes the rest get stale. And she definitely knows which of the jars holds her treats.

Gretchen has been rather moody lately because her boyfriend, who lives in Sweden, can't talk to her on the computer for a whole month; his humans took a very long and far away vacation. So, she spends most of her time hanging out in a windowsill, daydreaming about her sweetheart. Meanwhile, Mike has been forced to do her bidding. The only thing I know for sure he can't do for her, and probably won't do no matter what the prize, is clean out the litter box. I still have that honor.

The other Fluffheads, White Kitten, Zoo Kitty and Beanie Kitty are all lazing about as usual. They give a good show in the beginning but as soon as Mike turns his back they're back in their cozy little bed, sleeping. I asked Mike why he lets them get away with so much? He just shrugged and said, "They have good intentions for creatures with heads full of fiberfill, besides, I can get the job done faster and better by doing it myself."

"Well," I said, patting him on his soft, little head, also picking a few pieces of lint from his crumpled up black fur, "You should be rewarded for all of your hard work. So what would you like this month? Did Gretchen name you her Employee of the Month for July, too?"

Mike's eyes stared at the floor. "I think she's too busy dreaming and thinking up poems to care about what I get as a reward. I suppose it would be nice, to be Employee of the Month again, but it's rather boring, I think." his golden eyes twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the window, brightening his countenance a bit. "Couldn't I have something different this time? Like some feathers of my very own?"

Feathers? I thought about what I had at the moment that had feathers on it that Mike would like. I didn't think it would be nice to take a feather or two from Gretchen's new feather wand. I'm sure that would make her quiet unhappy to share what was now her favorite toy. "How about a change of sweaters?" I suggested. "The bears aren't using them right now and you do look rather spiffy in them. Would you like to pick out a new color?"

I pulled out the craft drawer where I keep the bears things, placed it on the kitchen table and showed Mike a few sweaters. Mike looked interested for a tiny moment, and even picked out a red and tan colored sweater; I think just to please me. But I could see he had his hopes set on feathers. Mike was about to don the new sweater and cap when he spied the Halloween costumes for the bears. A witches hat with orange under the brim and a vampires cap, black on one side and orange on the other. "Oh!" he exclaimed excitedly, "Orange! More orange! I like orange. I look good in orange."

I said, "It's not Halloween for several months, why don't you wait. "No!" he said a little more forcefully than I think he intended. "Please excuse me," he said more quietly, "I really like the orange and if I could have some orange feathers on the hat…wouldn't that look great?" With sparkling eyes and upturned whiskers, the best thing he could do for a smile, he pleaded, "Please?"

Okay, I thought, why not. Mike does all the work around here for Gretchen; why not let him have what pleases him for a little while. The bears won't mind, after all, they've been unceremoniously dumped into a large, black, plastic garbage bag and stored in the storeroom. Then it hit me. "Go ahead and pick out what you like," I said to Mike, "I've got an idea. I'll be right back." While Mike, and now Gretchen, were going through the bears clothes in the craft drawer, I slipped off to my bedroom closet where I have hat's stored in boxes. In one of them was a bright, orange straw hat from Hawaii with lots of fluffy orange feathers on it. Mike nearly cried when he saw me come back into he room with it. So we pinched a few feathers from places that wouldn't show, from the brim of the hat, and I glued them on the little witches hat that Mike had picked out.

I've never seen a happier fluffhead. We turned the little cape to the orange side out and Mike posed with his new duds and the orange straw hat that my mother had bought in Hawaii over forty years ago; it's been in a hatbox in my closet for the past ten.

"This makes me look mysterious, yes?" Mike grinned as he posed for the camera. "I like to look magical and mysterious, you know."

I thought about it for a moment and realized that Mike did look good in the black and orange costume, but I think what he really needs is a black and purple wizards outfit, with sparkling glitter and a shiny moon, and some stars on it. Then he'll really look mysterious. Perhaps next month I'll get around to it.

After scolding Gretchen and the Fluffheads about getting into the treat jar, they all agreed not to do that anymore. Once peace was restored, I played a rousing game of feathers and pink balls with Mike and Gretchen, and now, all are off in their favorite napping places, sleeping away a very, very hot afternoon. This is the kind of day I pray the AC doesn't fail. DBB

Saturday Sky: Ballooning

2007-07-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

I walked out of my door at 6:30 this morning and saw two yellow balloons descending. It's always a breathtaking site to see these giants, seemingly suspended in a motionless sky. No breeze, no clouds, just a yellow balloon slowly, silently floating by.

Second Ripple Finished

2007-07-06T22:09:00.000-07:00

This the beginning

I just posted the second afghan on my No-End-In-Sight - Ripple Along, where a lot of neat rippling is going on.

It was for my very first great grandson. He was supposed to be born in July and I was just about to make the deadline to get it to him before he was born and he went and came two weeks early. I finished it on July 1st and it's in the mail...on it's way to the Midwest.

It is really soft, LionBrandYarn, Baby Soft with a G hook. It washed up really nice, too. I decided not to edge it like I had planned. I really like the scalloped look it already had and figured I couldn't improve upon it, besides, I wanted to get it the mail. The Baby-ghan is 48"X48". I felt really pleased it came out to be square. I was worried for a while, because I wanted to end with blue.

Here is is finished...

My next one may wait a bit. I've decided on the colors but not the pattern. It will be a ripple, of course, but what kind I don't know yet.

Thursday Thirteen #5

2007-07-05T14:21:00.001-07:00

Thirteen fears I have about Submission Packages:

First of all, congratulations to all the Thursday Thirteener's 100 Meme event. I'm only on my 5th so I'll have to wait until the next milestone to participate.

1. I've read all the books, posts, and articles that I can find on Queries and Submissions. I've already sent many queries, and cover letters and so forth—following all the required guidelines, but I always get a queasy feeling when getting a new submission package ready for a book publisher or an agent.

2. I'm never quite sure that I'm giving them what they are really asking for, sometimes their guidelines are so vague. I think my main problem stems from lack of experience and fear.

3. Without a writers group nearby I'm also lacking the support and critiquing that I need. And I feel very needy at the moment.

4. I feel that my query letters or covers letters look professional enough. I've worked at making them conform to each submissions guidelines, but I worry my inexperience will show.

5. I was wondering about the type of paper. Is it so important to use bright white paper, or special paper—colored paper? Does that really make a difference? Will not ordinary 20# white computer paper do?

6. I also have a question about the paragraph where I list my education, experiences, and accomplishments, which are few, but now that I have a blogging page, is my http address something that should be included?

7. I am comfortable with sending a brief synopsis, but the chapter-by-chapter outline throws me. I am getting ready to send two packets out with chapter-by-chapters for the first time.

8. I have yet to see a real example of one for fiction writing. I don't know if a chapter-by-chapter outline should be very short, concise sentences/paragraphs, several pages, or many. For instance, one chapter-by-chapter outline is for 67,000 words, 23 chapters, at Times New Roman 12 pt. it comes out to 12 pages. Should it be shorter than that? Smaller type? Single spaced?

9. And what about sample chapters. Are they supposed to be single spaced or remain like the double spaced manuscript?

10. Finding the right agent/publisher is getting more and more frustrating. Once I've picked my target, I go to their website and really research them. I also checkout other websites and get comments on their credibility. Finding small presses has been recommended for new writers, however, I just came out of a bad experience with a small press in Minnesota last year that seemed to fit my genre to a tee, but changed character after they responded to my query, requested and received the entire manuscript. I was greatly disappointed to say the least, and for the second time since I've been shopping out my manuscripts, I've sent solicited manuscripts out and never heard from them again. They just disappeared. Both were agents.

11. One of the novels I'm shopping out is the first in a series, two have been completed, and I'll begin the third one shortly. How do I promote that the book as a series? Wanting, of course, the agent/publisher to read both, but knowing I can only pitch one book at a time. I always mention the works I've finished, and their word count.

12. My family and friends want me to self-publish the Scrungy series. I'm in a quandary over whether or not to do that, I don't know how much time I have left and my children want the books in print. I really don't want to go that way. I'm not a promoter kind of person; it takes all my energies just to write. I like behind the scenes and the limelight scares me.

13. My biggest fear is not rejection, I rather like gathering the rejection letters, I hear it's supposed to be a good thing, and my goal is to collect at least a hundred. My biggest fear is loosing interest in the whole process.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday: Happy Fourth!

2007-07-03T23:10:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday

2007-07-03T20:17:00.001-07:00

It's been a very busy couple of days for me and I cannot believe it's Cat Tuesday already. I haven't had much time to think about a story, and Gretchen has just told everyone about the excitment in her day on her site, plus the day is almost over for my end of the world, a new day already dawning with most of my cat friends, so I was just not going to post at all until I read an article in today's paper. An article by Deborah Wood in her column, Pet Talk in the Oregonian, made me think again on poor little Ragpuff's fate. I thought I would share it with all, mostly because I was concerned that Ragpuff already had a family and our manager just had him hauled off and dumped in a field somewhere...and what if he did have a family aready? And if he did, they would never know what had happened to him.

Impulse to save a stray cat may mean swiping someone's pet instead
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Pets/Question time

Q: My animal-loving daughter is moving back home for the summer after her junior year at college. She's been feeding a cat (dubbed Mooch for the moment) that's been hanging out in her neighborhood and wants to bring him home with her. I'm concerned that the cat may belong to someone. Many years ago (before I realized the importance of cats living inside), my husband and I had a cat that we found out was living part time with a neighbor -- we never knew until they told us. My family wants to do the right thing; we just need help figuring out what it is.

A: There are roughly as many feral, abandoned and homeless cats as there are cats with loving homes, so the odds are good that Mooch needs you. Still, many cats do hang out at multiple homes, and you don't want to take someone's pet.
First, take a look at the cat and his habits. Does Mooch seem thin and hungry or round and shiny? Is he hanging around the yard most of the time, or does he seem to be splitting his time with another home?
A great way to find if he has a home is to put a collar on him with your daughter's number and a note to say, "Call if you own this cat."
Cats seldom stray far from their homes, so your daughter should ask the neighbors if he belongs to any of them.
With digital cameras, it's easy to create "Found Cat" posters, and most newspapers run "Found Pet" ads without charge.
Before taking the cat, she should have it scanned at a veterinarian's office or the local shelter for a microchip. She should also leave information with the shelter about the cat in case someone comes looking for Mooch.
People who have found an animal -- or lost one -- can get more helpful tips at http://www.lostapet.org/.

~~~~

For what it's worth, I probably could have done more than I did to help Ragpuff (don't know what his real name was, of course), and I can't say, right now, if I will pursue what happened to this little creature anymore. It's a lot more complicated than I can tell about and I need to do some more thinking on the subject. A lesson learned.

Last Day of June Saturday Sky

2007-06-30T11:48:00.000-07:00

Embrace the unexpected! It keeps life interesting.

Thursday Thirteen #4

2007-06-27T20:13:00.001-07:00

Thirteen Things About My First Schoolgirl Crush:

1. At twelve years old, I was very tall and very awkward, very silly, very giggly, very dyslexic; reading and talking was emotionally, very painful.

2. I had just started Jr. High school at James Madison Jr. High in Tampa, Florida. My birthdays always came a month after school started, so I wasn't twelve like the rest of my classmates at the beginning of the school year.

3. I had had several crushes on boys that school year, 1955/56, but I'm only telling about my first one.

4. His name was Johnny—something. He was a cute, curly headed kid, brown hair, I think, and he must have been taller than me, because I shied away from short boys.

5. He's the only boyfriend in my life that I still have a picture of. In the picture, he sat forward, his hand laced together, while silly old me, leaned against the porch post and had another giggle attack.

6. That year I got to have a large birthday party. And I got to send an invitation to Johnny. (In those days, we didn't call on the phone or just ask someone to a birthday party, without sending a written invitation.)

7. We played games, of course, had cake and ice cream and opened presents. We played spin the bottle I got to kiss him. That I remember well, a circle of kids on the grass, (this was at night) and when I spun the Coke bottle it pointed to Johnny. I'm sure I giggled my way over to him and planted a quick kiss somewhere on his face. I don't think it was the lips. My mom, and probably one or two other moms supervised the party.

8. Just being around a boy gave me a severe case of the giggles. He must have thought I had a few screws loose, or the cool-ade had been spiked.

9. At some point I wrote him a love letter. I have kept it all these years. Somewhat faded now, it was written in pencil and it had lipstick kisses all over the paper with red penciled hearts and arrows all across the top.

10. It said: The Way Love Begins and Ends. The first day of school I met Johnny and he didn't like me at first; he liked my girlfriend Joyce and I invited him to my birthday party and he gave me a pearl necklace. Something I had never had before and, of course, I thought 12 was growing old enough to go on dates and so I kissed him and he liked me more as he stayed and he followed [me around] the place that night. And I know he doesn't love me anymore, he is going around with Donna Ray Berg and I'm going to like Dickie, but love Johnny better than anyone else I know. In fact if he or I ever left I would never forget him. He probably won't even save me a seat on the bus or a place in line. He'll probably save Donna a seat on the bus and a place in line and he promised me at my birthday party to save me a place in line and a seat on the bus all the time.

11. I must have gotten over Johnny quickly though, because I went to my first formal dance that year with Dickie. That I remember well.

12. I'll describe the photo of my first formal—I'm not about to post it. Standing in the kitchen I stood with feet close together in low-heeled black pumps—I was already too tall and hated wearing anything but flats. I stood looking away from the camera—eyes looking upward focused on some distant spot, with red lips pursed together in a goofy smile. Hands daintily clasped together in a lady like fashion at the waist; fingernails painted red, of course, and my reddish-brown hair was short and tightly curled. The best, or worst, in my opinion, was the strapless, pale green taffeta, with green tulle overlay, cocktail length gown. The photograph is a bit faded now, but I had on sparkly earrings and a bracelet that must have matched.

13. Actually the dress was beautiful and pale green has always remained my favorite. The worst thing was that I had a figure that would not allow me to wear sweaters and get the attention of the guys the way my girlfriends did. I had to wear falsies!

Wordless Wednesday

2007-06-26T23:13:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesdays: Neighborhood Nightlife

2007-06-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

While you're sleeping, snug and comfy in your beds, dreams floating round in your head, do you know what your cat is doing at that wee hour, when moon has risen high, wind has stilled, leaving the air thickly perfumed with night flowers?

Apartment life is daunting at best. Small, cramped corners of life often limited to only one or two indoor cats per unit. This tale is about Necco and her feline neighbors. There are eight apartment units in Necco's building, seven occupied by cats, and one with a dog. Small, rat-like dog, but a dog none the less. No one ever spoke directly to the dog, only about it.

Necco, a pretty pale tortie with sparkling green eyes, spent many lonely nights during the winter, sitting on one windowsill or another, staring out into the starry, cold, darkness. All throughout the silent winter, Necco savored every thought, stored every idea, so that as soon as the warm summer nights came, and the windows were left open, she could have something to talk about with her neighbors.

Summer came late this year; one cold snap after another kept the nighttime windows closed all through June. Frustrated she paced, flew to each window in haste at every shadowy movement on the apartment grounds. Finally, finally, the weather mellowed out and the windows were left open. Necco sat on the wide bedroom windowsill, eagerly taking in great gulps air: scents of sweet, damp, earth, mingled with other scents floating in on the midnight air. Her guardians were asleep in their beds, their breaths slow and even, the soft whirl of the refrigerator could be heard in the kitchen, the low, slow, click, click, click, as the seconds ticked by on the living room wall clock. Her ears twitched quickly in every direction identifying each tiny sound.

"Necco, are you there?" a whisper floated down from the apartment above, barely audible above her own beating heart. Necco twitched her tail, perked her ears and leaned into the screen, hoping it would hold her weight. Markus, a black and white, lived above her. He too had waited seemingly endless nights for the windows to be left open to the outside air. "It's me, Markus," he called in a low whisper. His guardian was a woman who lived alone and rarely left her windows open all night. "Has Thorny come by yet?"

Thorny was a large, charcoal gray and thick black striped, roaming tom that lived somewhere out there in the darkness. There was no single home he permanently called his own. He was a roamer, a charmer, too, there were many homes in the neighborhood with willing humans that claimed him, fed him, caressed him, and talked to him as if he were human, too. Thorny knew everyone and everything in the neighborhood, and he was the apartment cat's only source of news.

Another voice whispered into the warm, fragrant air, "Necco? Markus?" it croaked. Frog was duly named because he had once been strangled on the Venetian blinds cord when he was a little guy. The little orange tabby was only eight weeks old at the time. He'd been bouncing in and out of the windows with glee, pawing the dangling cord until his hind legs slipped out from underneath him, he floundered in midair by the neck, gargling and gasping for breath. His guardian had heard him choking and rushed into the room, untangling him just in the nick of time. Life number one was nearly over by the time she revived him. No one remembered what his real name was. Just Frog is all anyone new him by. His vocal cords had been damaged and he would forever croak instead of mew.

"Frog!" Necco and Markus greeted him in unison. "Have you seen Thorny, yet?"
Frog pushed his head into the screen, sidling into it to get the maximum view of the parking lot. "Nope, not yet, I'll go look out the living room window."
"Let's all go to the other side," Necco suggested, "we can talk better in there, less chance of waking our guardians."

Each cat silently dropped from the bedroom window, sped down the hall and leaped stealthily into the front room windows. Thorny had just come into view, the full moonlight shimmering off his shiny, stripped coat, prancing heavily through the dew covered grass.

More heads pressed against window screens as he came within talking distance. Fluffy Girl, a pleasant Himalayan lived upstairs across the hall from the dog, which lived above Frog. Downstairs under Fluffy Girl was Kattie Kat, a broad tailed tan and cream Maine coon with deeply lined blue eyes. Prissy, a tiny, orange powder puff, of unknown origin lived across the hall from Markus, and above TBC (Troublesome Black Cat). An elderly widowed man was his guardian.

All of the humans living there were fifty-five an older; the apartment complex purported to be a Senior Village. Necco was the only one who still had two guardians; all the others in the village were single.

By the time Thorny reached the main patio and comforted himself under the golden glow of the round patio light, seven dark figures were perched upon window sills, ears trained towards the tom, waiting for the news. Stories flew from the windows to Thorny, from Thorny to windows. Necco and her friends lived in building four. Building three, set at an odd angle to building four, gained some new tenants over the winter months. Necco had seen a catly shadow in a window or two on occasion. Now Thorny was telling the cats in building four about the cats in building three, building two, and even building one. Nanny, an old momma cat in building one, had to go to the vet; she had a cough and never came back. The human, Mrs. Wassel, in building two, had fallen and broken her leg. Her children were moving her into an assisted living home and she would not be able to keep her cat, Freckles. In building three, Mrs. Korn's husband died and the management was forcing her to move into a single, one bedroom unit. Something about a couple needing her handicapped apartment was the reason. The news of that move had all the humans in a stir. Would anyone else who lived alone, and in a two-bedroom unit, be safe? It was a puzzle because every apartment in building three and four were two bedrooms and Necco's apartment was the only one now occupied by a couple. A new manager had come in during the winter and made so many new rules and changes that some of the older tenants had gotten sick over the shakeup and had to go to the hospital. Necco reflected about how disturbed her guardians had been by some of the things going on in the Village over the winter. But just last month, the new manager was fired. The newer, new manager, however, wasn't all that much better. There was still no rhyme or reason for the constant turmoil management kept the elderly tenants in.

Soon the moon had begun to set, the stars were fading in the dark-turquoise sky; Thorny had rounds to make, territory to claim and protect. "Too bad," he shook his massive shoulders and licked the fur on his spine back into place, "about Freckles, I mean. Nice old tom, doesn't have too much longer to live, himself. He's got to be near ninety-two by now (nearly 19 in human years). To have to find new guardians in his late years…" Thorny scratched a flea behind his left ear and shook his head, "just too bad…he'll probably end up getting…the you know what," he pressed his lips together and tried to talk out of the side of his mouth in a way that young Prissy couldn't hear him, "get the needle…" Six of the cats shuddered; they knew what the needle meant. They'd all visited the vet and heard the stories. Prissy was clueless.

Thorny bid them all a goodnight, or good morning if you chose to look at the hour. The cats sat in their windowsills for a few more moments, trying to talk to each other without seeing each other. Not one of them had ever seen what the other looked like. Only what they sounded like, or sometimes when the breeze was just right, what their scents said about them. Things were changing in their little neighborhood.

Now that the windows were open at night, Necco looked forward to Thorny's, and maybe one or two of his friends, visits around three o'clock in the wee hours of the morning and give them tidbits of neighborhood life.

The names and places have been changed to protect the felines and their guardians. What is your cat doing at three AM…do you know?

Tagged: Birthday Meme

2007-06-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

My daughter, Paula, has tagged me with this Birthday Wikipedia the website Meme!

Here are the rules: You go to http://www.wikipedia.org/ and type in your birthday (only month & day). Then you write down 3 events, 2 births, 1 holiday, and then you tag 5 friends.

My Birthday is October 3rd. Right in the middle of WWII

3 Events:
1942 - Spaceflight: First successful launch of a V-2/A4-rocket from the Test Stand VII at Peeneunde, Germany: The first man-made object to reach space.

1955 -Catpian Kangaroo debuts on CBS

1955 - The Mickey Mouse Club debuts on ABC

2 Births:
1806 - Oliver Cowdery, American religious leader
1941 - Chubby Checker, American Musician

1 Holiday:
Day of German Unity

I tag: Thomma Lyn, Me'lange, Kuanyn, SuzzaneR, Mom Unplugged.

Early Morning Saturday Sky

2007-06-23T07:35:00.000-07:00

Facing East at 6:30 AM

Three days the sun's setting and rising will be the same.

As if the earth standing still, takes a long breath

Before marching forward into long winter nights.

Thursday Thirteen #3

2007-06-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Thirteen things I like to write about . . .

1. Cats: The cats that I've had over the years, and the one I have presently, have given, and contine to give me, a lifetime of tales to tell. I never realized how much I really loved and cared about these furry creatures until I started writing stories about them.

2. Faeries: My interests in the wee folk have been there since childhood. Only in old age it has taken on a new meaning. I have no hang-ups now, about talking to the faerie folk that live among my plants, in my little abode—after six-plus decades, I've earned the right to talk to them unabashedly.

3. Memories: My childhood has taken place in many parts of the country. After I was born, and mostly raised, in Texas, I became an Oklahoman, Alaskan, Texan again, Californian, Floridian, Georgian, Texan again, Hawaiian, Floridian again, Ohioan, Floridian again, Hawaiian again, Alaskan again, Floridian again, Georgian again, Californian again, Illinoisan, Californian again, Illinoisan again, Montanan, and finally, Oregonian. So there is no absence of writing material there. Plus, I've traveled and visited many other parts of the country and a tiny bit of Canada.

4. Wild animals: I love to be the voice for all kinds of animals that live in the woods and so forth. There is so much to learn from them and teach others by writing about them.

5. Heavenly Things: My faith has given me a perspective on who I am and where I came from and I use my imagination to fill in the rest.

6. Mystical: Magical beings and far away places intermingled with everyday people and everyday life.

7. History: My personal and family history.

8. The 50's: That pretty much tells you what decade I'm most familiar with.

9. Drama: Love and life never follow a perfect path.

10. Tragedy: But with a happy ending.

11. People: Six-plus decades living amongst people haven given me much to tell, however, there is still much to learn. Each day is a new chapter.

12. Mysteries: That's a challenge, mostly because the plots have to go just right and I'm still learning that skill.

13. Fiction: Fiction is the genre I love the best. Everything ends the way I want it to. To write fiction is to be a liar, as a writing instructor once told me. I knew all those little white lies I told as a child had to be good for something, someday.

Wordless Wednesday: Beware

2007-06-20T00:19:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: About Scrungy

2007-06-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

Small brave carnivores

Kill pine cones and mosquitoes

Fear vacuum cleaner

haiku author unknown

Since Gretchen has her own site now, I said that I would explain why I named my site Scrungy's Creator.

I'm going back a few years to around 1987: I had been halfway through my first novella and had lost a precious orange and white cat that I had taken in since birth. He was born under a utility shed next to our modular home in a great oak wood late in May. He was the tiniest of the litter of three. I believe it was his mother's first litter. She was a popular visitor among all the residences of the woods. Over the years she must have had two litters a year and each time under some ones shed. She got to be known as Momma cat. A very small, mottled brown and tan tabby. We brought the little orange and white kitten into the house because it was so much weaker than its siblings and it had been a late, cold spring. Pumpkin was the cat that I had completely declawed at six months old. It was the most pitiful sight to see him with all four paws stitched up. That's when I vowed never to do that to a cat again (pitifully, I broke my vow when it came to Gretchen). He was also the cat that no one, not even the vet knew that he was not a she, until he operated on her and found out she was actually a he.

Another season went by and we moved from within the woods to the top of a hill, overlooking the wood, pond and stream. A place that will always remain in my dreams and is the kind of place I've been hoping to move to someday. If it had not have been for the job that went with the house and property, I would still be there to this day. Because Pumpkin was completely declawed he was never an outside cat. He was very happy in his new, roomier home at the top of the hill, but one day he went out and disappeared. Three days later we thought he had returned. In the tall grasses at the edge of the lawn was an identical cat, male, but the only difference was that he was fully clawed. We never saw our Pumpkin again, but the new cat hung around. He belonged to no one but the vast wood. I now believe he was the father of all Momma Cat's kittens. Every one of her litters had a few orange kittens. He could have even been Pumpkin's father.

The cat that showed up at our door, the one who looked identical to Pumpkin, I named Scrungy. At the time of his appearance he was very scrungy. Dirty, un-kept, and a little sickly looking. He also had a huge gash across the side of his neck that was trying to heal. Obviously from a fight with another tom or a raccoon. Raccoons were plentiful in our woods, and we even raised one from a baby, once. We fed the new tom; he fattened, and hung around on his terms. The wood was his home; we were just a convenience; his food and sometimes shelter.

In my little white house on the hill, overlooking a barren field, the wood; I began to write about an abandoned cat named Scrungy. Because of my real job, I worked upwards of sixty to eighty hours a week alongside my husband, writing was an occasionally thing. It wasn't until we were deep into the winter season that I completed the first draft of Scrungy: Abandoned. Complications from a back injury kept me from working and then I began writing in earnest. Eventually, we moved to Montana for a couple of years where I re-wrote Scrungy several times before being satisfied with it. When we moved to Oregon, I wrote the sequel to the first Scrungy book, Scrungy:Rescue. In the meantime I've been working on other novels. When I am finished with the current novel, Bubba and Bean, I will begin the third book in the Scrungy series. Scrungy is not on the market yet. It is still making its journey through agents and publishers hands. Because of a lot of illness in the past ten years, I've not pushed to publish Scrungy as hard as I probably should have. My family and friends are after me to publish. And yes, I would not be truthful if I said I didn't want to be published, also. I just like to write. But I do want it published, and that is why, when my daughter edged me into the blogsphere, I took the name Scrungy's Creator as my blog name, perhaps as a part good luck charm and part inspiration for me to continue. I hope to have several more books in the Scrungy series before I've exhausted the ideas and the plots for this little kitten that was dumped along a deserted road in the middle of a vast wood, where he learns to survive, find love, companionship, and a life for himself. The white cat that I had for six months before Gretchen came into my life was named Preylor, after Prelyor, the king of the abandoned cats in this series…a massive white tom with odd colored eyes. There are many, many cats that come and go from my little catdom and hope that there will be many more.

Belonging to Gattina's Cats on Tuesday group is the best thing that could happen to me. It gives me inspiration. Challenges me to use my imaginings and write weekly stories about cats. It has also deepened my love for cats, and all things living. Thank you Paula. Thank you Gattina. And thank you, Thomma Lyn, for opening me up to the Cat Blogosphe

There are no pictures to post for this story. A few years ago I sent all of the pictures of the real Scrungy and Pumpkin to daughter#4. She's also an illustrator and wanted to work on the Scrungy series with me. I didn't realize I hadn't kept any pictures for myself until after a frantic search through all my files and boxes of pictures last night, for a picture to post today. The picture that I use for my logo is a close likeness of what Scrungy would have looked like as a kitten, after being cleaned up, of course.

Poetry Monday

2007-06-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

I was going to post another Poe poem today, but after reading them over I decided they were a bit too depressing for this beautiful blue-sky day. So I found a haiku instead. About cats, of course.

Wanna go outside.

Oh, no! Help! I got outside!

Let me back inside!

haiku author unknown

Sudden Sun Break in Bleak Saturday Sky

2007-06-16T17:42:00.001-07:00

They say...Dreaming is never a waste of time.

I say...Neither is gazing into the heavens.

This sudden break in an otherwise, cloudy, dreary day, appeared around noon. In moments the clouds had closed back in and it rained. How lucky I felt to have seen the moment when the clouds parted to let a little sunshine in.

I've been busy putting my cat's site together and reading her messages for the past few days. It's been a bit scary, but finally I'm beginning to get it. My daughter set Scrungy's Creator up for me several months ago and now it was my turn to solo. She was away from the phones for the weekend and she wasn't there to answer my cries for help. But I stuck with it and I must say I'm beginning to enjoy the experience.

To all the daddy's among my family and friends....Happy Daddy's Day!

Announcing Gretchen's New Site

2007-06-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

Gretchen now has her very own site. Gretchen's Paw Prattle. She's very happy with it. I think she'll be busy all day answering all the welcome comments she's received already. I told you she hires others to do her bidding, no pay of course, but I've been directed to take her dictation. Hmmm, I wonder if I'll get Employee of the Month. Mike still loves his badge and wears it everywhere. He even climbed up on Gretchen's new place of honor, the back of the recliner, on the doily, for his portrait. Gretchen's not one to share the limelight, but she's patient with Mike, for a while at least. He sure loves his goofy sweater and cap and won't take it off.
Now that Gretchen has taken off to new worlds unknown, I'll be able to turn my attention to other things, get back to my writing, and tell somethings about Scrungy. Good luck, Gretchen. Thank you to the Cat Blogsphere for her warm welcomes.

Thursday Thirteen

2007-06-13T17:20:00.001-07:00

Thirteen things about Gretchen

My Thirteen is going to be about my cat, Gretchen. She came to us 3 years ago today. She was born on May 1, 2004 but we took her into our hearts and home on June 13, 2004.

1. Gretchen was an answered prayer cat. See the whole story

here.

2. Gretchen is a soft as silk cat with pale tortoise markings, bib and booties. I wanted to name her Peaches because of her patches of peach fur, but it just didn't seem right. My husband insisted that we call her Gretchen and for some reason I gave in. I've never allowed him to name any of our cats before. I've usually named them, or the girls when they were home, and he'd approve because he was outnumbered. But when he said her name should be Gretchen, it just seemed like that had always been her name. It fit her.

3. Sometimes I call her Princes Gretchen because she's so picky about what she eats, where she eats, and when she eats. She has two feeding stations and prefers the toilet for her water bowl, even though I keep a clean bowl of fresh water on her place mat at all times.

4. Gretchen is an inside (apartment) only cat. When she was six months old we took her to the vet for the first time. She had all her shots, was spayed and had the front claws removed. I had that done to another one of my cats once (on all four paws), and swore I'd never do that again. Removing Gretchen's claws was a difficult decision. My husband is a Brittle Diabetic, that's the worst kind, and he can't afford to have scratches from the cat. I had just had a bilateral mastectomy and have no lymph nodes under my arms, so scratches were also bad for me. Plus, the apartment lease stated that all cats had to be de-clawed. I don't think that's necessarily true now, but when I first got her, it was stipulated that I comply. I had taken her to another town, all the towns pretty much run together around here, at the recommendation of a friend who had three cats and that's the only vet she liked. It was an awful experience for both Gretchen, my husband and I. She had to be taken in a cat box for a thirty-minute ride, she cried all the way. She had to be left overnight, that was horrible also, and she came home heavily infested with fleas. When the vet first examined her before they admitted her, she was clean as a whistle, and the vet even remarked on how clean she was. They denied the fact that she got the fleas from their clinic. I had to clean the house, wash all the bedding, clean the carpet, while we treated her with that Advantage? (I can't remember what the name for the cat stuff is, but it worked and we've never been infested with fleas since.)

5. To top it all off, within five months, the middle claw and dewclaw on her right paw grew back. At first the vet told me that they wouldn't fix it for free, but after I had given them a few well-placed words, not bad ones, mind you…just well placed, the vet relented and said they wouldn't charge me again. But then, my husband and I just couldn't put Gretchen through that awful experience again, and would never take her, or recommend any cat we knew of, to that clinic again. We decided that Gretchen wasn't bothered by the dewclaw. She was quite happy to have a tiny tool to rip things to shreds with, and the middle claw never stays long. It grows in soft and comes off regularly. We talked many times about having it removed by a vet here in town, but always talk ourselves out of it. We've decided that if it ever becomes a problem for her we'll have it removed. She's happy and we're happy, so all is well on that front.

6. Life for an apartment cat is not all that much fun sometimes. Gretchen has a great imagination and invents friends. The Sofa Bear Club are, or rather were, among her favorite friends. They have been removed now, put in the storage closet, at least for the summer. When the stuffed bears sat around since Christmas without their clothes, I said it was time for a change. They have sat on the back of the sofa for nearly ten years. (Six craft bears had a set of clothes that I changed regularly for years. Their place was on the back of the sofa. Gretchen often spent time with them there, blending in.)

7. Gretchen divides her time between her furry, stuffed mice, her pink, plastic golf balls, bird watching—sometimes visiting with a cat or two through the window screen, catloafing and sleeping. She loves to chase after bubbles. And will do anything for string. Getting the backscratcher out means we're going mouse hunting. Her furry little mice often disappear under the fridge, dresser and other tight places.

8. Eating, sleeping, and bathing occupy a good portion of the day. She has my husband and I well trained and uses us each in a different way. She sleeps with me, actually she sleeps on my hip (I'm a side sleeper). I find when she's actually standing on my shoulder staring at me that she wants me to lift the covers so she can climb under them. As soon as I depart the bed in the morning she is in my spot. She often sleeps until noon there. When hubby comes home, her routine changes and after a bit of attention from him, and a quick romp through the apartment, they both settle down for an afternoon nap, leaving me to myself, to write, garden, to blog.

9. When evening comes, dishes are done, she know it's time, whether I 'm ready or not, to sit in my lap. If I'm not sitting when she wants me to, she will whine and wind her way through my legs until I get the message. There are some days that she thinks I should be sitting in the afternoon and will follow me around demanding me to stop what I'm doing and sit. She's not at all happy when I'm at the computer a lot. Lately, she forces her way between the keyboard and my body, trying to get comfortable on my lap. I've finally figured out that this means time for a break.

10. Gretchen, like most cats seem to do, comes alive at night. After she's insisted that I'm tucked in bed and have fallen asleep; she starts me getting ready for bed around eleven o'clock at night. If I don't start shutting things down at eleven she starts her whining, sitting on the floor in front of me and staring routine. She'll follow me from room to room, and makes sure I've done everything right. Once I'm in bed and covers in place, she'll come and lay on my side until I fall asleep. After that she's does a series of window-to-window sorties. Especially when it's warm enough to have the windows open at night.

11. Gretchen's other favorite pastimes are tearing up Kleenex boxes, rustling around in tissue paper—she loves to shred it, trying to chew on plastic which I have to be very careful of, flopping on the floor in the middle of my path for an instant belly rub, and just being your ordinary, soft as a peach, cute as bug, loving, adorable cat.

12. Gretchen has participated in stories for Cat's on Tuesday with the pitiful, stuffed black cat we named Mike. Mike has strange eyes and sends us strange brainwaves. There are three other stuffed cats in the apartment, Beanie Kitty, Zoo Kitty, and White Kitten. They all lay in their places quietly like stuffed animals are supposed to do, however, you can never count on what Mike is going to do. In March of this year an aunt of mine died and I inherited some of her things, a white stuffed toy cat and a black one, whose fur melted in the dryer after I washed him. Gretchen and I have a lot of fun with the black lump of melted fur…we've now dubbed him Mike the Mysterious. To see Mike Stories click on the Mike the Mysterious button on the sidebar.

13. Lastly, I've written these thirteen things about Gretchen because of our anniversary, but also to tell you that she's going to have her own site. Hopefully it will be ready by this time next week and I will announce it. My daughter #3, the one who set up Scrungy's Creator for me and still does maintenance on it because I haven't learned yet quite how to do it, is letting me set up Gretchen's site all by myself. If I'm not successful, she'll fix it for me…wish me luck.

Gretchen on June 13, 2007

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Wordless Wednesday

2007-06-13T06:13:00.001-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Mike's Made it Big Time

2007-06-12T07:21:00.000-07:00

Mike's life changed again when I moved the sofa from its winter position to its summer position beneath the windows. Which happens to be Gretchen's very favorite place to do her window gazing from, and be comfortable at the same time. Last time we talked, Mike had come out of his dark little corner between the sofa and the wall, and had entered Gretchen's world. The top of the sofa. Shortly thereafter, I moved the sofa and offered Mike a new bed. He chose a wicker basket that had just been lying about as a catchall, and I lined it with a little, blue fleece baby blanket that I had gotten at Walgreen's for a buck for Gretchen, one that she's never placed a paw on.

So, "Hey, Mike!" I said, "how about this blanket to line your basket?" He was so excited about his new niche that I swear he squeezed his eyes together like a normal cat and purred. I put his new basket on the floor in front of the TV. He seemed a little teary eyed that I had given him such a place of prominence, but I couldn't be sure. It's not something I really want to admit, you know, that I carry on this imaginary conversation with a stuffed, toy cat. Well, I left the room to do some gardening; Gretchen had already taken up residence at the end of the sofa on her purple and green quilt. Mike was happily dozing in his basket.

Then it happened, I had fallen in the garden and smashed my face and glasses against the sidewalk. My right arm and hand took a good twisting, not to mention every muscle in my body. This new twist in my life made it hard for me to do the ordinary chores around the apartment for a while. Happily everything has healed nicely now, but I owe it all to Mike.

Gretchen is a sweet, princess of a cat, and I love her dearly, but she is becoming more spoiled as the days go by. She felt sorry for my woes and gave me a look of sympathy, a look of "don't worry, I'm there for you." I couldn't quite make out her cat talk, but it sounded like she said that White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, Beanie Kitty, and Mike, all of them together, would keep the place nice and tidy. Before we go any further, no, the pain pills did not pack that much of a wallop. Of course, I let Gretchen be in charge of the toy cleanup. But you have to remember, she's the one who's game it is to "watch-me-throw-the ball/mouse-pick-it-up-and-throw-it-again." Okay, so I was a little woozy by now and went to bed.

For several days later, when I got up in the morning and stumbled my way into the living room on the way to the kitchen, there was not a thing out of place. No yarn twisted around the dining room chair legs, no crumpled wads of paper strewn about, no furry, fake mice, not even one of the new batch of pink plastic golf balls left out to step on. I mean the room was actually in better shape than when I'd left it the night before.
Okay, I was only on pain pills for a couple of days, it has now been weeks and today I finally sat down and asked Gretchen what's been going on. Her royal highness just yawned in my face and mumbled something that sounded like, "The hired help took care of everything," then she rolled over, closed her eyes, and wouldn't comment any further. Out of curiosity I turned to Mike. "Okay, Mike," I said, "Spill it. What's been going on?" I heard White Kitten chuckle. Mind you White Kitten has nothing but fiberfill in her head. But, then I heard Zoo Kitty, and even Beanie Kitty chuckle, too. Or at least I thought I did.

Mike could see I was getting a little spooked, so he did that thing with his eyes, squeezed them shut, then transmitted his thoughts to my mind. I'm not sure if I'm just getting used to him doing that or if it freaks me out even more, but he told me that Gretchen had hired the "Cat Crew" to keep the place tidy. On account of my hurt hand and all. Only Gretchen didn't do anything; she was always off Catloafing somewhere. White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty never left their beds, so Mike was left all to himself to help me out. Incredible as it was, I had to ask, "What did Gretchen promise you if you did all the work?"

Mike blushed, looked around the room, seeing that he was alone, replied to my mind, "Employee of the Month!"

"That's it!" I stammered, "You did all the work, and all you get is a title?"

Mike squeezed his eyes together again, "Oh, no," he cried with happiness, "I got a sweater and cap to wear, a certificate from the Queen of Domesticity, and a neat little ribbon to pin on my sweater for a whole month."

I could barely believe what I had just heard, or thought I heard, no one hears Mike talking to me, but me. "Uh, where'd you get the sweater and cap?" I thought I'd better ask.

"Gretchen told me that since you put all the sofa bears away in a big black plastic bag, in the storage unit, for the summer, that I could choose one of their sweaters, whichever one I liked best, for my hard work."

"Really," I said, however, I wanted to ask how they got the sweater out of the craft drawer to begin with, but decided I didn't want to know anymore details. Then Mike climbed out of his basket, revealing the orange and yellow, stripped sweater and matching cap he had hidden underneath. "I liked this color the best," he beamed. "I thought it would show up best against my black fur in the picture. "What picture?" I smiled, already knowing where he was going with this. "Why, the one you're going to take and post on the web, of course," he smiled, there was no mistaken the twinkle in his glassy eyes now. "But I need you to put the sweater on me," he continued, "that's kind of hard for me to do."

By now Gretchen was at my feet, dancing her little "love me" jig, winding her furry little body between my legs, purring loudly. I didn't know if I wanted to throttle her for using her little friends the way she did, or pick her up and squeeze her for having the thought to hire the help I needed when I was hurting. So here it is folks. The Queen of Domesticity, aka, Gretchen, and her only right hand man…er…cat…stuffed toy…whatever, Mike the Mysterious, needing my help to complete there little game.

It amazes me sometimes at how much they know about me. How much is real to me, and how far to take my imagination. Whoever they are, they have good hearts, even if one of them has a heart filled with fluff.

Mike sent one last thought my way, but I turned on him and scolded him, "Mike, I do not want to start hearing thoughts from White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty…that's just too much for me to handle." DBB

Poetry Monday: More of Poe

2007-06-11T11:42:00.001-07:00

Evening Star

'T was noontide of summer,
And mid-time of nights;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves,
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turn'd away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
-Edgar Allan Poe

Of all the missed opportunities I've had to take pictures like this at night, I've had to go to the web and borrow a photograph.

Saturday Sky in Oregon Retold

2007-06-09T13:36:00.001-07:00

Today's sky, Satuday, June 9, 2007

Last Saturday I posted a picture of a nearly all blue sky accept for one little wisp of cloud. I commented that "Our summer skies will mostly just be blue and featureless until the rains return in the fall."

Humph! I couldn't have been more wrong. Our little, first of the summer, heat wave ended on Tuesday, June 5th, with a powerful coldfront that swept in from the North Pacific ocean, bringing us heavy rain and hail.

Tuesday's sky, June 5, 2007 about 9:30 AM

Our weather has turned back to the winter/spring pattern bringing waves of Pacific storms, colder, sometimes windy and rainy weather. And of course, dull gray skies most of the time. There have been some beautiful cloud formations during the rain events this past week, and now I wished I had chronicled the days of the week with the camera.

Hailing on my little garden spot outside my apartment...

Today we weren't supposed to get rain until this evening. I woke up at four-thirty this morning and glanced up out into the twilight of morning. The moon was just above my widow, barely shrouded in a thin mist of fast moving clouds. I had the thought to run right out and take that picture but didn't. About half an hour later I got up to fix the Man's breakfast, and thought again of taking the moon shot in the early morning light. Well, I should always go with my first impressions, shouldn't I. When I looked out the window for the moon, thick gray clouds had covered it completely and it was raining. At about eleven-thirty the rain was momentarily reduced to light sprinkles so I went out to get my mail and look for interesing spots in the gray mass above to take a picture for todays post. So, now . . .

I
Will go
Eat some crow,
Have some tea with
Sugar and milk, with cookies,
Two Chocolate Chip, maybe three.
I'll spend the afternoon adding chapters
To Bubba and Bean's story of young love
I must not hold back their dreams, fate awaits,
Their story is in my hands, author of their plans.

I was trying my hand at a form of poety called Etheree. I was intrigued by Marilyn MonROEW's attempt at it. I don't quite know if I have the syllable count right.

Thursday Thirteen

2007-06-06T18:21:00.001-07:00

Thirteen Things about me,because I'm new to Thursday Thirteen

1. I'm a purple person. That's why I chose this code color. I'm also a green person. Meaning I love the color green. Dark green, moss green, just about every color of green.

2. I am a new blogger since . . . April 10, 2007. I'm still learning how to put my site together. My daughter as been helping but she lives in the Midwest and I live in the Pacific Northwest.

3. I am a writer. I've completed 3 novels and 1 novella and currently making the rounds of publishers with two of them. Since I've started blogging I've not been working on my 4th novel as much as I should. I haven't learned yet how to balance things in the blogsphere with my real life.

4. I started Scrungyscreator because of daughter #3's pleadings. She told me it would be a good way to meet other writers. I'm looking forward to that.

5. I'm a cat person. I have very vivid imaginings of what a cat thinks. Two of my novels are about cats, a third is planned to continue the story. Scrungy is a real cat who crossed my path some seventeen years, or so, ago. His likeness as a kitten is what I chose for my banner. But Gretchen, the one I write a lot about, is my real cat. Or rather, should I say, I'm her real person . . . human . . . being? I've spoiled her rotten and she knows it. She turned three May 1st, but we didn't adopt her until June 13, 2004.

6. I wanted to a be an illustrator of children's books when I grew up. When my children were grown, and I thought life had settled down some, I was ready to start, but then I found myself liking the writing process better than illustrating. I'm older now but still not grown up, so there's still a chance I could do that . . . starting with my own books, of course.

7. A writing instructor I once had told me not to be shy about saying I was a writer just because I hadn't been published. I've always held to those words, especially when non-writers look at me kind of strange when I say that, after having asked what books I'd had published. I still hear him say, "You write--you're a writer," or something like that. He also told me to remember RUE. "Resist the urge to explain." Which I have a hard time trying not to do.

8. I love writing. I love the process, the thought pattern, the planning, the research. I just haven't figured out how to keep "life stuff" from getting in the way. But then I remember that without all that "life stuff" I'm sure there really wouldn't be for much writing material.

9. I'm basically a very shy, behind the scenes person, and frankly, I find that putting myself out there a bit hard to do. It's really a chore sometimes. But each time I prepare a package for a publisher or pitch a book, I find it a little less daunting. But I've also not pushed that hard. I like writing for the sake of writing, or for my posterity. My family and friends seem to want me to be published. Yeah, I'll admit, that does kind of sound nice, too.

10. You might as well know right off the bat that I'm a two time breast cancer survivor. That's some of the "life stuff" that's slowed me down lately. But I'm three years out from my bilateral mastectomy and I'm feeling pretty good. If I hadn't have lived through all that nonsense I wouldn't have discovered the blogsphere, now would I? I love it. It's quite challenging, but at least I've found something to keep me from playing computer games when I'm in a lot of pain or can't sleep because of it. One thing chemo-therapy does, besides making one brain dead is making one an insomniac. Thank goodness for Ambien and a doctor who has finally seen the light.

11. I love the blue sky, the clouds, the wind, the rain, the storms. I love the beach, the salt air, the misty fog over the Pacific coastline. I love trees. I love birds, flowers, gardens, and all of nature. I'm a kid at heart with tons of imagination. I see things in pictures and that could explain my wanting to be an illustrator for so long. Now I'm trying to use words as my palette now instead of paint.

12. I love reading and listening to classical and good music. I'm an artist, an organist, or was. I haven't played much or as well since the boobs got cut off. For a while there I couldn't type, or write, or draw, or do anything that required fingers. Only in the last eight or nine months have I started getting my fine motor skills back in my hands. That's one of the reasons I played a lot of computer games, all that was required of my right hand was hold a mouse and push down with one finger, over and over, and over.

13. I'm a wife (nearly 40 years with this man), a mother of four daughters, all with lives and families of their own (five grandchildren) and in July I will become a great grandmother for the first time. P.S. . . in a whisper. . .writing without spell check is down right scary!

I got my information about TT from Thomma Lyn and I signed up on the main page earlier but as yet I haven't heard back from them, so I hope it's okay to proceed with this post. It may take a bit more for me to get the link for this sight on my sidebar. That's an area I haven't been yet. Like I said my daughter had helped me get started and put a lot of stuff on it without me knowing how she did it. So bear with me.

Wordless Wednesday: Gretchen's Peace Banner 2007

2007-06-06T10:03:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Catty and Mousey Games

2007-06-05T10:27:00.000-07:00

Since Gretchen was little, by that I mean about two and half years ago, I found these little stuffed, furry mice in the local grocery/department store in our town. Back then they were sold individually for sixty-nine cents each. They were so like the real little gray mice that inhabit a kitchen cabinet full of dry stuff, beans or noodles and such. I particularly liked the individual ones over the package of three or more mice in different colors, and it was so easy to pick up just one and throw it the shopping bag every time I went to the store. Gretchen got so excited when we came home with shopping bags, that she anxiously snooped through each one until she found her new mouse, flipped it out of the sack and headed off to play with it until she was tired or had lost it.

She was fun to watch and finally ended up with about four-dozen mice altogether, before the store quit selling them in the bulk bin and started carrying only the packaged mice. That's when Gretchen's fun ended. The excitement and the smell of a new rabbit fur mouse hidden somewhere amongst the groceries was something Gretchen expected; looked forward to. For a while I bought the packages of colored mice and took them out of their wrappings before I got home and threw them into the bag, but it was not the same. The smell of the plastic wrapped mice did not have whatever smell the other ones had that alerted her mousing instincts; even being born in human surroundings cats are supposedly born with a natural instinct to hunt furry critters. There may be some exceptions to this rule because I've had a few house-born cats that hadn't the foggiest notion of what to do with a live, furry critter scurrying across the kitchen floor.

It has taken a good year, at least, to find a substitute for the gray bit of fluff she so loved to hunt. Gretchen would get thoroughly annoyed with us once the mice stopped showing up in the shopping bags. She'd wait for moments of revenge, hide behind the door, or jump out of the closet and bite my ankles as I passed by. She only does that when she's expecting something of me that I can't deliver, or have forgotten to deliver.

From furry mice we went to treats. She loves the Temptations Salmon treats in the bright blue foil pack over any other kind. She learned to identify the color of the bag in the grocery sack by our making a huge deal over it hoping to take her mind of the nonexistent mice. We let her pull the foil package out of the sacks and play with it until she tried to bite her way into it, then we'd open it and give her a snack.

Okay, I forgot sometimes, I mean she had a dozen bags already stockpiled and buying her another treat bag every time I went shopping was senseless. I tried other types of toys to give her reason to go through the sacks, but she never took to them. The plastic balls with the bells in them, they had her attention for about a minute, no surprise there anymore; the catnip toys, or balls filled with catnip, even catnip bubbles. No surprise there either.
Now I know it's entirely my fault. I've spoiled her rotten. Because of the furry mice hunts in her kitten days, she expects, no…demands something, to this day, of every shopping trip.

Well, I have found one thing that peaks her interest for about three minutes and that's the pink, practice golf balls. There's a dozen in a bag, and she now recognizes the bag and gets ready for me to open it and throw them one at a time, as soon as she spots them.

Sorry, I've drifted away from my reason for writing about the little furry mice made of gray rabbit fur in the first place. Back to the tale.

With about four-dozen mice accumulated, Gretchen played and played and played with the mice. When she'd finally lost the last of the lot under the fridge, between the sofa cushions, under the dresser, where a mouse could fall in a crack and hide, Gretchen would start her following me about routine, mewing in a distressed way. I learned to recognize this mew from that of treat, a spoonful of wet food, or dry. Once I realized what she was after, I, or rather, we—she and I—went on these mice hunts. I pulled out the furniture, looked under the bed, took the back scratcher to sweep them from under the sofa, the dresser or the fridge, all the while Gretchen crouched with frenzied anticipation for each mouse found and then placed in a pile in the middle of the living room floor for her to disperse at her leisure throughout the house again. This often took several days before all the mice had to be found again. Thank goodness!

The mouse find that I love the most is when we had a thirty-gallon aquarium. My husband and I often would turn off the TV at night before retiring for bed and just sit and enjoy the illuminated tank full of fish. I'm the one who cleaned the tank, so one would think I'd noticed it sooner than I did. Our Plecotomus, algae eater, usually took good care of the green furry things growing in the tank, but he didn't seem to be taking care of this dark gray fuzzy thing in the back corner by the filter tubes and it seemed to be growing. Next I noticed the flow of the filter wasn't the same. These, to me at least, were obvious signs of it needing cleaning. After a few more days of putting off the inevitable, I finally began to break down the tank for a good cleaning. The gray furry thing turned out to be one of Gretchen's brood. Somehow, she had managed to slip one through the small opening by the filter, into the tank. It had completely disintegrated by the time I had gotten to it. The now floating rabbit fur had clogged the filter and all that was left of it was this slimy, hairless piece of hide and the hard plastic form that made it look like a mouse in the first place.

Gretchen's down to about a dozen, well chewed, little gray mice now, and a few of the more expensive, longer furred critters that she really doesn't give a hoot about. We play our "you-throw-I-watch-you-pick-up" game with the few mice that are left only occasionally now (that's been replaced with the pink plastic golf balls). I think she's accepted the fact there probably aren't going to be anymore of them. I've sucked them up in the vacuum, she's dropped them in the waste baskets, a few she's dismantled entirely and a few she's chewed the tails off of, and of course, one went swimming. Often I'd find them under my pillow or buried in the blankets, or dropped in a shoe.

We still get that expectant look, and accompanying mew, upon entering the apartment with any grocery sack or shopping bag, but the excitement of the hunt is gone. I'm sure pet shops have furry gray mice piled in open bins like we once had here locally, but we live in a small community with only a few choices. I've thought of a dozen different ways to get them like that again, but I think it wouldn't work. I believe part of the excitement of finding the mouse, loose in the sack, had to be coupled with other smells that intrigued her and enticed her to play with them so vigorously…smells from the store, the clerk who touched them as she scanned and bagged them, smells from other people's hands perhaps, that had picked them up and put them back, long before I got to the store. Perhaps all those smells filled her imagination with a variety of things I'll never be aware of—because of her acute sense of smell.

One consolation: I'm sure in her little cat dreams, she's finding her favorite, little furry mice in grocery bag after grocery bag.

Tomorrow Gretchen will be flying her Cats on Tuesday Peace Banner for Wordless Wednesday, please stop by and have a look at it.

Poetry Monday

2007-06-04T07:40:00.001-07:00

The Blue Moon at midnight, in Northwestern Oregon skies,

taken May 31, 2007. A view from my bedroom window.

First Saturday Sky in June

2007-06-02T14:45:00.001-07:00

No wonder I love the color blue. Our summer skies will mostly just be blue and featureless until the rains return in the fall. It is going to be interesting to see how I can make a plain blue sky interesting. There were high thin clouds here and there this afternoon. This little swirl was my favorite. As a kid growing up in a very different world in which we live today, I laid on my back upon the grass, arms folded behind my head, and watched the clouds float by. To this day I love to watch the clouds form and dissipate, and often wish I could lay once again as I did in my youth, under a tall shade tree, upon cool, thick blades of grass, a gentle caressing breeze, and dream away the afternoon.

In a meadow, upon a hill, a tall oak spreads its arms and shields me from the sun.

(It is hot, four days of the first heat wave of the year.)

The bright blue sky spreads before my gaze, the cloud formations stir my imaginings.

(Let's see, I've paid the bills, taken several phone calls, washed and dried five loads of laundry.)

The delicate breeze bends the tall grass on distant hill, the scent of wild flowers perfumes the air.

(It's cotton wood season, pollen floats thick on a hot, dry wind, and weekend fumes from gas engines choke the air.)

On lofty branches above my head, birds sing love songs to one another. Butterflies flit out o'er the quiet field. All is peaceful and beautiful here.

(The drone of tires, rattle of ancient lawnmowers, hum of air conditioners, a barking dog or two, banging screen doors as children race in and out; radios, stereos, television and the white nose from fans, an old air plane with the engine noise of two Harley's, circles, and circles and circles above.)

Ahh, thirteen is great. Peaceful afternoons on that quiet, shaded hill, a good book in hand, or just lay back and dream dreams and make plans.

(Sixty-three, aches and pains, small apartment, manicured grounds full of fertilizer, moss killer, weed killer; dog pee and dog poop; two more shade trees have given up the ghost and they will not be replaced.)

The sun is descending, the sky deepens, a faint call is heard off in the distance, time to go in, it says, time for dinner.

(Dinner? It's time for dinner already! I forgot to thaw something out from the freezer. Forgot to get bread from the store. Will hot dogs do? We've got hot dog buns in the freezer, too? How about I open a can of pork and beans, again, dear?)

The stars appear, the moon is high, full this time in a cloudless sky.

(Thank goodness this day is over. I'm tired, my feet ache, dishes still soaking in the sink, Mama's Family is coming on in less than five.)

Thank God for another perfect day, for this blessed earth where beauty and peace abound.

(Amen. And thanks for giving me another chance to start over and watch my tongue--tomorrow.)

P.S. Thanks for my neighbors roses whose pink blossoms, prompted by the heat, filled my senses with columns of sweet scented air as I passed back and forth to the laundry room; reminding me there's always room for summer afternoon dreams under cloudless skies.

Once in a Blue Moon

2007-05-31T13:08:00.001-07:00

Confused about what month the Blue Moon occurs in? This may help:

The 2007 Blue Moon: May or June?
Some sources say that in 2007, there is a Blue Moon in June. Others say that the Blue Moon actually occurs in May. Who is right?
Well, you could see a Blue Moon in May, June or even July, but it depends where in the world you live.
Read our 2007 Blue Moon page to find out more!

Do you in a time zone where the Blue Moon is in May or June? or even July? I live in the Northwest and we have two moons in May starting tonight.

Serene Wordless Wednesday

2007-05-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Memories of King Preyor

2007-05-29T11:42:00.000-07:00

Every time I visit Gattina's site and see her dear Arthur I am reminded of my white cat, Preylor. He was only with us for about six months. He was abandoned along with his brother, a patchy gray and white. They had both taken up residence at my mother's place and she finally convinced me to take the white cat home. Three cats, her own boy, plus the two new males, were just too much for her to care for.

He was very friendly and I was so enamored with him that I eventually consented and brought him home. We had no idea how old he was exactly, or what his name was. His front claws had been removed and he had been neutered. He was clean and well fed. Mother had seen to that. We figured he was around two. He was very playful. Obviously, at not too distant a time, he'd had a good home. Mother had been taking care of the two strays for over a month. The only question I had in my mind then was how he was going to adjust from romping around in her backyard, to a small two-bedroom apartment. He would not be able to go outside here, and even if he did get out I worried about the busy road in front of our apartment building.

So, suddenly, on June 21, 2003, I had a cat. I had been pining for a kitten since I left Boo Boo Kitty with my daughters and headed west in 1995. Then, when one finally presented itself to me, I had been diagnosed with my first breast cancer and had just had my first surgery.

We named him King Preylor after a character in the Scrungy Series. Except for the eyes, he was what I had pictured when I was writing about the King in my story. He was large, heavy, to say the least, and he had been abandoned.

He took up residence at the foot of my bed, was not a lap cat, unless he just wanted a tad bit of attention. He loved to eat and when I wasn't fast enough at opening his cans he'd reach out with his paw and would open the cabinet door, let bang, (it had a spring type closure) over and over again. For a large cat he did not have a large voice. So it was kind of comical to hear him mew for something. Needless to say at that time I fed him on the floor like all the other cats in my life until Gretchen came along. She's been the only privileged feline in my life to have her own placemat at the kitchen table. But that's a whole other story in itself.

Preylor loved to play and jump high. He'd wear me out just keeping him occupied. It was summer and the windows were always open. He spent the nights, like Gretchen does, sitting in the windowsill and looking out into the darkness. When he jumped from the windowsill to the bed, as Gretchen is wont to do, I felt it. The whole bed shook and then he'd thunder down the hall to the living room window for further nighttime investigations. He kept up the window to window sorties all night. Of course it was always me he bounced awake, I was nearest the window.

Besides chasing feet and biting toes that stuck out from under the blankets, and nipping the back of the ankle or thigh in a tag, you're it, way, he had a fetish for wood. He loved the projects on my art table and I kept the table covered with a sheet, secured at the corners with clothespins. They were handy at the time. It wasn't long before my clothespins started disappearing and I'd find them hidden somewhere, half chewed.

I used clothespins for just about everything that needed closed. A fatal mistake. I had had a Flash Pulmonary Edema episode in November that year and was hospitalized in critical condition for almost two weeks. My daughter and her friend had flown in from the Midwest and stayed with her dad and Preylor. I had worked very hard to teach Preylor not to play rough, but all that was undone while I was away. Preylor had the time of his life while the girls were here and he was allowed to play as rough as he wanted. I know he missed them when they left.

After I came home from the hospital I was on oxygen for a while. The oxygen machine was to be kept in the living room; one, it was very loud, and two, it was to be kept so many feet from away from me and that was the largest space we had. So I solved that problem with extra long oxygen hose that ran from the living room, down the hall and into my room, to my bed. One night I couldn't figure out why I wasn't getting enough oxygen. I got up and checked the flow and all the tubing, but still couldn't find the problem. Eventually, at one point during the night I wasn't getting any oxygen at all, so switched the machine off and used the emergency tank, thinking I had something wrong with the equipment. The next day I discovered little tiny holes all along the tubing, and in the middle, it was nearly chewed in half. The next day I hung the new oxygen tubing from the door jam to door jam and taped it along the walls. It worked; I didn't have any more holes.

At Christmas time I was afraid that a big cat like Preylor would knock over the tree and because I didn't have the strength to put one together that year anyway, I omitted the tree. The rest of the decorations went up, but that was the first year, ever, that I didn't have a tree up for Christmas.

In January I had been contemplating finding a new home for Preylor. He was getting quite aggressive and wouldn't leave my husbands feet alone. He no longer waited for a toe to pop loose from a blanket, now he went under the covers after his feet. My husband is a diabetic and Preylor was drawing blood. That behavior had to stop. I hesitated to give him away for the very reason that he had once had a good home and then was either lost or turned out in the streets. And I didn't want to be the one to send him to a shelter or another home. Unfortunately, fate, or God, whomever, or whatever one chooses to believe in, intervened and Preylor got sick. Preylor had evidently gotten a sliver of wood caught in his intestinal track, probably from a clothespin that escaped my protection. At first I thought he had just gotten a bad can of cat food because, he seemed fine at different times throughout the day, but by the next day he was on the road of no return. He died January 20, 2004.

It was a hard thing to go through, for both Preylor and me. I've regretted since the day he got sick that I ever thought of giving him away. And now, when I view Gattina's pictures of Arthur, I think of him fondly and I miss him. Teeth marks and all.

By the way, his brother, whom my mother named Hobo, still comes and goes from her place. He is a roamer and a fighter and carries the wounds for his battles. In the following months I was diagnosed with a second breast cancer and had a double mastectomy. That's when Gretchen came into my life. I've written two books in a series of books about abandoned and unwanted cats. Evidently, Preylor just made a brief stop in my life to help me work out the details of the characters in my stories.

Poetry Monday and Memorial Day

2007-05-28T11:18:00.000-07:00

Before I post the second half of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, I wanted to mention the Veterans for whom this day is memorialized.

My father and step father were in WWII as pilots. My first husband was a Marine and my husband served his country for ten years in the Navy during the Veit Nam war. All four of these men, my family, gave complete allegiance to this country, they gave their sweat, blood, and tears, so that I could remain free. So the shores and cities of my country were not bloodied and destroyed. The freedoms they fought for, the freedom for me to come and go and think for myself, were hard won.

I honor them for their duty, for their sacrifices. I honor all the men and women in the military, in past wars and the current war, and those who served in times of peace, and say thank you for your duty, your honor to your country and your people; and especially for your dedication to help other people in other countries share in the right to be a free people. You have my gratitude, support and prayers.

The Raven (part two)

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore.'"

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he has sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Saturday Sky:The Great Contrail Flyaway!

2007-05-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

Happy Con-Trails To You . . .

Today it seems, now matter what direction I look in, there are contrails disapating in the sky.

The airport must be a busy place today. It's over 30 miles northeast from us. I often wonder where the traveler is going when I see one of these. I used to love to fly.

The last time I flew was in 1995.

From Chicago to Portland and back.

So much has changed about flying that I used to like.

Now I stay on the ground and look up!

Kinda like it that way.

For now . . .

New Baby Blanket in Soft Wave Ripple Pattern

2007-05-24T17:31:00.001-07:00

I've started my first great grandson's baby blanket. He's due in July. I'm doing the soft wave ripple, using Lion Brand Yarn-Baby Soft sportweight and G hook. At first I was doing a lot of frogging because I was not paying attention. When I first wanted to do this project I couldn't decide whether or not to knit it or crochet it. Now that I'm doing it, because I frog so much, I'm really glad that I chose to crochet and not knit. I love the soft feel of the yarn. It should come out to about 45" square. Right now I think I'm going to use white to scallop edge it. I'll see how that looks when I'm finished.

You can see this project and many, many others on the Ripple-Along site. It's a lot of fun. We show off our starts, goofs, and finishes, using the myriads of ripple patterns in crochet and knitting. I've finished one project already, this is my second, and have fallen in love with rippling. I have started a piece to go over the back of my recliner in red, white, and green for Christmas. I'll show that later. I put it aside for now and got busy on this baby blanket. The baby takes priority over Christmas.

Peaceful Wordless Wednesday

2007-05-23T12:04:00.000-07:00

Cats on Tuesday: Episode Three - Mike's Day in the Sun

2007-05-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

I hadn't noticed anything unusual about the living room when I woke that morning, shuffled past the sofa, on into the kitchen in an early morning daze and spooned Gretchen a teaspoon of her favorite breakfast food, White Meat Chicken and Whipped Egg Soufflé With Garden Greens, into her crystal dish (in reality it was just a pretty glass bowl). I mean, if humans can start their day with coffee or orange juice, then why not let the cat start its day with a few bites of something with such a yummy sounding name. After all it's only eighty-nine cents a can these day. And really, Gretchen only has a teaspoon full each morning, so the cost is divided over how many days she actually eats on it, right?

On with my story . . . like I said, I noticed nothing unusual about the living room until later that morning when I was going through the apartment tidying up. Then it hit me, something was amiss. There was this gnarly, black, furry face with flashing, golden eyes, staring up at me from the edge of the sofa. The edge of the sofa where Gretchen always sleeps. The poor creature had nearly reached its goal, Gretchen's green and purple quilt, when I realized that it was actually Mike. Okay, I know this is spooky to have this stuffed cat with these crazy eyes that follow every movement you make, but now the thing is walking about, or rather seems to be, in broad daylight.

Mike was caught in the act! He was inching his way up the back of the sofa and when I asked him just what he thought he was doing, he only glared at me with those golden orbs and penetrated my thoughts with his answer. "I'm tired of that dark corner behind the end of the sofa and I'm lonely. I thought I would take a walk and see how the world looks from another view." I protested, "But that's Gretchen's favorite place, and I don't think she'd like it much you going there without her knowing it."

Mike's facial expression didn't change (it never does), "I have permission," he spoke rather stuffily, "just last week when we were playing with all her toys on the sofa, she said I could join her on her quilt anytime I chose to. And I'm choosing to now."

Mike inched his way up the sofa and crawled between the folds of the quilt. I went on about my business; I had a very busy day ahead of me and no time to waste on a mentally talented, stuffed cat. "Very well," I murmured, "It's your hide—fur." Gretchen was off sleeping on my unmade bed so I knew Mike was safe for the time being. Gretchen never leaves the bed in the mornings until I make it up.

Time passed by as I continued my activities and I had forgotten where Mike was. I had not even given thought as to where Gretchen had ventured off to after I made the bed. As I passed by the sofa on another trip to the kitchen I noticed a remarkable sight. Gretchen and Mike were sharing a bath. Together, on the same blanket! On Gretchen's special blanket! I was amazed. Speechless, even. Gretchen would never share her blanket. Up until now she'd not let Mike anywhere near her blanket.

"What's this?" I asked of the two cats. "Does this mean you're buddies, finally?" Gretchen just squeezed her eyes and continued her bathing, like I should even have to ask such a question. I turned my thoughts to Mike, "Well?" I tried my best at stuffed cat telepathy. Mike just squeezed his eyes and began to purr. Not a word of explanation did he transmit. "Oh, this is ridiculous!" I threw up my hands and left the room.

I had errands to run and left the apartment. When I returned with armfuls of groceries, Gretchen met me at the door, telling me all the news. She was all over the table as I emptied each sack, carrying on with happy trills, using her best cat language, a language I've yet to master. Then after poking her head into each grocery sack, she found her treat. I've learned a long time ago that a cat knows when you've been shopping and it's better to come home with a goody or two than to incur the wrath of a spoiled cat. Besides, Gretchen's the only one I have left to spoil.

Distracted by her new toy, Gretchen forgot the news she was telling me and pranced off to bat it about for a while. That's when I glanced over at the sofa and noticed Mike was still on the quilt. His eyes dazzling in the late afternoon sun. "Well, Mike?" I prodded, knowing he was better at communicating to me the goings on that afternoon than Gretchen was. "What's been going on here? What was Gretchen all excited about?"

Mike let go the white toy mouse he'd held firm under his paw, "Everything was going great until you left. Then that jealous ol' White Kitten, you let sleep in one of Gretchen's beds, wanted to climb up here and sleep on the quilt with us." Mike narrowed his eyes and lowered his dark brow, "but I promptly put her in her place; said she had to stay where she belonged. The sofa was mine and Gretchen's special place."

I glanced round at Gretchen's bed next to the organ. All seemed the same as when I'd left it. White Kitten in her place, Black Panther Cub (from the zoo), and even gray and white striped Beanie Tiger lay undisturbed.

"You're making this up," I reprimanded Mike. "White Kitten hasn't moved an ounce of fluff since this morning." If there's one more thing I don't need in this place is another spooky, stuffed animal. Then right before my eyes, and Mike's too, Gretchen came marching up between us and dropped the white kitten on the quilt and left. Mike inched backwards, hissed at White Kitten, crouched low, ready to pounce and throw her off, when Gretchen reappeared and sat down in-between the two with the Panther Cub from the zoo.

Whether peace between Whitten Kitten and Mike was ever restored or not, I'll never know. I'd seen enough and went to the kitchen to make dinner. They would all have new places to squabble over next week anyway, when I move the sofa into its summer place.

Who's to say what's real and what's not. Without the imaginings in our life, about the animate and inanimate, life would be so dull. Gretchen's on going relationship with Mike, a stuffed cat with pitiful fake fur and brilliant golden eyes that seem to glow and penetrate your mind, is always part real and part not. Only I, the author of these tales, know the difference. We can't all see fairies, or hear the thoughts of mysterious stuffed cats, but we can all imagine what it would be like to know them. DBB

Poetry Monday

2007-05-21T10:42:00.000-07:00

At the park last week with the fry steeling squirrels, a huge raven sauntered over for a bite, also. My immediate thought was "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Well, I just got a book of the Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. I am anxious to get at it as soon as I finish the book I'm reading now. In the meantime, I decided to post the first 9 stanzas of the poem, The Raven.

The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,"

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

There are seventeen stanzas so I will post the rest next Monday.

Saturday Sky and Another Tag

2007-05-19T13:24:00.000-07:00

For a rainy day it sure turned out to be nice. A little cooler and windier than it's been lately, but nice skies.

Paula, my daughter, tagged me with this meme.

8 Random things about me.

The rules -1: Each player states 8 random facts/habits about themselves.2: People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.3: At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.4: Don't forget to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged, and to read your blog...

So, here I go again.

1. My face is healing from where it met the sidewalk when I was working in my garden Thursday and lost my balance, and my glasses can be fixed.

2. I've found out that I can spend just as much time blogging as I once did playing Jewel Quest or Mahjongg.

3. I love taking pictures of the sky, so having an excuse like Saturday Sky is great.

4. I have learned to ripple crochet and made the traditional pattern, now I'm doing splendid on the soft ripple pattern in baby colors for my first great grandson due in July.

5. I've been working on novel number four now for way too long. Life keeps distracting me. I'm halfway through with it, Paula...I think.

6. I haven't read as many books as I think I ought to have by this time of year. Tsk, tsk. Life keeps getting in the way there, too.

7. I miss the Midwest where the majority of my children live, the lively weather in the spring and summer...the beautiful falls. I don't miss the ice and snow and that is why my husband and I are where we are now, in the northwest.

8. I have always been in love with trees and wind.

Okay, it seems I just did this a few hours ago.

I tag: (These are all the resources I have left.)

srp

Gattina

Meeyauw

I know it's only five but that's the best I can do for now... besides, you've probably already been tagged by Paula, so if you're reading this and want to volunteer, please do so. I'll get to know more people that way.